All Aboard the NOPE Train

This past weekend Husband Dearest and I got to go on our first EVER over night trip together where I wasn't pregnant. Make note: That was October 2009, ya'll. I'm telling you this just so I can share a couple pictures and then move on to the story you want to hear.

A Big Old Handful

I can't make this stuff up. 

Today is not trash day. Tomorrow is trash day. I thought that I would be a good little housewife today and clean the trash from the garage to make Husband Dearest happy, then drag all the trash out to the curb tonight, instead of scrambling to get it done in the morning. While I was dragging things out to the curb, I could hear little E3 screeching inside the house. Not a screech of pain, but his very discernible "I'm pissed!" screech. I did not hurry. As I was about to pick up all the little pieces of junk the big dogs had shredded and strewn about the garage, E2 opens the door, "Mama, E3 is stuck." Sigh. E3 has recently learned how to climb unsecured drawers in the kitchen. There's only three or four drawers and they have all of the kid cups in them or are empty. The boys love to play with them and it keeps me from needing to get E2 a cup every. single. time. he's sssssooooo ttttthhiirrssttyyy. 

When I reentered the house, leaving all the bits and pieces of trash around the garage, I saw he was definitely stuck. E3 had climbed into the bottom drawer, then pulled the next drawer open over the top of him. He did the same thing the day prior, only he flipped out and smushed his face on the hardwood floor giving him Baby's First Bloody Nose. 

After disengaging Baby Climbs A Lot, I tried to go back to my trash pick up duty. "Mama, I have to poop," a deadpanned four year old snuck in front of me, just to make me very aware of his bodily function necessities. He then turned and walked to the bathroom. 

I just stood there, shaking my head. My daily conversations have changed a lot since I went to working only part time. E3 shot through the living room, tailing brother. At least I'm not the only person that doesn't get to poop in peace. 

FINALLY I could at least replace the trash bag in the kitchen. Just as I'm shaking the bag to put it in the can my sweet, darling little E2 yells from the shitter, "Moooom, he's going to touch the poop!"

WHAT. 

HOW can a BABY touch POOP IN the toilet? 

I ran. But not fast enough. "Mooom he's holding the poooooop!"

He was holding the poop. E2 stood up to wipe his butt (yay he's wiping his own ass! That's a big hairy deal!) as he hasn't mastered the lean technique yet. In doing so, he left the pot open for the unleashing of ninja moves from our 10 month old angel baby E3.  

When I skid into the bathroom, E3 was bringing his hand out of the toilet with a nice, big chunk of poop smashed in his tiny little fist. 

Now get on my level. Slow things down a bit. Let's give this image that special effect 3D image of zoom. He's bringing his hand to his face, he's opening his mouth... 

NOOOOO!

He stopped just as I smacked his hand down, making him cry and throwing half the turd back into the toilet, half onto the tile. I saved him. I saved me. No poop was consumed. 

I scooped little E3 up and immediately thrust his hands under the sink to scrub. I'm flustered, to say the least. As I'm scrubbing his little poop scoops, I hear the door open. Husband's home. "Court, did you miss the trash!? The trash is still out!? And you didn't pick up the garage..."

Yo Baby, How 'Bout Some Fries With Dat Shake?

I'm dragging this one over from Figure'n It Out because it's too good not to share.



Tuesday, October 12, 2010     Is That Sound Medical Advice?



I've been killing it with my workouts, and for the last week, have stuck very closely to Coach Lady's meal plans... but then I have this happen.






Le Bebe has been acting strange the last couple days, and I had grown concerned. I called the peditritrician, and was directed to one of the nurses. "I don't think I'm producing as much milk as normal, and I know my baby is trying to eat more," I tell the nurse. "Have you started an exercise routine or changed your diet in anyway?" Duh. "Yes, I'm still eating quite a few calories, but it's cleaner food, not any junk, and I have started working out at the same intensity as I was pregant, and before, just different activities." "I see," she begins, "you know, it takes nine months to put on the weight, so give yourself nine months to take it off."






Bitch, please.






Aside from those nagging couple L-B's, I had that 39lbs' ass whopped in a month. Didn't seem to hurt my milk production then!






"Yes, I know. I lost the weight in a few weeks. I'm actually starting to prepare for a fitness competition." (I say fitness, very few people know what fitness/ figure are, let alone there's a difference.) Ooooh. Oh? Oh. Oh! WTF does OH mean? "Well, that's going to be very hard to continue breastfeeding then." I didn't go into when contest prep starts, and that he'll be close to 6 months, my goal for BF'ing, but REALLY? Then she tells me, and this is verbatim:










"Go to McDonald's and get yourself a quarter pounder and a shake."






... chirp ... chirp...










"I'm serious."


So, nurse's diagnosis; I'm not getting enough fat in my diet. But really, McD's? Is that sound medical advise?


I skipped on the shake, sounds like a good cheat for tomorrow! Instead I opted for FOUR ounces of colby jack cheese and a jumbo dog tonight. Sounds fatty to me, yes?

Crunch Time- 17 days to go

Right now I'm feeling a lot of pressure. Both internally and externally. There's two types of internal pressure: The mygutisgoingtoburstandababyisgoingtoshootoutorImightpoopeverywhere pressure, and the GottaGetItDone running laps in my head. Luckily, everything at home is well taken care of.  It always makes me think of the poem 'Twas the Night Before Christmas when I start to mentally list off what's done.

'Twas the weeks before birthing, when all through the house
Not an animal was stirring, not even my gigantic dog;
The crib sheets were folded, the Halo Sacks washed,
In hopes that Lil' Dude soon would hurry the eff up and get here.

I know, I know. Poet I am not.

However, at work, I feel like I'm struggling to get a head. Budgets and revenue and all that mambojambo is fine. I have great staff that has helped to set up up for a terrific year. We're well ahead of the curve (and most of my peers, thank you very much, not that it's a competition or anything okay okay, everything's a competition) and things should be running smoothly whenever I leave (Now!? ugh, nope not yet). But I still have these little projects- Testing Recertifications and Parents Handbook for the association- that I have to accomplish. Technically this stuff isn't due until the end of August, but I'm definitely going to be unpregnant and sorta busy by then.

Side story: One of my water fitness instructors keeps telling me I'm going to be late. That's fine, but she says I'll be late like her. As in, she swears she was 6 to 8 weeks late with all three of her children. Grant it, she's a little older and kind of senile, but there's no effing way she went 8 weeks overdue. And she swears she knows when she got pregnant: She says the morning after she "did the nasty" (her term, not mine) she woke up throwing up and knew she was pregnant. Okay, so add bat shit crazy to the list of things she is... along with being the lady that stands naked between the double mirrors at the sink in the locker room shudder. This woman also attended BURNING MAN last year. She's 70 something.

Anyway, I'm scrambling to get these months long projects done, and do the day to day things things sometimes take days (I waited for a pool inspector for 6 hours yesterday. That was 6 hours I spent basically twiddling my thumbs instead of getting my normal duties done, which I now get to do today). Something's gotta give somewhere. I once heard the analogy that directors are professional plate spinner's, trying to see how many plates we can have going at once, and eventually, hope the one's that we drop aren't the big ones. I think that's the most accurate description of my job. Not that it's a bad thing, per se, but it makes life very entertaining to say the least.

 

If I can manage to keep the big plates from falling, we're doing okay. At least until I come back in October.

 

I keep telling husband that I wish Lil Dude would just come out.  But he had a valid point last night. "You should be enjoying the moments you have to yourself right now." I have much to learn, Obi Wan Kenobi, because that was so true. Luckily, he's giving me a lot of space to enjoy those moments- yesterday I came home, sat in the glider in the nursery and finished a little light reading (Actually it was pretty rough- Tina dropped off a copy of The Lovely Bones when she was down. It's amazing, but no easy summer read). Then he cooked a Delicious Bass aka Chicken Kabobs and spicy potatoes. After dinner, we set off separately with the dogs to try to encourage a little pelvic-engaging action. I had a woman in the neighborhood actually called out to me from her porch step that I should "Go home and sit down, before that baby falls out." Seriously, lady? I don't even know you.

 

That was the plan, though. Encourage Lil Dude to fall out.

 

Last night, before going to bed, husband asked "Are you going to go into labor tonight?" All I could say was I hope so. No such luck.

 

I did get up to pee five separate times though. I may be approaching a new record.

Boob Gate 2010

My boobs are huge. Prior to being pregnant, my boobs were BIG, but not ridiculously massive. I could still race in a swim suit if I wanted to. However, going from a 36 D to a 38 F (as in What The F!) is not exactly taking too kindly to me.

Pull up a chair, and let me illustrate what has now become Boob Gate 2010.

Yesterday morning I got work feeling less frazzled than normal, mostly because I looked cute. I was wearing this super cute green dress, and a black one button cardigan. It's so comfy. However, the tube top part has started to become a little snug. No big deal though. Here's what I think I looked like.

Cute, right? Well, I thought it was a darling outfit.

I had a 9am appointment with a potentional new lifeguard. She's young, and impresssionable. Just the way I like them- makes them easy to train. What's this got to do with Boob Gate 2010? Please, stay with me.

We hold the interview in my office. It's got a long L shape desk that sits up against a window overlooking my pool.

See? Here's my chair, and the chair the interviewee was in. The interview went well, but about halfway through she seemed to get really nervous. Like, Really nervous. And she stopped looking at me. What is with teenagers that makes them all of sudden get weird? I thought maybe it had something to do with my discussing what a tight ship we run, and how I have a zero tolerance for a lot of things. We also discussed appearance and professionalism. That's really important to me, as I put (way too) much emphasis on how I look, as that's how people percieve you.

She was all fine and dandy, but a little weird averting eye contact. Maybe she had a short attention span. Regardless, things went well, I told her I was intrested in having her on my staff. In conclusion, I stood up to shake her hand and thank her for coming in. That's when I turned to my left to look out at my pool.

That's an old picture of my office. I now have a dry erase board on the outside that also acts as a mirror of sorts for me. As I was looking out at my guard, I realized, through the reflection of my window-mirror, I now looked like this:

That's right, ya'll. My super super cute little green tube dress betrayed me, my cardigan, and giant nude colored nursing bra.

The Girls Were Out. The tube part had slide down to right underneath my bra. I hadn't felt a thing.

All of my right boob, and pretty much all of the left. Out. Actually, they weren't entirely alone. You see, I was leaning forward for most of the interview, with my gut hanging... and the Girls just sitting on top.

So, here I am, talking to the new hire about the Christian principles of the YMCA, and I have my tee-tas in her face, three feet away.

Stunned, I pulled my top up and stood there, looking away. I finally turned back towards her, and apologized. I AM SO SORRY. I DID NOT KNOW.

She then says, "I was going to say something but I thought it would be rude."

Ooookay. Let's go back to young and impressionable. If I were interviewing a 30-something, she would have said "Sorry, your top is down." I could have pulled it up and continued. No, teeny bopped Tina didn't have the balls to say to her potential new boss "Ma'am, your tits are out." I politely suggested that it might be rude NOT to tell someone the milk jugs are swinging freely.

I'm going to skip the second interview and send her to training. I don't really want to see her again until I feel less like a flasher.

Awesome.

A Woman's Week at the Gym

Working at a health club of sorts, you get all kinds. I found this email particularly amusing.

A WOMAN'S WEEK AT THE GYM

Dear Diary,For my birthday this year, my husband purchased a week of personal training for me at the local health club. Although I am still in great shape since being a high school football cheerleader 43 years ago, I decided it would be a good idea to go ahead and give it a try.I called the club and made my reservations with a personal trainer named Christo, who identified himself as a 26-year-old aerobics instructor and model for athletic clothing and swim wear.Friends seemed pleased with my enthusiasm to get started! The club encouraged me to keep a diary to chart my progress.

MONDAY:Started my day at 6:00 am. Tough to get out of bed, but found it was well worth it when I arrived at the health club to find Christo waiting for me. He is something of a Greek god-- with blond hair, dancing eyes, and a dazzling white smile. Woo Hoo!!Christo gave me a tour and showed me the machines.. I enjoyed watching the skillful way in which he conducted his aerobics class after my workout today. Very inspiring!Christo was encouraging as I did my sit-ups, although my gut was already aching from holding it in the whole time he was around. This is going to be a FANTASTIC week!!

TUESDAY:I drank a whole pot of coffee, but I finally made it out the door.. Christo made me lie on my back and push a heavy iron bar into the air then he put weights on it! My legs were a little wobbly on the treadmill, but I made the full mile. His rewarding smile made it all worthwhile. I feel GREAT! It's a whole new life for me.

WEDNESDAY:The only way I can brush my teeth is by laying the toothbrush on the counter and moving my mouth back and forth over it. I believe I have a hernia in both pectorals. Driving was OK as long as I didn't try to steer or stop. I parked on top of a GEO in the club parking lot.Christo was impatient with me, insisting that my screams bothered other club members. His voice is a little too perky for that early in the morning and when he scolds, he gets this nasally whine that is VERY annoying.My chest hurt when I got on the treadmill, so Christo put me on the stair monster. Why the hell would anyone invent a machine to simulate an activity rendered obsolete by elevators? Christo told me it would help me get in shape and enjoy life. He said some other shit too.

THURSDAY:Asshole was waiting for me with his vampire-like teeth exposed as his thin, cruel lips were pulled back in a full snarl I couldn't help being a half an hour late-- it took me that long to tie my shoes.He took me to work out with dumbbells. When he was not looking, I ran and hid in the restroom. He sent some skinny bitch to find me.Then, as punishment, he put me on the rowing machine-- which I sank.

FRIDAY:I hate that bastard Christo more than any human being has ever hated any other human being in the history of the world. Stupid, skinny, anemic, anorexic, little aerobic instructor. If there was a part of my body I could move without unbearable pain, I would beat him with it.Christo wanted me to work on my triceps. I don't have any triceps! And if you don't want dents in the floor, don't hand me the damn barbells or anything that weighs more than a sandwich.The treadmill flung me off and I landed on a health and nutrition teacher. Why couldn't it have been someone softer, like the drama coach or the choir director?_

SATURDAY:Satan left a message on my answering machine in his grating, shrilly voice wondering why I did not show up today. Just hearing his voice made me want to smash the machine with my planner; however, I lacked the strength to even use the TV remote and ended up catching eleven straight hours of the Weather Channel..

SUNDAY:I'm having the Church van pick me up for services today so I can go and thank GOD that this week is over. I will also pray that next year my husband will choose a gift for me that is fun-- like a root canal or a hysterectomy. I still say if God had wanted me to bend over, he would have sprinkled the floor with diamonds!!!

Night Terror

The young man pointed at me, shouting "She's wearing a pink shirt! She's a pink shirt!" I ducked underwater and removed my top, putting the salmon colored cloth under the dock upon which the rat stood. "There!" I said, and pointed down at my.. pink shirt. How the hell did I still have one on? I didn't understand. About then, my husband scooped me up and put me back the kayak we had moored at the dock. We were but one of thousands, if not more, kayaks and row boats hiding under the dock, Bimini tops unfolded, trying to conceal our identities. The Nazi like military that hovered over us in their helicopters scanned our group of frightened refugees. The boat next to us inched out from under the safety of the dock's over hang. It was then I realized this was no ordinary boat. This boat was equipped with machine guns and artillery that would have made a 1940's gangster shiver. I heard myself shriek when the man squeezed the trigger aiming at the hovering helicopters above us. They then returned fire.

My eyes snapped open at the sound of my husband's voice, calling to me from the shower asking about a fresh towel. It took me a minute to adjust, and to realize I wasn't under attack from a Nazi regime, and that, in fact, I was cozied up in my sheets on an overstuffed mattress. It's nightmares like these that I keep having. Every night, something else. Before transitioning to the ocean standoff, I was digging bodies out of my back yard.

A few nights ago, I didn't have a head, and had to carry around my eyes in my hands to see.

Weird.

Par for the course, apparently. Studies have shown that pregnant women are more likely to have vivid dreams, often nightmares, brought on by the surge of hormones. What strikes me is how realistic these dreams are.

Twenty minutes after waking, I was in my laundry room ironing Husband's shirts. He had been calling my name repeatedly, but I never recognized it. Instead, I was lost in comparing my dream to the story line of Inglorious Bastards (One hell of a good movie, might I add). I finished my ironing, and came out of the room. As I turned to close the door behind me, Husband came down the stairs to make sure I was indeed still alive, as I hadn't responded once. He hit the bottom of the stairs as I was turning to make my way thru the room.

He looked at me. I looked at him. There was a pause. His expression was confused, but I know it only mirrored mine. Then I heard shrieking. Blood curdling screaming. It was me! WHY!? I jumped back and stopped. He looked even more confused. Then laughed. I laughed. I cried. I cried harder. He didn't understand why. Why did I scream? Why did I laugh? Why did I cry? The only thing I knew for certain is I was crying because I had piss running down the insides of my legs. Seriously. Husband coming to check on my safety scared the piss out of me.

So here's what I know: I have awful scary dreams that I try to rationalize while preforming household chores. Still lost in thought over scary dreams, Husband comes to check on me. I see him and scream. I start laughing. I am laughing over the ridiculousness of my screaming. I am crying. I am crying because I have pee streaming down my legs.

I have 22 weeks left of this!

A Thursday Open Letter

Dear Groundhog,

I hate you. You may be cute, true. You might be fuzzy, yes. However, if you come out of that effing hole and see your shadow EVER again, I will club you like Canadians going after baby seals. I am growing weary of this weather. I don't fit in my slacks, and they are uncomfortable at best, anyway. I am ready to wear skirts in brightly colored floral prints made of cotton. I am up for smothering SPF 40 all over my face and arms so that I may sit outside and guard my spray ground. I want to wear over sized sunglasses, and flip flops again.

Please, Mr. Groundhog, please. I want to have a reason to shave my legs again.

I would like to see a freckle or six on my shoulder. I want my hair to naturally lighten. I will gladly trade in my yoga pants and over sized hoody for a two piece lifeguard suit again. Buddha Belly and all.

I have lost faith in our weathermen. Can they not change the weather as the go? You, Mr. Groundhog, the see-er of all things meteorological, can you not have some influence? Might you possibly come up and say "Nope, no shadow!?"

Because, my dear friend, if we cannot reach a better solution to this wintry weather blues, I may be forced to find a recipe for groundhog loaf (Which I have found similar here and here). And you, particularly you, Punxsutawney Phil, are quite plump. I'm sure you would make an excellent stew.

Now, do not take vengeance in my threats (PROMISES). I will not be happy waddling around 30 some weeks impregnated in July. Do not give 115* temperatures, because, that too, I will blame on you. And then, sir, it will be much easier to bring broth to a boil.

I feel you may think that even if you are gone, your cronies, the local weathermen, will continue on. I have my own plans for them as well. I would like to mention that if I see another forecast such as this any time before December, Tony Soprano will look like a saviour.

With much love,

Corky S.

Where Was I Before I Stopped Breathing?

I have a marathon in one week, 16hrs.

Julie is racing Chicago Marathon on Sunday.

IRONMAN Kona is TOMORROW.

I have budgets for mutli centers due TODAY.

My maternal grandmother passed away this week. I'm jumping a plane to Orlando on Sunday. I'll spend time with my mother, and extended family. I'll have budget presentations, and meetings from the moment I land back in Kansas City, until race day.

Did I mention the weather? It's raining, drizzling, and, what's this? SNOW tomorrow!? I know, it's flurries. But still!

I hear O-Town is setting record highs again. Won't that be a kick in the ass. At least it's taper time. My shorter runs will be in 95 degree. After, of course, tonight's run, and Sunday morning's- both in the lower 40's.

I'm teaching a swim coaches clinic for the association tomorrow. I don't really know what I'm going to say, I have a basic outline, but I haven't made a packet yet. Yikes.

Sn0o0w. I said it again.

I just finished admistering my 5th pool check of the week, the 3rd of which I played "victim" in a spinal scenario. I have scrapes on my neck from the cervical collar, and scratches on my arms and legs from the straps. At least my spine is fine.

I worked the ICE fashion show last night. Some of the models are great. Some need throat punches. I saw a lot of random boobs.

The good news: The marathon forecast for the 17th looks like this:
Oct 17 Saturday
Mix of sun and clouds. Highs in the mid 50s and lows in the low 40s..

I'm super itchy. It's nerves, irritation and dry dry skin.

I am hoping to finish up work before 7pm. I want to go home. Run, if possible. Drink a bottle of wine, and sit with my husband.

I'm really tired.

I need to breathe.

Longest Solo Run Ever (And I Pooped in a Field)

Sunday morning I ended up at work, instead of doing my 16-18mi planned run. It was storming so I wasn't too upset about it, but I know I would have to make it up Monday... AFTER work.

I was lucky enough to leave work a few hours early. That meant, at 3:30pm, I headed out on my longest run ever done by my lonesome (breaking last week's record of 14.25 on my own). It was overcast, and pleasantly cool, although quite humid from the morning storms. I kept expecting the skies to open up, but they didn't, thankfully.

My route took me south, out of Blue Springs, down 7hwy. There's a wide bike lane and shoulder, so it wasn't too sketchy to run on. Then, in Lake Lotawana, I made a right turn, onto Colbern. Colbern is 4 lanes across, no shoulder, no sidewalk. I ran on the side of the road for about 3.5 miles, then jumped on the path that basically appears from no where on the north side of Legacy Park in Lee's Summit. I continued down the trail as it went south along Blackburn Rd. I went past the LS Rec Center, reminding myself to stop there on the return trip to fill up the CamelPak and potty. I decided I was only doing 16, and right at the 8mi turnaround, my stomach dropped. I had to poop. NOW. In a beautiful residential neighborhood. Shit. Shit. Shit. Literally.
I started walking clenching my butt and waddling. Coach Lady told me cramping and stomach issues can be salt problems, so I was sure to pop an extra endurolyte. It seemed to help and I started running again. I got on the trail that looked to be the "shortcut" to the rec center.

WRONG.

About a half mile in the wrong direction, and exactly across from the rec center (on the other side of a LAKE!) I couldn't wait. I took about ten steps off the path into knee high grass, turned around in a cirle like a dog making bedding, and well. I pooped. It felt AMAZING.

Then I started back in the direction I came from. Again, I had to go off course to make it to the rec center, filled bottles, got the luxury of wiping, and started back.

At about mile 13, I looked down and realized I was only 10min of my best half marathon time (not including the pit stops, but including the near mile walk from 7.5-8.5). Nice. I was keeping it easy, and crusing pretty well.

Things turned around from 13-15. The sun was out and getting HOT. I was getting tired. I was running on the concrete road, and my knees were hurting. My calfs were tight. My back hurt. I was over Orange gatorade.

At mile 16 I picked up someones discarded, nearly full water bottle from the side of the rd. I poured it all over me. I maybe even drank a little. I know, but I was running out of liquids, FAST.

I took solace in knowing that my now death march stride was almost a minute faster than my death march of two years prior. I could stop and walk, but, then it would take LONGER until I got home. Eff that. I wanted home. NOW.

I finally arrived home just over 3 1/2hrs from when I left, arriving at 17.64mi. I guess the extra mile and change was the marathon god's way of saying to do the longest possible planned runs.

I streched and climbed into the ice bath, tears on my face, so happy to be done. Hubs asked why I do this to myself, and that it obviously isn't fun. I couldn't really answer him, but told him deep down I actually like it.

"You're ate up, honey." He said, as he went out the door to walk the dog.

I know, but I'm 18 miles stronger than the day before.

Social Networking Status: Non-existent

Last night my dearest husband started talking to me about a certain social networking site. He then went on to call me obessesed and addicted. ME? Hmpf. As he went on, he dared me, well, challenged me (ok told me) not to get on for five days. No problem! But, that was only 12 hrs ago, and I'm already itching to check it out. Actually, I more or less stalk old and current friends. I like to see the status updates, review posted phots, and see what people are talking about. So, I'm taking a forced hiatus. He's right, really. I get on the damn thing way too much. I have access from my phone so I check it during the drive to work, drive home (and gasp) ever so often during the day. 'Tis time to break the habit! I need social networking site rehab!

I however, did say I would last until Friday. I'm hoping that if I can go that long, then I won't feel the need to check it so often (Like when I first stopped drinking Diet Coke twice a day. I went cold turkey. It was AWFUL. Then the cravings just went away. Now I can "socially" drink my Diet Cokes without a real relapse. However, don't you dare try to take my coffee away. I have back up. And she has back-up.).

I'm pretty sure that my blog is RSS'ed to my social network site. So if you're out there... have fun while you can because I'll be checking back in a week!

Things That Annoy, Irritate, and Bug the Eff Out of Me Part Duex

I once went on a rant about things that bother me. Now I'm back, with a few more.

• Fitness professionals that aren't fit.
• People that smoke on oxygen machines.
• When someone says "I can't" when they should say "I won't try."
• Jealous people.
• The BMW's parked off of Gregory at houses worth half as much.
• The word "asxe." As in, "Hey, I gotta question to asxe you."
• The City of Blue Spring's inability to plow my street.
• The lady that lives cate-corner to us.
• That lady's kids.
• Hair tie's and bandaids stuck in the pool gutter.
• Most of the water buffalo.
• Spam email. I DESPISE spam email.
• Conference calls.
• People that don't know what the hell they're talking about, and they're discussing MY field of expertise.
• Bratty, obnoxious kids.
• Their parents.
• Snow on the road.
• People that blow their second chances (or third, or fourth).
• Nurses that smoke.
• The economy. Amazingly, not gas prices! :)
• The cost of new cars.
• Economic bailouts.
• W.

Hey, I must be in a decent mood. This is all I could come up with for now.

Feel free to leave a comment with your own.

NO! No no no no no! Breathe, dammit, breathe.

Today is NOT going the way it was supposed to. I'm afraid I'm getting set up for a bad couple weeks. That is NOT ok with me. Remember, be positive? All that jive? Super posi!? Huh? I mean, really. It's not that bad, right? UUUGGGH.

From bad to worse.

First, I would like to say that Saturday night was great. I had a blast.

But, my trials and tribulations continue. Seriously, there's a couple things that have happened that I can't even discuss on here yet, but it's not good. Like, for real.

However, Eric's had some good stuff happen with the management company, which is nice, but right now I feel like the deck is really stacked against us, well, myself in particular.

While I can't explain everything, just please, keep me in your thoughts and prayers. I'm dealing with some heavy stuff and still trying to keep my head up and get pumped about the wedding.

I just can't wait to get to the honeymoon.

Just Over a Month

About a month until I become a Mrs- Eight years in the making. Ahh! Today I'm working on wedding stuff, and I have encountered a minor problem.

I think my florist may have packed up and left shop. I keep calling and calling and the phone is disconnected. I just sent an email. While I don't expect an immediate response, it sure would calm my fears.

My little brother moved back to KC this week from Minneapolis and I'm making him do a drive by of their location to make sure there's still an open sign on the door. If so, they better call me! I freaking out, man.

HTFU, Chopper Reid Style

Um, this is for all of you women wanting tomorrow's race cancelled because of rain.

HTFU

Grim Reaper at HIM.

This was first posted on Steve in a Speedo, and then on Athena Diaries.

If feeling dead at the end of a Half Ironman (HIM) was only really this funny...

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=c68aWDi9Hz8

I can't figure out how to load a video on here, but, trust me, you want to see this.

LET ME OUT!

Why must I be a slave to the Man on such a glorious GLORIOUS DAY!?? And tomorrow, too!?

Tonight, a run. I'm supposed to go to the track. Instead, I'll head on down the ADP path for my own enjoyment. I'll assume the trails are a soupy muddy mess from the days of rain, and not one for me to mess with.

My original plan for the day would have me running right now. Viewing the lunch-timers washing their cars and the retirees mowing their perfectly manicured Johnson Co. lawns. It would be a perfect little escape from that of my cubicle hell.

I was running late and didn't have time to prepare my gear. UGH!

Instead, I remain, writhing around, unable to sit still, not caring for my tasks at hand (Damn the Man!), and staring blankly out the window and the crystal blue sky. Far below me I can spot runners doing what I wish I were.

But tonight, I will run!

A Little Bit Nutty

Sometimes I feel like a nut.

Other times I think I’m freaking losing it.