I drive the scenic route to take Vinnie to school every day. It took me awhile to figure out the best route to take, based on traffic and the logistics of dropping Gracie off. The scenic route involves driving through a multi-million dollar community on narrow winding roads that eventually takes you down to Redondo Beach. After spread sheets and stop watches, we decided the scenic route was the way to go.
Redondo Beach is a small community that borders on my town and the town that Vinnie’s school is in. There is a boardwalk about a mile long, the beautiful Puget Sound on one side, and beautiful yet simple beach houses on the other.
There is one stop light in town. A “Salty’s Resturant” and a cute little stand-alone coffee shop. There is also a questionable looking shack that claims it offers seafood, but I think I am going to stay away from that one.
On any given day the boardwalk is full of people and dogs. On days like today where we hit 82 degrees, you will find people sitting on the beach. This place is seriously my heaven on earth.
I told Vinnie I want to live there. Apparently, it is also a retirement community (so he says) but I do not care, I want to live there and already picked out my house.
Every day, when I make the short ten-minute commute, as soon as my car rounds the corner, and we make the descent to Redondo, I am happy. In a way, it’s almost magical. One of these days I am going to make the walk on the boardwalk while grabbing a coffee from the stand-alone coffee stand, and walk my dog, Jack.
Of course, a few things have to happen first.
Summer! While the girls are enjoying their summer break, Vinnie still has to go to school. Redondo Beach is the perfect place to go on magical adventures while Vinnie is killing it in school.
Also, I need a dog, because for some reason I just cannot see any of my cats allowing me to put them on a leash while walking the boardwalk. My poor cat would make a jump into Puget Sound, so I just need a dog. A dog named Jack.
Lastly, I need to get my arms in shape because I cannot be walking the boardwalk wearing my traditional black jacket because I hate my arms.
Speaking of my arms….
Sofia had her afterschool program today. On these days I do not pick her up until 5:15. Sometimes I just hang out at the school and wait for her. Today was not one of those days. I had a busy day of dropping off kids, picking them up, cleaning, phone calls, you know the drill. Since I was not at the school today, I really did not put any effort into my appearance. No makeup, messy hair and a tank top. Specifically a white tank top with a black bra. I could have been an extra on the show “Cops” or “People of Walmart.” It is important to note I have a love/hate relationship with tank tops. I love them in this 80-degree weather we had today, I hate them because I do not always think they are an appropriate attire to wear in public. It’s a #JenLogic thing.
Well, I figured I was not going to see anyone today. My day would be spent driving and cleaning. I will make the tank top work and hopefully get some sun. I pull up into the school parking lot with about twenty minutes to spare before Sofia comes out. I park my car in front of the school so Sofia cannot miss me. I have “Imagine Dragons” blaring from the radio, but that is okay because no one is out there. I am Facebooking and waiting.
Shortly thereafter, a certain “click” of teachers come out, one of them being Sofia’s teacher.
Crap! I think to myself “Do not make eye contact. Do not make eye contact, Look busy, Do not make eye contact.” So, I don’t. While they are carrying on their conversation, I continue to listen to my music while waiting for Sofia. I do not want to see anyone, I do not want to talk to anyone. I look like hell, and although it sounds irrational, I do not want any teachers to see me in a tank top. #JenLogic
Naturally, Sofia is the last one to come out, because she had to use the restroom.
I wave to Sofia, she comes to the car and we are good….so I thought.
Before I knew it Sofia’s teacher makes his way to the car. I see him walking, but hope he does not see me. I tell Sofia “Hurry up, we have to go, I really do not want to talk to anyone!”
Sofia, of course, takes her time getting in the car.
Next thing I know her teacher has his head in my passenger’s side window.
KILL ME NOW!
I try to cover up. Cover up what, I am not exactly sure, but I am out of my comfort zone. He is chatting, it’s all good, but I do not like the way I feel about my arms or the fact that I most likely look like a washed up housewife who may have just turned a trick or two.
We all say our goodbyes, I drive off and, well, I realize I am being stupid. Like seriously stupid. If I do not like my arms, then I need to do something about it. Me complaining about my arms and wearing coverups will not change anything, me being proactive and doing what I know I need to do to get my arms in shape, well that will bring change. “Be the change you want to see.” Yeah, my change is to have Michelle Obama arms.
We come home. I give Sofia dinner, dinner which she did not eat, because, hello, I suck at cooking. She made pizza bites instead.
I decide to go take a shower.
My bathroom is huge. It can seriously fit five people and three cats comfortably. Not that I have tried the people thing, but the cat thing totally works. My bathroom is also in the very back of my apartment. Safley secure away from all the happenings in the front. Far enough away to where, hmmmm, like if I were to fall or something, no one would hear me. Except one of my cats.
I am in the bathroom. I decide what better time than now to start getting my arms in shape. Once again, I will explain. I am a firm believer in pushups. I believe it is one of the best exercises you can do to work your entire body. I am also a realist and know that someone like me has to start off with “counter pushups.” Just as effective, the only difference in counter pushups you are literally only working your arms, but it does work.
Counter pushups it is!
I clear my bathroom counter and get to work. 1-2-3-…………11-12-13……I am really feeling it. My arms are burning, but that is what we want. Feel the burn! Proper form! I got this, I got this, I got this……I have Blue Oyter Cults’ “Burnin For You” playing on my phone, because you know, it seems appropriate.
and then, somehow, my arms slipped off the counter.
Before my very eyes, while looking at myself in the mirror, thinking I look all cute as I am doing the counter pushups, I lost my grip. I am inclined to say it was from water that Joe did not wipe up from when he shaved, but between us, it was most likely from the condesation of my vodka and diet coke that I had sitting on said counter.
I fell hard. It was by the grace of God that I did not bust my chin on the counter, otherwise instead of making cookies at the school tomorrow, I would be at the dentist being fit for dentures. My elbow hit the tile, my legs did some weird sort of contortment thing, which in any other scenario would be pretty bad ass. I seriously could not move.
My cat is looking at me, she is looking at me in a way that says “dumbass, that’s what you get.”
My phone along with my vodka and diet is still on the counter. I cannot reach either. I am seriously going to die on the bathroom floor while doing counter pushups, and if my cat does not get out, she will soon feed on my dead, lifeless body, because apparently that is what cats do, and if you do not believe me, Google, but Google at your own risk.
Slowly and painfully I turn myself on to my back. Everything hurts. I am by myself, just me and my cat, my cat who looks hungry.
I must have been laying there a good twenty minutes. Shout out to Joe for checking on me. #Sarcasm.
I am in this alone, good arms or not, none of that matters now. My phone, which is still on the counter, is playing the soundtrack to “Karate Kid.”
Joe Esposito’s “Youre the Best Around” starts to play on my crappy old phone.
I got this. If Daniel Larusso can beat Johnny, then surely I can pull myself up off the bathroom floor.
Painfully, I make my way up.
I can already see the brusies forming.
Screw the tank tops.
Screw the Michelle Obama arms.
My ass goes straight to my closet and pulls out my favorite long sleeve Giants sweatshirt.
Do not try to fix what is not broken.
Because, in the end, the people that matter, they are the ones who have seen you at your worst, and they will already know, you are the best.