they pay to kiss your feet

since there's no one else around, we let our hair grow long and forget all we used to know. then our skin gets thicker from living out in the snow.

Wednesday, July 27, 2005

The blessings of being a woman

Sometimes, being a woman is so not worth it. Like last night, when I was up until 3 a.m. writhing in pain from, you guessed it, my “time of the month.” I finally got to sleep after the heating pad had been on so long my stomach was permanently red and then, 30 minutes later, I woke up to Gus (the dog) retching on the bed. When he does this, he’s about to puke. Great.

So, I threw off the heating pad, threw Gus off the bed and ran to get a paper towel to catch the vomit. After he got it all out of his system, I gave him his anti-nausea medicine and took him back to bed with me. Being the woman that I am, my mothering instincts took over and so I let him snuggle in between my shoulder and my head. He rested his head on my neck, and I pet him and made sure he was okay until, uh, maybe 5 a.m. With every move he made, I was also afraid he was going to throw up again all over me, so I hardly slept a wink. And then, poof, it was time to go into work, which wasn’t going to be happening for me. So, I slept in until 7:30 and took half the day off.

I called my boss to tell him I had been sick all night and when he asked, “with what?” I said my stomach had been upset. He seemed to care on the phone, told me to get some rest and to come in later if I felt up to it. But, when I did come in later, my co-worker told me that the boss had rolled his eyes at her when he told her I was out with a “stomach ache.” She knew why I was gone and told him she wasn’t surprised and that I hadn’t been feeling well the afternoon before. But really, should I have told him that I had major cramps that felt like a fist was in my stomach, twisting my organs, squeezing the life out of them, or should I have kept it simple like I did. I mean, how much information is too much information. Plus, they are my paid days off.

I also don’t like having to wear makeup and fix my hair and having to be tan and dressed in matching outfits with pretty shoes. But, I do admit that sometimes, I like matching my jewelry and finding just the right shade of toenail polish.

Tuesday, July 26, 2005

CFA, here we come

I have to post a shout-out to my husband who just found out he passed level one of the CFA (chartered financial analyst) exam! Yeah, Nick!

It's a hard test to pass. I think there was only a 36 percent pass rate this time. Anyway, I knew he was a smart cookie.

Now on to level two in June and then level three the next June and then, hopefully, we're done!

Monday, July 25, 2005

Okay, okay, I like Seal.

Had a big weekend. I ran eight miles and admitted internally to really liking some songs by Seal. I didn’t mean to like Seal. But twice this weekend, I turned up the radio in my car and thoroughly enjoyed singing along until I realized what I was singing along with. The internal dialogue went something like “This is a great song, kinda sounds like Peter Gabriel before he got cheesy. What is this? I’m going to turn it up and sing aloud. Heck, why not roll down the windows and broadcast this to the world. Wait a second, is this Seal? This is Seal. Oh, my gosh, I’m so not rolling down the windows. Wait, liking Seal isn’t that bad. Maybe it’s a sign of maturity. Okay, windows, down you go.”

And there you have it, I like Seal. I also like Kelly Clarkson. But I’m a bit more ashamed of this one. So, the windows are staying up when she comes on.

But about the eight mile run. It is now my official farthest distance yet. And, I ran it on m y own, with no training partner pushing me to keep going. I just ran and ran and ran and then at mile five, I stopped by my sister’s house for water. I didn’t want to stop, but it was 90 degrees at 8:30 a.m. and I had no choice. I literally may have died if I didn’t. Especially because of this freakish girl that was running my route. This is how our conversation went (remember, I didn’t previously know her.)

Freakish runner girl (FRG) : It’s frickin’ hot out here to be running.

Me: Yes, it’s very hot.

FRG: What mile are you on?

Me: 4.5, you?

FRG: 4. How far are you going?

Me: 8. you?

FRG: 4.2

Me: (thinking this) Who is this girl and why are we talking?

FRG: You training for anything?

Me: Yes, a half marathon in September.

FRG: Oh, mine is in November. So you are ahead of me in your training schedule.

Me: Yep. Okay.

FRG: Let’s push each other up this last hill.

Me: Okay.

So, we’re sprinting up this hill and I still have almost half my run left. She, on the other hand, lived at the top of the hill. So, we’re sprinting and sweating and I’m thinking, boy this FRG is competitive. I beat her to the top of the hill. And then I stopped at my sister’s for water and a good laugh about the story before I went on. I secretly kind of liked the competition and the chat, but the other part of me would have rather had a silent, completly introspective run with the Seal songs in my head keeping my feet pounding, resulting in ugly toes and feet and well, I can't wait to count the blisters after the longer runs.

Friday, July 22, 2005

Getting crazy with the lion cam

For hours of fun, check out the lion cam. I shamelessly look at it several times a day. Mostly, the cubs sleep, which is cute and reminds me of Gus, my pug. Then again, everything reminds me of Gus.

Wednesday, July 20, 2005

Notes to self

Don’t take eyes off mixing bowl while searching for a rubber spatula to help coax brownie mix into the baking dish while holding mixing bowl upside down — especially near white cabinets.

Do buy Werther’s Original caramel coffee swirls often.

Don’t attempt to cut stylish, edgy bangs with sewing scissors.

Do drive with windows down and sunroof open at all times despite the humidity.

Don’t wear sandals that showcase blood blister formed from too many miles of running without covering it with a Band-Aid.

Don’t use self tanners that look fake, instead, fool the world with Jergen’s self tanner for light skin tones. Don’t put it on your face.

When signing up for ProActive Solution, don’t accidentally join the “club,” which automatically sends new product every two months, charging the debt to your bank account.

Don’t sign up for ProAcitve Solution unless you really have an acne problem. For a few occasional breakouts, it’s not worth it no matter what P. Diddy and Jessica Simpson say.

Windsor Palates won’t really make your muscles long and lean because we can’t alter the length of our muscles. Daisy Fuentes has long and lean muscles because she’s 5’11’’.

Stop watching infomercials because you don’t really want that dehydrator. Bacon tastes much better bought at the grocery store.

Eating ½ pound of bacon at a time isn’t a good idea no matter how good it tastes.

Peanut Butter straight out of the jar still has lots of fat and calories, even if you eat it while standing up, which usually doesn’t count.

Do pin cute, sassy bangs to the side while running to avoid painful forehead pimples.

Research someone else’s statement or opinion before sharing it as your own well-researched theory only to have to pull your foot out of your mouth later when you realize that opinion was built on false, unsubstantiated claims. Whoops.

Tuesday, July 19, 2005

Running crazy

I don’t know what I was thinking. I thought training for a half marathon would be easy. I think I forgot that I would be training in hot and humid Kansas City and I’m not sure I knew just how badly sweat in the eyes stings. Maybe I should buy a sweatband, but I don’t want to look silly. It’s all about fashion, really, which is why I never where matching running outfits and why by the end of my run, my bangs are matted to my forehead and the rubber bands securing my pigtails are plumped full of salty, disgusting sweat. Honestly, I don’t understand why running tanks come in any color other than black. Black hides sweat stains and moisture, hot pink does not. And I know that after mile 8 when I’m looking hot and bothered with flushed cheeks and glistening skin, the last thing I need is to draw attention to my sweat-covered running tank. So, I stick with black. — even if it’s not the exact same shade of black as my running shorts. It irks me at first, but I figure I’d be more self conscious parading my sweat rings than not matching my blacks. Hard core running does not require cutesy little running outfits, but some people just don’t get it. Just the other day at the gym, I witnessed a tan, big-chested blond shaking what God gave her on the treadmill. She had poured herself into a bright green running tank and pink shorts and honestly, looked kind of silly. But, the guys loved it because they kept looking and talking to her and she didn’t seem to mind. I, however, don’t like to talk when I’m running because it give me cramps, which I’m not sure is a great sign of my conditioning efforts, but cramps are no fun and so, I keep my headphones on and my eyes forward. And I try not to compare myself to the bombshell on the treadmill to my left, which is another reason why I do most of my training outside even though the air is thick and muggy and uncomfortable. Outside, there is no mirror in front of me, no television displaying images from The Real World and no double d’s threatening to bounce there way over to my direct line of vision. I’ve also heard the rumor that during the actual race, the ground will not be moving beneath me and there will be no temperature-controlled environment surrounding me like a bubble. So, I think I’ll buy a sweatband and stick to the outdoors. I wonder what color will best match my eyes….

Wednesday, July 13, 2005

Things fall apart.

Things fall apart. They just do. And we can choose to either move on or to fall apart with them. I think a great deal of this choice is made subconsciously — somewhere in our minds where we store our innermost thoughts, the ones that are fleeting and freeing and sometimes even unworthy. It’s the same place, I think, where much of our strength is kept. The amount of time we spent stewing on a fleeting thought is stored there, too. If we choose to move on, we mustn’t forget that it’s not the same as forgetting. It’s just getting through, piece by piece, hour by hour. When moving on begins to callus a heart maybe there is too much moving and not enough waiting and experiencing and really knowing.

Yesterday, I ran 7 miles and the first half nearly killed me. The hills seemed like mountains and the flat parts seemed too steep. I wondered what I was doing. It was my idea to train for a half marathon and I can just as easily stop training. It was hot and humid and I had only three hours of sleep the night before. I was thirsty and feeling dizzy, but I kept going because I was running with a friend and I didn’t want to compromise his workout. I also didn’t want to look stupid.

At about mile 5, my calves were telling me to stop. My mind had given up at mile 3 and I almost gave into my sore legs when I realized that running is just as much mental as it is physical and that I could choose to finish the run or to stop and walk home. I chose to finish. The last 3 miles were the easiest. My legs hurt but my mind and my heart were in a better place. And my sore muscles today are a reminder that I got through.
Just like our emotional woundings are really battle scars that remind us that we are still here, that we got through, that we learned something and that next time, we can choose how to cope.

Monday, July 11, 2005

Sheepish suicide

Tuesday, July 05, 2005

The sun will come out.

I’m having one of those days I used to have in college. I think they were borderline manic. The down side of manic though, not the bouncing off the walls, cleaning frenzy side. I always start to feel this way slowly. It takes a few days of up and down emotional turbulence, which begins to do me in and then the only other ingredient is a slow, semi-depressing song. Somehow, I am able to find one every time and I play it over and over and over and then the words become my emotions and my thoughts and nothing seems right. And I recognize that I totally do this to myself. I get myself in this mood by recognizing it and not fleeing. Instead, I soak it in. I bathe in it. I scrub the glow from my eyes and the warmth from my heart. I sit and stare — out the window or at the wall — and I think about last week or about yesterday or about five years ago and the way it felt when it rained and I ran around in it trying to find shelter, trying to find someone who was home, someone who would open their door and let me in. And I remember the way it felt to feel so empty inside. But instead of remembering that I’m not empty anymore, that I have hope and life and love. That I have friends who would give anything for me and a husband who would die for me and a God that did die for me, I wallow. I know that tomorrow, I’ll wake up and the sun will be shining and work will be better and my back won’t hurt and I won’t have a migraine and I’ll be good. I cling to that now. Because today, I don’t feel well. Here’s to tomorrow.

What I like today.

"Clear Eyed" by Glenn Phillips
The blue sky.
It's not humid or rainy.
The sun feels nice when I'm driving.
I got through yesterday okay.
Today, I get to start over.
My bangs.
That I'm sore, because it means I've been training hard.
Corned Beef.
Big Red gum.
My thick, red cuff watch.
"You know when you've found it because you feel it when they take it away." - Damien Rice