Guess if there's any life event important enough to get me to post (and publicly at that), this would qualify: Marc formally proposed to me a week ago Friday, totally out of the blue (OK, somewhat out of the blue; we had talked about getting married somewhat recently before, but in more of a 'kicking the idea around' sense). Today we engaged in two classic Raleigh traditions: Going to Bailey's to pick out the rings and lunch from Char Grill afterward. Mom gave me an old 3-stone yellow gold family ring with only one diamond left to use in the new setting. We ended up getting a channel-set diamond engagement ring and matching band for a little less than our max budget. The salesman who helped us examined the diamond and told us it was hand-faceted "before there was electricity", which is what I suspected. It means so much to us to have an heirloom stone that we can reset and wear instead of having it languish in a box at the back of a closet.
No wedding date is set yet and I doubt we'll get around to deciding on one until early next year. A Fall wedding would be nice; maybe something up at Nantahala with family and whatever friends want to make the drive to the Smokies to see us get married in the woods.
The rings will be ready next Friday. Will post pics when we get around to taking some.
Been noticing a negative correlation between my workout sessions and water retention (as workout activity increases, water retention decreases) and began wondering why, since my workouts don't involve cardio nor do they make me sweat very much. Looked into it (from print resources, not websites) and found out that muscle contractions, lots of stretching and yoga are the most effective at stimulating water loss, more so than just sweating from cardio or a sauna. And that makes sense, because your muscles and internal organs keep on working for a longer time after lifting than they do from simple cardio. Yet another reason to weight train, my female friends.
Ok, lecture over. Time to head over to campus.
Turns out the farm did have one casualty from Ernesto's passing: one of the last of the marvellous ancient white oaks that tower near the main house. This one was beside the English garden out back and not only provided good shade from the direct afternoon sun, its hollow interior and extensive branches were also home to myriad creatures. Now there are a lot of displaced songbirds, squirrels, black snakes and - ulp - bees floating around the vicinity. The tree can't be dealt with until the hive (which remained intact after the fall) is removed. Maybe we can get Stryper to run past in full stage regalia and entice them away.
Yeah, I joke about it now but you just know there won't be any mirth the first time I lay eyes on the devastation next Friday. Not since Phoebe died last November has a visit to the farm been dreaded this much.
P.S. In today's non-sequitur, if MFSB was not the backup band for the Ritchie Family on "Brazil" then I will eat any one of my several hats, a couple of which are made of straw and look like they'd taste similar to shredded wheat.
Damn, Jesse Pintado died due to complications from a diabetic coma. That's a serious shame. The new Terrorizer album is off the rails. Thanks for the shredding and farewell.
Hot as blazin balls today. Can't believe we're about to go work out but we are. Might have to forsake the usual walk in the athletic fields afterward. Either that or get a wrestler to tote me over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes while he goes for his daily make-weight sweatdown run. That way everybody wins.
Man, my apartment sure is clean, which makes me feel really good. Until only recently my living quarters have always been a study in slobbery. Not pest-infested filthy or anything like that, more like clothes and stuff scattered everywhere so you had to pick and wend your way through every room, and all flat surfaces in dire need of dusting. Guess I just got sick of having a place that looks like it's inhabited by a parentless six-year-old who skateboards and makes jewelry.
Just checked out a good lightweight summer reading novel set in 1988 called 'Model Student', about a girl from Wisconsin who tries to become a cover girl and a co-ed at Columbia at the same time. The author is a former model herself although her name didn't ring a bell. But that's not surprising since only the names of the superest of supermodels have ever made it into my long-term memory. So far it's been a pretty good read although it's pretty obvious where it's headed and how it'll end up (girl has to choose between modeling fame or an obscure career as an English teacher or something and of course she'll choose teaching). Anyway, it makes me think of you, Stella.
P.S. Just got back from working out. Ended up staying at the gym for an hour. NICE! Didn't spend the whole time working out like crazy, but it was still a good session. Just got home to a message from a manager at a large financial company who saw my resume online and wants to schedule an interview. NICE SQUARED!
Feeling like the biggest loserly loser to ever come straight outta downtown Loserville. Slacking does NOT PAY.
Arrggh, I can't wait to get these ugly stitches out. Not only do they itch and keep me from working out and skating, but the latex in the bandaids has eaten a patch of my skin. Even the non-latex ones make me red and itchy, go figure. Maybe it's adhesives, who knows. Don't really care at this point either. Hurry up, Tuesday.
Went up to the newest library in town which was meant to replace the branch closest to me that closed several years ago. It's in a semi-countrified setting and is super-modern but with a lodge-like feel, with an enclosed porch and rocking chairs and a fireplace inside. Looked through all the new fiction painstakingly but couldn't find anything that really floated my boat. Settled on something but so far it's not impressing me too much. Frankly a lot of fiction, especially in a modern setting, just does nothing for me. I really couldn't give a fuck about quirky but lonesome souls thrown together in a maelstrom of intrigue and personal loss in bumfuck Alaska. Or those "neurotic assholes living a life that makes no sense but is supposed to be so transcendental" novels that routinely come out of England. Or 99.9% of "Sassy Southern" stories about mystery-solving hairdressers who wear stillettos 24/7 and manage to make everything sound profound despite having an 8th grade education. Y'all trying waayyy too hard, ok?
Sort of want to take myself to see An Inconvenient Truth but won't make it out tonight since my sinuses are acting up and making me super drowsy and it's past the matinee time anyway.