Weighing in

“Trust your own instinct. Your mistakes might as well be your own, instead of someone else’s.”
~ Billy Wilder

Ooooooh, man, did I not sleep last night. There’s a family who lives in the apartment above mine, a mom, dad and their two demon spawn — who apparently are allowed to do gymnastics in the room above my bedroom until midnight every night.

Last night I fantasized about anonymously calling the police and reporting that the parents are beating their children, then immediately felt guilty because that would probably result in child protective services getting involved. Then I sincerely contemplated stomping up the stairs to pound on their door in my coke-bottle-bottom glasses, robe and granny jammies to (justifiably!!) bitch about all the noise, but got paranoid that the mom and dad would talk smack about me after I left and decided that a pillow over my ears would work well enough, that those kids would have to sleep sometime. I almost left a note on their door this morning apologizing for cranking up the bass in my super-ass loud techno music at 5:00 AM, but it’s the only way I can effectively wake up.

But like Eminem said to Moby – no one listen to techno.

So yeah, it’s Monday and my eyeballs are itchy. Grrr.

OK, so this upcoming weekend starts my second job, waitressing/bartending again. There is a new owner involved and after the meeting we had this weekend I bet you dollars to donuts that it’s going to be a much more relaxed and fun atmosphere than last summer – and it was awesomely relaxed and fun last summer.

Also: the new owner is a chiropractor in real life. And he’s good looking. AND he’s single. So there’s that.

Not sure what I differently than usual last week other than the cleanse, but I seem to have dropped six pounds from this time last week. Maybe it was all the extra fiber coursing through my system (a-hem), but whatever it was, I’ll take it. Eight more weeks just like this (although that’s highly unlikely, I know) and I will be at my goal.

One of these days I’ll be able to get back into that perfect pair of jeans, the faded Levi’s with the hole in the back right pocket and slightly frayed hems.

Man, I loved those jeans.