Sunday, May 31, 2009

Sitting on a Park Bench

"Sitting on a park bench..."


Base line.
Ba da da da DAH da.

I hate that song.
Always have.
There was a boy next door who used to play it in his garage.
Every day.
Like it was the only song he knew.
Which it probably was.

Recently, one of my co-workers can't seem to get it out of her head.

A few months ago she asked me to help her find the lyrics (she's learning, but still a bit technically challenged). We retrieved the lyrics, and she then added them to her arsenal of one-liners that she belts out every now and then. Silly enough, but we periodically burst into song throughout the day. We're nothing like Snow White--more like the seven dwarves, Grumpy and Sneezy. Generally we sing 70's R & B and cheesy listening, Prince, doo-wop, Ramones, whatever, and now....Aqualung.

I'm a long way out of the office now.
Gone on another jaunt to improve the technical skill of what I do.
Far enough away to get that dreaded song out of my head.

I'm completing a course I started in February of this year.
2 weeks of in class coursework, 2 months of application and homework, 1 month of application and study. And, now for the final summation and education, followed, hopefully, by graduation and certification.
In February, when I attended the initial part of this course, I spent two weeks sitting.
I gained back fat and a level of decreased fitness which took a month to recover from.

This time around, on the first day, I took a walk during the break and found a bench to sit on for lunch. It was set back from the street, in a grassy little copse.
It was worn and warped and solitary.
A perfect back drop for tricep dips, modified push ups, planks, and various poses for abdominal strengthening.

I am such an exercise-geek.
Sitting on a park bench...
Now, I can't get it out of my mind.

Thursday, May 28, 2009

My Stylist

My stylist cut off over half a foot of my hair--just before he left for DC.

I told him to cut off 5 inches, then said, "No, better make that 4 inches just to make room for any mistakes."

What I really meant, was "Please cut off the damaged, dry straw at the end, but leave the good stuff.

Unfortunately, I didn't say so.

Then I pointed to some obscure place on my back--which was pretty silly on my part, since I don't have eyes in the back of my head.

So Mark, given those excellent instructions, went to work.

I figured cutting the ends of my hair would be a cinch--since by the time you get to the bottom of what I have, it's pretty thinned out and there isn't much down there.

So, after a few minutes, I got a bit impatient and said, "Aren't you done yet?"

I should have known something was up when he said, "Well, no, there's a lot of hair."

I'm not really that particular. I'd actually toyed with the idea of just clipping off the end of my braid. No matter where I go to get my hair cut, it always looks a mess, so I figured I'd just have Mark lop off the ends and be done with it.

Well, lop he did.

It took him a significant amount of time, mostly because he wanted to make sure that he did a good job, but also because he was square in the midst of the thickest part of my flowing locks--and there was a lot of hair.

When he was done and I turned around, I had to suppress my reaction at all the hair that was no longer on my head. It looked like yards, and ropes, and hanks were littered across the bathroom floor.

When we measured a random hank, it was 7 inches long.

I guess I should have known better--asking a man who seeks baldness as hairstyle.

Fortunately, hair is a renewable resource.

Better yet, I love my new hair cut.

Sunday, May 24, 2009

DC Reiteration

Mark is running around getting ready for Washington DC, packing and pensive about leaving for the summer.

In the past 4 days, he's been catching up on everything he's set aside for the past several months, trying to make up for being a distracted, busy student, and get the house, cars, and us in order.

He wants to make everything the best that he possibly can.
So much so that he is focused and distracted.
So much so, that he is in danger of letting the perfect get in the way of the good.

Part of his "I'm going to fix everything before I go away for the summer" mode is being fiercely independent--wanting to take the load on his shoulders, since I've been doing most of it while he's been squirreled away with his books.

When he packs his bike, I ask him if he would like the bubble wrap and scissors.
What I get is an explosive, "NO!"
"Well, yeah...I guess I could use some..."

Then I ask, "Do you want something to eat?"
And there it is again, "NO!"
"Umm, I guess I'm kind of hungry..."

Finally, we simultaneously giggle at the explosiveness of Mark's "No!'s" and at the same time, Mark says, "I guess I'm being oppositional."

The rest of the day is spent with Mark saying, No, no, I really mean it. No, I'm not just being oppositional. And me just ignoring what he says anyway (which would make anybody oppositional)....

When all is said and done, Mark has a personal bag (stuffed), a carry on bag (stuffed, books, heavy), a large wheeled duffel (stuffed), and a bike box (awkward). What a load.

Of course, I get irritated and ask him why he couldn't have packed everything during the week, while I was at work, so he could sweep me off my feet on the last day we had together--but that's what Hollywood movies will do for you--give you unrealistic expectations of relationships and romance. Neither of us expected the swamp cooler to take a dive the day before, the modem to go belly up, or for Mark to spend a good amount of time in front of the computer trying to get the darn thing back on it's feet...

And, who doesn't pack up until the last minute?

My favorite example is when I flew from Hawaii to California, just so I could join my sister for a turn-around flight going back over Hawaii to Japan, where we were going to travel for almost a month. Since I only had one day in the Bay Area, I asked her to get her packing done before I got there, so we could go out and play.


When I got there, she had a giant pile of maybe's, that she hadn't sorted out yet. Somehow the decisions and packing were so difficult that she (we) were up most of the night making it happen. I had flown 2500 miles and 5 hours out of my way to join her for an all-nighter of packing--just so I could turn around the next day and almost immediately get on a flight back across the Pacific.
Not fun, and I was fried by the time we got on the flight to Japan.
But that's life.
And that's family.
And that's packing!

Airport security didn't like Mark's carry-on, and removed all of it's contents, and proceeded to send each individual item through the X-ray.
As Mark says, "So much for early check-in."
But that's life.
And that's travel.

He should be in DC by the end of the day, but he won't be done yet.
The weather report shows it's raining there and he plans on hoofing it across town on the Metro with all of his bags.
Last year, his bike got stuck in the Metro door.

I'm guessing there could be more to this story...