i don't mean to be a stranger

For the most part I've been bombarding myself with all kinds of music. What's been sticking:

Lisa Tucker's AI rendition of "Signed, Sealed, Delivered"
Kid Rock and Sheryl Crow's "Picture" duet
Rod Stewart's Great American Songbook series
KT Tunstall's "Black Horse and the Cherry Tree"

Mondays I now have an early potluck dinner with the (mostly Filipino) 5 pm crowd at work. Tomorrow's menu is paella valenciana, chicken and pork adobo, carrot-raisin salad and fruit salad. I'm thinking of throwing together a strawberry-spinach salad.

I don't think I ever mentioned Martha. She's my new favorite trainer, leading the Thursday Define classes at my gym. She's five-foot nothing and solid muscle: cut but not ripped. I die every Thursday but come back for more the following week, in hopes that by the time I reach her age I will have abs like hers.

In other news, Friday was blondes-in-Uggs day. I clocked in from lunch to find a handful of male coworkers helping a pretty schoolteacher with pin-straight hair shop the Stationery bins. WTF? Customers are not allowed in the backroom, but there she was, with a couple of sales associates and two assistant managers, looking for supplies for her grade-school class or something.

I got home early and took Cocoa for a walk. We passed a lady in tan Uggs and matching too-short skirt picking a fight with some guy for not being there when she arrived, or not giving her a key or something, making her look like a Friday booty call.