Bonafide Adult

When left to my own devices, here are the things I (apparently) like to do:

  • Exercise
  • Eat
  • Blare pop music
  • Dance
  • Sing
  • Stay up all night long

It’s only been two days since my boyfriend went out of town, and I’ve already reverted back to the real me. The me I am when I’m left alone with no one to judge me or stop me from doing ridiculous and/or gluttonous things. And I must say, I’m having fun!

Today I decided that eating three chocolate covered Joe-Joe’s made me feel like a hideous monster, so on the drive home I pep-talked myself into exercising tonight (to burn off the three Joe-Joe’s). Immediately upon entering my apartment, I proceeded to put on my workout clothes (I find that if I put the clothes on, I’m much more likely to follow through), spent the better part of an hour searching in vain for my iPod carrying pouch, then finally took off racing down the sidewalk for my first Los Angeles jog. Since I couldn’t find my pouch, I left my music at home, so to pass the time, I sang songs to myself in my head (perfectly normal thing to do). After jogging for about half a mile, a harsh reality set in. That I am out of shape. And possibly old. (But let’s go with out of shape, because I could conceivably change that.)

I set a goal that I would jog for a mile, which is 2000 steps on my pedometer (yes, I know wearing a pedometer makes me seem middle-aged, but how was I to gauge the distance?). I made it to about 1600 before I quit, got hungry, and proceeded to walk (officially my “cool down” phase) into the nearest Thai restaurant. I was seated in a very romantic nook by the window where I set forth to do what I always do when I eat out in real restaurants by myself – I ordered two entrees. Thirty minutes and a fat tummy later, I walked home with doggie bag in hand and proceeded to feel guilty about ingesting exponentially greater calories than I’d managed to burn on my measly jog. The only remedy to this dilemma, naturally, was a dance party. To achieve this, I turned to iTunes (where I hold the title of “The Only Person in America to Pay for her Music”) and I purchased some energizing songs. As I blasted my new tunes – which were extra gratifying because had my boyfriend been around, there’s no way he’d have been keen on a Phoenix and Foster the People concert at 11pm – my exuberance overtook me because I ended up dancing around maniacally for a hour and had to stop because I made myself dizzy.

Yeah, that’s right. I’m an adult. I can do whatever I want. (And these are the things I choose to do.)

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