May 17, 2007 | Filed under: People I Like Even More Than My Job

Ahh, Texas. There’s no place like it in the world. And thank goodness for that — I’m not sure I could live somewhere with that much humidity and that huge of roaches on a regular basis! (No, there are no roach pictures. You’re welcome.)

The capitol.

Inside the capitol dome.

Fuzzily-lit downtown Austin.

A zillion bats flying at night. To see what happens when I apply my CSI skillz to this picture, click here. And never trust the dark again.

I miss it already. I miss vodka every night before bed. I miss waking up in the morning without an alarm clock. I miss burning off enough calories just by talking to make up for the constant supply of tempting, un-diet-friendly food. (What I do not miss? Animatronic LBJ. Dude is frightening!)

But mostly I miss someone I’ve known for half my life, who probably knows me better than I know myself, and, despite that, is friends with me anyway.

See how the grainy film effect makes us not look so ghostly pale? Love it!

March 27, 2007 | Filed under: People I Like Even More Than My Job

I keep thinking, “tonight’s the night when I’ll write about the weekend.” But “tonight” is also the night that I’m going to make a bunch of blog fixes, do laundry, work late, go to bed early, and have an hours-long conversation with a friend.

So, yeah. All I have to offer you today is a pretty picture, courtesy of Lori, in honor of my decidedly superfantastic. week last week. These are the Official Rat Bastard Flowers, which are appropriate when someone has been a rat bastard to you. Or The Universe at large has. Regardless of the reason, they’re awful pretty!

I think this episode serves to make Lori the best boyfriend I never had.

March 16, 2007 | Filed under: I Run Therefore I Am, People I Like Even More Than My Job

Retail therapy isn’t much fun if you don’t find what you’re looking for. And I am looking for just ONE DAMN PAIR of running shorts that don’t ride up and leave my poor, defenseless thighs to rub together and create some disturbing heat-rash-and-tiny-blisters-combination. Sexy, huh? OK, now please stop picturing that.

Let me back up here a moment, as a number of events have conspired recently leading to this point. First, Daylight Saving Time has taken over the universe and now lasts 11 of the 12 months of the year. I find this highly annoying, as I prefer my “extra” hour of daylight in the morning, thankyouverymuch, so this move to spring forward three weeks ahead of normal left me nothing but grumpy. Last week I actually had to wait for the sun to come up before I went for a run. I filled my extra time with work. I’d like to avoid that scenario in the future. But, nooooooo. No, we have to have silly little Daylight Saving That Doesn’t Actually Reduce Our Overall Energy Consumption Because We Spend More Time In Our Cars, Burning Gasoline, But Nobody Ever Talks About THAT, Now Do They? Time.

Where was I? Oh right. So, last week when I realized that the weather was nice enough for my morning runs to be conducted outdoors, but the sunlight thing was lacking (and would be even worse, once the clocks changed), I started tossing around the idea of working early in the day, while it’s still dark out, and exercising at “night,” when it’s light.

Then. Then Tracy and I took a little road trip and she, all-casual-like said, “Hey, if you’re still thinking about running a half marathon, there’s one coming up in May. Cinco de Mayo, actually.” Well shit. I hadn’t been thinking about running one, as my mind was still firmly planted in ski season, but I do have that half marathon training program hanging on my bulletin board at work and I could just pull that out and actually put it to good use.

So, there you have it: I’m running a half marathon. On May 5. Because I am an idiot.

Also idiotic: the training program is a 12-week thing, with options to make it longer. Those of you with good calendar skills will notice that there are not 12 weeks between now and May 5. So, I’m starting in week 5 and just pretending those last four weeks don’t really count anyway. The good news is, my mileage is already there — at the Week 5 mark. The bad news is that I’m not exactly accustomed to working out six days a week and the thought of the 10-mile long run in a few weeks makes me want to curl up in the fetal position already. To say nothing of the actual 13.1 miles the race directors expect me to run.

And that explains why I have spent countless hours debating the relative merits of roughly 249,503 pairs of shorts, half of which are currently strewn about my bedroom, none of which have yet convinced me that they are the pair I’m searching for. I’d share with you all the gory details, but at last we have reached the limits of what I’m willing to discuss with the entire Internet, and lo, it is my thighs. And if any of you are currently tempted to make some crack about said thighs, well, a nasty look is headed your way, because Friday is the training plan’s designated Rest Day and I sure as hell am not getting up off the couch in order to come do anything about it.

March 14, 2007 | Filed under: People I Like Even More Than My Job, The California Adventure

Oh, Internet! I have so much to say! But it’s late and I’m a huge ball of stress and words aren’t really going to work out so well, unless you like half-sentences and totally made-up words and lame, lame titles like the one above.

Instead, have some pretty pictures I took this weekend while galavanting around Northern California with Ms. Horrible Warning.

(See how lazy I am today? Didn’t even center things for you. I should be fired.)

Point Reyes National Seashore

Uh, the seashore. Duh.

Lighthouse at the Point. I hear there’s a spectacular view of the Pacific from here. I’ll just take their word for it.

Three hundred steps to get there? Bah — that’s child’s play!

This is what I imagine the moors of England look like. Heathcliiiiiifffffff…

All right, off to bed. View the whole set here.

February 12, 2007 | Filed under: People I Like Even More Than My Job, The California Adventure

Sorry for my extended absence, I have just now awoken from the food coma I’ve been in for the last couple of weeks. All the eating out…ugh. Work people in town, friend people in town, me out of town, Super Bowl party… I’d like to say it’s over, but I’ve got dinner plans this week, too, in the relative seclusion of a-night-that-is-
not-Wednesday-and-does-not-feature-heart-shaped-anything-for-dessert.

The pièce de résistance of all this food was the Junior League Crab Feed, to which I dragged Tracy, because all the liquor in the world can’t make me show up for something like that alone. Now, I’ve been to all manner of food-related fundraisers — Pancake Breakfast, Spaghetti Dinner, Prime Rib Dinner, Friday Night Fish Fry (on second thought, I’ve been to all manner of Catholic School food-related fundraisers) — but the notion of a Crab Feed was new to me. They’re all the rage in Northern California, though, everyone from my neighborhood Catholic School to the Kiwanis Club to, apparently, the Junior League, hosts one in the late winter/early spring. I learned from my mistakes last year, and this time around, Tracy and I were prepared.

~ Appetizer ~Preparation is key. Use this time before dinner to channel MacGyver and rig up some contraption in which to melt butter. All you need is a ramekin, a wire stand, a tealight, a lighter, and, of course, your trusty Swiss Army knife.

Begin drinking the wine.

~ Soup ~

Your dinner ticket was paid for long ago. Go spend more money on any number of raffle prizes. It’s for charity! Pour a fresh glass and toast your winnings.

~ Salad ~

Dinner is served, in several rounds, beginning 23 minutes after the time printed on your ticket and in tonight’s program. Watch in horror as the couple across from you mangle the communal bread and somehow end up with a piece half on the bread plate, half on her plate and wonder what Miss Manners would recommend you do, now that someone is requesting the bread be passed to them. In the absence of a good answer, resort to drinking.

~ Sorbet ~

Silent auction bidding ends at 8:00 pm. Remember, it’s for charity!

~ Entrée ~

Enter the crab. And, exit the crab remains.

~ Amusements ~

Live auction of a gorgeous mink coat, beautifully modeled by a Junior Leaguer, but poorly moderated by the D.J. (a Junior Leaguer’s husband) who failed to recognize bids from anyone seated more than two tables away from the stage. Bidding started at $600, with reminders every $50 that “It’s for charity!” Lament the fact that you didn’t institute a shot-for-every-mention-of-charity-rule. Put this on the mental list for next year. Drink more wine to ease the pain of not owning a mink coat in the foreseeable future.

~ Dessert and Coffee ~

As the food is cleared away, so are some of the tables near the stage. The lights go down, the music is turned up and soon it’s a house party, Junior League Style! The fun only lasts until 10 pm, though…people’s babysitters need to get home.