I'm gettin' kinda weird about my Fitbit.
For three days now, I've hit my damn 10,000 steps on that thing. You know you walked that many because once you hit 10,000 steps, your wrist starts buzzing you like your secretary did in 1971.
Tuesday was kind of easy, because I left work in the middle of the morning to walk the dog all over yonder for a photo shoot. Maybe I should arrange it so every day I have to leave for an hour and a half and get photos taken of me walking my dog.
Then that same day, I took the world's hardest workout class, and I'd gotten my 10,000 steps in before 7:00.
To get my 10,000 steps in on Wednesday, I had to drag the poor hot dogs around the neighborhood for an age, not that I walked around incessantly with two frankfurters, which would look 100% sane.
It's been about 12.8 million degrees out each day here this week, and we're setting some kind of record, some kind of everyone-lived-even-though-it-hit-12.8-million-degrees record, like we're living on the planet Mercury, which is what I'm sure the average temperature is there.
June's blog. Come to hear stupid details about her Fitbit. Stay for her science facts.
My point is, even though it was ludicrously hot yesterday, I took the three o'clock walk that my coworkers and I take. Only four of us had the nerve to do it. You'd think we'd be, like, the four skinniest ones. Like, remember when those aliens got off the ship in Close Encounters, and some were more spindly than others? That should have been us. The super-spindly ones.
I just worried about something for the first time since 1977. When Richard Dreyfuss goes off in that spaceship at the end of Close Encounters, and I'm not even gonna feel sorry for you if you haven't seen it yet and I ruined it, because where are your priorities? Go see that movie, ya nimrod. Anyway, when he gets on that spaceship, there, what happens to Teri Garr and his uninteresting kids? Like, does the government send them checks? Or is she just stuck having to go bag groceries to support everyone?
Or maybe that's when she marries John Denver and he meets God. Poor Teri Garr. Or maybe that's when she becomes an actress and falls in love with Dustin Hoffman, who doesn't like her because he likes Jessica Lange.
That seems to be Ned's go-to inquiry. I didn't think we did, but we got to see her looking kind of chesty during roll, roll, roll in the hay in Young Frankenstein.
We just looked her up, and she was married for only three years, and adopted a child late in life, and then she got MS and has had an aneurysm and is in a wheelchair. Is that how you spell "aneurysm"? I never can spell that damn word.
Now we feel sorry for Teri Garr. She was the shizz for awhile, there. And I still don't know if the government took care of her family. I'll bet they didn't. Em Effs.
Anyway, I'm being weird about my Fitbit. Yesterday I came home and did Spencer Tracy workout, and fortunately that counted toward some steps, but after, I took my sweaty, exhausted self and strapped Edsel's leash on him. "You've done enough for today," Ned said. "You don't have to do this."
When Ned tells you you're exercising too much, you know something is up. But Eds and I schlepped to the greenway near us as the sun was setting, and we saw fireflies and a bunny, which did not obsess Edsel at all, and then we came home. I screamed to my phone.
So I slapped a leash on Lu, and we did the same schlep, and THIS time there were even MORE lightning bugs, and it was lovely, and when my wrist buzzed at me, I was like Aunt Esther praising Jesus and carrying on.
Tune in tomorrow, when I tell you how I'm gettin' weird about Orange is the New Black.