August 8, 2007 | Filed under: Life Has a Soundtrack

There is this phenomenon that occurs when The Shit Goeth Down and suddenly I can’t listen to a substantial portion of my music collection without fear of my head exploding. I do a lot of skipping whatever iPod shuffles up for me. Adios, Ryan Adams. So long, half of the songs Dave Matthews has recorded. Sorry, Norah Jones, we’ve instituted a 100% media blackout for you.

Instead, I have in heavy rotation Carly Simon and Janis Joplin and Joan Jett and The Cranberries. And Alanis Morissette. A LOT of Alanis. I know, it is so very “stereotypical girl,” but it’s the unfortunate truth. I blame my sister, for owning the entire Alanis collection and subjecting me to it while we drove through the California wilderness.

[Aside: How excited am I that Alanis and Ryan broke up? Woo! I mean, I feel bad for the two of them, but I need a new bitter-and-angry Alanis album, as I've already appropriated all the existing songs in that genre to other people* and my brain won't let me double up.

*Oh, don't worry, I've appropriated one to me, as well.

Alanis: Are you still mad?
Me: Of coooooooooourse I am.]

All of the song-skipping gets to me eventually and iTunes makes a fortune off of me as I get itchy for some new, non-head-exploding music in the collection. Which explains why my iPod now contains a healthy dose of late ’80s classics, songs reminiscent of college, and, combining those two qualifications, what is quite possibly the best album ever released.

And yet, even after all of the head-purging and the song-skipping and the new-music-acquiring, there will come a night when I’ve spent much of the evening talking to new friends about (and therefore mentally reliving) my move here from DC, and while I’m driving home, impatiently flipping radio stations, I will recognize this song in two notes and I will leave it on, against my better judgment, because I still know all of the words.

August 6, 2007 | Filed under: I Run Therefore I Am, Is She Still Talking?

Where did this weather come from? Saturday it was 102 and then yesterday it was 74. I’m not kidding — these stats came from weather.com. 74?!? In August?? Where do you think we are, Wisconsin? It was more of the same today — hanging around the house, I had to wear jeans. And a long-sleeved shirt, once the sun went down.

I took advantage of the cooler weather to open all the windows and doors and let the place air-condition itself naturally. And I used the oven. A lot. You’d think I was putting up a store for winter or something: bran muffins, 2 loaves of zucchini bread, a roasted chicken, and turkey burgers cooked under the broiler. The chicken stock is simmering on the stove now.

The weather also afforded me a glorious run yesterday. Not so glorious, distance-wise, as I got started too late for a long run and was chasing the last remnants late and was chasing the last remnants of sunlight by the time I finished, squinting into the dark to identify my car from fifteen feet away, but a gloriously not-overheated run — the first of its kind in weeks.

Speaking of running, I made an amazing discovery this weekend. Namely, I’m behind in my training plan. Again. Today is the first day of week 4 (of 12). I’m running another half marathon in October, and I knew it was in October, but I thought it was later in the month, so I haven’t really been worried about “training” so much lately as simply “getting to the gym.” When I finally counted the weeks back, I discovered I should have begun training three weeks ago. Whoops. And I’ve stepped it up to the “intermediate” training regimen as opposed to the “novice” plan from last time, which pretty much means I’m going to be kicking my own ass for the next 9 weeks. It won’t be pretty.

My sanity is still somewhat intact, however, as this race offers both a half and a full marathon and I’m opting for the half. I looked at the course and the entire marathon consists of running the half marathon course twice. The exact same course. Twice. In a row. I may be mildly deranged, but I am not insane enough to sign up for that sort of torture. Here I am, running past the finish line…oh wait! That’s only the halfway point. Now do it all over again! No freakin’ way. I know my limits, and if I’m going to run 26.2 miles, the halfway point had better be about 13 miles away from the finish line.

Finally, I think I should give up on watching Giants baseball. Perhaps then Barry Bonds will break the record and we can all go back to rooting against the Yankees. Ten days ago, when he hit HR #754, he did so while I flipped to a different channel at the commercial and didn’t get back to the game in a timely fashion. Saturday I put groceries away before settling onto the couch to watch the game. I turned the game on in the second inning, two batters after Bonds hit HR #755. Of course. (PS — Cubs? Please to be getting rid of that hot streak, OK? My Brewer-loving heart can’t take the stress. I’ll pull for you next year, I swear. Thanks much.)

August 3, 2007 | Filed under: Is She Still Talking?

Oh my word, do I need to write. Write, write, write in order to prevent my head from exploding, because my mental list of Things I Intend to Blog About just keeps growing. And yet, you’ll notice no new content here. Ugh. I’ve been hitting the gym every night this week, and when I get home I have just enough energy to snag some dinner (and by dinner I mean a bowl of cereal or maybe some re-heated spaghetti with sauce from a jar or perhaps just a banana slathered with peanut butter and jelly with a glass of milk) and then plop down on the couch for some quality time with the Giants. Invariably I fall asleep on the couch before the seventh-inning stretch. And Barry has not yet hit that damn 755th home run (which is not to say that’s why I’m watching Giants baseball; mostly I’m watching because it’s on at the right time and it requires a comprehension level that matches my brain activity at that time of day).

How much baseball have I seen lately? Let me put it this way: While cleaning my room last night, I looked up to see Omar Vizquel batting early in the first inning and I asked the TV why he was hitting so early in the rotation, as he usually hits in the 6 or 7 spot. The broadcasters proceeded to tell me the answer.

So, that’s my excuse for this week. Last week’s excuse involved sinuses and more snot than should be allowed by law. Like my father before me and his father before him and his father before him, I do not believe in sick days (unless one is moments away from perishing, and then it’s totally acceptable), so I had five days of going to work, skipping the gym, and passing out on the couch long before the seventh-inning stretch.

At any rate, when we last left off, you were to be picking a suitor for me. As much as I appreciate Lori’s acumen, knowing that Nancy and I are a match made in heaven, well, I’m a busy person and I just can’t give her the time and attention she deserves, especially given the geographic distance. We do keep in touch, though, and get together for cosmos and mani/pedis when we’re in the same city.

However, I’m disappointed to report that none of you caught on to the fact that in giving that little assignment, I was being facetious. Because of that, you all missed my perfect (ahem) suitor: Steven Popps.

I don’t know where to start in explaining my love for him. Could it be the creamy skin? Blue-gray eyes? His 6′ 4″, 200-pound frame? The fact that he characterizes himself as “single and looking?” No, my friends, it is his overwhelming eloquence. When asked about Greece, he responds, in the lyrical tradition of Homer, Plato and Aristotle, “I mean, it’s paradise.”

Plus! We have so much in common. He sees himself as an “easygoing type of guy” — just like me! And his favorite TV show is Age of Love — you know, that reality show featuring a bunch of floozy hot 20-year olds and a bunch of almost-as-pathetic almost-as-hot 40-year olds? LOVE IT! I can’t get enough reality television, particularly of the forced dating/relationship/sucking face (and more) on national television. Finally, the Capitol Club? Oh, be still my beating heart! I’ve ALWAYS wanted to go there. And the fact that he pays dues? Wow. That’s really impressive. Clearly he is a man with money. (cough, hisdad’smoney, cough)

Now, I know it’s a bit of a long shot, but if Steven (or, let’s be realistic here, Steven’s friends) google his name and find this page, I do hope he’ll drop me a note. Perhaps his non-picky approach to women will result in us getting together for a drink the next time I’m in DC. A girl can dream…