Waiting for the Beeping

I am sitting at my computer in the spare room in my workout clothes. It's 8:50 on a Saturday morning. I'm waiting for the gas tank truck to come beeping past my house. I was going to do a yogalates video (I know, right? If you're a girl, that's a cross between pilates and yoga; if you're a boy, it's an exercise video) first thing so that I can get in my third workout this week and so that I can put my workout clothes in with my weekly load of laundry.

But then I was awakened this morning by the beeping of the gas tank truck and THAT reminded me that I need a refill and I can't start the video until I get the refill, because otherwise I have to interrupt my workout to run frantically from my living room (in the back of the apartment) to the bedroom (in the front of the apartment) to wave them down, which isn't always effective in getting the driver's attention but IS always effective in making me on edge the whole workout, straining to hear the tell-tale beeping.

So, again, here I am at my computer, telling you, O Mysterious Cyberspace Blog Reader, the mundane details of my life; listening to "Then" by Brad Paisley; thinking about making oatmeal for breakfast when I get to that point in my morning (gas refill; workout; shower including cleaning the shower for the first time in forever while I'm in there; start laundry; THEN I get breakfast) and listening for the beeps.

In other news, last night I had a Diet Dr. Pepper. It was really wonderful. DDP is my all-time favorite drink in the world. And as you no doubt know, such things become more significant when one is being deprived of them. In all of my travels I have only twice ever seen a DDP outside of the confines of North America. Strangely enough, the first time was in a small cafe in Cambodia, of all places. It was run by a North American and though I don't recall the details of why they chose to import that particular drink, I do recall quite vividly my abounding joy as I partook.

The other time was at a party I attended at the home of the American ambassador to Ecuador during my first month in Quito. Lest you overestimate my political importance, let me assure you that said party was a potluck for the newly-arrived Americans in Quito. I thought it was ironic that at this US embassy party, we had to pay for the drinks and bring a dish to share. But hey, whatever. I likes me a good potluck. And it was a small price to pay for some DDP.

I hear beeping...