I went to Crate and Barrel today. For those of you in Charlotte, you’ll understand the parking mess that is that store. Parking is pretty much a one-way deal in their sad excuse for a parking lot.
If there are no spaces going in your direction, you have to leave the “lot” and turn around somewhere else (after waiting in traffic to do so) before you can head in the opposite direction.
Or you can bust a pathetic U-turn with a security guard giving you the stink eye. Not that I do that sort of thing.
Today, there were three large SUVs that each took up two spaces. For those of you who suck at math, that’s six spaces that were wasted on these POS drivers who can’t park.
I finally parked my car and did my shopping (all that hassle for not even five mintutes of shopping) and was in my car leaving when I noticed something funny the biggest of the two-parking-spot SUVs: a flatter-than-flat tire.
I don’t know if it happened innocently or if some other angry patron slashed the Yukon Denali’s tires, but I imagined the latter scenario as I drove past the driver – a woman in a heinous fur coat with equally heinous look-at-how-expensive-I-am sunglasses – sitting in the driver’s seat on her cell phone supposedly calling for help.
I couldn’t help but smirk as I drove past. I know it’s not nice to find pleasure in others’ misfortune, but darn it. It felt good today.
I forgot to post my weekly WW update yesterday. My bad.
It was a crappy week. I didn’t exactly track what I ate. I had a loose count each day, but I now know that didn’t work out so well.
I gained a pound.
New week, though. I’m back to tracking and back to my weekly goal of moving my ass more.
If I could only get my mind, body and intentions to cooperate, I’d hit the gym in the morning before work. Last night was my first real attempt to get to bed early in order to wake up early in order to go to the gym in the morning, which I’ve determined is the most reasonable time for me to actually get there.
I announced I was heading to bed at 10 but didn’t actually get under the covers until 10:30. Still awake at 11:45, I got up to tell Rob to come to bed because I’ve recently discovered I fall asleep faster with him there.
He finally made it to bed at 12:30, and the two of us pretty much stared at the clock until about 2. He has three late-night cups of coffee to blame – I only have myself.
I don’t know what my problem is, but I can never seem to fall asleep when I intend to. In fact, I am doomed to be up half the night if I have intentions of going to bed early.
It’s sick.
But maybe I’ll be tired enough to fall asleep early tonight so I can get up early tomorrow and go to the gym and stop screwing around with the same pound.
I don’t normally eat/drink/inject many caffeinated products, but I had a delicious gingerbread latte from Starbuck’s today before lunch.
I don’t know if it was the unusual caffeine intake, the unusual time of day for caffeine intake, having it on an empty stomach or what, but something about that coffee today had me bouncing up and down in my chair afterward – literally!
I’m thankful I didn’t have the jitters on top of the bounciness, but I’m also thankful for the sudden burst of energy. It was nice to feel kind of like a kid again – I had unstoppable energy.
Unfortunately, I was working, so my energy was released by furious typing and foot tapping combined with bobbing up and down in my seat to the music that was only playing in my head (Christmas tunes, of course).
But man! If coffee gave me that jolt all the time, I’d make a midday walk to Starbuck’s a routine (break-room coffee is nowhere near as good). My long, drawn-out afternoons would surely speed by if this was an everyday occurrence.
I don’t think my bank account would like that, though.
Every time I buy something new at the grocery store, I have this awful urge to try it as soon as I can.
I at least wait till I pay.
But after that, it’s a free-for-all.
And, of course, this only goes for things you can either consume in small amounts (like a cereal bar) or something you can close back up to use in its entirety later.
Take this evening for example.
I stopped at Trader Joe’s on my way home to pick up some things I wanted to try (it’s new to our area, and I have a growing list of must-try items).
Today I bought:
dried fruit bars (think dried fruit bits meet fruit roll-ups, but in grown-up, healthy fashion);
whole wheat flour tortillas;
frozen chicken and veggies with fajita spices;
low-fat cheddar cheese sticks (individually wrapped … think string cheese, only not stringy);
sour cream and onion rice crisps;
tomato and roasted red pepper soup in a resealable cardboard carton;
and garlic-herb pizza dough.
On the drive home, I ate one fruit bar, one stick of cheese and a couple of those rice crisps. I cracked open the soup carton to give the soup a taste before sticking it in the fridge (must use in 10 days). And we’re having the pizza dough (though I will cook it first) for dinner.
Now look back at my list. The only things that’s not making it to my mouth tonight are a tortillas and the fajita mix. That was the other dinner option, though. And we may have chicken fajitas for dinner tomorrow.
What’s my problem? I’m like a kid on Christmas who needs to play with all the new toys as soon as they’re unwrapped. Only it’s food that I’m itching to get at.
Not good, Batman. Not good.
At least it was all healthy stuff, right?
And not to my home in NC. My real home in Ohio. With most of my friends. And most of my family. And real Christmas-season weather. And everything else that’s there and not here.
My homesickness has gotten more tolerable on the whole, but this time of year is the hardest. I want to be back there surrounded by people I know and who know me. As much as I try to avoid it, I want to see familiar faces when I go to the mall (and not just because they’ve harassed me from their kiosk numerous times).
I want to shop at the places I grew up shopping in. I want to eat food from restaurants I grew up eating in. I want a greasy, mystery-meat Romanburger from Mr. Hero, for goodness sake.
I want to hear “y’all” less and “you guys” more.
And I don’t want soda with that Romanburger. I want a pop.
