Boot camp workouts are pretty popular these days. I guess having someone forcing you to run and do pushups and whatnot is somewhat appealing. There�s no wussing out on your last set, no lowering the intensity or incline on the treadmill, and no simply hitting the showers if you don�t feel like working out anymore.

I really enjoy classes (something my bare-bones gym has none of), so I thought this boot camp thing would be a good idea. Since work subsidizes much of my gym�s membership costs, the once-weekly boot camp would cost about $5 per session. Even if I used nothing else at my gym, this $5 weekly session would be worth it.

My alarm went off at 6 this morning. Usually it goes off about an hour later, and I hit snooze for another hour and forty minutes. However, this morning I was up and at �em, got dressed quickly, and headed downtown to the gym to meet the class.

I got to the gym about ten minutes early, and there were signs saying that I needed to meet the class a half a mile away at the street corner of so-and-so and this-and-that. I had ten minutes, so I wasn�t worried about missing anything. I stowed my bag in a locker, took my security badge just in case, and headed out toward the lake.

I know I had to have gotten there before 7. There�s no way that it took my more than ten minutes to briskly walk a half mile, especially when I can run twice that distance and still have minutes left to sit around and wait. I stuck around for about five more minutes until I was completely convinced that the teacher and others were no-shows, and I took off for an early morning city run.

I ran a mile and a half at a nice pace, cutting north of the city and then west until I eventually made it back to my office through some weave of several out-of-the-way streets. I figured if I was up this early, I might as well get something out of it.

I came back to an empty gym where I took my shower in peace and got to my desk at exactly 8 a.m. My coworkers were shocked. I was a full hour early. (More like an hour and eight minutes early since I never get to work on friggin� time.)

Since then I�ve been working away at these documents, fighting off the urge to nap.

I took a quick peek at the Room and Board website off of Benito�s suggestion and picked out a set the other day. It�s not going to happen with that price tag, but it sure is pretty anyway.

Yesterday as I walked home in the oh-so-pleasant 80-degree weather, I came across the Room and Board store.

Oh my.

So pretty.

Gimme gimme gimme.

I�m going to go with some Target furniture instead, spending just as much on shipping as I will on the actual set. Oh yeah -- I�ve got three 10% off coupons that are stackable and will knock bunches off the set�s price. Looks like Hambone and I will have a boring weekend trying to put all of those little parts together. At least with Ming gone, I won�t have to worry about anyone running off with a bag of screws and burying it in the litter box.

Oh yes. If I haven�t mentioned it yet, Ming is officially moving to Houston. When Angel Dad (painter extraordinaire) and Hulk Boy (brother of many muscles who will easily move my large furniture) leave, Ming will be safely stowed on the plane as Boy�s carry-on baggage.

Ming no more!

No shitting on my bathmat. No stinking up the house with her litter box. No leaving hair all over my bed. No leaving puked up �hair logs� on the floors. No stepping on me as I try to sleep. And best of all -- NO %$^&ING FIGHTING AT 4 A.M. WHEN MAMA�S TRYING TO SLEEP!!!

Back to just me and the Ham. I�m looking forward to it. This arrangement with Ming just hasn�t worked out, and luckily my parents are all sunshine and giggles when it comes to taking their �grand-kitty� to live with them.

Growing up, we usually had no fewer than five cats. Many were outdoor cats who came around only so often, but they were ours nonetheless. Several years dwindled the numbers down to Tral and Simon, two geriatrics if there ever were.

I got Tral when I was in the first grade and Simon in the sixth grade. Both were sweet kitties, although they met their ends in the past year. Now my mom has a replacement Tral named Monkey Tail (originally Wallis, but his tail is 1.5 times his length) who my brother dislikes like you wouldn�t believe. So to make up for sharing the house with an evil kitty, he�s taking in Ming to help balance things out. If nothing else, Ming is larger than Monkey Tail, and she knows how to hold her own after fighting with Hambone for the past several months.

Is my family the only one who changes their animals' names?

(1) Tral is short for Tralfesette, the female version of Tralfas, the name of the rich kid in various Looney Tunes cartoons. Tral was a Siamese cat who looked all majestic and ritzy, so we changed her name from Heather to Tralfasette.

(2) Pooh Dog was our exceptionally stinky dog back when I was in high school and in college. He was originally named Brewster, but the smell changed that.

(3) And then there�s Wallis/Monkeytail.

Okay. Just checking.

Hmm... What else is going on?

Tonight is Girls Doing Gay Boy Things Night, but I�m afraid that the plans are going to change and change and change, morphing them into Girls Doing the Usual Silly Drunken Things Night. What was supposed to be superb martinis in Boystown is now margaritas on the Boyztown/Lakeview border. We�re supposed to meet Oz and PeteyPuke at another club later that night for 80s night dancing. We�ll likely see how many margaritas we can drink with dinner and then all stumble home in opposite directions to sleep off the booze by 10:30. That�s what usually happens, leaving me standing up various people up.

People I�ve stood up in the recent past: Oz. My next door neighbor/volleyball team member. Happy. Lorinda. My brother. Brion. Mike. Many, many others.

Pretty much everyone except my grandma. And I�ll even admit it: Were this list to include the more distant past, she�d have been on that list too.

On a totally different topic, why must offices be so damn cold? I usually have a lightweight zip-up fleece at my desk, but I took it home for washing the other day when I noticed all of the spills on it. Knowing that the weather would hit a nice 75ish for the rest of the week, I thought it would be safe to take home.

W-R-O-N-G!

To make things even more -- um -- uncomfortable, this morning I didn�t bring the proper under attire, so I�m wearing a stupid sports bra instead of something that makes the girls stand up and sing. Poop.

All right. It�s time to get outta here. I worked a bunch of extra hours this week, so today I�m rewarded with going home at 2:45ish.

Have a great weekend! �