Eight-day trip, carry-on luggage only. I am awesome. And wearing the same pair of shoes the entire week.
I am immensely proud of myself not only for meeting the only-pack-one-
pair-of-shoes requirement, but also that the shoes in question are red. Yes, I have an entire week’s worth of business clothes to wear with red shoes.
I’m in the wrong industry.
I decided the perfect way to celebrate the death and resurrection of our Lord was with streusel-topped muffins and mimosas. Despite already having two bottles of champagne in my refrigerator, I stopped by the grocery store to grab a $5 bottle, because the stuff in the fridge? Is too good to be mixing with orange juice.
I was listening to some alternative station through Yahoo! Music and heard re-makes of two mediocre songs from the 80s. I’m not sure what’s more appalling – that someone found these songs appealing enough to re-make them or that I still know all the words and was annoyed that they’d messed with the original formulation.
You know when you’re really excited about having finally shaved your legs, but halfway through the day you notice vast expanses of two-week-old stubble and other not-so-smooth patches, only then realizing you did a pretty crappy job shaving? Yeah, that’s me, approximately two out of every three times I shave.
I’m a little bit in love with someone from work. In addition to the usual work-related complications, there is also the little problem of him being a little married.
My bathroom mirror is water-spotted and toothpaste-speckled and would benefit greatly from someone taking two seconds out of her morning routine to Windex it. But instead, I leave it dirty, not because I’m too busy beautifying, but because the spotted mirror will remind me that the rest of the bathroom needs cleaning, too. I’ll get around to it…one of these weeks.
I watched Dead Poets Society for the zillionth time this weekend. And cried. On three separate occasions.
Despite my Northern European ancestry (read: pasty white skin) I try to minimize the amount of sunscreen I use. Blah, blah, wrinkles, premature aging of the skin, blah. The vampire look isn’t exactly hip these days. It’s a good thing I don’t have any fancy schmancy events to attend this summer, because I don’t know where I’d find a dress to camouflage the distinct racerback sports bra tan lines I’m developing.
Often I roll out of bed and hit the slopes without bothering to shower first. Because if you’re going to spend all day bundled up in winter clothes, exercising, what’s the point? Of course, the day we’re skiing in short sleeves and sunglasses and no hats, I hadn’t washed my hair in 48 hours and threw it in a ponytail for the day. Three different guys hit on me that afternoon. This episode has me seriously questioning my personal hygiene regimen, but one thing’s for sure – thanks to Heather Armstrong, I’ll never be able to wash my face again.
I’m pretty amazed at this whole half marathon training thing.
I’m amazed that 12 weeks, or, in my case, 7 weeks, is enough to prepare someone to run a half marathon.
I’m amazed that I might actually be able to do this. My high school track days were spent as a sprinter, so I’d never run more than three continuous miles prior to college. In DC I managed 4 miles on a regular enough basis, but that’s it.
I’m amazed that I ran 8 miles on Saturday. Granted, a good half-mile of it was spent walking, as I talked to another woman on the trail, but still — 8 miles??
I’m amazed at the mental fortitude required to be a distance runner. Sure, some of it is physical conditioning, but I think the greater strength is mental prowess.
I’m amazed that my weekday runs have nearly doubled in length since the beginning of the program, and yet I’m not struggling with the distance.
I’m amazed that, a month later, I still forget to pop some Advil before heading out to run about half the time. My left knee, however, is good about reminding me…once we’re two miles away from the house.
And, on a day when I’m exhausted from work and I set off at the wrong pace for four freaking miles, lungs searing, entire digestive system making it known that it would rather be outside my body than in, blister forming near the base of my Achille’s tendon, I’m amazed that as I ran up the street toward my house, still needing to cover another half of a mile before my run was finished, my brain told my legs not to collapse on the front lawn, but to turn left into the park for that last half-mile, and they did.
So, Tracy tagged me for a meme, which is fair, I guess. At the very least it means I don’t have to think up a topic to write about, since apparently writing is not my strong suit lately.
The meme, in short: Identify seven songs you’re currently obsessed with.
Hang Me Up to Dry — Cold War Kids
Yeah, I can’t explain it, but this song ends up stuck in my head a lot. Outside of the chorus, the lyrics aren’t even that great.
What’s Up? — 4 Non Blondes
I wouldn’t call this a current obsession — I was bonafide Ob. Sessed. with this song back in high school — but I hear it a lot when I’m running, and it always reminds me of the first association I had with the song — 1993, spring track season, two words for you: Andy LaChance. Flirting with me. And one more word for you: SHIRTLESS. (All you PHS girls are swooning right now, aren’t you? Good. You should be.) Oh, the very naughty things I would have done with that boy, had I known I was capable of them. Luckily, I didn’t know, and this is exactly why my daughters will not be allowed to speak to boys until they are 40.
The Boxer — Carbon Leaf
Hmmm, not sure why I love this one either. Nice upbeat tune with not-so-nice lyrics. A match made in heaven.
Here He Comes (Confessions of a Drunken Marionette) — The Wallflowers
Who will ignore me when you’re gone? Yup, that did it for me. Gosh, you’d think I’d never had a healthy relationship before. . .
Pour Some Sugar On Me — Def Leppard
Don’t judge me. It’s fun to run to. And it’s even more fun to realize how many sexual innuendos you were unaware of as a wee child, when the song played on the radio. “You’ve got the peaches; I’ve got the cream” why, that’s pure poetry right there. Like peaches ‘n cream ice cream — they just go together! (Shut up. I knew the song was about sex, I just didn’t realize that extended to every single word.)
Surrender — Cheap Trick
My iPod has felt the need to play this song dozens of times since I downloaded it two months ago. Perhaps my iPod is trying to tell me something, and I don’t think it’s a warning about some Indonesian junk that’s going ’round.
Red Mosquito — Pearl Jam
I’ve owned a live album with this song on it since the late 90s. Only recently did I actually figure out the lyrics, and now I can’t hear it without singing along. It’s dark and ironic and I’m pretty sure that’s why I love it. Actually, I’m pretty sure that’s why I love all PJ.
I tag. . .um, I think the whole Internet has done this one already. Jennifer, Lisa and Pia — tell us what you’re obsessed with lately. And everyone else, feel free to leave your picks in the comments.
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