Pure Madness

On Monday, I knocked TWENTY things off my “to do” list.

I was a mad woman … furiously busy and oh so (!!) efficient.

Monday night, as I was two thirds of the way through the process of transferring 20,000 photos from my laptop to my Drobo,

The power went out.


Things like power outages don’t happen in Southern California.

There was no storm.

No hurricane.

No “real” reason at all.

“Damn!” I said.

Then, I followed up “damn” with a lot of other bad words.

(Hey, you would too if you were in the middle of a huge data transfer.)

I pulled out my flashlight to discover it didn’t work.

I fumbled my way, in the dark, to find new batteries.

The flashlight STILL didn’t work.

I lit some candles.

Candles don’t provide very much light.

Or, perhaps, I just don’t own the correct type of candles.

If any of you know anything about good “emergency” candles, please let me know.

(Obviously, I should store some for our once-in-a-century power outages.)

I got a lot less done on Tuesday, but what I did do was important.

I spent my morning at physical therapy with Paul Newman.

Honestly, I don’t know how he puts up with me sometimes.

I was in a “mood” yesterday.

My moods don’t seem to faze him.

He shakes his head, laughs at me, and then proceeds to dig into my rebelling muscles/tendons/bones/whatever else my body is made of.

(And even though it hurt at the time, I know I really needed it.  That man has pure magic in his hands!)

By the way, as an aside, Paul Newman is going to be Blake Shelton for Halloween.

Truth be told, he probably looks more like Blake Shelton than Paul Newman, but I’ll continue to call him Paul Newman anyway.


Blake Shelton

[I’m not sure who took the above Blake Shelton photo.  I’m happy to give photo credit to whoever took it if any of you know who it was.]

In any case, it’s probably a good thing I’m more of an Adam Levine type of girl than a Blake Shelton girl.

(Because if Adam Levine was rubbing all over my body, I don’t think I would could stop from rubbing him right back.)


Anyway ….

After having Paul Newman do weird, painful, things to my upper body,

I went straight to the gym to be tortured by work out with Baby Face.

Baby Face was in quite a mood himself yesterday.

My legs felt like rubbery noodles after ten minutes with him.

(Does my entire day sound “wrong?”)

“Look at my muscles!” I exclaimed, pointing at one of my leg muscles.

Baby Face just nodded.

He was, seemingly, unimpressed.

I was so proud of my muscle-y-ish leg, but seeing my awesome muscles only seemed to make Baby Face more relentless.

When I absolutely couldn’t do one more leg anything, he started in on ab stuff.

Sadly, I have NO abs so I couldn’t point out my muscles to him at that point.

“Look at my fat stomach!” I exclaimed.

He, once again, nodded.

He was, seemingly, already aware of my fat stomach.

By the time I got home from the gym, the day was over.

OK, maybe it wasn’t really over.


I couldn’t move post-Baby-Face-workout so I pretended like it was.


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