Squeak squeak squeak

Forgive me, father, for I have sinned. I have transgressed against my own rules of exercise.

Yes, that's right. The hamster wheel. *Bowed head*

I will be unable to run today after work - my man cub has baseball practice as soon as I get home from work....then it's homework, dinner, laundry, etc. And so I accepted defeat and became a hamster in the office gym. I cranked up the tunes in my ears and went for it. I squeaked around the ellipticalhamsterwheel for 3 miles and then switched to the treadmillhamsterwheel for 1 mile.

So here I sit at my desk red-faced and hot, but immensely proud that my workout is done.

Life is good.

Wave your hands in the air
like you don’t care.
Ride by the people as
they stop to look and stare.
Do your dance.
Do your dance.
Do your dance quick, mama.
Come on, baby, tell me what’s the word?
Word up!

Word Up – Cameo

Stranger

Sometimes I forget who I am.

I don't mean my name - but my person, my personality, my reason for being. Today is one of those days.

I've worn so many hats, so many masks, for so many people, for so long, I sometimes forget which one is really me. Or are they all parts of me? And if they are all pieces of me, then where is the whole? Who is the whole? And who gets all of me?

Well, we all have a face
that we hide away forever.
And we take them out
and show ourselves
when everyone has gone.
Some are satin,
some are steel.
Some are silk
and some are leather.
They’re the faces of the stranger,
but we love
to try them on.

The Stranger – Billy Joel

I’m a little bit of everything
all rolled into one.
I’m a bitch,
I’m a lover,
I’m a child,
I’m a mother,
I’m a sinner,
I’m a saint,
I do not feel ashamed.
I’m your hell,
I’m your dream,
I’m nothing in between.
You know you wouldn’t want it
any other way.

Bitch - Meredith Brooks


I never give money to panhandlers - we have so many in the city, and it's illegal. But this morning a young woman was panhandling on busy Peachtree Street. She looked dirty and tired and she held a piece of cardboard that had child-like letters scrawled on it, "Homeless and hungry." She walked slowly down the line of cars at the stoplight holding that sign. And there I sat in a Mercedes. I felt guilty. No matter that it's my husband's car, or that I only have $7 to my name until payday. I knew how I must appear driving that car, and I knew that I was on my way to a job, then to a warm and comfortable home where I would put dinner on the table. And so I rolled down the window and handed her one of my seven dollars. It felt good.

My mom used to say that I got a checkmark by my name when I was good and an X by my name when I was bad, presumably from god. I got a lot of Xs back then, according to her. Well, I no longer believe in any one single being called God, but I do believe in karma.

Anyway, maybe I got a checkmark today.

Mimosas!

Notice - new juicer



To me, there is nothing quite like starting a weekend morning with mimosas. These are not your average run-of-the-mill mimosas, either. I personally juiced 3lbs of fresh tangelos for these mimosas. You can't buy tangelo juice, but I have to say that if there is a heaven, it will be offered there. Along with an endless supply of champagne, of course.


And hey - after my third (or is it fourth?) of these I can barely remember the phone call from my parents last night.


It's always the same. The phone rings and the caller i.d. reads "PARENTS." I either groan and don't answer it, or I groan and answer it. I never actually want to pick up the phone when they call.



For the last year or so the only thing we seem to discuss is their dog. Or rather, my mom's dog. Her baby. And god, how she dotes on that dog, relaying every cute trick or event to anyone who will listen. What proud parents they are - of the dog. And what a lucky dog she has been!

I sometimes think that if my mother had paid half as much attention to me when I was a little girl as she has paid to that dog........ Well, who knows, but most likely I would be only half as fucked up as I am. No, huh uh, I have no resentment.

As life sometimes goes, the 7-yr-old dog was diagnosed with bone cancer in her leg last year. The dog was given 3-6 months to live. Thousands and thousands of dollars (for radiation treatment, medications, trips to multiple veterinarians for second and third opinions, a trip to a vet surgeon hundreds of miles away to see if the leg could be partially amputated and the dog fitted with a prosthesis) and 10 months later, the dog is still dying.

That's no surprise, of course. What is a surprise is all the money they've dumped into trying to save her when they've been told it was impossible. There seems to be an endless supply of money available for them to throw to the dog, but there wasn't enough to help out their daughter who was a single mother and in danger of starving. Yes, I did make my own bed, and yes I must lie in it. It's OK. I understand.

Oh no, don't be silly! I'm not jealous of a dog!

And "Well, how are you and the kids?" comes at the end of the conversation. The usual quick "oh, fine, great, blahblah" and "Well, I need to get back to dinner." Oh yeah, we'll talk again soon. Uh huh. Yeah, I know we need to come visit. Uh huh. Love you too. Buh bye.

My parents were sort of paradoxial role models for me. While I could never (would never) call them to ask parenting advice - for anything - ever, I most certainly learned from them. I learned what NOT to do and say to my children. I learned that everything you do and everything you say to your children affects them. I learned that words hurt more than beatings. I learned that words can never be unsaid, and that they can leave deep scars.

Well that's something. Thanks, y'all.

Damn these mimosas are good.

Running amok

I was watching TV last night and caught part of an ad for some sort of exercise equipment, and I had an epiphany - about treadmills, ellipticals and stationary bikes. My dislike for them. My inability to use them, that is.

The word bouncing around my brain was HAMSTERS!

I'm convinced that treadmills, ellipticals, stairmasters and stationary bikes are hamster wheels. Every time I get on one of them I feel like a rodent on a squeaky effing wheel! No thanks.

Of course, my stubbornness about this costs me days of running; if it's raining, I'm pretty much screwed.

And speaking of running, I have just added to my monstrous itunes collection. With the excuse of needing more running tunes I lazily browsed the online music store (candy store for me), nonchalantly buying everything that took my fancy. About $42 later I had a brand new ipod folder. On today's run I will definitely be dancing to the beat of some different drums, babyee.

(Note to self: Teengirlchild must never learn how many songs I purchased in that one sitting!)


Mmmmm chocolate flavored coffee (favorite) and only myself and the dogs up. Of course, that won't last because monsterdog has found her favorite toy - a huge orange rubber thing with a very LOUD squeaker. It squeaks when bitten, chewed, thrown, stomped on and shaken. Apparently.

update later - just as I typed the above, I hear hubby up. Damn dog!

Mind over body

Yesterday's run was hard.

It was the very same run as the day before, but for some reason I was dragging. I had to REALLY push myself. I wanted to stop and walk several times. The problem with that was that I was in a bit of a rush, needing to get home and get showered and ready for a 7 p.m. meeting.

But I made it. Again. And to make up for my shitty time I sprinted the last leg (my street), which I now know was a mere .1122 miles, according to gmap-pedometer. Damn! I thought it was a bit longer. Sigh.

I seem to have those days about once a week. I don't know why. I wish I did. I hate feeling weak.

I need to be strong. Always. Tough-as-nails. Nothing breaks me. I am [strong] woman. See me survive.

Ahhh, but these baby steps are getting me there. Closer to my goal. I'm slowly letting go of the old, the bad and the ugly. Pfffffffffffffftttttttt

Yes, I'm going to be fine - just fine.

I used to ride with a vending machine repairman.
He said he’s been down this road
more than twice.
He was high on intellectualism.
I’ve never been there,
but the brochure looks nice.
Jump in, let’s go.
Lay back, enjoy the show.
Everybody gets high,
everybody gets low.
These are the days when anything goes.
Every day is a winding road.
I get a little bit closer.....
Every day is a faded sign.
I get a little bit closer
to feelin’ fine.....

Everyday Is A Winding Road - Sheryl Crow

Blogger's Cramp

I figure if there's a "writer's cramp" there must be a "blogger's cramp" too, right?

I feel like I have nothing uplifting to discuss today - even to myself.

I realize that I've been bitching far too much lately, and I intend to be more mindful of that as I blog. I'll try to be more pleasant and happy and keep future bitching to a minimum.

Coughbullshitcough.

Maybe once a month I'll dedicate a blog to bitching. But gosh, where will I jot down all my daily bitches while I wait for "bitch day?" I wouldn't want to forget one! By George, I think I've got it! I'll have "bitch day" once a week instead of once a month. That will keep it more managable and will keep me from exploding. We wouldn't want an explosion.... So what day do I bitch, and from where do I begin counting? Hmmmmm

I'll just keep nursing my slow leak for now: Ppffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffff

Baby steps, AtlantaMom, baby steps.


My running self is already getting anxious about the March 22 5K. I am scared shitless of running in A RACE - in front of PEOPLE - and of being OFFICIALLY TIMED.

I'm especially anxious now that I'm now doubting my own clocking of miles. Someone seemed shocked/impressed in a comment on a previous blog. That told me something was off! Please know that I'm not using a stopwatch, nor am I having a third party time me. (I should!) I've simply been checking the digital clock in my kitchen before I run out the front door, and then checking it again when I come in.

The 7-minute miles I "clocked" myself at were after a mere 3 mile run. Does that make it sound less good? Believe me when I say that I'm not fast. I never was a sprinter and, in fact, have always sucked at it. Endurance was always my mantra.

I found a 5k a full 20 days prior to the one I've already signed up for. It's in Athens, Georgia, which is about an hour from here (translate: I won't know anyone). Sneaky, obsessive me looked up last year's race results and found the top 3 times in my age group to be: (1) age 38 - 19:17.2; (2) age 36 - 25:00.0; (3) age 38 - 25:56.6

Something inside of me is screaming YOU CAN DO THIS! And by "do this" I really just mean place in the top three in my age group. I just don't want to embarrass myself...

Where’s the fire,
what’s the hurry about?
You better cool it off
before you burn it out.
You got so much to do
and only so many hours in a day...
hey hey hey
But you know that when the truth is told
that you can get what you want
or you can just get old.
You’re gonna kick off
before you even get halfway through...
oooh when will you realize
Vienna waits for you....

Slow down, you’re doin’ fine.
You can’t be everything you wanna be
before your time.
Although it’s so romantic
on the borderline tonight...tonight
Too bad, but it’s the laugh you lead;
you’re so ahead of yourself
that you forgot what you need.
Though you can see when you’re wrong,
you know you can’t always see when you’re right.
You’re right.
You got your passion,
you got your pride,
but don’t you know that only fools are satisfied
dream on, but don’t imagine they’ll all come true.
oooh when will you realize
Vienna waits for you....

Vienna – Billy Joel

No pain, no gain

"If little labour, little are our gains;
Man’s fortunes are according to his pains."

Robert Herrick (1591-1674)


As is usual, and perhaps inevitable, the original has been butchered, but our popular version amounts to the same thing, really. That said, I'm gaining, baybee, I'm gaining. Everything hurts. Ahhh, well at least I can be certain that I'm alive, right?

Yesterday's route du jour was 3 miles. I really pushed that 3 miles such that my pace was about 7 minute miles. Not too shabby, but it won't win me any medals either. That's ok; I'm getting there. Very slowly, but getting there all the same. I suppose I could detour into the slow-but-steady-wins-the-race "Hare vs. the Tortoise" fable, but we all know it, so I'll skip it.

*We are interrupting today's blog to let said blogger bitch*

Ahem

Co-workers.

I have a co-worker whose office is directly next to mine. In fact, we share a wall. She's been here for approximately three years. I loved her to death for the first year or so, but at some point I began to feel some resentment toward her work ethic. That resentment has grown into resentment toward her person for some hideous and completely annoying habits.

First, her timesheet reads "Arrive: 8:30 a.m., Depart: 5:00 p.m." nearly every day. Interestingly, she rarely arrives before 9:30 and almost always leaves at around 4:00. She evidently feels above the laws that be, for whatever reason. She's salaried, so she gets paid for full-time work. That pisses me off. I'm not sure why it's even my business, but I resent it.

Second, she smokes all day every day. "Where's D?" I'm asked constantly. She's always in the smoking area. The woman gets paid to smoke. And that pisses me off too.

Now, to be completely frank and open to myself (for a blog is really a diary, right?), I was a smoker. In fact, I smoked for years. And I have D to thank for my quitting. Let me explain.

About a year or so ago, D reported that she had been diagnosed with lung cancer. She was promptly scheduled for surgery to remove the cancer, which was a success. She then took extended leave to rehabilitate. All was a success. She had dodged a bullet! It was miraculous! And what do you think happened to her smoking habit? Why nothing. She continued as if nothing had happened. That fact made me so sick that I quit right then and there. In the moments after learning that she had resumed smoking after BEATING DEATH I lost all respect for this woman. Suddenly she sickened me. But thanks to her I'm a non-smoker for over a year....

[Yes, all the years of martial arts, aerobics, etc. were done while smoking. And yes, I do know how stupid that was. As my Dad so eloquently put it, "That's like pissing in the wind."]

Further, this woman coughs, gags and snorts all day long. Every day. I don't mean sniffing, either, like with a runny nose. I mean she SNORTS. As in from-the-diaphram snorting. It's the most disgusting sound any one person could make, in my opinion. I'd rather hear the fat guy across the hall fart all day than hear her snorting. Over the last year or so the snorting has increased, such that it's evidently a habit. I liken it to a chinese torture. Just as the little drop of water between the eyes is fairly benign and unpainful at first, but grows and grows until it can kill.....her constant snorting has made me, quite frankly, insane.

- Thanks to Wikipedia for the following on Chinese water torture-

What is called the "Chinese water torture" was a torture described by [the Italian] Hippolytus de Marsiliis in the 16th century that was supposed to drive its victim insane with the stress of water dripping on a part of the forehead for a very long time. It may also be characterized by the inconsistent pattern of water drips. The desire for the human brain to make a pattern of the timing between the drops will also cause eventual insanity to set in.

She frequently calls an hour or more after she is scheduled to have come in, only to say she won't be in. WTF? Who the hell does she think she is, anyway?

Now, the question that begs asking is this: Do I tattle? Is it my business to tell someone? Or do I assume that one day, at some point, her transgressions will come to light without any help from me? If I take the latter route my nose will stay clean and I will not be associated with anything having to do with her demise. On the other hand, If I know about her lies but say nothing, does that make me guilty? Certainly there are many instances where failure to come forth with knowledge makes one guilty.

What to do, what to do....

All you zombies hide your faces
all you people in the street
all you sittin’ in high places
the piece is gonna fall on you

All You Zombies – The Hooters