Suuuuch a nice day today. If Oprah, Obama and Gwyneth Paltrow came together to make a day, today would be that day. That’s how awesome it was.
Finally, the storm died down and I was out the door first thing in the morning after making some 1-2-3 meatballs to go. Shades on, KJazz 88.1 on, engine on. Santa Monica is one of my favourite places the hang out and with the sun shining at a solid 30 degrees (yes, only metric system allowed here), nothing could ruin my Sun-day (ba-dum ching!). Did a little girly shopping at Lululemon/Athleta and got me some SUPER COMFORTABLE yoga pants. I’m really a strictly no-pants kind of girl, on all occasions, except if they feel and look as good as these yoga pants. Damn, maybe they installed some trippy mirrors in the dressing rooms that mind-f*s your brain into thinking your thighs aren’t total hams. I‘m not going to lie, they did set me back quite a bit – I must have lost 2lbs just looking at the price (aaah, I wish. *stupid, stubborn two pounds*). I even man-up’d (that can be a thing, right?) and tried on those ridiculously teeny tiny shorts that all the other female CFers in my gym always wear and I’m proud to say that I was not at all scarred. I wasn’t convinced enough to buy them so that I ,too, could flaunt my mighty meaties when doing squats, but it was definitely a step towards some psychological improvement. Gold star!
As I made my way to the beach, I must confess to noticing the array of homeless people loitering (or just taking their Sunday midday nap) around… well, everywhere. It really was an impressive display of characters and I wonder if anyone’s ever made a film of these people. I wonder what they talk about. I bet they actually discuss philosophical Marxist theories or something incomprehensible to the rest of us fools.
Don’t you find it annoying when you find yourself a nice, quiet spot where everyone around you is sleeping or reading, and all of a sudden, some jerk decides to plonk himself down right next to you and play bad country songs on his guitar? Yeah, I do. After giving him the most disgruntled grunt I could muster up, I moved right in front of the lifeguard station (no one likes to sit by the watchful eye of the lifeguard station) and had a very splendid nap, sans guitar man. So much for doing some homework today. You know, I’ve been to the beach with so many girls who are so deathly afraid to bare their “imperfect non-Victoria Secret” bodies that they end up sitting there, miserable with envy of all other scantily clad women. They also end up with really weird shirt-tans. But really, what is there to fear? People will judge you whether you’re in a bikini or a 10 pound eskimo suit. To that, I say “I choose to be too cool to care”. (geddit? geddit! Because of the eskimo suit.) Not that I’m endorsing criticism. I’m just saying that it really doesn’t matter what other people think – you’re never going to see them again and chances are, they aren’t even looking at you. At the end of the day, they don’t really care if you have cellulite or a little muffin top peeping out because everyone is too busy freaking out about how uncomfortable they feel in their own skin. So ladies, next time you hesitate before stripping down at the beach, remind yourself that having confidence and the ability to embrace your beautiful self is far more attractive than any Heidi Klum bikini bod. You’re going to shut the world out because beach day is and always should be your day.
Following that note, I treated myself to a cold shower and coconut, which was TO.DIE.FOR. I think I’d make do pretty well on a deserted island, provided there was a fridge to keep my coconuts cool. If ever I were a cheater, I’d cheat on my crockpot husband on some young coconuts. Yup. Too bad it’s pretty pricey here – $3 for one? Honey, back where I’m from, it’s more like $0.80 for one big ass coconut. I realise how I’m making this delicious fruit sound like a prostitute.
Anyway, that’s my weekend done and dusted. Time to step back into reality and WOD hard tomorrow (one week to lose 1kg! Is it possible? Can she do it?). One last rant before I leave – don’t you just hate it when you’re talking to a friend about something important and they suddenly decide to show you the latest Youtube video of a dog falling down the stairs? Hey buddy, if I chose to spend my time sitting here with you, you better pay attention to my latest drama. I mean, really, how rude can you get? I always make a conscious effort to listen to my friends when they’re telling me about their latest boy trouble/friend scandal/freak out. So don’t I deserve some sort of common courtesy in return?