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Welp, until yesterday, I hadn’t run since about a week after my cervix-surgery. Doctor’s orders. I didn’t like the orders, but nervous my innerds would fall out, I listened. So, Monday, I actually set my alam in the afternoon – and made my way to the Y.
I walked in and felt like fellow Y-ers knew I hadn’t been there in a few weeks. I wanted to scream out, “I didn’t leave you! I had a damaged cervix that needed to be fixed!” I hopped on the treadmill, per usual… and started running. I really didn’t think I was going to make it past a mile. Really. I hated life at that point. But something happened and I got in a groove. Thank the Lord. I banged out a few more miles and hopped off. Now, my legs wanted to buckled under me after that — but I walked it out. Apparently I don’t know the meaning of “easing into it.” All or nothing. Bam.
I lifted, as well. I’m paying for that today. If a seven-year-old came behind me today and held my arms back, I’d have no defense. I’d get beat by a 1st grader. Wait, is that how old you are in 1st grade? (This lack of maternal knowledge, my friends, is why I’m getting a house… and not having children right now.)
I’m headed back to the gym right now. I should probably go everyday now until the half-marathon. Lord knows that thing won’t run itself.
Hi. Sorry. Bet you thought I forgot about you. Nope, I didn’t. I thought about blogging plenty of times. Did I actually sit down and do it. No. Apologizes all around. You accept them? Great. Let’s move on, then. Obviously, I didn’t write down every single thing/story I could blog about. So, instead, you’ll get a list. I don’t know about you, but lists keep my attention more than a full-out story. Then again, I have a mild case of OCD. You understand. Here goes…
–I’ve been on 3rd shift now for nearly a month. I do the first two hours of our WakeUp show. I like it. I dislike the hours, but I love the crew and the show layout.
–I don’t really do anything anymore… other than sleep and eat an occasional meal. No, really. I get home at 7am, go right to bed. Try and sleep until about 3:30pm. I wake up groggy and not knowing what day/time it is. I stay that way until about 5pm, when Eric comes home. We eat dinner together. I get sleepy again. I shower and lay back down to try and take a min nap before I start getting ready for work at 9:10pm. I’m out the door 20 minutes later. That’s my day. Everyday.
–That is, except Fridays. I have real weekends off now. How ’bout them apples. Look at what it cost me though. Ha. 3rd shift. Whatever. I do things now on the weekend. Run errands on Saturday morning, go to church in the afternoon. I forgot, fish fry on Friday. Watch football Sunday afternoons. It’s pretty great.
–I think my ear-holes are too small. I try and sleep with earplugs in, but they don’t stay in my ears. I swear I’m crinkling them up enough — and shoving them as far into my ear as they’ll go. My ear-holes hurt after I wear my ear buds for a long time, too — especially after a long workout. I take them out of my ears and literally massage my ear-holes. Hot. I know.
–My new favorite drink on Planet Earth: Starbuck’s Caramel Apple Cider. It’s hot. It’s spiced. It’s got caramel. I’m only drinking them now because my Mom gave me a giftcard from there that she got from a co-worker. It’s a re-gift. I’ll stop drinking those wonderful, hot creations when the money on the card runs out. I have $3.64 left. That’s enough for a medium drink ( I know Starbucks doesn’t call it medium… I think it’s a Tall.)
–Eric and I have been consuming a lot of hard-boiled eggs lately. Don’t know why. They’re good, though. And kind of good-for-you.
–I’m ready for the election to be over. And for Barack to win. I’m also ready to giggle at all the McCain/Palin supporters who are crying in their richy-rich non-whipped, skim, extra hot fraps. (Sorry Republican friends.)
–Speaking of McCain… that’s what I’m going as for Halloween. Eric is Sarah Palin. This is funny for many reasons: One: We’re both voting for Obama. Two: He’s the girl, I’m the boy. Here’s the picture to prove how scary/funny we are. Wait. Kim hasn’t seen this yet. I can’t unveil it until after this weekend.
–Speaking of Kim. She’s throwing Klassy Bash ‘08 on Saturday. Long story, short… a bunch of us gals and our significant others are getting together for a day of costumes, the Badger game, chili, an awesome Kahlua dessert, Apples to Apples and plenty of beer. It’s a Halloween party, but better. Pictures to follow after the bash.
–Eric and I carved pumpkins to get into the spoooooky spirit. Too bad we did it all too early. I had to throw them out yesterday because they weren’t going to make it to this weekend. Sad. They were pretty mushy. A few good rains will do that to Jack. Here’s our handy-work.
–Sweeps is about the start. Better known to many others as ratings period. It’s one of four months of hell in the news business. Needless to say, I hope November flies. It won’t, though. I’m sure of it.
–We bought candy for trick-or-treaters. Not a one knocked on our door. Now Eric and I don’t feel so bad about noshing on gummy lifesavers… instead of a bag of mini peanut butter cups, which I exercised some constraint… and did NOT buy.
That’s about all I got for right now. I always say this, but Ill try and be a better blogger. Hope you enjoyed getting caught up on all my business.
I’m sure when people searched these phrases, and clicked on the link, they were hugely disappointed. Sorry guys, I try.
Eventually, my blog will look like something other than a brown blob of words. I need another date with Krista, clearly. One where my computer works. Damnit.
Here’s the latest round of how people got here…
maui melon mint gum.
peeing “squat”
where to buy crayola giant chalks in manhattan
This is something I’ve been milling over for a while now, but after this morning, I’ve got to get it off my chest.
Crocs are the stupidest piece of footwear ever. They’re everywhere. I was at a softball game last night, babies had them on, their siblings had them on — same color, just a bigger size. Then, I see their parents wearing them. I don’t get it. Flip-flops are out of style now? People think wearing lime green Crocs are cool? Blech. Granted, this is just an opinion, and no, I don’t own a pair, nor will I ever.They just look like you want to walk in a foot of water, then be able to attend a wedding in them, because they match your dress perfectly.
The straw that broke the camel’s back was today, while signing away my life for a set of four tires. A gentleman was waiting in line behind me. I looked at his outfit: A nice red shirt, tucked into his Dockers khakis, belted…with f’in’ RED CROCS on!?! Really, guy? You looked nice, until I got to your ankles.
Are Crocs a sign that people are just getting lazy? Like those plastic shoes are a stand-in for dress shoes? I don’t get it.
I just can’t wait until they are a thing of the past — kind of like jelly shoes. Oh wait, those came back in style. Looks like I’m probably stuck looking at Crocs for a long time to come. Crap.
It’s been nearly 11 years since my Dad died. It’s been about that long since his mom, my grandma, spoke to me, my brother or my mom. My Dad was the glue. For some reason or another, my grandma and that side of the family didn’t like my Mom. I still don’t get that one, my Mom is the damn easiest person to get along with and she’s wonderful. She’s my Mom, I’m biased, but still. So, like I said, my Dad, kept us all together. Then, everything came to a screeching halt when he died. My grandma, now living on the West coast, flew in to WI. She was cold to my family and just kept telling me how much I looked like my Dad. Ok, I get it. I have the traits from his side of the family. But I’m trying to grasp the fact that my Dad isn’t here anymore and you feeding this stuff into my head, at age 16, isn’t helping.
My grandma basically cut off all communication after she flew back out West. I can count the number of times I’ve seen her in the last 10 years. Hell, I think I’ve talked to her once, maybe twice since then. She called me once, on my 20th birthday, and asked when I was coming out to Vegas to gamble. When I told her I was only 20, there was a big silence. Suddenly, we had nothing to talk about anymore. She would start crying and talk about missing my Dad, and well, she ruined my birthday. I miss him everyday. Not a day goes by I don’t think about him. But for pete’s sake. It’s my birthday. I’m trying to be happy here.
Eventually, things got nasty. She told my Mom that she was cutting my brother and I out of her Will, because my Mom was still getting money from the government, which we were clearly entitled to. My Dad had a government job. That’s what happens when government workers die on the job. That doesn’t bring back my Dad. It doesn’t make life any easier. But it did send me through college. So, thanks for that Uncle Sam. Too bad my Dad wasn’t there to see me graduate.
My grandma’s first husband, my grandpa, committed suicide a few years back, after learning he had lung cancer. Hadn’t talked to him in years, either. (There’s a growing trend with that side of the family, huh?) Oh, I mentioned before, my Dad has three sisters. Last time I talked to them? I think Clinton was President (the start of his second term).
I mean really, you would think a death in the family would make you closer. It amazed me, because it was the exact opposite. No cards at Christmas, birthday cards stopped years ago. Hell, I could be married with 23 kids and they wouldn’t have a damn clue.
My grandma died over the weekend. I didn’t cry. I didn’t even think twice about it. The words rolled right off my back. I’m sad, though. Sad that I didn’t get to tell her exactly what I thought about the way she treated her grandkids. Not all of them, just my brother and me. It hurts. We’re her blood and she didn’t have the decency to respect and treasure that. I didn’t love her anymore. There was just so much disconnect and, well, disrespect.
I should be sad I only have one grandparent left. But ya know, that grandparent has treated me with more respect than she ever did. And for that, I’m grateful.
She was laid to rest today. And that’s exactly what she’ll do. She’ll rest. God’s the ultimate judge. But I hope He knows.
Dear Billy Hall,
You RULE this season. Just so you know, you’re my boyfriend. I have an everyday boyfriend, but he knows about us… so, no biggie there.
I will continue to wear my Hall shirt loud and proud.
Keep jackin’ homers in the 10th inning to help seal-up victories.
But could ya maybe stop chewing? It’s gross. Sunflower seeds, gum? Anything but sick chewing tobacco.
Either way, keep proving to all those turds that you deserve to play in the majors.
Rarr.
XOXO, me
I drive by it several times a day. The city pool. It’s always kid-infested with all those uppity-moms who don’t work because their husbands are stock brokers or neurosurgeons who make a gazillion dollars a year. I digress.
Well, a gal-pal from work also lives in the Ville. We always talk about the pool. But I’ve never been to/in it. Well, we took the plunge, literally. Named a time and a date — and did it.
So, I stock up my pool bag: Magazines, SPF 45 sunscreen, my headset, sunglasses and a bottle of water.
We meet up, nab us some most-uncomfortable chairs and begin the laying-out process. Sweet. It’s 264 degrees out. Don’t worry, it was the heat, not the humidity. I obviously start sweating, instantly.
Well, we need to go in the pool. Too bad the only section that wasn’t hopping with minis was an area as big as a toilet. So, we squeeze in, really…squeeze. I know we’re in a pool, but kids that splash irritate me. However, I’ve learned just to splash back. Then, it was time to go under. The whole time, all I could think about was how much PEE was inside this massive, well, toilet. I dunked myself in the water (damn, it felt good) and come up… only to see…. A FLOATING BANDAID. Gag!!! Gross!!
I dodged that, a floaty ring and some loose hairs, probably from some girl’s head. Blech.
But ya know what, I had a splendid time, bandaids and all.
Got some sun, got to know my work gal-pal a little better and got to make some pool dates for the future, too.
But the next time, I’m bringing my goggles, because apparently all the kids have them, really. All the kids did.
Oh, also, I’ll be bringing more than a dollar in my wallet. Because the pool sells ice cream. More specifically, ChocoTacos.
Yum.
By tomorrow morning (God-willing) — this site of mine will have a little bit of a facelift. I’ve got a special gal comin’ over here to help a sister out. Krista is stopping by on her way back from Osh-Vegas to enjoy a girl’s night. And by girl’s night, I mean it’s just her and I….not a slew of us. Ha.
So, this morning, I’m getting the Nerds in a nice serving bowl (nothing but the best), the pillows fluffed, my pinkest nail polishes out… and the game Girl Talk (yeah, that’s right…from the early 90s) may or may not make an appearance.
I know. You’re jealous.
Ok, I don’t know much about this website (wordpress) just yet (that will soon change…muhaha) — but I think my favorite part is that you can see how people got to your site…google searches, if you will.
Here’s the top searches that led people to read me:
1: Wednesday’s the new Friday.
2: My friend doesn’t listen to what we have to say.
3: Peed minutes.
HAHA. I love people.
Here’s how last Saturday went down, in pictures.
Here’s the BF and I, right after we pulled out of the apt.
Here’s Mr. and Mrs. Berry.
Here’s what happened when the BF said, “hey, quick pose!” We posed.
Here’s JC and the BF making their way in our group to the reception, post-afternoon bar time.
Me and my TV-2 gals. (Yeah, this is before Tuck was taken to the ER. Poor child.)
Aaaand, let the dancing begin. I believe this was to JT’s “Sexy Back.”
Here’s one of 62 self-pictures I took. Sure, someone else would have gladly taken it for me, but what fun is that?! This one is of the BF and I.
Two questions came to mind when I saw this picture. Why was the BF taking a picture of our beer…and two, why did I throw the “peace” sign in there?
Man, the combined BAC of this group is likely .85. Sheesh. This was midnight. Need I say more?
So, the BF and I found this ho’bag at the bar. She’s got some low-cut something-or-other-on. Add in an obvious black bra, and you’ve got a recipe for disaster. I’m pretty sure she thought this looked good. I beg to differ, hence, why I made him take a picture of it over my shoulder. That’s how I roll.
And the finale. Hot dogs from a street vendor. Not sure if he was up-to-code…but damn if those doggies weren’t delicious.
