Sometimes I wonder how well people really know me. For example, my sister in law sent me this email earlier this week:
A friend passed this on to me…
Thought I would pass it on to all my fitness peeps.
I’m thinking of Volunteering… not running in it. Although I was tempted.
Anyone else tempted by the insanity?
Oh where to begin? I guess the beginning is always the best place to begin, right? (Unless you’re watching a James Cameron movie, then you really only need to watch the last half hour.)
“Thought I would pass it on to all my fitness peeps.”
I’ll pause for those of you that know me (in real life) to pick up the shards of whatever fragile item you just dropped to the floor in surprise. Mmmhmm. I’m a “fitness peep” now. Did you not get the memo? (PS If I had my new computer already, I’d totally make a little graphic of a tiny piece of paper featuring a lady bug wearing a sweatband and holding one of those shake weights. For now you’ll just have to pretend.)
Remember me? The gal that only runs when chased? The gal that couldn’t hit a ball with a bat unless I was really mad at the guy and had unlimited swings? The gal that had to ice her crotch for three solid days after riding a bike for a whopping three miles? The gal that hasn’t stepped foot in a gym since 2008 despite the fact that she lives directly across the street from one? Turns out kids, all it takes to earn the title of “fitness peep” is attempting a Bollywood workout video once in your life. Done. Now where’s my fucking tiara?
Then I clicked on the link. I actually asked aloud to my empty apartment, “Has she met me?” I like mud as much as the next gal, but I generally only play in mud when it involves a wedging table, maybe a wheel, and eventually a kiln. This mud-based activity falls soundly outside of my mud-embracing boundaries:
Tough Mudder is the TOUGHEST one day event on the planet. This is not your average mud run or boring spirit-crushing road race. Our 7 mile obstacle courses are designed by British Special Forces to test all-round toughness, strength, stamina, fitness, camaraderie and mental grit. Forget about your race time, simply completing the event is a badge of honor. Not everyone will finish, but those who do make it to our post-race party will have truly earned the right to call themselves a Tough Mudder.
Just reading that description made me so exhausted I nearly hurled. (In other related news, did you know you’re not supposed to mix Vicodin and Ambien? True story.) Generally I’m not big on participating in events with the words “spirit-crushing” in the description. I’m about five bazillion percent sure I’m not their target demographic. Also, I’m about seventeen bazillion percent sure I was sent that email by mistake. Clearly my SIL mixed up her “fitness peeps” mailing list with her “people that like vagina jokes” mailing list. I’m guessing there’s a whole mess of fitness junkies that won’t be opening emails from my SIL at the office any longer.
Then yesterday, one of my favorite people on the planet sent me this email:
i dont know why this made me think of you… but it did
To which I responded, “Um. Thanks?” What I really meant to say was, “ARGHHH! IT’S WORSE THAN ROD STEWART!!! AGHHHH! MAKE IT END!! DO YOU HATE ME?!?!? MY EYES!!! IN THE NAME OF ALL THAT IS HOLY, MAKE IT END!!!!!”
Then I paused and thought a moment. This gal knows me pretty damn well, on both a professional AND personal level. We worked in the same cube for over a year together. We discussed many books together. We traveled multiple continents together. We consumed MANY bottles of wine together. I mean, in theory this gal should “get” me, right?
So how come when she sees a photo of bedazzled stuffed rats glued to a headband she thinks of me? Is it possible I have a skewed vision of myself? I mean, I never even considered wearing a headband before receiving her email.
Other things people sent me this week under the heading of “this made me think of you”:
- Vagazzling courtesy of KeepingYouAwake – I’d try and fight this one but no less than seven people landed on my site this week after searching “Vagina Bedazzler.” I’m so proud I could add some Vicodin and Ambien to my wine and puke. I’m pretty sure Mom is thinking the exact same thing at this exact same moment. (To clarify, I mean she’s thinking, “I’m so proud” not “Maybe I should bedazzle my vag.” If she’s thinking the latter I’m pretty sure I don’t need a play by play of Dad’s reaction. Oh hell, I’m in trouble again.)
- I Heart You Online courtesy of Submom – cute little Australian chicks singing in harmony and no use of the <3 emoticon in sight?! Perfection! It boggles my brain a bit that sweet school girls playing a ukulele and singing without any obscenities makes Submom think of me. Then again, I’m pretty sure “click on my face” has to be a euphemism for something. She also sent me a lovely article about a penis mall.
- I’m not even going to tell you who sent me this, but it’s safe to assume we’re related. Sure Dufmanno wants to get these matching tats before we beat all the Connecticut girls at chicken wrestling at the pool during BlogHer, but I think it’s just too soon. Do I talk about unicorns and genitalia that much?
- I love drag queens. I’m always running late. Put the two together and you get Busy Drag Queen. Just so you know, my calves look just like those of the ‘gal’ in the video. Come to think of it, that’s probably why I get lumped in with the ‘fitness peeps.’ Who knew David Lee Roth kicks and punching the air counted as a work out? I’m pretty sure I had this one coming.
- Then I received an invitation to join Busty Older Women club on Facebook from my friend Creamed Corn. You know me too well, CC. I’m nothing if not a sucker for busty older women. I totally have naked posters of Betty White and Angela Lansbury hanging above my bed.
The sad thing is, even though I would have never looked at any of these things and shouted, “Holy shit that is so me,” they made me giggle madly and accidentally snarf wine through my nose. Obviously you people know me better than I know myself. My whole world has been turned upside down.
So I’m pretty much just waiting for Rod Stewart to marry me at this point. I mean, that’s the only possible next step, right? There’s no telling what I’m capable of at this point. Even I don’t know what I’ll do. Yesterday I bought a Mac, for Pete’s sake. The laws of the universe are in flux. Next thing you know it’ll be dogs and cats living together. The horror.