Asking the tough questions

Okay, internet, I have a major decision, and I’m just not sure what the right thing to do would be.

I had a pair of sandals. I bought them last summer at Macy’s (on sale) and I loved them. They went with just about everything, and were that perfect mix between casual and dressy that you just don’t often find. And, they didn’t make my feet scream, which doesn’t happen all that often (why do you think I generally stick to Reefs of All-Stars? For the look?).

I guess a visual would help:

Do you understand now?

Anyway, I broke them. I actually broke the sole in half (I believe this could have occurred when I wisely decided to wear them line dancing with my mom). And I was devastated.

But! I found them again, at Heels! There are just two problems:

1. You know, they broke the first time I owned them. How long will they last this time?

2. I know I didn’t pay that much for them the first time around.

But I love them. I’ll be kinder, gentler, more considerate this time around. Maybe the broken sole was totally my fault. (Do I sound like I’m in an abusive relationship or something?)

Help! What do I do?

Be careful what you say around me …

Last night, Jared was talking to some of the big wigs from Sunglass Hut (where he used to work), and I found it funny that they continually referred to it as “The Hut.” As we walked out, I asked him if there had ever been any confusion with that. Because, I’m sorry, but if you say something about “The Hut” to me, I’m always gonna assume you’re talking about Pizza. Then again, I like to think people are referring to pizza a lot of the time, but that’s a whole different post.

Anyway, fast foward to today, when this is released: Pizza Hut changes its name. “Pizza Hut reportedly is slicing the “pizza” from its name. The fast food chain will now be known simply as ‘The Hut.’”

DUDE. We’ve both checked for bugs, but you know The Man. He’s sneaky.

However, if The Man is still spying on me, I do have one thing to point out. So, the name change is an “attempt to transform its stores into hip hangouts.” And what other changes will they make in order to create a hip atmosphere?

“They will include televisions that broadcast CBS programs such as ‘Wheel of Fortune’ and ‘Entertainment Tonight.’” Yep, all the cool kids are gonna be scrambling to get to The Hut on Friday nights.

And now? Yeah, I want pizza. And also a tiki hut, just to mix things up.

Musings From a Rambling Man – Jared Goes Home

This week, Jared was back in one of the many parts of Florida in which he spent his formative years. And of course, he had some observations to share:

I was driving by the Humane Society in Ft. Lauderdale today and noticed two signs hanging outside the facility.  The first one said “Hold Your Birthday Party Here!!”  The second exclaimed “Summer Camp Sign Up Starts Today!”   Hold on a minute here.  Is the Humane Society all of a sudden like the new O2B Kids?

I used to work at this very Humane Society (way back) in my high school days.  It was very difficult to go home each day without taking one of the animals home.  Seems like a pretty sneaky (or ingenious!) way to get kids to take home an animal.  “Hi Jimmy, how was summer camp today?” “Great, mom. We played soccer, made macaroni necklaces, and I brought home a puppy!” No way a kid could spend all day at an animal shelter and not want to bring home every single animal they come across.

Even worse is a birthday party.  You send little Jimmy off to a birthday party and he comes home with a party favor bag and inside … a kitty!!!!  This shelter seems to be trying awfully hard to get kids into their facility and will probably pressure them a little to adopt an animal.

This Humane Society is named after Wayne H Huizinga’s wife.  Was this his idea? It seems eerily similar to the fire sale that was the 1997 World Series Champion Florida Marlins.  The following year Wayne practically posted signs begging teams to take players off his hands. “Hey Jimmy anything cool happen today?” “Yeah I picked up Bobby Bonilla at a birthday party today! It was AWESOME.”

Editor’s note: All this, and he still won’t let me get another dog. Sheesh.

I’ll tri, tri again

As you might have astutely discerned from my previous post, I had a bit of difficulty in last weekend’s triathlon — the Crystal River Sprint Tri #1. I finished, and aside from actually showing up, I truly believe that’s the most important thing. In fact, I’m not even going to pretend that I’m too upset about my time, because I wasn’t expecting anything too spectacular.

(See, kids? See how that works? When you set your sights low, you can’t lose! Whee!)

But still, things could have gone better.

The swim was far more difficult than I remembered. Everyone is always telling me how hard they find the swim, and I just never have. For the first half, I was right in the mix, up at the front, and then … I died. I kept breathing in water, and I went waaay off course … and consequently, I came in a couple minutes later than I should have. Not the best start.

Additionally, remember how I was saying I didn’t really train? That included cycling. In fact, I hadn’t been on my bike (which was Jared’s dad’s, and is made for a man about 5″ taller than me) for over a year and a half until the night before, when I rode it around my parents’ cul de sac. You know, to make sure I could. I’m not so good on the bike to begin with. Anyway, I wasn’t fast by any means, but I stayed on. The only problem was trying to get water — I just couldn’t pedal and reach for the bottle (or hold it, or put it back) at the same time, so I ended up only getting one quick drink. Over the course of 15 miles. After swallowing at least my own weight in salt water. Awesome.

Which brings us to the run — the only part I think I probably was prepared for. However, it turns out that, if you sweat a lot and don’t drink anything, your muscles get a little fussy. Both my calves were completely rock solid. My ankles felt arthritic, I was getting chills, and my quads … well, they just had nothing to give. I’ll be honest — I actually considered quitting. And anyone who knows me at all knows that I just don’t do that.

And I didn’t. I stopped numerous times to walk, stretch, and pound on my calves, and when I got to the first water station at Mile 1, I stopped and drank two large cups of water before moving on. Luckily for me, there was another water station at Mile 1 1/2, I drank some more, and, voila! My legs worked again! It’s a miracle, the way that works. Another thing that helped — there was a girl with a big chocolate lab around Mile 2, so I stopped and got some cuddles. That definitely gave me  a boost.

Jared, Mom and Dad were stationed near the finish line (cameras in hand, but I haven’t gotten the pics from anyone yet) — they were total troopers, leaving at 6:15 with me and hanging out for the whole race. I can’t tell you how happy it made me to see them, even though none of them wanted to hug my sweaty mess of a body once I finished. Still, as I said before, I finished. My time was 1:45 — I had hoped for something closer to 1:30, but I’ll get it next time. Because I will train and I will hydrate. Lessons learned.

I suspected all of this was true, and I was right

1. You know that hydration thing that fitness experts are always jawing about? Yeah, turns out it actually is really important.
2. Familiar faces at a finish line can give you a real boost. Cameras have a similar effect
3. Often, the restaurants that look the WORST have the very best food. Even if they look like a crack house on the outside.
4. Getting away from the computer once in a while is not only a good thing — it’s completely necessary.

Win some, lose some

Talk about a roller coaster of emotions.

Things have been a bit on the crazy side around these parts. For starters, I’ve been working like a dog, and not like my dogs who are lazy and sleep in the same spot so often that there’s already a spot on our year-old carpet (yes, really). No, I’ve been working like one of those cattle dogs who runs through the herd nipping at heels to keep things moving and together and all of a sudden realizes she’s been going and going and going for so long that, holy hell, she hasn’t even had time to go to the bathroom. And how did it get to be dinner time? And thank goodness she has a husband who cooks for her, or she’d be subsisting on a lot of PB&J.

And yes, I’m talking about me and not the dog now. Sorry if I lost you.

It’s exciting to be so busy, but also tiring, which doesn’t leave me in the best position to receive news that’s either really good or really bad. Or make decisions.

Case in point — we accepted an offer on our condo! You know, the one we moved out of almost a year ago and busted our asses (as did our moms) to fix up quickly for a quick sale (excuse me while I LAUGH MYSELF SILLY). So yay! An offer! For lower than our asking price, which was already considerably (CONSIDERABLY) less than we paid for it. But you know what? I’m not complaining for a second — an offer is an offer, and I’m totally happy, although, until the papers are signed and we no longer have the keys, I’m not going to celebrate. Just in case.

So that’s great, right? The same day this happened, we were set to have dinner at our friends’ house, so I got dressed (in real clothes, even), and went to put on my jewelry, which included a diamond ring made from the stones that were in my grandmother’s wedding ring — she died when I was very young, and my mom had the stones reset in a ring that she gave to me for Christmas my senior year of high school. However, when I slid it on my finger, it didn’t feel right, and as I looked down, I saw that it was missing the center stone. Admittedly, it wasn’t large, but it was the largest of the stones, and more importantly than that, it was my grandma’s. Yes, I checked the case it was in, and the last time I’d had it on was at a wedding. In Daytona Beach.

With the ups and downs, the only logical thing is to do is, of course, sign up for a race for which I’m not at all prepared, right? No? Well, too bad, because that’s what I did. I’m now participating in a triathlon. On Saturday. And no, I didn’t sign up while I was drinking, in case you wondered. I just thought it would be fun. Oy.

I do! Well, I did …

I’m currently at the beach (well, inside at the moment, but there’s sand and ocean and sunshine about 20 feet from where I’m sitting), and I’m here for a good friend’s wedding. A good friend for whose bachelorette party I whooped it up so hard that I still have boo boos (but it was totally worth it).

And, of course, I can’t help but think about my own beach wedding a little over five (wtf, FIVE?) years ago, and what I would change. Not a lot, honestly. We had an amazing group of friends and family, a fabulous location, and my dress was perfection (Jared looked pretty snazzy, too). It was a good party. The only thing I wish I could change is how I handled things — I was SO stressed beforehand (and I had a number of very good reasons, but still), and I held onto a lot of the frustrations and disappointments for years afterward. Hell, I’m still a little pissed that there were carnation pink bows all around, because that is not tropical.

Ahem.

Anyway, at this point, I really am thankful that it was such an amazing event, and I know my friend’s wedding is going to be just as fabulous. And, if you (or someone you know) is getting married sometime soon, I wanted to point you toward a really cool promotion going on.

My friend Little Debbie (okay, it’s Deb, but she’s petite and cute and I just think Little Debbie suits her. Sue me) is an amazing artist/jewelry maker (omg who wants to buy me this?), and she’s part of the Ever After Wedding Market, which is hosting the Ever After Bailout Giveaway. You just browse the site (which you’ll want to do anyway, trust me), leave a comment on the giveaway post (NOT HERE) about which of their items is your favorite. The winner gets a subscription to Martha Stewart Weddings plus a tone of coupons from Ever After vendors. You have until May 15 to enter, so be sure to tell your bridal friends!

And if you’re not getting married, probably you should still check out Blazer Arts (Little Debbie’s company).

Photo: aaronlockwoodphotography.com

I think I might need to try harder

Today, the following dialog occurred in my house:

Jared: Are you wearing a different shirt than you were wearing yesterday?

Me: Uh … (looks down to check), yes.

Jared: Oh. Because you look … (makes motion like he’s bouncing giant breasts on his chest) … bustier.

Me: Yeah. I’m wearing a bra.

So, let’s take a second to discuss the many, many problems with this. For one, my husband shouldn’t have to ask if I’m wearing a different shirt than I did yesterday. It should be a given. Normal people wear different shirts … wait for it … EVERY DAY. Or at least, that’s what I’m told. I, however, do not. If it’s still pretty clean, why dig through my closet to find something new? (To be fair — the shirt I’m wearing today is the same style as what I wore yesterday, just a different color, so it was a totally fair question.)

Second, I shouldn’t have to look down to determine whether, in fact, I actually have a new shirt on today. Please see above for clarification.

And then, there’s the whole issue that I apparently rely on tanks with built-in shelf bras (not quite sufficient for the drooping that apparently ensues when you’re staring down 30) so much that my husband stops in his tracks when I actually wear a bra. I mean, don’t get me wrong — I wear all the proper undergarments when I leave the house. In fact, that’s the whole reason I had one on today — I had gone out this morning and just left it on, like a normal person.

I mean, most days, I’m just sitting in my office, typing away, and my only interaction with people is either via email or conference call, so I guess it makes me a little lazy. Is that a crime? Because I think it just might be.

On another note entirely, Yuki (the seven-year-old dog) has been getting up a little slower and stiffer than in the past, so I decided tonight I’d go buy some glucosamine for her. She doesn’t seem to think that’s necessary, because she just chased the puppy around for 10 minutes like a complete and total nutcase. She’s an enigma wrapped in a riddle surrounded by a constantly exploding coat of fur.

You like phoenixes? Turtles? Come on down!

So, it’s National Poetry Month (as I was just reminded), and, as you just might have gathered from the title, I nearly missed it. Which is funny, because there is poetry that I truly love. There is also poetry I truly hate — quite a bit, actually — but that’s the beauty of poetry. There’s something out there for everyone, and if there was nothing to hate, you’d never appreciate just how spectacular some of your favorites are. Not terribly unlike music — it’s a matter of finding a rhythm that speaks to you, and words that you feel rather than read. And you know what? If it’s Dr. Seuss, I have no problem with that. I love the Seuss.

However, I also love Shakespeare, and there are a couple of sonnets that I particularly adore. First, Sonnet 130:

My mistress’ eyes are nothing like the sun;
Coral is far more red than her lips’ red;
If snow be white, why then her breasts are dun;
If hairs be wires, black wires grow on her head.
I have seen roses damask’d, red and white,
But no such roses see I in her cheeks;
And in some perfumes is there more delight
Than in the breath that from my mistress reeks.
I love to hear her speak, yet well I know
That music hath a far more pleasing sound;
I grant I never saw a goddess go;
My mistress, when she walks, treads on the ground:
And yet, by heaven, I think my love as rare
As any she belied with false compare.

Basically, I love that he loves her for everything she is, and doesn’t feel compelled to exaggerate. She’s real, and that’s what he loves about her. When I was 16, all I wanted was for someone to feel this strongly about the real me and feel no need for hyperbole.

Second, I can’t say enough about “The Phoenix and the Turtle.” I selected a section of this to be read at our wedding — again, it’s incredibly beautiful and full of romance, but wildly untraditional. In fact, I just wiki’d it, and was informed that it’s one of his most obscure works, and considered by some to be “the first great published metaphysical poem.” Huh. I had no idea I was so deep.

Anyway, here’s my favorite part:

Here the anthem doth commence:
Love and constancy is dead;
Phoenix and the turtle fled
In a mutual flame from hence.

So they loved, as love in twain
Had the essence but in one;
Two distincts, division none:
Number there in love was slain.

Hearts remote, yet not asunder;
Distance, and no space was seen 30
‘Twixt the turtle and his queen:
But in them it were a wonder.

So between them love did shine,
That the turtle saw his right
Flaming in the phoenix’ sight;
Either was the other’s mine.

Property was thus appalled,
That the self was not the same;
Single nature’s double name
Neither two nor one was called. 40

Reason, in itself confounded,
Saw division grow together,
To themselves yet either neither,
Simple were so well compounded,

That it cried, How true a twain
Seemeth this concordant one!
Love hath reason, reason none,
If what parts can so remain.

Whereupon it made this threne
To the phoenix and the dove, 50
Co-supremes and stars of love,
As chorus to their tragic scene.

Take a second and just read it out loud. It sounds beautiful. But aside from that, it describes the kind of love that not everyone gets to experience.  So they loved, as love in twain/Had the essence but in one;/Two distincts, division none:/Number there in love was slain. They were so in love, so enamored with one another, that you could no longer call one of them one — they were two, and they couldn’t bear to even be separated by words that would signify them as singles. Either was the other’s mine. Have you ever felt like that? I mean, I have, and it’s amazing, and I’ve never seen anyone put it in words the way this DWM (dead white man) was able to do.

(It’s also totally morbid if you go from start to finish, which is why, for the wedding, I just cherry-picked from the middle. But I’m a little morbid, which might be part of the appeal for me — who knows?)

What about you? What’s your favorite poem?

Country mouse, city mouse

My husband and I had vastly different upbringings. I grew up in a really small town, in an old farmhouse that you had to take three different dirt roads to find. I lived there from the time I was born until I went to college, and my parents didn’t leave it until two years after that. It was 40 minutes or an hour to the nearest mall, and even the nearest Meijer (like Michigan’s Target) was about half an hour away.

Jared moved all around, mostly within Florida, and lived in numerous cities. Even when he was in a smaller area, he was in the city, at least compared to where I lived. So, naturally, every once in a while, something comes up that I just can’t believe he doesn’t know.

Today, we were driving to my parents’ house, and we go down some hick town two-lane roads to get there. We were behind a school bus, and had the following conversation.

Jared: Where is that bus even going to go?

Me: What do you mean? People live down these roads.

Jared: I know, but where does it stop? I mean, shouldn’t it have to stop at the intersection of all of these roads?

Me: No … not every road has a child of school age.

Jared: Did you ride the bus? (he’s seen the house I grew up in and knows that it’s about three miles from a paved road)

Me: Uh, yeah.

Jared: Where did it drop you off?

Me: At my house. Dude. It’s not like they’re going to make the first grader walk three miles, alone, through the snow, to get home.

Jared: I always had to walk from a bus stop.

Me: Yes, because you lived in a neighborhood. With other children. And sidewalks. And no bears.

Jared: Well, if they don’t teach you about the bears then, how are you gonna learn?

Following this, we got into a long discussion about the apparent difficulty of learning to use a compass (seriously — it points north. If you want to go north, you follow the arrow. If you want to go south, you go in the opposite direction. Right?). Jared is convinced that using a compass involves the climbing of trees and swimming of rivers, and that giant rocks often plant themselves in your path so that you get lost going around them. But then again, he did the boy scout thing, and I mostly just found my way around the mall. You want Auntie Anne’s Pretzels? Rave? Claire’s? I’m your compass, baby.