I am so controversial...

I received an email about a complaint about my blog, and a link to click to view it, and blah blah blah, SPAM, so I deleted it. Because I? Am no fool. I do not clink links in ridiculous emails.

Then today I logged on to take a peek at my blog for the first time in, oh, a while, and lo and behold, a big, bold message greeted me:

We have received a DMCA complaint for your blog, So Not Zen. An email with the details of the complaint was sent to you on 11-Jan-2012 , and we reset the post status to "Draft"; you can edit it here. You may republish the post with the offending content and/or link(s) removed. If you believe that you have the rights to post this content,you can file a counter-claim with us. For more on our DMCA policy, please click here. Thank you for your prompt attention.

Wowza. Who did I piss off? I went to the deleted post, and it was a picture (from Google images) of a French bulldog with the title "Christmas Wish List No. 6" and that's pretty much it.

I had no idea frenchies were so controversial.

In other non-threatening news, today is January 12 and I have yet to break my January resolution, which is NO BIG BOX STORES. I'd love to make this a lifestyle choice, but even given our differences, the Tar-jay still calls to me on occasion. But not this month. We'll see what February holds.

I have continued my January tradition of dieting my way back down to my post-holiday level of overweight, which is my baseline overweightedness. It's hard to feel celebratory about the fact that, yay, I am dieting my ass off and now I only need to lose 15 pounds. But in comparison to the oh, hell no, reality of gaining six or seven ADDITIONAL POUNDS during the course of the holidays, I guess it's the better position to be in.

Hopefully I'll be back to my normal weight by March (15 pounds by March, that's doable, right?) when I start my running training program up again. This year I am running two half-marathons, one in May and one in June. I've got no good excuse for not running these days because our weather has been brilliant and non-wintery to the extreme, yet I haven't run since I did a 5k on Dec. 4, so six weeks ago, not one little jog. I have, however, been dancing with Tim, three hours of classes per week. We're doing West Coast swing, East Coast swing and Cha Cha. I could live without the cha cha, personally, but the swing classes are a lot of fun.

So, here I am, back to the blog, again, hoping to make it a semi-regular occurrence. I'll try not to stir up too much controversy with my cute dog posts. Peace out.

Date Night... or how I took my giant fat stomach on a date

Tim and I had a date night last night. We went to one of our favorite local restaurants,Lapellah, which never disappoints. Also? We used a Groupon, and BOO YAH... xoxo the Groupons.

I wore a new dress. The dress? Looked hot. In the try-on room. Lots of cleavage, but not the slutty kind, the nice kind.

My new dress, minus my stomach

The problem with looking hot in the try-on room? Uh, yeah, I didn't get to see how the dress looks sitting down. Until I was home and dressed and ready for my date and sitting down. And then? Hello, upper stomachical region, where did you come from?

I am a small person. I hover somewhere between 5'1" and 5'2". It's called petite, shut up. Of course, in my current 44-year-old incarnation, I am not small anywhere but the height department. I need to lose about 15 pounds to get back into my *healthy BMI* range.

My body "problem" zone has always been the hips/low-stomach/saddlebags region. Frankly, is that not everyone's problem region? After having my first two children via C-section, I became resigned to the fact that I would have a low belly pooch evermore. I convinced myself that part of it was the doctor's fault. He had obviously damaged my stomach muscles because that pooch? It was not going anywhere. Do all the crunches you want sister, the pooch is here to stay.

The thing about the pooch, though, is that it is a pretty universal dilemma. Just pick up an issue of "Redbook" or "Good Housekeeping" and there will be at least one article on how to "dress for your body type," and in that article, there will be tips to hide your pooch. Pleated pants, long tops that accentuate the waist, blah blah blah.

But this upper stomachical bump? This is a relatively new phenomenon for me. And frankly? I'm not digging it.

So effective immediately, I am officially back on the STOP EATING ALL THAT SHIT bandwagon. And also the GET OFF YOUR LAZY ASS bandwagon. I've got the all clear for "full activity" post-surgery, so this weekend I. Am. Going. For. A. Run. For the first time since... wait for it... December? Maybe even November?

And so it has been written, thus it must be done.

I am also THROWING AWAY the remaining Tagalongs. You read that right. I am throwing them away. In the garbage can. And not only am I putting them in the garbage can, I am burying them in the bottom of the garbage can to avoid any potential (and regretful) garbage can retrieval of said Tagalongs.

So in summary: Date night? Fun. Upper stomachical region? Fucked up. Shopping in the Junior's Department? Never again.

Amen.

On your mark, Get set... Quit.

So I did not go for a run today. And I did not run six miles this weekend. I pretty much have blown off all of my half-marathon training benchmarks. And, hello, have you met me? IT'S COLD OUTSIDE. I don't *do* cold. So why did I think that it was a good idea to sign up for a half-marathon in January, when it is historically, oh, I don't know, FRIGID. Oh, wait, I know. Because I don't think things through. Oh, yeah. That's it.

But just because I'm a loser, doesn't mean you have to be one too. If you're in the New York area, or want to plan on traveling to New York City in the spring, and you want to do a really good thing, how about running in the New York City Half Marathon in March 2010 in support of the Fresh Air Fund. Click here for info. I won't be heading to New York to humiliate myself with my abysmal running time. But if someone from this blog signs up to run the race, I'll sign up to sponsor you! And for everyone else not in New York that wants to support the Fresh Air Fund, you can be a sponsor too, or just make a donation.

Let's review, shall we? I am lame. I am a quitter. Fresh Air Fund is an awesome organization. Fresh Air Fund needs support. I am less lame by helping get the word out, and you can be totally awesome by running the New York City Half Marathon and letting me sponsor you.

Hopefully Santa and Baby Jesus are both checking my blog today. I need some points on the *nice* list.

Run, Forrest, Run

I ran a mile and a half today. First run since I did a 5k the first weekend of September.

In June, I ran a half-marathon. I didn't die. Today? I ran a mile and a half. And died a little.

Let's break this down now:

Half-marathon = 13.1 miles

5k = 3.1 miles

1.5 miles = 1.5 miles

Also? My running clothes are skin tight. SKIN. TIGHT.

And the final ingredient to this perfect storm? I registered to run another half-marathon in January. Which means I need to be able to run more than 1.5 miles and not die. The not dying part is kind of crucial, and is at the moment the biggest obstacle to my success.

My amazing body

The human body is incredible. I marvel at the life cycle of pregnancy, at the feats of strength professional athletes accomplish, at the stories of survival under unbelievable circumstances.

And what is amazing me today about the human body is its complete and utter inability to maintain fitness on its own. What the hell? Talk about a flaw in the design.

In June I ran a half-marathon. That's 13+ miles. I trained for it. And I did it -- BOO YAH -- making me a *distance runner,* or so one would think.

Today I ran a 5k. That's 3.1 miles. I haven't trained but, come on, what's three stupid miles to a *distance runner*? 

Oh, how the mighty have fallen. Seriously? Near death experience on the treadmill. AND ALL OVER THREE F*ING MILES. 

Yeah. Whatever, body.

MORAL OF THIS STORY: If you don't exercise, you will get fat* and die**.

So...

Dear Marathon Training,

I'm back.

xoxo - Shana

*Now that it is fall, I have pulled out my jeans. The jeans I wore back before it was summer. And they are all too tight. Like suck it in, baby, and don't sit down tight. Sucks to be me.

**Though I did not officially *die* while jogging today, my spirit, motivation and will to live did die for a little while

This little piggy went for a run.... maybe

Time: almost 7 a.m., Sunday

I just woke up and saw that I had a text message from last night. It was sent at 11 p.m. and says "Run 8 am" and nothing else. It is from a friend that was in my Sunday morning running group. She disappeared from the group in May and I haven't talked to her but maybe twice since then.

What exactly does this text message mean?

Let's go for a run at 8 a.m.?

I hate running at 8 a.m.?

Are you running at 8 a.m.?

Glad I quit running at 8 a.m.?

On the good news front, my broken toe feels much better. I was worried about putting on *work* shoes Friday (toe debacle was Wednesday and I wore nothing but flip flops since then), but the toe actually feels perfectly fine EXCEPT when I curl the toes under (you know, like if you were perhaps too lazy to reach down to the end of the sofa and decided to just grab with your foot because you really want that copy of Us Magazine). So I'm pretty sure my toe will be just fine going for a run, but sadly I will never be able to peel a banana with my feet.

Today is the Five Week Anniversary of having our house for sale. And we have received ZERO offers. Yesterday we drove out east to Camas (a neighboring town) to look at new townhouses that are being built. They are lovely but the drive out confirmed that we really want to stay on the west side of town. On the way home, we cruised past the townhome that I currently have my eye on, which has dropped in price AGAIN. They were having an open house, but we didn't stop in because we've been through it twice already.

A couple were walking in the front door as we drove by and I became enraged! GET OUT OF MY HOUSE! I have a really bad feeling that this couple is totally going to buy my future home out from under me, because I can't make an offer until my house is sold. So we're hosting yet another open house today.

I am either ready to MOVE RIGHT NOW or UNSTAGE, but I can't stand living with half my shit packed away and trying to a maintain a "show ready" level of clean. Lisa, I don't know how you did it for a year!

Well, off to run for me... I guess. Maybe. I don't know. We'll see. 

PS: just went to google images to look for a funny picture of a broken toe and saw way too may images of people's feet and now I am totally skeeved out.

PPS: I am overcompensating for the lack of a photo with unnecessary links. You're welcome.

PPPS: went for a run. texting friend did not even show up. WHATEVER. Toe feels fine, but I swear to God it is broken. I have not been dramatizing events AT ALL. At least not the broken toe related events.

Why I had a crappy run this morning... in list form

1. Wore the wrong bra, the one that holds the heart rate monitor, that I paid a gazillion dollars for but the shoulder straps are too long.

 

2. Speaking of heart rate...  

3. Put on the wrong shoes. Realized I had on the wrong shoes and changed shoes, but still, time suck.  

4. Muggy.  

5. 6:30 a.m.  

6. Running shorts SKIN FUCKING TIGHT. Not exaggerating. Funny I don't feel any fatter, but, yo, shorts don't lie.  

7. All of the above led to me actually LEAVING the house at the time I should have been RETURNING to the house.  

8. What runner's high?

9. Monday. Need I say more?

10. Now running late to get ready for work. I won't blame that on the facebooking or the blogging. Oh, no, it was the run.

You know how there is funny "haha" and funny "um, okay, whatever, dude"?

So I have some of each.

I went to the gym to run on the treadmill today. Because every now and then, even though the weather is swell, I like to indulge my OCD tendencies and run on the treadmill, where I can micromanage and be acutely aware of all of my running stats, likes miles per hour, distance down to the .01 of a mile, and calories burned.

I work out at Marhsall Community Center (because? $35/month, yo!) and there is a big parking lot on each side of the building. But very limited parking right in the front of the building where, you know, the entrance is. But I? Always get a spot in front. Always. Because I? Have a tiny bit of blogthismom parking mojo, but just a tiny bit.

But today? No spots in front! So I circled the lot. Twice.

And then realized I was circling a parking lot in order to save myself a 1/16 of a mile walk into the building, so I could go inside and run four miles. And that? Cracked me up. Sorry, I guess I am easily amused.

And now on to the funny "um, okay, whatever, dude." My husband? Is unnaturally obsessed with all things Michael Jackson. Every night? He comes home from work and pours over the "news" of any MJ coverage. The whole thing? Is kind of creeping me out. Wherein "kind of" = ewwwwww and get the frick over it.

And lastly, not funny in either sense, but just hot... Did you see President Boyfriend throw out that first pitch? Oooh la la. He? Is delicious. But, yo, baby, what's up with the mom jeans?

Could not find an image that captured the mom jeans. You Tube it.

My So Called Life

Just a few random updates from my really boring life. Seriously? Like NOTHING going on around here. At. All.

Is it possible for the antiperspirant/deodorant that you've used for AT LEAST 20 YEARS to stop working? Because mine? Has stopped working for me. Change in formula? Change in body chemistry? I am totally flummoxed by this and need antiperspirant/deodorant recommendations STAT. TMI? Sorry.

Next pressing issue: did you know about this? 

Because I did not and now I need to get myself to a Barnes & Noble and start reading. Also? An adult who reads "graphic novels" isn't necessarily a geek, right? Right? But seriously? SEASON 8 of Buffy? I've been living for this moment.

I discovered it because I am currently reading The Book of Lies by Brad Meltzer, and there's a blurb in the back of the paperback for more Season 8 Buffy written by Brad Meltzer and Joss Whedon. I LOVE JOSS WHEDON. And usually I LOVE BRAD MELTZER, but this book? I'm going to give it a patented Carlie Belle "thumbs medium" (you know, as opposed to up or down, it's the equivalent of "eh," but in thumb language).

What else? Oh! I saw Observe and Report with Seth Rogen on Saturday. Not that I went to the movie with Seth (not that I'd be opposed to that) but you know what I mean. Anyway. HILARIOUS. And so not age appropriate for my 16-year-old daughter that I took with me. In fact, so completely the OPPOSITE OF AGE APPROPRIATE that I don't even know what I was thinking taking her to it. Well, actually, I do know what I was thinking. I was thinking that I'd rather have nails driven into my eyes than see the Hannah Montana Movie with Carlie and her friend, and Observe and Report was in the next door theatre at the same exact time and I kind of didn't know that it was as "dark" as it turned out to be. 

I can't figure out how to link the video, but here's the trailer on You Tube.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sNPSxqbPLPQ

Today was my last long training run before I do a half-marathon next weekend. I ran 10 miles. Things I learned that I had not figured out before today: I can't wear sunscreen on my face if I am going to sweat like a frackin pig. I can't wear shorts that ride up my ass because, ew. Staying hydrated with electrolyte stuff as opposed to just 

water really does help! If any runners have any additional advice to throw my way before next Sunday, please do.

Tim and I are going to make a long weekend trip out of the half-marathon in Port Angeles. For starters, we're spending Friday at our place in Naselle so he can mow and do whatever man stuff he does out there. I'll be lounging and reading my Buffy comicbook -- I mean novel -- and, you know, "getting ready" for the big race. But since we'll be near the coast, we're going to road trip up to Port Angeles the long way, which takes us through FORKS and LA PUSH. And I? Am unreasonably excited in a 14-year-old girl way about this.

And yes, I already know vampires are not real. Shut up.

If you look at the map, you can see that going up the coast is not what Mapquest recommends. But Mapquest? Can suck it. Because? Sparkly vampires.

That's about all that is new and exciting in my world. I did have a funny work story about an INSANE IN THE MEMBRANE woman who had her deposition taken and is representing herself in a lawsuit, but the more I think about it, it's just kind of sad. Which I guess technically makes me mean for thinking it's funny. But seriously? She was whacked. And kind of a bitch to boot. So really, I think calling me mean is kind of harsh. Stop being so judgmental.

and it is not even National Cleavage Day UPDATE: It's official, I am whacked

Imagine my surprise when I left work, went to the post office and saw my reflection in the glass door as I am walking into the post office. Seriously. And it's not even National Cleavage Day. My bad.

In news unrelated to me being slutty, I am THISCLOSE to registering for a Half Marathon on June 7. Even if you don't run, click on the link and tell me if it doesn't look like the BEST TIME EVER. Except for, like, the running 13.1 miles part. But still.

UPDATE: I just registered for the half marathon. Pray for my soul.

UPDATE 2: Fuck! As soon as I paid for the race and went to book the hotel, I learn the hotel is booked full. Did I mention... fuck!

UPDATE 3: There's another hotel right next door, but the dickhead desk guy is only booking for two nights on marathon weekend, not single nights. DICKHEAD.

UPDATE 4: OK. Booking a room three blocks away in what appears to be a quite seedy "inn" with no views and "locking bathrooms just down the hall."

UPDATE 5: Praise the Lord, the no tell motel had a room with an "in suite private bath" as opposed to the "locking bathrooms just down the hall." So I booked it. It's official. I am running a half marathon June 7.

Slippery Slope

My weight is creeping up. Slowly. And yet? I just ate six peanut butter filled Hershey's kisses. Which, by the way, if you have not had them, are divine.

I'm feeling very apethetic about dieting. Because I'm running. Make that running! A lot! Four days a week, including one long run every Sunday morning (6 miles yesterday, 7 miles next Sunday). And all of this running makes me feel very entitled... entitled to eat whatever the hell I want to eat. And let's not even discuss this weekend's alcohol intake. Yes, it was a festive weekend. But still. Apparently I lack whatever component of our DNA controls moderation. Moderation. I don't even like the way the word sounds. It's a creepy word.

So there. It's out there. I am gaining weight. I need to get it in check. So now I am proclaiming myself accountable to the Internet. Gah.

Home, sweet home

So I found a house that I have to have. HAVE TO HAVE. The perfect house. It's a few blocks from my house, has always been one of my favorite houses in the neighborhood. It's valued at about $100k less than my house and is considerably smaller, but that's what downsize means, right? Bottom line is, if we could get just half of what we would like in equity for our house AND get a 5% interest rate, we would cut our $2k mortgage in half.

But here's the problem: my house is not even anywhere close to being ready to show or sell. And project declutter? It has kind of hit a stall today. I've done a shitload of laundry, and now? All I want to do is park my ass on the couch and watch Tivo'ed episodes of Supernatural. Yes-huh.

I had my first day of marathon training this morning. We did a three-mile pace run. I signed up to be in the "red" group, which is the slowest running group, meaning 10+ minutes per mile. I finished up right in the middle of the slow pack, which is fine by me. I'm so out of shape, I couldn't even run the entire three miles. I had to take a couple of "walk" breaks, but the walks were never longer than 60 seconds, so as far as I'm concerned, they don't count.

After running, I grabbed a quick shower and then went to mass. And then realized it is Palm Sunday, which means an hour and half long mass, and I got annoyed, and then was guilt-ridden about being annoyed about church. And then? This woman had NO CONTROL over her screaming children for AN HOUR AND A HALF, and didn't even TRY to have any control over them, just let them carry on like wild monkeys. SO ANNOYING. And then, again, with the guilt because, honestly, having wild monkey children in church probably is not any more fun for her than it is for me to be subjected to them. But still. My oldest two kids are 17 months apar and I would have been mortified had they carried on that way. And I'd have taken them to the "cry" room or bailed. Not just sat there pretending that we weren't disrupting mass for everyone else.

After growing up in New Orleans, I moved to Houston with my ex-husband for about seven years when my kids were little. The church that we went to in Houston had an old priest named Father Emile. He was cranky. All. The. Time. If your kids made noise during mass, he would call you out from the alter. I mean, seriously, call you out during mass. He'd stopped what he was doing, be it a reading or homily or what have you, and say PLEASE REMOVE THOSE CHILDREN TO THE CRY ROOM. RIGHT NOW. WE'LL WAIT. And just stare at you until you slunk out of the church.

I never caught his wrath and frankly I always thought he was kind of a dick for doing it, but after the freak show I sat through today of screaming, laughing, crying, NO NO NO NO NO MOMMY NO for an hour and a half... oy.

So that's my Sunday: went for a run, have been eating like a horse ever since, got pissed at church and now am camped out in front of the TV (even though my house is a sty) with my laptop, house shopping on Zillow. This is what weekends are for, no?

Oh... and Best Husband Ever just brought me a bag of peanut M&Ms and a Diet Coke.  Possibly to try to make up for being the Worst Husband Ever yesterday when he hauled all of my garage sale treasures to Goodwill after I finished sorting them for a garage sale. But M&Ms are a mighty fine peace offering.

The Tax Man... wonder if he accepts cookies as payment?

We're not quite finished with our taxes yet, and so far we owe $11k. Anyone know where I can sign up for a bail out?

UPDATE: My goal for the day was met. Not a single GS cookie crossed my lips. Take that, Girl Scouts.

ALSO: Ran three miles today, which has to do something to offset the box of Tagalongs that I ate in its entirety this weekend.

The incredible growing girl

Carlie woke up for school this morning, and her clothes were too small. Like, as in nothing fit. Seriously. Her plaid school skort? Skin tight and barely buttoning at the waist. Her sweatshirt? Knobby wrists sticking out when she raises her arms. Even her tennis shoes were tight. SHOES THAT SHE WORE YESTERDAY. I am not even kidding.

How is this possible? I mean, I know kids have growth spurts, but she literally grew overnight in a measurable and tangible quantity. This is freaking me out somewhat.

Also freaking me out? My core. I mean abs. I mean stomach. I mean gut. Because? Loose and flabby is why. And my little nanosecond of plank the other day drove home the point that I need to be doing some kind of exercise other than running.

So today I was going to see how long I can maintain plank position. I had previously worked up to, like, 90 seconds. But I can't find my stopwatch -- the stopwatch I specifically bought to time myself in the plank position when I was all "let's get fit" last year. So how am I supposed to exercise if I don't even have the right equipment? This is like a giant conspiracy, though I am not sure who exactly it is that is conspiring against me. Possibly one of my alternate personalities, because I am pretty sure no one in my family gives a rat's ass about my ability to plank or my $1.99 stopwatch. 

In other news, I bought peanut butter cups at Trader Joe's yesterday. Because the big peanut butter scare? Makes me want to eat nothing but peanut butter all day, every day. Because? I am broken that way. So as I complaining about my flabby belly I am scarfing away on peanut butter cups. If this were an Alannis Morissette song, it would be ironic. But since it's real life, it's just me, being stupid. And then whining about it.

But guess what? Chocolate and peanut butter and diet coke are the only thing that actually make my headache feel better. The headache that I woke up with. Is that not the most horrible feeling in the world, to open your eyes and realize first thing in the morning, I HAVE A HEADACHE. AGAIN. ? The worst. The second worst? The realization in the following moment that you need to haul your headachey ass out of bed and take your daughter to a 7:15 a.m. violin lesson. To which we were late. Because see the nothing fit rant above. I went on a 4.5 mile run to try to shake off the headache, but it's still here. The peanut butter cups really do help. Because? Candy is magic.

If I can find my stopwatch, I will time myself and see how long it takes to finish off the entire family sized box of peanut butter cups.

UPDATE: Still no stopwatch, but estimated time to finishing off the peanut butter cups is about three minutes.

Punky Girl Update

Yep, she's all better. Go figure.

To celebrate, I let her go on a bike ride while I went for a run. We went a mile and a half and my shins were killing me. Runners? Help! I have new shoes (Sauconys, bought 1/2/09) and have broken them in pretty well (ran seven miles in them Saturday with no issues). But today? 1.5 miles and I feared I might never walk again. Shooting pain straight up the front of my legs, from the ankles to the knees. 

Dr. Internet, I need a diagnosis, STAT.

In addition to being miraculously healed of her stomach bug, Carlie has decided to become a vegetarian. This is the child who lives on lunchables. So this should be interesting. Did I mention she hates all vegetables? Yeah. Like I said, it'll be interesting.

I have 100 pages of proofreading to do and no interest at all in doing it. This could be a problem.

I think I've been punk'ed

Carlie stayed home from school today. She said she had a stomachache. And because everyone in her class has had this disgusting vomit inducing bug, I figured she was legit.

And she layed around in her jammies and dabbled at a little artwork and read a book.

But apparently she has been hording candy and chips in her bedroom and snacking away all morning, while I worried about her getting dehydrated and starving to death.

Hmmmm. If nacho cheese Doritos sound good to you, you are probably not that sick.

And at 1:30 p.m., which is the time I declare it is just not worth going to school because I only have to come right back and pick you up again, she felt better! Like a miracle cure!

She's lucky today was a work at home day for me, or I'd be kind of pissed right about now. Of course, if I challenge her sickness legitimacy, she can vomit on cue, so that won't really accomplish anything. On the payback side, I made her drink Pepto Bismol, which is so freaking disgusting. And to accidentally make it more disugsting? I bought store brand, and it had a cherry flavoring. Ew. Even the smell made me gag. So I'll call us even. This time.

And on the work from home today front, I want you to know that I BUCKLED DOWN and FOCUSED and did not visit any blogs or web sites until my lunch break at 2:00 p.m. That's what I call dedicated.

Now that I know the child is not going to perish while I am gone, I think I'll go for a quick three-mile run. Because that half marathon that I am doing in April? Yeah, kind of terrified about that whole thing lately. Like obsessing a little bit. Because 13.1 mile? WTF was I thinking? Why would anyone even want to run for that long?

Hills Schmills

This hill may not look like much in this picture. But it is exactly what you DO NOT want to see when you have been running due north for 45 minutes, are almost four miles from home and decide to take a new route home. 

This is a big mother effing hill. I kid you not. That's a car at the top of the hill, for perspective. You can't even tell it's a car because the hill? It's that high.

I took out my cell phone and came THISCLOSE to calling Tim for a rescue ride, but instead I snapped the picture and kept on running. Because I'm tough like that. And because he probably wouldn't have answered his phone anyway.

I ran 6.25 miles, ate lunch, soaked in the bathtub. Now what? Laundry? Floor mopping? Actually finishing putting the Christmas crap in storage? Ransack son's room in search of additional contraband? So many choices. 

One of those days...

It's been crazy. Thank God we have heat once again. The good news: there was just some kind of loose connection in the furnace and it took 15 minutes to fix, cost $93. The bad news: I wrote the furnace guy, the friend of a friend from our church, a bad check. I was having a rough morning, grabbed the wrong checkbook and wrote a check on my business account, which is empty. But I called the guy and told him I'd come over and bring him a new check, and he said just put it in the mail and he'd tear up the other one. And he was totally joking and gracious about it and made me feel like much less of a schmoe. Thank you, good furance man, for your holiday cheer.

Tim, Carlie and I went out to lunch (pizza) and did some last minute Christmas shopping (Target) and then picked up the prescription for my cholesterol medication (Walgreens) which I am now under doctor's orders to take. And by take, she means actually put the pill in my mouth and swallow every single day for the rest of my life, as opposed to fill the prescription, put the bottle on the kitchen window sill and take one every five or six days when it occurs to me.

For some reason, this made me cry. Ridiculous, right? But I have spent this entire day feeling very sorry for myself. And this put me right over the edge. A pill. Every day. That is the stuff that old age is made of. I'm being lame, and I'm mostly over it now, but still. It sucks.

Carlie went swimming with a friend (indoor heated pool at our community center) and since I had to drop her off there, it felt very wrong to drop her off and not go to the gym. So Tim and I hit the gym. I ran 5.5 miles. I didn't want to do it, but it felt good to get it done. Know what I mean? Since I was going with my husband, it would have been rude to bring along my running partner/boyfriend, Wentworth. Not having him there did make for a sadder run time.

Now I am going to climb in bed with my secret boyfriend du jour.. Dexter. I'm almost finished with Season 2. I love Dexter. Or if Tim is planning to join me, it'll be Mad Men, Season 1, because he gets too creeped out by Dexter.

Feels like the middle of the weekend, but it's only Friday. I love that feeling.

Oh, the fireplace photo in the last post. Carlie took that with my cell phone. I was working on knitting a hat for Taylor (finished). I now have something knitted and wrapped under the tree for Tim, Erinna and Taylor. Started on a hat for Carlie this afternoon, hopefully will have it done for Christmas. No knitted stuff for Maggy and Iris because, hello, Houston.

Bona Fide Snow Day

It's 36 degrees out, the sun is shining bright and we have a real snow day, finally. There is no snow or ice on the roads. Nothing is slick or dangerous or treacherous. Just wet.

I went to the gym and ran 5.25 miles on the treadmill while watching Prison Break, episode 1 of season 1. I've been waiting, um, like, three years? to watch Prison Break. I had forgotten about it, and then read Cheri's Blog and saw a mention and remembered, oh, yeah! So now Wentworth Miller is my running buddy. I'm sure running buddy will evolve into a best friend, then friend with benefits, and then eventually I'll be forced to make some hard choices regarding my marriage, but for now it's strictly platonic. And, frankly, if he can keep me on a good running schedule through the winter, it's a risk I'm willing to take.

I swore I was done with Christmas shopping after my two lame-ass trips to Target, but I need to make one more run. And then that's it. Done. And if you are a kid of mine and you're reading this, if they don't have it at Target, sorry, then Santa doesn't have it either. That's how Santa rolls.

Dear Diary,

I've been sitting in bed with my laptop since 6:45 a.m., just going to read my email and check the weather REAL QUICK before going on my run. It's now 7:37 a.m. and I'm still here. Wah. Sometimes getting out of the freaking bed is so hard to do.

Per my "training plan," Sunday is my "long" run day. Long for me being an earth-shattering five miles so far. But the distance only increases every other week, so today my "long" run is only three miles. I can do three miles. I can do three miles easily. Why am I still in bed? The sun is even out already (it's 7:42) and it looks like it's going to be a gorgeous day.

Carlie had her last soccer game yesterday, which was also a gorgeous day. Miracle of all miracles, THEY TIED! This is the first game they have not lost this entire season. They tied 2 to 2 and really they had a third goal, but it was called off-sides, which, please, the girls are 9 years old and don't really understand off-sides. This is the first year that they actually call it, and half the refs have and half haven't and they haven't worked on that in practice, so the girls have no idea why they didn't get that third goal, but whatever, THEY TIED and they were so happy. It was a great way to end the season.

The only thing that could have made it better would have been if the coach had just handed them their damned trophies right then and there and we could be done with it. But, no, we are now having an awards night/pizza party. The end of season pizza party is one of the most dreaded nights in my life. I may have said this before, but I really can't handle being around other people's kids for long stretches, especially when they're jacked up on rootbeer and trophy receiving endorphins. But whatever, I can do ANYTHING for two hours, right?

I was supposed to be at a fabulous brunch this morning for a birthday celebration of one of my favorite people and best friends. But sadly she is sick as an effing dog on her birthday weekend, so we're going to push it back a week. But funny story about making the reservation. A friend called up and made the brunch reservation. The hostess asked, "Is this a special occasion?" and friend K responded, "Yes, it's a 50th birthday party."

And the hostess, who was probably about 11 years old, said, "Wow! That's great! A 50th birthday!" enthusiastically, and then in a quieter voice, "Will stairs be an issue?"

Hello? I am 42 and if stairs are an issue by the time I turn 50, please put me down gently now.

Because 50? Yeah, it ain't as old as I used to think it was when I was 20-something. Of course, I also remember thinking that 40 was ancient. Like blue-hair use-a-walker don't-forget-your-oxygen ancient. Then my husband and my girlfriends threw me a raging 40th birthday party complete with a BAND in my LIVING ROOM and inappropriate dancing and oyster shooters and flaming shot drinks all night long and, hello 40! Apparently 40 is the new 17, where you drink till you puke and call it a good time! Yay! Best Night Ever.

Plan for today is go for a run. Soak in the tub (my new Sunday ritual). Do laundry. Go to the Doc Marten's Warehouse sale again and buy myself a pair of black Mary Janes. I bought a pair yesterday but gave them to a friend last night because they are so cute and looked really cute on her feet and I knew I'd be going back today anyway. I bought myself so far a pair of maroonish MJs and a beige T strap wedge which is super cute but a half-size too big. Don't know if I'm actually going to be able to wear them in real life, but they are cute cute cute. So today I want black Mary Janes, maybe a pair of boots and sandals if I can find any. Yesterday I saw no cute sandals. I'll try to remember to snap some pictures of the mayhem of the sale, but yesterday I was so caught up in contributing to the mayhem with my frantic digging through boxes of shoes that taking a photo was the last thing on my mind.

Also? I'm trying to think of a clever name for a local co-op type blog, but I've got nothing. Some already in existence are : New Jersey Moms Blog, Chicago Moms Blog, San Diego Blog Bitches. I know we can come up with something catchier than "Vancouver Moms Blog" or "Washington Moms Blog," and by "we" I mean someone who is not me, because apparently I can't come up with jack.

Going for that run now. It's 7:57. Oh, and crap, and I need a title for this post. That could keep me here for another five minutes. How about "random shit"?