Busted

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About a week ago, I had an hour to kill before meeting a new client. I hadn't had lunch and my stomach was growling as I slipped into a Starbucks. I was already drooling at the thought of treating myself to a "low-fat" blueberry muffin or--just maybe--one of their doughnuts that contain enough calories to feed a small village in India for a week. YUM.

As I'm rocking back and forth on my heels, peering into the goodie counter, I look up and across the room--directly into the eyes of my trainer who is watching me with a big-ass grin on his face. 

I walked over to where he was sitting. "Can you believe people actually eat the stuff they have in there?" I asked motioning to the display case and shaking my head in dismay. "Really, it's sad." 

"Uh-huh," he said. 

SO busted. I sighed and went back to the counter and ordered a grande decaf which, I have to say, was nowhere near as satisfying as a muffin or doughnut. Ben wouldn't have said anything if I had ordered the biggest muffin there, but it would have been hard to eat it, knowing I would be working out with him in a couple of hours. 

Busted and ego-bruising, but I didn't have to sweat off the extra 900 calories. Probably a fair trade. 

Why Is This Chair Shedding?

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This summer I spent several weeks investigating office chairs for my newly renovated writing room. I sat, spun, leaned back, bounced on, curled up in, and glided across the floor in more "pleather" chairs than I care to admit before finally settling on a winner. You'd think the chair would reward me with a least a year of two or life, but no. Take a look at what the shedding wonder looks like today:

The damage is even worse when viewed up close:

All around the house I'm finding bits of black chair covering strewn here and there. I assume it's adhering itself to my backside and hitching a ride to, say, the kitchen before deciding that this is its final destination. 

The chair itself is still fairly comfortable, so I'm hesitant to get rid of it. Much as I try to avoid the thought, I suspect there is a roll of black duct tape in my future.

Ho-ho-ho.

Dena

One of THOSE Days. . .

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Today was one of THOSE days. It started off okay, until I left the house to meet my friend Ed for lunch. At 11. At Panera. I'm sitting at a table and it's 11... 11:15... 11:30... I grab my cell and call him. 

"Hello," he says cheerfully, when he picks up.

"So are you just blowing me off or are there darker forces at work?" I inquire.

Phone silence. Then a clearing of the throat followed by, "I am NOT blowing you off. Blowing you off would require my having remembered that we were supposed to meet in the first place..." 

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Why Beauty Magazines Are Bad For You

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My life is a mess. I didn’t realize this until late yesterday afternoon when I sat down with an InStyle and an O magazine. Thank God I read them though, as I apparently have the wrong hair, clothes, mate, moisturizer, mascara, shoes, jewelry and, I suspect, breath.

Why do women read these things? The more pages I flipped through, the more I became convinced my life was lacking. While 20 minutes earlier the only thing I was craving was a piece of dark chocolate, suddenly I was obsessed with cuter clothes, oversized purses, bangles on my arm, chunky hairlights, and instigating a complete home/body make-over.

I was on the couch reading and Blair was in the leather chair across the room.

“I’ve got some good news and some bad news,” I announced, pausing on a page.

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