In retrospect, I didn't really do all that much today, but it feels like it was eventful. I actually went to spin class for the first time since this summer. Jorge, my greatest cheerleader, was there of course, and Joel with his overly earnest personal trainer attitude and decent arsenal of pump-up hip hop tunes and motown. There is a surprising amount of euphoria packed into the 45 minutes spent going nowhere with an overly joyful, endorphin-hyped (and invariably spandex-clad) personal trainer screaming, "CLAP YOUR HANDS! FEEL THE BURN! PUMP PUMP PUMP PUMP IT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!" Endorphins meet psychosis. Then I did a 15 min ab class, on a whim. Once again it consisted of 3 people and a really really bubbly instructor. In between instructions on how to wrench and contort our abdomens, she would giggle and gush about decorating for the holidays, crazy unintelligible movie references, and comments on her sister's small hands.
Work was more mind-numbing than before. Probably because NO ONE worked in the front with me. So basically I spent the day sorting more boxes and organizing all of the pants in the store. (I'm not even kidding...I took them all off the rack and arranged them by brand and size, the way I'd want to shop.) Several not so great customer experiences occurred too and a lot of me being an idiot. Apparently I'm not even good with primitive technology, keys for example. I'm usually so good under pressure...Good thing, though, that I now know the difference between a size 20 and 24 bike.
I don't want to go back to school. What I like best about home is that I can be a hermit in my room, which I can't do at school with all those people around and in my space. Antisocial much?
In the spirit of my list obsession and pensive mood, I present...
Things I Want To Be
1. Trendy but unique-- No thanks to Vogue and Elle and Seventeen for making me feel fashionably inferior. I want to be that girl with the cute, unusual look, but I'm broke and tired.
2. A writer -- Romantic life dream: live in a quaint, vintage cottage in a naturey surrounding with my perfect husband and beautiful children and write witty things while I sip chamomile and look out the window. Yeah, that thing writers who have actually achieved that always write in the endings of their books and magazine articles.
3. 5'10"-- so my mom will stop saying and magazines will stop making me think, "If only you were 10 inches taller, you could be a model..." I really need to stop scouring magazines for this project...I always scoff at the general "girls hate themselves because of unrealistic expectations from the media," but I am now a victim. Stupid stupid stupid.
4. Unforgettably quirky-- but in a good way
5. Loved-- I don't want cop-out rebuffs. Yes, I am loved by the people who count. But you know what I mean.
So in summary, I would like to be Christie Brinkley cut out of a Vogue ad, sitting at a typewriter with an adoring TDH (tall/dark/handsome) hunk. Thanks a lot stereotypical magazine-inspired unrealistic life view.
Too bad I'm supposed to go to law school and take down megacorps for harming the environment. Or something like that. And a certain aspect of my life consists of geometric configurations that end unfortunately lonely.
Wow, Debbie Downer. I'm not actually in a bad mood, I promise. I just can never decide what to do with myself.
Oh yeah, I forgot to add one glorious highlight of the day. I finally, after years of failure, achieved the poof! The most useless hair ever finally bent to my will.
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