I don't know that "bed-ridden" is the exact term, but for lack of a better word, "bed-ridden" will have to do. I am, however, in bed, soaking in the warmth and caustic energy from the well worn electric blanket. Can you say "C o z y?" Nice n' cozy. Me in my warm bed, in my favorite red flannel men's long sleeved shirt that I picked up at a thrift store many moons ago. I remember the first time I saw this shirt, I knew I must have it. It belonged to a small man, as it fits me snugly. It's a very nice quality shirt with just the right amount of wear and tear; perfectly broken in just for me. And a nice deep red to boot. And it only cost me a buck, one dollar, four quarters--what a steal.
I'm pretty much like that: I'm a 'know it when I see' it kinda girl. I'm like that with flannel shirts, fabric, furniture, photography, food, art, music, lost of stuff, really...even people. It's hard to explain. But, what can I say, I know what I want when I see it. There's no second guessing, no wishy-washy hee-hawing, just a very concrete 'that's it!,' 'that's what I've been looking for,' or 'yes you, you're the one.'
Anyway, what was I saying?
Oh yes, I'm staying home today, perhaps in my snug little bed all the day long. (I say that and I want it to be true, but I know that at some point I'm going to get stir-crazy and I'll have to get up and do something that I deem to be productive.) It feels like a movie day, with the cold weather, tired body, and overcast skies. But, the problem with a movie day is that eventually I get tired of watching movies....unless I'm watching 24. Then, I get sucked into the time wasting trap of needing to know what happens next--how does Jack get out of his current dilemma? Do the terrorists launch the nuke? And then, of course, there's my all time favorite: Tony! Him and his trademark, "yeah," get me every time....I find myself hearing him in my head, "yeah, yeah." Very staccato. With a half "I don't give a rip" attitude. "Yeah."
I hear things in my head quite a bit. Some of the things I hear make me giggle. Like, I was a the fabric store quite a while ago, looking at all the colors of endless bolts, trying to match the baby quilt I'd designed in my head to what was available in front of me. I threw several bolts into my already full shopping cart just to have the woman next to me say, "Oh my, that's a lot of fabric!" And thus engaged the voice in my head that said, in a very "The Price is Right!" tone and inflection: "Why thank you Captain Obvious! Tell her what she's won, Johnny, for being so incredibly astute!" But I didn't say that, of course. I just smiled and said, "Why yes it is, isn't it?" and went along my way.
I'm not quite sure how to turn what I hear in my head off, but I do enjoy it's humor and sarcasm.
Anyway, what was I saying?
Oh, I had a funny moment at the gym last Friday night. I hadn't been doing my normal Friday night workout for over a month, so when I re-started this unholy tradition a few weeks ago, I was not surprised to see some of the people that also have nothing more exciting to do on a Friday night but sweat and pump iron. There is this one man who's usually there; I find it most interesting that his front teeth are capped with silver. It begs the question: why?
So, I'm doing inclined flys on the bench, impressed with myself that I've got a 25 pound dumbbell in each hand, enjoying the burn that my muscles are giving me, knowing that I'm approaching being maxed out is a sweet victory. On my last set: rep number 8, rep 9, 9.25, 9.5, now shaking like a leaf, 9.75, now shaking and sweating, 9.85, shaking, sweating, and ready to pop a vein, ahhh, I can't do it. I'm maxed out! Hooray! And down to my sides my arms go; I let the weights drop from my hands down just a few inches to the floor. The pain feels good! I stand up, grab the weights to put them away, and next to me is the silver-tipped-tooth man.
I put the weights back and look at him, he's just kinda staring at me, but smiling. I smile back and turn to hit the track for a few high intensity laps. Then I hear him saying something through my earphones that blare Toby Mac's "Irene" (what a catchy beat). I hit pause on my player and say, "I'm sorry, what?" And he says, "You drop weight?" I must have looked puzzled, hence he says it again, "You drop weight?"
I'm thinking about how I just dropped my 25's on the floor and said apologetically, "Yeah, that was me. Sorry." (For when you drop weights, it does make a bit of a sound.) He kinda looks at me weird (something I'm used to) and says, "No, no. You drop weight??? I don't see you for month, and you drop weight." I think I understand what he's saying now. He's either asking or stating that I've lost weight. Now I get it.
Understanding, I think, I say, "Oh yes, a little bit. Not much." Then we both stand there, me feeling a little bit awkward. So, to fill the weird moment I jokingly say, "Yeah, I eat too many tacos...and ice cream!" as I pat my belly. He smiles at me and says, "Oh, no more tacos? That's good. You drop weight!" I can now see the extent of his English, so I just smile, say "Yup," and make a quick exit. I ask myself, "What was that all about?" But now I have a name for him: Taco Man. Think he'll mind?
Then there was this other guy; I call him the Greek God Wanna Be. He is, by far, the most "ripped" man in the entire gym. Without being pumped up, every single one of his muscles stands out in rapt attention, begging for women to faint and fawn over his very presence. (I think he's disgusting, personally.) He'll walk into the gym like he owns the place, give unsolicited advice to other men that are trying to get just as ripped as him, and then there's always the (for me: humorous) moment when he decides to take off his sweat shirt and bless everyone with his shirtless, unseasonably tan body. After he's made sure that everyone's had a good chance to look at him, he'll thus slip on a muscle tank that is slit through the sides so you can count his 6 pack (why even wear a shirt if you're just going to don something that looks like it's been shredded?).
He'll then strut around, get his sidekick to lift with him, take a break to make sure someone's watching, then lift some more.
I've had the un-pleasure of speaking with him a few times. It's amazing how such a fabulous shell of a body can house such a pitiful creature of a man. And, if the inner man is the equivalent of maggot infested dog poo, then so is the whole man, Greek wannabe or not! He did give Taco Man a few pointers on a chest exercise, which I did eavesdrop on, but other than that, I try to steer clear of his over-inflated ego. Didn't his momma raise him any better? I feel sorry for the woman that ever becomes his wife, if he can, indeed, find a woman who's willing to live with a man that's completely in love with himself.
Anyway, what wa I saying?
I'm not sure. But I'd better be going.....I'm so hungry lately. And for sweets. And Valentine's Day is just around the corner. This could be a very dangerous situation! Spandex doesn't lie, ya know. But I'll worry about that tomorrow as I finish my Ghiradelli Dark & Mint chocolate bar today.
Okay! Out of bed! This bed-ridden woman has had enough of this bed!
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