There’s something about car accidents, no matter how big or small, and regardless of who is at fault, that makes the people involved feel agitated, nervous, and just plain wrecked.
It has little to do with injuries sustained, but more with the undeniable fact that something is out of whack. Like the universe has been disrupted, both your psyche and person violated.
Like you're a bad person.
It’s a crummy way to feel. I don’t recommend it.
Why is it that running 7.5 miles feels like 43 trazillion sit-ups?
Anything involving my abs hurts. And every single movement involves my abs.
How the hell did I ever do this already?
Because the Princess and I love Halloween, we kicked the weekend off with a trip to Knott's Berry Farm's Halloween Haunt. Being the last weekend before the big night, it was a nightmare getting there. 2.5 hours in traffic, me driving...and then only 20 minutes to get home. We love LA, but not Orange County. Here's what happens when two girls spend too much time stuck inside a car that isn't moving:
Ghetto Photo Girl: Is that guy going to try to get in my lane?
Princess: Yeah, that fucker.
GPG: *banging the steering wheel* Thupid Lexus!!!
***
P: At least we don't get snow.
GPG: I hate snow! That shit's just wrong.
P: Yeah, and when you're driving in it, it's just like going warp speed in Star Wars.
GPG: Fucking devil crystals falling from the sky! It's the Devil's crack, snow!
P: Oh, fuck me running!
***
GPG: Are we there yet?
P: Mom, are we there yet?!
GPG: Dammit my hips hurt. I don't think I'm getting any blood to my lower half anymore. My vagina-brain has no blood!!
P: *laughing* Oh damn...you're going to blog about this, aren't you?
***
P: So she asks me what I do, and I told her I work with blue prints and architects and whatnot. And then she asked what blueprints are.
GPG: No she didn't.
P: Yeah, and I tried to explain. So she finally goes, "oh, you play with maps?"
GPG: *snicker*
***
GPG: Cyclamen Street?
P: Yeah, it's a flower.
GPG: Sounds like a birth control pill.
P: No, it's a flower.
GPG: I still think they're going to name a pill after it.
***
GPG: *getting catatonic* It's 1:42 am. Been a while since I saw this side of night.
P: *equally tired* Yeah.
GPG: It feels sleepy, 1:42 am. And so do I.
Because my boy JTS loves the lists, I offer more:
Feel free to add to the ever-growing list
To practice for the LA Marathon in March, I'm running the City of Angels Half Marathon in December. It's the inaugural race to celebrate the city's 225th anniversary, which is kind of cool. Only 5,000 particpants and only 3 hours before they start opening the streets.
I'm aiming to finish in 2h:45m. Which will be a full 35 minutes faster than my last one. The Princess has agreed to feed me at mile 9, and will not allow me to sit and chat, lest I lose time. She's such a good friend.
My mother's reaction was a little different:
GPG: Are you guys back in town December 3rd?
Mom: Yes, why? What's on that day?
GPG: I'm doing another half.
Mom: But that's only about a month away! Mija, are you sure?
GPG: Mom, I just did one two weeks ago.
Mom: Oh yeah, that's right.
I love my mom. That said, I now have to run 10 miles on Sunday. And after two weeks off, it might sting a little.
Sometimes I wonder who brainwashed me into thinking this was fun. And I wonder if they can make me believe that Swiss cheese doesn't taste like asshole.
The incomplete list:
Feel free to make your own additions to the list
I'm once again borrowing Soul Asylum lyrics because I'm having a fit. Over the weekend, I found a beautiful pair of red Kenneth Cole shoes. I have been dying for a pair of red shoes, which are very popular this season because red is my favorite color and therefore it is everywhere. The thing is that I've never had the balls to actually purchase a pair.
Until I saw these:
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They were hiding in a random boutique around the corner from C-Dub's house: the perfect heel, the most splendid shade of crimson, with a cute peek-a-boo toe and interesting leather design. Basically, everything I've wanted. They just didn't have my size. (Painful hit number one).
I spent the afternoon searching for them all over the internets, only to find them in black or tan. I need another pair of black shoes like I need another hole in my head. But they were only $50, so it felt promising.
Finally, I found them over at Solestruck.com. For $100. (Painful hit number two.)
I can't justify the expense. God knows I've paid a hell of a lot more for hell of a lot less in the past, but I'm trying to be a responsible adult and I know I won't get enough use out of them for that much money. Which will probably go to waste on some other impulse purchase anyway.
L'sigh. Part of me wants to say fuck it and tell myself that I deserve it. But the "I just ran a half-marathon" excuse ran out of steam yesterday after I had French fries for the third time in one day.
The upside is that Solestruck.com offers free shipping, no tax, and one year to return them if I end up not loving them after all. It's so fucking tempting.
What to do, what to do?
I'll probably end up buying them anyway. Fuck it, right?
Because every girl deserves a pair of red shoes!
***Update 10.24.06 @ 2:05 pm***
A teensy fortune fell into my lap this morning, making this dilemma disappear. So I went shopping on my lunch break and came back with three pairs of shoes. And these on order.
I love it when I get what I want. And more.
As you know, I had to shoot me some whores up San Francisco way this weekend. And all the wackiness that ensued can be broken down into two categories. In list form:
Odd, Outrageous, or Just Plain Wrong Occurances:
Funny, Pleasant, and Just Plain Nice Occurances:
Apparently I, and a few of my kiddies, do.
It started last weekend when I heard my niece and nephew ran into me at the mall. Except it wasn't me. They were confused as to why this girl they were convinced was their auntie was not overjoyed and smothering them with kisses upon seeing them in public (per usual). Their nanny actually brought them over to this mystery woman to prove to them she was just a poor substitute. The girl said she'd heard about me, and it wasn't the first time she'd been mistaken for me.
I still have no idea who this girl is. But I wonder why the hell she isn't doing her part to keep me sane. Bitch.
Then today, minding the lawyers while the Chairman of the SEC was giving a groundbreaking keynote speech, I ran into who I thought was Sanction's drummer. Except, he's not an attorney. But there he was, in a grey suit. Except it wasn't him. It was his Grey-suited Lawyerly Look-a-like.
Scary.
Again, minding my own business and standing in a large hall at the Biltmore, brown-haired Will came up to me and asked where he could buy dental floss. Suffering from lack of sleep and OD'd on hotel food, I dumbly stared at the man who could be The Boy, if only he were blond. I'm still convinced he dyed his hair as a result of his anger at Jesus for the Mets losing, happened to be in the my hotel for no reason whatsoever, and asked the one person he recognized for assistance.
Sweetie, please stop stalking me.
I desperately need sleep. Maybe then I'll stop seeing things.
But if anyone finds that chick who could be me but isn't, please bring her to me right quick. She and I are gonna have words. Then she's picking up the slack.
Girl: Weren't you dating someone the last time I saw you?
Boy #1: No, it was just one date.
Boy #2: Why just the one?
Boy #1: We went out, and it was fine, whatever. But when she asked if we could see each other again, I just said, "Nah, lets not do that. You remind me too much of my sister."
Cue Boy #2 and Girl spitting out their drinks and laughing.
Boy #2: Did you really tell her that?!
Boy #1: Yeah, but it was the truth.
Girl: Man, I love you. That's fucking brilliant.
Someone who is good with traffic patterns and social anthropology please explain to me why my 12-mile commute from West LA to downtown takes an achingly slow 45 minutes in each direction. But when traveling the 12 miles from downtown to my parents' house (in rush hour traffic, no less) in a more northerly direction, it took a mere 20 minutes.
This ain't right. And clearly means that the westside is criminally overcrowded and them greedy developers should stop building all those ridiculous condos to entice people to continue to encroach on what precious little space we have left.
Doesn't Orange County still have open plots of land they can go screw up instead? Leave us alone already!!
The phone rings as she's about to get on the 101 south. She looks at the photo caller ID and smiles.
"Hi you," she grins into the phone.
"Hey! What are you doing?" he asks.
"Ugh. Driving home from this stupid thing at Paramount," she laments. "It was for work."
"Aw, but you've had a good weekend, no? The race in less than three and a half hours? That's awesome!"
"Yeah yeah yeah. I'm pretty proud of myself," she laughs. "So what's up, what are you doing?"
"Well," he starts carefully. "I'm sitting in my room. Packing my bags. Because I'm coming to LA tomorrow."
She nearly drops the phone while trying to negotiate a lane change. "No, you're kidding," she laughs in disbelief, since in their last conversation him coming to town wasn't an option.
"Nope. I get in tomorrow morning. Work's got me out there."
Dammit, she thinks. The universe is fucking with me.
"So, I'm going to be all over the place, but I want to make sure we get some you and me time. Maybe Thursday night?" he continues.
"Shit," she spits out, the self-imposed hurricane of craziness weighing heavily on her. "I've got 2 shoots that night. And then I'm in San Francisco this weekend."
"Huh...Well, okay. We'll work it out."
They spend the next few minutes figuring out how.
"Okay sweetie, drive safely. It was good to hear your voice."
"You too, honey. Travel safe."
She hangs up knowing that if that boy is around, she suddenly has all the free time in the world.
It's finally over! I now have my Sunday mornings back to lounge in bed and no need to abstain from drinking any longer. In fact, all runners and cyclists were offered free beer after the race. I was too tired to walk to the beer, but I appreciated the effort on Michelob's part.
Here's how it broke down on the route to Long Beach today:
13.1 mile event
28 weeks spent training
180 miles run over that time
2 pairs of running shoes purchased
9 weeks spent battling repetitive stress pain in legs
1 toenail lost
2200 dollars raised for charity
38 donors
4 friends and family members cheering me on
5:15 am wake-up call
6:00 am meeting time in the Westin lobby
6:57 am official sunrise
7:30 am official start time
7:33 am when I crossed the start line
12.5 minutes to first mile
2 minutes faster than my average time
56.5 minutes to mile 4
4.5 miles till breakfast, courtesy of my parents (Power bars and bananas - breakfast of champions)
7th mile snack missed by 3 minutes (my brother ran late, or I ran too quickly)
9th mile marked when my feet started to hurt
10th mile was where mom & dad fed us again
11th mile the hardest of the entire day (the mile marker was missing)
12.9 miles before running into my coach, who pointed out we were less than a quarter mile from the finish line
.2 miles sprinted harder than I've ever run in my life
3h:20m:48s my official time
38m:12s faster than I anticipated
8 minutes faster than I'd hoped
I made my goal! Though I'd given myself a full four hours to finish, I secretly hoped to make it in less than three and a half. Which I did, amazingly enough. That alone was really gratifying.
Many thanks to my countless supporters over these last 6 months, especially the friends who sent well wishes all weekend long. I owe a huge debt of gratitude to my parents for racing from miles 4 to 10 to feed us along the way. I really couldn't have kept going without that.
And finally, an extra special thanks to Nahm & the Princess for being my mile 11 and the only ones who volunteered to cheer me on in person (I didn't realize you watched me cross the finish line too!). You guys are my heroes.
Now, we start counting down to the LA Marathon in March, which has no half option. 20 weeks to train for 26.2 miles!
That will, eventually, be cake too.
I had a mini “oh-shit” moment earlier today when I realized how crazy my life is about to become. I entertain you now with a peek at the next 3 weeks of my life:
Oct 13 - 5:30P - Eye Appt @ Marina del Rey
Oct 13 - 6:30P - Rehearsal Dinner @ Malibu
Oct 14 - 4:30P - Cousin's Wedding @ Malibu
Oct 14 - 6:30P - Pre-Run Pasta Dinner @ Queen Mary
Oct 15 - 7:00A - Long Beach Half Marathon @ Long Beach Civic Center
Oct 16 - 5:00P - Post-Run Celebration @ Joxer Daly's
Oct 17 - 6:30P - Event Planning Forum @ Paramount Studios
Oct 19 - 6:30P - Photo Shoot @ Los Angeles
Oct 20 - 7:00A - Legal Seminar @ Biltmore Hotel
Oct 21 - 4:30P - "Dinah" Photo Shoot @ San Francisco
Oct 22 - 8:00A - Nike Women's Marathon @ San Francisco
Oct 26 - 6:30P - Cocktail Party @ French 75
Oct 27 - 8:00P - Knott's Scary Farm!! @ Knott's
Oct 28 - 10:00A - Photo Shoot 1 @ Santa Monica
Oct 28 - 2:00P - Photo Shoot 2 @ Culver City
Oct 28 - 10:00P - Halloween Party @ Venice
Oct 31 - 8:00P - WeHo Parade @ West Hollywood
Nov 3 - 7:00P - Bouncing Souls @ House of Blues
Yeah, I’m a busy person normally, but this is retarded. I honestly don’t know how I’m going to do this all by myself--some of these things require me to be in two places at once. And this schedule doesn't take into account all the nights I'm working late trying to make marketing deadlines.
Forget about having a fulltime job, when am I supposed to go get a haircut? Or a Halloween costume? This goes way beyond needing a mere personal assistant. What I clearly need is a second GPG to fulfill all my obligations, if not a third and fourth too.
So I'm willing to share this fabulously over-committed life of mine with anyone willing to pick up my slack. You can get my eyes checked, my hair cut, pick out a cool costume...hell, even come to SF with me to cover the marathon while I lounge in C-dub's guest room with her cat. In the meantime, I'll take care of the 9 to 5, Long Beach, and all the other fun stuff. Like Halloween!!
To apply, please list your qualifications in the comments. Applicants must be witty, socially adept, able to handle a 20D, and look good in a cocktail dress. Because the one thing I desperately need a pinch-hitter for is at least one of the familial obligations this weekend. The rest should be cake.
I hope.
Today I got me my own little leather-bound notepad, like the police detectives get. It's part of the IST (International Spy Training) at a facility we'll call Spangley. It's real, I swear.
The notepad makes me all official and stuff.
I also discovered my super secret power. Just by laughing, I gave myself the most godawful cramp in my left ovary. It was sharp and deep and hurt like a bitch, like my laugh bone was directly connected to it. Clearly, there is no good reason to inflict pain on myself so I have to learn to throw the hurt at someone else. Much like pernicious ventriloquism.
One of these days I'm going to be totally deadly. Not just to myself either.
And it's going to be rad.
The scene: a woman puffing on a cancer stick walks by two innocent women, enveloping them in a cloud of foul smelling smoke. This ensued after she was barely out of earshot.
Woman #1: *wrinkling her nose* I want to kick her in her square butt.
Woman #2: Hee hee. I love you!
Guess who each woman was and win a prize!
(Participants in the conversation are not eligible for prizes. Void where prohibited by law, or in Alabama, Colorado, Georgia, Kansas, Louisiana, Mississippi, Texas or Virginia because you kids are not to be trusted with sex toys.)
I'm in the home stretch! At this time next Sunday I will be crossing the finish line in Long Beach and making my way over to a pancake victory breakfast down on the water.
I've been so incredibly distracted by work and other factors the last month, that this entire goal of mine has become more of a burden than the accomplishment it's supposed to be. I've been too exhausted after work to run during the week, which makes it that more difficult to get up and do long runs on Sundays. And those first 5 minutes of the first mile have always been the worst. Especially at 7 am, when the cloud cover is still thick over the water and all you want is a hot cup of coffee and to NOT be running.
When I first decided to do this, I got off on the disbelief on people's faces when I told them I was training for a marathon (and I have trained for an entire marathon, even if I'm only running half). Slowly but surely, as I hit a new personal record every week in either distance or time, it became less of a shock to me that I can now run 13.1 miles. I mean, can't everyone do that? It's really not that big a deal. I swear.
We were on our last practice run this morning, down in our usual Venice Beach location, when my running buddy and I came up on a group of 3 middle-aged men. They could tell by our singlets that we're in training and asked how long our run was today. We told them that since the race is next week, this was just a short 6 miles. They laughed in disbelief of 6 miles being a short run and wished us luck as we passed them.
I still remember when running a full two miles was a major triumph. Now I can do a 5K before breakfast and not even think about it (that's 3.1 miles for the metrically-impaired).
It's also interesting who your random supporters become. Of course, my friends have been wonderful. One sat me down at a party just to tell me how proud she is of me. It almost made me cry (but I'd also had 5 beers, so we'll blame the sentimentality on that). The rest donated gobs of money. Such good kids.
But it's been you guys that have amazed me. My readers were responsible for nearly $500 of my total fundraising. You don't even know me and I didn't promise you anything but good karma! That's really just awesome.
And today the clerk at 7-11, where I've stopped every Sunday morning at 6:45 am for the last 5 months to pick up water and a Powerbar, told me he's really impressed with me. Then there was those three guys down on the beach, cheering us on. And the homeless people we'd see every week, trying to get us to laugh as we made our way down to Marina del Rey and back (hey, it's only 8 miles).
I'm going to remember all that in Long Beach next week. It's what's going to keep me going.
7 days!!
This is the best break-up ever caught on tape, grading purely on the vapidity of the people involved. From the last episode of Laguna Beach, the background is that she's a 16 year old whore, he's 20 with the maturity of a pet rock, and his sister Nikki told him she saw the girl hook up with another guy (which was probably also caught on tape. Mulitiple times.).
Surfer kids of privilege are so sad (edited for length to keep your brain from exploding from the really bad dialogue):
Totally Indifferent Boy: Why are you in such a bad mood?
Shallow, Bratty Girl: I was just sitting here thinking. You really bummed me out at the [Valentine's Day] party.
B: Well it's not my fault.
G: Who's fault it is?
B: I don't know, your fault.
G: What do you want me to do?
B: You come over here with an attitude, like--
G: I don't have an attitude Tyler! And I'm sorry that this weekend went to shit between you and I. What the fuck did I do?
B: I just don't dig your attitude, it's like...
G: How am I giving you attitude?
B: It's just that you lie. Like, if you want to--
G: Tyler, I told you--
B: No, you flat out lied! No, don't even.
G: Like, you didn't even give me a chance to explain.
B: Yeah because then I find out that you lied to me, it's, like, you know, what?
G: Yeah, but Tyler you have to understand--
B: No, I'm not giving you the time of day.
G: ...
B: I'm not going to argue about it. It's just, like, what I think.
G: How? What've I said, what've I done to piss you off?
B: I'm basically done talking to you because you're annoying.
G: *crestfallen and flabbergasted, pouts*
B: Okay, so do you have anything more to say, because I don't.
G: Do I go, do you want me to leave?
B: Uhhh, I don't know, kinda.
G: *mouth open, stares*
B: Is there a problem with that?
G: Okay, so we're done?
B: Uhh, yeah. Okay.
And then Blue October's Hate Me comes up in the background.
It's so bad, it's almost good. But not quite...why do I watch this shit? I think it's actually rotting my brain!
Yesterday I introduced you to the voices in my head. They're bitchy. Kind of like yours truly, but multiple times over. Picking up where we left off, Part Two of the Mental Inquisition:
Are you done pouting?
This is like a bad episode of Herman's Head.
There were no GOOD episdoes of that show.
True.
Can we continue?
If you must. Clearly I'm not getting any sleep tonight. Which is just as well, what with these nightmares I've been having lately.
Speaking of nightmares, what is the last movie you saw that actually scared you?
I woke up from a nightmare the night I watched Event Horizon. But that's okay. I love scary movies!
Most people are too sissy to properly enjoy them.
We should round them up and poke them with sticks.
Agreed. Now, back to our questions. You're sentenced to death and its the morning of your execution. What's your last meal?
Oh, did I get caught spying? That sucks. Okay, food....albacore sushi, hummus, and tequila. That way I won't feel whatever it is they're gonna do to me.
You're going to get drunk before you face the executioner?
You got a better plan?
That's actually not a bad idea. What's the worst way to die?
Anonymously and/or in vain. Or, painfully. I'd like to either be drunk, stoned or asleep, so I don't feel it.
Now who's the sissy?
Dude, it's DEATH.
Whatever. Before you die you want to...
Bungee jump off the bridge in Lourdes. And fuck an Australian. And an Eastern European. Preferably at the same time.
Nice. What about the Greek manservant?
He can watch. Bring us refreshments as needed. And towels and such.
You have some imagination. So if you were an animal, what kind would you be?
A big, ferocious tiger.
Somehow, that's completely fitting.
I want one as a pet too.
You really are crazy.
Point?
Taken. Pick one state in the U.S. to get rid of permanently.
Man, there are so many useless ones. How about West Virginia? You never hear anything good coming out of there.
What city in the U.S. do you want to visit?
Kansas City, Missouri seems quite inviting.
Because you can buy nunchukas there?
Oh, you know me so well! Why are you even bothering with these questions?
Actually, we just read your blog.
That's retarded.
We know.
So what isn't in the blog that you want to know?
Toy you always wanted but never got as a child?
An Etch-a-Sketch. They're so cool!
Favorite holiday?
Whichever ones take people OUT of town, so there's no traffic on the freeway. Like Labor Day, Christmas, or the Jew Day.
The Jew Day?
Go read Random Acts of Genius.
He has a crush on you.
Who doesn't? That's why I had to put a warning on the blog. Too many boys with the crushes.
He's currently asking what the worst thing you've ever done at work is.
I almost had sex at work. On the boss' desk. With the Swede. Oh damn, that was a fun weekend.
But you didn't do it?
I was afraid the cleaning crew was going to walk in.
What a waste.
Yeah, the Swede was incredibly hot.
You don't even like the Scandanavian set.
I made an exception.
Good call.
Word. Vikings are hot.
Your readers are going to get bored with this line of questioning.
That's because you're not asking anything anymore.
Okay, lets take a break. We'll regroup tomorrow. Try not to fuck anyone at work in the meantime.
You don't let me have any fun!
***
More tomorrow? We'll see.
Last night I had a rare and imaginary experience where I was interviewed by the various voices in my head. Published for the first time ever, here is Part 1 of the sit down:
Q: You and Jesus go out to dinner - who pays?
A: Jesus like the carpenter or the gardener? Because one is dead and the other one has 18 mouths to feed, so I'm not sure I'm having dinner with either one.
Okay, lets start over. Pretend you have to flee the country and adopt an alias. What is it?
My UK passport will say that I am Lucia Axelrod. I'm trying to figure out what my Croatian passport name will be. Any suggestions?
How about Lucija Altabas?
Oooh, good one. Wait, are one of you Croatian?
No. Why do you ask?
...
Moving on. You're training to be an international spy. What's your weapon of choice?
Knives. Do you know me at all? Sheesh
Humor us.
Fine.
Okay, we'll humor you. Tomorrow morning you wake up as the opposite gender - what's the one thing you wanna try?
Dude, I want to be able to pee standing up. Or sex. Yeah sex as a boy! Standing up! Wait, no peeing. Can't I do both?
Just pick one.
I can't. I want both.
Fine. So now you're a man. What's an automatic deal breaker in a potential significant other?
I don't want to be a man. Men don't have boobies. Boobies are nice to have and hold.
Okay, you're a woman. Damn, you're a pain in the ass.
Your point?
Answer the question: what's an automatic deal breaker in a potential significant other?
Arrogance, and usually smoking. Stupidity. Using the word "supposably." Scoring less than 1350 on the SATs. But mostly, arrogance.
1350 on the SATs?
Okay, fine. 1250. But that's really the bottom of the barrel.
What about people who don't take the SATs?
Is that allowed?
We're getting way off topic.
What's the topic?
Shut up.
Make me! Ow! Okay, don't hit. I need to look pretty in the morning.
You brought this on yourself. Speaking of which, what's the stupidest thing you've ever said out loud?
"Are we de-masculizing men now? Hey, I just made up a word!" And I just said that on Saturday.
1350, really?
*scowl*
Yeah, we thought so.
***
And that, my friends, is the first part of the scintillating conversation between me and my various personalities. I know you're on the edge of your seats just waiting for more.
Tomorrow.
Did anyone else notice there was NO traffic today?
I decided to be adventurous and take a different set of streets to work today, having heard they were the asphalt equivalent of the bullet train. Imagine my glee when I, speeding down Venice Blvd, decided the rumors were indeed true.
And then I passed under the 10 freeway, which was also moving at an abnormally fast clip. For a brief moment I wondered if it was actually Sunday, and I'd gone and fucked up my schedule again. But the morning radio show assured me it was indeed a weekday and I chalked it up to random weirdo traffic patterns.
It wasn't until I was 5 blocks from the office--in less than 30 minutes!--that I realized what today is. Nearly deserted streets in one of the densest business centers in the city wasn't due to a miracle, it's just Yom Kippur. Take a few hundred thousand Chosen Ones off the street and like magic, downtown is empty!
Why can't there be a Jewish holiday every day? It only took me 20 minutes to get back home. That's usually how long it takes me just to get ON the freeway. The entrance to which, by the way, is immediately around the corner from my office. I can see the on-ramp from the reception area. (Yeah, classy.)
Anyway, happy Yom Kippur to you Jews out there. It's also the Queen's Birthday and Labor Day down under, but I don't know any Australians who took the day off. If you did, thank you for staying home and making it easy to get to and from work today.
Can we all do the same thing tomorrow?
Last month was quite the whirlwind of activity. First I had to say good-bye to unlimited free time, sex in the afternoon, and mid-week/midday drunkeness, which is always a little painful. Then there was the switching gears to get back to the working world, which is kind of exhausting. Now I just can't wait until this damn marathon is over so I can have my weekends back to do nothing. Except sleep. And have sex in the afternoon, of course.
45 miles run
2 personal records set
14 days left until the big day
500 additional dollars raised for charity
17 days spent "vacationing"
16 hours between end of interview and job offer
5 days spent negotiating that offer
10 days of full employment
12 miles from home to the job
45 minutes to travel that distance
3 birthdays
1 retroactive membership into The Wristband Club
6 years late on that entry
1 tumble down the stairs
3 rug burns to commemorate that event
2 hours of "comedy"
4 comics of varying talent
1 new and hysterically funny blogger welcomed into the fold
1 seasoned and incredibly talented writer/blogger departed for San Francisco
3 nights of musical education
1 new cd mixed for my continued enjoyment
1 lumberjack spotted in the area
0 lumberjacks successfully captured
1 offer to provide access to nunchakus
4 different faux-nunchakus available in the kitchen section of Crate & Barrel
84 minutes of bad movie endured
2 chick flicks owed for that
34 blogs written
24 blogs posted (lucky for you that I edit...)
