I weep.

Happily, they are also including “turducken.”

2. Girl wearing beanie with cat ears while driving truck with bedazzled rear-view mirrors and giant shark fin constructed in the truck’s bed.

3. Two old guys smoking pot on the street.

Methinks it must be almost time for Burning Man.  I wish the desert-goers well.

The other night, Cat spotted something in the dining room and started stalking it.  A co-worker had driven me home and stayed for cocktails, and we all noticed Cat’s sudden and extreme interest in the area underneath the dining room table.  I mocked Cat aloud, noting that if whatever he was chasing actually existed (as more often than not it is a dust mite or something invisible), then it was likely a pill bug or spider that he would watch for awhile before going to take a nap.

We discussed the small possibility it could be a rodent because there was a recent snafu with some stored dog food that ended up feeding what appears to have been a colony of mice intent on pooping on every surface in the garage, but noted that even if it was a mouse, the potential of Cat being able to actually catch a rodent was nil.  “If Cat ever catches a mouse,” I said, “I’ll throw a party.”

Lo and behold, Cat emerged not one minute later with a tee-tiny mouse clutched in his little jaws.  He surprised even himself, as after he caught it, he dropped it and looked in alarm as it scampered away.

Much mayhem followed including:

- My impression of a cartoon housewife when the mouse touched my arm as it ran by me.  Much to my own embarrassment, I screamed and dropped the bowl I was attempting to trap it with.

- Moving of all dining room furniture in order to give the mouse no sanctuary.

- A fantastic CAT-AND-DOG TEAM! that worked together to corner and capture the mouse.  Dog was the ultimate final catcher, ending the game with two quick chomps.

- Excessive explanation to my co-worker that really, we are reasonably clean people.  Awesome.

The mouse was given an unceremonious funeral-by-flinging into the abandoned house’s yard next door.  Go with God, little guy.

Mouse traps have now been set.  I am using a loophole excuse that I don’t have to throw Cat a mouse-catching party as Dog helped him.  That, and the fact that Cat doesn’t actually like parties what with all the stomping and nap-interrupting, so his idea of a party is a slow Sunday morning.  Consider THAT party thrown.

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Super annoying thing of the day:
“To All the Girls I’ve Loved Before,” the Julio Iglesias and Willie Nelson “musical” assault on the ears, was playing in the drug store this morning.  Unfortunately, I know it well enough so that it’s been in my head ever since.

I extend my sympathy to all the girls who have travelled in and out Julio’s and/or Willie’s door.

Although really, how do you NOT love a three-legged dog?

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I started a trial of a new gym yesterday.  It’s a CrossFit gym, and its premise is that people have classes in groups of 15 with a “Coach.”  Workouts are varied and hard and mimic real-life movements.  They don’t use any weight machines — it’s all free weights and body movement and flexibility and cardio.  The whole thing feels to me a lot like varsity sports in high school.  People care a lot more than regular gym class, but there’s still a large element of play to it.

Yesterday in the trial I was asked to row 500 m (not hard), do 40 squats with perfect form (a little hard), 30 full sit-ups (fine), 20 real push-ups (ummm…ouchy), and then 10 pull-ups.

Let me repeat that last little bit to you: TEN PULL-UPS.

The last time I could do a pull-up, I didn’t have hips.  I can vividly recall being 14 in the high school weight room and leaping up to the chin-up bar and doing ten pull-ups in rapid succession with ease.  I could not figure out what the big deal was.

One year later of constant sports while growing rapidly: Tried the same thing and couldn’t do one.  My center of gravity was completely different.  My dad (the gym teacher and track coach) told me that it’s why girls have a harder time doing pull-ups and I left it at that: Women with hips weren’t made for pull-ups.  But the female coach yesterday jumped right up to demonstrate a proper pull-up.  While she is not exactly wide through the hips, she still does not resemble a boy or a stick-figure.  She could bear children if need be, but could do a pull-up easy as pie.  (Which, judging by the rest of her figure, she probably never gets to eat.  But she could make the easy pie and then I would eat it.  Mmmmm…pie.)

It hit me suddenly during her demonstration: Women CAN do pull-ups.  It’s just hard is all.  And if it’s just  hard, then so what?  Hard is do-able.

Anyway, in the trial workout I got to use the help of some resistance band thing-y to start and finish the pull-ups.  I did them all, but holy cow was I tired at the end of it.

After I finished, I was informed that this routine is a typical warm-up or that if this were a workout, we’d repeat it four to five times.

I’m scared, but I’m game.  First real work-out tomorrow.  Massage scheduled for Sunday.

And no, I will still never run a marathon.

• I presented a name slideshow to my friends, and they seemed to think it was all fun and games and not the very serious presentation it was.  And now they are more determined than ever to not let me in on the naming of their child.  The nerve.

• I sent out a follow-up letter to my old friend the Catholic church to let her know she could no longer count me among her faithful.  I haven’t heard a peep back, but I wasn’t really expecting any response.  The catharsis happened with the original letter.

• Chickens are ridiculously noisy in the mornings.  Not roosters.  Chickens.  Also, their very favorite food is shrimp shells.

Phenomenon
I volunteer as a peer counselor at a GLBT hotline.  Mostly we take calls from people who are gay or think they might be, and we help to normalize their feelings and assure them that they are normal and that this characteristic is immutable.  It’s a really fulfilling way to spend my Monday nights and I really enjoy it.

There is a fascinating trend in some of the calls, though.  About once every two weeks, I get a call from guys who “accidentally” had sex with another guy in the shower at the gym, and now are panicked because they think that made them gay.*

The way that it is described as going down (he he!) is almost unchangeable: Guy enters locker room after workout.  Other guy is in there showering.  Then there is a hazy period that is typically referred to as “and then things happened,” “one thing led to another,” or “and then the next thing I knew…”.

I’ve never asked for the specifics of how one thing led to another in these locker room trysts because I like to play out the possible scenarios in my head:

“Hey,” says Guy1.  “Is that scented soap?”
“Nah,” says Guy2.  “It’s just my natural musk.”
Bom-chicka-wah-wah

It’s all crazy interesting.

*This is a common call even outside of the gym shower sex.  A guy will have a homo-erotic experience and think that the experience makes him gay.  The peer counselors explain that experiences don’t change sexual orientation, but that gay-ness or bi-ness is determined by attraction.  I should note that I generally check to make sure the sex was consensual, and it always was.