And so we meet again

Well, hello there, 3:30 a.m. I wish I could say it’s nice to see you again, but I can’t. I wish I could banish you to my unconscious while I have dreams about flying above the trees and kissing Heath Ledger, but, you know, I can’t.

I remember not-so-many years ago, early morning hours, such as yourself, generally meant pizza and beer runs and the occasional sneaking into some other apartment complex’s pool. I greeted you over-enthusiastically and glassy-eyed, the way one might greet an old co-worker they run into at a bar just before last call. Under normal circumstances, such a meeting would involve a hello and maybe a few other pleasantries, not bear hugs and details about my life.

But now … oh, things have changed. When last we met just a few days ago, it was in the Emergency Room for my father. You see, he’d already been released from the hospital for a minor surgery, but you couldn’t let us just have him back that easily. Around 11 p.m., we called 911 and sent him on back, and around this time on Thursday, I was standing next to his hospital bed watching Nancy Grace and talking to his doctor about scalloping but silently being scared out of my mind praying over and over again that he would just be ok. Fun times, 3:30 a.m.

Now that he’s home and recovering, what’s the deal? Are you feeling lonely? Because you’ve brought me back, this time with a sick dog. Yuki isn’t well, and you’d better believe me when I tell you to leave her the hell alone.

We’d put her on new meds for her anxiety (her fear of thunderstorms worsened into something else entirely when construction and, therefore, giant, rumbling trucks were occurring right outside our door — and there’s still an empty lot next to us, so it’s not over), and after three weeks, they kicked in. They kicked in, and kicked her ass — she was unsteady on her feet, running into walls (and spending hours just staring at walls), panting … just a huge mess.

After a visit to the vet, we decided to wean her off the meds, which we’ve done. And now, seriously, what the hell? She’s having the exact same problem, and I can’t fix it. It’s like a child with night terrors — she seems to have almost no understanding of where she is or the fact that I’m trying to help.

Jared stayed up half the night with her, and I took the early morning shift. What’s that you say? She’s just a dog? Come here and say that to my face. She’s my friend who’s been by my side for seven years, never asking for anything more than to be fed and cared for. She’s my family, and 3:30? BACK. OFF.

And now, as I threaten you, 3:30, I realize an hour has passed. I’m not finding 4:30 any more enjoyable, to be sure, it seems a little less … obscene. People actually get up at 4:30 a.m. I’ve gotten up before at 4:30 for various things — it’s almost like actual morning. You, on the other hand, 3:30, you are a bitch, and I don’t plan to see you again for a long time.

Semi-committed

I just can’t seem to commit. No, not to my marriage (Mom and Mom-in-Law — put the phone down). The thing I’m wishy-washy about is sure to bring me far more pain than Jared ever will. Or at least I sure hope so.

I went to the gym with my neighbor the other day, and she mentioned that she and her husband were planning to do a half-marathon at the end of February. February, 2010. That seems like a nice, long way off. And so, of course, doing the race sounds like a great idea.

The problem is, I’ve done one of these before.

That smile has nothing to do with the fact that I'd run 13.1 miles. It was only there because I knew I'D NEVER HAVE TO DO THAT AGAIN. My friend, Jami, though -- she was ACTUALLY smiling.

It was hard. Like, really, really hard. The training was tough, but not all that bad because, well, I didn’t really do it. I think I ran 10 miles at one point, but until race day, I’d never done 13.1. Thirteen point one freaking miles, people.

(And hey, you — the one who runs marathons with the kind of speed I reserve for running after a child who stole my ice cream? You can kindly keep your pie hole shut, thanks. For regular, human people, 13.1 miles is a long goddamn distance to run.)

Anyway, for many months after the race (which was in December 2006, I believe), I swore I’d never do anything like that again. And then, a funny thing happened. I started to want to run one again. I guess I just wanted to prove I could do it again, or something equally insane. I’m pretty sure it’s the lame ass runner’s equivalent to women forgetting how awful labor was when they decide to have another baby.

So, when my neighbor, who just had a baby, as a matter of fact, mentioned training for this, I said something like, “Holy hell that’s a terrible idea! Don’t you know how hard that is?” Only it came out more like, “You know, that sounds like fun. I’d love to train with you.”

(It should be noted that I initially called her to see if she’d like to come over for happy hour and instead asked if she wanted to go to the gym. Days like that, I should just keep my pie hole shut.)

So. End of February. Running 13.1 miles. But at least there should be pirates and beer. Lots and lots of beer.

We have a winner!

I had an amazing weekend with the lovely folks at Tropicana (and don’t worry, I’ll be writing plenty about it in the days to come). In fact, I was so busy that I didn’t have a chance to select a winner of the Tropicana fruit and juice basket until today!

I wish I could send delicious, healthy deliciousness to all of you, but, alas, there can only be one winner. Congrats to clarecd, who said, “Papaya is one of my faves. But there’s nothing like a nice, cold glass of OJ in the morning!” I’ll contact you shortly to get your address, and then you’ll get your yummy, yummy fruit basket. Whee!

There will be much, much more to come, but for now, I’m going to sit back and enjoy my fermented grape juice and pretend that dinner will make itself. (Shut up. You don’t know unless you try.)

Cars and juice: What do you want to know?

(Alternate title: OMG OMG OMG I get to leave the house!!!!)

Over the next couple of weeks, my job has me traveling. I KNOW — the hermit will actually leave her office. Hope you were sitting down for that.

First things first: I’m going to BlogHer in Chicago, and seriously, people, I could NOT be more excited. I get to meet — IN PERSON — some of my favorite internet coworkers. There will be drinks and parties and probably even some hugs. Hugs that I’m already okay with.

I really, really hope you were sitting down for that.

Aside from the schmoozing and the chatting and the trading of makeup and talking about shoes, I’ll be doing some learning. The first bit of that will come courtesy of Ford, as I’m attending their What Women Want Vehicle Tech and Event. So, I’m coming to you — what do you want in a vehicle? I know what’s important to me — a vehicle needs to fit all of my stuff, plus two dogs. But, it needs to get reasonably good gas mileage and — most importantly — it has to look cool.

Now, let’s move ahead to the following weekend, when I’ll be heading back to Chi-town for another conference. This one is sponsored by Tropicana, and is much, much smaller. I’ll be accompanied by my friend, Fitz, and we’ll be learning about food, fitness, and sustainability. One of the things that I’ve had a hard time with regarding Tropicana is that I feel like juice is just empty calories — if I’m gonna drink my calories, I’d better at least be getting buzzed, you know? But they have some cool recipes using juice (which sneaks lots of great nutrients into your food).

But I want to find out what you want to know. Are you worried about any part of the juice-making process? Are you looking for a different product? What makes you choose one brand over another, and what would change your mind?

Talk to me, folks. I promise I’ll try to make it worth your while — stay tuned!

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.