So my gym is doing another contest.
And we all know how Megan feels about a fitness contest.
(obviously excited enough to refer to herself in the third person)
And yet again, there is not really a "winner, " technically.
(Side note: What is that about? This no-winner contest stuff? It's like my gym is run by the same parents who think it's okay for every kid or every team to get a trophy just because they don't want some kids to have hurt feelings. Losing builds character. Just ask any loser.)
Anyhoo, the contest goes like this: For every gym workout, you get a little punch on your 15-spot punch card. After you fill one card up, you get a tote.
And I luuuuuvvvvvs me a tote.
No, seriously. I do. Love them. Closet full of them. It's as if I had the foresight years ago to know that, at some point, a tote would become the cool way to carry groceries. Check ME out! I'm doin' it! I'm livin' the dream! I'm one of the cool, no-plastic-sack-for-me grocery carriers!
And then after you fill up a second 15-punch card, you get.....tah dah!
A tee shirt.
This being the YMCA, it's of the cotton variety, not the technical wicking.
But cotton tee-shirts are cool because - a couple snips of a scissors, a needle, some thread - and voila! You can fashion yourself yet ANOTHER fancy grocery tote!
It's true.
I saw it on Etsy.
Girls, you know what I'm talking about.
Etsy.
And the finale- After a THIRD 15-spot punch card is filled (for those math-impaired, that's 45 trips to the gym), you get entered into a raffle for....*drum roll*
Free Personal Training.
Not sure yet what part of that statement is more exciting - the "free" or the "personal training" but who cares - put them together and they equal nothing short of a perfect six hours of bliss for broke-ass psychos like myself.
The very thought of some trainer making me cry Jillian-and-Bob style, forcing me into new positions, and making me build muscles I never knew existed....Sigh.
It's enough to make me want to put down the popcorn and Jolly Ranchers, strap on the sports bra, and run over there now. At 11pm.
So needless to say, I manage to get myself to gym pretty regularly these last few weeks. Even when I do my rides at home, or run on the outside path, I still go at the end of the day to do weights for about an hour.
But this whole long story is really just a lead-up to what the real issue of the day is. See, the more I am at the gym, the more I am assaulted by this issue:
There appears to be a Crocs-and-denim-jeans epidemic at my gym.
Sure, it's no swine flu, you're probably saying to yourself.
But it's here, and it's real, people.
Perhaps I am just now around more to notice, and don't get me wrong - I am definately NOT judging the fitness fashion choices of others (contrary to my habitation of the gym, I am not that big of a gym snob). Rather, it just seems to me that it would be...uncomfortable to be sweatin' in that get-up, no?
I mean, most days I can barely stand the touch of my technical, moisture wicking fabrics against my skin in the stuffy, sometimes-poorly-ventilated cardio room (though just stuffy enough for that timeless skill of trapping and magnifying the most heinous of farts as only a steam-filled room can do - farts of which are coincidentally left behind by the guy on the treadmill next to me, or the man using the machines just before me, as if they were the artist painting the outline of a fart cloud around my head for the rest of the gym patrons to see and draw inaccurate conclusions).
So I can only imagine how sticky it would be to try to pound out a solid effort in Levi's, or do a jog/stairmaster in some Crocs originals.
Crocs? Really?
Not baggin' on the Crocs - I myself wear a pair of the flip-flops ones - but to workout in them?
Eh, maybe I just don't get the mid-lifer population these days. Maybe one day, I'll be trottin' on the eliptical in my hospital gown and bootie slippers with my own devil-may-care attitude, who knows.
And kudos to them, unbreathable fabrics or not, for even getting themselves to the gym, and on the machine in the first place. I mean, it's not about what you look like, it's that you show up, right? Right.
I guess it's that commitment to fitness that reminds me not to lose sight of what's really important here:
How many hole-punches do these Croc-and-jean wearers have, 'cause I'll be a steaming hot son-of-a-gun if they try to steal my free training hours from me.
That is all.
Showing posts with label me. Show all posts
Showing posts with label me. Show all posts
Tuesday, June 23, 2009
Monday, August 11, 2008
Two Things
First
Well, it’s official: Cheese and I signed our lease today.
We are the proud renters of a two bedroom, one bathroom apartment, complete with an actual parking space and separate kitchen. As in, separate from the bedroom/living room/bathroom, AKA my current studio.
It’s kind of a lot to take in right now. But I am not complaining, not at all. In fact, right now, as I sit here working until the wee hours of the morning (again), with Cheese snoring away behind me, butt peeking out from the sheets, and the smell of his feet thick in the air, I can’t help but be excited about this. I mean, things won’t totally change – he’ll still travel all the time, leaving me to fend for my lonesome most weeks of the month. But when he comes home, he will come home to Chicago.
So aside from the big paper signing, life here is stable, albeit is stupid busy again this week. I keep telling myself, “Just get through this week, just this week” but honestly, it’s more like getting through the next two weeks.
I mean, I am at the point where I have to calm myself down just to ask, “Okay, where on Earth do I actually start?” Tonight I am making some headway, and it’s only 1AM. I am hoping to make even more by about 5AM, at which time Cheese will be getting ready to leave (he was just assigned to a south suburb of Chicago so he is actually here for a little while longer!!!) and I will try to workout and go to the office.
Let’s see how that works out.
Ten bucks says I am sneaking into the bed at about 4 o’clock for a quick-nap-turned-four-hours-later-and-I-am-panicking-about-being-late.
It may have happened like that before….
Second
A couple people have lately posted about feeling like they have to censor themselves about the stuff they post - be it 'cause family members/bosses/coworkers have discovered the blog, or maybe they just worry about offending. Or that they have started writing for other people instead of themselves.
I have found myself to be having these issues for a little while now. More and more, I write and then re-write so many posts because I worry about the reaction. The crap that once flew out of my mouth I now sit with, pick apart, examine, and fret over whether or not its safe for human consumption. Moreover, I freak out that readers might get offended if I come off as too bitchy or whatever.
So after a freak out yesterday regarding whether or not people might misinterpret the whole "walkers to the right" post, I have made this decision.
Fuck it.
No matter what, I will alway be at risk of offending. But a lot of times, I also say some really nice stuff too. And if I am lucky, funny shit gets in between the cracks. But when this whole blog started, I was just being me, and I really need to get back to being me.
I'm flawed, sarcastic, politically incorrect, sour, sweet, lazy as hell, driven to extremes, crabby, carefree, sick-of-it-all, and loving-life. I eat too much candy, workout obsessively, and sometimes wear my pjs to the office (okay fine, A LOT of the time). And mostly, I am all of these in one hour.
And maybe it means I say something about babies and elderly that might offend someone's sensitivities. Oh well. As long as I am not running down your granny in my Hundyai, then what's the biggie?
So no more fretting, no more apologies, re-writes or retractions.
Consider yourselves warned.
Well, it’s official: Cheese and I signed our lease today.
We are the proud renters of a two bedroom, one bathroom apartment, complete with an actual parking space and separate kitchen. As in, separate from the bedroom/living room/bathroom, AKA my current studio.
It’s kind of a lot to take in right now. But I am not complaining, not at all. In fact, right now, as I sit here working until the wee hours of the morning (again), with Cheese snoring away behind me, butt peeking out from the sheets, and the smell of his feet thick in the air, I can’t help but be excited about this. I mean, things won’t totally change – he’ll still travel all the time, leaving me to fend for my lonesome most weeks of the month. But when he comes home, he will come home to Chicago.
So aside from the big paper signing, life here is stable, albeit is stupid busy again this week. I keep telling myself, “Just get through this week, just this week” but honestly, it’s more like getting through the next two weeks.
I mean, I am at the point where I have to calm myself down just to ask, “Okay, where on Earth do I actually start?” Tonight I am making some headway, and it’s only 1AM. I am hoping to make even more by about 5AM, at which time Cheese will be getting ready to leave (he was just assigned to a south suburb of Chicago so he is actually here for a little while longer!!!) and I will try to workout and go to the office.
Let’s see how that works out.
Ten bucks says I am sneaking into the bed at about 4 o’clock for a quick-nap-turned-four-hours-later-and-I-am-panicking-about-being-late.
It may have happened like that before….
Second
A couple people have lately posted about feeling like they have to censor themselves about the stuff they post - be it 'cause family members/bosses/coworkers have discovered the blog, or maybe they just worry about offending. Or that they have started writing for other people instead of themselves.
I have found myself to be having these issues for a little while now. More and more, I write and then re-write so many posts because I worry about the reaction. The crap that once flew out of my mouth I now sit with, pick apart, examine, and fret over whether or not its safe for human consumption. Moreover, I freak out that readers might get offended if I come off as too bitchy or whatever.
So after a freak out yesterday regarding whether or not people might misinterpret the whole "walkers to the right" post, I have made this decision.
Fuck it.
No matter what, I will alway be at risk of offending. But a lot of times, I also say some really nice stuff too. And if I am lucky, funny shit gets in between the cracks. But when this whole blog started, I was just being me, and I really need to get back to being me.
I'm flawed, sarcastic, politically incorrect, sour, sweet, lazy as hell, driven to extremes, crabby, carefree, sick-of-it-all, and loving-life. I eat too much candy, workout obsessively, and sometimes wear my pjs to the office (okay fine, A LOT of the time). And mostly, I am all of these in one hour.
And maybe it means I say something about babies and elderly that might offend someone's sensitivities. Oh well. As long as I am not running down your granny in my Hundyai, then what's the biggie?
So no more fretting, no more apologies, re-writes or retractions.
Consider yourselves warned.
Thursday, July 31, 2008
Moving on Up
Before I launch into my big “what does it all mean?” post, two things:
First, I just wanted to take a second and tell my sister, Ellen, that I am thinking about her and her family. Despite my profession, I don’t always have the right things to say, and maybe sometimes and some situations don’t always require any bits of wisdom. But Ellie – you are on my mind, and I know that, like many other things in your life, you will persevere through this – you are so much stronger than you give yourself credit for. You’re a great mommy.
Second, thanks so much for all the food suggestions. Not only did I have to actually make a grocery that consisted of things other than Smart Ones microwave meals (for one), peaches, frozen spinach and canned tuna, but it also reminded how effing lazy I have become when it comes to my eating. Not just lazy in my preparing it, but lazy in my shopping for it, thinking about it, etc. The most time I usually spend thinking about my food is the ten minutes it takes for my instant brown rice to cook.
And that ten minutes is usually spent inhaling a bag of pretzels and wondering what the hell is taking so long.
So thanks for bringing me back to honest.
As for the rest of this post – I figured it was about time to start talking about this.
Phew.
Here goes.
(Neck crack, knuckle crack)
So in exactly one month, the Cheese and I will start cohabitating.
There it is. I said it.
My room for one will become an apartment for two.
Mostly, I am bubbling with excitement. See, Cheese and I have dated for the last 11 months (12 months by the time he relocates). He’s from Kansas, but spends 3-4 weeks of the month on the road for his job. His 4-5 day breaks between deployments are usually spent here in Chicago, so it made sense for him to move here.
But for these first 11 months of our relationship, we have mostly been apart, trying to build us up from these intermittent visits, and mostly phone conversations. And since most of our time is spent on the phone, I think it goes without saying that, when you try to build a relationship this way, it’s like a breeding ground for issues – all those things that new couples sweep under the rug those first blissful months were smacking us in the face right out of the gate.
So we’ve had some ups and downs. My insecurities RAGED (I mean, how would you deal if you knew your boyfriend was spending weeks in hotels with other girls? Me? Not so well). And for him, I think there was an adjustment period for him, too (I won't embarress him by laying them out here).
And the emotional stuff aside – we both have grown accustomed to being single – to having our own space, our own time, our own lives. I live alone, come and go as a I please, I eat what I want and certainly don’t cook (Cheese, in fact, was the first one to use my stove, even though I lived here for months before meeting him), shower three times a day, and sleep diagonal across my bed. My bed partner is often a stack of magazines and unread books, I stockpile tampons, I ride my bike on the trainer without worrying someone is sleeping, I fart and no one cares, and I have a tendency to leave my clean clothes unfolded in the basket until I need them. I have no concerns about the fridge housing only bottled water and ketchup, I own two plates and a pot I stole from my sister, and I tend to leave wet towels on the bed – basically, I am about single as it gets.
And decision-making – before, the only person I consulted about everything was ME. Wanna do an Ironman? Self says okay. Wanna go buy a new sundress? Self agrees, and suggests you throw in some shoes. Now these things will all require consultation.
It's sort of weird giving up my single girl status - not in the sense that I want to still date (I don't) but I have been the last (wo)man standing for so long that I guess I sort of got used to that identity.
Is that weird?
And then there are the implications of what this all means. Here again I should stress that I love this man – I loved him before I ever laid eyes on him, and every day I am amazed that even more love can get squeezed into the little openings in my heart. And though we can argue like champs, we love each other with a passion that refuses to let us quit. He constantly strives to be a better man to me, and I for him.
So it's natural to think ahead– I mean, he wouldn’t be moving here if we weren’t planning to move forward. It’s weird too, because we both came into this with a “no marriage” stance. And now that has changed. And for as much I want this all, it’s still scary, no?
Can he live with and survive my crazy? Can I live with and survive his?
I mean, I am not so naive to think that "all you need is love" to make things work. So do we have what it takes to make this work?
I'd like to think so. I'd like to believe that all the ups and downs have left us with greater respect and certainty that this is right - we are right.
I don’t know if I am even articulating this all very well – I am still sorting it all out.
I guess what I am trying to say is that I am standing on the edge of some really big changes.
Good changes, but big nonetheless.
Little Meggie is growing up.
And she’s bringing Cheese with her.
Hope he likes to Swiffer.
First, I just wanted to take a second and tell my sister, Ellen, that I am thinking about her and her family. Despite my profession, I don’t always have the right things to say, and maybe sometimes and some situations don’t always require any bits of wisdom. But Ellie – you are on my mind, and I know that, like many other things in your life, you will persevere through this – you are so much stronger than you give yourself credit for. You’re a great mommy.
Second, thanks so much for all the food suggestions. Not only did I have to actually make a grocery that consisted of things other than Smart Ones microwave meals (for one), peaches, frozen spinach and canned tuna, but it also reminded how effing lazy I have become when it comes to my eating. Not just lazy in my preparing it, but lazy in my shopping for it, thinking about it, etc. The most time I usually spend thinking about my food is the ten minutes it takes for my instant brown rice to cook.
And that ten minutes is usually spent inhaling a bag of pretzels and wondering what the hell is taking so long.
So thanks for bringing me back to honest.
As for the rest of this post – I figured it was about time to start talking about this.
Phew.
Here goes.
(Neck crack, knuckle crack)
So in exactly one month, the Cheese and I will start cohabitating.
There it is. I said it.
My room for one will become an apartment for two.
Mostly, I am bubbling with excitement. See, Cheese and I have dated for the last 11 months (12 months by the time he relocates). He’s from Kansas, but spends 3-4 weeks of the month on the road for his job. His 4-5 day breaks between deployments are usually spent here in Chicago, so it made sense for him to move here.
But for these first 11 months of our relationship, we have mostly been apart, trying to build us up from these intermittent visits, and mostly phone conversations. And since most of our time is spent on the phone, I think it goes without saying that, when you try to build a relationship this way, it’s like a breeding ground for issues – all those things that new couples sweep under the rug those first blissful months were smacking us in the face right out of the gate.
So we’ve had some ups and downs. My insecurities RAGED (I mean, how would you deal if you knew your boyfriend was spending weeks in hotels with other girls? Me? Not so well). And for him, I think there was an adjustment period for him, too (I won't embarress him by laying them out here).
And the emotional stuff aside – we both have grown accustomed to being single – to having our own space, our own time, our own lives. I live alone, come and go as a I please, I eat what I want and certainly don’t cook (Cheese, in fact, was the first one to use my stove, even though I lived here for months before meeting him), shower three times a day, and sleep diagonal across my bed. My bed partner is often a stack of magazines and unread books, I stockpile tampons, I ride my bike on the trainer without worrying someone is sleeping, I fart and no one cares, and I have a tendency to leave my clean clothes unfolded in the basket until I need them. I have no concerns about the fridge housing only bottled water and ketchup, I own two plates and a pot I stole from my sister, and I tend to leave wet towels on the bed – basically, I am about single as it gets.
And decision-making – before, the only person I consulted about everything was ME. Wanna do an Ironman? Self says okay. Wanna go buy a new sundress? Self agrees, and suggests you throw in some shoes. Now these things will all require consultation.
It's sort of weird giving up my single girl status - not in the sense that I want to still date (I don't) but I have been the last (wo)man standing for so long that I guess I sort of got used to that identity.
Is that weird?
And then there are the implications of what this all means. Here again I should stress that I love this man – I loved him before I ever laid eyes on him, and every day I am amazed that even more love can get squeezed into the little openings in my heart. And though we can argue like champs, we love each other with a passion that refuses to let us quit. He constantly strives to be a better man to me, and I for him.
So it's natural to think ahead– I mean, he wouldn’t be moving here if we weren’t planning to move forward. It’s weird too, because we both came into this with a “no marriage” stance. And now that has changed. And for as much I want this all, it’s still scary, no?
Can he live with and survive my crazy? Can I live with and survive his?
I mean, I am not so naive to think that "all you need is love" to make things work. So do we have what it takes to make this work?
I'd like to think so. I'd like to believe that all the ups and downs have left us with greater respect and certainty that this is right - we are right.
I don’t know if I am even articulating this all very well – I am still sorting it all out.
I guess what I am trying to say is that I am standing on the edge of some really big changes.
Good changes, but big nonetheless.
Little Meggie is growing up.
And she’s bringing Cheese with her.
Hope he likes to Swiffer.
Wednesday, July 30, 2008
Cluttered
Yeah, so I have been MIA for the last few days. Kinda got a lot on the brain right now. I actually did a post yesterday, but realized it sounded really whiney – and honestly, I have nothing to whine about. Well, expect for the current state of the presidential election, but I try to keep politics off the Project.
So until I can organize my thoughts about what’s going on (‘cause it’ll come in the next few days), here’s a smattering of what popped into my brain today.
Big Red
In the locker room after my swim today, I learned that, when it comes to true red heads, there’s a lot of truth behind the saying, “The curtains match the rug.”
Hair
And speaking of body hair, I am so sick of mine. Rare is a week in which I don’t have to pluck, shave, or wax some part of my body. It all just makes me want to run away to Eurpoe and get adopted by Madonna – I mean, her daughter seems to be the only person I see that can get away with a rockin’ unibrow and ‘stache that would make any 13-year old boy jealous.
And I Didn't Even Enjoy It
A text exchange with my ssiter:
Devin: Guess where I am?
Me: Where?
Devin: At [Car Fixing Place].
Me: Oh yeah? Ask them if they remember me. I'm the girl they fucked twice over when they fixed my "flat tire."
Devin: Hold on...yeah, Joel says he remembers you. Foul mouth, pretty face, tears flowing like a river.
Me: Good. Well, tell them that my brakes still suck, my ass still hurts, and my bank account is still crying about the $1100 that was stolen from it.
In hindsight, what I should have done was bring her a condom and some AstroGlide.
Gym Rats
And speaking of gym, my usual YMCA was undergoing maintenance, so I had to visit my old one – the hotbed of meatheads otherwise known as “The Den of Douches.” Anyhoo, today was like a 60-minute long movie of why I no longer pay monthly dues here.
Leading man #1: The Ball Man. When I first spotted him, he was in the free weights section, watching himself in the mirror (of course) as he balanced on the Swiss ball on his feet. Like, standing on it. Now, while I admit I thought it was kinda cool, apparently so did he, because then he proceeded to take his little circus act around the gym against any piece of equipment of free walls space, all the while making sure everyone was watching him. I noticed he kept working his way closer and closer to the treadmill line, where (coincidently? I think not) about five girls, all around my age and head-to-toe in spandex, were running. Eventually, Brotherhood of the Traveling Ball placed his act right next to the treadmill row, strutted around a bit, then hopped on. When he was done, he picked up his ball, walked in front of the treadmills, and stared. At us. As if to pronounce “Whaddya think about that, ladies?”
Best Supporting Actor: It’s about 90 and humid here today. No matter how high the AC in the gym, it’s still pretty stuffy. So then why do guys walk around in their tee-shirts, shorts and WOOL SKULL CAP?!?!?! Bad hair cut? Premature balding? Or just a case of "Jack-Assitis?"
Heads Up
A bird almost flew in my car today. While I realize this story would be much funnier if it actually did happen, I have to admit that it came so close to my face that it made my heart stop.
And my pee leak.
A little.
And If You Still Have An Appetite…
I have a legitimate question. I am really struggling with the weight thing right now (which in part accounts for my funk) and need to get better at the whole midday eating thing. While I manage a good breakfast (high fiber cereal) and lunch (usually a turkey sandwich), I do get hungry between lunch and dinner. A LOT. Any suggestion on what to snack on that isn’t loaded with sugar or fat? I mean, something good? I eat a ton of fruit already (that one’s for you Andra) and need to break my pretzel habit, but I am out of quick, easy ideas.
Thoughts?
So until I can organize my thoughts about what’s going on (‘cause it’ll come in the next few days), here’s a smattering of what popped into my brain today.
Big Red
In the locker room after my swim today, I learned that, when it comes to true red heads, there’s a lot of truth behind the saying, “The curtains match the rug.”
Hair
And speaking of body hair, I am so sick of mine. Rare is a week in which I don’t have to pluck, shave, or wax some part of my body. It all just makes me want to run away to Eurpoe and get adopted by Madonna – I mean, her daughter seems to be the only person I see that can get away with a rockin’ unibrow and ‘stache that would make any 13-year old boy jealous.
And I Didn't Even Enjoy It
A text exchange with my ssiter:
Devin: Guess where I am?
Me: Where?
Devin: At [Car Fixing Place].
Me: Oh yeah? Ask them if they remember me. I'm the girl they fucked twice over when they fixed my "flat tire."
Devin: Hold on...yeah, Joel says he remembers you. Foul mouth, pretty face, tears flowing like a river.
Me: Good. Well, tell them that my brakes still suck, my ass still hurts, and my bank account is still crying about the $1100 that was stolen from it.
In hindsight, what I should have done was bring her a condom and some AstroGlide.
Gym Rats
And speaking of gym, my usual YMCA was undergoing maintenance, so I had to visit my old one – the hotbed of meatheads otherwise known as “The Den of Douches.” Anyhoo, today was like a 60-minute long movie of why I no longer pay monthly dues here.
Leading man #1: The Ball Man. When I first spotted him, he was in the free weights section, watching himself in the mirror (of course) as he balanced on the Swiss ball on his feet. Like, standing on it. Now, while I admit I thought it was kinda cool, apparently so did he, because then he proceeded to take his little circus act around the gym against any piece of equipment of free walls space, all the while making sure everyone was watching him. I noticed he kept working his way closer and closer to the treadmill line, where (coincidently? I think not) about five girls, all around my age and head-to-toe in spandex, were running. Eventually, Brotherhood of the Traveling Ball placed his act right next to the treadmill row, strutted around a bit, then hopped on. When he was done, he picked up his ball, walked in front of the treadmills, and stared. At us. As if to pronounce “Whaddya think about that, ladies?”
Best Supporting Actor: It’s about 90 and humid here today. No matter how high the AC in the gym, it’s still pretty stuffy. So then why do guys walk around in their tee-shirts, shorts and WOOL SKULL CAP?!?!?! Bad hair cut? Premature balding? Or just a case of "Jack-Assitis?"
Heads Up
A bird almost flew in my car today. While I realize this story would be much funnier if it actually did happen, I have to admit that it came so close to my face that it made my heart stop.
And my pee leak.
A little.
And If You Still Have An Appetite…
I have a legitimate question. I am really struggling with the weight thing right now (which in part accounts for my funk) and need to get better at the whole midday eating thing. While I manage a good breakfast (high fiber cereal) and lunch (usually a turkey sandwich), I do get hungry between lunch and dinner. A LOT. Any suggestion on what to snack on that isn’t loaded with sugar or fat? I mean, something good? I eat a ton of fruit already (that one’s for you Andra) and need to break my pretzel habit, but I am out of quick, easy ideas.
Thoughts?
Tuesday, July 8, 2008
Has It Already Been A Whole Year?!?!?
I guess it has, which means only one thing - it's my birthday.
Well, it's actually tomorrow (or today, depending on when you read this - July 9th)
It seems like the past year had seen so many different events in my life. When I looked back at all the pictures, I could hardly believe all that has taken place. So I am going to get a little nostalgic and recap the year with pictures - likely most most you have already seen. Tomorrow I will post actual pictures from the b-day celebration. And since it's my blog and my birthday, most of the pictures are of me. How awesomely narcissistic of me.
And though there are certain things for which I cannot find the exact pictures (Milwaukee, Miami, Nolan's wedding), I did my best to recap it all.
Almost exactly a month after my last birthday, I joined my family to watch Devin get married in Rhode Island.
And I didn't just watch - I helped. I actually married them.
And then to Tennesse this past March, to watch my brother Nolan get married.
Of course, this would be one of those events for which I can't seem to find any pictures.
But with his wedding, I was left as the last Girl standing. Yup, all those sorry kids went and got themselves hitched. Suckers.
But, right after Devin's wedding, I got Cheese'ed.
Oklahoma, June 08
Ironman, April 08
Take a guess.
First date, August 07.
About two weeks later, Madison IM, September 07.
Same visit, September 07
And lest we not forget Black Tie Bingo!
Well, it's actually tomorrow (or today, depending on when you read this - July 9th)
It seems like the past year had seen so many different events in my life. When I looked back at all the pictures, I could hardly believe all that has taken place. So I am going to get a little nostalgic and recap the year with pictures - likely most most you have already seen. Tomorrow I will post actual pictures from the b-day celebration. And since it's my blog and my birthday, most of the pictures are of me. How awesomely narcissistic of me.
And though there are certain things for which I cannot find the exact pictures (Milwaukee, Miami, Nolan's wedding), I did my best to recap it all.
Almost exactly a month after my last birthday, I joined my family to watch Devin get married in Rhode Island.
And I didn't just watch - I helped. I actually married them.
And then to Tennesse this past March, to watch my brother Nolan get married.
Of course, this would be one of those events for which I can't seem to find any pictures.
But with his wedding, I was left as the last Girl standing. Yup, all those sorry kids went and got themselves hitched. Suckers.
But, right after Devin's wedding, I got Cheese'ed.
Oklahoma, June 08
Ironman, April 08
Take a guess.
First date, August 07.
About two weeks later, Madison IM, September 07.
Same visit, September 07
And lest we not forget Black Tie Bingo!
And then, I had the chance to meet some friends.
Ironman April 08 - Momo, Carrie and me
Ironman April 08 - Duane and me
Ironman April 08
And the running!! Boy did I run. In Chicago on Thanksgiving...
To Miami in January...
To Madison in June....
I became an Ironman. Have I mentioned that?
And then, I gave away a kidney.
Remember "Ruby Red?"
But I got back on the "horse."
And am getting ready for Racine.
Wow. Told ya it seems like a lot. And those are just the major stuff - all the day to day memories will just have to stay in my head. Even with all the ups and downs, this past year was easily the best yet. I am far healthier, mentally and physically, then I was last July 9th. The good has far outweighed the bad, and I look forward to many more of the good.
Ironman April 08 - Momo, Carrie and me
Ironman April 08 - Duane and me
Ironman April 08
And the running!! Boy did I run. In Chicago on Thanksgiving...
To Miami in January...
I have no idea what happened to these pictures.
To Madison in June....
I became an Ironman. Have I mentioned that?
And then, I gave away a kidney.
Remember "Ruby Red?"
But I got back on the "horse."
And am getting ready for Racine.
Wow. Told ya it seems like a lot. And those are just the major stuff - all the day to day memories will just have to stay in my head. Even with all the ups and downs, this past year was easily the best yet. I am far healthier, mentally and physically, then I was last July 9th. The good has far outweighed the bad, and I look forward to many more of the good.Now where the hell's the cake?
Monday, July 7, 2008
Domesticity
So after the onslaught on fun and pictures (see previous three posts) over the last several days, it's time to get down to business.
I am having a houseguest tomorrow.
This event happens about once a month, or once every 21-25 days, and the night before the arrival, I am pretty frenzied.
Why?
Let’s face it – 25 days of the month, I am your typical bachelorette. I live alone, I come and go as I please, I answer to no one, and if I feel like leaving my undies on the bathroom floor, there’s not a soul around to complain. Don't get me wrong - I am not dirty. Not at all. It's just that, with all that's going on, things can get, well...messy.
On any given day, I am the kind of girl who:
1. Grocery shops on an as-need basis. If I can’t carry everything from the car to the apartment in one trip, I don’t buy it.
2. Wears two different socks pretty much all the time – not because I am trying to make a fashion statement, but because I often just pull out the first two socks I see and put them on. In fact, many a time I don’t even fold the clothes after doing the laundry – I just leave it in the basket and take what I need when I need it.
3. On that note, most of my clothes (minus my collection of sundresses, which are all hung up, thankyouverymuch) are often wrinkled because I don’t own an iron. In my defense here, most of my non-dresses are workout clothes, which also frequently double as my daily clothes (yes, even to the office, which I pop in and out of before/after workouts). So does it matter if they are wrinkled? I think not.
4. Washes my dishes when I need to – which isn’t often, because I am the world’s laziest eater so everything is pre-prepared, like Weight Watchers microwave meals, spinach in a bag (just throw some dressing in, shake and voila! Meal time!), or turkey sandwiches. If it can’t be made in three minutes or less, I don’t eat.
5. Owns only two plates. The rest is Tupperware, out of which I eat my cereal.
6. Cleans my bathroom twice a month - hey, I said I'm not dirty, just messy, and bathroom cleaning is the worst.
7. Randomly finds pretzel nuggets under my pillow.
8. Sleeps on one side of the bed, while the other side is usually occupied by past and current issues of Runners World and Triathlete, two random books, paperwork, a pen and my cell phone.
Wow – looking at that list, it seems I would hardly make for a good wifey one day. I am pretty sure I am about as undomesticated as they come.
I think my only redeeming quality is that I wash my bed sheets with regularity. ‘Cause that’s just gross.
So yeah…I’m kind of a catch.
Lock your brothers and husbands up.
So when I have houseguests, all hell breaks loose, and I am forced to clean up my pig pen. The upshot is that my place is so small, it only takes by a minute to shove everything into their own hiding places.
And today’s big project?
I bought an air conditioner. Yup, little Meggie measured her window, determined the BTUs, drove herself to the Home Depot, found a model, loaded it into her car all by herself, brought it up three flights of stairs (okay fine, I used the elevator, but I still carried it down the hall), and attempted to install it. And that’s where the story ends – I gave up after ten minutes, threw the screws across the room, stomped my foot and wagged my finger at it.
Moments later, my Healthy Choice meal beeped to tell me it was ready, so dinner was served.
Now it’s off to clean the bathroom.
Awesome.
I am having a houseguest tomorrow.
This event happens about once a month, or once every 21-25 days, and the night before the arrival, I am pretty frenzied.
Why?
Let’s face it – 25 days of the month, I am your typical bachelorette. I live alone, I come and go as I please, I answer to no one, and if I feel like leaving my undies on the bathroom floor, there’s not a soul around to complain. Don't get me wrong - I am not dirty. Not at all. It's just that, with all that's going on, things can get, well...messy.
On any given day, I am the kind of girl who:
1. Grocery shops on an as-need basis. If I can’t carry everything from the car to the apartment in one trip, I don’t buy it.
2. Wears two different socks pretty much all the time – not because I am trying to make a fashion statement, but because I often just pull out the first two socks I see and put them on. In fact, many a time I don’t even fold the clothes after doing the laundry – I just leave it in the basket and take what I need when I need it.
3. On that note, most of my clothes (minus my collection of sundresses, which are all hung up, thankyouverymuch) are often wrinkled because I don’t own an iron. In my defense here, most of my non-dresses are workout clothes, which also frequently double as my daily clothes (yes, even to the office, which I pop in and out of before/after workouts). So does it matter if they are wrinkled? I think not.
4. Washes my dishes when I need to – which isn’t often, because I am the world’s laziest eater so everything is pre-prepared, like Weight Watchers microwave meals, spinach in a bag (just throw some dressing in, shake and voila! Meal time!), or turkey sandwiches. If it can’t be made in three minutes or less, I don’t eat.
5. Owns only two plates. The rest is Tupperware, out of which I eat my cereal.
6. Cleans my bathroom twice a month - hey, I said I'm not dirty, just messy, and bathroom cleaning is the worst.
7. Randomly finds pretzel nuggets under my pillow.
8. Sleeps on one side of the bed, while the other side is usually occupied by past and current issues of Runners World and Triathlete, two random books, paperwork, a pen and my cell phone.
Wow – looking at that list, it seems I would hardly make for a good wifey one day. I am pretty sure I am about as undomesticated as they come.
I think my only redeeming quality is that I wash my bed sheets with regularity. ‘Cause that’s just gross.
So yeah…I’m kind of a catch.
Lock your brothers and husbands up.
So when I have houseguests, all hell breaks loose, and I am forced to clean up my pig pen. The upshot is that my place is so small, it only takes by a minute to shove everything into their own hiding places.
And today’s big project?
I bought an air conditioner. Yup, little Meggie measured her window, determined the BTUs, drove herself to the Home Depot, found a model, loaded it into her car all by herself, brought it up three flights of stairs (okay fine, I used the elevator, but I still carried it down the hall), and attempted to install it. And that’s where the story ends – I gave up after ten minutes, threw the screws across the room, stomped my foot and wagged my finger at it.
Moments later, my Healthy Choice meal beeped to tell me it was ready, so dinner was served.
Now it’s off to clean the bathroom.
Awesome.
Sunday, July 6, 2008
End of the Weekend Pictures
So I know I have totally thrown up a ton of pictures this weekend, but the other day I was scrolling through my posts and noticed that I have a woefull amount of pictures. Thus, I took my camera with me all weekend, and here is the final day - Sunday. On schedule: Three-hour ride, one-hour run. Today I conquered my fear of riding alone, and did the whole brick by myself. And what a surprise - I didn't get a flat, get run over, or fall off my bike without having someone to save me. It was just me, and I loved it.
I tried to take this while actually riding the bike. This is on the north trail, looking, well, north. This also happens to be the same path I ran south on for the MC200 relay last month. In fact, the exact exchange point is just about right where I took the next two pictures.
Me.
Path.
YAY!!! Home from the ride, getting ready to run. The smile on my face is most likely because A). I did the ride 10 minutes faster than last week and B). I was feeling oddly fine, which was weird, given last week's catastrophe of a brick. Uh, yeah, so the apartment is SORT OF a distaster - but in my defense, I have been pretty swamped this weekend, and was basically in and out like a tornando. Please avert your eyes.
Evanston lakefront, looking south - in the far stiance you can make out the building of downtown Chicago.
Overlooking Lake Michigan. I was aiming to get the sailboats, but they didn't really come out. Use your imagination.
This is on the way back, at Lee Street Beach, or as I like to call it, "My Beach." Okay, so I don't technically own it, but I like to frequent it. About 10 seconds after I snapped this picture, Devin ran up to me with TJ (my once-dog, now hers because I can't take care of shit). It wasn't until we parted ways that it occurred to me we should have taken a picture together (we were wearing the exact same outfit of skirt, black bra, glasses and IronMeg visor). Oh well. You know what she looks like.
Run done. Yeah, I am not as happy in this one. I think I was just really hot, sweaty, and achy. I threw my back out yesterday doing something completely ridiculous (lifting bottled water) so I wasn't even going to ride today, but then when I woke up (I slept on an ice pack) I was like, "Self, don't be such a sissy." So after the run, I was pretty stiffened up, and STARVING. Speaking of starving, I need to go eat. I hope everyone had a lovely holiday weekend!
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