Thursday, February 26, 2009

Okay, So NOW I Have a Beef

So I will first give credit where it's due, and acknowledge that I saw this on Laura's blog.

But her blog is now private, so I will relay the message.

But thanks, Laura, for your sluthing.

Okay - here goes.

So you know how I didn't really pitch a bitch about how on The Biggest Loser that one guy got the IM distance wrong? I figured - hey, it's still a big accomplishment, maybe it was just a mistake.

But then I learned from Amy in her comment that BL actually editted out the "half" in the guy's description - and that he DID in fact say "half-Ironman."


So BL lied.


But THEN there was last night.

Anyone else wonder how a man who was morbidly obese and totally inactive was suddenly able to squeek out a 3:53 marathon just three months later?

Well, I did. Especially considering my little sister, who is all of 100 pounds, ran five marathons in the last calander year (many of those as Boston Qualifying attempts) and her best was 3:53.

And the weight is not even really the issue - but rather the fact that a completely inactive man (for many-a-year) suddenly up and ran a 3:53 in three months?

An event that most active fit people need 3-4 months to run?

It sounds fake, and it apparently was.

Laura discovered the blog of a woman who also ran the race. Apparently, the woman discovered that Dane (who was behind her throughout the race) suddenly appeared at the finish line - in front of her.

How did this happen?

Turns out, a van picked up Dane and his wife along the way (mile 23), and drove them in.

And not at 3:53 either - the woman marathoner finished in 6:14, which would mean that Dane would have finished later then that. Well, would have, if he didn't get the van ride.

But yet, there they were, cheering and celebrating his "marathon" finish.

(I should mention that Dane's wife found the blog too, and actually commented that they were picked up at mile 23 and driven in to make up for time they lost while filming at a water station - whatever - he still didn't run the whole thing and he in no way ran it in the time stated).

Before I launch into my issue with BL, let me just say that, dishonest editting aside, Dane did his own part in deciving the public about his finish. I mean, he faked crossing the line. He perpetrated like he actually finished.

It may only be 3.2 miles, but then own your 23 mile run, and don't lie about it.

But my bigger issue is with BL.

First the IM thing, then this?

You know, a half-Ironman and a 23-mile run (or even a half-marathon) are HUGE HUGE accomplishments on their own.

So why lie about them? Why try to build it up to something bigger? Why not just promote the goal for what it is, instead of trying to make it into something else?

I mean, what these contestants are doing is at times hard to wrap the mind around - the stunning weight loss, the years of inactivity turned around through fitness, and new life goals they never before considered.

Hell, even a 5k at that point is a big effing deal. So celebrate THAT.

Eh, maybe I am overreacting to this.

But I remember when this show has the best premise and spirit on television. Now it just seems like they are being eaten up by their own hype.

If they just brought it back to the basics - the reality of what it's like to go from morbidly obese to healthy and full of goals - this blog might very well become the BL Fan Site.

But instead, this show is starting to leave a bad taste in my mouth - and don't get my ass started about the product endorsements.

Ugh. I need a new show.

Good thing I recently found "The First 48."

From weight loss to murderers.

Seems a logical progression. Yes?

Monday, February 23, 2009


I fancy myself to be in pretty good shape. I mean, I workout about two hours a day, five days a week. On Saturday, I ran 9 miles on an incline.

You would think running up 94 flight of stairs wouldn't damn nearly kill me.

But you would be wrong.

Here I am, all smiles and ignorance at what would shake me to my core about three hours later. I am waiting for the elevator to take me up to the Hustle Up the Hancock.
Sitting in the lobby, watching people at the start line, and strategizing. See - I'm deep in my race planning.

Eureka! I've got it! Race strategy = run as fast as you can and don't die.

It's almost time....

Holy crap I did it!!! I wish I had a finish line picture, but I did it much faster than Cheese was expecting, so he didn't make it to the finish line on time to see me exit the stairwell. But he did reward me with a box of sugar love.
Final Time: 18:32.
Age Rank: 59/422
Overall: 862/4000ish
You can't really see my bleeding lungs and sweat-soaked shirt, but don't be fooled- that was one of the HARDEST races I have EVER done.
I know, right? It's like 94 floors and 18 minutes of working out - What the hell should be so hard about that?!?!
And I don't really know why it was so hard - but at about 10 flights in, I hit the wall. By 20 flights I was sure I was dying and almost started crying. I stopped three times to drink water at flights 40, 60, and 74. The lung and throat burn was so severe I was wheezing and suffocating myself. And the leg burn? No words to described it.
In fact, I was still coughing and wheezing at 6pm last night.

But now that I've done it once, I know I can do better next year.
In fact, I am sure of it.
Like, I'm-gonna-try-and-win-my-age-group type of sure.
So who's in for next year?

Saturday, February 21, 2009

Is Nothing Sacred?

So this morning, I WAAAAAY overcalculated the time I needed to workout and get ready for the funeral, so I ended up sitting in my hotel room watching VH1 videos for a good portion of the morning.

Trust me, after watching the national news for my entire 90 minute run this morning, I needed to zone out.

So VH1 video countdown - the host is at some toy show. He's with a toy developer, and they are talking about the electronic Rubik's Cube.

Come again?

Yeah, I said it.

The electronic version basically lets you "turn" each module by sliding your finger across, a la iPhone style.

What with the actual physically moving of the sides so physically stressful and all.

And if that weren't bad enough - when you get stuck, it gives you a hint.

A hint.

How mentally lazy of a nation have we become that we now need "hints" to solve the Rubik's Cube?

I mean, wasn't the whole point and challenge of it to FIGURE IT OUT WITH YOUR MIND?

Apparently Monopoly has gone electronic too - play money also being too hard to count with one's own brain.

Speaking of play money - No wonder no one raises a stink that our Congress people are too lazy to devise alternatives to or even read the 1000+ page stimulus plan - apparently "easy ways out" are all the rage.

Is this day over yet?

Really? Again?

It's days like today - as I sit here in a hotel room at 6:10am, waiting for the snow storm in 19 degree wather and contemplating my 90 minute treadmill run - that I start to fantasize about seriously moving full time to Arizona.

I don't care if the heat gets so bad it will literally blister the skin right off my face.

I could use a good facial anyway.

Thursday, February 19, 2009

A Few for the Road

1. So in about 18 hours, I will start my drive to Ann Arbor, Michigan. The last time I made the drive, it was about 7 years ago, to attend the wedding of one of my closest friends (and now bridesmaid). Oddly, this drive is for the same friend, but to attend services for her sister, who was found dead last week. Sad.

2. Late Saturday, I will pack it up again and return home, just hours before I begin my first Hustle Up the Hancock. I am crazy excited for this, both the event and the fact that I get to meet Jen for the first time!! A little race, followed by some pancakes and bloody mary's. now THAT'S a Sunday.

3. I didn't find any of those rainbows and puppies I promised yesterday, but I did have time to think about things. Right now, I am too full of Gumbo to put together a coherent thought, so I am going to think some more, watch my "First 48" on the DVR (weee!) and rest my pretty little head for my early morning workout.

4. Since I won't be around for the next few days, I hope every has a wonderful weekend! I'll be back with some pictures of Jen dragging me up the Hancock!

Wednesday, February 18, 2009

The Future of America

My mom called this morning.

She had a story.

My mom took my nephew to this child “fantasy land” thing where there are all sorts of slides and playhouses in this huge open space for little kids to play in.

If you have any small children in your life – your own or those of relatives – you probably know what these things are.

So anyhoo, my mom and Mayor Nolan go there.

And surprisingly, Mayor Nolan jumps right in, running around, going in the play houses, and going down the big slides.

So while waiting for the little Mayor to come down a slide, my mom – standing at the bottom – notices this 4-year-old lining up blocks at the bottom of the slide.

Not like foam blocks – but plastic ones. Ones that, if a child slides into them, could be hurtful.

So my mom says, “Little boy, what are you doing?”

Little boy says, “I’m setting a trap.”

(Side note – anyone else find it disturbing that this toddler is planning to intentionally harm other children?)

My mom, flabbergasted, says, “But the kids are going to get hurt. I think you need to move those blocks.”

And the young blond hair child looks up at my 62-year-old mother, and says, “You don’t want to make me mad, do you?”

(Let’s pause here and just absorb that statement. And remind ourselves it came from the mouth of a 4-year-old.)

My mother responds, “Where’s your mother?”

Young boy responds, “At work.”

My mom says, “Who’s here with you?”

He says (perhaps not surprisingly), “My babysitter.”

So my mom took the blocks away from the bottom of the slide so that the other kids can come down and not get hurt.

And the child looks back up at my mom and says, “You can’t do that to me.”

And my mom?

She says, “Watch me.” And she throws the blocks behind the slide.

And all the little kids start to slide down the slide, unharmed, while the little boy goes to hide behind a pole and cry until a parent walks up and asks what’s wrong. He keeps crying and points at my mom.

End of story.

Now, if you’ve hung with me this far, and your dropping jaw didn’t close the blog screen, hang just a step further.

Let’s throw this scene back to, say, oh…circa 1980. Now, picture a Lil’ Meggy (like, put my big ass head on a smaller body in homemade clothes).

If those words flew out of my 4-year-old mouth, you can bet your Big Wheels that my mother would taken my toddler ass right home. And then once at home, my smart mouth would have gotten a bar full of the Dial soap.

Now, I’m not condoning Soaping a child – My point is, my mom wouldn’t put up with that shit. She would be APPALLED if her daughter got lippy with another adult. And she MOST CERTAINLY wouldn’t try to put the other adult in her place, ESPECIALLY if I was the one in the wrong.

But somewhere over the last 30 years, this became okay. It became okay to treat children like adults, and let THEM parent US. Let them make the “adult” decisions, give them the “adult” say. They tell us what they want, and we jump and say, “how much?”

I mean, fuck the rules, the structure, the limits, and (gasp!) the consequences.

And all under the excuse of “But we don’t want to stifle Lil’ Jimmy’s self-expression! We need to let him be who he wants to be!”

These children are allowed to grow up too quick – and now look at us. Surrounded by “adult” children and their “adult” viewpoints. Their “adult” sexual behaviors and their “adult” substance use. I find it near impossible to not choke out the parents that let their children drink and have sex in their homes, “because at least we know where they are and that they’re safe.”

And then we look around dumbfounded at each other when they start having children at age 12, like, “Well how did this happen?”

I feel like I always have to qualify these statements with, “Well now, I know I don’t have kids myself but…” But fuck that. I work with parents day in and out. I can understand and empathize about how hard it is to parent. And in this day and age - man – it’s HARD.

Maybe that’s part of the reason we shouldn’t really encourage or glorify childbirth for teenager, no? Just a thought.

But what it ultimately boils down to is lazy or frightened parenting. Parents too afraid or too lazy to set limits and follow through with consequences.

No one wants to be the bad guy these days – parents all want to be their kids’ best friends.

But that's not your job.

Your kid throws a desk at a teacher? Ground ‘em. Take away the Xbox, and then build on the privledge loss from there.

But my favorite is when you tell people that, they look at you like you have a big nasty booger stuck to your cheek.

And say, “But if he doesn’t have his video games, what are we supposed to do with him?”

Uh, how about talk? Interact? Or maybe just let his ass sit in his room and think about how sucky it is that he has nothing to do and maybe next time he shouldn’t throw a desk at his teachers.

I know this sounds like I am beating a dead horse, given yesterday’s post on parenting. But I see this more as another example of what appears to be an epidemic in this country in regards to parenting, or gross lack thereof. I mean, the kid in my mom's story learned this somewhere. Who is setting this example for him? If he has the balls to tell my mother – an elder – off in a public place, what the hell is this kid saying to his OWN parents?

Gosh darn.

Okay - that's two days of ranting. I'll try to shot some rainbows and puppies out of my ass for the next post.

But don't hold your breath.

Monday, February 16, 2009

A Little Piece of Mind, with Some Phelps and Brown Thrown In

Just A Thought
Can we please stop encourging:
A. Mischa Barton
B. The Jonas Brothers


Because A is irrelevant ever since the "OC" became the "No See," and B is talentless. And no, 10-year-old girls are not appropriate judges of that.

Or Maybe I’m Just Too Old To Understand Kids These Days
So I’ve been on this whole “Let’s wait until the full story comes out before I launch a tirade” lately. I have decided to mostly sit back and wait until things unfold before speaking my mind (BL being the sole exception).

Now granted, I know this might take my edge off sometimes, but perhaps a little edge in the short term means a lot less people stuffing words in my mouth in the long term.

For example, you may be wondering, “Hey Megan – what are your thoughts about the stimulus package?”

And to that I would say, “Let’s wait and see.”

I know, right?

It’s like I don’t even know myself.

And that’s not to say I don’t have opinions – oh I do, and lately they have been aimed at not just the stimulus package, but this travesty of American media called "Octo Mom," that atrocity of a story about the 13-year-old boy in the UK who had a kid with his 15-year-old girlfriend, and the fact that it takes 14 quarters to park for one hour in downtown Chicago.

But for now, my "wait-and-see" period has expired on the Chris Brown/Rhianna incident.

(for those of you, like my fiancĂ©, who have been eyebrow deep in insurance claims in Arkasas for the last several weeks, I refer to the incident that took place the night before the Grammy’s when Chris Brown “allegedly” used his girlfriend’s face as his own personal boxing session.)

First let me say that, yes - he needs to have his day in court. And yes - I did see that his father says he’s “remorseful.” And no - I was not there and I don’t know for sure what the details are regarding their fight.

HOWEVER - What we know for sure is that he did, in fact, hit her. So what pisses me off the most about this situation (in addition to the hitting) are the people that make comments like, “Maybe she started the fight” or “I hear she’s a bitch so she probably made him do it” and “She threw his keys out the window – I would hit a bitch too!” and “Now all the nazifeminists are trying to take him down!”

Okay people – first off – who is raising you?

Because in my world, no matter who says what about who, YOU DON’T HIT A GIRL.

In fact, girls shouldn’t hit boys either, but that’s not really what’s disputed here.

You don’t justify a female beat-down based on who started an argument.

You don’t look at a situation of domestic violence and say, “Well, maybe she deserved it.”

Maybe I’m old fashioned or what not, but no girl deserves to be beat down.

When did this become socially acceptable or excusable?

Oh – and the worst part about those comments I listed above?

They were all real, and all made by females.

Females that apparently think it’s okay for men to hit them.

And yes, the word “nazifeminist” was used.

As if those who support female rights rank right up there with the group of people responsible for the deaths of millions of Jewish people.

Really, people? Really?

Second of all – this child has been raised in a culture that glorifies female powerlessness. Although his own songs don’t necessarily reflect this – they are mostly more pop music then anything – he was mentored and brought up through the whole P. Diddy/bitches/hos/ladies-dancing-in-bikinis scene – and from what I understand, it’s not really a scene that promote female power or respect (and no, Lil’ Kim doesn’t count as representative of power, no matter how often she says her p*$$y is the almighty – in fact, referring to a female genitalia in a rap song is pretty much the exact OPPOSITE of respect, and instead a universal commentary on female exploitation, as a general rule of thumb…but then again, I am sure I am considered old fashioned).

Moreover, this society made him a multimillionaire with six cars, a mansion and a lifetime of entitlement, all by the age of 15.

Then he busts a punch to Rhianna’s face, and people are like, “But he’s such a nice guy! How did this happen?”

Well, shit, I don’t know – let’s call his publicist, stylist, manager, agent, studio director, video producer, album coordinator, and general assistant to get a comment.

Give me a fucking break.

Role Model
Seeing as I was dubbed “Narc” by my siblings, a loving term given in no small part to my ability to sniff out and rat on the use of illegal drugs during adolescence, I am the last person to advocate or ignore substance use.

I am pretty much the poster child for a drug-free America.

Bottom line - Drug use is no bueno to me.

But at the same time, I feel like people need to back the fuck off of Michael Phelps.

I mean, this guy has lived a fairly sheltered and rigidly structured life for almost his whole life.

The guy is nothing if not the epitome of dedication, commitment and self-sacrifice.

The guy wins an ass load of medals, and he wants to be a 23 year old for once – get drunk, smoke some weed, date a stripper?

Whatever man - have at it. Most of us try all this during college anyway (or, not so much the stripper part, but you know), but for Phelps, his college was spent growing fins and adjusting to his gills.

This guy sprinkled the dust of Olympics dreams over the scrambled eggs of his 6000-calorie breakfast every morning.

But what makes my head explode is all these parents want to bitch about their kids not having a role model to look up to, about him being such a disappointment.

Because correct me of I am wrong, but are parents supposed to be the role models?

When did we stop expecting that, and letting sports “heroes” take over that job?

Now, don't get me wrong. It's great to have people as examples of what's possible with hardworkd, focus, and comittment. It's great to have examples of "what's possible."

Phelps was like that.

But I am also a firm believer that if you provide a solid, respectful and supportive home for a child, that child can see shit like Michael Phelps pullin' bongs and say, “Yeah, well, that’s not for me.” Parents are the ones that have to instill the CHARACTER in their children that will ultimately help them differentiate what's right and wrong.

Phelps shouldn't be saddled with the responsbility of that.

Sometimes I think parents really underestimate how much power, influence and authority they have over their kids – mostly because in the last two decades, children seem to have take control over the parents, and parents just throw their hands up.

I see it every effing day in this job – where parents say shit like, “well I just can’t control him” or “I’ve tried everything” when they know they haven’t. Or parents that were emotionally absent or abusive or negligent for the first 15 years, and now they can’t understand why the kids doesn’t listen to them.

I may have a doctorate, but this shit’s not neuroscience.

I mean, at some point we really need to reign in this sports-people-are-gods bullshit. And while we're at it, throw actors and singers into that group too (Miley Cyrus, anyone?)

It time to give the parenting responsibility back to the parents, and stop whining about a 23 year old cutting loose for once.

Friday, February 13, 2009

I Won!!

I did it!

I won the Lazyman Triathlon!

I was the first person at my gym to finish the Ironman distance!

All told, it took me 10 days. It would have been 7 days (finishing on Tuesday), but my job has been MADNESS, and I am raging sick with some stupid head cold, so I had to take three days off this week.

When I told the Front Desk lady (because I didn't know if I needed to let someone know), I think that she did not believe me. I was like, "Lady, I work out two hours a day. Sometimes three. So that's at least 14 hours a week. I finished the REAL Ironman in April in one day in 14 total hours. Trust it."

I mean, ten days is plenty of time to finish something like this. Let's break it down:

Swim gets knocked out in 2.5 sessions.

I am training for a half-marathon anyways, so runs were regular, and rarely less than six miles at any given time. Add in a few cross-trainer sessions (which counted towards the run portion), and it was hammered out.

I ride my bike at home for 60-90 minutes several times a week, and often double up those rides by going to nightly spin classes multiple times a week.

Over ten days, that adds up.

Outside of that, I have had a post brewing about all the craziness in the world (sans political craziness - there's only so much room in my brain for Daily News, and this week, Rhianna and unfit mothers have taken up most of the space). I am going to try to write it all through the sinus haze this weekend, so perhaps a little bit of the old, bitter, opinionated Megan will return on Monday.

Okay, well, I am off to nurse my yucky cold with a hot shower and a long sleep. Have a good weekend and Valentine's Day (if your into that stuff)!

Tuesday, February 10, 2009

You All Know Me So Well....

Okay, I admit it.

I didn't watch BL tonight.

No BL, no Facebook commenting.

A big something came up this evening and I was faced with a choice to watch, or to get my work done ahead of time so I can attend to personal things over the next few days.

But as luck would have it, I was walking through the living room to the kitchen for some more coffee when I heard it:

"And now I'm training for an Ironman!"

Huh wha---?

So of course I stop dead in my tracks and there's Blaine in full bike gear - helment and all.

Intriguing, methinks.

I must watch.

And this is what followed:

Blaine: It's over a mile and half swim-
Megan's Mind: ....umm...that doesn't sound right....
Blaine: And an 80 mile bike-
Megan's Mind: ....what the fuckity fuck....?.....
Blaine: And then a half marathon!
Megan's Mind: wrong answer.

And then I paused, and thought, "Eh, but who cares? It's still a massive accomplishment to go from over 300 pounds to training for such a big race, Ironman or not. I can get onboard with that goal! Go on with your new bad self!"

But the funniest part (and what compelled me to write this even though I can't speak to anything else that happened on it tonight) was that I immediately got two emails, one from Danielle and one from Michelle - both like (paraphrased), "Oh my gosh - can you believe!" So much so that I literally laughed out loud as I read them - thanks guys! That totally made my night!

So yeah, good for him. And good for triathlon in general. I support anyone that puts triathlon on the map.

Well, maybe not JLo. She bugs me.

Okay - back to work!!!

Friday, February 6, 2009


We all know I love a good challenge, yeah?

So, in an effort to give my Cookie Monster ass a reason to get to the gym (and do something OTHER THAN feed my Spinning addiction), I (and Cheese) signed up for the Lazyman Triathlon at our YMCA.

Basically, you have to complete an Ironman distance over the course of a month.

It works off the honor system - You have a large index card hanging on the wall, and you just tick off the distances as you complete them. No one tracks you but your honesty and the Big Man upstairs.

I am sure it is of no surprise that, given my love of all things bike, my bike distance is almost complete after four days.

My swim and run, though? Not so much.

However, I am proud to say that I kissed and made up with the pool this morning after giving it the cold shoulder for about three months. And in return, it let me pound out a mile to add to my card.

The runs are just going to have to tick off a little more slowly.

Nonetheless, I intend on completing the total distance by Tuesday of next week, exactly one week after I started.

I should also mention that this is a no-competition race. Meaning, we all get tee-shirts, and no one actually wins.

But I think we all know, by this point, that the phrase “no competition” exists nowhere in Megan World.

There’s always a competitor, even if it’s the cruel little man that runs the gears in my head, taunting me with cake and telling me it's okay to sleep in.

Moreover, I do not understand the concept of a “no-win” race.

I mean, someone has to finish first, right? Hence, there's a winner.

So hell yeah, you know my ass is up in the gym, ticking off my miles on my card while eyeballing everyone else’s mileage – scheming double workouts and calculating finishes….

“Hmm, Mary Ann Giles is half-mile ahead of me on the swim, but she’s only done 25 bike miles.”

“Stacey Mathers has six miles of the run on me, but not a single swim.”

“Carol Smith is racking up those bike miles, AND she’s ahead on the runs! Grrrrr!”

You bet your sweet asses that I counted on my fingers the mileage I had left and when to do it - wondering if I could pull off a double swim today to get that .4 mile in, and finishing up with the last mile on Sunday.

Yeah, I AM that crazy lady that every gym has - the one that always seems to be there, day in and out - evern at the oddest of hours, like 1pm on a Wednesday.

That’s me.

Loud and proud.

I'll let you know when I claim the prize.

Wednesday, February 4, 2009


Across the bottom on my computer screen are five Word documents, each sporting its own unique post.

My thoughts about topics ranging from my new infatuation with "Cops" and "The First 48," (summary - real life criminals aren't as smart as "Law and Order" make them out to be) to my feeling on BL last night (can we all join together and say "finally?")

And I'll get to them all -

But right now I can’t think of anything by the episode of “Man v. Food” that I am watching.

Ever see this show?

Summary – Typical food show where guy (Host Adam) goes around the country eating food. At the end of eat episode, he takes on a food challenge – whether it be eating spicy fritters, 15 dozen oysters, or overstuffed sanwiches.

Now, I am fully aware that I shouldn’t morally support shows that promote senseless binge eating for a multitude of reasons (including but not exclusive to its subtle celebration of the obesity problem in this country, the fact that families are struggling to put food on tables while Host Adam is shoveling hundreds of oysters down his gullet, and – every mother’s favorite – the starving children in Africa, of course).

But tonight, when Adam attempted to eat three 13 inch Man-Cakes (oh yeah, they are what they sound like – thick fluffy rounds of buttermilk breakfast heaven) and then washes it down with fresh donuts….

Well, let’s say I blacked out and woke up with my lips around the base of the flatscreen, covered in popcorn kernels and my own drool.

And who knows what he’s like in real life, but I’ll be danmed if I don’t have a bacon-flavored crush on Host Adam.

I don’t care that he appears to be expanding in size with each new episode – I’d wipe the sausage bits from his cheeks as he chokes down a monster pizza, or dab the Italian beef juice from his lips.

Of course, I ooh and aaah over the types and amounts of food he eats, while Cheese is left to wonder:

“My god, what must his asshole feel like?”

Monday, February 2, 2009

My Backlog

Okay, so I obviously haven't been around lately, and I have a whole post 'splaining why, but before I go there (it might not go up until after BL tomorrow), I thought I would post my woefully large backlog of photos of events in the last few weeks.

Last weekend, Chicago saw it's share of Bloggerland, starting with a brief visits from A from Running Down a Dream, and her lovely husband J. Cheese and I had dinner, drinks and story time with them - although we had to drag them through one of the coldest night yet here!

And then Sunday night brought with it a visit from B, all the way from Canada!! Captian Cactus (Brian) was in for a work convention, and we had dinner Sunday night with him. Then, as a bonus, we got to hang with him Tuesday - for BL!! At our house!!! His wife A sent with him a bottle of wine and a MASSIVE bag of cookies (rumor has it there were 60 cookies in the bag when it got off the plane - the picture below shows the damage Cheese and I did to it by Tuesday night - yeah, there's about 12 cookies left there).

Needless to say, the diet has started.

It was quite a weekend - so much fun and just hanging out!

Fast forward to this weekend - about 1400 miles away, Momo was celebrating her birthday with her own personalized 40K! Happy Birthday to Momo, and I can't wait to read all about the fun!

Back here on the home turf, I had my own little party to attend - The Nugget's 2nd birthday!!! Last year I missed his party because I was in Miami running a half marathon, so this year I got to participate in all the festivities.

Anyone else ever have been to a party with like ten toddlers all at once? I learned lots of stuff - like how germs spread so quickly, what a Brain Toy is, how loud a four year old can scream, and how Cheese and I will single-handedly save the economy through Trojan condom purchases.
Shit's intense, man.

Nugget seemed confused at first, but that wore off as soon as he started to dig through his pile or presents. He was a natural!

Take a close look - and guess which one Aunt Megan wrapped.
If you said "The tee-ball set in the Target bag" you would have been correct!

I guess when Nugget opened this present (of the green and white shirt he is holding), he screamed, "So cuuuuuttteeee!!!!" And it looked AMAZING with his new clutch and Jimmy Choos.

Yeah, he spends a lot of time with my sister.

But of course, his best toy of the night (not my tee-ball set) was Tow-Mater, from The Cars movie. It sings and moves its eyes, and he luuuuuvvvs it.

And what party is complete without a Bob Builder cake? So delish, but I was good and limited myself to one tiny piece. Boy, my sister can throw a party!!!
I rounded out the night with a girl's night at my friend Rachel's house, where Rachel and I kicked ass at Pictionary - I have pictures but I don't have persmission to post them, so when I do, I will share.
And then of course the Superbowl, which was also held at Ellen's (two parties in a row!) and I wasn't so much intersted in the game as I was playing with Nugget and eating delishish foods.
Phew - okay, that was a lot for me to catch up on. I need to go to work now!