for girls only...

OK, so guys could read this too. I don't particularly care--but don't say I didn't warn you!

I just wanted to share my everlasting delight at finally finding a bra that actually does what a sports bra should. I'm not large chested, but I'm large enough that the wimpy things they sell in Target and MC Sports just don't cut it. I demand dominance over gravity! Not much is less comfortable than feeling yourself bouncing with every step as you try to jog a couple miles. It's a de-motivator, for sure and for certain.

After endless--yet admittedly sporadic--searching for a bra in area stores, I finally and impulsively did something I've been tempted to do for a long time. I went to the Title Nine website and ordered The Frog Bra.


This puppy is 32% lycra. Zow! When I opened to package and tried it on, my initial response was simple and definitive. I said (out loud, even, to the chagrin of my cat) "Wow! I haven't been this flat since junior high!"
And that, my friends, is a beautiful thing when I'm jogging. Or riding my pogo stick. Or jumping rope. Or whatever else I want.

cubes

They are reconfiguring some of our offices today. I am so thankful I'm in a room with a door. It's quite chaotic out there. If I'm not careful, someone's going to throw a bookcase or desk or something in front of my door and trap me in here forever.

Then again, if that happens, no one would bother me and I could get lots of work done. Or take a nap. Whatever.

You know, I like my office. It's my own little brightly-lit world. I have a lamp with a fun red shade to soften the fluorescent light, lots of quotes and pics on the walls, and a rug shaped like a roadster tucked beneath my computer desk. I usually have my door mostly shut, in order to play music without needing headphones--which wouldn't work, since I bounce between two desks. Think My Big Fat Greek Wedding, when she tries to walk away from the desk while wearing her hands-free phone thing. Yank!

the old lady's still got it

And that, my friends, is a subject line that I just couldn't resist. But, at the same time, it's strangely accurate. Last night, for the first time in months, I went swing dancing. Not just standing there watching other people dancing, but full-out dancing type dancing.

It was a strange progression of an evening. After work I made my way down to the Hope Lodge, a really groovy organization that provides free lodging to cancer patients and their families who have come to GR for the hospital(s). My old roommate and some other people from her office provide dinner for the residents once a month. She received a last-minute word that, after dinner, there would be a swing band, and they were looking for dancers. I proceeded to drag up as many hipsters as I could. And, after dinner, naturally, we trickled down to the band.

There was a huge swing band--about twenty people--with their very own conductor. All older folk. And they played sloooooow. And the conductor talked between each song. We determined this was because 1) the band just couldn't physically play any faster and 2) the conductor was giving them breaks so no one in the band keeled over from the strain.

But still, it was nice to provide a little entertainment to the dozen or so patients who came to sit and listen. We had our own little audience of one out in the lobby, where we had elected to stay, and she seemed very happy to watch us.

This wrapped up about eight, and that's when things got interesting. One of the other dancers mentioned that there was more dancing in another venue. After an interesting twenty minutes of trying to find parking downtown and ending up in the wrong lane and parking at Burger King, we found ourselves at another swing dance--and instantly went from being the youngest folks to being the oldest. The Grand Rapids Tuesday night swing gang, mostly composed of high school kids and a few college punks, took over the Van Andel museum for the evening. It was fantastic and crowded--a couple hundred exuberant young people--with music at least three times faster than what we had just left. Albeit from a stereo, not a band, but at least we didn't have to worry about killing the band.

All warmed up from our "slow" session, we proceeded to cut many, many rugs, until ten. Ten is when I turn into a pumpkin and have to go home. And...that's when the music stopped. They make you leave when the music stops.

It's funny what bits and pieces are sore the next day when one participates in a strenuous physical activity one has not practiced in some time. In this case: my right hand. My left glute. Hmm.

But at least I don't have a shiner--there was a couple minutes last night when I thought I might. And at least I showed those kids that this old lady's still got it.

october sun

Things have been quite busy for me this last handful of days. My biannual German invasion occurred on Friday, the preparations for which kept me busily cleaning and tidying and painting and washing the tractor and...

(My German what? Oh--for those who are unaware, my house is owned by a lovely older German couple from Hamburg. Seriously. Twice a year, they come out for about two weeks and stay in their upstairs apartment. As I am both tenant and caretaker, and since they are particular in a very German way, I do quite a bit of extra work before they come.)

This fall was extra fun, as their apartment had been renovated over the last two months, and required some hardcore cleaning--which I was hired to do. No problem. I likes me a little extra cash. It just meant I went from being busy to being busier. But now they are here, and now I'm caught up on the housework for a few days. Well, except for vacuuming the ladybug invasion. I killed about a hundred in the sewing room yesterday. No exaggeration. But that's another story...

Yesterday, my dad came and picked me up on his motorcycle and we went for a two-hour ride, mostly through the country, and I got my fill of the wonderful warm sun, and saw lots of lovely fall color. Ahh. There's nothing like seeing those golden and red trees against a backdrop of crisp blue sky.

I finished off the afternoon with a trip to Jersey Junction for some pumpkin ice cream. Ahh again. Beautiful. And probably my last chance to eat ice cream for supper this year. Out of the carton just isn't the same. It's like...it's like s'mores done in the microwave. Just not quite right.