Let's Work it Out

One of my favorite aspects of being single is the ability to set my own routines. I'm a routine person to begin with and being single makes it easy for me to stick to my rituals. I'm working my way back into an exercise regiment which is both challenging and rewarding. By exercise routine I don't mean marathons, triathlons, or Iron Man races. I don't have what it takes to do those; namely, desire.

No, my little exercise regiment is, at the moment, three to four days a week at the "gym" at my apartment complex. It's a good 30 -40 minute walk on the treadmill at a good clip followed by a few "reps"(as they say in the biz) with some free weights. It works for me and I am able to set goals for myself. I guess you could say I am the Goldilocks of working out...not too easy, not too hard, but JUUUUST right.

The "gym" at my apartment complex is basically a workout room. Considering there is no membership fee and it's located literally next door to my building, I find it to be pretty darn nice. It's also pretty darn basic and I find that the people who frequent it are status quo. There are folks who are in better shape than I am and folks who are in worse shape than I am. I would probably fall in the middle in comparison.

If I was a serious athlete and "in training", I'd consider the Gables Grandview workout room "cute". It would be where I would stop over for my "cool down". You don't get a lot of Iron Men in there on a regular basis, which is why yesterday was such a departure from the usual after-work crowd.

Before I even crossed the threshold of the workout room, I could see the silhouette of a frantic elliptical user in the window. The workout room is encased in floor to ceiling windows so I can usually gage how crowded it is while I am en route. There are only four treadmills so my arrivals must be timely. I'm used to looking inside on my way over to see if I can spot a vacant one, then I hone in on it like a cadaver dog on a scent and do not relent. At any rate, I ended up claiming a treadmill two machines over from the elliptical enthusiast. Her wild antics continued as I proceeded with my workout and several times, I honestly thought she was going to propel herself off of the elliptical and the hilltop and land on a tree limb somewhere on the side of a cliff. I had this cartoon-esque imagery in my head which made concentration difficult. Something a la old school Looney Tunes.

Had this been a spinning class, she would have been the instructor; up front with a Madonna drive-through head-set on calling out motivational chants like the Tony Robbins of exercising. But it wasn't a spinning class. This is the Gables Grandview; the anarchy of activity. No lifeguards at the pool and no instructors on staff in the workout room to prevent you from smashing your femur with a weight. My fellow workout tentant seemed so serious, so focused, and so out of her element.

I was determined to get into that zone where the endorphins do their thing and you find you are enjoying your workout so while it was difficult to flip off my peripheral vision, I managed to do so and with great success; I shaved three minutes off my time from the day before. For me, a personal victory.

As I was entering the twilight of my workout, my fellow workout tenant was still going strong. She now bore a resemblance to Chris Farley in Tommy Boy during the "She's a Maniac" scene with Rob Lowe. Upon further inspection I noticed that she had a small piece of notepaper affixed to her elliptical. That's right people, Tommy Boy had brought with her workout instructions, presumably she was doing different increments at different speeds or something equally complicated. Whatever the reason, there was no denying that Tommy Boy had INSTRUCTIONS with her. Where was I? IKEA?

While I am motivated on my own to return to the gym today after work, I must confess that seeing what Tommy Boy has as her routine du jour gives me added incentive to go straight home and hit the t-mill, perhaps in record time.

The Element of Surprise

I went to a surprise party on Saturday night for a good friend. He turned 40 about a week ago and his wife decided that it would be great to not only plan a surprise party for him, but do it a week after his actual birthday so it would definitely be unexpected. The plan went off without a hitch and the party was a complete success. Patrick had NO clue this was in the works and his reaction was priceless.

This got me thinking about surprise parties. I continue to be, well, surprised, that this form of celebration still "takes". We've all been to a surprise party, many of us have probably been the the guest of honor at a surprise party, and a good number have more than likely hosted a surprise party. It's not like the surprise party is a rare event, yet, I always find it interesting how these events seem to stand the test of time and continue to produce the desired reaction.

It's as if birthdays humble us a bit and we never think that WE could be on the receiving end of a surprise party. The irony there is, everyone expects to be the center of attention on their birthday so you'd THINK it would be harder and harder to pull off a surprise party with the 100% desired impact. Doesn't seem to be the case. I'm a perfect example of this theory. I was completely blindsided on my 35th birthday. When I Monday Morning Quarterback the scenario, I guess it seems like there were SOME signs, but I would have had to have been a super sleuth to have read between the lines on that one. It never once occurred to me that any sort of party was in the works and as a result, I didn't have any clue until I walked into the restaurant and saw a long table full of family and friends all waiting to utter that one word that indicates the plan was not foiled, "SURPRISE!"

Whatever the reason, I love that surprise parties haven't been shelved. Nothing is a surprise anymore, it seems; what with all the technology and transparency of everyday life. In our "need to know and need to know NOW" society, the unplanned and the unscripted seem so distant and with that is lost the joy of raw emotion. Some things just can't be planned and watching Patrick's reaction made me remember that. Surprise parties remind me of the whimsy of life and how some of the greatest joys can be found in the truly unexpected.

Festivus for the Rest of You

SXSW (for non-Austinites=South by Southwest) took place last week here in the Capital of the Great State. For those of you not familiar with this 22-year old, time honored tradition, a little background for you:

"The SXSW MUSIC AND MEDIA CONFERENCE features a legendary festival showcasing more than 1,800 musical acts of all genres from around the globe on over eighty stages in downtown Austin." (SXSW homepage)

In theory, this is a pretty cool event. You take a few big names, a lot of no names, dump them into an eclectic and laid back city and you've got the makings a fun few days. The thing is, for people like myself who are anti-hassle, anti-crowd, anti-no parking (that double negative means I am PRO parking), anti-traffic, and broke, this has the makings of nightmare.

Let me back up and say that in my youth, I tried, I mean REALLY tried to like festivals. New Orleans Jazz and Heritage Festival, French Quarter Festival, Shiner Festival, Blues Festival. I did them and I did them big. I did crawfish pie at Jazz Fest. I did the felt chicken hat at Shiner Fest. I did catfish at Blue Festival. I can't remember what exactly I did at French Quarter Festival which probably means I did it big.

Regardless of the theme, location, or time of year, I cannot bring myself to enjoy a festival. I can also think of about 8,572 other ways I'd rather spend my money. $165 for a wristband. That's a new Le Creuset dutch oven and some change. That's a 50 minute spa treatment at Lake Austin Spa; The Number One Destination Spa in the Country. That's a new set of roman shades from Pottery Barn. These are just three items off the top of my head that would be in line AHEAD of a wristband; a wristband which I would likely lose before the end of the five day festival.

I'm fascinated by the dedication of festival goers. They are well-hydrated nomads in sensible shoes and more often than not, minimal clothing. The minimal clothing is often compensated for by an enormous hat and/or big sunglasses. They also have a bit of the Pony Express in them; "neither snow, nor rain, nor heat, nor gloom of night"...add to that in the case of Texas, "nor dust storm" will keep these festival goers from their beloved festivals.

Since I have felt like I am missing something by being completely and totally turned OFF by festivals when everyone around me is reveling in them, I decided to examine what it is about festivals that make me want to run the other way.

Here is what I came up with:

1) Crowds

2) Parking in a "satellite" location and taking a "shuttle" to the festival location

3) Aforementioned wristbands

4) Heat with no refuge

5) Port-a-jons

6) Hot beer

7) Lines...for everything

8) Dirt

9) Traffic

10) Overpriced...everything

On This Day in History...

Yesterday was my 36th birthday. I don't really take issue with birthdays on either end. I don't dread them and I don't start planning my own party six months out, either. If anything, birthdays make me contemplative and reflective and nostalgic. I don't pace my apartment singing, "Where Have All The Flowers Gone" or anything, but birthdays do give me pause. For starters, birthdays are a great example of "life doesn't turn out the way you plan it". Again, this is not a negative, it is just a fact. I have a good life, cozy and single, and am blessed. That doesn't mean, however, that this was the picture I envisioned when I thought of "where will you be at 36".

Like everyone, I have regrets in my life. There are some things that, if given the chance, I would do differently. As a result, I may be in a different place at 36. I can't undo these things so I often find myself pondering the preceding years and what they have meant to me. The good, the bad, and the ugly. It's a good mental cleansing and it usually ends by the dawn of March 13th.

In other news, I received what may have been the MOST peculiar birthday card in birthday card history. It's so "out there" I am tempted give Hallmark a call. At first glance, it seemed fairly typical. Pastel drawing of a cake with whimsical lettering. The message inside is what totally threw me. "Happy Birthday, Gretchen. I didn't make you a cake or cupcakes even though I planned to. Have a great day".

Okay, I don't need a ticker tape parade through downtown on my birthday. I tend to fly slightly below the radar and am not one for the whole, "center of attention" thing. But this card is like nothing I have ever seen. What do you do with that? In my case, I turn it into blog material. But seriously, how do you respond that? Does that fall into the "it's the thought that counts" category? Do you thank the person for the card and some how skim over the "I thought about you but thought better of it" bit? Talk about a good idea gone bad. I don't think the cake or cupcakes or lack thereof would have really phased me...until it was called to my attention...ON MY BIRTHDAY CARD.

Finally, a devoted reader is completely appalled that I did not have any birthday cake yesterday. So, this weekend I have promised her that I will procure a birthday cake (or cupcakes) complete with candle and have a full-on "Happy Birthday to You" singing ceremony. I will report back on Monday with the results.

Single Yet Not Alone

Single and alone are two very different states of being. I am very much single and very much NOT alone. Conversely, and I don't want to cast an ominous shadow on couples, I know a number of people who are not by census standards "single" but are, sadly, alone.

Last weekend I had to go to New Orleans, my home, to move a fair amount of furniture out of storage. I'll blame my procrastination on being a late bloomer. For me it was a daunting task and one which required me to lean on others; a skill I need to do a lot to perfect. Two months ago, I was able to enlist a very generous friend in aiding me in this transport. He had three key requirements: 1) he is a friend 2) he is a male 3) he has a truck. The original plan was to suck it up, make the five hour drive, unload the furniture, secure it in his truck, suck it up, and drive back.

As I have mentioned several times in various postings, I am extremely lucky to have a uniquely close group of friends. I think there are several reasons for this rare bond, but the biggest reason is that we have been through some rare and very emotional experiences together. We are, as a result, more like family. We have seen each other at our absolute best and at our absolute worst. We know each other's victories, defeats, strong suits, and shortcomings. We are beyond comfortable around each and we look after each other like siblings. And like family, we have stuck together and weathered all of the peaks and pitfalls life has thrown at us. I've given up on trying to explain my friendships to those who ask and most people have just quit asking. They know that this is my crew and that this is how we roll.

Make no mistake; these friends do not replace my family. My family is incredibly supportive and as a result, Operation Armoire was made that much easier. They put me up on both legs of the trip and even kept Thomas, my pooch, for three whole days. I couldn't have planned my trip without them.

When it was all said and done, approximately 17 of us descended upon New Orleans and turned an otherwise stale and laborious venture into a weekend of historic measure. It was an excellent chance to reconnect with old friends, hang out with some new folks, and just "be" for a while. I think we were actually our own economic stimulus for the city...with a pulse...go figure. I need to give a shout out to my sister, Lilah, and brother in law, John for making this trip and adding a special brand of fun for me. They are my family AND my friends so it was a definite two for one. Let me also say that the group was NOT fully complete without the presence of three of my closest friends, Rachael and Georgia and Heather. For unavoidable reasons, they could not make the trip but they were missed dearly.

In the midst of all of this kumbaya was an underlying sense of uncertainty for everyone who traveled to NOLA last weekend. Everyone is sweating the times for their own personal reasons but as a group who was conquered hard times before, it was the perfect escape and reunion all rolled into one.

The City That Care Forgot was the perfect venue to allow this crew to forget to care, if only for a few days.

Note: It is unlikely this is the last entry detailing the trip. There are pictures to be imported and some residual thoughts to compile. In short, prepare for a few volumes regarding Operation Armoire.

Justice, Faith, and Power

Today is Mardi Gras and as a native of New Orleans, this holiday always makes me nostalgic. I don't miss living in New Orleans. Truth be told, I haven't lived there since I was 18, but it will always be home to me. I think I knew when I left there to go to college summer school in June of 1991 that I would only return as a part-time resident. I knew I'd never move back there as an adult. But again, it would always be my home.

I haven't done Mardi Gras as a grown-up so most of what I think of when I think of Mardi Gras is how exciting it was. All of it. From the Epiphany until Fat Tuesday, it was all so exciting. See, Mardi Gras is not just the day, "Fat Tuesday". Fat Tuesday is the culmination of the season of Mardi Gras and the last big blow-out affair before Lent. Yes, Mardi Gras is, in nature, a religious holiday. Who knew? As a child, having your neighborhoods and thoroughfares turned into parade routes was almost magical. Having the very streets you drove down to get to school in the morning turned into a mall of floats and bands and flambeaux that same night was such a thrill. And let's not overlook the fact that schools in NOLA got the entire week of Mardi Gras off. You got your two days for Thanksgiving. Then there were your two and HALF days for Easter. And a full week for Mardi Gras.

I think what I loved most about Mardi Gras is that it enveloped every inch of New Orleans. Unlike Jazz Fest, it wasn't confined to a specific area. There weren't access points or admission fees or gates. It's called the "Greatest Free Show On Earth" because it is just that. Every pocket of the city does Mardi Gras in their own way. There is a place for everyone at Mardi Gras. For me, it was St. Charles Avenue from Napoleon to the numbered streets of the Garden District. It was also the stands at The Pickwick Club on the corner of St. Charles and Canal downtown. These were two different ways to see Mardi Gras but they were steeped in tradition and I loved them.

Another tradition of Mardi Gras that I loved (and I think I speak for all daughters of the Big Easy) was the theme of "royalty" of the balls and krewes. I loved to read about the queens and maids of the Mardi Gras season and what they wore and who made their dresses and what they danced to. It made my home unique and it made it special. And it was fun. I guess that's the simple thread of Mardi Gras; it's fun.

Justice, Faith, and Power are the colors of Mardi Gras. These colors and their meaning stand out this year more than they have in the past. Given the state of world affairs today and the challenges we face here at home it is my hope that Justice, Faith, and Power not only reign today in New Orleans, Louisiana, but throughout the years to come in the remaining 49.

Annnnnddd We're Back

Apologies for the MIA status of the blog. Life got in the way last week so I was on radio silence. I'd love for the blog to be my first priority but until I find a way for it (or other writings) to pay the bills, the blog remains one of those things I have to take "One Day at a Time". Maybe I should name the blog Schneider. Or Bill Wilson.

I spent a quiet weekend being both cozy AND single. I threw it into complete OCD mode on Sunday and scoured my apartment from top to bottom. Any unsuspecting pedestrian who would have wandered in at around 11 am would have thought a family of eight lived in #16303 just by the piles of laundry. I did four loads. Four loads of laundry. Clearly I have more clothes than I realized. Thanks to the Gables Grandview for providing me with that brand new full sized washer and dryer. Renting DOES have its benefits.

I also went to the grocery store and Blockbuster where I rented Sex and the City, the movie. While I knew I was a little bit behind on my flick watching, I had no idea HOW far behind until the clerk at Blockbuster gasped when I confessed to him it was the first time I was watching Sex and the City, the movie. The same "in the know" clerk also asked me if the apparatus on my key chain which opens my garage and is named, "Liftmaster" was used to lift things like couches or "anything else heavy which I may need lifted". Skippy, I wish the "Liftmaster" did have that capability. If it did, you'd be lifted right out of Blockbuster.