blablablablabla
The important shopping trip had to be rescheduled due to the thunderous fallout from the also previously mentioned Very Important Meeting. The girl who owns the studio I was working out of has changed plans and payment structure and she has GOT to be kidding so I'm now down one key from my key ring and Enn (the primary shopper and all round good guy who also works out of there and who had her own meeting with Wonderwoman an hour before my own) is still blowing steam out of her nostrils. I feel curiously light now though, now that I have no where to work out of. I've since realised that I was putting so much energy into feeling guilty for not working enough and guilty for not putting enough effort into cultivating more clients and guilty for being peeved that the original proposal put to me when I started there was never followed through and guilty for working instead of being Daniel's mum and guilty for I don't know what the fuck else, and because of all the energy being spent feeling guilty, I had no energy left to do all the things I wasn't doing and so, was feeling guilty about. Arrgh.
I've got to get my head around effectively training existing clients outside of the studio environment, which I know I can do but change + me = oil + water, so my initial reaction is usually OHMYFRIKKINFUCK! Then the dust settles and life goes on, albeit differently and usually more efficiently. I'll continue to do bowen therapy from home and peppering it richly with some Emmett Technique because, why not? I've already used it on five or six people, each in the space of five minutes, and it really is The Shit.
But about the lingerie shopping. It happened post schedule and it too, was The Shit. We trawled the usual stores, meaning we got as far as This Store and That Store which took us THREE (!!) hours and holy crap, the bargains to be had at This Store! If you're the right size (or are prepared to have surgery to be that size) there's a holy grail of pretty things discounted from 70 bucks to ridiculous prices like 15, and being surrounded by such pretties, I bought three boring as all hell pairs of basic black that are so plain and *yawn* that they'd certainly be deemed appropriate wear by Mother Superior for any novice entering the convent.
The next day my presence was again required and because I am awesome, I ditched my Pilates class in favor of shopping for The Dress, The Stockings (woo hoo!), and The Heels, the plan being they'd last for, like, thirty seconds on Enn's body before being ripped off in the throes of uncontrollable passion because *taruntara* that night was THE night, and from my point of view, what with my dates being limited to midgets who shit their pants, there's nothing like living vicariously through the life of someone else. Especially someone who's about to be royally had.
For the record, I out together the entire outfit. All of it, from top to toe, so while the rumors of my honorary bag lady status may have more than an element of truth behind them, and while "Dressing To Kill" when it comes to style and when applied to me usually equates to "You'd Kill Yourself Before You Left The House Looking Like That", I do have a certain knack for dressing others.
The highlight of my entire day though, spectacular company aside, was stopping off at the medically healthish supply type store that is like heaven to me. It's full of bits and pieces that I do so covet, all for training and rehab and be still my beating heart. Which! I left with an order for a polar heart rate monitor which is going to a) send me absolutely broke, and b) make me look like HOT SHIT while wearing it on my......slow walks around the park with a stroller. It'd look better on if I was sprinting down the track but the HRM is going to make me look like I do that on the days that I'm not ambling around the park . AND I got a medicine ball (5kg!), a roller thingydoover and two wobbly disc things to stand on. Oh, and some resistance bands, thankyou baby jesus for my visa card because with these trinkets of joy, I am IN BUSINESS (woot). Which revisits the big ol' plan to work, not out of a studio but from home and/or out of clients' homes and/or parks and reserves and the like. Thank god I've got a good lawyer (haha, oh the updates I owe on that one) because we know how well it went the last time I did this freelance stuff. Here, I'll save you the click and give yuo the recap: Some dolt at the soccer club I was VOLUNTEERING at asked for an ice pack which I gave to him which he sat on for A WHOLE HOUR and which froze his leg. Which led to frostbite, a big ol' hunk of it on the back of his leg. It looked disgusting and kind of like a partially defrosted leg of lamb, but considerably ickier. Then homeboy tried to sue me (ME!) because he was the moron who cooked his own leg in the nastiest of ways. The mucikinfruckin soccer club were all "we're behind you on this, aibee, rah!" and I was all "it's not YOU suing me, you idiots, it's your insurance company that want my ass!! ". God, Italian men and their stupid egos. Anyway, they kept threatening me and I kept freaking out and then after this one phone call that (woke me up from a first trimester nap)(note to the never pregnant: first trimester = relative, constant comatose state and kind of hinky hormones) was meant to scare me into selling my imaginary house, I began thinking of blood and stones and I told them to sue me ladidadida and also *pthhhh*, which worked because I haven't heard from (one of the most aggressive law firms in MyTown) since.
Which is about where this story ends.
I've got to get my head around effectively training existing clients outside of the studio environment, which I know I can do but change + me = oil + water, so my initial reaction is usually OHMYFRIKKINFUCK! Then the dust settles and life goes on, albeit differently and usually more efficiently. I'll continue to do bowen therapy from home and peppering it richly with some Emmett Technique because, why not? I've already used it on five or six people, each in the space of five minutes, and it really is The Shit.
But about the lingerie shopping. It happened post schedule and it too, was The Shit. We trawled the usual stores, meaning we got as far as This Store and That Store which took us THREE (!!) hours and holy crap, the bargains to be had at This Store! If you're the right size (or are prepared to have surgery to be that size) there's a holy grail of pretty things discounted from 70 bucks to ridiculous prices like 15, and being surrounded by such pretties, I bought three boring as all hell pairs of basic black that are so plain and *yawn* that they'd certainly be deemed appropriate wear by Mother Superior for any novice entering the convent.
The next day my presence was again required and because I am awesome, I ditched my Pilates class in favor of shopping for The Dress, The Stockings (woo hoo!), and The Heels, the plan being they'd last for, like, thirty seconds on Enn's body before being ripped off in the throes of uncontrollable passion because *taruntara* that night was THE night, and from my point of view, what with my dates being limited to midgets who shit their pants, there's nothing like living vicariously through the life of someone else. Especially someone who's about to be royally had.
For the record, I out together the entire outfit. All of it, from top to toe, so while the rumors of my honorary bag lady status may have more than an element of truth behind them, and while "Dressing To Kill" when it comes to style and when applied to me usually equates to "You'd Kill Yourself Before You Left The House Looking Like That", I do have a certain knack for dressing others.
The highlight of my entire day though, spectacular company aside, was stopping off at the medically healthish supply type store that is like heaven to me. It's full of bits and pieces that I do so covet, all for training and rehab and be still my beating heart. Which! I left with an order for a polar heart rate monitor which is going to a) send me absolutely broke, and b) make me look like HOT SHIT while wearing it on my......slow walks around the park with a stroller. It'd look better on if I was sprinting down the track but the HRM is going to make me look like I do that on the days that I'm not ambling around the park . AND I got a medicine ball (5kg!), a roller thingydoover and two wobbly disc things to stand on. Oh, and some resistance bands, thankyou baby jesus for my visa card because with these trinkets of joy, I am IN BUSINESS (woot). Which revisits the big ol' plan to work, not out of a studio but from home and/or out of clients' homes and/or parks and reserves and the like. Thank god I've got a good lawyer (haha, oh the updates I owe on that one) because we know how well it went the last time I did this freelance stuff. Here, I'll save you the click and give yuo the recap: Some dolt at the soccer club I was VOLUNTEERING at asked for an ice pack which I gave to him which he sat on for A WHOLE HOUR and which froze his leg. Which led to frostbite, a big ol' hunk of it on the back of his leg. It looked disgusting and kind of like a partially defrosted leg of lamb, but considerably ickier. Then homeboy tried to sue me (ME!) because he was the moron who cooked his own leg in the nastiest of ways. The mucikinfruckin soccer club were all "we're behind you on this, aibee, rah!" and I was all "it's not YOU suing me, you idiots, it's your insurance company that want my ass!! ". God, Italian men and their stupid egos. Anyway, they kept threatening me and I kept freaking out and then after this one phone call that (woke me up from a first trimester nap)(note to the never pregnant: first trimester = relative, constant comatose state and kind of hinky hormones) was meant to scare me into selling my imaginary house, I began thinking of blood and stones and I told them to sue me ladidadida and also *pthhhh*, which worked because I haven't heard from (one of the most aggressive law firms in MyTown) since.
Which is about where this story ends.
posted by aibee at 08:38
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home