Oh, PA Turnpike, how I missed thee...

So, I went to DC this past weekend to help my younger brother find a place to live. I was very excited for the trip because a) my brother was going to be there and b) my sister was going to be there. Family reunion! If only we could’ve gotten my older brother to ditch his family and come with us! But, I suppose when you’re faced with a weekend with your siblings or no divorce, you pick no divorce… right? I mean, right!

So, my brother’s girlfriend and I made the 6-hour drive to DC. We stayed at my BFF’s house while she was out of town. It was really nice of my BFF to give up her house for us. It’s one of the many reasons she’s my BFF.

She lives in Alexandria, not far from The District (and yes, I called it The District, just like they do on the TV show, The District [not that I’ve ever seen that show, but I’ve seen commercials for it, so therefore, I'm an expert]). My siblings enjoyed making fun of me for it and to that, I say, “Brother? Relo. Just sayin’.”

Anyway, where was I?

It was 800 gazillion degrees in DC this past weekend, which made it (hot and sticky) fun for (but not limited to) the following:

1. Walking outside.
2. Getting in and out of a stifling car.
3. Doing anything anywhere that didn’t come with a built-in air conditioner.

We toured about 9 different places. By the end, we were pros. “What amenities do you have?” “How much is parking?” “Do you give a Preferred Employers discount?” “Do you have an apartment available for out-of-town guests?” We also entertained ourselves (and the people around us) (mostly ourselves) with our zingers.

For example, one guy, Mike, showed us around his apartment building in Ballston, a neighborhood of Arlington. One of the tenants was moving out, so he was throwing himself a big pool party that day. Lots of young professionals, milling about, in their bathing suits. I’m going to assume they were young professionals – they weren’t carrying briefcases and/or Blackberrys (Blackberries?), but they live in the DC area, can afford to pay rent, and, I’m assuming, are older than college kids and younger than, um, old people.

Anyway, Mike had a plan. He was going to take us to the biggest of the one-bedroom apartments first. What kind of idiot shows the best he’s got right out of the gate? We had to school him by telling him, “Make the big look bigger, not the small look smaller.”

Tips are free, Mike. Tips are free.

So, as we were touring this apartment building, the pool party was getting a little rowdy. People brought in contraband beer. As there is no alcohol allowed in the pool area, the police were called in to deal with the riffraff. To which, I said, “Hey, the stripper is here!”

Again, entertaining ourselves here.

It was the best party we ever never went to.

And, of course, this is the apartment building we picked. Not for the debauchery… well, not only for the debauchery. It is also within walking distance to two different metro lines, plenty of shops and restaurants and three (3!) grocery stores. There’s a dry cleaners and a convenience store in his lobby. If he didn’t have to physically go to work, I don’t see why he’d ever leave his apartment.

We then asked my BFF her opinion, since she’s lived in the DC area for 10 years now. She told me Ballston is the place people new to the city move. Well, that’s him, isn’t it? She also mentioned that Alexandria and Arlington have a Crips vs. Bloods kind of relationship, but I’m hoping she’ll make an exception here and still invite him for dinner (and, you know, not do any drive-bys [bies?]). In any event, it’s only a year lease. If he decides he likes another area better, he can move.

We did have a chance to enjoy the city while we were there. Since it was hotter than blazes outside, we didn’t really have the energy to go out every night, but we did visit our fair capital Friday night. We rode the metro (!) to Dupont Circle. My BFF used to live right on The Circle (shutup), so I remembered a few places that were still there, like the Starbucks I used to sit at and read The Post (again, shutup).

I love this city. Memories… light the corners of my mind…

What was I saying? Right. So, we found a nice, reasonably-priced restaurant for dinner. Since it was hotter than a whore house on nickel night (did I mention it was hot there? Hot.) outside, it was the Arctic circle inside. It was so cold, I chipped a tooth on my soup (okay, I didn't have soup in 100-degree weather, but it was still damcold in there).

After dinner, I needed to thaw, so we sat outside to continue drinking. We were minding our own business, people-watching, when we noticed an older lady trying to parallel park in front of our restaurant. It took about 10 attempts and 20 minutes, but she finally got the car the way she wanted it.

And then she sat in her car. And sat. And sat. With her head slumped. I couldn’t tell if she was reading, texting, or dead, but it was hot outside and if she was sitting in her car in this heat, with no open windows, she was going to die.

Being the good Samaritans that we (read: my brother) are (is), we (read: he) went to the car and knocked on her window, scaring the crap out of her. Whew, she was alive. She waved him away, irritated, so he left. Turns out her car was on. I’m guessing she was trying to sleep off happy hour?

Does it count as a good deed when it goes unappreciated?

It was another fun trip to DC. I’m glad I have another person to visit when I go… next month.

See you in a few weeks, PA Turnpike.

Please, make it stop.

Oh, The Bachelorette. How I love loathe you. Seriously, the show could be about 20 minutes long if they would just edit out the characters gazing out into the wild blue yonder, repeating (in a voiceover) (while we watch them gaze "thoughtfully") the same things they've said a million times. I'm already drunk from the "amazing" drinking game and it's only been 10 minutes!

I wonder if the editors of this show have been up for any awards? I mean, it takes a lot to edit the crap material they're given into something of interest. Although, I don't quite understand some of the things they do. For example, they show Roberto packing up a red suitcase. And in the next shot, he's putting a black suitcase into a limo. Was he helping an old lady with her luggage? Wouldn't that just be a Roberto thing to do? I lurve him.

And why have they changed the rules of the show this season? Giving the bachelors free reign to leave their house/hotels to a) get tattoos or b) call their girlfriends and leave 100 messages or c) not go to Tahiti right away because they need to see their ex-girlfriends (in Chicago) and tell them they love them.

But that last one was pretty awesome. Frank goes to tell his (ex-)girlfriend that he loves her and wants to be with her. And then says he has to fly to Tahiti to tell Ali. Um, wouldn't a phone call have sufficed? I know Chris Harrison could give them both a phone to use (I saw him do it earlier in the season). Also, when Frank gets to Tahiti, why is he all sunburned and why does he have a lot of luggage? Doesn't he just need a change of underwear and a toothbrush to break up with someone on TV?

What I'd really like, and I've probably said this before, is a reality show that goes behind the scenes of the reality show. I know this entire thing is fake (Ali is the WORST fake crier ever), I just want to know how it's done. I know it spoils the fun, like when you learned how the magician saws a person in half, but really. This show has been on for, like, 20 seasons. It's time to show the man behind the curtain. I want to know why they let that guy get a tattoo. I want to know why they let Justin call his girlfriend. I want to know why they let Frank go to Chicago to see his girlfriend. For the drama, I get it, but... why weren't they doing this all along? I am sure a lot of the past seasons could have used a little more crazy. That's why we watch. A doy.

And speaking of crazy, Frank's break-up scene was painful. It should have lasted about 6 seconds ("I'm in love with someone else. See ya!"), but there was a lot of crying and staring and more crying. It was uncomfortable. About 4 times, I said to the TV (because the TV and I are friends), "Make it stop!" "Okay, we get it. Bye, Frank!" And poor Chris Harrison. I know he's contractually obligated to be there, but man, he's got one painful job (keeping a straight face is hard work, people). I hope he gets a bonus at the end of each season.

I still don't understand what possesses a person to want to go on reality TV. Don't they know the kind of fame they receive is a) short-lived and b) not the good kind? They have people (like me) talking smack about them for a few weeks and then we (I) forget they exist. If I were Ali, I would be embarrassed horrified by my actions. I totally get her riding Roberto's jock the way she was. I mean, seriously? Homeboy's hot. But she was kissing boys she doesn't even like or know their names. It's kind of pathetic.

At least they got to visit some cool places this season... I really hate these people.

Have a (diet) Coke and a smile.

So, I can't even believe I'm going to admit this outside of the 4 walls of my home, but... I've made the switch to Diet Coke (insert "record needle scratch" sound effect).

I know, I know. After I had spent all these years mocking people for drinking Diet Cokes with their Big Macs and large fries (because no one could possibly prefer Diet Coke for its taste. I mean, really.). Now I'm one of them (except for the Big Macs and large fries part). The truth is, you do kind of get used to it. As a matter of fact, in the few days since I've made the switch, I don't notice the difference at all.

Plus (and I can't believe I'm admitting to this either), drinking Diet Coke is kind of... cooler. You never saw the cool, older girls drinking a can of regular Coke out of straw while sunning themselves. Regular Coke was/is for babies. And, at my old job, my co-worker told me once that she had tried to drink coffee for years, because it was considered cool. But, she just couldn't get used to the taste, so she stuck with Diet Coke for breakfast. And, to me, she was pretty cool. Caffeine is caffeine, right?

My first official turn to diet (though, short-lived) happened when I was pregnant with our second son and diagnosed with gestational diabetes (or, as my mother and her friends call it, "The Sugar"). Obviously, it was irritating to have to test my blood every 4 hours, but my main annoyance was giving up sugar. I mean, deprivation when you're pregnant? Is torture. But, I did allow myself a Diet Coke every now and then and I found the taste wasn't so bad. My friend recently told me how, when she was pregnant, she couldn't wait to go back to diet (because, of course, the artificial sugar was bad for the baby, so she stopped), and here I was, doing the opposite (and possibly giving my unborn child a defect [thankfully, he came out without 3 heads]). All this for something I shouldn't be drinking anyway.

And, because of my newfound health kick, I thought I could save myself at least 150 calories (and 9 [nine!] teaspoons of sugar) a day by drinking diet as opposed to the one Coke I allowed myself. But, then I read an article that said, by switching to diet, the risk for obesity was even greater than drinking regular (by 41%).

Figures.

Actually, that article, of course, was encouraging the reader to drink water, which, I might add, I do. A lot. So, if I allow myself a soft drink, and it's diet, and I don't allow myself to overindulge on other foods because I drink diet, I should be fine. Right? Right!

By the way, I can finally, after 3 days, move my legs without pain. Which, of course, means no gain. But, let's face it, the no gain is what I'm going for, so there you go.

This is "what life should be like" according to the 2008 Diet Coke slogan.

Ow ow ow ow ow (aka My trainer is the devil)

Ow.

I mean, really. Couldn’t the guy go easy on me yesterday, being my first visit with him and all? I’m slightly concerned about what it would be like to see him twice once a week month. It hurts to walk, to climb stairs (and go down them), to sit down, to stand up, to lift my coffee cup. Surprisingly, blinking and typing don’t bother me. So, I guess that’s something.

But, I’m supposed to keep on keepin’ on. I plan to do some cardio today after work. If I can walk, that is. Yesterday, on our way out of the gym, my legs continuously gave out on me as we were going down the (many) stairs. I haven’t had that problem so far today, so maybe I’m improving and won’t want to kill myself (or actually kill myself by falling down said stairs) after I leave the gym today. Sigh. This is all worth it, right?

As long as I avoid my Nazi PT like the plague, I think I’ll get out alive.

No pain, no gain (aka I hate the gym)

So, my husband and I joined a gym this week. It's been on my "To do" list for about... 10 years, but, you know how it is.  I can always find other things to do with my time and money. Buy a purse or go to the gym? Sit on my ass and watch Mad Men or exercise? Hello?

I admit, I've been lucky most of my life, being thin with little effort. Of course, it had to do with a bad stomach, but still. Needless to say, I didn't exercise. In college, I lived right across the street from the newly built gym. The only time I visited that beautiful gym was to buy delicious smoothies at their juice bar. My roommates were all physically fit. And I'd sit on the couch and watch them exercise to videos all while telling them to lift their legs higher. I mean, if you're going to do it, DO it (I'm quite certain it took every ounce of self-restraint on their part not to punch me in the throat - thanks, guys).

After college, my stomach improved and I gained a lot of weight... FAST. I went up 5 dress sizes in a year. It was, um, humbling. I certainly deserved it after telling my roommates to exercise harder when I wasn't exercising at all. On one hand, it was good to be eating again, but on the other, maybe I was eating a little too much. And probably not the good stuff. And... I grudgingly accepted I should exercise.

So, my sister, sister-in-law, and I joined a gym. I didn't like it much. You know, it requires actual whining work on my behalf. Eff that. But, my SIL, the athletic jerk that she is (kidding, SIL! Love you!) was quite the gym pro. She taught me how to use the machines, forced me to do one more sit up, even when I told her I was going to throw up on her. It was good for me (the exercise, not the throwing up).

Eventually, the weight came off and I happily gave up the exercising. After we had our first son, I walked every day. Until it got cold. And then I did nothing. I went right back to sitting on my ass and watching TV (what can I say? It's who I am.). And, when it was nice outside, I would, again, walk.

I'm a fair weather walker.

Now that I'm getting older, and my metabolism doesn't work as well, and I'm eating more... it's time to get back into a routine. Since I had already improved my eating habits, I knew it was only a matter of time before I had to admit I needed the exercise. And my husband has been saying for years he needs to get back in shape, so... here we are.

Today was our first meeting with the personal trainer. I had never been to one before. I had had my Nazi SIL, I certainly didn't need another person yelling at me to do "3 more... 2 more... 5 more" bench presses. The guy had us each get on a scale to weigh ourselves and, later, hold up some weird gadget (looked like a PSP) to measure our body fat. While my weight may be lowish, my body fat was above average. I suppose eating ice cream after every meal will do that to you. So, fine. I need to work out. The husband's weight was higher than mine, but his body fat was lower (WTF? He eats fried foods! I haven't eaten fried foods in years!). Anyway, we were told we both have work to do and were sent off to work with our individual trainers.

My guy was nice. He explained the importance of incorporating weight training with my cardio (I've heard this schpeal before, but fine, I'll play along). After 15 minutes on the treadmill, I met up with him to work on core and legs. We did some sort of squat/lunge exercise, 3 rounds, 10 reps each, each leg (ow ow ow ow ow). Then we did some other exercise in which I got to kick at him (which was fun since he had already hurt me - now I remembered why I stopped going to a gym). We did 2 other leg exercises (why is my left leg stronger than my right?), 2 core exercises and then he abandoned me to meet his 10:00 appointment. Was I done? I felt like I was ripped off. I was already hurting, so I was happy to be done, but really? If I'm going to do this, let's DO this.

But that's where they get you. After my husband finished his fake workout (seriously, I only saw him doing stretches), we went back to the original person to discuss packages. Oh, I see. So, you can't help us during our "complimentary" session, we have to pay an extra $100+ a month to get the real help. This is the reason I hate gyms. Exercise is free. Why are we giving them our hard-earned money to do something we can do around the house? I carry around children! And baskets upon baskets of laundry! Up stairs!  Each week! That has to count for something!

Whatever. I may not pay for the trainer's help, but I've agreed to the exercise, so I'm in.

If I can walk again tomorrow. Seriously. Ow.

Team Jacob

So, I saw Eclipse over the weekend. I was really excited to see it. Even more excited to see it with all the tweens. Call me crazy, but I read what it was like opening night and you can't help but get excited when everyone else is excited. So, instead of waiting for the movie to come out on video, I dragged asked my husband (he liked it, btw) to a Friday night showing.

We got to the theatre about an hour before showtime early. I figured the place would be packed, so I wanted to make sure we got a good seat. There were about 7 people in the theatre when we walked in. Um, were we in the right theatre? Where were the screaming girls? Where were the Team Edward/Team Jacob gang wars?

What a letdown.

The pre-movie trivia hadn't even started up yet, so we were forced to talk to each other. I decided to school him all things Twilight. He'd already been forced to watch Twilight and New Moon, so I think he was secretly interested to see how the story progresses. Of course, if you read the books (which he didn't), you'd know the movies suck (which he didn't). But, if you look at the movies for what they are (which he did), they were fine (which they were). Well, except for New Moon. That was a CGI train wreck.

Anyway, the theatre started to fill up. Tweens and TwiMoms entered, filling up all the available space. There were a few good sport men (like my husband) out there, which he was quick to point out. We had a pretty good time, people watching for the HOUR (seriously, it felt like 2 hours) we waited for the movie to start. Women in their Twilight t-shirts (a few of those t-shirts were pretty cute) sitting in groups of 10. It would've been fun to go with my girlfriends, but very few of them read these books, which I just don't understand. Yes, the books are considered Young Adult, and, yes, they are 1,000 pages long (each) and no, she's not that good a writer, and, yes, some parts of the books were highly irritating to read.  But she is a great story-teller. I think you remember my family didn't see me for the week I read all 4 books?

At one point during the wait, a tween yelled out, "When I say, 'Team', you say, 'Edward'".  That was about as close to crazy as the crowd got. So disappointing.

But, the movie itself was better than the last. I may be "Team Edward" in the books, but I am "Team Jacob" all the way in the movies. That Taylor can take off his shirt for me any time (even if they are fake abs). I am happy to hear that he's legal now. It's a lot less creepy to think he's cute when I won't end up in jail for thinking so.

Now I have to get back to my Sookie Stackhouse series.

A dream is a free trip to the movies

So, I, like everyone, dream every night. I, unlike everyone, remember my dreams every night. And sometimes, like last night, I have pretty hilarious dreams.

Actually, I think they were 2 separate dreams. In one, I was BFFs with the guy from Royal Pains. I did see him on the cover of a magazine yesterday, so that might explain why I'd dream about him.

But the second? I was BFFs with Janet "Ms. Jackson if you're nasty" Jackson. I have no idea where this one came from, but man, it was fun. We were hanging out with our husbands (I guess she was married in my dream) for dinner. Then we heard that El DeBarge (really?) was playing at some local bar, so we wanted to see him perform. (By the way, did you know El was recently released from prison and has a new album coming out? Well, apparently, my subconscious had heard that.)

Aaaaanyway, we went to this bar to see him and he, for whatever reason, picked us to dance with while he sang. hee! I, for whatever reason, left my shoes at the bar. So, after dancing with El, Janet and I walked up and down the streets, trying to find fancy dancin' shoes. We went into every store to find me some sparkly shoes. I was hoping Janet would pay for them, or, at least, use her fame to get the shoes for free. I mean, why else would I be friends with her?? Sheesh.

In the end? We found one sparkly shoe that a) matched my outfit and b) fit (I'm like Cinderella!). So, what did we do? We ran! Janet Jackson is a shoplifter in my dream!

What was I going to do with one shoe anyway?!