Sunday, August 3, 2008

Unexpected joy

I started this weekend off on my pity pot.

Yes, that's right, I was having a "poor Maggie" moment that threatened to last all weekend long. This is the first weekend in a long time that didn't hold plans with people I love. This weekend stretched before me like a black hole of loneliness.

So I did what any red-blooded American spinstress would do: I cleaned my apartment and talked to the cats. Yeah, that got old. By Saturday morning, I was ready to break out. I hit the gym hard, with a full hour of Latin-inspired cardio, followed by a full hour of weightlifting (swear to God, I'm gonna get some muscle tone if it kills me. And it might!) followed by a session focused solely on my core - the abs, lower back, and booty.

Incidentally, have you noticed that my ass is where it belongs? I think I have been successful at defying gravity - yay, glutes!

Anyhoo, following the workout, I put on my bathing suit, grabbed my SPF 30 and my book, and found myself a recliner by the pool. I spent an hour or so there, thinking about how good I felt about myself after such a great workout. Then it was time to shower and hit the grocery store.

Stocked up on important stuff, like beer and Popsicles. And when I headed home, I checked my voicemail.

Two messages. Both from people I love. The weekend was not going to be lonely, after all.

I spent last evening with my friends Ken and Melissa. You remember Melis - she's the one who crashed the wedding? We love telling the story of how our friendship has lasted longer than the friendship with the girl who introduced us, or the wedding that brought us together in the first place. It was a great evening, hanging out at Ken's folks' place - cold beer, good friends, and cake. We were up until the wee hours, talking, catching up, laughing so hard it hurt.

And now, I'm on my way out the door to meet Sheila for coffee, because I love Sheila, and I love coffee. That should bump nicely into an evening of "dinner" with Patrick and Ed (which, roughly translated, means frozen pizza in the oven while I provide manual labor to unload the truck.)

So a weekend that started out as me, alone, ended up being me and an abundance of love. Who knew?

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