Here I Go Again

Another opportune time to update the world as I wait for the domestic dispute to settle down outside my apartment so I can get to the gym. I was tempted to pop out to see if the girl was alright, but as soon as she screamed "I bet yo baby mama's hidin' in there!" I was like, hah, nope, that sounds like a stalemate. Then I watched through the peephole as the most innocent looking man jovially strutted by with a beer in his hand and said "hey what's goin' on?" Ugh, that poor guy was out there for nearly an hour getting the story all the way back from when her friends were first like "hey he's cute, go talk to him." And I was too scared to even toss him a fresh beer to ease the pain..I left a man hanging that fateful day. What poor form. Maybe I should move. Fast forward a week. I moved.


I guess I just missed the cold and uncertainty of life in the capital city, which was much more alluring than the mild cold and uncertainty of life in London.

Photo 2016-03-19, 10 48 16 AM (1)

So happy to have me back.

All this fun put me in the mood to write; call it Judy Glume. Also because I wrecked my sleep schedule again and need to burn a little time till I can nod off, though this time the sleep-in wasn't on purpose. I had a dentist appointment last week - do not go to my dentist unless you have perfect teeth (but why would you? Look, I'm not here to give advice, do what you want.. but I guess that's advice. I digress.) or if you were hit on your bike when you were eleven and the shady guy gave you a Blank Cheque. Anyway, the dental assistant gave me a sort of worried look and asked if I felt light-headed. I said look, I know you're beautiful, but all my blood is where it should be and I feel fine. Then she said my resting heart rate (yep, they do this now) was 43. Now that isn't particularly low, especially when you've been consistently torturing your aerobic system for over a year, or as a girl recently described it, "oh my god, don't tell me you sit in a canoe in one of those forever-pools and paddle till you can't anymore..." "Technically, yes." And I never saw her again.

Now, actual fit people are often in the 30s - as in beats per minute, not age, or I'd be on track for success by Tokyo 2020. But since I hadn't checked my resting rate in years I figured last night I'd throw on my chest strap so when I woke up I could check it on my watch without ruining it by having to get up to put the thing on, although my kinky side knows I can definitely strap things on without affecting blood flow. So I woke up and turned my watch on, then tried to stay relaxed for a minute to get a good reading. An hour later I woke up, so I turned my watch on and tried to stay relaxed for a minute to get a good reading. An hour later, well it was noon and all I had was a foggy head, a jacked heart rate because the alarm scared me, and a terrible indent of a chest strap that looked like I'd been wearing a maxi dress (had to google that) with that useless sub-titty skinny belt that girls love so much. As if something that secured to your body could just fall off out of nowhere! (Lorena Bobbit anyone?)

On the whole, it was a waste of time and not a lot of real science ended up taking place; an uncanny resemblance to my Masters. But unlike my Masters, this post is finished. On time. With no hidden costs and a moderate amount of dignity intact.

Plus, if I walked around demanding to be called Master Rob, well that just wouldn't fly these days, right? So let's just say I left in the name of social progress.

Photo 2016-02-07, 12 26 43 AM