When you are invited to my home for dinner, it is a given that there will be a Dad and a TV waiting with open suppressing arms afterwards. Unless, upon arrival, you find that your home team has traded you to team Gramma [without consulting you, of course, why be fair about it?] because you don't call or visit enough. Then a whole new set of arms and prime-time programming await.
To give the situation credit, it started out with a few laughs tonight. [Actually...let's be honest with each other: The evening began late afternoon, during a marimba rehearsal, with a call from Mom asking if I was going to be able to swing by early and possibly pick-up an onion for her. Well, sure, but an onion is usually the first vegetable to sautee. Oooh, great, I get it, you want me to cook the entire meal for you, too. This eventually came out after purchasing the onion, via second call while parked outside Kwik Trip.] On the day-to-day, I don't make time for television, so it's a treat when a re-run of 30 Rock airs at the approximate time I recline with an afghan and an air of ambivalence. Quote of the night, "We all make mistakes. I once french kissed a dog at a party to try to impress what turned out to be a very tall 12 year old." No? Yes? Ah, Liz Lemon, I get you.
Then fate sucker-punched me in the temple, American Idol followed. I won't say anything more, because what could I say in less than 500 words? My boredom, fidgeting, complaining, found a more creative avenue: all of the previous, but online. Here we are, and I've not quite gotten to the point of this post [see title].
I've been driving to the university gym located a mile from my sublet nearly every night for the past month. [What a transition, natural writer, clearly] I started going just to go, fill the void that school/practice/homework typically consumes during the semester. At this point, I would probably need two more beers at night just to relax enough to fall asleep if I didn't go. What a wonderful body numbing experience it is to exert yourself to the point of sweating from unusual places. And what fun it is to watch shirtless men run, throw and jump, for free! Right. I don't work out at the same time the collegiate athletes train. I jog alongside equally out-of-shape twenty-somethings. Coordinate team colors in advance so everyone can wear shirts. [insert exasperated hand gesture]
So even though I have two years left in a piano performance b.f.a. program and there are graduate school applications on the horizon, I've decided my fourth career should be either Personal Trainer [probably to the stars] or professional-leisure Gym-Enthusiast.
My roommate, Emily, has been joining me on most occasions. I think we might pick up a basketball career while we're at it. We can play a single game spanning two courts, that is four hoops, no sweat.
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