It's been a doozy of a week, emotionally speaking. By the end of the day yesterday, I was enervated. On the bright side, I found out who that dickhead is, and I was all too happy to play host to the two officers who came out to lecture him. Because the burden of proof would fall upon his head, my friend (the good guy) chose not to go through with a citizen's arrest. But more will be done. Trust me.
My family is in town, more family comes tomorrow! So this weekend will be filled with great conversation, dry wit, and laughter. We go pick up our new terrace furniture today! Two love seats, four cushy chairs, and a fire-pit table thing. So by Saturday, we can have the adults in the family over for wine and cheese and a high-rise viewing of the sunset right before downtown and Tijuana light up before us in all their glittery splendor.
Last night, M.s. did some painting -- that white wall on the back of our large kitchen island is now a deep burgundy, which matches our kitchen walls and goes great with the greenish-black granite that tops both the island and the counters. Before the painting, we spent some time with a recuperating Zim (the poor thing, we totally understand how much it sucks to be... uh, dehydrated). We all walked down to Ichiban and the waitresses seemed totally unimpressed by the few bits of Japanese I spoke. I guess everyone can say "Hello" and "thank you," but just you wait, my beautiful little geishas. I will wow you yet.
Our trainer is going up to a body-building competition next week! He's been on a strict training program in preparation and now he is dehydrating himself to present the ultimate lean, mean, bulging veins and muscles fighting machine. So we go to see him this morning (a typical Friday) and we're still on for Monday and Tuesday, but we'll have our Thursday, Friday, and Monday off. Let's see if we can self-motivate. I was so pissed yesterday morning that I had a GREAT workout and my arms, shoulders, and back are screaming right now in protest because of it.
I powered through sets of push ups and bench presses, all the while bitching about how childish people are and how the lack of hot water does not constitute a "property threatening emergency." It sucks, I explained, it's an inconvenience, but it's not an emergency. It does not necessitate forking over hundreds of dollars to bring an engineer to the machine on the rooftop in the middle of the night instead of waiting like a rational person until the following business day. Next thing I knew, my shirt was drenched in sweat and my arms were shaking. "Great!" said Charlie. I said, "Yeah, it was. Next time I want a great workout, I'll break the heater myself."
Speaking of showers, it was like a Cops episode when the police were here. I had just come back from the gym, my hair was frizzing out of its ponytail, my sweatmark was prominent on my sweat suit... I looked perfect for someone who lives in a van. But alas, I was just a speck of scraggly, filthy spastic-ness in a penthouse.
Now the water is nice and hot again. And good. Because after Charlie tortures me this morning, I'll need to stand under a stream of hot water to let my muscles unwind, and my mind wander.