The alarm went off painfully early on Saturday morning. 6:45am to be exact. Hubs jumped out of bed while I mumbled a “have a good time” and “eat something before you leave.” I swear, I’m like so old Italian grandmother sometimes. As if he needs to be reminded to eat. And that was that. I rolled over and closed my eyes and hubs left for his play golf date with an old friend.
My eyes promptly re-opened only 20 or so minutes later. So much for sleeping in on the weekend. Getting old stinks! So I gave in and got up. Had some tasty greek yogurt mess while I read the newspaper. I puttered around the kitchen, checked my email and thought, well, if I’m going out to run I better leave soon.
I had intended on going for about 9 but at 3 I was thinking, when will this be done? I mean, it was just brutal. So I did 7 (somehow) and called it a day. I quickly showered, pulled on some yoga-looking attire and was out the door again. This time to see my massage therapist for a much needed de-kinking.
After an hour or so of (sometimes painful) kneading, I drove back home and cooked up a boca burger and sliced up some veggies and an apple. This is my usual lunch business on a Saturday. The only difference was that I had to pretty much stuff my face so I could make my 2:00pm hair appointment. When I say stuff my face, I mean that I spent only about 30 minutes eating. I have been accused of being a very slooooow eater. Ok. I’ll own that. I just don’t love feeling like I am in some kind of race to finish my food. Call me European. I like to enjoy my meal.
So I get to the salon which is about a mile from my house and nervously walk in. I’m meeting a new stylist. I had been with my prior for a good 5 years. She’s now a nurse. I mean, how could she do that to me?! I’m glad she’s happy though, even at the expense of my hair. So this new stylist is very hip-looking. What I mean by that is that she’s got the uber-cool two toned hair (white and black–not kidding), blue fingernails, what looks to be the beginnings of a sleeve on her left arm and jeans so low that at times I can see a good 2 inches of crack. Mostly though, she has that “I’m so cool, I’m bored” look to her. She immediately intimidates me. I’m praying for several things at this point:
1. Let her be a decent stylist. I mean, my hair has been looking pretty rough lately.
2. Let her be quick.
3. Let her warm up to me…eventually.
I got 2 out of the 3. I’m good with that. The hair actually looks much better and she was pretty speedy. I don’t think she’ll ever warm up to me. I’ve never fit in with that kind of too-cool-for-school person. I don’t have the energy to stress about that stuff much anymore, thankfully.
I got home and began to clean. Our kitchen was a freakin’ nightmare. Then the fatigue started to settle in so I went and tried to read on the couch for a while. Our couch is notorious for putting me to sleep. I didn’t fight it.
Hubs got home just in time from his second play guy-date of the day–this time a trip out with the boys to the gun range. He sat on the couch and said we should leave for dinner if we were going to make it up to UCLA on time.
I threw on some real clothes (sort of–better than the yoga attire, but not by a whole lot) and we were off in search of some tasty sushi–this would officially cap off our Asian dinner week. Our first stop was a no-go. The place was packed. So we ended up at U-Zen. We’d been before and it’s definitely a decent sushi place. We got the usual suspects (toro and yellowtail sashimi, a couple of rolls, miso, rice, some drinks). We didn’t order dessert but for some reason our server came by with some ice cream for us and said, “this is my favorite! please enjoy.” We did.
We then braved the traffic to get up to Westwood for the Andre Agassi vs. John McEnroe charity match. This was a spontaneous decision on Thursday and a miracle for us to go out two Saturdays in a row. We rule.
Not surprisingly, Agassi won: 6-4, 6-2. But McEnroe put up a stronger fight than I had initially imagined. The bonus was that by the second set, McEnroe was thoroughly pissed at himself and we had the good fortune of sitting not far from a jackass who decided to say something about the beating McEnroe was giving to his raquet in-between points. Let’s just say good thing Johnny Mac was not mic’d. I believe he used phrases that included, motherf-er and asshole. So we got to really experience some Mac anger.
All in all, a great day. But tiring. Today has been very low key. But isn’t that what Sundays are for?
The rhythm of life is when you experience your own body, mind and soul.