"Why's that?" I asked.
"I've had a meeting reschedule and need to be back for 11:00 now, so there's only time for working out or a bagel, but not both."
I replied, "Well, I can do just my upper body today and blow off the cardio, since it's a dance night tonight."
"Great idea!" he said. "Today's a shoulder day and I'll reduce my reps, so we can both finish in a half hour."
Today's workout statistics:
We did have our bagels—at the Bruegger's at Mission Valley. The scenery was good there this morning: a table of EMT guys to the right, one in particular—shaved head and goatee; a lightly-stubbled college kid off to the left; and one of two guys together at the table straight ahead of us.
Those two guys head on have been there before when we were there, and I was trying to remember why I remembered that. Then, the (cute) one took out his little black bible, right after which I noticed the huge white crucifix on the back of the other guy's bright red t-shirt.
A memory flashed before me of eating my white-chocolate-cross-for-Jesus the other day.
I edited today, working today instead of Monday. As expected, the progress is slow on this publication.
Before dancing, I ran out to Best Buy to buy a copy of TurboTax 2008.
On the way to Flex, I stopped for gas at a station where there was something wrong with the pumps. It took, literally, ten minutes to put 11 gallons of gas in my car. Fortunately, I was not only not in a hurry, I was actually trying to kill some time, so I just sat back and enjoyed the drama that ensued.
While sitting in my car waiting for my gas to pump at the lightning speed of one gallon per minute, a woman pulls up in this huge vehicle, something like a Lincoln Navigator, and she backs up to the pump in front of me on the other side.
I'm looking at the area of her car in front of the pump, and thinking, "Interesting, I don't see the gas tank lid on the side near the pump. I wonder if it's down in the middle or somewhere kind of hidden on this late model BAV (Big-Assed Vehicle)."
After finally getting it where she wants it, she gets out of the car, walks around, looks where she obviously thought the gas tank would be, and then throws her hands up in the air and down by her side, realizing she'd shimmied the shit out of that thing all to no avail.
She pulls forward to turn around and back the other side to the pump. She has to turn the corner a little, because the vehicle is so big, and as she does this, another car (who can't see what she's doing), pulls in and takes that pump.
Up go her hands again. She drives further around and gets behind me, where by this time now, I've watched my pump pump about a gallon-and-a-half of gas in about 2 or 3 minutes, and I think, "Honey, you've got a wait behind me."
The car on the other side of the pump leaves, and I watch to see if she's going to move over to that one, but the problem is if she does, she has to do yet another u-turn to get her gas tank over to the right side for that pump. She waits instead. I can see her in my rear-view mirror getting totally worked up.
After another about a minute-and-a-half, she backs up that tank she's driving, does her u-ey, backs up to the new pump with her gas tank on the correct side, puts her credit card in, and starts pumping. After about a minute, she's yelling to the girl at the pump she was originally at, "IS SOMETHING WRONG WITH THESE PUMPS? THEY ARE PUMPING SO SLOW!!!" The girl nods.
Off she stomps inside to complain. I would have given anything to see a graph of her blood pressure throughout this whole ordeal, which I'm sure she had envisioned as a nice, innocent stop for gas.
Dancing was okay tonight. It was stopped for a few minutes, while the TV sound was turned on during Dolly's appearance on American Idol.
This couple (a gay man and his straight woman friend) were watching us dance, and after they clapped for us a couple of times, I went over to introduce myself to them—Mary Ann and Jay. They were nice enough, but when they finally got to the matter of what they really wanted—to buy some drugs—I moved on.