Good fucking lord people, shut the fuck up already.

Yes, I thrice-damned, fucking know the site map is broken.

No, you are not the first person to tell me this.

Yes, it's on my list of things to do.

No, it's not at the top.

Stop fucking emailing me about it. I don't fucking care.

No, this isn't for this site.

Even though meeting Matt was a big reason I went to Cal's Flickr workshop, I'm surprised at how much I randomly see him now. Take tonight, for example. I saw him at SFO. At 11:45 at night. Passing baggage Delta baggage claim #17. Wearing his light-brownish jacket. Looking really tired.

Did you know that you can have 280 North all to yourself at 1:00 on Wednesday mornings? It's true.

A skunk crossed my path on my drive home from dropping Heather off after picking her up at the airport (hence, seeing Matt). Does this mean I'll have seven years good luck?

I didn't hit it.

Honest.

This morning was my first deep water aerobics class. I've been looking for some form of exercise that might be easier on the knees that won't necessarily cost a couple grand (think, "elliptical trainer") or be too inconvenient (think, "the closest, best, most convenient two athletic facilities have closed in the last year"). Having looked at the local pool class listings off and on for the last few years, I figured until the new year fitness fervor ends at Powerbodies, I'd give it a go.

I covered the minor hurdles with the class (the foremost being, of course, buy a bathing suit), but had to cover the biggest one: be at the cold, cold pool at 8:00 am.

Did I mention the "cold" part?

I was so cold this morning, I had three winter layers on as I drove to the pool this morning. I wandered around the pool, figuring out the entrance location ("Hey, around the corner, hidden behind this outcropping seems like a brilliant place to put the gate, let's put it here!"), and stood looking quite lost at the poolside, arriving a miraculous five minutes early.

And, promptly froze my toes off.

One by one, the other ladies of the class wandered past me, into the locker room, then back out and into the pool. The look of confusion on my face clearly clued in the instructor, who introduced herself (Sharon) and let me know the gist of the class organization. Yes, it's cold. Yes, I want to bring a hat. Yes, I want to wear said hat in the pool. Yes, earmuffs are good, too. Yes, a synthetic shirt will also be good, not to keep me warm, but rather to keep the breeze off my shoulders.

Oh.

And if I get too cold, move faster.

Into the water I went. Usually one to ease into the water, I pretty much splashed right in with the floatation belt secured tightly around my waist. I had the smallest one they had. It kept me afloat just fine.

After a few moments of perfecting my utterly-lost look, while I cavalierly squandering a part of my thermal budget, I met the first of the many class participants. Dori introduced herself and explained the general class outline: warmup, circle up for words, gradual build up of intensity in the workout as we exercized in one giant oval around and around and around the pool.

Nearly as futile as running around one giant quarter mile track: you don't really get anywhere.

As Sharon entered the water and started the warmups, most of the women (and, yes, they were all women, all older than I, and all either the previous generation or maybe 150% my size) gathered into small groups and started talking. Dori seemed most interested in exercising. She did the exercises with the highest intensity after Sharon. Dori and Sharon were also the fittest women in the pool as far as I could tell. I stuck with Dori and her explanations and intensity throughout most of the class, visiting briefly with other classmates as they welcomed me into the class. The previous newbie (Denise?) joined the class last September and has been trhilled with her increased flexibility. The class has been running for twelve years, I don't know if anyone has been attending that long.

After the hour was up, I hurried out of the pool and promptly froze my feet off. The cement is cold and that 80° water doesn't seem so cold when confronted with 45° air.

I have another class tomorrow morning, but I won't be making that one. I'm far too (pleasantly) tired from this first class, and will happily sleep well tonight after picking Heather up from the airport and dropping her off at home. Today will be a long, long day.

mike and I wandered into a car dealership this evening with the intention of buying a very specific truck. The car manufacturer is having a particularly good sale at the moment, and I have a credit card the generates incentives that lower the cost of the vehicle even further. As both of us had use of a truck, and neither of our spouses objected, we pulled the trigger and decided to buy.

So, we headed in, found the truck (not really, it's in transit, and they have no idea where it is, it's "somewhere"), and said we'd purchase.

We sat down and were immediately asked a ton of credit application questions: drivers license, social security number, employer information. The salesman initially asked me for the information, and I completely balked. We're paying cash, people, caaaaash.

Mike, being the hero he is, stepped up and put the vehicle in his name, filling out the credit application.

After a few moments, he started balking, too. Why do you need my social security number to buy a car IN CASH.

The only thing you should need to buy a car is the cash and a drivers license. This Patriot Act thing is a fucking piece of crap.

When I was around 12 years old, I came across my mom sitting on the stairs leading to the second floor, crying. I had heard a loud noise, and had gone to investigate. She had fallen down the stairs, and was recovering at the bottom.

Actually, I can tell you the exact date this happened: March 7th, 1982. How's that for a memory like a steel trap?

Mom was pretty blue. Things were not going well for her, and I suspect she was quite unhappy. Divorce and three kids, a new job, an uncertain future, the weight of her world on her shoulders. No, not at all surprising she was crying.

Except to me. I was puzzled. Why would Mom be crying? I asked her. She answered. And then I told her she wasn't supposed to cry.

"Why not?"

"You're an adult. Adults don't cry."

I don't know her response, but my comment was definitely made from the ignorance and perceptions of youth. Adults didn't cry in my presence, I had seen only children cry, therefore, I believed (yes, ignorantly and stupidly) only children cried.

Mind you, this was before I started taking logic classes the following year, and it would be four more years before I learned of the concept of guilt by association.

As an adult, I laugh at the thought that adults don't cry. Been doing too much of it lately to think I could (would?) outgrow it.