Roar.

I think I might have gotten lucky, what with the boot eating, for two reasons:  1) Savannah hasn't barfed huge chunks of partially masticated rubber, which hopefully means that she'll just poop rubber, and 2) I think the remaining boot might be able to replace the super crappy boot of my old lace up pair.  What does this mean?  Two things:  1) I'm horrible at throwing away shit and 2) I'll be ghetto as all hell until I get another pair of boots.  Whatevs.  Oh, and today, I like lists.

Boss man just took the admin staff from my department to lunch.  It wasn't great company and it's my least-favorite restaurant (second maybe to McDonald's) in all the land, but I had a surprisingly good time.  It was four women (myself included) and one man.  Somehow, the conversation got on the topic of finances and gender in a relationship.  My coworkers were all screaming about how a "good man" pays for everything and that's "what he's supposed to do."  Oh, and how this magical man doesn't exist anymore.

Well, shit.

I said very little during the meal, but while this was still the topic, I waited for a lull and tapered down the anxiety that rears its head whenever I feel like I'm at complete odds with the general consensus.  I thought out my presentation:  my mother did not raise me like that.  Because if you disagree with me, you disagree with my mother, and I'll take you out back over that.  But I went on to explain that I was raised to not be dependent upon a man.  If he wants to help?  Great.  But I'm not asking for it nor expecting it.  Again, this is how my divorcée mother raised me.  And I think that independence is part of the reason D and I did so well and continue do so well together. For the longest, longest time, D was a jobless student.  I didn't expect anything from him, other than for him to carry his share.  When I was able to give him more, I gave.  I never resented that.  I had no problem working multiple jobs and supporting myself, alone.  And now that we're married and he makes significantly more than me, we still have a balance in our marriage.  I don't go blow my money on frivolous things (because you damn well better not lump Archie in that category) and I also don't ask him for money unless I absolutely need it.  I pay my bills.  In return and with consideration for the variance of income (dude makes over twice what I do), he handles general utilities.  It's a skewed sort of balance, but it's a balance.

In the rest of life stuff, we went and worked out at the gym after I took photos at the Humane Society.  I only had enough time to do the kitty cats.  My camera had been sitting in my car all day, in the under 50° weather, and I had some serious fog issues.  I still haven't mastered speediness with a small depth of field, but, dammit, I'm going to keep trying.

At the gym, it was arm day.  I think it's always arm day.  But D wanted to change up the order of things, so we did a quick cardio and then moved to the incline bench press.  I'm not sure why, but I was having serious problems completing the work out.  It was a strange one, too:  4 sets of 8-10 reps of an okay weight, remove the weight and do three sets of 7, while moving the hand position farther out with each set.  Then it was some easy bar bicep curls, dumbbell bench press, skull crushers, some abs and a little bit of a leg press.

I'm feeling pretty beefy.

But my weight is only increasing.  Damn you, weight.

This morning, I got to feed the horses.  It was still sort of brisk, but the day was supposed to warm up so I took the sheets off.  Skinny Guy's sheet is a little alarming:  it feels almost like denim and can't possibly be water proof.  I'm not sure what the thought process was behind it.  I'll feed again tonight, after I try to squeeze in a little ride.

Looking smart!

What?  You don't take awkward self-portraits with your angry horse at seven in the morning?

Skinny Guy's sheet.  Also, no butt straps, which I think would probably help with the twisting.