what's playing in the basement

Since I'm not swimming, I've been spending a lot of time on the trainer.

Which means I've been sitting in a freezing-ass basement, inhaling the warm aroma of kitty litter.

And watching a shit-ton of Netflix.

What I'm currently streaming:

The Great British Baking Show 
Premise: Amateur bakers compete for the title of U.K.’s best
Why it works for the trainer: I like to imagine that if I bike hard enough, I’ll ride right through the TV screen and face-first into a giant cake, gluten be damned.

The Keepers
Premise: A docu-series that investigates the unsolved murder of a Baltimore nun
Why it works for the trainer: Workouts fly by because I’m completely overcome with rage at the unfairness in the world and all the horrible people who do horrible things and get away with them. Seriously, is there no justice?

Black Mirror
Premise: Each episode of this British series is a stand-alone drama that critiques technology, media and our modern priorities
Why it works for the trainer: Just watch the second episode of season 1 while you’re on the bike. You’ll feel very, very weird.

the more, the merrier

I’ve done a lot of cat lady-esque things in my life.

Like the time I spent an hour in the bushes outside of work because I thought I heard a cat meowing and needed to rescue it immediately. (Spoiler alert: We never found it. And there may not really have been a cat. But I did get a nasty rash.)

Or this Halloween costume.

(Let’s be honest: Those are my normal clothes. I wear that robe every single day and have been known to spend entire weekends in those pajamas.)

Or how I flew back to Seattle for a night so I could get this tattoo.

Yes, it hurt. A lot.

But I think my recent trip to Austin qualifies as the most cat lady thing I’ve ever done. Annie and I met there at the end of January for a girls’ weekend of eating, drinking, and trying on ridiculous boots.

Everything was fine until I spotted these signs for a cat café.

Of course, I dragged Annie in there. And we hung out, had lattes and took photos. It was a very normal tourist experience, if having a strange cat put its butthole on the table next to your coffee qualifies as normal.

And then just as we were about to leave, this happened.

And so we spent our last day in Austin buying a cat carrier, going to the vet and basically prepping this little guy to become a Minnesotan. (I should've bought him a down jacket too.) I flew home with him (profuse apologies to everyone on my flight for all of the yowling). And now he lives in the land of ice and snow and has three sisters who have been semi open-minded about their new little brother.

One day, they'll all cuddle. I'm optimistic.

Welcome to Magnus, strong cat of the North.

winter continues to kick my ass

File this under most Minnesota thing ever: A snow shoveling injury.

Yes, that’s right. I obsessively shoveled our driveway so hard that I hurt my rotator cuff and haven’t been able to swim in over a week.

This is like a foot of snow.

Cow print athletic tape hiding my cupping bruise.

Winter: 1. Michaela: 0.