Forgot that I was meant to babysit a meeting this evening. So I won't be leaving work until 7 p.m or so. Damn.

I was planning to stop by a couple of gyms in hopes of finding one I like. I won a three-month membership at the Steel Gym. Seems a little less health-clubby than I like, but no big deal. Anyway, if I don't like it, I'm not out any money.

I've got to start working out again now that the distractions of moving are over. Rugby practice starts back up in a couple of weeks and I am really, really not ready. In truth, considering the constant pain in my knees, I don't think I'll play this season. Not unless I can drop some weight and start going to physical therapy again. I just don't really have the money right now.

Speaking of rugby, I've had one of the inane rugby songs stuck in my head all day. And here it is:

If I Were the Marrying Kind

If I were the marrying kind, which thank the Lord I'm not, sir
The kind of rugger I would wed would be a rugby (this is where one says one's position, so I'd say "prop") prop, sir.
Prop, sir, why's that sir? (this is what the team yells back)
Because I'd (this is where you say the thing that is associated with your position) support a hooker (if you don't know rugby, this won't make any sense) and he'd support a hooker (pointing to the other prop) and we'd support a hooker together
We'd be alright in the middle of the night supporting a hooker together.

For whatever reason, this has been running through my mind all day. I find myself humming it (singing it, when I'm not paying attention) and it's driving me crazy. Well, at least it's one of the inoffensive rugby songs. Better this than "Barnacle Bill the Sailor" or "The Rimjob Song" (don't ask). Ruggers are a nasty bunch.