Another troubling morning at the gym. I was on the treadmill and a woman got on an elliptical machine in front of me and she was wearing a white shirt that was VERY tight and pretty see-through so I could see that her bra strap was actually closer to her waist than her bust line and I thought to myself “How did she get her bra so low?” and then I realized that she was wearing one of those shirts with the bra built into it. But still. The bra strap was nowhere near her bust line; it was practically a belt. And for the rest of my time on the treadmill I couldn’t even get mad at Fox News (which I was forced to listen to because it was the only TV station that my CD player radio would pick up) because I couldn’t stop thinking about what the front of her must look like and if there was an excuse for me to get in front of her and turn around and see if the front of her bra was just as low as the back. But I couldn’t think of one. So now it’s 4 hours later and I can’t stop thinking about it. Next time something like this happens I’m just going to go stare openly at whatever/whomever it is because I know I’ll just spend the day obsessing and/or imagining all sorts of odd things and I’ve gotten no work done today because every time I try to think a picture of that bra-strap-belt pops into my head.
Two weeks ago I lost my gym bag. I have absolutely no idea how, or where. I've retraced my steps, I've checked the lost and found of every establishment I visited, I've looked in every stupid place in my house where I may have put it in a totally distracted moment. Even the freezer. I finally acknowledge that it is gone. This is very hard for me. I've had the padlock with the green face for nearly 20 years. There is a still a membership card in one of the pockets for a health club I haven't been a member of since 2004. And I don't lose things. I have sunglasses older than my children. I've had my keyring forever. I. Don't. Lose. Things.
But apparently it's really gone. HERE is a note to the person who found it and decided to keep it:
Yeah, yeah, yeah. You've got a new bag with an mp3 player, but here's a few things you don't know. The combination. And I'm not telling. And the mp3 player - no music, just self-help books and novels loaded on it, ha! And the bag....well, my sticky-fingered friend, the bag is nearly 14 years old and was my diaper bag. Yes, a diaper bag! You don't have the cords to charge or download anything onto my relatively cheap mp3 player (and the volume sucks, btw, good luck with that) and you are carrying around a DIAPER BAG!!!!!!
I've signed up on yet another job search site which sends an email about once a week with jobs that I'm "qualified" for or are in the same zip code or something. Most of them are way off but the offest - and my favorite - is Small Arms Repairman.
There's no description so I'm free to imagine myself either fixing small weapons or putting band-aids on 6-year olds.