emaline: Yesterday

Jillian Michaels. You bitch.

This morning I woke up with a sore everything. I thought my yoga experience was going to be relaxing and centering, but Jillian had other plans.

I suppose the Meltdown part slipped to my subconscious because I was not prepared for that amount of hurt.

Ms. Michaels, if your "5 pounds in a week" really works, I will be singing your praises.

I don't know if it was the adrenaline or the crazy talking, but I didn't stop there. Oh no, my friend. I went jogging.

I drove to the park to run amongst the ducks and chickens in the cool January air. Shortly after, I tuckered out, sat on a bench and enjoyed the view.

Fast forward through my hair cut, a Saints loss, leftovers for dinner, and a bad rental-Did You Hear About the Morgans? (Hugh Grant, I expect a lame movie from SJP, but you?)-and begin the second part of the evening.

I in my kerchief, and Chris in his cap, tucked in for the evening, and watching tv with eyelids slowly closing (mine), when Chris asked if I wanted to "go out." It was midnight.

Whuck?

Chris had been receiving threatening "If you don't come out..." texts (exaggerated) from friends all evening, so we agreed to meet up.

After traversing Frenchmen , we happened upon a party.

Despite Chris' assurance that guys who own tubas aren't homeless, I ignored him and gave them a $10-spot anyway.

They were just singing for their supper. As was the stray doggie hanging out by Taco Bell at the fourth-meal hour. Only he didn't have to play an instrument to receive our burrito donation; his eating styrofoam was enough to make me cry.

Sorry, no pic of the dog. It was too hard just to drive away.

But I do have a pic of my new coffee mug.