Last week, before work, I needed something from the garage. I flipped on the patio light to go get it, and heard a big rustling noise.

I caught sight of a furry bottom and a naked tail walking slowly away. Of COURSE, I grabbed the camera. But the possum was very well camouflaged, and my camera couldn’t focus.

Of course I told Chris about it, when I made my 11 o’clock wake-up call from work.

“Baby! I saw a speckle-bottom possum in the yard this morning!”

“Did he leave?” Apparently, Chris had a low opinion of rodent-tailed creatures living in our backyard.

That is, until the next day. He caught site of my speckle-bottom possum on the neighbor’s roof—in the daylight! Then his marshmallow center took over, because the possum is cute.

He called me to tell me about it. “Did you know that the possum in the only marsupial in America? It’s not a rodent. In fact, it eats rats and mice. And insects. They have a very low body temperature, so they can’t carry rabies. They are actually good to have around.”

“See? I told you it was cute”

“Yeah, maybe it will come back to our yard.”

“It says that possums don’t like to be out in the daylight. And they are not so good at climbing. I wonder how it got on the roof?”

“He looks kind of sad. I wonder how they will get him off the roof? He must have gone up there because they have dogs in the backyard. He ran to get away from the dogs and now he can’t get down.”

About an hour later, a police car drove up and stopped in front of our house. Chris was feeling a bit uneasy. Maybe the neighbors, whom we didn’t really know, had taken umbrage with his photographing their house.

The policeman walked over to their house and came out again. Chris did his best to look busy at his computer while he drove away.

But then, an animal control van came and caught our possum.

We are afraid to find out what happens after that.

I’m going to write about something I’ve never written about before. I’ve always considered it too boring and uninteresting.

I want to write about refinancing.

Is there anything more mundane than refinancing a mortgage? It is perhaps the very definition of bourgeois. It means you have a large, immovable possession that roots you to a place. BUT EVEN MORE, it means that you have had that large immovable possession for a long time.

Many, many people have the same situation. It is not a terribly adventurous or creative thing to accomplish.

People who refinance are the same sort of people who stop and go next to me in the pod-o-mobiles on the way through the 20-mile-an-hour-stop-and-go traffic. These people are the same people who wear the business casual clothes from Target and Mervyn’s that I wear.

These people are the demographic. These people are the satisfied—the well-fed who worry mostly about which people they didn’t manage to sleep with. I worry mostly that I am becoming one of these people.

I don’t want to be like everyone else. I want to be free-thinking and artistic and unique. I think about this as I chose my business casual clothes each day. And as I surge slowly through the cattle drive of rush hour traffic.

But I am doing a refinance. This is something none of the bourgeois enjoy doing.

We—dare I say it? —We don’t enjoy all the small print and the thinking of what it means. And are we getting screwed? How many itemizations have we forgotten to compare?

I’ve discovered that there are “packages.” There are tables and specials and the things that the mortgage brokers are selling.

I looked into it. I compared. I figured out exactly what I want. I found a lender who will give it to me.

Of course, I had to compare against other lenders. But no one has a “package” for what I want. In fact, while shopping for my refinance, I discovered that most of the lenders couldn’t even do what I want. They were so surprised that I asked for that particular type of loan, that I started to doubt my research.

I asked Chris about it. “Why is it so surprising to these people? Did I do the math wrong?”

“You are asking the lenders. Who do you think is benefiting from the packages they are trying to sell you? You did the research.” He gave me a squeeze and said, “You’re smarter than the average bear.”

Well.

That makes me feel a little less of a sheep in the bourgeois herd. I guess if I can do an avant-gard refinance, I can’t be too off my mark

I finally decided to join a gym.

It’s been a while, and I hate to spend the money on something I could theoretically do at home.

But I was getting tired of the same exercise video at home, and I thought about it. If I go to the gym near work, I will shave about 30-45 minutes of drive time in the morning…What if I took that time and used it to exercise instead of drive? That would be worthwhile!

So, I found a club right near my job. I joined, and was taken in my the sales pitch. They had a SALE on personal training sessions. How serious was I about my fitness goals, really? A personal trainer would take me to the next level.

Wow! The next level! Give me a scoop of that.

It wasn’t until I got home that I realized I hate people telling me what to do. I can’t stand exercise classes, because who are these idiots telling me to “Breathe!” and “Kick higher!”?

Leave me alone. I’ll be just fine on my elliptical trainer and the weight machines.

I snuck into the gym alone a few times before making an appointment for the personal training sessions. Sneaky, aren’t I? I fooled myself good.

But the inevitable could not be delayed. I could not let these sessions go unredeemed. This was money, after all!

The appointment was made, and the next morning was the day of judgement. Immediately, I regretted tying myself down like that. Who was this personal trainer anyway? “Greg”—his name tells me nothing.

He’s probably an idiot. I’m going to ask him important questions about health and workout strategies and he will look at me with no comprehension and no answer.

He is probably a nineteen year old community college dropout who will try to sell me Myoplex powder. He will probably be short and have no sense of humor.

He will be stupid. He will come up to me, and will do the ‘orientation’, which involves a caliper to test my body fat.

This is what the internet tells me about calipers, also known as the ‘pinch test’: they are only a good way to measure body fat when handled by someone who knows what they are doing.

So, some gel-spiked short bicep-heavy teenager is going to shoddily pinch my fat at 6:30 am, and he won’t even get my incisive quips. He will try to sell me something so lame it doesnt’ even have an informercial.

AND I HAVE PAID FOR THIS PRIVILEGE.

How did I sign up to have a homo half-a-sapien pinch my fat before dawn? What does that say about me, really?

Maybe I can get out of it. Perhaps I can put a sharp little comment out there, and if he is as idiotic as I fear I will simply bow out of the fat pinching. I’ll just go straight to the weights and ask for a new trainer. A girl. Aren’t chicks smarter in general?

No, all gym rats are stupid. There is no way around it. This is a lost cause and I am fool for being suckered in.

This situation I have gotten myself into is simply a bad deal all around. I must only endure it.

The alarm rang early. I drove to the gym and was there early, too. I admit I was nervous.

I said as much to Greg. He nodded seriously, and talked about what would be happening that day.

Greg was not a teenager. Greg was tall. Greg actually had a lot of experience, and was good with the questions. The fat pinching was handled with professionalism, and I feel reassured.

We’ll see how it goes, but things were not as bad as I feared.

* Vaccuum
* get my car’s oil changed
* backup my computer hard drive
* lose 20 pounds

okay, the last one is just being hopeful. There is no way I can lose 20 pounds in one weekend. But if I were to lose 20 pounds, or at least start on it, maybe my list should include:

* spend 4 hours at the gym both saturday and sunday
* clean cupboards of all food and replace with liquid meal replacement supplements

Is that likely to happen? Absolutely not. In fact, maybe I should include another thing

* make a pot of healthy vegetable soup to snack on throughout the week
* buy new sports bras, since the last ones are losing their spring

Let me tell you, sport bras with elasticity of steel are vital for a good workout regimen. I wear two, because I want no bounce whatsoever and the least amount of jiggle I can manage. That takes two very snappy sport bras. Which are hard to find, because the bottom part that goes around the chest is a tourniquet and the part that goes around the actual shelf is not tight enough. You’d think that BRA makers of all people would want to protect my assets. It’s tough.

But actually, which of these will get done? maybe I should be realistic about my list of things to do this weekend. What will I actually do?

* eat bag of salt and pepper potato chips
* watch psych and rockford files on Tivo
* take hot bath
* Stay in bed late and giggle with Chris about silly things

That sounds pretty good. I’m sure I’ll be able to do that.

Maybe if I substitute the potato chips for a bowl of airpopped popcorn, that would be perfect.

Weekends seem to be so full of promise, and yet so little gets accomplished in the end.