~Sunday~ I hate, hate, hate that it’s the last day of vacation. Well, good morning to you, too. 🙂
I perused this week’s PostSecrets while enjoying my breakfast and coffee. Below is one of my favorite of this week’s entries, as it reminds me of what we do while we’re here as sentient beings—assign meaning (right, wrong, empowering, or disempowering—our choice in the end) to all of the events, people, places, and things in our life.
While eating and reading, I listened to my 1986 CD (Geezus, that’s older than my workout t-shirts!):
It’s one of my favorite instrumental CDs of all time.
I did a load of laundry that included the sheets from my guest bed, and when I made the bed back up, I put a little note on the nightstand to remind me that the sheets have been washed, as whenever I find out I have a house guest coming, I can never remember if I washed them after my last guest left.
I made another Spanish Olive Cheeseball from my sister’s recipe and the leftover ingredients from the one I made for me and Robert for New Year’s Eve. I actually added ÂĽ teaspoon of Worcestershire Sauce to the recipe, which may not sound like a big deal, but I am not one to vary a recipe. I’m a rule-follower to the tee. I felt a little bit of a rebel doing it.
I picked up Joe at the airport at around 3:30, and at his house we caught up while eating the hell out of that cheeseball and having beer and bourbon. Good stuff—the food, the drink, and the conversation.
I stopped by the gym on the way home, arriving at about 6:10, and after stretching in anticipation of doing my ab crunches, it occurred to me that there was no way I’d have time to do them and my upper body routine, so I skipped them. I finished my last set of 15 reps on the triceps machine as the lights were being turned off in the place for their 7:00 closing.
They have an interesting ad campaign going on for the new year, and I like it. I like that they bill themselves as the place for people who aren’t gym rats and muscle heads, a message steeped in their “lunk alarm” shtick, which presumably goes off whenever anyone grunts, drops the weights, or makes a judgmental comment about another customer during workouts.
This new campaign supports that philosophy while, I think, being much more bold and explicit about their clear vision of who their target clientèle is, and isn’t. Here are three ads I saw, all around the “then this ain’t your gym” slogan:
- Trouble reading a phone book but can rip one in half? This ain’t your gym.
- Have to use your abs to count to six? This ain’t your gym.
- Do you often refer to steroids as “breakfast”? This ain’t your gym.
Joe and I had dinner at The Borough at 8:30, and we moved on over to Flex for some scareyoke afterwards.
Although earlier in the day, we’d both anticipated a late night out of carousing, neither one of us was “into it,” and we called it a night after only one drink there.
At home, I did a little more work in anticipation of the return to the job tomorrow. I am totally not looking forward to returning, and I hate that that’s the place I’m in with regards to my profession at the start of this brand new year. Oh well. It is what it is.