MTB

Last Friday night, after the post-it note incidence at the gym, I was ready to veg in front of the TV when I got a text from my friend, Nak, to go out to the Lounge.

Once in a while, I will be down for spontaneity and Nak caught me on a good night.

So I met him and his friends out.  It was a club with a front room and a large dance hall-type room behind the velvet curtains.

Nak told me that it was “Prince’s DJ” who was spinning that night.  I was immediately intrigued.  Who wouldn’t be?  But we were both curious as to what exactly being “Prince’s DJ” means.  I guess he throws parties and has this DJ spin there?  I wondered what other gigs are on this DJ’s resume.

Here’s “Prince’s DJ”:

I think I took this close to 11 and we thought that it was a little strange that it was so late (it’s Minneapolis) and the club was nearly empty.  That means that once it got bumpin’ peeps would only have a little over two hours of clubbing enjoyment.

Later as it did get more bumpin’, a dancer appeared in the cage.  Sorry, not cage.  Balcony.

 

I hate to say it but we were not impressed.  She did the same moves over and over again.  No variety and minimal sexiness.  I think I could do better, honestly.  And better yet, I bet Nak could do better, too.

It was nice to be able to go out dancing.  I’d been dying to go out and do that for a long time.  Then, I encountered one of my pet peeves:

As a proud heel wearer, this is a big no-no.  If you can’t hang with the Big Girls, don’t hang at all — leave the heels at home!

She needs to do some heel training.

 

 

I dragged my ass to the gym tonight to run a few miles and come back home to veg.

I have this thing about the gym.  If you are a man and we are working out at the same gym, do not talk to me.  Do not engage me in a conversation, do not attempt to pick me up.  I am at the gym to do one thing, and one thing only.  And that is to exercise and get the hayll outta there.  Not for a potential hook up.

I saw a man that I often see at the gym today.  He is older.  Perhaps >50, bald, and he wears bright blue spandex that are too short for any man to be wearing at the gym.  I see him there often and sometimes I will smile at him.  I mean, that’s natural, right?  Yes, in Minnesota it is!

But sometimes I get myself in trouble with men when I am too friendly and/or nice.  Believe me, I have learned the hard way many, many times.

So, I saw this man today while I was running and I smiled.

I ended my run and was walking around the track and I passed by him and he handed me this:

 

How sweet!

But I have some curiosities about this note.

Where did he get the post it from and when did he write it?  I mean, are these little notes something he carries around and hands out to people when he deems appropriate?  Did he write it at the gym?  Did he bring it from home?  So curious!

In any case — what do I do?  As you can see, he wrote his email at the bottom.

I am inclined to ignore the note, but I’ll def be seeing him at the gym in the near future.  I suppose email is harmless.  But what’s the natural next step after emailing?  Yeah, it’s to be FACEBOOK FRIENDS.  I’m not sure I want to be Facebook friends with him yet.

But, who knows??  Perhaps this is the end of my Sugar Daddy search??  (Even though he doesn’t seem to be “into” my gender.  Maybe he will introduce me to my future sugar daddy??)

Dude, are you nuts?!?!

If you  look closely at the guy down the sidewalk, you can see that he does not have a coat on.  It was 18 degrees outside and I watched him walk home from a local bar, which was 3-4 blocks away.

I don’t think I’d last 5 seconds outside without a coat.  Nutso.

 

Today, I’m excited to post because I had an eventful lunch hour and have some photos to share.

This morning at work, I got a phone call from KM, my twenty-something coworker with whom I am very friendly.  I have friends of all ages at work, the oldest being 63, with whom I will be watching the UM vs. MSU basketball game tomorrow night.

But, lately I’ve really been into the twenty somethings.  If I had to psychoanalyze myself, I suppose it has to do with a few things.  Perhaps it has to do with my continued need to be youthful.  Perhaps it has to do with where I am in my third career.  Perhaps it has to do with my major Peter Pan Syndrome.   Or maybe it has to do with my recent shoulder-length haircut that has been taking me back to my early 20’s, which was the last time I had hair this short.

I don’t know, but whatever it is, it is.

So, KM calls me at work — actually IMs me first, then asks me to if she can call me — which I thought was a little odd.  She calls me on my desk phone and she begins to tell me how her car got towed because of the snow emergency.

See, in the Twin Cities, there is something called a snow emergency.  When there is a snow emergency, you can not park on the streets that are designated as snow emergency routes.  That is because they plow these streets in a snow emergency.  We had a snow emergency declared on Sunday because of the “wintry mix” blizzard that arrived and persisted for maybe more than 24 hours?  Not sure how long.  All I know is that they really do tow your car if you’re parked on a snow emergency route and KM is proof of it.

KM proceeds to tell me that, over the weekend, by random chance she did not get a parking spot in the parking lot behind her apartment building so she parked on the street, which she thought was not a part of the snow emergency route.

Turns out, as of February 10, that street became a designated snow emergency street.  THAT IS THE DAY OF THE STORM AND DECLARATION OF SNOW EMERGENCY.  Aw man, just her luck!

Needless to say, KM’s car got towed.  So, she asked me to take her to the impound lot during lunch.  That is what the phone call was about as she was explaining to me in tears.

We get to the impound lot and as we were walking up this too-old-to-be-a-security-guard woman stops us and directs us to the spillover line area in the trailer next door.  I ask her a slew of questions about how long it will be, etc., and KM and I can’t take our eyes off her terrible, rotting teeth (I know KM couldn’t either because later in the line, KM says to me, “Did you see that woman’s teeth?”).  They were worn down almost to her gums and brown in the middle of each tooth, but the whole lower jaw of teeth were worn down in a semi-circle sort of fashion.  Completely fascinating, I almost wanted to touch them.

We get into the trailer and a terribly strong stench of piss, BO, and cigarette smoke hit us as we walked in the door.  Thankfully the line was only about 10 people long, but with such a strong stench like that you begin to wonder if you will start smelling like that too.  And when you leave, you’ll stink so bad, too, that you’ll have to explain that stench to your coworkers you sit next to at work.  Sort of like that permeating odor when you go to Korean BBQ, or that Subway sandwich bread smell.  But it was a horrific stench.  Mind-blowingly strong and bad and you knew everyone else smelled it too.  KM and I could not resist commenting on it.

KM wanted to leave.  She was convinced we wouldn’t get through the line within our lunch hour but my optimism convinced her we should stay and it wouldn’t take as long as she thought it would.

And apparently, this whole towing thing is pretty newsworthy business.  There was a news crew there and not only one, but after that one left, another one came!

I can’t help but chuckle at some of the news stories they have here.  Things are so hunky-dory, they have to find “incredible” things to report about — such as all the cars in the impound lot from the snow emergency.  Wow, that is amazing and incredible isn’t it?!?  (Please note my sarcasm — even though I have to admit there were a lot of people in the line.)

Within 7 minutes or so, KM and I made it to the main building and out of the piss-and-BO-ridden trailer.  The line was not so bad, but it had some amazing characters.  Take a look for yourself:

 

And apparently prices have not changed in over seven years!  What a steal!

As we were standing in line, KM turned to me and told me she didn’t feel well, which I attributed to the anxiety of the whole situation — poor girl.  But why don’t you feel well, KM?  I was having a grand old time!  Between the old lady security guard with rotting teeth, the stench of the trailer, and the incredible people-watching and eavesdropping in the line, I was SO happy to be there and not sitting at my desk staring at a computer.  KM actually told me I could leave her after we turned the bend of the line, but I wanted to stay!  I was savoring every moment of it.  VERY entertaining.

It was like an awesome adult field trip.  I’d never been to an impound lot before.

 

Let’s stay on the topic of men.  My favorite topic for good and bad things.

If it weren’t for college sports, 90% of the men at work would not know what to say or do with me.  Now, remember that I work at a Fortune 100 industrial manufacturing company.  So, that’s already 90% men and I’m talking about the awkward social skills of 90% of those that have a hard time looking me in the eyes.

Could not be farther on the spectrum from New York City.  In NYC, I’m used to daily cat-calls.  Multiple, daily cat-calls.  But, of course, I think that has a lot to do with the ever present Latino culture there.

Now, I’m not that well versed in college sports.  I follow what I can, know most of the rules, and act like I know who the players are.  Yeah, I do know some of them!

The other day, one big, old dude who I do not know passes by me and says, “How are those Wolves doing??”

I assume he means the WOLVERINES, so I respond and say, “Oh, man we lost a big game!”  Referring to the basketball loss to Indiana on Saturday.

“Yeah, that was a big game to lose, but what can you do?”  Then I ducked into the women’s restroom.

What can you do, indeed.

Later during the day, I met a director of another functional area who is based out of Michigan!  He immediately told me he liked my big block M flag in my cubicle.  Oh, thank God, someone who understands?

We get into a conversation about the fact that his two daughters are at the University of Michigan right now, how his wife and he are both alumni and as he talks he talks about the U of M and we both know what awesome school is is talking about.  (NOT the U of M around these here parts)

Today, I talked to lots of random men at work about the Wolverines incredible win on OSU last night.  I literally was jumping up and down last night.  So many men mentioned last night’s game.  I don’t even know a lot of them.  How do they know?  Just by walking by cubicle?  There goes my anonymity.

As this director walked away, he said, “Let me know if you need anything — especially you!”  As he pointed to me.

I said, “Go Blue!’

He didn’t hear me.

Not very inspired to write lately.

Check back soon.

To Bermuda, Bahama, come on pretty mama. . .

I know you know that song.  And I hope I got it stuck in your head.

I had a nice encounter and goodbye as I left the happy island of Aruba on December 27th.  I spent six great days with my family and had to head back to work one day for the remainder of the year and turn around less than 24 hours later to go to NY for the weekend.

I dragged my huge luggage out the resort with my parents and Jonah in a stroller, calm as can be.  Man, that baby is awesome.

The concierge called me a cab and while I waited I bent down to get the last few minutes of play with Jonah that I could.

The cab, an SUV, pulled up and the driver jumped out and started helping me with my bag into the back.

Me:  Hi, I’m going to the airport, please.

ET (the cab driver):  Oh, they told me you were going to the train station??

I look up at him with furrowed eyebrows, thoroughly confused.

Me:  There’s a train station here?  (We are on the small island of Aruba)

ET:  They told me you’d tell me how to get there!

I threw my head back, laughing out loud.

Me (to ET):  Ha-ha-ha.

I said my goodbyes to my parents and Jonah again.  Always sad to leave my family.  We drove on and immediately the cab driver engaged me in a conversation.

ET:  Who were those people?  Is that your baby?

Me:  No, he’s not my baby.  Those were my parents.

ET:  That’s not your baby?

Me:  No.  (And why are you so interested? Is what I’m thinking)

ET:  So are you Chinese?  (Oooooh, man, why are older men so interested in where Asians are from??)

Me:  Actually, I’m Korean.

ET:  Oh, even better.  (What the hell is that supposed to mean?)  You are very beautiful.

Me:  Hehe, uh, thanks!  (I want to break the awkwardness –) So, are you a native Arubian?

ET:  Yes, born and raised!

And we start into some talk about Aruba and native things and native cuisine (which there isn’t much of).

Eventually. . .

ET says:  Yes, and we have iguana soup.  Make the soup and put the eggs in!  Makes a man so powerful and strong — it’s better than any blue pill!  (And immediately I think, “Is Viagra blue?”  Eek, awkwaaaaard)

ET:  But if a woman drinks it, she will eat you raw!

Oooooh bleeeeeech!  My eyes start to wander looking around to see how I can escape this SUV, so suddenly and completely uncomfortable.

And I’m looking out the window as we pass downtown — all the vendors, the fancy jewelry stores, the cruise boats, the tourists. . . I’m totally pouting and don’t want to talk anymore. What do I say?  Am I going to make it home, let alone to the airport?!?

I decided to break the awkward silence —

Me:  So, do you have kids?  (ET must have been at least 55-60 years old)

ET:  Yeah, here they are.  (He passes me his Blackberry)

Me:  Hey!  That’s your dog.

ET:  He’s a pug!  Better than any woman — is always happy to see me, never argues with me, never asks me for money.

Oh yeah?  Well, I can say that men are a royal pain the ass too, buddy.  Holey moley, why did I get in a cab with this man??

ET and I got into our conversation.  I decided to probe about what he does and who he is.   He gave me a candy and a cookie, saying he usually gives those to kids that ride in his cab.

He said something about getting old and age. . .

Me:  Well, I’m getting older too.

ET:  Noooo, come on, you mean 23-24 is old??  (Wow, completely flattered!)

Me:  I’m actually 36 (almost 37).

ET:  What?!?!  No way, that is impossible.

And he started to really divulge some crazy information about his main job (cab driving is his side job) and his life experiences that involved South American countries (Aruba is not far from Venezuela), narcotics and law enforcement agencies, asking me not to tell anyone what he tells me.  I’m in complete shock, listening with my jaw dropped.

I don’t know what it is, but I have to say I have the knack for dragging juicy things out of people.  I’m like the next Oprah Winfrey.

He told me that he was approached by Time Magazine to write a book.  And being who I am, I encouraged him to do so and told him as I left the cab. . .

Me:  I’ll look out for your book.

ET:  You call me when my book comes out and I will sign it for you. (As he handed me a card with his contact info)

Me:  Absolutely.

And he gave me a kiss on the cheek.  And no matter how much of a dirty old man he seemed to be, I will always love the cheek kiss (must be the European in me).

And for all I know, all this could have been completely fabricated.

I’d rather not think so and enjoy the memory and experience.

I had some work done on my Little Rocket at the local Audi dealership a few months ago and when I stepped out of my Little Rocket, the rep asked me how I liked my “Little Rocket”.  Of course I love her!  And that is how I started calling my car, the Little Rocket.

Here’s a photo of her cute back side.

I love, love, love my car and I’m sort of surprised that this is my first post about her.

Today, we Minneapolites are living in a winter wonderland:

It’s been snowing nonstop since last night and it is now 2:44pm.  The first photo is my patio, looking onto the street.  The second is from the opposition direction.  My place is behind those two smaller trees in the middle.

I needed to go to Super Target to get some supplies for the various baked goods I will be making.  Don’t worry, it’s for work and a dinner party tomorrow.  I’m in Beach Bod Mode, so hopefully won’t be eating too much of it.

I decided to venture out in this snow, which is the first time I took my Little Rocket out into such snow.  Last year’s winter was so mild in Minnesota (yay for me, but boo for Minnesotans who love the winter and keep hoping for more cold and snow — really??).  Oh, and my Little Rocket was originally from Atlanta, so I don’t think she’s seen much snow.

We barely made it back.  It was slippery and when we would get going from stop lights we’d slide all over the place.  I felt like the little Engine that could — slowly stepping on the gas, trying to keep the wheels straights, as we inched along in the inches of wet, slipper snow.  Come on my Little Rocket, you can do it!  On the freeway, I didn’t need to shift higher than 4th gear and that was pushing it.  And plus, with the sight of many, many cars on the shoulders, in the medians, and off to the sides, I didn’t feel the need to put the metal to the pedal, which, if you have ever ridden in my car with me, is how I usually drive.

The snow fall is unrelenting.  I finally figured out how to light my gas fireplace.  I’m tempted to go lie in front of it and take a nap.

Oh, and I wanted to share one more thing.  I went out to lunch with some coworkers on Friday.  When I came home later that day after having dinner with Stephanie and Mike, I saw this little gem in my car:

I laughed out loud in my car because I knew exactly who left if there — MIKE!

I trekked to the gym today after work.  I typically take my gym bag because I don’t want to wear my nice custom Nike ID running shoes that I got for my birthday from a special someone to the gym.

Typically I shove my whole handbag in my gym bag because I can’t seem to part with the contents of my handbag and only take my wallet.  I mean, what if I need floss?  Or. . . my comb?  Or. . . my sunglasses?  Or. . . my Chanel pressed powder?  Yeah, exactly.  That’s exactly why I shove my whole handbag into my gym bag.

But my gym bag doesn’t only serve as my gym bag and handbag bag.  Tonight I stopped by the North Loop Wine store on my walk back from the gym because I’ve been really craving Sweet Child of Vine beer made by a local brewery, Fulton.

So, now my gym bag is my gym bag, my handbag bag, and my beer bag:

And it all fit!  I have to thank my friend, Thomas, for introducing me to Sweet Child of Vine.  It’s so good I literally crave it.

Mmmmm, Sweet Child of Vine.  Come to Mama.

I’m working on gettin’ my beach bod on so I can get my tan on while I’m gettin’ my pina colada on in Aruba over the week of Christmas.  I’m so excited, I can’t contain my excitement mostly because I’ll be spending six days with my little baby Jonah.  Why six days, you say?  Because this sucker has to go back to work for ONE DAY on Friday the week of Christmas because of some poor vacation planning, which, of course, I am not to blame since these vacations are sort of sprung on us last minute.

Between me, my brother, my mom, and my dad, Jonah’s parents will get zero time with him, if we are lucky.  As my mom says, “Oh, my baby Jonah!”

Here’s Jonah, my cutie:

Let me get back to the subject at hand.  Beach bod.

I’ve been trying to get in shape for my trip to Aruba so I set up my bike trainer and will be doing yoga 2x a week, running 2x a week and biking 2x a week.  Additionally, I’m really trying to watch what I eat.

So, how much do you think I’ve stuck to my schedule?  I’m 0 weeks for 1.

I am a sucker for “daybreakers”, which is the Minnesotan term for breakfast sandwiches (I think?).  I’d never heard it before I lived here.  So, after a a whole week of eating yogurt and fruit in the mornings, I decided to give myself a break and indulge.  Then, we headed to Burger Jones for lunch — a group of coworkers and I — and of course I had to get a bacon cheeseburger:

Check out that “White Trash Burger”.  Only in Minnesota. . .

I got home from work and I got a text from my friend, Steve, inviting me to a Timberwolves game for that night.  I had already changed into my gym clothes and after some back and forth I had to decline and be a good girl and go to the gym and prep for the small dinner party I was hosting the following day.

At the gym, I realized I had forgotten my hair-tie (can’t be running with your hair wild and loose) so I asked the sales rep/trainer dude for a rubber band.  He says to me, “You’ve got some dedication coming to the gym at 10 to 7 on a Friday night!”  Yeah, well that’s a result of a combo of things — prepping the beach bod, breaking up with my bf, and no Friday night plans.  (Although Curtis and I used to go to the gym together on Friday nights all the time).

As I was walking out, that same dude said, “You made it!  Great job.”

Me:  “Yeah! And now I’m so hungry.”

Dude: “Well, now you can go and eat ANYTHING you want.”

Haha, well, little does he know that I already ate what I wanted all day.  Can I still eat anything I want?