Winner

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.

Finally!

Thanks everyone for the suggestions in posting this! Blogger, however, can suck it. This formatting is terrible.

/

1. Have we, as a society, just decided to do away with the whole courtesy wave when driving? If so, how come no one mailed me that memo? And if not, there’s a lot of entitled a-holes on the road.

/

/

2. Jolly Ranchers on the bike: Good in theory, bad in practice. Or at least, for an open-mouth breather like me. Damn near suffocated myself with a watermelon one.

/

/

3. My mind registered that Chicago finally had an actual, 85 degree and sunny summer day yesterday. My skin? Not so much.

Seems all that indoor time has softened my brain, leaving me to forget that you can’t take a winter’s worth of white skin to the beach for an all-day love affair with the sun. Mama mia.

You’d think I’d be more careful about tan lines, what with a wedding (and dress) just a few months away. Yeah, but then again, you’d also think I’d be more careful about what I am putting in mouth, given said dress. But on both accounts, you’d be wrong.

/

/

4. I don’t eat red meat, but if I did, I would totally eat one of the burger with the cheese cooked right into it. The ones that, when you bite into it, the melted cheese just oozes out from the middle.

I just got goose bumps writing that last line.

/

/

5. On that note, you know that question, “If you could have dinner with anyone, who would it be?” Yeah, well – would it be so bad to bypass the obvious answers, and pick one of the guys from the Food Network or Travel Network shows? Like, the dude from Diner, Drive-Ins and Dives? Or Man v. Food?

Does that make me a simpleton?

Or perhaps *left eye brow raised* it makes me a genius.

Question is on the table.

/

/

6. I know that, after a long workout, you SHOULD technically eat like, good food, and stuff. And you SHOULD technically drink one of those good protein shakes or recovery drinks.

But you know, the ONLY think I can stomach after a long workout is pickles.

(hey, it used to be oj and raisins, so I consider this an upgrade)

I said it before and I’ll say it again – you show me a long Sunday workout, and I’ll show you an empty jar of dill pickles.

Help

UGH!

So I wrote a post in Word, and usually I can just cut and paste to here - but for some reason, blogger is not letting me paste.

Does anyone know how to get a post from Word into Blogger?

I tried pasting it as a picture document, but no go.

I am out of thoughts.

Little Bit o' This....

So, I was watching the 2005 Ironman Kona race today as I plowed through my trainer ride, and what do my wondering eyes see?

A man exiting the swim in his leopard print Speedos.

LEOPARD PRINT.

SPEEDOS.

IN KONA.

Like, what's the thought process behind that?

Minnesota Joe (standing over his suit case): Hmmm... Kona. It's the big time you know.
Wife: You may never get another chance to do this, Joe.
Minnesota Joe: I know. It's like, Go Big or Go Home, right?
Wife: That's what I always say in my step aerobics class. So why not make a statement?
Minnesota Joe: I see your point. And the banana hammock IS snug, and aerodynamic. Like neoprene, without the life-choking-out-of-you feel. And really, my abs are kickin, yeah?
Wife: I always did like the way your buns looked in that print! *tap on the ass*
Minnesota Joe: Decision made! European leopard print Speedo in Kona IT IS!!

Maybe he knows something I don't though. I mean, Speedo King is in Kona, I'm in my living room pedaling to nowhere and wondering what the hell happened to the sweltering Chicago summer we all used to complain about. Who's the sucker now, huh?

Oh, and another little gem I discovered while I was home, tying up loose ends before my job implodes on itself in a few days?

Remember a while back I posted about my new favorite website - Hot Chicks with Douchebags?

Well, MTV turned it into a show.

And it is EFFING hilarious.

Like, have you ever wished your blog could talk? Like, could mimic tone or the speed of your snarkiest comments in a way that simply writing the word just can't?

Well, this show is like that.

And while I watched NOTHING on MTV EVER, I am stuck on this show.

It's called, "Is She Really Going Out With Him?"

I think what intrigues me most is how delusional these guys are. I mean, you would almost think it is a joke, but it's not. And it's so uncomfortable to watch - sort of like an episode of The Office, but REAL, and with a lot more bottle-poppin', Axe body spray, and "bro-ness."

Check out the episodes with "Hustler Douche" (with an added gem - "Say Somethin!'") and "OC Douche."

You're welcome.

Madison-Chicago 200 Relay 2009

We came.
We saw.
We ran.
I didn't kill anyone.
I came close though.
But we all survived.

And had a BLAST. This here (above) is my rockin' team - the Sandbaggers- at the start line. I think the only people bloggers would know are me (front), Devin (second from left), Spie, (next to me) and Colin (white shirt at the end).

This is my friend Adrienne, me, Spie and Colin. Adrienne's husband started us out and narrowly made the gun going off (with one minute to spare - but I will save all the details until the end of this post) so he is already on the course and not in this picture. However, 20 minutes later, as we waited at the transition site, he called to say he was dropping out. So technically, the above picture represents our van runners.

This is my sister's van. She is far left, and the really tall guy is my new back doctor.

This is me, 20 minutes into the race, and SOOO happy that we actually started the race, despite the TONS of drama leading up to it (again, details at the end). Can you just feel the relief oozing from my smile? Little did I know that while I was taking this picture of my happiness, my phone was ringing in the car - it was Runner #1. He was calling to say he was quitting after Mile 2. He is walking in. My relief was short lived. Enter drama.

Me and Spie. Also taken moments before the drama kicked into high gear. But that aside, I need to tell you about this lady - going into the race, we had asked her to run Spots 4 &5 because we were a runner short. That means that, in total, she would be running SIX (legs ), three in each cycle - for a total of almost 30 miles. And she didn't just run these legs, she KILLED them. After the first two runners, we were DEAD LAST by more then 30 minutes. After Spie? Right back in the game. You have no idea how fast this lady runs. She was voted MVS - Most Valuable Sandbagger.

Runner 2 coming in. She is the wife of Runner 1, the dropout.

Me, bringing it home to end Rotation 1. I ran the 6th spot, so I got to hand-off to Devin's Van every rotation.

Colin, finishing up a blazing run in Rotation 1. He started making up the lost ground...

When Spie came in and covered some more!!!

Getting ready for Rotation 2, in full safety gear. I LOVE night running. LOVE.IT.

Handoff 1 in Rotation 2. It's getting darker....

And the end. I didn't add any pics of the people in my sister's van really, mostly because you all probably wouldn't know them. But how cute is my sister over there on the Right? I also had the chance to go home and shower, because my van finished at 1030am, and the team finished around 530. And then we all went home, and promptly crashed.

/

For anyone who has never done a relay, I highly suggest it - at least once. You can't imagine how tough it is on the body - but hoe profoundly overwhelming it is when its all over. It's not even the mileage that is tough (although if you are Spie and running 30 miles over the course of 24 hours, then maybe). It's the running, the staying awake, the brutal fatigue, the GI issues (ugh), the food - the everything. It's just HARD. And I am addicted.

/

We are already talking about putting a team together for next year - now that I am no longer a Newbie Captain and can deal with all the "unknowns" and details that I overlooked this year. After all the drama this year, I swore that I would never do it again, but after some reflection, I think that I would be much better prepared next time, thus reducing my stress.

/

And speaking of stress - here goes - the Clif Notes version of what went down.

/

Back in January, my friend A and her husband committed to doing the race. Two days before the race, I got a call from A saying that her husband had diarrhea or a sore ankle or something (I am not sure) - and could he drop out? I said, "Not unless he finds someone else to run his spot." I mean, I can be sympathetic, but 2 days? And besides, she later confided that he was just "scared" to run because he was "slow." So....

/

On Thursday, they get to my house at 630, which was 2 1/2 hours late, to leave Chicago. On the way up to Madison, my friend told me her husband couldn't run the assigned legs - they were too long and he didn't know he would be running that much, despite over 10 emails with this info in it. Ooooookay....I get that problem fixed within the hour. But then the morning of, he is MIA until 9:59 - when the gun went off at 10. And then, two miles into the first leg of the entire race, he quits.

/

Drops out.

/

He walks the last 3 of his 5 miles into transition, grabs his comforter, and proceeds to sleep for the next 24 hours in the back of the van. Across the bench. The only bench in the van. And rarely ever gets out to cheer his team members, never apologizes or thanks us for covering his legs, never offers to drive or navigate - nothing. In fact, he never even speaks until almost 24 hours later. He quits, then sleeps. For 24 hours.

/

Meanwhile, we restructure, and other runners pick up his legs. Colin, for example, ran both Dropout's leg and his own leg in Rotation 2, for a total of 14 in just that Rotation alone.

/

There were tons of other little issues with this debacle along the way, but that's the jist of it. It was sort of a nightmare. But at some point (can't say for sure what the final straw was), I just pretended like there was this black screen separating his sleeping bench from the rest of the van, and just proceed on with my race. If I can't see it, it doesn't exist.

/

But the flip side is that Colin and Spie MADE the race. I mean, these two were not only funny, but they were like my little army in this battle of a race we were in. I am soo sooo soo grateful for these two. I would do the whole thing all over - 10 times over - with these two in my van. Oh, and did I mention that Spie made BOTH van bags of homeade banana muffins, oatmeal cookies, and Smores brownies? Oh yeah. Breakfast anyone?

/

So if you are down for it, and want to give it a try, we are getting a team together for MC-200, the 2010 version. Lemme know.....

If You Hang In There, It Actually Gets Sort of Hopeful Towards The End - I Promise

Wow.

So yeah, it's been a while.

Remember the good old days of once-a-day posting?

I do.

Man, that was a lot of work.

And it's not that I haven't had a lot to say - believe me you, I have.

I just didn't have a ton of time of get it on paper.

Until now.

Why?

Well, here's the short list of reasons my time suddenly freed up:

1. Unemployment. Turns out, it's not just for car dealerships.

See, as you know, we have a new governor. A governor who, in his infinate wisdom, decided to play Political Chicken with the legislature to get his way. He wants an increase in state income tax to help deal with out deficit (where have I heard this before....?) The legislature, however, is not so cool with this. So our governor said, "Do what I want or deal with the consequence on July 1."

The consequence? A mandatory shut down of social services with the elimination of all contracted services (i.e. me).

Literally. This is quite literally how things went down.

Who does that? Who gets their poltical agenda accomplished by eliminating all contract services across the state? Who gambles with child welfare like that?

Oh right - all governors of this state. In fact, right before the previous gem was impeached, he did the same thing. I mean, my employment woes are becoming a broken record at this point.

And the best part is that this new guy turns around and pins it on the legislature and blames them for this - the whole "well you MADE me do it" argument.

It goes a little something like this:

"Give me what I want, I have no interest in comprimise - or else I will eliminate 50% of the child welfare (and every other service) workforce until you cry 'uncle'....Oh, and p.s. I just proposed a 400% increase in health care costs for state employees. Just try and test me if that doesn't get pushed through too."

Is this really where we are at politically?

And why is it that social services are always the bargining chip?

So this means that July 1st may be likely be the last day of my employment.

But I am oddly okay with this. Maybe because, with all the previous false alarms, I have made peace with the fact I would lose my job to some poltical bullshit.

Or maybe because I have been really burned out in this job and looking for a change. I have never been one to run from a problem, but the state government is a bit larger than just "a problem" and I simply think they have worn me down.

So this is now my kick in the pants to find another....something.

However, the chance of me finding a position in this State and in the area of child welfare is - lemme check real quick - ZILCH.

Which leads me to....

2. There may be some relocation associated with seeking a new job. It's been discussed. Options are on the table. Options as in - NOT CHICAGO.

I am sort of excited about this.

And the third reason my load is soon to be lightened?

3. Hitting the Pavement - In 24 hours, I will be in Madison with my relay team, starting at the starting end of the Madison-Chicago 200 relay.

After my awesome experience last year, I decided to head-up the team this year.

Turns out, though, that event planning is not so much...how do you say?...my strong point (see also: my wedding). I think it has something to do with my ever-dwindling capacity for bullshit and unreliable people, inability to make a decision, and generally poor multitasking skills. My sister ended up taking the reins and pulling it together. But the general stress of responsibility of it will be over soon.

Oh, and speaking of that wedding thingy?

It's moving forward, but deserves it's own post.

Which will be written after the relay.

So until then....

OH BABY!

And just when you thought his best skill was DRIVING the cars.....

Here he is, my 2-year-old nephew giving his "Tow Mater" an oil change.

I can't even make this stuff up - this is all from his amazing little brain.

Check out the little tools in his hands.

I mean, what kid does this?

He's genius, I tell ya.

Stolen from My Sister's Blog

What?

Like you've NEVER seen a 2-year-old driving a SUV.

Puuu-leeez.

Here in the Chi, we skip pre-school and send them right to the DMV.

I mean, someone's gotta drive after the afternoon martinis and pedicures.

Can I Sue?

I mean fuck, everyone else does.

But my reason should be legitimate.

See, I set up Google Alerts to alert me everytime someone links me or mentions me in the Internet. I did this when I was going through the whole gotta-make-my-blog-private-because-who-know-who-is-reading.

And about once a week, I get alerts - sometimes I don't pay attention, but today I did.

And lo-and-fucking-behold, there is another Project Procrastination blog out there.

Same name, but his about fashion, and he adds two numbers in it, so it reads, "projectprocratination##.blogspot."

AND AND AND

It looks like the asshat started his little fashion blog in 2009

AND AND AND

copyrighted it!!

Well slap my ass and call me mama.

I WAS HERE FIRST!!!

Now, one might find it odd that I feel so territorial over my blog name.

But after almost three years and almost 600 posts, it's be a super big part of my life. And moreover, most of you guys never met me face-to-face, so the blog is the only way most people know me.

So yeah, it's part of an identity, and I am sure most of you feel similarly about your own blogs.

So, uh, yeah.

I guess if you want to read about Hermes scarves and Prada satchels and shoes, then check this guy out (but google him because I refuse to link his site).

Otherwise, this is the only Project that counts.

Damn bitch.


SWIMMERS
And in case you missed this on your way out to summer's first long weekend:

http://www.cnn.com/2009/HEALTH/05/22/pools.urinate.hygiene/index.html?iref=mpstoryview

Apparently 1 in 5 adults admit to peeing in pools.

Or using my master deduction skills, apparently 1 in 5 adults are triathletes.

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?

Dinner at My Sister's House

Nom, nom, nom, nom.

Tastes like chicken.

My Facebook Status Update Rejects

Megan:

-Wishes people would stop making it so easy for me to dislike them.

-Continues to be surprised that the “cool kids” from high school didn’t age well. So that’s what coke bloat looks like….

-Thinks it's funny that you have no hair left. Yes you, Brendan.

-Thinks some babies look weird. Is that mean?

-Hates interviewing parents in jail, but is secretly fascinated by jail culture.

-Should have known better than to wear a sundress to jail for said interview.

-Wonders if she should put up her wedding picture as her profile pic too, just like everyone else.

-Thinks, “If only she knew then what she knows now.”

-Really wants to say eff it to this FB thing, but can’t break free from my addiction to other people’s pictures.

-Smelled like a goat today.

-Wants to punch bad parents in the head. Clearly, it's been one of those days.

-Rants about people looking for a quick fix to their weight problems, but would probably use it if one came along.

-Hates how dirty I feel at the end of the day.

-Appreciates travel reimbursment.

-Just farted.

-Shut down her Twitter account, mere weeks after she opened it. Because sometimes, enough is simply enough.

-Had to look away laughing when her nephew was crying yesterday. Not because I thought his frustration was funny, but because the face that accompanied his oppositional tantrum was hysterical.

-Just read over this list, and realized she will most definitely be a shitty parent.

11 Minutes...

...is the difference between last week's half-marathon in Nashville, and this weekend's half-marathon in Kenosha, Wisconsin.

And guess what I got for those 11 minutes?

A PR, a medal, and a hunk of chedder cheese in the shape of Wisconsin.

And if that wasn't enough (I know, you would think it would be with the cheese, right?!?), I finally got to meet fellow blogger Spie. Talk about a baddass- not only did she run a 1:43 half-marathon, but she turned around and hosted a BBQ at her house afterwards.

Me? I laid in my hotel bed with ice on my knees whining about my mentrual cramps, and Spie puts together and throws a party.

With S'mores brownies.

And yes, they are as good as they sound.

It was a perfect way to celebrate a great race - good food and lots of laughs.

And now, I have a whole Sunday to look foward to....

Looking For Me Today?

You can find me over here.

Happy reading!

Home

So Cheese brought it to my attention that I neglected to report I would also be running a half-marathon during my Nashville trip this past weekend.

Not sure why I forgot, but I did.

And I ran it.

Turns out Nashville got itself some hills, and I missed that memo.

Also turns out that trying to run 13.1 very torturous hilly miles in 90 degree heat after coming from 8 months of 30 or lower temps here in flat, flat Chicago is just a bit harder then anticipated.

It wasn't the going up part of the hills that beat my ass - I am actually pretty good at that part, technique-wise.

It was the going down part that crippled my quads by Mile 11 (up to which point I was running a PR, despite the conditions).

After Mile 11 and 12, I watched my PR be wiped out by four minutes. But in the end, I finished, and I am proud of that.

I also ended up in the medical tent right after I finished (first time ever in a race for me!). It was super scary at the time, but I'm fine now - well, still quad-cripped two days later, but mostly fine.

I didn't see Dane from the Biggest Loser - I checked the results, and there is a guy with his same name but a different age, so I can't tell if it's actually him. But the guy that's listed finished in just under 6 hours, I believe.

And given that it was the second hardest race I ever ran (second only to my Ironman), kudos to whoever that man was for finishing, Biggest Loser or not. Dang, that was a brutal day!

The most exciting part of the weekend was hanging out with my brother and his wife. I can't even really articulate how much fun I had just visiting and hanging out, and how generous they were to open their home to me. I wish I could have stayed all week! I keep having these fantasies about moving down there, living on my little farm, slowing down my pace of life - just simplifying everything.

It also smells so good down there - all Spring-like, and flowery, and not-Chicago.

Sigh. I do like the South.

And I am swamped with work right so I gotta run.

Later

I have nothing to say really, but I didn't want to my previous ranting post to head up this blog for three days while I hit the road to Nashville. I am flying solo to visit my brother and sister-in-law.

I also got tagged by the running fool (love her), but my brain is so zapped right now that I will have to work my creative magic on the plane tomorrow.

Of course, right after my plane nap.

And before I peace out of this bitch - happy birthday to Captian Pants, who will be running the Big Sur with her badass husband, Captian Cactus, this weekend.

My oh my - what we athletes do to celebrate milestones.....

Hope you all have a good weekend.

FAT
To celebrate my one year anniversary as an Ironman, I weighed myself at the gym last week.

Turns out that my once-favorite Ironman motto of “You will do this” has become “If it ain’t elastic, I ain’t wearing it.”


Stink
My farts have been really bad as of late. Like, smell wise. And potency.

The kind where, 10 minutes after you fart, it still hangs thick in the air like the shame over a bedroom the morning after a one night stand.

Or so I’ve heard.

From my friends.

They’re real sluts.


Twit
I have reached the pinnacle of voyeurism. No, it wasn’t the obsessive scouring of photos every time I get a friend request on FB, or even the routine checking of blogs.

I mean, yes - I still do those.

But I refer now to the fact that I have been on Twitter for a week now, have yet to post even once, but check it about one an hour.

Twitter is like the cliff-notes version of blogging. One liners, right to the point.

“Just got back from run and it sucked.”

“Made cookies and ate them all.”

And it was all fun and games until this morning – when I didn’t get to the remote control fast enough, and ended up having my senses assaulted by the *ahem* ladies of The View.

Turns out good old Barbara W is all about the Twitter now.

So I figure, if 150-year-old ladies are getting on this bandwagon, maybe its already time to get off.

I mean, first Ashton, then Oprah, and now this?

Is there ANYTHING cool a celebrity doesn’t ruin?!?!?!


Drink Up
My job has officially turned me into a wino. No shit. For the last 10 years, I have been virtually alcohol free, save a few minor incidents of which we no longer speak.

And all photos have been burned.

Anylush, I have now taken to having a glass of wine every night. I figure, hey, if I have to work until midnight, just to round out my 18 hour days, why not do it with some of this magic elixir everyone is talking about?

I have somehow reasoned that a glass of wine is somehow sooo much better and less of a "on-her-way-to-being-a-drunk-in-the-gutter"-type-vice then pouring myself a stiff martini.

Just how is this different?

I don’t know.

But four glasses in, I don’t care either.

I Have to Show Up For Two Days of This?

Top Five Things I Learned in My First-of-Two Training Days

1. No matter what city, state or type of training, there’s always that one person who has an answer/comment/story for everything. And the combination of those three things will inevitably prevent the training from ending on time.

2. No matter how many times the instructor gives cell phone instructions (i.e. turn it off or at least on vibrate), there will always be that one person who not only doesn’t turn it off, but will answer the call and talk right there in the middle of the training.

3. No amount of coffee will work after 230.

4. An hour lunch or ten-minute break really means that…plus apparently at least ten more minutes or frankly whenever you feel like bringing your happy ass back so the rest of us can start.

5. Pinching yourself to stay awake is ineffective, and only leaves you with a bloody hand.

And finally, for the Presenter: The word is “specific,” not “pacific.”

That’s an ocean.

Hi ho, hi ho. Onto Day 2 we go.

Taxing

Dear Evanston Post Office,

While you have never been known for your efficiency and customer service, I would be remiss if I did not address my visit this afternoon.

Despite the fact that the entire country is talking “taxes,” and that Tax Day is the same day EVERY YEAR, it appears that you missed the memo that Tax Day is, in fact, tomorrow.

April 15th.

I mean, you must have forgotten, right? As I cannot cognitively understand why you would staff only two (of a possible seven) tellers at the only post office in the city.

Two.

Now, perhaps you thought that I was more like many of the other women in the city who are more “Desperate Housewives” then, well, an over-full-time working single lady, a la “Ally McBeal.” And perhaps you thought this meant I had all the time in the world to stand in that long-ass line and admire the vast varieties of colored envelopes and stamp designs to my heart’s content.

But alas – I actually have a job.

One that gives me a paycheck.

A paycheck with taxes taken out.

Lots and lots and lots of taxes.

And now, in addition to having those taxes taken out, I must now give more.

And those taxes?

They’re due tomorrow.

So if you will kindly employ another teller to handle my precious package that represents all those hard-ass hours of work I must now hand over to the government (that I already take a paycut to work for) so I can get back to that job, I would so very much appreciate it.

And if you don’t have another teller on staff, I hear there is a recession going on, and a lot of people that would be happy to receive a paycheck.

And pay taxes.

Like me.

And even though most people pay me to give advice, I'll give ya that one for free.

Seems all these taxes have put me in the gift-giving sort of mood.

Oh, and to the 11 of 19 people in front of me who - despite standing in that same line for all that time - waited until you got to the teller window to fill out your paper work?

I hope you get audited.

Sincerely and now many dollars lighter,

M


(And to the rest - a little laugh in case your tax day was as rough as mine - http://www.theonion.com/content/news/media_having_trouble_finding_right?utm_source=a-section -you're welcome!)

Hey, it's a Start...

Yeah, yeah - long time not talk. I could blame it on Facebook, but then I would have to admit that I neglect that too. I think that (despite what my family says to the contrary) I simply don't have a lot to say lately.

You can only bitch about the weather and a job for so many posts, no?

So here's a smattering of what's been in my head.


1. I have decided that I will never been an Ironman champ. Why? Boobs are too big.

Surely that is the only reason.


2. I am pretty sure I have the world’s worst muscle tone. I mean, even though my little legs can take me on a 3-hour brick any given Sunday, they have the cellulite look of an 80-old smoker who has led a life of leisure and inactivity. I don’t get it. I am going to be forced to run my ½ marathon in Nashville in running pants just to hide the atrocity.

Fan-fucking-tastic.

You know - us girls can't a flippin' break, like EVER. First, it's the whole 3-decades long mentration bullshit, with all it's cramps and PMS and blood and tampon glory. And then, just when you think you've done your "Lady Time," you have to suffer another decade or two of menapause and it's hot-flash fabulousness and hormone replacement. Oh, and if you're "lucky," you get a few 9-month vacations in there. But fear not - those vacations end WITH A KID.

What the fuck kind of present is that?!?!?

It's crap.

What do boys get?

Maybe a receeding hairline and some extra pudge. And yet they're the ones entitled to mid-life crisis?!? They can all just suck it. Suck my big fat leg cellulite.


3.Greatest lesson learned this weekend? Activa gives me diarrhea. Of course, the ass explosion is only secondary to the rock-hard stomach-extending bloat and gas the precedes it. Yeah, I know what you’re thinking –

Thank GAWD I am engaged.


4. So I joined Twitter. Because in addition to the blog AND Facebook status updates, I figured that it is absolutely imperative that there be not.one.single.second of my life that goes unnoticed or unannounced.

I mean, if you can’t live out loud, how can you live?


5. Greatest part of Easter dinner (besides my mom's cooking)?

Watching my nephew dance to and sing "I Hate This Part (Right Here)."

Because nothing celebrates the death and resurrection of Christ like a two-year-old singing the words to a Pussycat Dolls song.

The shit warms the cockles of the heart, you know?

(truth be told - it was effing HYSTERICAL and I can't wait to get the video to post it. so the question is: does that make me a bad aunt that i completely and whole heartedly encourage these performances? i think not. in fact, i think that the easter basket i brought him filled with candy, paint, and -yes- tattoos, sort of cancels out any "bad" i could do as an aunt.

it's true.

it's just how the world works.

i don't make the rules.)