Tuesday, January 31, 2012

January 2012 Goals...Easy as 123

Today was poopish. I missed my workout because I was entirely too up in my own head. That was a fail.

I made poor food choices. Fail.

I fell asleep on the couch after I got the kids from school. Fail (only a 'fail' because I spent most of the day on the couch; I had no reason to sleep again.).

Husband agreed to handle dinner (he made hummus and had a platter of Greek cheese and olives, veggies and pita) and while he did that, I responded to some blog comments. I have a new peep in a tiny box (Hello, New Peep in Tiny Box).  And she had this Daily Mile widget that I was able to click on so I could get my own.

Using a combination of my handwritten journal and Training Peaks, which is how I keep my coach in the know, I entered all my workouts into the widget and BLAM-O!  123 miles this month (see it? right there to your right --->)!


I know there are people out there who are training way harder than I do, but I'm damn proud of my 123 miles. I've been very diligent about my biking and running workouts. With a marathon 14 weeks away, I can't skip my runs. And with the bike establishing residency in my living room thanks to the Blackburn Tech Fluid Trainer, it's hard to justify skipping a bike workout. Plus, I have to crawl over the damn thing every time I want to get past the couch and into the dining room. 

It's not to be ignored.

The pool, with the chlorine, and the freaks, and my brain... meh. I gotta work on that!

So, I didn't hit the nail on the head for all of my 2012 Goals but I did make some decent strides.

January 1 through January 31:

Workouts: 15.6 hours / 123 miles. This should have been a little closer to 24+ hours, but the kids were still on vacation the first full week of January, so I only ended up getting to Run Club that first week.  I'm confident I'm building to 6 hours a week and more ... I can make up these missed hours. Or throw out Week #1!

Knitting: 17.65 hours (1,059 minutes). Based on wanting to knit 6 hours per week, this number should have been a little more than 24 hours, but I really made an effort to knit several times a week.  I'm on the path. And I need to change my project. That silver scarf is starting to make me crazy.

Blogging:  37 posts, once I post this. I wanted to shoot for 4 per week. I'm way ahead of schedule on this one. But it feels like therapy, so I'm just gonna keep on writing.

New Music:  I closed my eyes and picked out a Talking Heads CD I never really invested in: True Stories.  Since most of my music is listened to while I'm schlepping kids, I brought the CD down to the car mid-month (I was focused on knitting and blogging and working out! I had forgotten the music goal!) and have given it some time. "Love for Sale" and "Radio Head" are among my faves; the extended version of "Wild, Wild Life" is amazing.  I'd usually skip to that track when I'm on my way to get the kids so I can play it as loud as the speakers can handle (Daughter complains if the music is too loud; my 11-year old Daughter has the tolerance and sensitive ear drums of a 97-year old woman).

I didn't commit this one to memory, as I was supposed to have done. So this will stay in the rotation for February, in addition to another CD, most likely by a different artist.  Might start working some Bowie.

My year-long art project, so far, is a bust. I may actually have to order some shoes or sweat pants from Victoria's Secret so I can get their annoying catalogs again.  I'm not sure if a neighbor is taking them, but I've only gotten one all season. I used to, easily, get 15 a month.

Not on the "Goals" post, but other things I'm happy about: 
  • I got a new client (or, a former client has come back and asked for my help).
  • I've been sober a helluva lot more this month than I have in awhile (I'm more or less sticking to a no-drinking Monday thru Thursday rule*) .
  • I'm not just pinning recipes on Pinterest: I'm making them, too!  
  • I managed the shit out of our January budget: it's usually our trickiest month of the year and I kept all of us in check.
  • I signed up for the Marathon!
  • And not remotely a written goal, I've Netflixed Dog The Bounty Hunter from Season 1. I'm currently on Season 4. My relationship with the Chapman clan grows stronger every day.
At 2 pm, I felt awful for wasting the day away. I had three friends (including my coach, who did not ream my ass for missing my swim) tell me that some days, are okay to do nothing. I thought they were all full of shit, because good days to me are those that are spent being really productive or intentionally relaxing (like a day of tv and knitting and snuggling).

It's 7 pm now, and I feel like I could have added maybe a 1/2 mile to my training and maybe another 60 or 70 minutes to my knitting but you know what? Fuck it.

I'm pretty happy with Month 1 of 2012. 

And I can still make up those swims this week. I've got 123 miles saying I can do it.

* I enjoyed a well-earned beer after Run Club last week. 

Sea Legs

Last week's attempt at a swim after consuming nothing but a travel mug of coffee and two shot bloks has done quite a number on me.

I have to swim today and I'm absolutely terrified of getting sick in the pool.

Last week, 98% of the problem was that I didn't fuel up properly. So now, I'm trying to eat and simply second-guessing all of my choices, even though these are tried and true pre-workout meals when I bike or run. 

I hate chlorine and I hate getting sick in the pool. When will my sea ... or swim ... legs come?  

I've eaten a scrambled egg and one-half of a plain bagel with peanut butter. I think I can eat a banana before I head to the Y. 

That's good, right? 

I'm using my Christmas gift -- this finger lap counter -- which helps me think less about counting my laps. Last week, before the nausea set in, I kind of forgot that I was swimming: if I could only do that for at least a solid 25 minutes.

I'd like to hit 28 laps, or 0.8 miles, today.

OMG. I seriously feel like I'm Dead Woman Walking right now.

Monday, January 30, 2012

See? I Eat!

These arrived from Pennsylvania today.  They were primarily used as 'packaging' (delicious, delicious packaging) for the three volumes of Spanish cassette tapes that Pa & Grandma sent to the kids. 

If you aren't from Central Pennsylvania, you just wouldn't understand. 

These chips are orgasmic, veggie-shortening-fried awesomeness.  

10 chips = 150 calories (90 from fat) .  10 chips = 4 g of protein, too, so... I could probably eat them during longer bike workouts, just to keep goin', yeah?

I knew the Spanish tapes were coming: I knew they were in the box that arrived today (the UPS man dicked over my cool down by not ringing ANY doorbells in our building other than mine, so I had to unclip myself, hobble across the living room floor in my cleats and even SIGN for the package) but I didn't know the chips would be in there with them.

Had I known, I would have pulled one bag out and hid it in my closet for a special occasion. A special occasion like me wanting to eat an entire bag of chips without anyone else knowing about them.

These chips make me want beer.

We haven't opened a single bag yet, even though Little Guy has attempted to make off with a bag without me knowing. Husband is swarming around the bags while I make him eat raw baby carrots until dinner is ready.

I am as unpopular among my family right now as this avocado was with me at lunchtime today. 

Sunday, January 29, 2012

I Still Love You, Pinterest (only slightly less than I used to)*

Y'all know I love Pinterest, right?

I do. I really, really do love Pinterest.  I got turned onto it about three months ago and there has been no turning back. I love that I can skim a zillion pictures and flag things that catch my eye. I love not buying 20 magazines a week to keep 6 recipes for future use. I love seeing what my friends are knitting, crafting or baking. I love pretending the groups of clothes and shoes I pin to my "My Style" board are actually clothes I could go out and buy and wear tomorrow.

I. Love. Pinterest.

But here's where it fails:

1) Sometimes, I think I'm logged in, but I'm not. And then I see something awesome. Something so mind-blowingly awesome that I immediately want to repin it and Blam-O! I'm not logged in. I attempt to log in ... and the page that held the mind-blowingly awesome pin... disafuckingppears.

They need to fix that.

2) I love Pinterest when I'm having a bout of insomnia. I can grab my phone, check out stuff, pin what I need to and honestly, I feel like I'm being productive.

Sometimes, on my phone, in the wee hours of night, Pinterest sends me a message that basically says 'no more pins are available'. 

Fuck me! We've exhausted ALL pins? ALL pins have been seen and pinned and repinned? We've reached the end of the internet?

I don't think so. 

Let's figure that out, too, please.

3)  This is the biggie. And it isn't anything that can be solved by the HTML dudes at the Pinterest HQ.  

It's the users. 

Some of them are the same negative, unable-to-edit-themselves fuckheads from Facebook.

They need to be stopped.

The first case of stupidity and hate I noticed was a pin of a thin, fit woman. The pinner had categorized the pin into her "Beauty" board. And then some asshole had to comment: "You can see her ribs. She has an eating disorder. She isn't beautiful."

I'm 5'7" and 118 lbs. I've been about that size, plus or minus 2 lbs (excluding pregnancy, when I hit about 150+ pounds, full-term) since I was 18 years old. You can see my ribs on any given day. 

Naked and on all fours, I look like this. Minus the penis.
Ever see a greyhound? My spine looks just like that.

If the food is tasty enough, I can -- and have -- out-eaten my 160-lb, Italian husband. I love to eat. I can ignore my hunger better than any person in  the world if I'm busy doing something. I can also ignore my bladder if I'm on deadline. 

But I don't have an eating disorder. Nor do I have a pissing disorder. And I really resent the big-mouthed whore that had to comment that thin wasn't beautiful: that thin was a disease.

I could choke a horse with all of my own, first-hand 'you're too thin' stories**. Seeing this judgment, hate and inability to keep a fucking thought to herself bullshit on Pinterest -- a place where people wield glue-guns and spatulas, not anger -- really pissed me off.

But I edited myself and just skipped to the next post.

Tonight, another asshole revealed herself. 

A complete stranger posted a picture of legendary football coach, Joe Paterno, on her "Hero" board. JoePa passed away a week ago today. I know this, because I'm a Penn State alum. Several people commented on her pin, "RIP," and made other decent, respectful comments re the 85-year old man that just died.

And then some angry, bitter, tiny-brained, never-even-followed-the-whole-story-but-remembers-one-or-two-headlines commented:  BIH (Burn in Hell).

Someone else pinned the photo to their own board entitled "Bad Things."

The unnecessary-ness of the comment disturbs me. The idea that someone wants to keep a pin board of things that are bad is equally disturbing.

The bad thing about Pinterest is that unlike Facebook, you can't block or unfriend (or unsubscribe ... I don't even know how to do either anymore) the toxic assholes.  With Pinterest, it's all up for grabs.

The bitch that stole your boyfriend your junior year in college? You may have blocked her skank ass on Facebook, but gurrrlll, she's one wreath and a pair of DIY candlesticks away from showing up on your "Everything" feed.

With all the power I could muster, I logged out of Pinterest before I got my own tiny on and responded to her bullshit comment. Because I wanted to get mean. Really, really mean. And not because I think JoePa made all the right moves in the scandal. But because I'm unhappy with the general public's inability to keep a shitty comment -- even if it is valid -- in their own stupid head.

Yes. I just said that. The same person that screamed "I hate those kind of people" at a black man four nights ago.***

The same person that wrote an entire post about how many women have terrible taste in shoes. 

But you know what I didn't do? I didn't respond to the Hello Kitty shoe post by saying, "You have terrible taste in shoes. Get help."  That goofball likes cartoon pussy on her shoes: my life will go on. She doesn't need to know I think they're dumb and I'm certainly not obligated to tell her how bad I perceive her taste to be in front of her friends and family, who are probably following her inane boards.

How on earth do you tell a complete stranger that you hope someone they flagged as their hero burns in Hell?

Social media allows us to be witty and sarcastic. We often write the things we wouldn't say out loud.

We need to do something about that, too.

Because we're losing our compassion. We're losing it faster than 30 strangers will repin this wine cork bath mat.

* Props to The Smiths (Stop Me If You Think That You've Heard This One Before)
** I will share them someday.  Remind me.
***  I am not a racist.

Saturday, January 28, 2012

Persevere, Bitches!

If Thursday's Run Club left me feeling like a bit of a Rock Star (and it did), then today's long run has left me feeling like a One-Hit-Wonder on a K-Tel cassette underneath the seat of some assmonkey's bitchin' camero.

Jesus, today's run was hard.

I was scheduled to put in 1.5 hours today. In my mind, I thought I'd (minimally) hit the 8 mile mark and possibly, 8.2 miles.  That would put me at an 11-minute mile (or a little less), which would be good pacing for a long run and more importantly, for a long run outside. 

It wasn't exactly this bad. But close. No, not really.
I know the athletes at Kona deal with, like, 470 mph headwinds in 6,000 degree farenheit temps for 10 to 14 hours until they finish the 140.6 mile race.  I had 14 mph winds in 30 degrees F for a whole 1.5 hours (that's 90 minutes, people!).  I couldn't find an online "Shitty Weather Calculator" so my conversion of Kona awful to Chicago awful is just a guess, but I'm fairly certain that today, Chicago is way shittier.

The best part of the run (once again) was seeing Husband and kids in the car -- oddly enough, at almost the exact spot I saw them a few weeks ago when the long run was only 40 or 50 minutes -- and having them beep and yell and give me some encouraging fist pumps, like I had just thrown some 'bows, cut off Desiree Devila and was making my way across the Boston finish line.

It was almost exactly like that, too. I had 30 minutes to go and was, at that time, running a 12-minute mile.

Little Guy told me I looked like a man, baby.

It took me 6 minutes longer to reach the same distance I did last week on the indoor track. That freaked me out a bit, so for the last 14 minutes of the run, I pushed it a little more, or as much as I could given the deceptively slick sidewalks and wind.  In the end, I completed my run -- no stops -- in 1:30:10, and logged 7.93 miles. That's about an 11.22 min/mile, almost a minute slower than my average pace last week on the indoor track.

Both my left and right groin are in agonizing pain. I feel like someone screwed my hips in too tight. And my lower back, which has been yelping for the past three weeks, is yelping much more loudly. 

I staggered upstairs as soon as I reached my goal.  Husband immediately asked me how it went. So I started to tell him. It was really hard to move my mouth -- everything was pretty cold. And since I had forgotten to take in any water (which I drug around in that dumb fuel belt for 1.5 hours), I was a little dizzy.  Husband told me I sounded like Dick Clark, post-stroke. The Daughter told me I smelled. Little Guy said, "Good work, Mommy" and then reminded me that I looked like a man.

It's hard to not run as fast or as far as you thought you could. It can fuck with your confidence, especially when you know that the long runs are just going to get longer and longer.  So I had to figure out what my 'wins' were for this less-than-awesome run to and from Evanston.

Win #1: I didn't stop. Not when I became aware of my hip/groin/back pain. Not when I was pretty much at my house, but still had 14 minutes to go, so I ran around it and away from it to just complete the distance. I. Didn't. Stop.

Win #2: Last year, I stopped running outside in mid-October, after my first-ever 13.1. I didn't run outside again until one or two weeks before my second 13.1: 98% of my half-marathon training was done on the inside track. I've got to think that hitting the real pavement -- in the cold and in the wind -- is going to help my speed and stamina when I'm running in 55 or 60 degree F weather for my first 26.2 in May.  

Win #3: I kept my head in the game (this is kind of like Win #1).  At about 50 minutes, I had to cross the street, and the sign at the crosswalk read "WALK". I thought that could have been God's way of telling me to stop with the running bullshit and enjoy a leisurely walk for a bit.  But then, I remembered that the high of completing the run would last longer than the 40-second relief I'd get for stopping the run. My brain put the benefits of stopping or persevering on the scales and persevering won. That's cool. The me from last year totally would have stopped.

Win #4: I'm done!!! It's 12:35 pm and I don't have to do anything for the rest of the day (other than knit for a minimum of 42 minutes, and possibly shower, so Daughter will stop bitching). 

Next week, I'm up to an hour fifty. 


Friday, January 27, 2012

I Am Not a Racist

Here's the deal: I go to Run Club at the Y every Thursday night. In theory, Run Club is supposed to have exclusive rights to the track from 7 to 8 pm, but there isn't anyone there to enforce it, so we invariably end up sharing our track with others.

Last night, it was hoppin'. 

We had 8 people show up for Run Club. There were at least four other people on the track, possibly more, including a guy in his late-50s who was wrapping up his workout with dynamic stretches (lunges and karaoke), an Ironman (you could only discern his Ironman powers by his IM tattoo, his IM t-shirt and his IM headband; he was pretty discreet*) and a woman that is two days older than Christ and in rehab. It takes her about 20 minutes to complete one lap (13 laps = a mile, you do the math) on the track. And she looks like she could fall over sideways -- or just die -- at any given moment. 

And then there was the other guy. The guy who was running in the opposite direction of everyone else on the track.

To be clear, there are signs on the track -- with arrows -- to explain which direction you have to run on certain days. When the Y rebranded a few months ago, the first signs posted only used words such as "left" and "right' which was really confusing (because you didn't know if it was 'your' right or 'their' right. Was it 'right' if you were facing the track, or 'right' if you were facing the sign?).  The new signs with the arrows, I think, have made it pretty straightforward. As long as you know what day it is, you just have to follow the arrow.

But not this d-bag. 

So in addition to the four+ people already on the track, our group of eight started our warm up jog. As Can't Follow the Arrow Guy ran past us, our coach said, "Sir, you need to run the other direction." 

He kept running.

So as he's approaching us again, our coach says, "Sir, this is the Run Club, you have to run the other direction," and he yells back, "I'm not in the club."

No, asshole, you aren't. And you're seriously fucking up our running juju, here. Go home.

Coach, still running (in the correct direction) tells him again, "You have to follow the signs."

Now I'm angry: between the 9,047-year old woman who is shuffling (barely) her way across the track, Captain Lunge, Zippy the Ironman and Can't Follow The Arrow Guy, our chances of a good speed workout are dwindling.

Within another 1/4 lap, one of the higher ups at the Y happened up on the track, saw he was running the wrong way and pulled him off the track to explain the arrows.  

You know, because arrows are so confusing.  

As we see this, I raise my right arm and point back at him and the Y person and say in a not-so-indoor-voice, "I hate those kind of people." And as the word "people" is forcing its way out of my mouth, I realize that I'm saying this and pointing to Can't Follow The Arrow Guy, who also happens to be African-American.


I had not even pulled my arm back to my side before my wide-eyed and slack-jawwed face turned to my coach and said in disbelief, "I'm screaming, "I hate those kind of people" at a black man."

I am not a racist.

I am, however, a bit particular about track etiquette and if people are being assholes on the track, I do not care about their gender, age, ethnicity,  religious or sexual preference. But god damn, you better follow the rules on the track. Run as the arrows tell you to run, and if you're walking, stay on the inside lane.  Easy enough, right?


There isn't a single day I run on that track that I don't want to push people over the rail and onto the basketball court 12 feet below, hopefully to their death.  The fall would have to kill them, actually. Otherwise they'd show up a few weeks later on MY track, gimping their way down the middle of the two lanes to fulfill their rehab requirements. 

The people I hate the most are The Mabels. They're a group of 3 or 4 women who are in their mid-60s. They get all geared up -- they even keep a rolled towel around their necks -- and walk (Yes. I said walk) side-by-side, slower than I walk when I'm getting groceries. 

I hate The Mabels. 

But I am not a racist. 

I am also not a fool. As much as I felt like I should tell Can't Follow The Arrow Guy as I pass him again (because he's actually arguing off to the side with the Y woman) that I'm not a racist, and black people are great, and I know black people and I even own Dave Chappelle's Season 1 on DVD, I realize that saying anything else will just be like jamming my sparkly new Mizuno's into my privileged, white mouth. 

Sane Me: "Just don't say anything else."
Crazy Me: "But I don't want him to think I don't like him because of his color."
Sane Me: "Just stop talking."
Crazy Me: "But I need to be clear that I hate him because he's running the wrong way. Not because of his color."
Sane Me: "He probably didn't even hear you. Leave it alone."
Crazy Me: "But what if.."
Sane Me: "Shut. The fuck. Up."
Crazy Me: "Okay."

I have a 1.5 hour long-run scheduled for tomorrow. I don't think the weather is supposed to be awful, so I'm going to try to do it outside, because I'm guessing 1.5 hours on the track will throw at least 2 assholes and 5 Mabels my way.  Better to stay on the streets and just hate the people that don't clean up their dog shit or the street thugs that walk side by side, hogging the sidewalk so that I have to run on the muddy, snow soaked grass.  

But I'm still not a racist.

*I like IronMan athletes, but this guy gave off a bit of an AssHole IronMan vibe. However, when I was running my last 400 at a fairly good clip (It was a good clip for me: I was at an 8 min/mile), he ran past me and said, "Good work."  So maybe he's not that awful.

Thursday, January 26, 2012


Where'd my ads go? 

Was it me?

Did I do something? Did I say something? Was it my 6,000 clicks on the Betty White Birthday ad? (I'm joking. I didn't do that.) 

Did Beth Chapman shut me down?

My ads seem to have got gone, and I don't know why. Interestingly, sometime between about 7 pm and 7 am, I got close to 200 views on my page - and a new Peep in a Tiny Box - but all my ads are gone.

I guess it's back to square one on the retirement, eh? (Joking again. I barely made enough $$$ to buy a Value Meal at McDonald's).

I'm frustrated.  Mostly because I don't know if I've been banned (I can still see my AdSense report) and if I have, why. I've clicked on about 8 trillion different things on Google to figure out who to talk to. The bottom line: they don't really talk. You have to figure it out by going through the FAQ section. Which is fine, until the fifth word, when it feels like tech-speak and all of my functioning cells shut down and panic takes over.

Also, from what I see, it's visually disturbing. There's an empty box on the top right of my screen and a big empty box will likely show below this post.

I hate not knowing. 

Wednesday, January 25, 2012


I just opened a tumblr account.

I have no idea what this means, but it only took 45 seconds to open an account!

How They Find Me:

muthalovin blogspot (26)

hello kitty stilettos (9)
remember, I was against the hello kitty stilettos. against them.

baby lyssa boobs (3)
i mentioned baby lyssa's overbite; it was beth's tits i was talking about.

baby lyssa chapman breast implants (2)
nope. still beth.

baby lyssa tits (2)
why won't you listen to me? it's beth's boobs that are crazy big.

beth chapman tits boobs (2)
right person. but 'tits boobs' as your search term? man cannot live on tits alone?

fu manchu mustache vagina (2)
what? the newest fad in grooming down thar?

glistening vagina portrait (2)
huh? do you think this is a commissioned piece? glistening?

matte black mani (2)
they're neat.

matted hair in drain (2)
glad someone else was curious.

Tuesday, January 24, 2012

Know When To Fold 'Em

Add a winter coat and take away the smile and red polish.
After giving a father, who is also a taxi driver*, an aggressive and well-deserved hand gesture in front of the kids' school today at drop off, I should have gone straight home and retreated to the bedroom for a day of rest.  

Because flipping the bird at a taxi-driving asshole who cut into traffic like he was trying to get a fare from downtown Chicago to O'Hare during rush hour traffic -- instead of just getting his son 300 yards north to the front door of the school -- could have been God's way of telling me that today was going to be a struggle.

But I didn't listen.

To start with, I'm sick of my kids' school being the epicenter for assholes.

We are supposed to be a community.

We're all in this together.

We are the village that it takes to raise these children.

But in the winter, or during any kind of weather event that involves precipitation, that school is a giant clusterfuck of self-absorbed rudeness.  Cutting off people to secure a parking space (in the illegal space that is reserved for school buses!) 4 feet closer to the door.  Not allowing parked cars to pull into the street  from their legal parking spot. Double parking at crosswalks, which creates extraordinary danger for any pedestrians, including our children.

Listen honey, if my kids don't melt from walking a 1/2 block to the front door, your kids aren't going to, either.

I'm sorry. I just needed to get my kids closer to the door.
Oh! Mercedes bitch?  I'm. Going to. Take. You. Out.  

And you'll never see me coming.

It all went downhill from there. I headed to the Y with a belly full of nothing but coffee. My plan was to spend 30 minutes drilling in the pool and then hop onto the track for a 30-minute 'flush' run.  Since I hadn't eaten anything, I chomped down two Shot Bloks in the locker room before I hit the 6-lane.  I figured that would be all I'd need.

Big mistake. 

Caffeine + gelatinous carb cubes do not make for a solid pre-workout meal. I was so nauseous, that I left the pool in less than 18 minutes and staggered back to the locker room where I spent three minutes gagging into my locker (while I texted my trainer to tell her I was gagging into my locker). I fled the Y with sopping wet hair and some pretty intense goggle imprints on my face. Back at home, I choked down a scrambled egg (my trainer advised me to get some protein, fast) and napped. Sort of.

But the day wasn't over! I geared up and went outside for my simple, 30-minute flush run. I was going to redeem myself.

Strike. Fucking. Three: I'm out.

My Garmin is a piece of crap.** It took anywhere between 8 and 10 minutes before the satellites located me. And once it turned on, I seemed to be running pretty fast, which made sense since I'm not good at pacing myself without gadgetry: it's possible that I was running faster than I should be running.

But I wasn't.

Because the watch is all satellite-ly challenged, it's impacts the pace. By the time I left the outdoor track, the Garmin told me I was running a 4.24 min/mile.  

"Look, Ma! I'm Kenyan now!"

I'm not.

I stopped the watch and forced myself to run the remaining 3/4 mile home. I was overheated, out of breath, and I fell short of my 30-minute goal by 9 minutes. 

Back at the school, retrieving my children, The Daughter complained that I parked too far away.  

I was less than a half block from the school.

I don't want to be here right now. I don't want to be sober. I don't want to be awake.  I don't want to be the adult. And I certainly don't want to be the parent. I want to kick and punch and stab things that deserved to be kicked and punched and stabbed.

But ... I have to be here. I have to be here as a sober, alert, parent-like adult. I'm going to take a hot shower and remind myself that even though BOTH of my workouts today weren't what I wanted them to be ... I didn't skip either of them, so I should consider it a win. Or at least, a tie.

Then I'm going to eat my feelings.  In chocolate. And cheese.

* Idiot Taxi Driver/Dad, please don't let this post keep you from contributing to our fundraiser that I'm co-chairing in April.

** Addendum - 1/29/12:  I stand corrected. There was some sort of solar shower on Tuesday -- lots of people had all sorts of issues with their satellites. I did some sort of satellite reconfiguration, and things were better for my 1.5 hour run on Saturday. Altho, it still takes a hella long time to locate the satellites.

Monday, January 23, 2012

Bag Lady

We saw this today at Ridge and Devon.

Not this actual woman. And our woman didn't have a fancy basket. She had a giant, black garbage bag on her head as she crossed Devon, going south on Ridge.

It was a bit windy today, too.

I can't stop thinking about what might have been in that bag.

Clean laundry?

Dirty laundry?


Actual garbage?

It was a big bag.

I Love Dog

And here’s why:

The whole family is likeable. 

That’s it.  That’s why I love Dog and his kooky family of bounty hunters.

Despite the horrific hair and bad outfits (a little camouflage goes a long way, Chapman clan), they’re likeable people. Or, at least, they aren’t un-likeable. They want to get the bad guy, and give him a chance to be better.  It’s a little heavy-handed at times, particularly that car ride from the site where they cuff the fugitive all the way to the jail while Dog goes on and on (and on and on some more) about Mercy and whatnot, but all-in-all, minus the soap box, they’re trying to do right.

They also say a lot of silly, silly shit.

What? You aren’t a fan? Here’s a sample of what they say, and my interpretation of what it means. Or what it was supposed to mean.

Dog: “He’s a Chapman gone array.”

TTT: He meant, awry, I think. Unless there were a bunch of Chapman’s standing in a row. He’s fathered 12 kids, so, a bunch of ‘em in a row is not improbable. Especially if there is a big clearance sale at the Under Armour store.

Duane Lee: “I got on the text machine.” 

TTT: It’s a phone, Duane Lee. Don’t overthink it. Go do some arm curls and calm down.

Beth: “Everyone! Get in their perspective cars.”

TTT: It’s respective, Beth. Respective. But you know what? You’re close enough and I don’t want you to break an acrylic in my eyeball, so if you want everyone in their perspective cars, I’m okay with that.  They’ll figure it out.

Someone already pissed h
Dog: “Cuff her, Leland, so I can piss her.” 

TTT: That’s actual bounty talk which loosely translates to, “Your urine needs to be tested, because you’ve jumped bail on drug –related charges and I’m suspicious that you’re presently tweaked out on ice.”

It’s awkward. But once the world started using the word “friend” (as in “I will friend her”) and "gift" (as in “I will gift her,”) as verbs, I guess piss just came along for the ride.

Gifter: “I will gift my friend by pissing her.”
Giftee: "Oh! I'm sorry I was already pissed by Dog. I do appreciate your attempt at gifting me, though, bra."

Beth: “You can take it out of my paycheck, Big Daddy.”

TTT: Beth said this as she ran away from Dog after putting a big ding in the bumper of Dog’s GMC while apprehending a fugitive.  It’s funny because anyone who has watched the show knows that Dog might catch the fugitives, but Beth keeps that business running. 

Youngblood: "I couldn't have my old lady bounty hunting with me for no reason whatsoever."
TTT: Youngblood likes his womens to stay at home, shoeless and with child while he hunts and gathers the fugitives.

Dog: “She looks like an angel dead.”

TTT: Dog was referring to the sci-fi portrait of his deceased daughter, Barbara Kate, which was made by either a family friend, or a fan.  I think Dog meant to pause in between the words ‘angel’ and ‘dead’ (like, “She looks like an angel (comma) dead” – and that would have made a little (damn little) more sense – but he didn’t.  No pause. Just, “She looks like an angel dead.”

{insert defeated shrug here}

Dog: “It’s a trailer court. Not the Taj Mahal.” 

TTT: A fugitive was pretty upset about what his neighbors were going to say after Dog, Leland, Justin and Youngblood all jumped him in the gravel-ly space that I think was considered the front yard. Dog keeps it reals, yo.

Say what you will, but they always give the fugitive a fresh cigarette, a bottle of water and sometimes, they'll buy 'em a burger and a milkshake before they turn them in. How could you not like someone who gave you some smokes and a shake hours before your first cornholing in Halawa?

I love Dog. I'm on episode 13 of Season 1, which I only started around 6:30 pm. 

Dog: "Stay away from whores. I mean that."
TTT: It is what it is.

Cool, yeah?

Saturday, January 21, 2012

660 + 8 = A Very Good Week

I'm 6 minutes away from hitting all my numbers for the week.

I completed all 6 workouts this week: 2 swims, 2 bikes and 2 runs, totaling about 35.5 miles (I guesstimate (and conservatively) my mileage on my bike rides) at about 5 hours (300 minutes).  My goal was to hit 6 hours worth of workouts each week, but as my long-runs get longer each Saturday, that will even out.  So, while I didn't have 6 hours of workout time, I am very proud that I didn't miss a single workout.

I also ran 6.7 miles today -- in a circle, on the indoor track at the Y today. 87 laps total.  My pace, although not where I want it to be in May, is improving drastically, and only on week #2 of training.

I am happy.

Including this entry, I will have made eight posts this week alone. I'm ahead on my projections in blog posts. Maybe I'll just shut the hell up tomorrow. Or for all of February. 

31 inches into a scarf on size 2 needles.
And to top it all off,  I knit for 2.29 hours with my most fabulous lady friends -- the gals with whom I tri, knit, and drink -- tonight. Once this is posted, the pants are coming off and the needles and timer are coming back to the bedroom with me.  With just 6 more minutes of knitting, I'll have achieved my goal of knitting 6 hours (360 minutes) per week.

What does this all mean? 

I don't know. 

But I feel great.

I can sleep in tomorrow, enjoy a leisurely cup of coffee and make a full-time job out of holding the couch down until it's time for Little Guy's full-ice game.


Friday, January 20, 2012


I told husband today about the quantity of hits my page got in the past 24 hours -- a little higher than normal.

Husband: Why? You putting in keywords like 'pussy' or 'blonde on blonde action' to up the numbers?*
Me: No. Are those the words you use for your searches? {ZING!}
Husband: No. But it's the kind of shit that is sent to me.
Me: You still get that spam?** My favorite one was "Make her drown in a sea of sperm." What a terrible way to go***.
Husband: My favorite is something about the "Big Dick Fairy."

Then he giggled.

Which made me giggle.

My interpretation of costuming for the Big Dick Fairy.
Then we had a brief discussion about what kind of costume the Big Dick Fairy would wear while he delivered big dicks to all the little-dicked boys and men all over the world.

Then we went to Burger King and then the Y.  I had a great swim. He was happy with his run.

The End.

* See tags for this post. :) Let's see what happens.

** I don't get the sex spam on my gmail account.  I'm not sure why he's getting it on his, unless it's his other account.

*** When I worked downtown, we got major, major, major amounts of sex spam.  And almost all of it sounded like Silent Bob's cousin from Russia -- Olaf -- gave up on his aspirations to be a metal singer and bumbled his way into a job as an e-mail porn spammer.

Would you like some making fuck?

I don't know. But those e-mails were both disgusting and hi-larious. 

Did he say making fuck?

Thursday, January 19, 2012

The Devil Wears Brooks.

Specifically, Brooks Glycerine. Size 9, I think.

Summabitch! Run Club was hard.

I could smell a circuit workout from a mile away, but I still went to Run Club.  Once our group had gathered on the track, the coach confirmed what I had feared: Circuits.

We got down to it. A warm up run, four laps of accelerations and then the main workout: three moderately paced (a 7 or 8 on a scale of 10 in the effort department) laps around the track followed by brief weight-based exercises on the side of the track. Lunges. Push Ups. Burpees. Some kind of lunging jump thing that actually makes my burpees look fairly polished.

I worked hard. Too hard on the first lap, because there wasn't enough track length between me and the fastest runners: I couldn't sustain that speed all night, so I brought it back to a sustainable pace.

I think about 3 reps into the circuit, The Devil spoke. She wasn't making us do crunches. She didn't make us do wall sits.

She made us run down, and then up, 5 flights of stairs, followed by a lap around the track.  

Five times in a row.

Up until tonight, I had NO idea that a circuit workout could include stairs. I thought they were two, distinctly separate evils that existed independently of one another: In no God-fearing world could those two kinds of workouts be combined.

My world has changed, people.

That said, it was a fabulous workout.  I'm not going to tell you that my Coach -- who I do love for all that she's done for me and for her friendship and support -- was my favorite person while I was on the third set of stairs, but I can't say that it wasn't a great workout.  I could suggest that if I didn't like her so much, I might have snuck out of the building during that third set to slash her tires.

I will tell you that I actually smiled the whole time.

And I finished it. 

Today -- and probably today only -- I'm closing out the night with a new status: Hard Core. I started today with a 60-minute workout on the bike trainer at 6 am and finished with a 60-minute circuit/stair workout. Only one swim workout and a long-run stand between me and a full-week of no skipped workouts.

I kind of rock today.  Thank you for noticing.