Life Gets In The Way

Here’s to all you bitches for the texts and emails about my lack of posts. Seriously. Get off my sack.

And I say that with the deepest of love.


The Runs
My sister and I started running together during the week. Mondays, mostly. Sometimes Thursdays.

I like it – having a training partner. It tests me, challenges me to get out of my comfort zone – her being fast-as-fuck and all.

Turns out that running with Speedy Pants Sister is actually making me faster.

Sadly, it may be making her slower.

But I do appreciate her slumming it at least once a week.


Overheard on Aforementioned Run
Me: And another fart!
Devin: Have you always farted this much?
Me: No, just recently. I tried analyzing what I eat to see if I can identify a cause.
Devin: Figure it out?
Me: No, not yet. But man, they stink.
Devin: Like?
Me: Dead people.
Devin: I don’t know what a dead person smells like.
Me: Come over for dinner.


Screwed is spelled with a 70.3
So I counted on my fingers today.

Turns out Steelhead is 3 – yes 3! – months away.

Perhaps I need to start focusing more on my consistency and less on…well, everything else. Whining included.


SSB
So like any f.a.b.u.l.o.u.s woman in her early thirties on a sunny spring Saturday afternoon in Chicago, I was sitting on my coffee table watching Sex in the City.

(side note – is it just me, or do you also sort of just stop what your doing when an episode is on? I was just off my failed attempt at a workout and on my way to grocery shop, and I just sat. and watched.)

So they were talking about SSB- Secrete Single Behaviors.

You know – all the weird shit you do before the significant other moves in.

Oddly, the one Carrie stated was also one I am partial to – stacking saltines up and eating them with grape jelly in the kitchen. Although instead of reading fashion magazines at the same time, I read Runner World.

One of our so-few differences.

I have many SSBs, as have been frequently noted throughout this blog.

In addition to the already mentioned of:
1.Keeping laundry in the laundry basket until I wear it all again
2.Eating the same thing, every night.
3.Riding my bike in the living room in the middle of the day.
4.Absentmindedly picking at my pedicure while I read reports.
5.Not showering for a few days. Sometimes more.
6.Not making the bed. Like, ever.

Here are a few more:

6.Spending way too much time in the bathroom plucking my eyebrows.
7.Openly and unabashedly passing gas with no fear of sound and smell.
8. Possibly under the covers. But without witnesses, who can really say, no?
9.Eating off paper plates. On second thought, I do that when Cheese is home.
10.Not being fazed by having only carrots and a bottle of wine in the fridge.
11.Three words – Fudgicles For Breakfast.

And like Carrie Bradshaw says, "I can't help but wonder...."

What are yours?

Perverts

The results of the previous post are in and it sounds like most of you picked sex over unlimited-no-consequence-food binging.

And ‘cause I promised my response – I also chose sex over the food binge.

My fiancé? He chose food.

Oh yeah. He believes that it is more worthwhile to be able to binge endlessly on any and all food without consequence, then to have sex.

As the partner in this relationship (who doesn’t cook, EVER), I find it a bit hard not to be offended by this.

‘Cause I got skillz, yo.

Mad skillz.

Or so I thought, but apparently my sex is not so competitive with the likes of In and Out, Whattaburger, and Chik Filet.

And listen - I LOVE food – mostly of the candy/cake/pie variety.

But I don’t love it THAT much to give up sex.

Or as Eric put it – “There’s not food that cause me to make my ‘Oh!’ face.”

Oh, and there was the question of whether or not giving up sex included giving up *ahem* self-sex.

The answer of which is no – Thus, you could still have the self-sex and the food binge – I was just referring to the giving up of the sex-with-another-person-type sex.

But honestly, is self-sex enough? For like, the rest of your life? In exhange for unlimited Sonic burgers, some apple pies, and bottemless milkshakes?

One hand, forever more?

Thanks, but no thanks.

At some point, even that gets old.

I’m just sayin’...

The Christmas Tree is Still Up

Here are two to suck on for the weekend...

1. Cheese presented me with the following question: Would you rather be able to eat anything and everything you ever wanted without any negative side effects (i.e. feeling full, getting fat) and have to give up sex, or continue eating like a regular person (i.e. feel full, have to manage weight) and get to keep having sex?

So basically, would you give up sex for the ability to food binge without consequence for the rest of your life?

How would you answer?

Leave it in the "Comments," and I'll let you know how we both answered on Monday. You might be surprised...



2. I witnessed two icky thing this holiday season. Well, probably more then two, but these two really stuck out, particularly because kids were involved (and don't worry - no yucky stories from the battle front of child welfare).

First, while Cheese and I were standing in front of the Christmas trees at Wal-Mart a couple weeks back, a woman and her 7-year-old daughter walked up and asked us how to buy one. Why she thought we worked there, I have no idea.

Anyway, we told her that you have to pay inside, and then take your tree.

She said, "Well, is there anyone out here to watch which tree you take?"

We said no.

And then she says, in front of her daughter, "What if you take the tree without paying for it?"

Cheese said, "Well, then, that's on you."

Yes, she was asking if she could steal her Christmas tree, right in front of her daughter.

What would Santa say, I wonder?

The second incident occurred in Midway Airport on my way to Houston on Tuesday night.

I fly Southwest almost exclusively, and if anyone else does, you know that when they board, you are assigned a number and line up IN NUMERICAL ORDER. I have to believe that they did this to eliminate the bum-rush and throw-downs that usually occurrs when trying to board.

This way, you get your boarding number based on when you check in.

Well, this particular flight, I checked in late and got C-43. That's REALLY high. I mean, I was almost last to get on.

ALMOST.

Because behind me, there was a woman and her three children, all holding C-55 through C-58 numbers. Meaning, they board after me.

And another lady, C-59.

Yet, all these bitches were standing IN FRONT of me.

Now, either they don't know how to count, or they were jumping line.

As if their time and overhead bin space was way more important then anyone elses.

Another properly-ordered woman said something about being in numerical order (because apparently the sissy Southwest person was too worn out by the holidays to give a shit), and the cheater lady with the kids almost gave her a real-life beat down, right there in the ramp.

I am so not kidding.

So not only did this woman cheat in front of her kids (one of whom actually tried to point out to her cheating/lying mother that they were not in order), but then she had the fucking nerve to hairy-eyeball the woman who called her out.

If I had any nerve (which I don't because I blog about it now instead of act on it then), I would have said something. But for fear of getting choked out in front of small children, I bit by tongue.

Now, I realize that in the grand scheme of life, people jumping line isn't really that big or bad.

But here's my beef:

You are teaching your children that it's okay to cheat. That it's okay to lie. You are teaching them that's it's okay to step on other people to get your way.

In the grand scheme of things, line-jumping in the Southwest terminal is (like Cheese so eloquently put it) an unraveling of the moral fiber, the basic human values, the common curtosy and rules of life that I believe most of us live by.

Stealing Christmas trees and cheating your way onto an airplane? Really, are either of them REALLY worth it?

Is the $20 buck for the tree, or the extra 30-second wait to get on the plane more important then the real-life lesson you are teaching your children, who are watching your every move in those moments?

Really?

Home and Away

I made it home from Kansas late Saturday night, and will be leaving for Houston in just a few hours to be with the Man for New Years.

I know my posting has been woeful as of late, and I am barely scratching the surface of reading what's up in the lives of my fellow bloggers (what with all my jet setting and renewed addiction to spin class and cookie binges - the last two being closely related), but hopefully once I return on Thursday, life may start to return to normal.

Whatever that is, anyway.

Have a great new years, and see you on the other side!

Hitting the Road

First and foremost, I must acknowledge Monday's BadAss Award winner - it's would be my sister, Devin, who actually went to the Bears game and STAYED FOR THE WHOLE THING.

Why is this an accomplishment?

Because it was 3 degrees, with sub-zero windchill (and its on the lake, so you know there was wind, and our season ticket seats face north, right into the wind - lovely). And it went into overtime. So that's like, oh, four hours in Arctic weather.

Coldest home game on record.

Oh, and they won.

Sorry you had to stay up late and watch the Packer defeat, Clyde.

So sorry.

But well done Devin - if you weren't already the toughest bitch I know, I would actually send you a trophy to add to you growing collection.

But onto other badasses-

As been abundately clear lately, I can barely manage to throw up post as regularly as I used to, what with these last several months being stupid busy.

Needless to say, my blog reading has been even less stellar.

Okay, virtually no existent.

So imagine my surprise when I backlogged last night and saw PRs, new babies, and all sorts of glory.

Maybe I need to pull my head out of my own ass instead of bagging on DP's new lady to do that, and keep up with the blog world.

Gosh guys - I am sorry I suck so bad.

My NY resolution is to get back on the ball with the happenings of the blog world.

Having sad that, though, I am leaving for my annual trip to Kansas and I have taken a cue from Steph and I am not taking my computer.

GASP!!

No blog, no FB, no nothing for five days.

Just me, Cheese's family, and some apple pie.

And I kinda LIKE that idea....

Well, mostly the apple pie part.

So to everyone out there - many many blessed wishes in the next few days! See ya when I get back!

It's wet, mushy, and slushy here today.

And my main man just left for stint in Houston.

Figures - home and on the couch for a month, then shipped off to TX days before Christmas.

Well,, at least they'll send him home to Kansas for the big day.

And in the meantime, I have the house to myself.

What to do....?

End of the Weekend

Okay - so I have pictures from this weekend to post (just fun stuff) - but first things first:

CONGRATS MOMO!!!

Our little Momo, darling of the blogophere and super bad-ass chick, just put in a sub 12-hour Ironman finish in her home state of Arizona this weekend. I actually got to see her face cross that line, and I had tears in my eyes. I am so proud of her, and how hard she has worked this year - this was her SECOND Ironman this season!

Also, before you do anything else today, stop and head over to Stronger's blog - she's got another Super Secret Fund happening, and trust it - it's so worth it! There's a set donation of five dollars, so if you got a spare fiver laying around, please send it her way.

And for anyone who knows Stronger, there's always a spectacular recipiant of the Super Secret Fund...just asked Duane!

And while you are in the process of checking out blogs, how about you check out a new chicky on the scene - T. You gotta read her race report on this monster race she did in Costa Rica. Please read along as she shows you her life, her passions, herself - trust it, she worth getting to know.

I also wanted to give a massive shout-out to my friend Bridget, the super mom of Hammer, and basass wife of The Fire. We just had dinner with her and the family tonight, and she is just days away from the birth of her second child. But beleive me when I say, man, does she make being pregnant look good!

(I hope they ask me to baby sit when she goes into labor...hint, hint)

And before I go through my pictures for the weekend, I just wanted to say how much I love my family -I got to spend the afternoon with my sister and nephew, and then dinner with the family, Hammer's family, and my man, and I will tell you this:

For as much bitching as I can do at time, I really am blessed. I really am surrounded by the best of the best. No lie.

Okay, now go read, and I will see you shortly.

Sneak Peek

Scene: Our apartment.

Cheese, in the kitchen, cooking asparagus, chicken, and stuffing.

Me, sitting at my desk in the dining room/office. Working. Still.

Cheese (walking up to me with a full plate of deliciousness): Here you go, dinner is ready.

Me (shoveling food into my mouth): Uhnk u.

Five minutes pass.

Cheese (coming back in, taking my plate): Honey are you done?

Me: Yup.

Cheese : Rice pudding for dessert?

Me: Okay.

Cheese (from the kitchen): Oh, and so you know, there is still another chicken breast left, no bones, I cut it up and put it in the fridge, you know, so you can have it for lunch tomorrow.

Me: (stunned silence)

Cheese: What?

Me (smiling): Nothin.

Cheese turns back to start washing dishes.

I return to the computer screen.

End Scene.

Lemons but No Lemonade

I am bluesy.

I am just sick of everything and everyone right now.

I am sick of politics mostly- of people being asses to each other, of the state of this country, of the media, or the hypocrisy.

I am sick of reading how people that I once respected personally attack others while blatenly ignoring the full truth of things.

I am sick of politician's half-truths, and of a populace that collectively and consciously ignores the truth that is actually in front of them.

I am sick of worrying about what all this means for my future - maybe everything, maybe nothing.

I am sick of worrying about the potential of living in a country in which I can't build a private practice (as a SECOND job, nonetheless) because working THAT hard might mean I would owe the government almost HALF my money. Where's the motivation to improve my lot in life? To benefit frmo the degree I busted my ass to get?

I have been coming home from work, keeping the tv off, turning the computer off, and just reading - anything to shut it all out.

And it's not just the actual election- rather (and I said this before), it's what it has all come to reveal about our world, about us as Americans.

All a bunch of finger-pointers, blame-passers, hate-breeders, liars.

And how can we expect politicans to behave any differently if we ourselves encourage this environment?

Ironic, but they really do end up being our "representitives."

Being "passionate" about this election has turned into an excuse for people to be nasty, ugly, and hypocritical. I get that people are really dedicated to their "side," but at what cost to your integrity? How does one pride oneself on being "well informed" when the only information they seek out and promote is one-sided?

I am starting to remember why I just stayed out of all this to begin with.

What else?

My job is extremely stressful right now - I seem to have found myself supervising people who have no desire to improve themselves as clinicians, but instead are satisfied with being told what to do, what to write, how to think.

And when they are not trying to claim disability for made-up injuries, they are ditching work and lying about it.

And I miss my BF.

I really, really miss him.

And there are times when he hurts and I can't help.

This is the stuff that eat at me, that keeps me up at night.

That is why I am blusey.

Strip Clubs

Yes, that is what this post is about.

Here’s the thing – I just don’t get them.

Now, I am not the type girlfriend that would tell my BF not to go. Yes, we’ve had the conversation, what with the Vegas bachelor parties looming in the near future. And yes, I would rather eat a poop-and-mayo sandwich then think about some naked lady rubbing her ta-tas in my BFs face. But hey – he’s not getting a handy from them under the cocktail table, so what can I say?

All I am saying is that I simply don’t understand the point of them.

See, with porn, we all know there is a purpose and end goal there. Naked ladies + sex = well, you know.

But with strip clubs, you see the naked ladies, but there is no sex, and certainly no “pay off,” so to speak.

I mean, you can’t even touch them.

And according to Cheese, seeing the naked ladies is not even arousing or erotic. They are simply, well, naked ladies. Some giving you drinks, some giving you lap dances.

So what’s the point?

I am honest-to-god asking this question.

No judgment, just trying to understand. Like I said, I am not giving my BF limits on going or not going – I just want to know the allure of it.

Moreover, whenever I see depictions of strip clubs on the tv (as I have never actually been to one), all I see is the adult version of little girls who have been sexually abused at some point in their life. And holy crap is that sad enough to make me cry in my Raisen Bran.

How do guys not see that?

So guys – help me out. Comment anonymously if you need to. And ladies – any of you been to one? Why? What was that like?


Blast the Fat
On a completely unrelated note, The Biggest Loser is on tonight!!

And to celebrate, I let Troy kick my ass on the bike again today. Sure, it was a little better than yesterday’s beating, but my gosh. I was one ladder set away from shoving his little stopwatch up his screaming pie hole.

I think to change it up, I am going to do this DVD (“No Slackers Allowed,” for Anonymous who asked) twice a week, and then on Friday I will treat myself to the other one, “Suffer-rama”.

Uh yeah – I just re-read the sentence and realized I was considering a 45-minute workout called Suffer-rama a “treat.”

I also have a three-hour number, “Tough Love,” but I can’t imagine I’ll be doing that one anytime soon.

Who thinks of these names, for gosh sake?

Frankly, I am a little scared of Tough Love - I never tried it before, and if Troy can mutilate me in 45 minutes, I can't imagine what disaster three hours at his mercy would bring.

Now, Anonymous suggested “Mental Toughness,” which made me wonder what other people are using. Does anyone else do Spinnervals? There’s like 100 of them, and I want to know which ones are good.

And with that, folks, I am off to babysit for the Mayor. YAY!!!!

A Nice Kinda Day

So I am going to hold my initial rant about Madonna and the DNC back (partly because I am sure everyone is still really riled up about the whole fiesta) but mostly because I want to give love to the man whom I am about to share a bank account and parking space.

It's our anniversary today.


From our first date to the Cubs game...

As he made his slow transition to Chicago living...There's a lot of "in between," but by now I am sure you've seen all the pictures. And for all our ups and downs with this long distance thing, I still can't believe he stuck around long enough to see that I'm not crazy 100% of the time.

So here's to our pending cohabitation, and many more years of blissful domesticity.

But uh, Cheese? I thought we talked about the toenail thing.

You're sweeping the floor from here on out.

Love ya.


And Some More Love
Today, I understood why people want to have children, and I discovered it with a visit to my sister’s house to see her and my 19-month-old nephew.

Now, given his recent brush with “Livin’ the High Life,” I half expected to see him sitting on the porch on his rocking horse, stogie in one hand and a bourbon in the other.

And he was there, rocking on the horse in the front window. When he saw me, he shouted, “Hi!” Well, sort of - it was like is garbled baby-speak.

Nonetheless, I was touched to think that, even with my disappearance the last few weeks, he still recognized me and even seemed excited to see me. But then I realized he was eyeing the little orange and white box I was carrying.

Seems Grammy has taken him ten-too-many-times to the Dunkin Donuts, so he could spot a Munchkin from a mile away.

Within minutes he was covered in powered sugar, all smiles and giggles and love.

We bounced on the bed (but stopped when he almost fell off, 'cause babies with broken necks aren’t fun), played tickle, and went for a short walk – but then it was off to work for me.

We parted with air kisses and a “Wube oo” from his sweet little face.

And for the first time in weeks, I actually felt calm.

Nothin' Like Family

Soooo...I thought hell week would end last week, but alas, it didn't want to go so quietly into the night. But come Monday night, I will be back to the "regular" work schedule, and new co-inhabitator - hence, a much less irritable me.

Yup, yup. It's the big move this weekend.

The lack of posts should be enough evidence that I am precariously walking the line of breakdown - not just the move, but EVERYTHING.

I am - FUCK - I am tired.

Throw in the nauseating DNC, ridiculously biased media hellbent on telling us how we should vote, a new landlord that is about to get a Megan-choke-out, and a UHaul store that doesn't know their ass from their left hand, and I all but OWN my "special room" at the local psych hospital.

Cheese is doing his darndest to keep my rage at bay, but sometimes even he can't handle the Super Bitch. Hey, I don't blame him - it's been a long few weeks. I can't even stand myself.

So it helps when you have friends calling to poke fun at high school bitches on Facebook, and other friends sending you articles about fried food such as fried Smores, bacon, and grilled cheese, to make you feel better about the garbage you have been shoving in your face during those all-nighters.

And it ALSO helps when you have family sending these texts:

“So I’m going pee and I hear “mmmm” and what do you know? He’s drinking a beer.”
9am text from my sister Ellen, explaining the morning breakfast routine with my 19-month-old nephew - I still don't know how he got it.

“Put up [a post] already. I’ve taken many lonely dumps with nothing to read on my crackberry.”
My brother Nolan in a text, his own sweet way of making sure I am alive….I think

And then finally, THIS:

Text caption read: "The Mayor of Whoville has found a new love: Fanta."

And by Fanta, she means "Miller."

Just after this picture was taken, Baby Nolan whipped out some extra cups and a roll quarters, looked at my sister, and said, "Game on, bitch."

Oh, and before I go -there'a lot of celebrities making a-holes out of themselves lately. I'll hit Madonna tomorrow ('cause this gem will make me vomit my dinner if I have to re-live it right now), but for today - I give you Puff Daddy (or P-Diddy, for those in the know) on why he'll be calling isle seat on the next American Airlines flight:

Diddy complaining about having to fly commercial. He rants:

“Gas prices are too motherfucking high. As you know, I do own my own jet and I have been having flying back and forth to LA pursuing my acting career. Now, if I’m flying back and forth, like, twice in a month that’s like $200,000 or $250,000 round trip. FUCK that. I’m back on American Airlines right now. Ok? Your boy Diddy right now is on American Airlines. Look. I want to give a shout out to all my Saudi Arabian brothers and sisters and all my brothers and sisters from all the countries that have oil, if you could all please send me some oil for my jet I would truly appreciate it. But right now, can you believe it, I am actually flying commercial. That’s how high gas prices are ok, so I feel you. Look, I’m at the gate right now. This is proof that gas prices are too high, we need to do something about it, so tell whoever the next president is that we need to bring gas back down.”

Do I even need to add commentary here? I mean, it kind sells itself, right? I guess this is how we know we have a national crisis - when PDiddy has to fly commercial with us lowly people because it's "too expensive" to fly his private plane.

Too expensive?

How about - environmentally irresponsible and disgusting waste of money that could actually be put to use and help people?

And NOW that it's affecting his comfort, he's calling upon Americans to do something?!?! What does he believe caused this gas "crisis?" Call me Britney-crazy, but it might have SOMETHING to do with our dependence upon it.

The best line of the whole thing? "Look, I’m at the gate right now. This is proof that gas prices are too high, we need to do something about it."

Oh, I feel your pain Diddy. The other day I had to pay my student loans, but then couldn't afford dinner because my job in child welfare pays dirt - I mean, it's no "acting career" but..wait, what? Not the same thing?

Huh.

Eh, but this is the same guy that's going to "Rock the Vote" for Obama and talk about how we need to save the world and go green.

No wonder other countries hate us.

Joke

Everyone uses their blogs for different reasons.

Me?

I use mine as a sort of personal journal. I mean, short of the “Dear Diary” greeting, it pretty much stands as an account of my thoughts, be them about training, life, whatever.

And if you have been reading me for a while, you pretty much know when I joke, when I vent, and when I am being dead-ass serious.

And when I write, I speak much like I would speak if I was talking to a girlfriend – off the cuff, sometimes goofy, sometimes crude.

I say things that are funny in my head, even if those words would never leave actually leave my mouth in real life.

For example, I would never say for real, “If shit pop off, somebody going to get laid the fuck out,” like I had stated in a previous post.

But I joke about using that phrase (from a song) to get sort of attitude-y and badass when I train. I wouldn't know how to lay anyone out even if 50 Cent himself was standing next to me with a 40 in one hand, and a 45 in the other.

In real life, I have about as much street cred as my 61-year-old mom.

Sorry mom, but it’s true.

Similarly, when I joked yesterday about “hittin’ it” with a character from a tv show, I would think that most people know enough about me now to know that I would never actually do that.

Aside from casual sex having NEVER been part of my personality, I would never actually “hit it” if given that chance in real life.

You know, it’s funny because, if I was sitting around my sisters, I would have totally joked about that without thinking twice.

But when I first wrote the sentence itself, I thought, “Huh. Maybe that sounds bad.”

But given the comments on a recent post about “telling it like it is” and not censoring myself, I figured, “Hey, people will know this is a joke. I can be goofy about it.”

So imagine my surprise when I was told that making that statement in yesterday’s post was “unbecoming” and made me seem “trashy.”

Apparently making a joke about having fake imaginary sexy times with a fake person is offensive.

Maybe it was offensive because it was sexual in nature (like politics, I rarely touch that topic on here), or maybe because I have a boyfriend so making goofy comments about hittin’ it with a tv character was inappropriate.

So to that end, for being offensive to my boyfriend, I apologize. I expect a certain standard from him, so I need to hold myself to the same one.

But it wasn’t more than two weeks ago when me and Cheese were joking around about which celebrity we would “give a pass” for – meaning, we would let the other sleep with if given the chance. I’d be hard pressed to find a couple (and some that have openly talked abou that on their blogs) that hasn’t had this “inside joke.”

And I call it a joke because it would never happen – and I would hope that even if GIVEN the chance, we would both turn it down. So hence, it was a just a joke.

Lemme ask you this - How many people in the last two weeks have posted pictures of half-naked Michael Phelps and/or have made “inappropriate” comments about him or his pictures?

I used to read the Triscoop threads, and there was this ongoing one about hot male/female triathletes, complete with pictures. Is that offensive?

Taking heat for being “inappropriate” is exactly what I was referring when I said I feel like I have to censor myself. And maybe I being overly defensive, but I honestly thought I was just being goofy.

If you were one of the people that were offended, I don’t know what to tell ya. Use your mouse, and click on another blog.

I almost feel like apologizing for how angry this post sounds, because I know people don't stop by for a dose of daily rage. But I am not going to. Because like I said before, it’s my blog. And this is where I am right now.

Whatever.

I’m O-U-T.

And p.s. I didn’t even get to go to Sonic because I go so caught up in working that I ended up being late for my meeting. No tots for me.

Fucking work - it's ruining everything lately.

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.

Half Marathon, Whole Fun

Chicago Distance Classic Half-Marathon?

D.U.N.

After a 4AM wake up call, and a start time of 630AM, it was hard to tell what the day might bring. But the day did not fail, and neither did my body.

I will spare you a lengthy race report (I ran, I finished, 2:07, felt fantastic, solid and strong, very proud of my time because I ran smart AND managed not to make doo-doo on myself - no small feat by Mile 11, mind you), but a few details worth mentioning.

It was me, Cheese, Devin and her friend Dave (see picture below). The weather was about 67, partly sunny, and along our BEAUTIFUL lake front. No iPod for distraction, and thank goodness for that - otherwise I may have missed the breathtaking sites of my amazing city as we headed back north after the turnaround.

And it wouldn't be a Megan post without the bitch moment - At about 3.5, we were actually running on southbound Lake Shore Drive in the right hand lane, as cars literally WIZ by us. It was tough and somewhat scary to manuver at times- in fact, this was the first time in a race that I have actually had to devote some time and effort to getting around people. Which is all fine and good (hey, I knew it was a big race when I signed up, so how can I bitch?) but then, in the middle of this chaos, I hear right in front of me, "5-4-3-2-1 - Aaaand we walk!"

Dead stop.

Minor pile up.

Another experience was the 14 Team in Training participants who, on a path that only holds about eight across, were walking seven abreast. It was like driving behind the guy going 35 miles an hour in the left lane on the expressway.

Hey listen, if you are going to rock the run-walk program, by all means have at it. I mean, hell, I even walk sometimes, like through water stations and when I get tired. But if you chose to do so, I implore you to remember that walkers STAY TO THE RIGHT and STAY TWO ABREAST!!!

It's safety. Simply a matter of safety. 'Cause honestly, I'm not winning any of these races, so the slowing down part isn't going to "hurt" me. But dead stopping in front of me - well, that very well could hurt me, not to mention the throngs of people behind me.

After all, the half-marathon is, by definition, a running race, so it goes without saying that most people will be, well, RUNNING. I mean, this should just be common sense at this point - this isn't a race specific thing either - this applies to all conditions. It's just simple running Rules of the Road. ESPECIALLY if you are running with an established team - the team leaders should know this.

Happy place, happy place.

Phew.

But beside this - an absolutely wonderful morning, and like Alili said in a recent post - I am just grateful to be healthy and able to do this.

So, no actual race pictures because I left my camera in the car. Just pictures of the post-race breakfast binge - the kind where you seriously cannot get the food into your mouth fast enough - thus frightening mere bystanders out for a lovely post-church Sunday meal. Poor souls never even saw the mayham coming....


Yup. Devin's face pretty much sums up the hunger/fatigue aftermath. Poor girl looks like she's about to do a stint in County for Assualt and Battery.
You know who.

From left - Dave, Devin, Cheese, me. We ate at Lou Mitchell's, which is hands-down my favorite place in the city. Cheese looks like he's goosing my sister. Hmmmm..... And speaking of my sister - is it me or does she appear to actually be shrinking? She's always been little, but geesh - she's almost invisible!

Well, maybe not all of us were feeling the fatigue....

I prefer egg white omlettes, but hey - to each his own.

Lovely!!

Baby, Table for One. He's like, "Hey! Where'd everyone go? I can't help it if I am not potty trained yet!"

Bear Down

(Before I start this post - I would just like to paint this picture for you - me, trying desperately to start the big email catch-up while laying in bed at 12:57AM, with Cheese laying next to me. He is passed out and wide-mouthed, filling that air around my face with garlic-rosemary breath and ass gas. My two favorite parts? 1) When he snargles and snores, and subsequently expells these REALLY large breaths with his face about five inches from mine. 2) When he surprises me with a silent fart - the ones I can't hear but then the stink hits me out of no where. And you CANNOT even begin to imagine what this smell is like.

He tries to tell me that all boys like the smell of their own farts, but I cannot actually believe that he honestly loves the bowel smells.

I mean, I have to check my own eyebrows to make sure they haven't burned off with some of these bombs.

And in these moments, I find myself looking over at him and his cute freckles and pink lips, sleeping soundly next to me, and remind myself - I love this man.

But gosh, it would be nice to go to bed without having to put a pillow over my face.

Now back to the regularly scheduled programming.... )

"You're blog's been really lacking these days, eh?"

So says my brother, Nolan, today in a phone conversation.

But he's right, and I am sorry. I cannot begin to describe how out of control crazy things have been, and then there's always a bit of a lag when the Big Cheese comes to town (usually a day to get him settled). So now here we are, it's Friday, and this might be the first real post of the week.

But fear not - this weekend is pretty packed with things, including a half-marathon on Sunday - the Chicago Distance Classic - so plan on some pictures to go with it all.

Tonight, after a VERY LONG day - complete with a near-verbal brawl at work between me and the bosses - Cheese and I went to the Bears game. And despite the fact that my family has had season tickets for my entire life, Cheese bought me my FIRST Bears jersey of my life to wear to the game.


Opposing teams - I was so sure Cheese was going to find himself a Chicago-style ass kicking, but he behaved himself (well, that and the usual season drunks behind us didn't show tinight - so potential conflict avoided) . Until the ride home....when some douche bag in a moster truck (need I go further with this story?) started screaming at us on the way home on Lake Shore Drive about the Chiefs sucking.

Now, call me crazy, but whose the jackass when you're screaming "Loser" at the winning team? Isn't that, like, the first rule of heckling - "Make sure your team wins before you start baggin' on the other team?"

I'm just saying...

Me and my Hester 23 jersey.

Cheese from our seats.

And Cheese with me - I have decided that, while I tend to spend more time staring at other people then the actual game, I can still be considered a Bears fan because:

A: I live in Chicago, and so do they. So proximity says I am a fan.

B: I love hot pretzels and they serve them at Soldier Field. Do I need to connect the dots here?

C: Don't question my rationale - Bears fans have a rep for being impulsively aggressive...

Cheese after the Bears pulled ahead in the fourth.

Cheese when the Cheifs answered back and won. And despite the loss, I am still smiling, because I, unlike the poor sap in front of me who was passed out by halftime and ended up throwing up between his legs (lightweight) was not only conscious, but grateful for a lovely evening of bad food and football.

/

/

So all in all, it was a fun night even though we lost. But it's preseason so who cares, right?

/

/

Tomorrow should be an pretty light day, inlcuding a long overdue and much needed massage in the afternoon. I think we might try to hit a Sox game tomorrow night. And in case there is any question about whther or not I am a Sox fan - see the aformentioned list.

And then pass the mustard.

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.

Momma Cheese

(Note: I have not gotten permission to post pictures of Cheese's mom yet, so here are a few without her actual face).
Cooling our feet in a pond after miles of walking.

The Bean.

Momma Megan and Me

Yeah, so, I pretty much haven’t gotten out of bed all day today (Sunday).

I think on top of an uber-busy weekend, the 12-miler I squeaked out (after dropping Momma Cheese off at the airport this morning) was just a little more than my little tired body could handle.

As for the weekend, it was great. After picking up Momma Cheese on Friday, we spent the day downtown, eating at Lou Mitchell’s, checking out the Sears Tower and Grant Park, and going on a boat tour. We rounded out the day with dinner with my sister and her husband.

Saturday brought a ride on the “El,” breakfast at Ann Sathers on Belmont, a walk through Wrigleyville, Boy’s Town, South Lakeview, and then a stop to get our nails done. We met my mom for dinner at Rosebud on Taylor, and the saw “Jersey Boys” downtown.

My family was great, and I think Momma Cheese really had a good time. It is always interesting to me to see my city through the eyes of a visitor – I have no shame when it comes to doing the tourist things, and taking a ton of pictures along with it. It was also, I think, a big culture shock to both of us – again, me seeing the city through her eyes, and her seeing the city through mine.

For example, the constant sounds of sirens (police, fire, ambulance) were shocking to her. At one point, as an ambulance sped past us, she looked over at me in the car and asked, “You don’t even notice it, do you?” And I responded, “Notice what?” And then I swerved to avoid hitting a bus while she white-knucked the dash.

Then on the El, after the doors opened and a large Indian family, two black kids and some very elderly Chinese people entered, she whispered, “Chicago’s pretty diverse, huh?” Then finally, during breakfast in Boys Town, she said, “So you say you and Cheese ate here after a race? Huh. It surprises me that he would be okay with ‘this’.”

She was even more surprised when I told her how many phone numbers he managed to score there that morning. He’s got the charm, doncha know?

I have a lot of favorite parts during the weekend, but one of the best was when she asked, “So how many kids are you going to have?” This was asked 45 minutes after picking her up from airport.

And then she told LOTS and LOTS of Cheese-as-a-kid-and-teen stories.

Some sink-your-teeth-in-juicy ones.

LOVE.HER.

Honestly, she is probably one of the sweetest woman you would ever meet - she is the perfect blend of genuine goodness and sarcastic wit, complete with a good old Kansas drawl.

And I seriously hope that I didn’t come across as bitching about having a houseguest. If I did, it certainly wasn’t my intention – I was really looking forward to Momma Cheese coming to see how the big city folk do it (ha), and I think I just got a little stressed, what with all the fridge’s falling apart (by the way, it was fixed, so turkey-slices-and-Red-Bull-disaster averted-….say it with me – “PHEW!”).

Oh, and if you ever thought I embellished my behaviors at their house over Christmas, Momma Cheese made THREE mentions of how much I ate at that time. In fact, her words were, “I STILL can’t believe how much food she got into her mouth.”

It’s been seven months.

Ah, I guess I leave a pretty memorable impression.

(And yes – there was mention of the fact that I single-handedly ate ¾ of a pie. The only thing that prevented me from finishing it off was the coma I then fell into shortly after Piece #6).

Speaking of sweets, there’s an Ann Sather’s cinnamon roll in the fridge that’s got DINNER written all over it.

Too Tired to Think of a Title

I would spend some more time giving a training update, but there's not a ton to embelish on when you've rode, swam and run once this week.

So here's some stuff non-training related.


Fridge
The door on my refrigerator fell off today.

Any other day, I wouldn’t give a rat’s ass.

We all know I pretty much eat canned tuna and caramel rice cakes and call it a meal.

Needless to say, the fridge of often devoid of anything more than bottled water (for guests – I drink tap), sugar free Red Bull, and (if I’m training) turkey slices (pre-packaged of course). I am nothing if not the epitome of healthy eating. I know. Be jealous.

But see today is important. Today is the day I prepare for my weekend houseguest.

And this is not the usual houseguest (read: Cheese). No, in fact this houseguest is one step above Cheese.

It’s Cheese’s mom.

Yup.

Just his mom. No Cheese.

She’s coming in to chill with me, see the city, and spend some quality time with the woman who has forced her only son to actually become a man.

A couple months back, I mentioned that it would fun to have her come to Chicago for a weekend and hang, and this is the weekend.

We've got tons of stuff planned, and I love being a tour guide to my city. I LOVE having visitors, especially when it's summer in Chicago (read: if you ever feeling like dropping in, give me a call - I live for this shit).

But the problem here is, Cheese's mom is staying with me.

In my dorm room of an apartment.

With my fridge door on the ground.

Even though I suggested a hotel, Cheese thought it would be good for us to have some "girl time." He even suggested that it would be okay for her to sleep in my bed – with me – until a minor argument led to the decision to get an air mattress.

‘Cause it wasn’t bad enough that I was going to ruin her image of a hot shot, ultra glam, big city, high class badass professional woman when I picked her up in my 8 year old shit box car and take her to my studio apartment with 32 years of life crammed into it. Now the poor woman has to stare at the open gaping evidence of my bachlorette lifestyle. At least with the fridge door shut, I could have thrown some fruit in a bowl and lit a candle to make it all look sort of presentable.

Naw, I'm just kidding about the image thing. I think I pretty much solidified my "image" when I showed up to their house for Christmas and literally made a pig of myself by eating everything in sight, wore the same clothes for three days, and sat at the dinner table in my bathrobe. Yup, nothing but class here, folks.

But what can I do about it now? I have done my best to warn her about the living situation (although no one is ever actually quite prepared for how truly small it is until they see it – my own mom had to catch her breath when I opened the door). She seems to like me anyways - even crocheted me an afgan for my bed. It's pink.

So as long as she doesn’t open the cabinets and witness the Cheez-It habit, open the closet door, peer too closely at the corners of the room, look inside the microwave, or check under my desk, we should be okay.


Necking
Last night, I went to bed at 5:30 AM (work), and then had to get up two and half hours later (work). My patience is short, and the mood is ripe for a rant. Here ya go:

So there has been this thing bothering me for some time, but I sort of forgot about it until Mommymeepa recently reminded me.

Here’s the thing: I have noticed this trend, perhaps an epidemic, that is plaguing many of the young hipsters here in Chicago. At first, I though it was a fluke – you know, some young trendy-wannabee high schooler or artsy-type making a statement. But then, more and more, it was all around me.

Scarves.

In July.

Like, with shorts and sandals.

Like, the one’s you wear around your neck to keep the winter chill at bay.

Scarves are ALL OVER.

I see them on the street, at Ravinia, in the bookstore – I can’t get away from them.

When "Stuff White People Like" first noted this epidemic, I thought, “Oh how funny and true” but now it’s IN MY BACK YARD!!!!

I mean, what is the point of this? Is it a fashion statement? Is 95 degrees and humid not warm enough? Are these folks possibly anemic? Are they being used a hicky covers?

(Ewww….hickeys…….Remember when that was cool, at age 13, when you had your first boyfriend/girlfriend? No? Me neither....I heard it once...somewhere)

Digression.

Back to point.

For any of you currently try to pull of this ridiculous trend – take note – Try some thing else. If you need to set yourself apart as trendy or hip, get a tattoo, pierce your nipples, vote for Obama - I don’t care.

Just save the scarves for weather below 40 degrees. Don’t worry – it’s like a month away.

Birthday in Pictures

Well, thanks for indulging me in two days worth of birthday posts. All the comments were amazing and sweet! I am not really the type of person that makes a who week's event out of the b-day, but for some bizarre reason, I felt compelled to post tons of pictures. It's been, like, my thang lately. So here are some more!

I think I failed to mention that my mother's birthday was yesterday, while mine was today. Now how's THAT for a birthday present: "Mrs. Megan's Mom, you have given birth to a girl - your life now rocks - happy birthday." So we celebrated both together. My mom looks really good for 40, yeah?.....just kidding.

Cheese took this picture of Baby Nolan. Doesn't he look like one of those kids from Whoville? You know, from the Dr. Suess books? Sorry, Ellie, but he does. The funniest part was this was the exact same look he gave Cheese all night - never changed. It's like a mix of "Who the hell is this guy?" and "Got any more Tostitos?"

Mom, Cheese, and my brother-in-law Nat.

Cheese putting his country boy talents to use - shuking corn.

Yeah, it's me....relaxing...

This needs no caption. It just is. Sweet, sweet delicious cake. And when I finished my two pieces, I ate the leftover frosting off the plates of my mom and my sister.

The Sister Girls Three.

Me at 32. Shit I'm getting old.

Cheese rubbing his "food baby," Ellie rubbing her ba-.....oh wait, I can't tell that secret yet.....

So for my actual birthday, I mostly worked, and then took two hours off at the end of the day to go for a run with Cheese. The weather was beautiful, and I needed to run off that cake. After the run, we gorged on sushi and then went to a movie, where I actually limited myself to one box of candy and a small popcorn. I call that a win-win!

Run over, six miles in the books. Have you met my back fat yet? Take it in. It's pretty delicious.

And speaking of delicious, I will end my birthday post with a picture of two very sweaty people. It's like the "birthday cake" ending to this post...but without the cake. Just the birthday. And some sweat. Fantastic.