mimi smartypants
Seriously, though: what's with the penguins?

hit me with a flower


I just came back from my first run after totally breaking myself at weightlifting class. For almost two full days I made oofing noises when going down the stairs or lifting my arms, and even had to do that thing where you freefall the last few inches to the toilet seat because the quadriceps say NOPE, WE’RE DONE. You can think you’re all bad-ass because you run three days a week and do yoga for the other four, but all it takes is a barbell and some plates to show you what a pantywaist creampuff you really are.

The class was fun, and it would be cool to start doing more weightlifting, but I was a little put off at the end of class when one woman said to me, “I had a lot of trouble with lunges when I started too.” First of all, creepy that you were watching me that closely, creeper. Second, fuck you man I wasn’t having “trouble”! Well okay a little. But see point one!

I made polite friendly noises and she added a bunch of slightly odd, AA-inspired stuff about the class—like, “This is really worth making time for” and “Keep coming back!” I know, I know: I should not be such a crab, she was just being encouraging and nice. But encouraging and nice makes me uncomfortable. Aren’t I awful? Deficient in decent human spirit AND weak of limb.


Another thing I just did—I thought my electric kettle smelled kind of strange. So right after I poured all the boiling water into my tea cup I lifted the kettle’s lid and took a big sniff, getting a full blast of face-steam and foggy glasses in the process. Good for the pores, bad for the vision, and how could I have not anticipated that? Lactic acid has gone to my brain.


Well, maybe more sad than stupid—I saw an ad on the train that asked if you were “in too deep” with payday loans, and offered a consolidation service. Holy cats. Don’t people in that kind of trouble just default on those anyway? You can’t be all that concerned about your credit rating if you’re haunting the payday loan places.


I need to brag on my kid a bit. After her first Girls on the Run practice, she was raving about how fun it was, and she said, “I like it so much! Thank you for signing me up.”

I got kind of misty about that because: niceness! And not just nice, smart enough/old enough to realize that a parent was the one who really made it happen, with a consent form and a check for an enrollment fee, and to remember that and give thanks for it just seems unusually considerate for a nine-year-old. Although this is my first and only nine-year-old, so maybe I’m wrong.

I may just be high on Nora right now because for some third-grade thought experiment about “If You Ran For President”* she answered the questions, “Who would you pick for your speechwriter? Who would be your campaign manager?” with “My mom for both because she is good with words and very organized.” Why thank you!

*Nora cannot be president anyway, of course, as she was not born in the United States. I think that should probably be changed, but let’s all wait until Schwarzenegger dies, yes?

Here is President Nora demonstrating how a well-regulated militia, being necessary to the security of a free state, the right of the people to keep and bear arms shall not be infringed:

That was at a fishing expo in some suburban outdoorsy store. We bought her the hat but not the gun.

—mimi smartypants hit the trail.