Don't You Hate It When: Stalling Out

Don’t you hate it when you are out of town and you stop at a
local home improvement store just to check and see if possibly they carry
anything different from your local home improvement store so you run inside for
a quick inventory scan/time kill, and as you go up and down some aisles you
think you notice a few different things (as if you have the entire inventory
back home memorized) and before you know it you are walking down the shower
stall aisle and you remember that once upon a time you had thought about
putting in a walk-in shower but it had been a year or two since you had checked
them out so you start looking carefully and trying to picture how it would all
look in your bathroom and all the sudden you come upon a snazzy looking corner
shower with a rounded wall and a rounded sliding glass door and you start
thinking about how much space that would save you and you start picturing the
shelves you could build to hold towels, like a spa, and you start to get
visions from every HGTV show you have ever seen on bathroom makeovers and you
just know you have found the missing link to making your ugly bathroom  a place where guest will want to come over
and just hang out so you check the price and it is on sale and suddenly the endorphins
start flowing and your check card is starting to quiver and every thought of
your current shower reminds you how hideously ugly it is and you wonder why you
hadn’t thought about it more so the more you look at this new shower the more
you have to have it but the only thing you worry about is whether or not you
will fit into it so you try to mentally teleport yourself into it but you know
that there is nothing like the real thing so you check it out and the handle
for the door is all the way to the back of the display and beside the display
is a large crate, so your squeeze your arm between the crate and the rounded
wall/door and all the way to the back you are able to grasp the handle and
slide the door forward and open it and without much hesitation you climb inside
and feel really tall and wide so you pull the rounded door back around so that
you are enclosed in rounded glass and fiberglass and you move around a bit and
cautiously go through some shower motions to make sure your elbows won’t hit
anything and even though you are doing ok you somehow have a feeling that this
space saving shower might just be lacking in space and that if you were to go straight
out “full shower” you might break something so you try to start convincing
yourself that maybe it is not such a good idea and if you did build that shelf
for your towels that you would need to buy some new fancy ones as yours have an
occasional hole in them or a stain from cleaning up a kitchen disaster or last
minute car scrub and towels aren’t cheap, at least not the fancy kind, and if
you did all this the vanity was going to look dated and the whole room was
probably going to need a new coat of paint and before you know it that shower
stall is not so appealing so you try to regain focus and when you do you see
people are walking nearby so you decide to get out of the shower before someone
notices you and for some reason that curved door will not open so you slide it
back and start over but it snags again and you feel the panic start to set in
mixed with a huge desire to go to the bathroom so you push and pull on that
stupid curved door wondering who in their right minds would ever want a tiny space
saving shower with a curved door and before you know it, you feel eyes on you
and you look up and there is a little Asian lady, about 150 years old, just
standing there staring at you with her purse dangling from her arm so you ask
her to get some help but she just stares at you as if you were a rare species
at the local zoo being featured that month and before long you have to accept
the fact that she doesn’t speak English but before you write her off and yell
over her head she holds up one finger, the international sign for “hold on just
a second”, gets her phone out of her purse,  snaps a picture of you, checks said picture, and
then walks off shaking her head and utters what sounds a bit like “Thomas” you
are pretty sure she said something insulting so you give the door a couple of
potentially harmful tugs and bam, the door pops of its track and wedges between
the curved shower wall and the giant crate beside it and the reality that you
are completely stuck settles in so you start softly calling for help and slowly
turn up the volume as the pressure from claustrophobia and pressure from your
bladder start to compete for your attention and finally a kid straight from
high school algebra class, but in uniform, walks up, looks at you, says “sorry
but this isn’t my department soo….uh, I think the guy that works in this
department may be on break soo…” so you let him know that absolutely anybody
will do and he leaves and comes back with the oldest living female to currently
be working in a home improvement store in the Continental US weighing in at
just under 100 pounds and she looks at you and tells you the story about how
she too once got stuck in the shower at home and had the door taken down and
put up a shower curtain (from The Wal-Marts) instead, and to this day refuses
to have anything but a shower curtain, and then she pulls out a phone, not to
take a picture but to beep a fellow employee to come help, who is apparently
The Flash when he was not at work because it takes him all of about two seconds
to appear and he quickly organizes himself and Jr. to push the crate a few
inches over so that he could then remove the door and get you out of there
while still maintaining his best training by asking you what you thought about
the corner shower and all you can think about is finding the nearest restroom
and the only thing you are sure of at that moment is that once you get inside
that restroom, no matter what, you are not about to go into a stall and as you
make your way to the restroom doing your best quick step you decide that your
bathroom at home is really not all that hideous after all? Yeah, I hate it when
that happens too.

Shoulder Balls

Ok, I did a really stupid thing two days ago for exercise
and since I only hurt yesterday and didn’t feel abnormally sore, I didn’t
stretch. This morning when I woke up, I couldn’t reach my feet to put my socks
on, no joke. It took me all morning to get my clothes on. I’ve been walking around
like I have a book on my head all day. Mostly, it is in my hamstrings (back of
my legs). I don’t want to be melodramatic or anything but I think the best way
to describe the leg pain is that it feels like I have a handful of ninja stars
embedded into the backs of my legs…yeah, ninja stars.



So what did I do? It’s actually to stupid to repeat….so here
I go. I noticed that a buddy of mine has really increased the size of his
shoulder muscles. He had those huge lumps on his back that I’ve always wanted
(I call it the “back rack). He had also increased the size of those big round
muscles that are on the outside edge of the shoulders. It looked like he had grapefruits
at the top of his arms. I call those “shoulder balls” and I've always wanted some. I noticed that he was
talking about a new fitness program that was really kicking him and it was some
kind of boxing thing at a new gym in town.



Well, I started thinking about it and I have never ever
considered anything like that at all but going into the holiday season already
15 lbs over my limit, I thought this might just be what the doctor ordered. I
went online to look it up and right there they offered a free pass for the day.
It was meant to be. I called and asked about classes and they had a lunch time
class so I signed up. I figured since a lot of people work out on their lunch
hour, I could go there and get lost in the crowd and see if this was something
I might be interested in. Now sometimes I surprise my things a the things I
figure out on my own and sometimes I surprise myself at the things I don’t
figure out on my own. For some reason, the fact that this new gym was named “UFC”
was totally lost on me. What did I think that stood for, “Ultimate Fun Club”? The
person on the phone there told me I would be attending a class called “kickboxing”
and that it was for all levels.



Well, I walked in the door and right up front  was an MMA cage…wait, what? Surrounding the
room were posters of MMA fighters. The exercise area was a big maze of hanging
punching bags. Oh my word…UFC…MMA…what was I thinking? I am so anti all of that
and here I was getting ready to “take a class”…whatever that meant.



A girl behind the counter asked me to come over to her and
hold my hands out in front of her. I did and she started wrapping my hands and
wrists. Hmmm…surely somebody would turn on some zumba music soon and a girl in
bright lycra would appear from somewhere…right? My hands were wrapped and she
said, “Here you go” and handed me some bright yellow boxing gloves, what? I
looked at them, back at her ,back at them and then my instructor walked up and
introduced himself.  He was a young guy that
informed me he was a top boxer and that his hands are legally registered as
weapons. I had nothing. I had a driver’s license, my car was  registered and could be used as a weapon and
I had an alarm button on my key fob but I was grasping. I felt like a girl…and
not in the pretty, curvy, fairer sex kind of way. Plus, what was I supposed to
do with those gloves? Why had the counter girl given them to me? Did she want
me to hand them to the instructor? Were they his?



I quickly informed the instructor that I was new and had
some old injuries,etc. Actually, I rambled for quite a while watching someone
else who was about to join the class putting on his gloves and I was trying to
mask the fact that I had no idea how on earth a person was supposed to put on
those Mickey Mouse gloves. I started to ask if he had any red boxing gloves as
my shoes had red on them but that little voice in the back of my head (the one
that tells you to shut up before you get killed) told me to hush. He comforted
me by letting me know he has quite a few old people like me in his class and
that I could move at my own pace. Wait, “old people like me”?….maybe I would
take a swing and blame it on being new; I had my car keys in my pocket.

Unfortunately, there were only two other people in my class.
Both were younger athletic guys who had been in the class for a couple of
months. Wow, no way I was going to blend in with the crowd or get lost in it.
Since it was my first class, I got one on one attention, the very thing I didn’t
want. Yep, the instructor stayed by my side the entire hour…hour.



We stared by doing things while traveling across the floor
that required some kind of hop. Well, I can’t hop, so I just looked like
someone with no rhythm. We did some warm ups and odd looking moves and then went
into throwing a few jabs and kicks. I can’t remember when the last time it was
that I kicked something, elementary school? When he told me it was time for me
to make some jabs, I was trying to think of something to criticize. He walked
us over to a mirror and we practiced jabbing which is the same thing a
punching, I think. I tried to channel my inner Rocky but all I could focus on
was my 15 lbs I was sporting like a front facing fanny pack in this overly
bright gym. I was shocked but had to look passed the jiggle and focus in my
Sylvester transformation, and in vision my future shoulder balls.



When I was about to call it quits, we started. OMG. I am not
sure what I was doing but I think I was copying the guy in front of me. We
punched the bag over and over and the trainer let me know that I didn’t have to
be so nice to the punching bag which I found to be a very polite way to say, “You
hit like a girl”. I used that insult to fuel the fire and keep on going. We
threw in some kicks which, I am sorry, I just was no good at. I have no skill
at standing on one leg at a time or raising my knee higher than my waist. There
were punches and kicks and my hip flexors were screaming but I just kept going
and chanting to myself, “Shoulder balls, shoulder balls”, I wasn’t about to
stop. We had to do this thing towards the end where we kicked the (body bag?)
with each leg once, then twice, and all the way up to five times and then work
our way back down again. I thought I was going to die. Oh to have been a
marionette. I was soaking wet! Then the instructor, who was still at my side,
announced we were going to do the same thing all over again but that we were
going to work our way all the way up to ten kicks and then back down again. Ug.
Remember, I was wobbly, and sweating and stumbling around like a drunk person
and I am pretty sure that those other two guys lost count. They were finished
when I was just getting ready to work my way down from ten. I guess I was
working at my own pace,right? I wasn’t worried about it until the instructor
told the other two guys to do jumping jacks and squats until I got finished.
Nothing like peer pressure, right? I could feel the heat from their glaring
eyes.



Finally we were finished (and by we I mean me) and we all
sat down…and the sit ups started. I have always heard that you aren’t supposed
to go all the way down and all the way back up again; it’s bad for the back.
Well, that’s what we were told to do and I wasn’t going to complain even though
I was sitting on indoor/outdoor carpet stretched over concrete and was pretty
sure I was about to experience something that would make a chiropractor cry. I
have no idea what these things were called but I am going to call them “tailbone
grinders”. Never, ever will I do those again. My tailbone still feels like it’s
broken.



During the entire event, the instructor was very supportive
telling me I was getting it and even that I was   improving. When it was over, he was explaining
how that everyone that is new is just like me and doesn’t know how to do
anything and looks like they don’t know what they are doing. I think I know
what he meant to say. I was just glad it was over. I had no idea how to get the
gloves or the tape off but I’ll just tell you that if you tug hard enough,
those gloves will eventually come off, especially if you have small hands and
skinny wrists. I think I should have left the hand wrapping on for the rest of
the day just so I could tell people, “Oh yeah, I forgot about that. I just took
off  my boxing gloves. I had them on in
my kickboxing class. Yeah…taped up…yeah. My car is registered. I can use it as
a dangerous weapon”.



I used muscles that I thought had died off. My legs are still
killing me and I almost couldn’t get in and out of my car all day. I have a
feeling that tomorrow won’t be much better as new aches and pains are starting
to set in tonight. I loved the class in a way because I was completely shot by
the end of it but it is just too far out of my comfort zone and too darn hard.
I don’t think I would get my money’s worth as it will take a week to recoup
from each class. So, if you see me walking funny this week, no I am not working
on my posture; I’m just sore. I do recommend the class for others though. It
will definitely hit you in areas you are not used to, unless you get into a lot
of street fights; then you can go to the head of the class.  I looked at quite a few pain killers tonight
with their list of all the things they helped. Not a single one of them listed
that they helped kill ninja star pain.

Junk In My Trunk

Today was the day that I officially cleaned out the trunk of
my car. I am not going to say how long it has been since this epic event has
taken place but let’s just say I found a couple of items from early 2013/late
2012 in there. I tend to hoard real estate half signed contracts. They are
those that only one part is signed and then you fax them and the other party
signs them and new ones get printed off…..those. I am not sure why I keep them
but I still have that “paper trail” mentality. I am working on it. Anywho, I
decided that I had too much junk in my trunk (in so many ways) and attacked it
today. For some reason, my handyman neighbor had also picked today to clean his
spotless truck. Yes, he was out there with some kind of special cloth buffing
his truck into some kind of glossy work of art. It is a thing of beauty, bright
red with tons of chrome that just screams, “look at me, I’ve just been waxed!”….like
a Kardashian but without the whine.  I
was parallel to him in my driveway , emptying the contents of my bird poop
covered car. It was almost like we were doing the exact same thing, only
different.



After pulling out tons of unnecessary files that belonged in
file 13, I realized that I still had all the stuff in there from last year’s
Alzheimer’s walk (signsm empty donation canisters,etc) , two folding lounge chairs, two small umbrellas, four gigantic
golf umbrellas (I don’t play the sport but I do appreciate their umbrellas),
three vests, a jacket, a bag of 50 empty plastic containers that I forgot to deliver,  a pair of my favorite shoes that I had forgotten that I
had lost, two thermoses, a half of a sledge hammer (the heavy end), a missing
black sock and a missing white sock, five T–shirts, a real estate sign, a
cowboy hat (gift from a client that I am afraid has bodies in his crawl space),
a mountain of recyclable bags from various events (that subsequently got
recycled into the trash can-don’t judge me), a real estate sign, Tupperware, a
CD of “Two Dollar Hot Dog One Dollar Water” (given to me by the artist
himself), another set of floor mats made out of rubber, a million plastic coat
hangers, a couple of bottles of bug spray, a bottle of hornet spray, a few bags
of things I was supposed to return from Christmas, two boxes of Thank You
notes, a gallon of paint, paint brushes, stirring sticks, a Bagster  for holding up to 3300 lbs of debris (maybe I
should have just driven my car into it), a bottle of Tylenol, a bag of rubber
bands, a few original shoe inserts that have been replaced with fancy shoe
inserts but that I am still not convinced should be thrown away, enough antihistamines
to put me on the FBI’s Most Wanted List, a gallon of windshield wiper fluid, a
cooler, a plethora of  plastic cups that
I have used to bring out ice to my car cup, an electric hedge  trimmer, and last but not least, an 80lb bag
of mortar...and a bag of guilty chips I had put in there last night. The mortar
still holds residence inside my trunk.



My neighbor never said a word. He just kept buffing his
glistening truck. I am sure he was waiting for the clowns to start climbing
out. I just couldn’t believe how huge my trunk was once it was sort of empty. I
felt like I had a new car. I’ll bet I will start getting better gas mileage ,
well, once that bag of mortar gets unloaded. I have no idea what my neighbor
was thinking but he took an awfully long time to buff his truck. I think he was
just silently taking it all in….or filming me. All I can say is that my trunk
was like a time capsule and it really brought back a lot of memories. Maybe I
should invest in a scrap book. If my neighbor could have read my mind, he would
have heard me singing, “Whatcha going to do with all that junk, all that junk
inside your truck?” but as it was, we both just remained silent and cleaned our
cars in peace. Now that the car is clean…ish, I have to figure out what to do
with all that junk, all that junk from inside my trunk. On a positive note, I
have a new/old pair of shoes to wear.