that essay about my weekend again

Hello, boys and girls.

Yesterday morning, I got up bright and early to go to the first clinic for the 3day at Marathon Sports. I bought the shoes I’ll be systematically destroying over the next few months, and some fancy support socks (which give my feet the lift and shapeliness they’ve been needing all these years). Oh, but wait! The shoe guy made me strip down to my bare socks so he could examine me, and promptly declared that I have perfect feet. Finally, something about my body I can actually like¹!

Anyway, I met a lot of walkers and was hoping to find people in my hood who wanted to train together, but these people had come from remote places like Maplewoodbury and Coon Rapids and Alaska. So I took my purchases home, put them on, and went to the Y, where I finished my half-hour on the crosstrainer in, like, 22 minutes. The shoes are that good. And when I got home, I found an email awaiting me from a girl who saw my post on Orkut about the 3day, and wants to train together. Awesome.

Heather and I went for our usual brunch ritual, and afterwards set off to walk around Lake Harriet. We got about 1/4 mile in before the cold sent us rushing back to the car. It was warm enough outside, but the wind had blown the little bits of remaining ice to the south end of the lake and turned it into a giant Slushee, which made walking nearby especially unpleasant. So we went to the Humane Society instead, because she’s looking for a puppy. I went under protest, because I try to avoid crying in public. The time I saw the boy-cat who looked exactly like Chloe, I wanted to die.

I went home, and my dad came over, and we finished the arbor, which you would already have seen, had you been paying attention. The parents are convinced it’s going to be stolen. I think it’s not, since it’s 1) in Richfield, and 2) on the order of 300 pounds. We’ll just have to see, I guess.

Working with my dad on this stuff is awesome. He knows it’s important to me to do all the work, so he gives direction and holds pieces in place while I drill and check the plans 10 times over. After we finished the arbor and stood around admiring it for the appropriate amount of time, we set to the task of cutting up old countertop into chunks that would fit into the trash can, because the garbagemen refuse to emerge from the protection of their truck to pick up objects, preferring to use the giant mechanical arm to hoist the can while they consume jerky treats. We used the Skil saw on about half of it, but then decided it was more satisfying to balance the boards on the stairs and jump on them to break them. Heather came home to find me balancing on half a piece of countertop on the bottom step, and my dad poised to stomp on the other half. We weren’t sure if the board would crack or if I would go catapulting across the yard, but if I did so, I intended to land on her shoulders just like we did back in our circus days².

After the miracle of the arbor, we went to Evergreen Taiwanese Restaurant to investigate the allegations of excellent fake meat, which has now been completely substantiated. Tofu skin salad looks as gross as it sounds, but it’s tasty. I managed to come home for at least an hour before starting to panic over lack of coffee, so I headed to Dunn Brothers. Michael was there, and seemed far happier than he had been the night before, when I found him sporting the I’ve-already-died-and-gone-to-hell look because the place was overrun by people celebrating some unfortunate kid’s 21st birthday. Who the hell has their 21st birthday at a coffeeshop? Ex-juvenile-offender or complete lameass? You be the judge. Anyway, I meant to get coffee, come home and knit for a while, then go out again, but as usual I talked way too long and ended up just going out.

I was home by 11:30, which suited me fine. I was worn out. I sat down, intending to finish putting fringe on the scarf I’ve completed just in time to put it away until next winter. Next thing I knew, my computer was telling me it was 3am. An hour had been stolen from my day, even though they swear they loaned me one back in the fall. I’m not believing a word of it.

This morning, I woke up and managed to still be crabby about that hour. I went for coffee, then alerted The Sexiest Man Alive to my renewed need for brunch. The guy behind the counter looked up halfway through our order and shouted, “DUDE! You have the coolest moustache!”³ The Sexiest Man Alive, he’s got fans.

We sat outside in the sun, which is still a huge novelty this time of year, and then went to Uptown Tattoo to look at Tom’s work, because TSMA is in love with him, I think. Or his work. Whatever. And amongst all that, some people tried to tempt us into printmaking, and then we met Bryan’s friend the milk girl, and there were choppers everywhere, everywhere! It was like a dream, only really it was just Lyn-Lake, and this is why we love it so.

I stopped into TSMA’s garage to see the Sexiest Motorcycle Alive (and it’s pretty hot), then left him to his life’s work, which seems to consist of attaching soundproofing materials to the walls of his apartment. Presumably to continue his rockstar lifestyle without inconveniencing the neighbors too badly, but really I think it’s something more dark and sinister. Only time will tell.

With barely seconds to spare, I picked up Silas, who I haven’t seen in way too long, and we went to finally see The Triplets of Belleville. It was completely awesome, and preceded by a short film animated by Salvador Dali, which freaked me out completely and had me curled up in the seat, peeking over my knees, afraid of the nightmares it threatened to spawn. And after that, we made like the old folks and ate dinner at 4pm.

I walked around Lake Calhoun (3.2 miles: expect to see a lot more of this, since I’m now officially training). The thing I realized I like about the walking is that since I don’t think of it as exercise (which is why I go to the gym), I don’t feel like I have to push so hard. I’m more interested in the zen, I guess: finding the perfect stride, moving fast and almost effortlessly, blowing by the strolling folks and hoping they notice the tailwind. Also, ignoring the fact that my hip is a little fucked up. It’ll go away, because it has to.

Then I went to the Y, because I’m dumb that way, and I ended up staying too long talking to Larry because we were discovering all these weird connections, like the fact that we don’t know each other’s friends, exactly, but we know of them. I realized, though, that in the past few weeks I’ve met four or five or six people who have a lot going on, and I keep getting caught up trading long, crazy stories with them. And that stuff just makes me really happy.

Speaking of long, crazy stories, hi!! Citypages posted on Friday: “The extremely prolific Jenni Ripley can be found at Chocolate Mussolini.” I have been most accurately summarized in two simple words.

Gnight.
Jenni