In the comments of Monday’s post, Meg asked how long I was staying in England. Well, right now I’m sitting in Terminal 5 of Heathrow airport waiting for my ever delayed flight back to Rome. Yeah, it was a super quick trip.
I had planned to get in a run this morning before doing some last minute errands and then hopping on the bus for the airport. That didn’t happen. Instead I stayed up later than I wanted to last night doing laundry, packing, cleaning my place and talking to my sister on the phone. Thankfully, my flatmates and I have some crazy ass deal for phone, internet and cable so we get most international calls (including all those to the states) for free. Considering I live with two other North Americans, we’re definitely getting our money’s worth.
So, no run today, but I will be getting in a run tomorrow barring natural disaster. Make sure you keep me to that promise. I don’t want to fall behind with my running. It’s the only thing that’s helping me cling to sanity at the moment.
Since I have nothing useful to say on the running front, I’ll talk about something else. How about clothes? (I can already hear the groans from the male readership. Suck it up, guys.) When I was in the midwest this summer, I went on a bit of a shopping spree led by my sister, who doubles as my personal stylist. Over this past year I’ve managed to drop a bit of weight, enough to necessitate a new wardrobe. Yay me.
Anyway, most of the clothes I purchased I would never have thought of trying on if it hadn’t been for Z. The shirt I am wearing today is one of her picks. It’s a deep purple three-quarter length sleeve shirt with a circular cut-out in the neckline. I like all of those details. What I’m not quite sure about is that beneath the cut-out and right between my boobs the material is slightly gathered and falls straight down from there. I know that’s a poor description, so I’ll say it in plainer terms.
It looks like I’m wearing a maternity shirt.
I keep expecting some woman to walk up to me, pat my stomach and ask me when the baby’s due. At which point I would punch her in the pie-hole and subsequently be arrested by airport police for assault. In America, I think my actions would be considered justifiable, but I’m still unsure about the international legal ramifications. If anyone knows, please inform me in the comments.
The shirt is super comfortable though, so I’ll keep wearing it until the above-mentioned incident, or something similar, occurs. I’m rather oblivious to current fashion trends, so this shirt style is probably all the rage now, but I wouldn’t know it because my face is stuck in books or looking at decaying buildings most of the time. Eh, I’m okay with the trade-off.
This summer’s shopping trip was focused solely on dressing me appropriately (i.e. non hobo-like) for Rome for two reasons: (1) I don’t have money enough for an entire wardrobe revamp, and (2) I want to lose some more weight.
Weight loss-wise, I’ve hit a bit of a plateau. A three month plateau. Thankfully I’ve not regained any weight but neither am I losing it and trust me, there’s still plenty that needs to be lost. I made a promise to myself to be at a certain weight by the time my birthday rolls around at the end of next month. I’m currently 15 pounds away from that mark. Z thinks it’s achievable, but I’m a bit skeptical. As long as I lose some weight before then, I’ll be happy. I have yet to give a name to this personal weight loss challenge. Operation Dumbo Drop came to mind but was quickly discarded because I don’t hate myself that much. If you can think of something funny, possibly even Italian related, I’d love to hear it. It would be great if it were motivating. I need all the help I can get.
UPDATE: The travel day from hell is finally over. First, the British Airways flight was delayed by an hour and a half which was cutting it really close for me making it to dinner at the Nerditorium tonight. Then that hope got totally shot to hell when we were told that half the luggage was never loaded onto the plane and therefore did not arrive with us. Dickheads! We wait around an extra hour and a half at the gate and you can’t be bothered to pull your collective thumbs out of your collective asses to do your jobs! WTF?! My dissertation is in that suitcase. I asked when they’ll deliver it to me and they said hopefully tomorrow, but they don’t know for sure. Rome is going to burn (again) if I don’t have it in my hands within 24 hours.
And to top it off, after waiting in a freaking hour long queue to register my lost bag, I was just about to board the next train to Termini station when the damn doors shut in my face and the train left without me. I had to wait another 30 minutes for the next one.
This day is not helping my stress levels. Grrr....