~Saturday~ I was up fairly early for a Saturday, at 9:00, since I’d had a good long nap before going to bed last night. Glorious sleep. Wish I got more of it. That sentiment reminds me of a quote I saw somewhere recently: “Time flies. Fortunately, we’re the pilot.” Which is to say, “It’s my own damn fault that I don’t get more sleep.”
I did a couple of loads of laundry, one of them being my sheets, before heading to Durham mid-afternoon to help Robert move his couch, desk, computer, mattress, and computer chair to his new house. In spite of the heat, it wasn’t too bad, and getting his couch down the stairs of his apartment was way better than getting it up there when he moved in.
Robert treated me to lunch at Hog Heaven, where I had had a most delicious chopped barbecue with slaw sandwich, topped with some vinegar-based sauce that was out of this world. Thanks for the treat, my sweet!
I pretty much drove “on fumes” back to Raleigh, as my gas indicator was way below the E and the empty light burned a bright orange. I thought I had a 16-gallon tank, but my fill-up at the gas station near my house took just over 17 gallons. It must be an 18-gallon tank.
Since I’d wore what amounted to workout clothes (in preparation of sweating) to help Robert move, I made myself turn right out of the gas station and go to the gym instead of going home first, where I’m sure I would have eventually blown it off.
I set the elliptical machine to 60 minutes and at about 20 minutes into it the internal dialog started:
- I’m only going to do 30 minutes on here.
- I’ll move over to the treadmill and do some power walking for another 30 minutes.
- [At 30 minutes]: I’ll do 10 more minutes on here. I’m feeling pretty good, actually.
- [At 40 minutes]: I’ll do 5 more minutes. 45 minutes is a nice round number to stop on.
- [At 45 minutes]: Oh it’s only 15 more minutes.
- I’ll just forge on.
- I’ll be glad I did 60 minutes when it’s over.
- I have nothing else to do.
The calorie counter registered 1079 at the end of 60 minutes, and I left pretty pleased with myself.
I arrived at Carl and Bill’s hat party at about 8:15. I was the last one there. The first thing I had to do was sign my name and phone number on a little table by the door. Carl’s cell phone had gotten stolen when his truck got broken into at his work last week, and he was re-populating his contact list.
I received two stickers to put on my shirt, one with my name on it and the other with my number on it for voting for best hat later. I had to strategically place them around the message on my shirt, which I had customized for this party:
Note to self: Shut up long enough so someone can take your picture without your being mid-sentence.
Behind me, that’s Michael from dancing, and my new BFF Rebecca, who was wearing a vintage hat that used to belong to her grandmother. I had a fun conversation with Rebecca at one point in the evening, which culminated with squealing at the mention of the Miss North Carolina beauty pageant.
I liked that this party had a nice mix of gay and straight people, and I had a fun conversation with Lindsey, who I found out graduated from the same high school as I did (Lejeune High School), although I’m quite sure I graduated before she was even born. Her dad is retired military and her parents live in Jacksonville, too.
I voted for Geromy, one of the guys who dances with us, for best hat, but he came in second. The hats I liked the most were those that suggested a pun; let me put a look of surprise on your face.
Lindsey’s hat had a bed on it alluding to “bed head,” and Rebecca’s husband, Barry, had an overturned cooking pot on his head alluding to “pot head” of course. I loved those.
Several people thought my hat was a “pimp hat,” which I’m quite sure my boss’s boss who loaned it to me—borrowing it from his young daughter—wouldn’t appreciate. No matter, I was happy to have it.
In the category of, “You might be gay if…”, I’d brought my spray hair gel and my brush and comb to take care of “hat head” before heading down to Flex, where I met Joe, Alex, and Glenn, and where eventually the twins made an appearance. They didn’t seem to be terribly pleased with who had won the Miss North Carolina pageant.
Flex was trying to get people to take their shirts off tonight, and did so by offering to give anyone who did free shots (3 shots of Jager) every 30 minutes. I do have to say that, overall, there weren’t a whole lot of people with their shirts off that shouldn’t have had them off, so I was grateful for that.
The lights were coming on when I left there, which is never good.