Today I risked driving in the apocalyptic floods that have descended upon Atlanta, so that I could go to the doctor’s office for my annual physical.

I’m generally pretty healthy. I haven’t been sick, am not in pain, and am pretty sure my blood sugar and cholesterol levels are fine. Mostly, I go to the doctor so they can prescribe me nasal spray and pills that I can use year round to keep myself hopped up on allergy meds. This helps to keep me functional and happy instead of puffy-faced, sneezing, and absolutely miserable (I used to get sent home from school, my allergies affected me so badly).

I don’t mind going to the doctor’s office in general. It’s just something you have to do. I DO mind going to my general physician, because he is a very attractive man.

And that’s why today I walked out with a flu shot I didn’t really want and NO ALLERGY PRESCRIPTION.

See, for some reason, all logical thoughts flew out of my head when he walked in and asked after my health. Sure, we talked about the pitiful size of the Maryland blue crabs the past few years, the pros and cons of getting the flu shot, the upcomingi H1N1 shot, and what foods it’s okay to eat when flying overseas, but did we address my desire to have another scrip for Allegra or Flonase? No. Did he ask? ….possibly. Did I forget entirely to stress that I require allergy medicines? Yes.

And sure, even though the flu shot seems to be covered under my insurance, does that mean I needed it? No. Have I ever gotten one? No, and I’ve (knock on wood) been fine so far. Sure, I have my requisite bad cold once or twice a year, but I’ve never felt it necessary to get a flu shot.

Yet somehow as the doctor and I chatted, I forgot the reason why I visit the stupid office anyway, forgot that my allergies ever bother me, and started thinking that it was a great idea to get a free shot.

I only realized this after I’d left, holding my throbbing right arm. They’d taken blood from and given me the flu shot in the same one (of course it doesn’t help that when people ask, does it hurt? I think a second, windmill my arm around a few times, and then decide that it does).

Everyone’s telling me that I should just call them and say, oh yeah! Could I just get the doctor to sign over a scrip to the pharmacy so they’ll refill the allergy stuff?

And I say, sure! I could do that. Great idea.

And when they ask me why I was dumb enough to forget while I was there, I’ll say that I was too busy thinking about the lovely children that the doctor and I would have rather than keeping my mind on the task at hand.

Things that have happened lately:

• Bowling on Saturday.  The guys show up and put their names down on a list for a lane, but for some reason a party or something calls and asks for a reservation that day. They give it to them instead of us. To make up for this, the man with the shakes gives us a bunch of free passes for games of bowling, then calls the other alleys to see if they can accommodate us.  We drive from Annapolis to Odenton instead, and bowl for the afternoon happily.
• Watchmen, on Saturday. My complaints about the movie are that the amount of blue genitalia is unnecessary, the soundtrack is sometimes jarring, and I still have issues with the story.  I can understand it, though. Without spoiling too much, I can say that I mostly liked what they did with the ending, really enjoyed the opening credits montage, and thought the action worked well with what was in the comic.  I’ll probably see it again soon.
• Instead of waiting for one hour and forty-five minutes to eat around ten o’clock in the evening, the boy and I drive to Jesse Wong’s Hong Kong. We eat basically the same food for less money.  A jazz duo plays in the corner, and there’s (electric) flickering candlelight. It is an ideal evening.
• My fractured rib impedes most strenuous movement.  It hurts to sleep on my back, left side, and stomach, so lately I’ve been sleeping either on my left side or with a bundle of pillows and blankets under my right, pillows which prop me up and keep me slanted on my left side anyway. Sitting hurts, breathing hurts, and exercising hurts. The fracture, however, does explain why I’m still snotty even though I don’t have that cold anymore, and why it’s tender to the touch and hasn’t gone away.
• It doesn’t stop me from going to step with a new teacher, a bulky guy with skinny legs, who barks out step commands like we’re in boot camp. I can’t do most of the things with my usual gusto, but it’s tiring anyway. Not sure I like him much–he’s cocky, the crowd that comes to class is a bit cold, and the sheer amount of benches (all of them) are overwhelming and probably violate the fire code regulations for room capacity. With only one door?
• Stood in line today at unemployment. Again. For the second time in a year. This time, the amount of people is triple or quadruple the amount that were present twelve months ago. It’s simply a sad reflection of the state of things, and the people run the gamut–young professionals who are out of work, mothers who are out of work, people over thirty out of work, people with green cards who are out of work. Everybody. Men, women, and from every walk of life and ethnicity.  Well, anyway, I hope things start going better soon, or I’ll have to move. Yay.
• Lots more movies this weekend, movies I thoroughly enjoyed. Two Simon Pegg films (Run, Fatboy, Run and How to Lose Friends and Alienate People), and Australia, with Nicole Kidman and Hugh Jackman.  The first two were pleasantly mediocre but enjoyable–fluff, really.  Australia was far too long and a bit too epic without pulling it off, if that made sense.  The story was supposed to be sweeping and grandiose, but I couldn’t relate to it.  The characters were too shallow, the bits of the story fragmented. The soundtrack didn’t seem to fit.  All in all, they probably spent too much money on this nearly three hour movie. Oh well. I’ll still probably see other Baz Luhrmann films anyway.

That was the weekend, and the last week in a nutshell. In other random and pointless news, the photo project seems to be going all right. It motivates me to go places, at least, so that I’ll have interesting subjects to photograph (or at least interesting landscapes to document).

I’m addicted to Twitter, Dexter, and need to find a job.  Really, that’s it. For now, goodnight!

News:

• New Year’s is kind of a bust. I am sick that day, and sick for the next three or so days after that. That night, however, we go to that club. It’s smoky and alluring inside–it has the potential to be quite a beautiful and sexy place–but it’s also a deathtrap. Had there been a fire, we would have all died. About an hour in, tired of standing our ground and being shoved, mashed, pushed, and elbowed into our little corner, we leave. Well, meaning we get in line for coats. Thirty minutes after that, we stumble out into the cool night. The New Year has come and gone, and now everyone is just tired and ready for bed.
• I get to the clinic on Friday after leaving work. I wait and wait, and they find that I am in picture perfect health. Absolutely nothing wrong with me, physically. They give me anti-nausea medication anyway to deal with choking down food so that I won’t have to go to the hospital and be fed intravenously, but the medication knocks me out. I only take it twice before feeling better, the stress of the last few months gone after a good 36 hours of sleep. Because that’s what it is, stress, rendering me unable to eat, drink, or enjoy myself.
• On the plus side, judging from the X-ray of my empty insides (completely empty, the nurse who took the images said, rather shocked. Makes sense, I told him, since I hadn’t eaten since Monday), my spine is perfectly straight and all my ribs are in order!
• I also cut my hair. The stylist, whom I’ve seen around Decatur in Starbucks or Subway once in a while, looks at my long hair and says, I suppose we’re not taking off much length today?  I tell her that on the contrary, we are. Ten and a half inches, to be exact, and now my hair is dark and shiny again. I haven’t seen it this healthy since well before my first day of ninth grade, when I’d dyed it a reddish brown. Since then it has been varying degrees of red, brown, and black, but never its original color (and so healthy!). 
• Saturday we see The Curious Case of Benjamin Button. It’s long, pretty, and meandering. We walk through Atlantic Station in the rain, ducking underneath scaffolding attached to the outside of the buildings like exposed skeletons.
• Tomorrow we are seeing Cirque du Soleil at Atlantic Station. We have nosebleed tickets and appear to be seated behind a pole or thereabouts, but I am excited nonetheless.

I suppose I should make some kind of list recapping the year, or trying to remember great moments or something. Maybe a New Year’s resolutions list or something. Well, next entry. Right now I’m at work, trying to keep my cool and not stress out about things (although I can feel my stomach slowly churning at the thought of having this one project left to finish by the end of this week). I do have some goals for this coming year, though, so don’t worry. I’ll put something up. And my reading list, which I neglected in December.

Kind of a mediocre weekend so far. Haven’t done anything much except work and sit at home. I planned a little bit, but upon discovering on Friday that I had to be in for the majority of each day this weekend, all of my potential plans kind of fell through.

I also have been a little ill, and on Friday night went to a clinic where I dropped $70 on getting better. Exam, meds, and all, and while I suppose I should be grateful it wasn’t more than that, mostly I’m irked that it costs so much to stay healthy. And the doctor even scolded me for being one of those people who hates going in, until the illness is so bad your arm has begun to rot off (no, my arm is not rotting off. It’s fine).

Read the rest of this entry »»

I think I keep listening to people I shouldn’t be listening to. But how can you tell?

Also, I really need to go to the doctor. Is it bad that I almost refuse to because I think my primary physician is sexy, so the thought of him seeing me in my underwear while having certain, um, issues, makes me want to simply try home remedies first? I even canceled an appointment today because I realized that instead of wearing proper panties, I am wearing the super-cute-but-possibly-babyish underwear that is printed with cartoony hearts.

What? They are my Friday-feel-good panties. Although today they do not seem to be working very well.

The day started rather clumsily; I’d had a dream where I’d been shot through the left hand. My alarm jarred me out of sleep and I stumbled from one part of the day to the next. Hitting things, tripping, and forgetting basic necessities (decent shoes), I struggled into work. My co-worker had beaten me again, arriving earlier than last time. I guess that means I’ll just have to get up and go earlier tomorrow then, to beat him.

And then I tried a new flavor of tea. I forget the brand (not important), but it was green tea. It didn’t give me the requisite caffeine boost I was looking for, and so I swayed some at my desk, pretended to work, but really relied on an obliging friend to keep me awake with interesting conversation until the end of the day.
As my boss was leaving, she muttered something. I muttered back, “Do you think it’d be all right if I went to class today? I mean we have so much to do…”

She waved me off. “Just go,” she said. “You’ll be much happier if you go.”

“Am I that transparent?” I said. I grinned despite my embarrassment. For a couple weeks now I’ve been pushing to get back to these classes; when I haven’t been able to go I have been disgruntled and generally unhappy the rest of the evening.

“No,” she said. “I’m just observant.”

Well, that put me in my place. I suppose I haven’t exactly been quiet about my devotion and love for the gym. Surely bordering on fanatic, she’s gotten me to say something about it every day. Now that means I will have to work on it, and from this point forward be extra productive and happy in the office.

Now that I have my way, life is just that much better.

I have some moderate plans for my birthday so far. It’s in two weeks. The boy’s is in a week. I’m fairly certain I will be going home, but I haven’t gotten tickets yet. I thinks o far all that’s planned is tagging along with a bunch of other friends to Park, a club in DC. This’ll be the first birthday “on my own” (and how ironic is it that I’ll be flying back to my home state to celebrate it then?).

(Also ironic is the fact that the person that I’ve basically spent the last five or six birthdays with is the same person I’ve always spent them with, only now there’s a deeper connection? Fate?).

Here’s to the rest of the week being a good one, and making deadline!

Dear Screamer,

While I realize how wonderful it is that you can bench press 405 lbs three times in succession, I would like to request that you keep your inappropriate grunting and orgasm-like moans to yourself. I find that this noise and spectacle make it difficult for me to maintain proper form and balance during my own exercises, less than ten feet away.

This is not stated in the rules anywhere, and I know you do indeed derive great pleasure from the pulsating veins in your temples, the solid metallic bar between your hands, and the ripping sensation your pectoral muscles undergo when your lackey heaves the weight up off the supports for you. And I know it must be heavenly, the way that same metal bar bounces off your heaving chest, back into the air with so little effort at all, only to rest once more when you realize you cannot feel your arms anymore because you’re just that awesome.

For the rest of us meager beings who lay out on a flat bench, do our reps slowly, and sweat just as much but vocally express so little, I know that we must seem amateur. I apologize on behalf of the rest of the gym for giggling when we saw your terrible and bloated face sprinkling drops of sweat onto the floor when you squeezed into that strange rubber half-shirt you have. I am sure it serves some purpose. And I apologize for rolling my eyes when you continued to grunt, scream, and moan, for I realize it is terribly difficult lifting that amount of weight. I too, overcompensate for my physical and emotional shortcomings by impressing others with my female biceps, my massive 10-rep, 3-set regimen with my 5 lbs weights. I understand completely. I suppose I simply lack the courage it takes to let my hair come undone from its ponytail, to let the sweat that forms on my brow roll down and shower the floor for other people to slip in, to express my deep satisfaction with a long, sultry oooooohhhhhh yes! Yes! Yes!

But for now, I hope you understand. I would not want to interfere with the burgeoning of a Hulk-like creature, the one you are certainly striving to become.

Thank you very much.

Sincerely,

Katherine

PS: I was walking behind you today and noticed that the gym smelled of spearmint BreathSavers. This instantly brought me back to my freshman year in college, when I was attempting to befriend Dunbar, another gym rat of less status than you, and wooed him with continual offerings of these delectable mints.

For a moment I felt happy, like I was much younger and just beginning on my own path of fitness, or back in Intro to Biology when I hand them over after he punched me for one.

And then I realized it was your pungent Icy/Hot or Arnica gel. And that you had rubbed it all over your body, but not all the way. It was streaked across your shoulders like sunscreen, although we were indoors. The smell became so strong my eyes watered.

Perhaps next time you may be so kind as to use an ice pack for your aching muscles? Or a Vicodin? I’m sure you will understand.

Well, that was certainly an amazing pair of lost weekends.

You know, the kind where all the day sort of blur together into a long reel of moments. Long days, and pleasant nights.

PS: I have a clean bill of health on all counts. And apparently the rigorous cardio regimen I’ve been following since I got to Atlanta has worked. Along with the better diet, staying away from cereal, and blah blah blah. Whatever. The cardio is still awesome. And so is being healthy!

I always forget that after working out I feel so balanced again, even after a long hiatus. “Long” of course, being considered exactly seven days without much in the way of physical activity quite like what I’m used to at the gym (high intensity). And for some people, I know, that isn’t long at all. Maybe I’m lucky in that way then, that I have the self-motivation to go day after day, week after week, and so on regularly (which has been so for the last three or four years, in fact).

Well, the reason for the hiatus was a planned trip home starting on Thursday night, which also happened to be my last day of work downtown. The goodbye from there actually made me sad, but not for all of the employees. Mostly just for Bruce and then Carol, the owner. I’d gone into her office to politely say goodbye and good luck, and she’d surprised me with a hug and abundant thanks for everything I did (which, if you’re one of the people who talk to me during the day, you’ll know otherwise…). And she looked so defeated. Some coworkers and I had discussed this the week before, but she hasn’t been dressing with the same flair she used to. Now instead of a diva she simply looks like a well-dressed woman puttering about her office. Hair mussed. Shoulders slumped forward. She smiled, but not with her whole face, just with her mouth. And in that moment that I finally dragged my suitcase out to the elevators, I felt very sad for her.

Same with saying goodbye to Bruce, for although he is exactly like most of the men in my family when it comes to goodbyes (casual, with a let’s-not-get-too-sentimental gruffness), he had given me the Fu dogs off his desk, and said that he’d be in contact with me on Friday for insurance purposes. Nothing very affectionate in the way of a farewell, but he made sure I had his cell phone memorized before I went and actually smiled on the way out. I will miss him.

Well, there  are certainly possibilities on the horizon, and for that I’m excited.  It was also a very good weekend in general, even though I didn’t quite have my fill of Maryland crabs (I think there is something wrong with me. I can’t stop craving them). I also saw Indiana Jones, and I had a snotty, bitchy rant ready for you but for now the motivation to rag on the movie has left me.

There are interesting stories to tell, but right now I’m preparing myself for tomorrow. Two consultations and something else. !!! Nervous. Until then…

One of my pet peeves is when women obsess over dieting and their weight and what they look like, when you could snap their wrists in half with two fingers.

Yes, I am guilty of the same thing sometimes, but then again at the moment while I am working out rigorously, it is more in the spirit of strength training and enjoying myself in class than it is to lose weight. And you know what? I really enjoy my food. A lot.

And on another note, it also bothers me when women who like to go out and drink, or like to have a couple beers every night wonder why they can’t lose weight. Um… if you’ve never looked at the calories on a beer bottle, they’re astronomical when you think about what you’re actually ingesting. Drink a glass of fucking water (no calories and it hydrates you!!!!!), or juice.

Stop bingeing on weekends and go exercise.  Stop fucking complaining that you don’t feel like going because class is too early. If you want to see your body change, then eat appropriately for your age and metabolism, eat well, and go to the fucking gym. If it’s too hard and you quit, then be prepared to love your body for the fat it puts on. Or in that case cut back your caloric intake slowly so you adjust properly. Good God. Just stop complaining that nothing ever changes because you don’t want to put in effort. It’s a life habit you’ll be developing, and one that will probably keep you alive a lot longer.

Really.

End rant.