Blah-de-blahMore gym time, and biking to campus. Does anyone know if I should trust the machines at the gym that tell me that a less strenuous workout (c'mon, folks, I'm slower than the geriatrics) is actually better for weight loss than the slightly more strenuous "cardio" level? All I know is, it's better than sitting on my butt.
No male eye-candy the rest of the week; instead I was next to one of those profuse sweaters--the ones who spray droplets all over themselves and everyone around. One paragraph of my magazine got so smudged I couldn't read it. Gross.
Why do men generally ignore the warm-up and cool-down? All the men I watched got on the machines and cranked them right up to high, went full out for a few minutes, and then got off. The women, of course, did everything "right" in the recommended sequence and intensity.
I found myself following a tall, handsome firefighter from a neighboring municipality around the supermarket the other day. I'm sure he was thinking, "Why is this frumpy matron stalking me? Did I rescue one of her 87 cats from a tree last week?" I am now plotting to move to said n.m. and set my house on fire, once I make sure he is on duty.
Widowhood is hard on my friendships. When I had my husband to count on, the vagaries of friendship weren't so troublesome. A minor betrayal was...minor. A falling out was unpleasant, but not earth-shattering. Now, however, every conflict makes me feel bereft and unloved.
I am going to get my tattoo. It's the small design that was on our wedding invitation--what my husband called our own personal dingbat. It apparently has to be bigger than I had anticipated (a quarter-sized area, at least), which has me rethinking its location. I want to be able to see it often (my other tattoo is on my left shoulderblade, and I tend to forget I have it), but not have others see it much. I don't want it on a body part I loathe (ankle, stomach) or one that is going to droop, sag, or jiggle (pretty much all of them, at my age). Suggestions?