At Wait's End

I went ahead and sent a revised version of the e-mail to Sarah under the heading "Sweatin' to the Yogis." Mui clever if I do say so.

I think I read somewhere that bikram yoga's inventor was just some guy too cheap to air condition his studio. "No, no! It's SUPPOSED to be this warm in here!" He insisted to dubious students.

But I understand. Who would not prefer to spend 90 minutes in an overheated room full of sweaty people to enduring my company for that long?

;-)

She wrote back. Something else has come up next Wednesday that makes her unavailable either for dinner with me or for stretching with the sweaters.

The waiting is wearing me out and I don't think it's going to be worth the aggravation.

At Wit's Beginning

Having nothing exciting to tell Sarah to catch her attention (maybe I should have told her the company dress code story below), I went with the mundane, sending her the following e-mail yesterday:

I bought popsicles this afternoon from the Winn-Dixie next door to our office building.

I just ate a blue one and now I look like I'm really cold.

My silly amusement here inside the cubicle.

Hope you're having a good day!

Jack

The old "frozen-treat-to-break-the-ice" routine. That got us talking about ice cream treats and how our parents never funded our visits to the ice cream man, including the time having no money that I tried to trade sea shells for ice cream only to learn the hard truth that money talks and sea shells walk.

Without a Nutty Buddy.

Eventually I mentioned that since today was the last night of the class she's teaching that perhaps next Wednesday we could fill that time over dinner. She replied that it was possible but that she had promised a friend that as soon as her Wednesdays freed up that she would go with her to something called a bikram yoga class. "That's the version where the room is heated to about 90 degrees and you do intense stretching and poses for 90 minutes," she wrote. "You work up quite a sweat!" I never would have guessed.

She said she'd let me know.

My thoughts were these:

I think I read somewhere that bikram yoga's inventor was just some guy too cheap to air condition his studio. "No, no! It's SUPPOSED to be this warm in here!"

But I understand. Who wouldn't prefer 90 minutes in an overheated room full of sweaty people to dinner with me?

;-]

I haven't sent it to her. Should I? What will she make of it?

Baggie

If only I could resist.

To supplement my meager freelance income, I recently started a job in a large company's marketing department. The corporate world is more stable and secure even if it feels like the walls of my cubicle are sucking the very life from my soul. But that's what they pay me for. The actual work I do for free.

The thing about large corporations is that when they send out e-mails regarding their policy, they have to write them as if their employees are dumb as tree stumps because, let's face it, some of them have IQs that rival that of an ice cube.

Today one of the ice cubes sent the e-mail. It reminded people of the company's definition of casual business dress. Among the prohibited items: Excessively baggie garments.

Normally I don't notice such things because normally I don't read e-mails from the HR department -- precisely because I will see something ridiculous like this and I will not be able to fight my compulsion to comment.

At least I had the wisdom not to reply to everyone in the company when I sent my reply:

Please note: "Baggy" describes loose fitting clothing. A "Baggie" is a plastic thing you put leftover food into.

"Excessively baggie garments," while theoretically possible, are probably not anything you have actually seen anyone wear.

I was also pleased with myself for not pointing out that far more unprofessional looking than excessively baggy clothing are excessively snug fitting garments and yet these weren't mentioned among the list (yes, a list) of the verboten wardrobe items.

Spent

Just because I can't sleep doesn't mean that I'm not tired.

It's been a long week. I had a couple of early (3 a.m.) wake-up calls to do some freelance work and then I had to go on to my regular job.

I'd tell you about it but just because I can't sleep doesn't mean I'm entirely awake.

Gently Weeping

I've played guitar. And I've taken pictures of myself. But I've never taken a picture of myself playing guitar and do not wish to risk whatever injury could be possible if I attempted it so you get a picture of my guitar (one of them, anyway) sitting forlorn in the corner.

I'm trying to change that.

Just as I've been working out regularly (Are you going to scroll down to see the evidence or do I have to post it again here?), I have also resolved to dedicate more time to pickin' the six-string. I took a guitar class in high school and have played it off and on since then but never reliably or seriously. I've written and recorded songs (They're somewhere in the archives here. I'm not sure where. Maybe I'll post a link to some mp3 files of some of them when I feel more motivated.) and love the feeling I get when I have created something. It doesn't have to be great; it just has to be mine.

It's a terrific emotional outlet but I'm also practicing for the day when I serenade a lady friend someday. I have to believe that would be irresistable.

No?

School Day

So why no mention of Sarah lately, you ask? Why no mention of anything from the lack of recent posts might be a better question. But anyway.

I had about given up on her. Seems if I don't veritably pelt her with e-mail, we lose touch. Out of in-box out of mind. Last week I got an appointment for a meeting about a possible freelance job. It was this afternoon downtown. I had e-mailed Sarah to let her know that I was going to be in the area. Did she want to meet up?

She had to teach her class at a local college that night, she replied. "DARN!" She wrote. "We'll keep trying, though."

Then came the brainstorm. I wrote back: "Class, huh? May I come watch?" No reply. Not Friday, Saturday or Sunday. I figured she didn't like the idea but she answered Monday, saying that she thought it would bore me but that I was welcome.

So I showed up. And I got to look at her and listen to her for more than an hour without having to think of a single thing to say. Quite a bargain, I think. Funny thing was, she had jury duty earlier that day so she came to class dressed in jeans. I'd never seen her in jeans before. The look does not flatter her.

She's still a cutie, though. And sharp. You can tell that from how she interacts with the students. She's just has a brightness that you can see that she radiates. Energy. Passion.

She's just neat.

After class, I walked her to her car and then, because I didn't have a parking permit, she gave me a lift to where I had parked. My car was still there, which was good. When she stopped to let me out, we kept talking for about ten minutes more. And I actually used my brain this time. We talked almost all about her. Mostly about her career. I was encouraging and complimentary and understanding. I done good.

She says class ends in a couple of weeks and her schedule opens up a little more. Maybe I can find a way to fit into it.

She's sure going to get a lot of e-mails from now until then to make sure!