RAAAAAAAWR

goes the polar bear.

The polar bear who did the Polar Bear Plunge. AKA: me.

That's right. We jumped into our pool last night at midnight after school had cancelled classes that day and declared an Ice Day.

Ice Day=jumping into your pool? Too dangerous to go to school=safe enough to go swimming? Yep. Ohh...yeahh....and it was 16 degrees outside. And we went in our swimsuits. I'm pretty sure it was the adrenaline pumping that kept us warm but YES we got all the way in.

There were four of us brave ones. My roommate took pictures and uploaded them to facebook last night. I awoke this morning to reactions such as, "I hope you're not sick today missy..." "NO YOU DID NOT." "That's so badass!!" "Dude, this is made up." "I can't believe you--I couldn't be outside for 5 seconds!" and lastly, my favorite: "You inspired us. Brad and I are doing it tonight. We feel like we need to match your insanity. And we're gonna one-up you."

I responded with: "You will never one-up me."

Because they won't.

Regardless, I decided to give them the benefit of the doubt AND help the boys out. We took some good measures to ensure a "safe" and "warm" plunge and I gave them the tips. Since I know all you people who read this are as hardcore as me, I'll give you the same advice so you too can have a successful plunge.

Oh, and as always, I will post pictures.

1) Wear a swimsuit. getting out of a pool into 16 degree weather wearing wet clothes is just stupid whereas wearing a swimsuit is brilliant. You can dry your skin with a towel much better than trying to dry clothes--they'll just freeze to your body.
2) Bring lots of towels. If you think you have enough towels while you're heading out the door, grab another one.
3) Put a towel down on the ground to step on when you get out of the pool. Freezing your feet to the ground would be horrible (insert A Christmas Story reference here about the tongue-frozen-to-the-pole thing.) No fun.
4) Wear Uggs (or similarly warm shoes) to put on immediately after. Your feet will thank you. NO FLIP-FLOPS.
5) If you have a robe, wear it. Put it on after you dry yourself with the towel and your vastly dropping body temperature will thank you and quite possibly recover.
Any questions? You know where to find the master of Tha Polar Bear.

AHHHHHH!

You're only young once! Live it up!

Picture captions (in order):
1) BEFORE THE MADNESS!!!!

2) Ice covering everything. We ice skated there, no joke.

3) Fountain look familiar? This is the same fountain that my roommate and I washed our blue avatar-selves off in back in August. Frozen solid now.
4) THA POOOOOL

5) THA Roommate.

6) Friend.

7) Friend.

8) MEEEEE

9) Me in the red robe helping my roommate get dried off while friend is freezing.
10) Roommate running back to the warmth!

11) FRIEND IN SHOCK

I'm Sneaky

1) Soooooooooo I think my neighbor is very attractive.

2) We have three lights in our kitchen. A few days ago, only one worked. It was impossible to see in the kitchen. We were living like this for a few weeks, barely able to see what we were making to eat or what was on the floor.

3) The other day, my roommate sent me a facebook message saying that she had knocked over my wine glass and there was glass all over the floor. She tried to get most of it up but wasn't sure if she got it all because it was hard to see. I immediately thought, "Time to get those lights fixed. I DO NOT want glass in my foot."

I replaced one of them but the other was too high to reach from the ground and it looked really heavy. It was a dome light and I had no idea how to take it apart and fix it. And I knew, I knew that if I tried to fix it, I would certainly break it into a tiny million little pieces. You know me by now; that's how my life goes.

Therefore, I decided to text my landlord to have his handyman come over and fix it for us. It wouldn't be that big of a deal, it would take him like 5 seconds, and he wouldn't break it. Piece of cake.

I had the text message all ready to send when, all of a sudden, a light bulb goes off in my head. "Hey!" I start thinking, "Neighbor Boy is tall and he's a guy so he should be handy and since he lives next door he probably has the same lights and knows how to fix them. I'll run over and ask him instead. It will give us an excuse to talk!"

I start getting really nervous and run into my roommate's room to ask her if the idea is dumb and if I'll look like an idiot. She says no; it's perfectly rational. So I check myself in the mirror and realize that I'm still in the clothes I went running in 20 minutes ago: tennis shoes, spandex, pony tail and all. "Meh," I think. "I have a natural flush to my face, I'm in workout clothes so it looks like I'm in shape, and it won't look like I'm trying too hard as opposed to going over there all dolled up." Convinced my plan is fool-proof, I march outside and down to his door.

Almost shitting my pants as I ring the doorbell, Surfer Dude (a very, very attractive modelesque friend of Neighbor Boy) answers...but he's on the phone. He says hi and is polite, but he's still on the phone. Neighbor Boy comes around the corner of a room and he's on the phone too! Oh crap. This is awkward. "Oh...uhhh...I...ahhh...uhhh...I just had a...um...a question but...uh...it's no big deal soooo....ok bye." I turn to leave when he goes, "No wait! Just let me finish this call and then I'll come to your apartment. It'll be like 5 minutes." Ok, so I'm not a loser. Good.

I start cleaning up the kitchen in preparation for their arrival when he knocks a few minutes later. I show him the light, ask him if he knows how to fix it and if he could help me.

Ok, then I really started feeling like an idiot because as soon as he looked at it, it was clear that all you had to do was unscrew this really, really obvious part and it came apart easily. And it wasn't heavy at all. Making small talk and laughing at things, it takes him only a few minutes to change the light bulbs. Damn. Not much face time. But we're still talking.

Then Surfer Dude comes in.....and we all hang out and talk in my kitchen for the next 45 minutes. They're so nice! I mention I have to go get ready for dinner plans when Surfer asks what I'm doing tomorrow night. "Umm...I have no plans for Wednesday night yet, what about you?" "I don't have anything planned either. We should grab drinks in the evening if you want to." My tummy does a flip and my heart about jumps out of my chest. (YES YES YES!!) "Yeah, ok, I guess that sounds cool. I have something I have to do until 7, but I can go anytime after that," I say. "Ok cool," Neighbor boy says. "We'll stop by around 7 and then we can all go somewhere."

Perfect.

They leave, I do a fist pump in the air, and I jump in the shower and get ready for my dinner plans.

Did my plan work? Yes: it's outcome was above and beyond what I even expected.

Did they know I did that on purpose? Most likely.

Does it matter? Naaaaaaah.

My Bathroom Loathes Me

This is not a real blog post. It's just a short little story showing that my bathroom will never, ever be ok...even if it is "fixed".





I was showering the other day in my bathroom that (after 4 months) finally has a ceiling. All of a sudden, I hear something scraping the (also newly fixed) tile and then BAM the shower curtain and rod basically attack me while I'm trying to wash my hair. I let out a loud scream as I fumble with soapy hands to grab ahold of the askew shower curtain while conditioner runs from my silky locks into my eyes and mouth. Blind and trying not to die via soap poisoning, I manage to tame the crazy curtain, but only after it's managed to knock everything off of the counter, arrange itself in such a way as to channel the water from the shower right onto the floor, and knock me straight in the head.



Seriously, has my bathroom taken on a mind of its own? First it tries to electrocute me with the wires in the ceiling. Then, it invades my privacy by refusing to let the door shut any time I try to go to the bathroom. And now it tries to knock me unconscious while I'm trying to take a shower. Really! What has a girl got to do to groom herself?!

I'll probably find it AFTER I buy a replacement

This is a silly little story, but I'm going to share it anyway.

I have been looking for my eyebrow tweezers for over two weeks. TWO WEEKS. For two weeks, I have searched through my make-up bags, my desk, dresser, all the drawers in my bathroom, my closet, everywhere. Why, you ask, did I spend so much time looking for something that can easily be replaced for two dollars from your local Wal-mart? Well, it's two dollars, DUH! I'm not about to waste that cash.

Anyway, just as my forehead was beginning to resemble that of the caveman from the Geico car commercials, I decided that purchasing a replacement was necessary. I complained to my roommate, "You just watch; as soon as I buy those freaking tweezers, I'm going to find my old pair. I know it." So I decided having two pairs of tweezers was better than none at all and that I should buy a new pair so I could find my old one.

So I went to the grocery store today, scrutinized a few models of tweezers while comparing prices and structure (haha), and I finally bought a new set. Tweezing your eyebrows in the daylight is the best because it's natural light. Therefore, I got in my car and pulled over into the back corner of the Tom Thumb parking lot so no one could see me. It's kind of awkward when you make eye contact with someone watching you tweeze your eyebrows in your car. (Trust me, I know.)

I finish a some-what professional job and begin to think about where I am going to keep these tweezers so I don't lose them again. "I know! I'll put them in the center console so they'll always be in my car since I always tweeze my eyebrows in here anyway. Easy acce----shit."

I think I know where my tweezers are.

Sure enough, I open up my center console and there are my tweezers! I found them right after I bought a new pair just like I knew I would. A mere FIVE MINUTES after.

So where did I put my new tweezers? Well right next to my old ones, duh. That way I can tweeze my eyebrows in the car in broad daylight. And also so I can buy another pair of tweezers in a few weeks.

The reason you think I'm a Strawberry Blond....

...is because I accidentally keep dying my hair strawberry blond. And by "strawberry blond", I mean orange.

As a poor college student, I refuse to fork over 150+ dollars it takes to maintain my golden locks. So I settle for the 7 dollar box of hair dye at my local Target.

For some reason--be it my cheap hair dye or lack of beautician skills--it never comes out right. EVER.

My first experience was with one of my best friends Angie. I had never dyed my hair before and I always thought people who did it looked soooo coooool. And looking back on it, they were cool because they actually dyed their hair the right color.

Anyway, on my hair's maiden voyage of being killed and bleached by terrible chemicals, my mom was like, "Tell me again why you're dying your hair? If you want highlights, I'll buy them for you. You don't have to do this." She pleaded in a drastic way like I was cutting off my arm or something. I was 19 at the time--and oh-so-wise in the ways of the world--and responded with: "Mom, please. Angie and I have to do it. This is like a right of passage. Everyone dyes their own hair at this age," in a semi-sassy tone that sounded like she should have known better. Duh, mom.

Anyway, I let Angie have free range over my hair. I sat down like a good little guinea pig that I was and let her squirt God-knows-what over my perfectly healthy hair. We were moving a little slow (since it was our first time) and by the time we got to the back of my head, the hair dye had been sitting on my roots for about 15 minutes. The box said, "When you've covered the entire head, wait 20 minutes and then rinse." So we waited another 20 minutes, thus leaving the hair dye on my roots for a grand total of 35 minutes. MISTAKE.

After I rinsed, I was so excited to see the new blond me! I got out of the shower with pure excitement....leaped over to the mirror....and looked at my reflection with horror. My roots were now a beautiful shade of copper. SHIT.

Well, maybe it'll get better once I dry it. So I blew my hair dry, straightened it, and then it was kind-of ok. At least that's what my mom and Angie said. But they were probably trying to make me feel better.

The next day, I walked into the house of the kids I babysit for. They see me and immediately say, "Your hair is orange." They obviously have not matured enough to know that sometimes you need to look people in the eye and lie through your teeth. I laughed, shrugged it off, and said, "Well, that's what you get for dying your hair for 7 dollars."

For the next two weeks, every time we went to the pool, I brought Sun-In hair highlighter and doused my hair with lemon juice hoping that the sun would bleach out my hair to the beautiful blond I wanted to be.

It kind of worked.

So anyway, I dyed my hair again the other night (this is like the 3rd or 4th time by now). And I accidentally left it on the roots for too long again. And it semi-resembles the shade of copper.

So I made my roommate promise that she will never let me dye my own hair again. I have matured (a little) and need to fork over and pay the high price that is Dallas haircare.

So please don't call me a "strawberry blond". Because it's actually copper.

Facebook Stalking Central: Apartment 201

We've all done it. It's ok. I admit it. I am a Facebook Stalker. Don't judge.

You can't say you've never done it. You're innocently writing on your friend's wall then you see photos of them a little ways down the page posted by someone you kinda-know-but-not-really so you click on the pictures and one thing leads to another and you're 3 hours into a session where you only meant to check your inbox and now you're looking at pictures of your neighbor's girlfriend's cats. It happens. You snap out of it and realize what a creeper you are and casually look over your shoulder just to make sure no one else has noticed. You're alone in your room. But you still feel weird. But kinda like you got away with something...

One of my friends has a cousin who is very attractive. I creep on him sometimes. I've talked to him maybe a few times in my life. I am so embarrassed repeating this but there's no judging allowed at this site so I know I'm ok. I know I am not alone. Plus my roommates are waaay bigger Facebook creeps than I am.

Take Saturday night, for example. Bag Lady has known the guy I finally started a FB chat with for awhile. And by know, I mean she knows his Facebook page. She Facebook stalked him like it was going out of style--like the makers of Facebook were going to shut it down any moment without any notice at all. I would be sitting in my room and then all of a sudden hear squeals of delight from her room. WTF? "OH EM GEEE! His status says he got a new puppy and LOVES her. Soooo cute! It means he has a sensitive side." "Maybe next time (or the first time) you talk to him you can ask about his dog he's never told you about. You'll know the name and everything. That way you can bypass all those little details of getting to know him because you've already read his info/interests/wall/pictures 1928908234 times. That wouldn't be sufficiently akward or anything..." I say.

Our adoptive roommate, Beautiful Hair Girl, is even worse. She likes this guy, Milo, but is not Facebook friends with him. They have a class together. She's afraid to Facebook befriend him because he doesn't know she exists. And yet every class she's drooling in the back. I THINK she's passing.... Anyway, he is Facebook friends with Bag Lady so BHG gets on Bag Lady's Facebook to stalk him. Not creepy (or desperate) at all. I'm getting ready in the bathroom when Bag Lady starts going through his site one day. "He takes weird pictures. In a lot of them he's posing with a purse........OMG his profile says "Married" do you think he's married? He's a sophomore! Is that a joke?.....Wait a second....(as she goes deeper into the archived pictures)...does he have a KID?!?! There is a legit kid with him in a lot of pictures that looks like him." A few days later, BHG is over and I hear something going on in the room next door so I go over and they are watching some BET thing on the internet and reading a personal-writing-thing. What are you guys doing? "Ohh Milo had these things on his Facebook so we are trying to learn more about him and what he likes and see if we like it too."



(I literally stood there for a few minutes because there was NOTHING I could think of to say. I also just stopped typing for a few minutes because there was nothing for me to type after that. My mind was blank. I was trying to comprehend.) So I just laughed. REALLY LOUD. Probably like you might have.



There needs to be an FBSA or something. Facebook Stalkers Anonymous. Oh wait, that's the problem isn't it? My B.

Obsession of the Week: PEANUT BUTTERRRRRR

I tried for weeks to not buy it. Really, I tried. I tried SOOOOO hard. Why, you ask, did I have to avoid peanut butter like an alcoholic does alcohol and a druggie does drugs? Well, my friends, that's because I have a life-long addiction to peanut butter.

This began as every childhood begins: peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. Had them as a kid and LOOOOOOOOVED them. So good. It was like manna from the gods. Saving me every lunch day and taking me to my special paradise at the lunch table, palm trees and waterfalls included.

My baby brother was born when I was 8. He was found to have a peanut allergy. HAHAHAHAAHAH the gods are uniting against me, you're thinking. Well, we still had peanut butter in the house because my brother was a baby and couldn't eat anything you didn't physically put into his mouth. And I wasn't making my lunches yet because I was only 8. Therefore, I did not have control over the peanut butter...yet.

When I was in grade school, my mom had to go to school earlier in the morning than I did so I had to make my own lunch if I wanted it. The peanut butter and jelly sandwiches started off normal at a 1:1 ratio. Gradually, however, as the peanut butter taste bud on my tongue grew and grew, the ratio grew to 2:1...then 4:1....and next thing you know, it's a sandwich of peanut butter and a little bread and maybe jelly. It got that bad.

This continued on into high school. I was going through that phase...you know that phase....come on don't make me say it....that phase that girls go through? Yeah that one. Well, I happened to gain a little weight and, about the same time, my mom got kind of concerned about The Golden Child (this is what my younger-older brother, only 18 months younger than me, and I call him. Because he is the baby of the family. TO THE EXTREME) getting into the peanut butter. Irrational fear. She was worried about the kid who, since he was 3, would go trick-or-treating and before the homeowners could barely open the door would say, "I can't have anything that says, 'Makes and trains peanuts.' " (When we would first read the back of the labels to him that said, "May contain peanuts," he took that to mean that this came from a magical place where the peanuts were trained.) No more peanut butter in our house. Except I would find jars of peanut butter hidden in baby bro's room (this is what I'll call my younger-older brother). And then I would find them in the laundry room. "Who are they hiding the peanut butter from?" I would think. "Golden Child knows not to eat this stuff." Secretly, I was grateful. My urge was uncontrollable.

Well now I'm on my own and I finally broke down. I was trying not to buy it because I seriously looooove peanut butter. Did you know that? So this week I got a little baby jar to make small steps. "Control, control, control." I thought as I opened the lid. Well I might as well have opened Pandora's box. This was Monday.

All week I got creative with my applications of peanut butter: peanut butter on a bagel, honey and peanut butter sandwich, peanut butter and jelly, peanut butter with a little bread...I mean a piece of bread with a little peanut butter, a spoonful of peanut butter as an after-dinner treat, peanut butter on an oreo (just kidding-I didn't do that but Outdoors Woman did. I didn't take it that far.) One day I even had peanut butter for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. You don't think my fat intake has gone up much, do you? Yeah, me neither.

So I'm trying to be the grown-up that I promised my parents I would be while I am two states away. I'm going to control this addiction, this...this...obsession with peanut butter. I can do it.....right?

Obsession of the Week: TRUE BLOOD

YAY FOR OBSESSIONS! Or not, because this one has been keeping me from doing my homework, cleaning my room, venturing off of the couch....basically being a real living, breathing person (which is actually scarce in this show anyway). I'm THAT obsessed. We all are. Last weekend, as you know, I went to Austin with my friends for Labor Day. We went to Blockbuster to rent a movie and instead decided to check out this new HBO series called True Blood. It's about vampires. I saw an episode when I was in Wisconsin this summer and wasn't impressed; I didn't want to rent it. I'm not one for vampires: I refuse to read the Twilight books and I mistakingly went to see the movie after my friend begged me for a week (those are a precious few hours that I will never get back..tear....) but we started watching and--holy cow--it's good! We watched the first two episodes that Saturday night and, after they were done, were on the computer looking for anyplace, anyplace at all, that sold/rented/pawned the series. No luck. We called every Blockbuster in the area to see if they had discs two and three but they were all checked out! My friend was even willing to drive to a Blockbuster 40 minutes away to pick one up, but I thought that was a little excessive. She, however, was serious.

Sunday rolled around, we went shopping, then stopped by Walmart to see if they were selling it. We found THE LAST COPY and I picked it up: 40 bucks. Not worth it, I thought. They, however, were basically ripping the cover off to look at the discs as if the episodes would melt into their brains and they wouldn't have to wait the ten minutes it would take to get home to watch them. I put the series back on the shelf just when a mom and her little daughter walked down the aisle. They were looking at Thomas the Tank Engine (which happened to be next to True Blood) when Beautiful Hair Girl came running down the aisle, pushed me out of the way, and plucked the series back up again because she was convinced the mom and her sub-ten-year-old were dying to watch a rated R blood and guts, basically porno about vampires. Riiiiiiight. Yeah, if you get even a little squeamish at the mention of blood, don't watch this. If you get uncomfortable during movies when a sexual act is even alluded to, don't watch this. Vampires get staked and burst into bloody goo on the screen. There are sex scenes like I have never ever seen in any movie or anything EVER (guess that's why it's on HBO--and I thought HBO was tasteful and "upscale"!) I pretty much avert my eyes when that happens because, come on, who really wants to see that? The plotline is really, really, really good and interesting. Something is always happening and the tables are always being turned. It's like a really good and interesting movie that never ends, and I know we all sometimes wish certain movies would keep going on. Unfortunately, the Rocky ones did. Spiderman is in close second.

The day we got back from Austin, Outdoors Women promptly went to the TV and recorded EVERY True Blood Episode showing within the next month. Yes, we have HBO. No, I don't know how to work our TV. I don't really even watch TV except for this. It's that good. How do three real starving college students afford HBO you ask? Well we got cable at the beginning of the year and it kept messing up. So we had someone come out and fix it. And it STILL kept messing up. So Bag Lady called the cable service, ends up talking to this guy for AN HOUR basically flirting and carrying on and gets us free HBO, STARZ, movie channels, and no cable bill for two months! We're that cool.

Now we are on Season Two. Yes, we finished a whole season in a weekend; don't judge. This season is a little weird, but I'm still hypnotized. It must be all the ripped guys appearing on the screen teasing me because I KNOW no guys are actually like that in real life. That's the problem with shows these days--the characters are obnoxiously good-looking, thin, and ripped. ABNORMAL. I'm gonna go do abs for an hour now that I've lowered my self-esteem possibly past the point of no return. Just kidding. But really, check it out. Or.....don't. Because it's addictive and if you want to keep any semblance of a real life then you probably shouldn't start down this road that is leading me to nothing but my couch. But is that really a bad thing in the end? (Just say no and make me feel better. Thanks.)

Haley and Chantie + Seven

Alright so I got a job! Yes, I know what you're thinking: college, 20 hours a week spent practicing, a social life, AND a job?! So, yes, I am superwoman. Until my next breakdown atleast :)


My job involves watching seven 18 month olds for a few hours every other Tuesday morning with my friend Chantie. So, yes, I'm crazy. Today was the first day and we had five lovely little ones with us in the room and just when the words "I can't believe no one has cried yet" were coming out of my mouth, a mom brought in two twin boys who were hysterical and stayed that way for the next hour. I really need to learn to keep my mouth shut. So we were playing and everything was going nice when the schedule said to take them outside. Oohhh man. It took us half an hour to get everyone DOWN THE HALL. I was carrying two kids and trying to corral two others as they ran in and out of every other door EXCEPT the one they were actually supposed to go out of. Go figure.


Lunch time. Uggghh. More food ended up on the floor and all over them than actually made it into their mouths. Was I this bad when I was 18 months? Doubt it. Plus they took apart the piano. Ok, I've got to admit I was pretty impressed at this point. I have no idea how to take apart a piano and I don't even have the creativity it takes to come up with this idea. And then they put it back together! Ha, just kidding. You believed me though. I don't know how Kate does it. After 3 hours I was done and ready for lunch. No way could I ever live like that. My wardrobe, however, was instantly upgraded by Cheerios, slober, dirt, and blueberry mush. Then I had class and I looked like a hot mess. Can't wait for the Tuesday after next!


As promised, here are pictures and the video from SUP-ping. (Pronounced like what'SUP) Sorry, that's the best I can do. And they weren't up yesterday because Bag Lady had already gone to bed and it was like 11 by the time my post was done. Anyway, you're welcome for the ab workout that follows (from laughing, if you're too dense for my humor)!


Beautiful Hair Girl and Bag Lady just starting out. You have to go on your knees for a little while to get used to it.
Outdoors woman after she fell in. Note: This is NOT the correct way to SUP.

ME!!! I look like a grandma but hey I didn't go in! I got waked so many times by the boats but managed to stay afloat. It was the orange sunglasses I'm told. You can't see them in this picture but they're the color of that orange thing at the bottom (plus some more brightness).

And now for the grand finale:

You'll start your diet AFTER my banana bread!

Living off-campus has been great. Really, REALLY great. I love my friends I live with and after having a disaster roommate last year (I'm sure you'll hear a story or two about her on here sometime), I was ready for the move. Dorm life just wasn't for me. My coach tried to tell me that if I was on scholarship, which I am, then I had to stay on campus until I was a senior. AKA two more years. This was so the extra money could be fed back into the school to pay for my room and board instead of being given to me to pay for my off-campus expenses. I almost pulled out the waterworks then and there but decided to instead say that living on campus would be detrimental to my mental health and, therefore, impact my performance in a negative way. He bought it.

So there we were, two sophomores and a freshman, trying to navigate the real estate industry in what is know as the city of Dallas. Yeeeeeah, forget about it. We pretty much just drove up and down the streets around campus calling the phone numbers on signs that said FOR RENT or FOR LEASE. We called one property asking for the price and the lady said, "900,000 dollars." Trying not to laugh, Bag Lady (my other roommate besides Outdoors Woman) said we just wanted to rent it. The realtor asked if we went to SMU. "Yes," Bag Lady replied. "Then why don't you have one of your parents buy it? You can use it while you go to school and then they can sell it when you're done." WHY HADN'T I THOUGHT OF THAT?! Mom, Dad, please please please buy me a 900,000 dollar piece of property worth way more than your place so that I can live there and go to school for only a few hours a day and throw awesome parties in it at night. According to the realtor this was a no-brainer. My parents' brains, on the other hand, couldn't even comprehend. Ok, ok, I never even asked.

After a few more months of looking high and low for something that would fit our budget, we found it. AND I LOVE IT. It's not a regular beige-carpeting-and-ivory-wall apartment. It's a condo with a pool, grills, hammocks, palm trees, brick and stone and textured grass everywhere. Its got character. And its a steal. Something a starving college student (and I mean a real starving college student, not an SMU starving college student who likes to look like he or she is starving because it is "attractive") can afford. I've got my own balcony and its a mere three minutes drive from campus. I'm so so so so so so SO happy.

So today Outdoors Woman and I are driving to practice and I say, "That's it. I want to lose ten pounds (doesn't everyone want to lose "ten pounds" these days?) and that's what I'm going to work on this semester!" She says, "Ok, yeah I want to do it too! I want to be healthier." So we went to practice hoping to burn some major cals but all we did was sit on the erg (its an ergometer--see picture below) and think about rowing while our coach talked. Damn.

So I offered to make dinner tonight. Pasta with sauce and vegetables and chicken. A good, wholesome dinner. When I'm done making dinner and Outdoors Woman and I are just about to sit down, Bag Lady comes in with groceries from the store. We tell her that we are going to be healthier and she wants in. Then, while OW (Outdoors Woman) and I are eating, Baggie (Bag Lady) starts pulling out random things from her bags. "Do you guys like French Bread, pudding, fried chips?" "Baggie! We just told you that we are trying to eat healthier!" OW says. Baggie ignores us. "Ohh I forgot I have bad bananas. I'm going to make Banana Bread tonight!" "Baggie! We are on a diet!" OW replies. Baggie slowly turns around from putting things away in the fridge and I know something bad is coming. Like when the music starts in a scary movie and your body gets all tense and nothing bad has even happened yet and sometimes nothing bad even happens at all and its just the director trying to have a little chuckle at your expense and all of a sudden you get Charlie Horses all over your body from your muscles freaking and spazzing out and the next thing you know there is something warm and liquidy all over your hands and you were so scared that your nails cut into your skin? Yeah uh I've never had something like that happen to me either....uhhh. Well let's hypothetically say we all have experienced something like that and I almost hid under the kitchen table right before she roared: "WELL YOU CAN START YOUR DIET AFTER MY BANANA BREAD!!!!!!"

It was all over. I couldn't start my diet (I mean start being a healthier person) immediately like I had wanted to (or like I tried to tell myself I wanted to, even though I didn't believe myself). So I got some more pasta.

Ten minutes later, after Baggie had announced she was going to do homework, I tried desperately to act innocent when I asked, "So are you making that Banana Bread tonight?" She shut her bedroom door and I could hear her laughing inside.

An ergometer is a machine you use to train for rowing. I like to compare it to a treadmill for runners except you would never, ever, EVER hop on an erg by choice. It is always forced upon you.