Angry

I've been gone for a while, because I've been quite sick.  I'll post a recap of all the joy, but right now I just need to vent.  If reading venty posts isn't your style, you're excused.

I am *so* sick of people who recognize a problem in a routine, yet allow that routine to persist week after week, day after day, even when that problem disturbs them or prevents them from doing what they want to do.  Don't just complain about the problem, find a solution and implement it.  And stop complaining.  Just stop it.  If you can fix what you're complaining about, then you're just a lazy loser who complains too much but takes no action.  And if you can't fix it, then it isn't worth wasting your energy on.

I need some positive people in my life.

Thanks for reading.

What would you do?

If you only had 2 months to live?

I know this blog has tended towards the sad lately, but there is a lot going on in my life that is, well, sad at the moment.  So I'll just say this: cancer sucks.  I am inspired by dignity and peacefulness with which this man is handling his situation.  Through his example I can learn patience, nobleness, thoroughness, and peacefulness.

Through his situation I am reminded that life is precious.  I named my daughter "life" in honor of that belief. 

A friend emailed me this the other day: "Keep present…watch your darling little girl….she is your pointer to the truth."  Beautiful.  Live every moment, because you never know which is your last.

But also live your life, because by the time they tell you you have 2 months left, you won't have the time or energy for that bucket list.

So what is your bucket list?  What would you do if you only had 2 months to live and they were 2 good quality months and there were no strings attached? 

The more I think of it, if I knew right now that I only had 2 months, I'd want to travel.  I'd pack up P and Z and buy an around-the-world ticket, and I'd start seeing stuff, tasting stuff, doing stuff.  Nothing specific, just an attempt at really experiencing the world we live in, instead of riding my office chair into oblivion and saving for a future that only ends in death.  

I'm thinking that this should translate forward into my life: instead of taking cheap/safe options, I need to at least occasionally opt for the more experiential ones.  So that I'm *living* my life.  I need to be present in the now and *live*.

Friendly Suburbian Advice from an Early Morning Runner

I'd just like to mention a lesson that I've learned from my time pounding the pavement before dawn's rosy fingers stroke the sky...

A lot of people have sprinkler systems in suburbia, where I live. Sprinkler systems are awesome. If I didn't have one, not a single living thing that required more water than what fell from the sky would be alive on my property. I heart my automagic sprinkler system.

But within the blissful forgetfullness of automation lies a danger: how do we know if our sprinkler system is actually working, and properly?

I'd like to recommend monthly checks of your sprinkler systems. Turn the thing on, and stand there for a minute bearing this in mind: the pavement doesn't need water. Also, when the water runs out of your yard and onto the pavement, your yard is temporarily saturated. You are watering for too long, thus watering the pavement, which as I said, doesn't need water.

Also I'd like to mention trash days. The bliss of forgetting that you have a sprinkler system unfortunately extends to trash days. Either program your sprinkler to never water on your trash pick-up days, or develop the habit of putting your trash in a non-sprinkler-targeted area. For instance, on your driveway, on your neighbor's lawn, or in your dog's stomach. If I was a trash pick-up person, I'm pretty sure I'd hate everyone. (Oh wait....) How much would it suck to drive up to a soggy, overturned trash can and have to touch it? Not to mention the waste of water as your sprinkler waters the underside of your now very clean trash can.

Just some friendly advice....

Ran on Saturday around 8:30 am with 65 degree temps for 45 minutes and about 4.25 miles (walked another 15 minutes for an even 5 miles). Ran this morning at 5 am with 75 degree temps and high humidity for 30 minutes and about 2.75 miles (3.25 with the walking). Go me!

What Makes a Runner?

On Friday I went into Luke's Locker to get a new pair of Brooks Glycerin 5s. I've got a little over 200 miles on my old pair, and last Wednesday morning I really started hearing from my shins, and absent any other real changes in my normal running routine, I figured I needed some new shoes.

I was really excited to go over to Luke's not only for the shoes, but also to look around at the gear and maybe pick a few things up. The thing is... well, I felt really uncomfortable there. First, when I told the shoe lady that my left shin had just started acting up, she asked me if I was increasing my mileage. Well, the answer is yes. Then she started telling me that that was the cause. Well, respectfully, I disagree, since I'm increasing by less than 10% total mileage per week on a training plan that tons of people have followed successfully. I told her that, but it bothered me that she automatically assumed that I had just gone out and doubled my mileage or something. Then she didn't offer any other ideas for what could be causing the shin splints. Here's to hoping that I am right and it is the shoes, because if it isn't, I'm not sure where to go from here.

After all that I was wandering around while Preston got analyzed and fitted. (New pair of Asics 2120's.) But I felt like a total poser - really awkward and weird and stupid and stuff. I was interested in a technical shirt, maybe a new sports bra, possibly some gear for when it gets colder, definitely a wristband for wiping sweat off my brow when I'm not in a t-shirt, more socks... tons of stuff.

What did I get? Shoes, socks, and the wristbands. I never even tried on any tops. It kinda sucked. I did go over to the Nike outlet after that to see what they had and got a nice dry-fit jacket for half price and some capri dry-fit pants for like 80% off. But I've gotta get over whatever it was that turned me off at Luke's (where incidentally, previously, I had a wonderful experience).

Then I got into this long conversation with Preston about the whole thing in which I told him that I think the problem is that I don't feel like a real runner. He responded that of course I'm a real runner: I could run 10 minute miles, I could run 50 minutes at a time, what else did I want? My response? I think that the definition of a runner is different for everyone. I consider myself a runner. I try to run regularly. I train with purpose. I continue to improve. I look forward to running. I may not enjoy running during the actual act, but I never regret it once I'm done. And I pretty much can't go much faster than I do, so it is running and not jogging for me. Jogging would be like 15 minute miles for me. 12 minute miles or less is running. Long distances are running. I'm a runner. But when I'm around an "American stick-insect" who can probably run a sub-three hour marathon and works in a running store, I feel like a total poser. I just do.

But I got the shoes, and I'm going to take them out for a race tomorrow morning. Hopefully a fast one. Fast for me. Because I'm a runner, damnit.

Seeing Red

I'm a redhead. I used to have severe anger issues. So severe that when I was a kid I used to go outside and punch trees (and I'm a girl!). So severe that I one time had an out-of-body experience during a fit of rage. So terrible and severe that it was frightening.

Notice I said "used to". Well, "used to" is the case not because the anger rises more slowly or has dissipated from my life. No, I used to have severe anger issues before I learned to control my anger, to identify the cause, to determine an appropriate course of action, to realize that people were watching, to not physically demonstrate my anger.

All of that means that I still have anger issues, they just rarely surface.

But oh my goodness I just felt a white hot fit of rage shoot through my body, my adrenaline is pumping, and I'm ready to fight. And I'm at work. Trying desperately to self-soothe.

What was the cause? Inconsiderateness, mostly. Bad management, some. Rage against the machine? A little.

Intellect, give me the strength to accept that which I cannot change. And the tolerance. And the inner peace.

Where Should Cell Phones NOT Go??

Let's try PUBLIC RESTROOMS for a million dollars, Alex.

Seriously. I hate for people to listen to me eliminiate my bodily by-products of any kind. Hate. It. I hate it even more when their friends on the other end of the phone can hear it. But you can bet your ass that when I walk into a public restroom and someone is on the phone, I'm going to be as loud as humanly possible: pee loud, fart loud, flush loud, wash-my-hands loud, use the air hand drier loud. (All the while wishing that assault was legal.)

And you can bet your ass that that someone doesn't even give a shit and just plugs their other ear with their finger and yells louder into the phone. "Oh, yeah, I'm just in the bathroom! Man, that chick sounded like she had a problem!!"

Amber's Exercise Blarg??

Last night I had a crappy swim. I can't really explain it, I just felt like my form was sucking and I couldn't seem to figure out why or what I needed to do differently. And kids kept swimming through my lane and leaving their noodles in my way. Once I asked Preston to move them ahead of me. He said no, so I just swam over them -- interesting experience. Then he moved them for me. I told him afterwards that I had thought about swimming to the noodles, standing up and throwing them as far across the pool as I could. But then I would have looked like a bitch. Later in the swim I almost ran down a kid in my lane. I didn't see him til I had almost hit him, because I was concentrating on keeping my head down. I pop up to the surface all confused and he says "My bad". I just swam away, 'cause I wanted to kill him. But then I would have looked like a bitch. The lifeguards were totally useless last night in keeping the lane clear. I wanted to say something, but then I would have looked like a bitch. *sigh*

This morning I had a crappy run. I put on my ipod and *yet again* it has magically switched to shuffle and my podcast is nowhere near the front. Someone insists that he didn't touch it, but how the hell else was it not on the song I left it on? And how else did it get on shuffle?? Well, someone is getting his own ipod this weekend. For the health of our marriage, I'll shell out the damn $70, even while we're in a spending moriatorium. Anyways, I was yelling at someone about not leaving the ipod the way he found it (I don't mind sharing, just either tell me so I can get it back to where it needs to be instead of wasting running time, or put it back yourself when you're done, that's all!) Then I felt all angsty because we were fighting (note to someone: arguing about whether or not it is your fault doesn't fix it). I finally get outside and damn if it doesn't feel about 80 degrees with like 90% humidity. Then I shortened the warm-up because I was running behind. Then the running itself sucked. I kept telling myself that it would get better like it usually does after 1.5-2 miles, but it never did. All in all, 33 minutes for 3 miles this morning.

And I'm still tired.

Things that Go Bump in the Night

So yesterday as we were driving through Gonzales, which, btw, has the most photogenic jail ever, I see a Golden Chick.

"Preston, there is a fucking Golden fucking Chick."

For those who don't know, Golden Chick has the Best.Chicken.EVER.

"That is a fucking Golden Chick!! Do you wanna eat there?"

For those who don't know, there are no Golden Chicks in H-town.

"Ummm, YEAH!!! BEST CHICKEN EVER!!!!"

So we ate at Golden Chick.

Did you know that when you've been eating heathily for 6 months in an attempt to lose weight for your wedding that fast food doesn't taste as good any more? I did, but I conveniently forgot it for the Golden Chick. Did you know that sometimes said fast food will actually be rejected by your body due to its yummy nastiness? I did. Also conveniently forgotten. Until last night. When the vomititis arrived.

Combined with the fact that our room had two doors: one to enter and a connecting door (thus disabling my normal plan of positioning Preston as monster bait), my sleep was fitful.

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We Interrupt Your Irregularly Scheduled Blog For a Public Service Announcement

Last night's scenario:

I'm laying in bed wondering if I can expell this whole chicken from my stomach. The two doors kept distracting me. The bed was huge, so Preston was on the other side of a protective wall he had erected of pillows between us. But I had finally managed to fall into a sort of fitful frequently waking crappy-ass sleep.

Bi-boom, buh-boom, bi-boom, buh-boom...

WTF?????

Then the moaning started.

Seriously. The people in the room above us were doing It. Loudly. In the room above us. At 1:36am.

Some background: This hotel in BFE, Texas was so empty that we were allowed to pick whether we wanted an upstairs room or a downstairs room.

This is your public service announcement: If you are planning on banging, if you regularly get laid, or if you even have the remotest fancy of fucking, please select the DOWNSTAIRS option. Please. Oh, and teach the bitch to scream into a pillow. These walls and floors are paper thin.

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Shittiest sleep EVER.

Now I'm gone for two weeks. For real.

My Weight, My Body, My Choice

I am 5'5", female, current weight 136, starting weight 150, wedding goal weight 135, ultimate awesome goal weight 125. With that knowledge, proceed with the story.

I'm sitting in the break room for lunch. Lunch at work is a very calorie controlled thing for me. This has been an integral part of my weight-loss strategy because I have a bit less control at home. Breakfast=300cal, Snack 1=60 cal, Snack 2=100 cal, Lunch=420 cal, Snack 3=100 cal. Anyways, someone offered me some cornbread and butter. I demurred, noting that I still have a pound to lose before my wedding. Prompting someone to ask how much I had lost and how much I had to go. To which my answer was 14 down, 1 to go pre-wedding, 10 more after that.

The response?

"That's too much. You'll be too thin."

First of all, no I won't. Second of all, BMI agrees with me. It even says I can go as low as 115. I have chosen not to. I believe I would look too thin at 115. That is my opinion, and since this my body, that is my choice. Third of all, did I ask for opinions?? NOoooooo.

I know that BMI isn't the be-all, end-all of ideal weights. But in this case, with me, I think it is perfectly reasonable to weigh 125 at my height, and I'm gonna use it to back me up.

Now, I won't do anything unhealthy to get to 125. If I can't get there, fine. No problem. I just want to be healthy and most importantly, fit.

Rant, out!

Baseball Blues

For once, though, not of the professional variety, thanks to the Astros' off-day yesterday.

No, after talking to Preston last night, I realized that it wasn't Tae Bo that got me all sore, it was the little bit of baseball batting I did at Memorial with him after my run. Apparently 30ish swings with my specially brought (just for me) lighter aluminum bat were just too much for my fitness level. You know, after I ran the 3 miles.

I am still sore today. Muscle groups wanting me to stay in bed include: back, shoulders, biceps, triceps, and abs. Lovely. Apparently I need to add a new form of cross-training to my running. Baseball. Who knew?

Another day, another dollar

Oh, wait, no. Another day, another day my place of work robs me of a dollar. That's right. Robs me.

I've been traveling short distances weekly for work. I was told to keep track, and that I would be reimbursed. My supervisor and her manager both told me to turn it in after about 6 months when I had built up sufficient mileage to make the check larger than 10ish dollars.

I go to turn it in only to be told that they will only take 3 months worth! Did I know this? No. Did my supervisor? No. Did her manager? No. So is this my fault? Hells NO!! But will they still not reimburse me for those contentious 3 months? Yes. Yes. Today I have been robbed of $20. By my work.


Seriously.

Trash Talk

I hate trash. Hate. It.

I am totally OCD about it.

If I am holding a perfectly clean unfolded sheet of paper it is just a sheet of paper. If that same piece of paper is thrown into the trash then it is trash. It doesn't matter if the paper didn't touch any other trash or if the trash has been taken out and the trash bag is totally clean. It is trash. I won't touch it. I'll go pay for a new piece of paper first.

I don't even like to touch trash cans. You know, because the trash is touching them. It doesn't matter that the trash is on the inside and I'm touching the outside. I'm totally disgusted by it.

If I have to touch a trash can, or worse, trash, I can feel the lingering touch of the trash on my hand until I wash it. Until I wash it, everything else I touch has become contaminated and must also be washed. Seriously. I wouldn't make this shit up.

I say all of this in preface so that you can understand just how much *I hate it* that my neighbor, who we will call BM (ironically also the initials of my poo), puts his garbage on my lawn for the trashmen to take twice a week. Why does the man think this is ok? *I have *no* idea*. None.

I've thought of saying things along the lines of, "BM, would you mind putting your trash on the other side of your driveway in the future. On our lawn it prevents the sprinkler system from working properly." Or, "BM, I'm just going to move your trash over on to your lawn so Preston can mow ours." But Preston has forbidden it.

However, I *cannot* abide by this man's trash on my lawn. Cannot. Stand. It.

I cannot stand it to the extent that I have resorted to moving his trash over on to his lawn. *Before my run*. That's right. I ran 2.1 miles this morning thinking about BM's trash can's lingering touch/contamination on my hand.

On Various Things

On Yesterday:

Yesterday on the way home from work, "Preston... I may have scratched the Menace a little today." "How?" "Well, I may have grazed a stop sign a little." "You *hit* a stop sign?? How???" "No... I didn't hit it. I just brushed up against it a little." And that described the whole damn day.

On the Run this Morning:

I get out the door and hit play on the ipod. Wrong song??? Forward. No. Backward. No. Where the hell is my podcast?? I'm going to be late!! I can't run without the podcast!! Maybe I should just go back to sleep. Oh! The P.O.S. is on shuffle! Find a song I know where it is and find the podcast. 3 minutes late starting. Ugh. Don't want to run. Ok. Just finish a mile and you can be through. Through with a mile. Just one more loop. This one is smaller. You'll make 20 minutes if you run it. Then you've put in your quota for the day. Fine. Finish loop 2 and head home. But only need 5 more minutes for 30 minutes total (counting the 5 min walk warm-up). Why is Preston's car still in the driveway?? He's going to be late? Go in house. Ok. He had lost his cell but now he's found it and is leaving. I guess I could go back out for those 5 minutes. I'll try running 2 sets of .1 mile for speed with a .1 mile recovery walk. Ran them in 52 sec. and 48 sec. Walk home and done. No C25K Graduation for me today, but I ran. Will graduate Friday if I'm not full-blown sick by then. My body still just feels totally exhausted.

On the Commute this Morning:

Umm. Where are my keys? Oh shit, Preston took them last night. I bet they are with him. Yay!! I'll have to call in sick. Call Preston 1st. Where are the keys? "Oh, they must be in my shorts. In the big room. I took them off in a fit of hot last night." Ugh. Back to work. WTF?? This little P.O.S. turquoise Prism just cut me off bad!! Asshole. As long as he keeps up with the guy in front of him I won't have to kill him though. Hey, wait a sec! He isn't keeping up with the F150 in front of him!! He's going only 70 in the fast lane. Asshole!! Passed him at the first opportunity. Blew by him going 85. Asshole. Ah, damn, we've gotten to the morning ritual slowdown. You know, the part where it slows doen inexplicibly but the 2nd to left lane keeps going faster for longer? Hey!! That little fucker just blew by me!! Well, I'm just going to ride up on Mr. F150's ass so that he can't cut me off again when his lane slows down. Riding ass, riding ass. Heh. His lane is slowing down. Neener, not enough room to cut me off... Hey!!! Little fucker actually cut me off. Laying on horn. Flashing brights. Seriously pissed. See opportunity to pass him. Get over. Speed up. *He follows me.* Ok, slow down to piss him off. Get back behind Mr. F150. Take that, asshole.

Seriously.

Dr. Martin Gyno Short Strikes Again

Ahem.

So I specifically told Dr. Gay Gyno Short to only prescribe me generic crap. Not my fault, but non-generic means 20-35 dollars difference, and spread over 12 months I'm just not willing to pay it. Not. Willing.

So I go in to fill the prescription today and what do they say? "That'll be $90 for a 3 month supply." Umm. No. They tell me that it isn't offered generically. I tell them not to fill it then.

I come home and call Dr. Gay Gyno's office and speak to a nurse who will speak to the Dr. She calls me back and tells me that it is too offered in generic.

Ummm. Ok. At this point I don't really give a shit, but you people need to get your act together!! She tells me to call the pharmacy and tell them to call Dr. Gyno.

So at least now they can argue among themselves. Somebody better freaking call me when they get it figured out.

My First and Last Visit to the Gay Martin Short Gyno

Picture for me: Martin Short. Here's a photo if you need some assistance:

Ok. Now picture him in a doctor's white jacket. Make his face a little thinner. His hair a little floppier and greasier. Picture every gesture with very swishy flamboyant movement. Picture a swishy hipped walk. That was the gyno that I visited yesterday. Seriously. I couldn't make this shit up if I tries.

Now picture that he doesn't bother to look at me for the entire consultation, prefering to stare at his clipboard and write on it.

Now pretend you are me and you want to tell this guy 2 things: you think your synthetic hormones are making you totally whack and you think you have an infection down there. You say that you are thinking about stopping the birth control pills to detox. His response, "Well, that's your choice." Yes, jackass, I know that. I was just trying to get a medical opinion on my options before I exercise my right to choose. Jackass. Then, poking me in my special place, "Well, I don't see any signs of infection." Really? You can't see the scratch marks that I've made on myself? That's just great. Blind and incapable of hearing. Perfect.

So the jackass sent me home with some cream "just in case I'm beginning to get an infection", you know, in the area that has itched for approximately 4 months now and a new perscription for birth control that "if it doesn't work out, give us a call in 3 months". Now I don't know how many of you have tried a birth control pill that "didn't work out", but I have, and I and all the people around me will be lucky to be in one piece if that is what goes down.

To All Houston Drivers

New Rules:
1. When it is raining, drive a bit slower. You know, maybe the speed limit instead of 15+ the speed limit.
2. When it has been raining and it is rush hour, please get up off each other's asses enough so that you can slam on your brakes without slamming into the person in front of you. By up off each other's asses, I mean at least ONE CAR LENGTH between you. Preferably more.
3. When someone is actually allowing the one car length minimum, that is not an invitation for you to cut in front of them.
4. No, it isn't. This will cause them to slam on their brakes, causing a multi-car pile-up.
Seriously.

No running this morning due to the hard core thunder, lightening, and rain. I ran in the rain once, but it really doesn't compare. Hopefully this afternoon. If not, tomorrow.

Squeaky Shoes

Let me begin by saying that I love my (relatively) new Brooks Glycerin 5s. My
very first pair of professional running-store fitted running shoes. Love them.
I've taken great pains to only wear them when exercising so as to keep them
"fresh", because who can really afford to drop more than $100 on shoes more than
2x per year?

However, when engaging in my nemesis activity this past weekend, I managed to
muck-up my normal work shoes, an old pair of Asics Kayano Xs (Yes I do wear
running shoes to work. I also keep a pair of nice respectable black flats in my
desk for the rare occasions when I need to impress someone. I call these my 4th
floor shoes.). So this morning I decided to wear the new Brooks to the office,
just for one day til I can clean the Kayanos.

And they squeak.

Do they squeak when I run in them? No. (At least not over the volume of the
ipod.) Did they squeak yesterday when I walked a 5 min cooldown sans ipod? No.
Did they squeak this morning as I gimply hopped around trying to kick an invisible
attacker's ass? No. Did they start squeaking this morning the second that I
stepped food in my workplace? Hell yes. (Obviously these are my shoes since they
are as opposed to being in my workplace as I am.)

I know that it may make very little sense to the normal folks out there, but I
HATE shoes that make noise when I walk. I hate high-heels because I can't stand
sounding like a shod horse as I walk down the hall. I prefer to move stealthily
around my environment. Just me. Nothing like broadcasting the fact that you have
to pee 20 times a day (topic for another post, but let's just say that 10 glasses
of water per day truck right on through me about every half hour or so) than
squeaking loudly down the hall.

Can't stand it. Must kill shoes.

Seriously, where did this squeak come from?? Why now??

Unsolicited Calls (Rant)

I received an "unsolicited call" today on my CELL PHONE while at WORK. Since it is the same company that called me yesterday also on my cell phone at work, I felt perfectly justified in speaking with this man for long enough to immediately ask him to remove me from the call list. And, I shit you not, he says, "Why? I'm not trying to sell you anything." Why? Why? Because I don't know you, jackass, and I did not ask you to call me. I don't give a flip if you are trying to sell me anything or not. I'll call my blog entry unsolicited calls just so I don't GIVE THE WRONG IMPRESSION that you are trying to sell me something. I don't have to give a reason why for you to take me off the FREAKING list. All I have to want is for you to NOT CALL ME. I didn't ask you to call and I don't want you to call. TAKE ME OFF THE LIST.

If he didn't get the message the poor sap that calls me tomorrow is really going to be sorry.

Rant over.