I Picked a Hell of a Day to Run a 5K

I'm supposed to run my second 5K tomorrow.  And by run I mean limp along at a 15 min/mile pace for a while, then walk a bit, then attempt to 'run' some more and pray that I don't heave up the meager contents of my stomach on the side of the road. 

The first 5K, two weeks ago, was about what I expected.  I finished, but at a snail's pace.  And it involved walking more often than I'd wanted to.  But I didn't puke, which was a pleasant surprise.  I also kind of enjoyed myself, which was another surprise.  A final surprise was losing my headband somewhere along the way.  I had to take a moment to mourn - I liked that headband.

But anyway.  Like a total fool - because kicking my own ass once wasn't enough for the year - I signed up for another 5K.  This race takes place in Ann Arbor, and finishes on the 50 yard line of Michigan Stadium.  Pretty cool, eh?

Well, yes, as it happens.

It will be pretty cool tomorrow.  I think in the 40s at race time.  And possibly raining.  And windy.  And I haven't been feeling so good (chest cold, you know).

At least I will have many valid reasons, besides my own incompetence, for finishing after everyone else goes home for the afternoon.  And I take lots of comfort in that.  Even if I'll be really uncomfortable at the time. You know?

Various Works of Caity

Caity has been taking a Spanish class this summer.  She's enjoyed it a lot and she looooves her teacher.  Today was the last class; I thought it would be nice if Caity made her teacher a Thank You card to properly illustrate her gratitude for the excellence of the experience as well as her devotion to the woman who choreographed the whole thing.
 
So, with Caity's intentions firmly in my mind, I handed her a blank card and asked her to "draw something nice for Ms. Lily."  Then I went away, trusting that Caity would put crayon to paper and produce something appropriate for the occasion, like flowers or a rainbow or some other cute, girly thing.

A while later, noticing that Caity was skipping around and clearly not drawing, I asked if she was done.  She said yes, so I went to investigate the finished product.

This is what I found:

Heaving a sigh, I went to find the artist.

"Can you tell me what's going on in this picture?"  I asked (not in a mean way, like "What's going on here?!" but in a "Wow, I'm really perplexed and I need you to enlighten me" way).  This conversation ensued:

Caity: This is our cat, Ally, wearing a superhero sweater.
Me: And who's this in the corner?
Caity: That's me, yelling, "Allllly!"

I suppose the drawing IS fairly obvious after hearing the explanation.  After all, why wouldn't you use your cat wearing a superhero sweater as a sentiment for a Thank You card?

And then Greg told me this story of something that happened last night, at the park:

Caity was playing with a little girl.  Greg noticed shortly thereafter that Caity had been drawn into a conversation with the girl's caretaker.  After observing for a while, he went over to introduce himself and to rescue the woman to whom Caity was chattering away.  Needless to say, Greg was a little taken aback when the woman said to him, "I heard you moved here from Europe!"  He corrected her, saying, no, we moved from Berkley, and the conversation turned to other, more expected, things.

As they were leaving the park, Greg asked Caity, "Did you tell that lady we came from Europe?"
Caity (matter-of-factly): Yes.
Greg: We're not from Europe.
Caity: Well, where'd we come from before here?
Greg: Berkley.
Caity: Where'd we come from before that?
Greg (omitting that Caity did not, in fact, exist before we lived in Berkley): Chicago.
Caity: Ca-go?  Well, that looks like Europe.

And there you have it.  Caity is an artist with both crayons and words.

Belch

Now, I will be the first one to admit that I tend to burp whilst out in public. It's a terrible habit, and I have every intention of reforming my rude ways.

Unfortunately, it seems to be too late to set a good example for my daughter.

Yesterday, after a quasi-tiring day of trudging around the Day Out With Thomas extravaganza with the kids and Greg's parents, we decided to stop for a bite to eat in Genesee before heading back home.

After endless, pointless debate about the 3 Coney Islands in the small town ("Which one should we go to? This one, or that one? What do they serve there? Which do you think has the best menu?" - all questions that none of us, having never been there before, could possibly answer) , we selected the one that looked the most promising (i.e. the one most likely to meet health department regulations) and piled ourselves into a booth. By this time, I was starving, grouchy and headachy (no different from how I am at any other time, yes, I know). Jamie was full of the dickens and Caity, having ingested a sizable quantity of cotton candy not too much earlier, was acting really annoying herself.

At one point, she let out a huge burp. "Wasn't that an interesting burp?" She asked the table.

"NO." I growled.

"Well, then, you weren't listening", she informed me.

Sucked In

So I am currently experiencing that cosmic phenomenon in which one fully intends to toddle off to bed, but decides (ill-advisedly) to "see what's on TV". And then one carefully searches through the guide to find something appealing. And one inevitably finds something, as one usually does when there are 300+ channels to choose from. And even if one has seen that something 759045 times already, one feels to need to watch it ONE MORE TIME.

The something I have been sucked into tonight is Sleepless in Seattle. Unfortunately, I got sucked in close to the beginning of the movie, which means that quite a bit of time has to elapse before I get to the end. It's far easier when I get sucked in with only 15 minutes remaining in a film. Of course, if that happens, I usually decide to "see what else is on TV" and then the whole process repeats itself. And the clock keeps running, and before I know it, it's midnight. Or, in this case, 10:35 pm.

Other films with a high Suckage factor:

When Harry Met Sally (what IS it about Meg Ryan?)

Ferris Bueller's Day Off

Aliens

Bring It On

Any Star Wars film (episodes IV through VI, clearly, not I-III)

Don't Tell Mom the Babysitter's Dead

White Chicks

Steel Magnolias

And the obvious #1 of all time.... Sense and Sensibility


What are the films that suck YOU in? And what time is it before you finally force yourself into bed? What color are your sheets?

My Mouth Should Be Closed, But It's Open In Shock!

I went to the bank today. As I pulled into a parking spot, a dude on a motorcycle pulled up right next to me. (I'd like to say it was a bad-ass Harley, but as I wouldn't be able to correctly identify a Harley even if I was being plowed over by one , we'll just have to go with "motorcycle"). This gentleman had a helmet on, of course - even if he wanted to give himself a severe head injury by falling off his bike at a high rate of speed, the state of Michigan forces him to at least pretend to protect his skull. Anyhew, I couldn't help but notice that he had numerous decals plastered all over said helmet. One of them in particular made me catch my breath with scandalized horror. It said:

If Your Not Into Oral Sex, Keep Your Mouth Closed.

Can you believe that?

Someone actually wants to display that for all to see?

I mean, come on! That tacky decal clearly utilizes the wrong form of "You're".

Revolting.

A Breath of Fresh Air

I decided to revamp my blog a little. What do you think? Do you find that my words have a whole new tone with the calming green in the background? How 'bout the little flowers? Does seeing them make your soul take wing?

Okay, okay, I admit it. I still can't think of anything to write about. The creative center of my brain is a dark, vacant, blood-spattered place cordoned off with "Police Line Do Not Cross" tape. I think I have become intimidated by all of those women who are out there writing blogs that are better-written and more well-read than mine. I'm an amateur who knows nothing about anything, has a random, unsponsored blog, and who has three readers (whom I love dearly, of course). There are bigger and better powerhouses out there. In fact, thousands of FemBloggers are going to take NYC by storm in a couple of weeks when they all arrive to attend a conference just for women bloggers! And they have business cards for their blogs and everything! How will I ever get my famous, best-selling novel published when these hordes of women are out there, taking their writing seriously and getting themselves noticed?

It's enough to make one want to shut down, huddle down on the couch and eat a lot of cookies. Not that I don't eat a lot of cookies anyway, mind you. It's just now I feel the need to eat more.

Perhaps it would help if I actually started writing the famous, best-selling novel. Instead of hoping that it will write itself...?

Never Fear!

I'm still here. I just need to find time to write. I'll be back soon.