Special Edition: This Week's Dork Moments
- Delayed Prank
Last night, I was in the basement making a wreath with grapevine, fragrant eucalyptus, and various dried flowers and seed pods. I was having a lovely time doing the artsy stuff I love, "purposely" burning myself as I held glued stems together, and watching my new Michael Buble concert DVD (that guy is a riot) with Dad and the girls. At once point, I dropped a small stamp onto the floor and it promptly rolled under the couch. I nonchalantly bent over to reach under and pick it up. I felt something smallish and hard, grabbed it, and pulled it out--only to scream and drop it, once I realized I was holding a snake's head. It was fake, but the effect was pretty real. Apparently, at one point Dad had gotten this thing to use as a prank on the kids in the pool at a party Bridge was having. It didn't work too well because a guy who loves snakes was the first to see it, and he was just intrigued before he realized it was fake. However, Bridget saw a mouse in the basement a while ago and someone thought to put the snake under the couch as a mouse deterrent. That's where the clueless collegiate comes in the picture and Tada!-- a very laughable dork moment.
- Hello? This is Your Wake Up Call
Last Friday, I was at work and tried to call home about something, only to realize that my phone wouldn't register the call. It kept repeating in some lady's monotone voice something about my number. I really wish that warnings, computer error pop-ups, and phone malfunctioning notifications used normal English. I don't think 95% of the people who look at or hear those little cautionary memos every day understand half of what they're being told. Instead it should say something like, "You computer has a problem. You won't understand the technical lingo, but here's the ' . . . for Dummies' version of how to fix it." Anyways, when Bo saw me that evening, she expressed her chagrin that we were not able to meet up to work out that day. I told her I tried to call her but my phone wouldn't work. Strangely enough, the same happened to her! We both expressed our frustration at being disconnected from our long-distance lifeline on a holiday weekend. Well, Christmas morning we both opened fun new flip-phones. Dork moment. Mom was so pleased that she pulled one over on us--that's hard to do. Thanks Mom! :) WARNING: Kelly now has a camera phone and it will be used. You've officially been warned; now you can't complain that I didn't warn you before taking random pictures.
For me, purchasing a month long subscription at a gym is like signing a contract that requires me to perform public acts of humility and mortification on a regular basis for several weeks. But, since this is supposed to be a "repair" (as opposed to a "break"), I figured I'd work on my health too. Anyways, if it's true that "it's not who you are underneath, but what you do that defines you," than I had better get working on the whole "I'm a health conscious person that likes to be in shape" activation thing. Erin is my dedicated, self-appointed trainer--there to make sure that I don't hurt myself by lifting weights wrong or something and there to ensure that I don't cheat. She rocks. Anyhow, so I walk into the gym, get changed, and first thing we hit the treadmill. I can do treadmills. I like them: they don't let me slow down as long as I resist the urge to press little buttons, they tell me that I'm loosing calories with every few steps I jog, and running is kinda, um, basic. But then Erin has me hit the mats. These are big foam slabs covering a floor in a main hallway thing. We walk to the middle of the mat and I sneak a furtive glance at the guy doing push-ups with his hand on a ball and his feet propped up on another. His arms are as thick as my waist. On our other side is a girl stretching like she's trying out to be a contortionist. So I get down on the mat between Hunk and Slinky and try my best to look like I fit in. Erin has a wonderful confidence in me that helps. Like she believes (or pretends really well) that I can do her whole non-stop 8-minute abs program. My program is punctuated with a few more of those deep breathing breaks that take up about half the time in old-people's exercise videos. Speaking of, it's wonderful to do ten minutes of stair-steppers next to a guy who is going twice as fast and hard and looks like he's twice my dad's age. Refusing to look at Hunk, my 5-12 lbs. weights suit me just fine too. It's almost as snazy as half-drowning in the deep end of the lanes while Erin tries to teach me to float and tread water. I can swim; I just can't stay there in one place. Maybe it added some joy to that lifeguard's afternoon. Anyhow, in case I killed anyone's inspiration to go and work out, I must tell you, it's working. I feel great. I sleep really well at night. And now that I know what I'm doing, I don't feel like a total dork every moment I step into the gym (except for those leg lifts that look like a dog . . . never mind.) And if you've actually sat in a computer chair long enough to read all of this ridiculousness, you should probably go and work out too. That way I won't scare you when I come back all big and buff and ready for the DR or a hike to the top of Signal Knob or a really good game of Ultimate . . . you never know--miracles happen. ; )