Another day...

I sludged through the day with a head cold – feeling, for the most part, like I was dreaming. Sometimes I’d look to my left then look to my right and start giggling – not sure why, but it’s sort of a funny dream sometimes. I manned a copy machine, washed some dishes, thumb wrestled for a bit, drank a lot of camamile tea, typed a resume for a student, chit-chatted with a few people, and dusted. Yep – still not sure why I had the giggles.

After work at 5pm, I was invited to visit the Center landlords. It had been a long time and I missed them, so I accepted (despite really, really just wanting to sleep). I ate my weight in stuffed peppers, drank 8 cups of chai (my new record), got my head patted a lot by my favorite Kosovar grandma-type (who thinks I’m pretty special, too), then small-talked for quite awhile. Then, for the next hour or so, we intensely watched something that I would still feel complete had I not seen. No, it wasn’t Spanish soap operas, or cheaply-made (but funny) humor videos, or the gag-inducing, mind-numbing, absolutely lamesauce excuse of an attempt at localized reality TV. Nope – it was…the Women’s European Championship for Weight-lifting!!! (rah rah.) The grandma was rooting for an Armenian, I was cheering for a Bulgarian (so I wouldn’t mentally check out), another was very impressed by a Polack, and the other was gung-ho for a German. It was insane (in a I’m-never-getting-this-hour-of-my-life-back kind of way).

I left feeling all-together feminine. My shoulders, which I have been told could’ve gotten me a much higher paying job in the NFL, seemed so slender and wussy. My I’m-tough-and-capable spirit, after witnessing the 137 kilo-lifted-above-the-head capabilities (that’s 2 Robertas), seemed really unfounded. I looked at the lack of bulging veins and iron…everything, and was pretty happy that I didn’t share the same dream those Amazons (I mean that respectfully, of course). Yep – at least there’s one thing that’s a definite no for my future.

[random – I bought and am wearing a shirt that says: “Nobody is perfect except the captain” – I think it’s my new favorite shirt. Everything is even spelled correctly (which is a rarity. Many shirts say stuff like “Your boyfriend thinks I’m perfet” or “Do yu beleve in love at furst site?” – hello, spellcheck on t-shirt-making machines). And, when people call me captain, my head gets about as big as Miss Bulgaria’s biceps or Miss Poland’s pectorals.]