Any Saturday that I can get up, go to the gym and be back by noon is a success in my book. Today was a success. In the last month or so, I’ve started doing quite a bit more weight lifting and it’s great. I especially like going late Saturday morning when there aren’t too many people there and it’s pretty quite.
In the last week, it’s turned in to summer and started to be very warm. And I’m starting to notice the difference between Vegas heat and Austin heat. In Vegas, you walk outside and it’s like being blasted with a heater – it’s strong and it’s dry. Here, you walk out of your air-conditioned house or the air-conditioned gym and it feels like drowning (not that I personally know anything about drowning, but go with it for my sake); the heat gets into your lungs and you feel completely immersed. It’s very strange.
Last night, I did something that shocked me. I bought a pair skinny jeans. When Merrick and I went to London last year, it was the land of skinny jeans. You could pick out the Americans because they were the one’s whose shoes you could not see. At first, it was a little disconcerting; then, it started to be a bit embarrassing to be so obviously American, with our massive bell bottoms. And then, as we returned to the US, we saw skinny jeans start to show up here and there. I’d considered getting a pair, particularly after the raving by Amalah at the Wednesday Advice Smackdown. Then, last night, when browsing at Kohl’s, I came upon a pair of Paris Blues jeans (a brand I’m very fond of because they generally actually fit me around the hips and waist). They were a cute color; they were skinny; they were discounted to $13.00. When I passed one of those little scanners, I ran the tag under the light and low and behold – they were actually SIX dollars and so many cents. One cannot walk away from a pair of jeans for six dollars. Particularly not when you try them on and feel both British and fabulous.