Why K and I will never be in a jewelry commercial

Have you seen that chocolate diamonds commercial -- the one for K@y? I swear, every time I see it, it makes me laugh because that couple is nothing like K and I.

For starters, no matter why or how long I've been up, I do not look like that at 2 a.m.

And then, when the husband explains he's up at 2 a.m. because it's 2 a.m. on Christmas ... for their first Christmas as a family, I'd definitely have to make fake vomiting noises.

He hands her a chocolate diamond ring. The practical side of me would immediately wonder just how much overboard that ring was for a Christmas gift. And I'd feel like a loser for just getting him a Blu-Ray, a stupid sweater, and whatever gadget I could get him to admit he was slightly interested in.

As if that weren't enough, as the commercial closes, the husband asks if his wife thinks their baby will remember that first Christmas. She gives the sugary sweet, cheesy answer, "I know I will."

My sarcastic response would be something along the lines of: "No, dumbass! She's 6 months old!"

No, we're definitely no jewelry store commercial couple.

We're way cooler than that.

I have to tell SOMEbody

Over the weekend, we had some more friends (acquaintances, actually) announce that they're pregnant. Afterward, we girls got to talking to her asking how she was doing, and the conversation inevitably led to the planning part. Someone started talking about prenatal vitamins and how you can take them up to 2 years before you have a baby.

I remember from several years back my doctor telling me at my annual well-woman appointment that I needed to be taking a daily multivitamin to make sure I have plenty of folic acid for someday when I have a baby. It wasn't an issue then, so I didn't pay much attention.

K got me started on GNC multivitamins years ago, and I take those most days (when I remember). I hadn't realized that prenatal vitamins could be taken so early. I definitely see K and I getting ready for (or even having) kids in the next couple years, so it occurred to me that I might ought to look into those.

And there's that whole birth control pill thing. I've been on those since I was 18. I know a few women who got off the pill, immediately got pregnant, and then had miscarriages (my mom included, which worked well for me because if she hadn't had the miscarriage, I wouldn't be here!). Sometimes those just happen, and oftentimes it's nothing the mother did to cause it. However, I can't help but think that if I can do anything to help that not happen, it's a good idea.

So yesterday I brought it up with K, slowly. I mentioned the prenatal vitamins, and how you can take them up to 2 years early. Told him I was thinking I might look into those. I've got all my GNC active women's daily multivitamins, but I could do research on prenatals and see how they differ. I could start taking those soon.

And in June, when I go for my well-woman exam, maybe I'd just not renew my pills. Just to get off them for a while before we're ready for any expansion (of the family and my belly).

I softened this proposed plan with a lot of, "Not that we'd have to do anything right away ..." and "Just so we're ready when we're ready ..."

K seemed pretty quiet. I asked him how he was taking it. He was fine with it. Unphased, even.

Looks like we have a plan!

What the f*cking f*ck?!

I don't know why this occurred to me on this particular morning on this particular day, but for some reason, I realized I could probably look at my mom's FB profile, scroll through her friends list, and find the FB profile of a scumbag I wanted to rip a new one in 2005.

The scumbag I heard about the day after Christmas, when my dad accidentally told me at my favorite restaurant in my hometown that my mom had had an affair years before (I say "accidentally" because he thought I already knew. My mom had told him that she'd already told me).

So I did it. And sure enough, there he was.

There he was, smiling like the player asshole I suspected he was. A 50-something wearing a collared white shirt, unbuttoned somewhere below the cropping of the picture so his sleazy, selfish chest peaks out for the world and his poor college-aged daughter to see.

And of course he's single. And of course he's looking for friendship, dating, and a relationship. (Evidently the bastard is always looking for that. He was married when he cheated with my mom.)

I wanted to send him a message. Short, simple, but totally not sweet. Subject: "Merry Christmas." Body of messsage: "I know who you are. Just wanted to tell you I think you're a selfish, asshole scumbag."

Oh, how badly I wanted to write that message. From the moment I looked at his profile -- his sleazy, nasty profile -- I felt the blood in my heart boil. I felt the adrenaline rushing through my body with a fire I didn't realize was there. I could imagine this asshole logging on -- probably to look at trashy porn -- and seeing this message. See the color drain from his disgusting face and his bare chest. Oh, would that be nice.

Except then he'd message my mom. And then there'd be this whole dramatic spiral. My mom knows that I know because I have strongly hinted at her. We've talked about it, even. She knows exactly how I feel about it. I didn't mince any words, that's for sure.

I didn't send Mr. Sleaze a message. But I did look at his wall.

And there, in a few places sprinkled throughout his wall, was my mom. In a few places, she was actually flirting with him! (Nov 1-"So what exactly is this truth game. Didn't think you could handle the truth! lol") My mom has always been a playful person, oftentimes with members of the opposite sex. Not to say that she's slutty or a tease, but she just enjoys laughing and joking around with them. I don't think it's a bad thing in all circumstances, but this one is not in that group. You do not flirt with a man you once had an adulterous affair with. Especially since I'm pretty sure her current husband doesn't know about this affair -- or if he does, he has no idea he knows the person my mom had the affair with.

I started typing a message to my mom with the subject "Reprimand." The message was telling her I'd seen him on her friends list, that I'd clicked on his profile and seen her messages on his wall. That I thought it was dangerous territory and she should be careful.

But I deleted the message. I glared at his profile a little longer, and I typed this blog.

It's the drama-free route.

The boiling has lessened, but it's still there.

Taking the high road sure sucks sometimes.

Let the planning frustrations begin ...

K and I booked our flight back to TX yesterday. I'm so excited! I haven't been home since August, and even then, it was a quick, hectic trip to play maid of honor in that one wedding I didn't want to happen.

I got to see ER and meet her baby, but I didn't get to see any family members or many other friends. I haven't seen my dad, grandparents, or brother since July. I haven't seen ER or her baby (who is growing WAY too quickly!) since August. I haven't seen Heather since June.

The list of people I need to see far outnumbers the amount of days we'll be in OK & TX. So now begins the list -- who can we not leave without seeing? How can I maximize the time with my family, even though my dad and grandparents will be working the whole time?

When do I go to my mom's house (an hour from my dad's house)?

I emailed her this morning to see when my stepsisters were coming over, since one of them told me they'll be spending Christmas with their mom this year. My mom's response:
Not sure when the girls are coming. Didn't realize they were spending Christmas with their mom this year since they did last year. Seems like [husband] and I spend alot of Christmas' alone. Am thinking we might start going somewhere that week since it's just the two of us anyway. 

Groan. Let the guilt trip begin.

I'll be annoyed about it for now, but I'm sure as hell not letting it ruin my trip!

It's all in the perspective

I'm having a bit of blog envy right now. Strangely enough, it all started on FB. I read a comment someone posted on a friend's (OK, an ex-bf's) wall, and it led me to Google, which led me to a blog. The blog was my ex's high school girlfriend. I remember his stories about her. She seemed kind of fascinating. Her blog totally proved that she is.

She's lived in Texas and in England, both to write greeting cards (how cool is that?!). She's witty and seems to be so full of life. And she's a talented photographer. She is now living in Miami studying photography. (I would kill to study photography.)

A few weeks ago, one of my very favorite bloggers, GFF, posted about Blog Envy. I'm sure it's something we've all felt. Someone else seems so much freer, so much cooler, so much smarter, more talented, funnier ... Well, Miss TX/England/Miami (much like GFF, actually) seems all of those things to me. So much that I even overlooked a comment in one of her posts that mocked my beloved Oklahoma (something about actually using the words "cool" and "Oklahoma" in the same sentence).

It's definitely my fault for neglecting this blog like I have. Some days I feel too busy to get down all I need to (part of that is due to the fact I don't really tell short stories), and sometimes I feel like I wouldn't have anything nice to say, so why bother to begin with (which is why I didn't write a marathon post immediately after the run).

Miss TEM, with all her world travel and amazing photos of places I may never see, seems so much wiser and worldly. I'm definitely not worldly.

I started to feel a little down on myself ... and then I started thinking.

I'm a pretty patriotic person. I've always been that way, but it's increased more and more over the years, starting first with my love of the Fourth of July and our family reunions, then the report I did in the fourth grade on Molly Pitcher, building with my high school experience at Girls State, and rocketing to the next galaxy once I fell in love with an Army guy.

And obviously I love Oklahoma. I am so proud to be from there, and I am so proud of the reputation we Okies have as being such great, friendly people. You can talk to anyone in Oklahoma, whether you know them or not. I've had some surprising and great conversations that way. (It's taken me a long time to realize people in most other places don't do that. Not that it's stopped me from trying!)

Oftentimes people somehow know I'm from that area (and this was even before I got my necklace). It happened with a kickballer on another team (he actually wanted to guess I was from Nebraska, "or one of those nearby states," he said. For a guy born & raised in VA, he got pretty dang close!). It happened to me once when I met a new coworker in Dallas. (I asked if it was because I exuded awesomeness.)

I've had people marvel at my knowledge of state facts (doesn't everyone know their state bird, state tree, state flower, etc.?). Sometimes I actually even remind myself of the dad in My Big Fat Greek Wedding, with his ability to tie everything back to Greek culture (obviously for me it would be Oklahoma). What most people don't know is that it was leaving Oklahoma that made me love it so much. Absence definitely made my heart grow fonder.

Here in VA, I've heard comments like, "You're so from Oklahoma!" (I took that as a great compliment) and "How big is the town you're from?"(For the record, 18,000. Pretty decent size for Oklahoma.)

I may not be worldly. I might enjoy using the word "y'all" a bit too much. I will never quit trying to start up conversations with strangers at the grocery store.*

I am the all-American girl next door. A small-town Okie. A meat & potatoes girl. A butcher's daughter. A NASCAR sister. An Army wife.

My world may be smaller, but it's the perfect size for me.

*For the record, I'm not the crazy lady who mumbles to herself. I'm a fan of talking to people in similar situations. Real-life example: Scanning an aisle at the store, noticing a woman next to me doing the same. "I swear, they're out of everything today!" (No, this woman did not respond. This happened in my first few weeks of moving to Dallas. She stared straight ahead, unmoving, as though I didn't exist. I really wanted to cry.)

My dad is going to give me a heart attack

I typically talk to my dad two or three times a week. I'll call him some mornings on my way to work. We almost always talk during OU football games. But we rarely talk during my workday.

So on the rare occasion my dad calls while I'm working, I know it's not good.

Last time, it was to tell me the daughter of a family friend had been killed in a car wreck. The time before that, he told me that a very close family friend had only a few days to live (cue me crying at my desk). I could go on.

I've gotten to where seeing my Dad's number pop up on my phone during my workday makes my heart feel heavy and my pulse race at the same time. I answer with a variation of, "Who is it this time?" and listen intently to his first words for any clues about the closeness of whoever he's calling about, while repeating over and over in my head, Please let Grandma and Grandpa be OK.

Today, I went with, "Is everyone OK?" Dad's answer, of course, was no. He went on to name an aunt & uncle, and then he filtered down to their son. A 2nd cousin I didn't see much because they didn't come to our family reunions very often. He was 33, and he was killed in a car accident not long before the phone call.

I remember his sister much better because she was closer to my age. We message from time to time on FB. I learned of the accident before their grandmother, and before a lot of our other family because my grandpa has to spread the word.

I feel terrible for my cousin and for my other family members, especially his sister. I'd be devastated if anything happened to my brother.

I feel bad to say that I'm relieved it wasn't someone I'm closer to. But still, nearing an hour after Dad's phone call, I don't feel right yet. My heart is still heavy, and my anxiety level is still high.

I'm tempted to ask Dad to hold all phone calls until after work ...

Damn hormones!

Obviously I have a lot of things to catch you guys up on, like actually telling about my marathon, and sharing pictures from a camping trip a few weeks ago, when I slept outside for the first time in my life. 

But there’s something a bit more pressing to share. It’s more pressing because it’s been kind of sudden. Or I’m guessing that it’s becoming that way. 

In the past, I’ve actually started a post a couple times about my thoughts on children (I never published them because I was afraid they'd come out the wrong way). About how once I got Piper and realized how badly I wanted people to like her and how protective I felt about a freakin’ dog, I also realized there’s no telling how ridiculous I’d be with a child. Not to mention when you consider how protective I am over my perfectly capable little brother, who I still refer to as my “little” brother despite the fact he’s 6’2” and 26 years old. 

I decided I wanted nothing to do with having a child. Maybe ever. Because the world doesn’t need that level of sanity, and ohmygosh do they ever stop crying? 

I heard them all around me. Crying. Begging. Demanding attention. I saw exhausted parents and parents who seemed to make their lives revolve around their kids. I saw dirty fingers. I saw minivans.

I realized I could see myself being ready for a family in 10, maybe 15 years (with an SUV, of course). Only I’d be 35 or 40 by that point (remember, this was a couple years ago). Plenty of people have started families at that age, but surely I’d want to start one before that. 

Thankfully, K was just as opposed to the idea of kids anytime soon as I was. 

Only he’s actually good with them. Kids love K. I’m the awkward one. I overthink the entire interaction. Oh my God, this kid’s handing me a Crayon. What am I supposed to do? Tell him thanks, or give it back? Am I supposed to hide it so he doesn’t color on the walls? Am I supposed to ask him what color it is? Shitshitshitshit!

And then ER had a baby. 

And then Danielle got pregnant.

Along with everyone I'm friends with on FB.

And I read blogs written by amazing mothers who have beautiful children who occasionally misbehave (like everyone) and sometimes have dirty fingers. But it’s great to see the moms' whole perspective, especially since I’ve watched these babies’ entire lives! Not to mention the fact that these moms manage to live for their kids (as it should be), but still hold onto themselves and do all the things they loved before the baby.

I had wondered if maybe I was missing the "mom gene," which would be crazy since I’d been labeled the mom in a group of friends a couple times. Maybe my aversion was to babies. I was relieved to talk to friends who said that the “switch” had flipped quickly for them. Or the ones who said they felt awkward around kids too, until they had their own. That it all came naturally. 

Lately, as I’ve been taking advantage of holiday sales (whoops!) for my professional winter wardrobe, I’ve thought to myself, Should I be buying clothes right now? Not because I feel guilty for taking advantage of Christmas sales for myself, but because I worry if I’ll be fitting into them much longer. *ahem ahem*

Then, last weekend, while hanging out with K’s family and his cousin’s 2-year-old son, I heard this weird voice in the back of my mind: I want one. 

Only I don't. I don't feel like I want one.

Not just yet. So where did that come from? Is my brain just preparing me for that time? Or am I in extreme effing denial? I've considered before that my ridiculous preoccupation with not wanting a child was a little suspicious.

I’ve thought about this dozens of times. It used to go like this: We could have a kid. I could handle that. It's just the responsibility of raising it that I don't want. I still want to be selfish and spontaneous.

Now, it’s a bit more detailed: We could do this. K and I could have a kid … Only we don’t really have room for one. We still need a guest room, so we’d have to use the office. Dang it! I like the office how it is. Maybe we could just throw a crib in there. It’s not like we’ll be here that much longer anyway. ... (Don't worry, I wouldn't just throw a kid in the office.)

And money. I mean, we're financially stable, but bring-a-kid-into-the-picture financially stable? 

I’ve told K (hesitantly) the things I’ve been thinking, and he's seemed pretty unphased. I haven't brought it up to anyone else yet, but I already know what ER will say. She'll tell me what her doctor told her: that most people don't ever feel like they're perfectly ready to have a child. They just make room for it.

Is that what's happening here?

Is this how it starts? Or am I just getting less vehemently opposed and more comfortable with the possibility? 

MLIB, Marathon Runner

We ran. And ran. And ran. But we finished, and we had a pretty awesome pace.

It was painful, it was torture, and I'm pretty sure we're insane for doing it, but it's done.

We're done.

I'm never doing that again.

An additional challenge

We put off as long as we could today our last training run -- 2 miles. A nice, easy run, which we had to keep to a slow pace. We decided to bring Piper along.

One thing I haven't mentioned on here is that I have tachycardia. Having two bad knees isn't quite enough for me. Nope, I have to throw a heart condition into the mix.

We had gone just over a mile when Piper made it clear she needed to stop. K took her leash, and I leaned over to clean up. Just then, my pulse started going.

I've seen a doctor about my tachycardia before, obviously. It's nothing life-threatening, just a huge pain in the a$$. Basically, what happens is that from time to time, my pulse starts going really quickly. Like over 200 beats a minute. Sometimes it lasts a couple seconds; one time it lasted a couple hours. If an episode lasts long enough, it makes me feel tired, and it can even make my arm hurt. I have to take deep breaths. But as soon as it's done, I'm fine. Completely back to normal.

My doctor gave me the option to take beta blockers for it, but that would mean my pulse would never raise, not even during workouts, and I'd get fatigued more quickly. Something about that sounded like not living, so I chose not to take them. What that means is that if my pulse starts going, I have to immediately halt any physical activity.

My doctor knew I intended to run a marathon someday and that I was active with cycling, running, and working out at the time. "You mean to tell me that if you have an episode in the middle of a marathon, you're just going to stop running?"

"Yes."

What can be good is that these "episodes" typically come in spurts. What's bad is that I haven't had one in a while ... until today. Luckily, today's only lasted a couple minutes.

See that 237? That's my maximum heart rate during the run, thanks to my tachycardia.

If you don't mind, please keep an extra set of fingers crossed for me that if my pulse decides to mess around with me tomorrow, it waits until the afternoon.

Ready or not ...

As you know, K and I have spent the last 18 weeks training for our first (and what we intend to be our only) marathon. Our training began on July 13, at the height of summer barbecues and trips to the beach, with a modest three-mile run. We ran through high heat, early mornings, and a few times even late nights. 

These 18 weeks have affected every aspect of our lives: our sleep schedule, our meals, our water intake (we're human camels now), energy levels, sex lives, weekend schedules, activities, gym time (we haven't been in weeks!), our kitchen (we eating everything in sight, and we don't want to waste energy going to the store), and even the tidiness of our house. We ran 9 miles when we were in Oklahoma for a wedding; we ran 12 miles when we were in Pennsylvania for a birthday party.

We reached the peak of our training on October 20, when we ran 21 miles. 

Twenty-
one
miles.

We have run almost 300 miles over the course of our training. We have gone through countless bottles of Gatorade and packets of Gu (let's just say we've been buying them by the case!). We've even gone through a couple pairs of shoes. And it all comes down to Saturday. 

Our marathon begins at 8 a.m. I'm hoping we've crossed the finish line by 12:30 (if our actual start time is right at 8). No matter what, though, we'll be proud of ourselves for accomplishing this feat.

And as a heads-up, if you have stock in Gatorade and/or Gu, you might want to sell it by Saturday.

A gift ... or a test?

When I discovered the amazing gift from God that is Ou!dad hair products, I blogged about it. Booked an appointment for a haircut. Blogged about it.

I told friends about it. I became a fan on Facebook.

A year later, I'm still hooked. I've had another Ou!dad cut since then, and I've ordered liters of shampoo and conditioner over the last 12 months.

A few weeks ago, I went to order a couple more liters and some bottles of my favorite finishing gel to take advantage of a free shipping offer. Somehow, they were out of stock of my gel, but I went ahead and ordered the liters, since they're the bulk of the weight of my shipment anyway. I checked the website regularly, and when the gel was back in stock, I ordered it -- two bottles even, since it was the same price for shipping and I know I'll use it.

Imagine my surprise when I received a shipment containing four bottles of gel! I checked the statement, and sure enough, I had been charged only for two. 

I called Ou!dad's customer service, but evidently they were closed. I had explained my story to the girl who answered the phone, but she said she could only help me with placing an order. This was last week.

So today, I went to call Ou!dad on my lunch break. But I couldn't help but wonder: Am I the world's biggest idiot?

Am I trying to pass up a Gift From the Curly Hair Goddesses? Will I get bad karma for not calling customer service (again) -- or is this a gift of good karma all together? (I mean, I have called the cops twice in the last month to report large items in the road in hopes of preventing an accident.)

Do I call and let Ou!dad Customer Service be the one to tell me it's OK to stay mum?


Am I part of one of those hidden-camera tests to see if people are decent and honest enough to report such an error? (You guys would tell me if I was a test subject, right?)

Is it reparations for the terrible teasing and torture I endured in the 8th grade because of my curly hair?

Decisions, decisions ... If only I didn't believe in karma.

What would you do?

"You gotta have a goal"

Our marathon is approaching ... not quickly enough, but it's coming. And after all that training is done, we're going to have a whole lot of time on our hands. It's going to be awesome.

But somehow, in a conversation with K's aunt & uncle, who stopped by to visit as they passed through VA on a road trip, K and I decided to fill that free time with a different activity.

To celebrate completing our marathon, we're going to learn Italian together.

And then, we're going to Italy to use it.

K has family there, and I'd love to see Venice. And Florence. And Rome. But especially Venice.

Not a bad reward for running 26.2.

Hell, maybe we'll even call it a honeymoon.

One-track mind

I feel like I owe my Facebook friends an apology. My status updates are pretty often about running, or my knee, or something related to running. But as sick as they might be about reading about me running? I guarantee I'm more sick of doing the running.

I cannot wait for this marathon to come and go. (Just over a month left!)

I feel like our entire lives revolve around running, training, and training runs. It seriously affects everything: our diet, our schedules, our sleep, our weight lifting, our sex life, our weight, our house, my ass. Everything.

We have to particularly watch what we eat (and drink) on the nights before our long runs, which we typically do on Saturdays (and now that we're nearing the marathon, Wednesdays too). And we're always hungry; considering I've always been a snacker as it is, I pretty much eat all day every day.

We have to be careful how much we plan on weekends, because we have to get in a ridiculously long run at some point. We're always tired. We haven't been going to the gym as much (see previous sentence); my arms have lost a little definition (yay, sweater season).

As for the sex life, the desire is there, but the energy is not (dislike). Both K and I have noticed our weight is always fluctuating, probably due to the ridiculous water intake and then the sweating during the run. I've actually gained a few pounds through this whole ordeal, and I think K has too (it's actually common to gain weight during marathon training -- who knew?).

The house isn't as spic 'n' span as it usually is because, frankly, when we're not running, I kind of don't give a damn about cleaning. I made it around to the toilets and sinks last weekend, and K vacuumed. That's good enough for me right now, so the dust bunnies will remain.

But my ass? It's spectacular. And so are my legs. Just in time for the end of swimsuit season. Go figure, huh? And I know, K is the one who will get the most benefit out of this, and he gets to see them all the time. However, with all this time, effort, and energy, it would be nice to just parade around in a bikini on the beach and show it off. No such luck.

Now for blurbs, because it's been forever since I updated.

I'm a real runner now
(Guess I owe you guys an apology along with my FB friends ...) A week ago Saturday, K and I were 3 miles into our 16-mile training run when I realized I was going to have to make a pit stop. Then, I did something I've never done before in my life. And that milestone makes me feel like I can finally say that I'm a real runner: I shit in the woods.

Hey, when you've gotta go, you've gotta go. Thankfully, K had found himself in that situation a week or two before, so he made sure to bring toilet paper from then on. Thank goodness!

But imagine our surprise when we emerged from the woods, rounded a corner, and saw two portapotties on the side of the road. Evidently there was a fundraiser walk of sorts going on, so as we continued on our route, we continued to pass portapotties every few miles.

Oh well. The woods made me feel much more like a badass.


Work
Still here. Gonna stick with it, obviously. I've kind of learned to not let it get to me so much anymore. There's only so much I can do, right?

Actually, I have so much to do that I've been assigned a volunteer to help me. This woman has an MBA from Boston Un!versity. She has held management positions. And I am making her help me with piddly tasks I don't have time to get to.

It's nice to have the help, but I don't like being in charge of someone. It makes me uncomfortable.


Mom's visit
It went well, but I was glad when it was done. I'm a lot less patient with my mom. Things my dad or anyone else would get away with fine somehow annoy the holy hell out of me when my mom does them. And she's terrible at following directions. Terrible. At one point I experienced a little déjà vu from her failed Dallas trip to go wedding dress shopping with me (that fight resulted in us not talking for over a year). The woman drives me f*ing insane sometimes, really.

The first couple nights I was driving home, I just felt completely stressed out. Anxious. And I didn't know why. I talked to K, and he told me he wasn't surprised that way. That I was probably on eggshells because my mom was there, and he could understand that. I talked to ER. She listened to me vent for a bit when I had to make a quick trip to the grocery store.

But the times actually spent with my mom and her husband were all good.

Well, except for the part where we toured the White House. See, my mom had scheduled a tour for her and her husband, K, and me. We were supposed to get a private 2-hour tour. Only something came up that day, and they had to move our tour to the following day. K and I adjusted our out-of-office days at work, and we headed up to D.C. for the tour. What we didn't realize was that because our date got moved, we no longer had a private tour. In an effort to get two days' worth of people through the White House in one day, we'd get the standard walk-yourself-through tour. Hugest waste ever. We were done in 20 minutes.

I don't ever want to look at the White House again.

(For the record, if you're already in D.C. and plan to take the tour, it's perfectly fine. But do not travel to D.C. specifically and solely for the tour. Trust me, you'll be pissed. And your feet will hurt because you thought you were supposed to dress up, but there were punkwads touring the White House !!! in baggy jeans, flip flops, and hats.)

One lucky girl

Today is K's and my three-year wedding anniversary (from the Florida wedding, the one where we were actually legally married). Three years and a second wedding later, we still haven't had a honeymoon. We swore to ourselves that we'd finally get around to that this year, but between all the traveling for weddings, wedding showers, a baby shower, and we-haven't-seen-you-in-a-while visits, we just don't want to have to take off work again for something else. That, and sometimes it's just nice to be home for once!

We're very fortunate to feel like we have everything we want or need, so we didn't plan on even buying gifts.

So imagine my surprise today when I see an enormous bouquet of flowers coming up the stairs today. And when the bouquet was moved aside, I could see that the delivery person was K!

Of course he planned his arrival just in time for lunch. That alone was a nice treat, since we work in completely opposite directions from one another, so it's a good 40 minutes or so between my workplace and his.

Tonight is our weekly kickball game (by the way, I had an amazing catch at last week's game, AND I'm somehow the 3rd kicker in our new lineup!), which we always look forward to.

We're still going to fit in some of the sweet, romantic stuff -- we've got brunch and a couple's massage at a spa schedule for Sunday. Considering the jam-packed day we have on Saturday, which includes a 16-mile training run, Sunday's relaxation will be pure perfection.

But for tonight, we'll celebrate with a little kickball, lots of friends, and a couple beers.

That's more our style anyway.

Since odds are good we won't find ourselves at the same Halloween party

An actual email I just sent to K.

Subject:
*gasp* We have 1 month and 10 days ...

Body: 
... to come up with a kick-ass Halloween costume.

What do we want to be?

• Paris Hilton and a bag of cocaine?
• Julius Caesar and a salad? ('cause together, we'd be a CAESAR SALAD!)
• Pizza & beer, because they're everyone's favorite and they go perfectly together? (Like US?!)

My vote is something more punny and funny than romantic and gag-inducing.

I also don't want it to be an obvious combo ... so I guess that eliminates Paris and the cocaine.

Damn.

Love. That. Class!

Last night, I went to my first kickball class in for.ev.er. I can't even remember the last time I was able to go to that class, but I'm pretty sure I'd only been once since my class with GFF.

With all our travels in August, we just weren't here on Thursday nights for me to enjoy my class. I had to skip last week because my knee was still acting up, and I figured the last thing I needed to do was spend an hour doing squats.

But last night. Oh, last night.

I didn't bring my own kettlebell with me because I wasn't sure I could handle it after all that time off. I grabbed a 10-pounder from the gym, and it made the first half of the class very easy. At our first break (30 mins. in!), I grabbed a 15-pound kettlebell that someone had just put back, and I used it as much as I could for the rest of the class.

It was exhausting. It was painful. It was sweaty. It was fantastic.

Today, my glutes are burning. My thighs are burning. My back is sore. My arms are even protesting a bit. I just might be in the best mood I've been in for a good couple weeks, probably (and it's a workday!).

And for the first time in 3 weeks, my left knee feels 100%.

I suspected mentally that I was addicted. Evidently my body needs that weekly ass-kicking too.

I'm happy to oblige.

Real men love football

I'm so excited it's finally football season again. Maybe that's part of the reason it suddenly feels so much like fall.

One thing about life in Oklahoma and texas is that football is huge. Guys love it. Girls love it. That's it. It's inspirational.

Here in VA, they have other sports. Hockey. ... ... I'm sure there's something else, but the point is, you can take the girl out of Oklahoma, but you can't take the Oklahoma out of the girl. My awareness that hockey exists here is solely due to my confusion that people can get wrapped up in any other sport than football (and sometimes NASCAR -- hey, my brother works for them. don't judge). I mean, we have basketball and baseball in OK, but we still know the big show starts in September (and sometimes, when we're very very lucky, late August).

In OK & tx, I always had plenty of people to talk to about college football. I never really had to even seek people out. But in VA? Not so much. And I definitely haven't found a girl here who likes The Greatest Sport Ever Invented.

I first realized the gravity of the situation when the whole conference realignment was going on. The rumor that my beloved Sooners would become part of the PAC-10 was at its highest point. I was stressed. I didn't like the uncertainty.

I tried to talk about it to a coworker, Matt. "Do you follow college football?"

"No. Why?"

I ignored that first part. Since he's male, I gave him the benefit of the doubt. I started going into the conference realignment. I had only been talking about 5 seconds when he interrupted me.

"Did you ever watch Charlie Brown?"

"Huh? No." I was confused why he'd be changing the subject from football to kids' cartoons.

Matt went on to tell me about the teacher, and how whenever she talks, all the kids hear is, "Woh woh wohwoh woh woh ..." (I had seen enough Charlie Brown to know that.) "That's what you sound like to me right now," he said.

I looked at him in amazement. And for the next 10 seconds (until my mind was back on the realignment), I wondered how on earth his wife is able to think of him as a man.

Reasons I love my job have a job

1. It gives me money to buy cute clothes.
2. It's helping me pay off my credit card.
3. It give me a place to wear cute clothes.
4. It gets me out of the house. 
5. It's helping me pay off my credit card. 
6. ... ... ...

Sometimes (most of the time) I need a reminder.

Maybe I should print this list and post it on my computer screen.

Do you remember that temp job that I hated last winter? The reason I hated it is because it was data entry, which is so NOT what they hired me to do. They hired me for writing and editing. So not data entry.

My current job hired me for writing. And then, like sneaky little punkwads, they slipped some data entry crap in there on me. That stupid bit of side work now takes up a pretty decent chunk of my time.

And the funnest (yes, that's a word) part of my job -- which they interviewed me extensively about -- has been farmed out to outside companies because I don't have time to do it anymore.

Lame.

My 6-month review is tomorrow. I'm unleashing.

Maybe it would be good for me to take that above list into my review ...

How Mc Donald's cost me $100

I rarely leave the office for lunch. I've been that way in every job I've ever held. It's just cheaper and easier to bring a nice little Le@n Cu!sine to eat at my desk, so that's the route I've always gone.

Today, though, I decided to go out. Heck, I ran 13.1 miles Sunday (more on that later), and if I'm craving McDonald's, I'm going. I earned it!

I considered getting my lunch and eating it at a park nearby, but when I was walking to my car, I realized it might still be too hot to do that. I opted to head to the mall instead to return a tunic I'd been meaning to take back. Being productive and still getting my crap food fix at the same time? Score!

As I headed in the direction of the mall, I passed under a tree-lined street. A gust of wind made the leaves rain down over the road. I smiled. I had football on my TV last weekend, and now this? Fall feels just around the corner!

When I got to Banana Republic, it seemed I wasn't the only person who'd come up with the lunchtime productivity idea. Since the line was really long and there was only one cashier, I decided the best use of my time would be to look around the store.

Turns out Banana had been bitten by the Autumn Bug too.

Unfortunately, a trip to the dressing room only solidified my desire for a pair of brown corduroy pants (they actually had them in long!!! do you know how hard that is to find in corduroy?!) and two adorable, stylish fall shirts.

Aren't they so retro-modern chic?! You know how much I love yellow, and the other shirt has that great faux tie thing going on. And the updated houndstooth? Who could pass that up?! sigh  You win, Banana. You win.

I bought them all. I told myself it was a reward for finishing the half-marathon. And considering the pants were on sale (that was a fun surprise!), my total was under $100 (so what if that included the refund from the tunic I returned!). That wasn't even $1 for every minute I ran on Sunday.

On my way back to the office, I still swung through McDonald's. It was fantastic, but not quite as exciting as my Banana find.

As fantastic as today's lunch break was, it served as a great reminder of why I don't leave my desk for lunch. Looks like Le@n Cu!sines for me for the next several weeks.

Especially after I run my full marathon in November!

Pathetic, no?

This is a picture of all the vitamins and supplements I'll take through the course of my day:

• GNC Ultra Mega Active Women's Daily vitapak
• 2 Motrin
• 2 glucosamine tablets (which K is making me take for my knee)
• birth control

The funny part? The most important pill is the smallest one!

I'll take it!

My knee has continued to suck this week. I've been icing it regularly (especially the last couple days), and I've started taking Motrin again in case that helps. I haven't gone running since Saturday. 

But still, 5 days later, I'm hobbling a bit, and I've continued to clutch the stairs when I go up or down them at home and at work.

Because of that, I decided to wear my brace at last night's kickball game. I wondered if I should even be playing. I was ridiculously nervous about my knee, and I had K do a short, slow jog with me on the field before the game, just to see how it felt. The verdict? Not very good.

It feels almost like there's something missing beneath my kneecap on the inside part of my knee. That's the best way I can explain it. And there was still a slight pain/discomfort there on some steps.

But I played anyway, even though I worried it was a bad idea.

When I went up to kick, I heard some girl on the other team say, "She's got a busted wheel. Easy out at first." I felt a fire in my eyes. I stared straight forward, determined. Afterward, I wished I'd looked at her. I'm pretty sure I'd have burned a whole straight into her face. I know she was kidding, and jokes like that can be part of the game, but I felt like it was a little below the belt. Especially since I was so concerned about it to begin with.

I kicked, and I ran toward 1st base. The ball made it there before I did.  

Damn!

And then the girl on 1st base dropped it. SAFE! (Take THAT, "Easy out" girl! Also, for the record, the girl I think made the comment never made it to 1st base. One of those attempts was killed by K, who caught her foul ball. BOOM!)

That one trip around the bases (I only got as far as 3rd base, since our kicker got the 3rd out of the inning when I was there) made my knee a little more swollen. When I realized that, I told K I was afraid I might not be able to run our half-marathon on Sunday.

When I went to bed last night, I propped my knees up on two pillows to elevate them. I've continued icing today off & on at work. It's still felt iffy, and it's totally affecting my day. Obviously I have to skip kettlebells tonight (I haven't been in forever!), :(  which doesn't help my mood either.

But then, when I climbed the stairs today after fixing my lunch, I was able to make it up almost normally. Almost.

I wasn't exactly upright (I was leaning pretty far forward for balance), but there was no clutching of the rail. The lilting steps were almost even. And I climbed them pretty quickly!!!

When I went down the steps again later, even that had improved. It wasn't quite as much as with going up the stairs, but there was still a change.

Sah-weet!

It's a minor victory, but sometimes that's all you need. Maybe (with a couple more days' rest) I'll be able to run this weekend after all!

I guess this means I'm a runner

I was able to get in to see my knee doctor last week ($1 million tip: If you find yourself talking to a mean receptionist who won't let you talk to the doc to find out if your situation even warrants an appointment -- especially when she keeps telling you they can't work you in until September -- ask for the nurses' line. That line is a godsend!). After my bouts of pain at the end of our training run that Saturday, I had had a bit of swelling and plenty of worrying about what it meant for the future of my marathon training.

The doctor took a look at things and told me that, given my history of injury, there will just be times my knee hurts. There will just be times my knee swells. And in those cases of pain, I'm supposed to stop running. I told the doctor I could do that.

I was able to ask him some questions I'd had for a while now. Like whether or not the increased cracking of my left knee on stairs is something to worry about. (No.) Or whether I might be wearing my braces wrong. (No.) And is he sure I'm not insane for running a marathon with my history of knee problems? (No. Just kidding.) The doctor told me he has lots of patients who are runners, and they're all going to run no matter what. (OK, then.) He told me to come back after my marathon and tell him how it went.

He said I'd done well by taking it easy and icing my knee. I had waited until Wednesday morning to test out a 3-mile run. I started slow and easy. I even told K not to worry about slowing his own pace to stay with me. He reluctantly ran ahead. And by our halfway point, I had totally caught up with him.

Friday, we went for a quick 2-mile run, just to loosen ourselves up for Saturday's long run. It went well.

Saturday, we ran 12 miles. We were in PA, which is definitely hillier than VA. We'd been going along for a few miles before the tinges of pain started ... but we hadn't gone as far as I'd liked. I ran through them, just to see what would happen. They only lasted for a few steps. Sometimes even just two steps. But they would come and go, and I would wince while they were there, and give quick sighs of relief when they were (temporarily) gone.

The bouts increased along with our distance. Just before we reached 12 miles, there was a pain that made me cry out, but not loudly. It wasn't the first time that I'd done that (and it was primarily out of worry), but we were close to the trail that led to our car. The next step on my left knee resulted in a similar sound.

"Stop," K said to me.

I tried to argue with him. "No, I'm fine. We're almost done --"

"Fucking stop!" he handed me the keys, and, defeated, I hobbled back to the car.

Late Saturday night and several times throughout the day yesterday, I iced my knee. I took Motrin once yesterday and today, to help with the swelling and ease the (still minor) discomfort.

All these years, I had thought my right knee was the problem (see the surgery scars?)!

As you can see, my left knee is still pretty big. And I'm hobbling still -- particularly on stairs (which I deal with at home and at work). But I clutch the wall with one hand and the rail in the other, and I deal with it.

So far it's all like last week, which makes me think it'll gradually fade like last week. Which means I'll be in great shape (all right, OK shape) for my half-marathon this weekend. One of K's best friends is a doctor, and he suggested I take Motrin before the run. Done. I'll just take it easy until then, own the run, and take it easy after.

So I guess I lied to my doctor, but it was an accident. I mean, if my knee is going to swell and hurt from time to time regardless, why not just keep running? 

At least my doctor was right about something: Those patients of his who are runners are going to run no matter what.

(Sorry, Doc.)

Whoops!

So I just scrolled through this little blog, and I realized that 4 of my last 6 posts were talking about our crazy lives, how we need to slow down, and how I need sleep.

I think you get it.

So you know what you also get now? Pictures. Not because I loaded them, but because I stole them off of Facebook from less-tired people -- or those who are cool enough to suck it up, load the pictures, and sleep tomorrow.

Meeting ER's adorable (and tiny!) baby! I've seriously never been so excited to meet a baby before.

K, who (praise the Lord!) is a natural with kids. ER's baby is an absolute angel, though, and hardly ever cries! Also, this picture is awesome because it shows exactly what was going on in the rare moments that I wasn't holding the baby. :)

It's our standard pose! And we continued our tie tradition as well. K and me at Rachel's reception.

Happy times after kickball! In case you haven't noticed, when my weight fluctuates the tiniest bit (I'm talking like 3 lbs. here, people), the first first first place you see it is my face. Always. This picture made me realize that when my mom visits in a couple weeks, she's totally going to tell me I'm too skinny.

And yes, you read that right. Mom. Here. Two weeks.

Maybe we'll sleep at 28 and 33

Have I told you guys how tired I am? Seriously, ridiculously tired. I wondered a time or two if I should go to the doctor about it, but I did research, and I guess this just happens. I'm 27 now (FYI, I'm not one of those people who intends to ever whine about my age. 27 is young. 37 is young. It's just not the same level of young as 17, even if my schedule seems to show that I think it is.). I guess I can't just run around like crazy and not pay for it all day every day.

Of course, it doesn't hurt that we had our kickball game last night. We went to the bar after, and we left close to 11 p.m. I went to sleep at 12:15, and my alarm started going off at 5:30 because K and I were supposed to run 6 miles for our training. (That totally didn't happen.) I hit the snooze for a good 30 minutes, until I shut off the alarm and let myself go back to sleep. It was heaven.

And it was probably better that way. Today is K's birthday, and we're driving up to PA tonight for the weekend. We've got a couple fun plans in store that I'm excited about.

But first, back to that kickball game. I actually got on base both times I kicked. And -- AND!!! -- I caught someone's kick for the final out of the game. I told K that I'm feeling better about my Kickball Skillz this season. Instead of Sucking, I'm totally Mediocre now, and I plan on continuing to improve throughout the season. Maybe by early November, I'll actually be Not Bad!

K and I can't quit gushing about how grateful we are for having found kickball. When I met the girl from Meetup.com, who introduced K and I to a couple of her friends who were on this kickball team, they told us about it several times, trying to get us to join. I can only imagine the looks K and I gave them: "Kickball? Seriously? Riiiight."

But joining that team was the best thing we've done here! That one move has brought us 20 close friends and fellow teammates, and we've made friends on other teams as well. Everyone on our team is so nice, and we've marveled several times how little we actually know about mundane topics like what we do for a living. It's crazy when someone brings up a funny work story, and you find yourself saying, "I didn't know that's what you do!" when you've spent countless hours hanging out with the person at bars, the swimming pool, the movies, and sometimes even each other's houses. It's pretty awesome.

In other news, I've taken a ridiculous amount of pictures lately. Pictures from Rachel's wedding (that was two weekends ago), from when I met ER's baby (!!!), from various concerts, and from our kickball party last weekend. I haven't even uploaded most of them to my computer yet because -- you guessed it -- I'm so dang tired. And busy.

I keep thinking that K and I need to slow down or something, but this is pretty much what this time in our lives is for, right?

We never slow down

Last weekend was our last one without visitors or travels for at least a month. So what did K and I do? We packed it full of activities and decided to host our entire kickball team. That's how we roll!

Friday night, we headed to Busch Gardens, where I somehow just realized I have a healthy fear of heights (how the hell did I ever go sky diving?!). Saturday morning, we slept until 8 (whoops!) and got a late start on our 7-mile training run. Toward the end of the run, we were cruising along at an 8-min-mile pace. I wanted to pick it up even faster, but I wasn't sure how much farther we had to go, and I didn't want to burn all my energy and have to suck it up the last little leg. Suddenly, a sharp pain went shooting through my left knee cap. I told K I needed to stop. We had just hit mile 7.

We walked for a bit. I loosened my knee brace and slid it off my knee to give it a break. After a mile or so, K asked if I felt up to running the last mile to the car. Since my knee had been the only thing that stopped me, I thought maybe the walk would've ironed out some of the kinks. I pulled my brace back up, tightened it, and stepped forward with my right foot. As soon as I put weight on my left knee, I winced and stopped. The pain was still there. Yikes. Needless to say, we walked that last mile too (I'm on strict orders to not run through knee pain).

When we got home, I cleaned the house while K mowed the yard. As soon as we finished, we headed to the beach. I made a regular genius move and skipped the sunscreen, since I thought we wouldn't be out long. I had put sunscreen on my face before we left the house, so my face is fine, but my back and chest are a bit red. I'm kind of itchy today, so my back might start peeling soon. Yuck. Pretty sure I've learned my lesson.

After the beach, we had just enough time to get home and get showered before our kickball friends started coming over. We had a nice joint birthday party for me, K (his birthday is this Thursday), and another friend. It was a great party. The last guests left around 1:30 a.m.

We slept in until 11:30 yesterday morning. I could've slept longer, especially since I managed to nap a couple times on the couch. In the afternoon, we went to see Piranha 3D. I don't need to see it again, but it wasn't bad. Pretty silly. Definitely good for some laughs.

K and I ran some errands and grilled steak for dinner. We somehow managed to get ourselves to bed just before midnight when I'd wanted it to be an early night.

Now I'm supposedly back to the grind -- not that I can concentrate. My back is itching from time to time, and I'm still ridiculously tired. This hectic life of ours is hard enough without throwing marathon training in there!

Oh well ... You only live once, right?

Symptoms

• I'm tired. A lot.
• I'm hungrier than usual.
• I'm thirstier than usual.
• I have to pee all the time.
• Some mornings, my stomach is upset.
• Slight weight gain.
• Periods of increased breakouts.
• Regular thoughts about the pain and torture I'll be putting my body through in a matter of weeks.

Marathon training. Kind of sounds like something else, doesn't it?

27

Today's my 27th birthday, and so far, it's been a pretty good day.

Instead of getting up to run 3 miles for our marathon training, K left the decision up to me before immediately cuddling up next to me. I'm pretty sure he was just looking to get out of the run without being the one to take the blame. I was happy to oblige.

I woke up feeling nice and rested, and I was in a great mood. K slipped a small box by me while I was getting ready this morning. I was immediately in love with what was inside.

I had already decided to wear a new shirt I'd been wanting to wear for a while now. I really wanted to wear the necklace, but it wasn't the best fit for the ruffly shirt. In fact, with the ruffles and the shiny chain, it almost looked Guido-ish.

Should I change shirts? But I wanted to wear this one. It's the perfect birthday shirt--bright and fun and cute, all at the same time.

But I didn't want to wait to wear the necklace either.

My solution: It's my birthday. I'm wearing them both! And there's not a damn thing anybody can say about it.

I wanted a cookie!

Our department head resigned a couple weeks ago. His last day was Friday, but he planned to come in for lunch with all of us at some point.

I mentioned to a coworker that I was thinking of making cookies for that day. She told our former boss ... which meant I definitely had to make the cookies.

The lunch was scheduled for today, so last night, I baked. I packed enough cookies this morning for everyone in the office to have two. I planned on setting them out when our former boss came by the office.

Only he met us at the restaurant instead. So I had to give him the cookies there.

All day I'd looked forward to enjoying a cookie or two this afternoon. Instead, they're now on the way home with my former boss.

Dislike.

The craziness continues ...

Geez, I said I was going to come back to this thing, but I'm determined to make a liar out of myself, I guess. K and I are in our fifth week of marathon training, and I'm shocked how much time it takes up already. Not the running, necessarily, but the extra water drinking and snacking (burning those extra calories takes a toll quickly!) ... the extra peeing ... the extra sleeping ...

We typically run in the morning, and we still try to go to the gym and lift at night. If we miss the gym, it's because we're going to a concert or hanging out with friends -- or packing to go somewhere and see somebody.

We really never stop, I swear!

We actually had a power outage last Friday morning, and we were all able to go home early. Because of that, I was finally able to take care of the house work I'd been neglecting due to all that resting.

And it looks like there's no resting this week. We have the gym tonight, a movie with friends tomorrow, packing on Wednesday, a concert on Thursday, and early Friday we're heading to OK & TX for another wedding. The one where I'm maid of honor. The one where I have to give a speech about my friend marrying a guy I don't like.

I still need to write that thing.

Geez, does it ever stop?

A sign?

K and I will have been married 3 years this September.

Thanks to his deployment and our move to VA last summer (and trips we've taken to visit friends for various reasons), we've still never taken a honeymoon. We resolved to fix that this year.

We planned on visiting Destin/Ft. Walton Beach, FL, which is where we got married. Then, the whole oil spill thing happened. Only, it's supposed to be done now and getting cleaned up, and the trip wouldn't be until late September.

Today, I found a beautiful picture on a photo site. Thought to myself, Wherever that is, that's where we should go on our honeymoon.

And then I saw the title:
"Relaxing in Destin"

I ran 7 miles today; I can do whatever I want!

K and I are doing our first marathon in November. That's right. Twenty-six point one miles.

We're in our second week of training. We're doing Hal Higdon's training plan, which K found and, coincidentally, a marathoner friend of mine recommended.

Today, we ran 7 miles. Not exactly a distance we haven't run before, but a distance we haven't run in a few months. We got a later start than what we'd planned, so leaving around 8 got us out just in time to enjoy a heat index of 100 degrees. Not fun when you're running for 70 minutes (we were just aiming for a 10-minute mile).

We finished. I hated the majority of it.

What I haven't hated? The fact we went for Chick-fil-A, where I ordered the four-piece (three-piece is standard) mini chicken biscuit breakfast. I destroyed it. And then I napped for 45 minutes.

I don't feel the slightest bit guilty or lazy.

And the afternoon plans we have at the beach? They're gonna be incredible.

No matter what we do or don't do for the rest of the day, we totally earned it.

Intermission complete

It's funny how easy it is (for me, anyway) to fall out of blogging. You find yourself in a rut -- I hate my job. I'm on the computer all day; why would I want to log on at home? -- and next thing you know, you've hardly posted in weeks.

This time, I was pretty sure I was done. At least for a while.

But it's funny how things happen to remind you why you started it all in the first place. I've had a couple such reminders in the past couple days.

The first happened when K and I were discussing our upcoming 3rd anniversary. We talked about last year. We remembered we'd opted for something small and simple, with plans of doing something big this year instead. We just couldn't remember what "small and simple" was. "I'll check my blog!" I said.

The second thing that happened was a reminder of a good part of the reason I kept blogging. When I started this whole thing over 4 years ago, it was intended to be a way to record things that were going on in my life. I had been dating K for a few months, and I knew it was going somewhere. I thought it would be fun to have a record of it all, along with my experiences living on my own in Dallas.

What I hadn't realized was that this blog would bring several friends into my life. Friends who knew more details about my everyday life than my everyday friends did. Friends who knew about things I wasn't comfortable actually saying aloud.

Friends in places like New York, California, Florida, Michigan, and D.C. Even friends in Dallas, where it all started.

Tonight, I had the privilege of meeting the very first blogger who ever hooked me. In fact, it was the discovery of her blog that made me think, "Hey, I should do this."

So tonight, when Girl From Florida and I found ourselves in the same area, we knew we had to meet up. She actually joined me for my kettlebell class, which has become one of my favorite and most torturous workouts ever. (I'm totally addicted, and evidently she's got the bug now too!)

Then, she and her family and K and I went for dinner. What an amazing time! The food was delicious, but the conversation was so great that it was hard to care about even remembering to eat. And when it came time to call it a night, it took about a dozen tries to say goodbye before we were able to all get into our cars. I was giddy excited that I'd finally gotten to meet GFF. I can't wait until we can meet up again!

From this blog, I've gotten a nice record of the last several years. But it has been the unexpected parts -- the connections, the support, the friendships -- that have been the best part.

And that's definitely worth keeping this thing up for.

What kickball SHOULD be

Written 6/17. Posted 7/01. Because I took forever to edit (read: majorly trim down) what I originally wrote. Sorry! 

K and I had a kickball game last night (two, actually, but more on that later). One of the guys on the opposing team is quite a character.

Abs spends a lot of time working out. The reason I know this is because he takes off his shirt so many times in the course of a game that it's become a league joke to keep a tally of how many times it happens. As if that's not enough, he also enjoys busting out with random pushups, pullups (on nearby soccer goals), handstands, etc. It's bizarre. It's cocky.

When we played Abs's team, we were both tied for first in our league. Talk about a big game.

We made some mistakes in the first inning. We were a little nervous, and it was obvious. Abs's team capitalized on that, and they were able to score 4 runs. There were 3 questionable calls (2 of which involved refs' conflicting opinions), and all went to Abs's team, since my team takes the classy route and doesn't argue with refs.

Our nerves settled down after that inning. It became very clear that Abs's team was just as nervous about playing us as we were. Possibly even worse. Where missed catches, wild throws or bobbles on my team are met with, "That's OK! Shake it off!", Abs's teammates were more of the "C'mon! You gotta GET THAT!" It was tense. It was intense. It was not fun.

It became clear that Abs's team had actually scouted and studied our lineup. The coach would shout to the entire team, "Justin's kicking! Then Mike! Then Liz!"

They were playing only their 12 best players; the rest of the team sat in plain clothes on the sidelines. We had our entire team of 20 suited up and playing. And every one of us got field time.

Somewhere in the 3rd inning, we realized we weren't going to win this game. When Abs removed his shirt again, one of our girls started yelling and joking about nipples. Our pitcher, who loves kickball and gets pretty nervous about games like this one, was laughing so hard that he actually had to pause for a minute to gather himself before throwing the ball.

It was all downhill from there. We decided all the guys should take their shirts off at the start of the 5th inning. K liked the idea so much that he ripped his shirt off as soon as we told him. Another guy followed.

It was our turn to kick. One of our teammates had a blast with his at-bat. It was clear he was going to get tagged out on first, but for the fun of it, he dove for it. I swear, he flew 3 ft. We were cracking up on the sidelines! To add to the fun, as soon as he jumped up, he ripped his shirt off as he ran back over to us.

It was then that the team decided if we made it to first base, we would take off our shirt.

Fast-forward an inning, and it was my turn to kick. Abs had just dropped into a random set of pushups. My teammates joked that we should each do pushups before we kicked. Sounded like a good idea to me.

I stepped up to home plate. The pitcher and infield players were just settling in to their places again.

I marched right up to the plate. Dropped down to the ground. I set myself into pushup position. 

1.

2.

3.

4.

5.

Five pushups. Real pushups -- not chick ones. Just the right amount to get my point across. Just the right amount to deliver confidently, correctly, and without expending any energy I'd need for my next task. 

Far in the background, I heard my teammates screaming. Cheering. Clapping. People were going crazy. 

From the infield, I heard Abs say he could admit when he'd been stood up by a girl--just before I saw him bust out a handstand from the corner of my eye. (Seriously, what is UP with that guy?!)

I vaguely heard and saw all of these things. But I was already focused on my next task at hand: kicking the ball. A task I'd managed to suck at quite a bit this season. I hoped my initial "in your face" display wouldn't be met with a sheepish strikeout. 

The pitcher chunked the first ball at me. It was far left of the plate. 

Ball!

Then another. 

Ball!

"Yes!" I thought. "Maybe he'll walk me." 

But the next pitch went screaming right over homeplate. "Here goes nothing."

I raised my right knee, and the ball connected with the inside of my right foot and headed toward third base. It looked fair, so I took off. 

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Abs go running for it. 

"Shit! He's going to beat me!" 

He was headed toward first, ready to throw the ball at the baseman. I was determined to beat him. 

I ran as fast as I could. Just before I reached the base, I saw Abs's wild throw get away from the first baseman. I was safe. By a longshot. 

I slammed my foot into first base, and I immediately began celebrating. 

I might have remembered the deal myself, or I might have heard one of my teammates screaming about it from the sidelines. But somehow, as soon as the "reach the base, take off your shirt" rule clicked in my mind, I ripped my shirt over my head as quickly as I could. 

I was screaming and jumping up and down. 

Of all the times to get on base--and of all the ways to do it--this was the best. 

I ignored the wayward ball. 

Like hell was I about to risk getting out by getting cocky with base running. Like hell did I think twice about taking off my shirt. Like hell were we going to get upset about losing a kickball game.

Seriously, my favorite moment of the entire kickball season.

When the game was all said & done, we lost 6-0. But anyone watching us leave the field would never have known. Our team was laughing, smiling, and carrying on. Abs's team walked off little by little, looking more like they'd lost, and asking the coach why they couldn't have more fun like us.

Man, I love kickball

These pictures perfectly capture the mood of the game for both our team and theirs (Note: Our team is in the grayish jerseys [both girls here]; their team is in white [both guys here]).

Wanna know why my shirt is off -- and why I'm so damn excited about it?

Don't worry. I won't leave you hangin' too long.

Before you worry that we were rubbing a big lead in their faces, they were the ones winning. (Doesn't it look opposite?)

Why, yes, I am a badass

I finally had that MRI follow-up appointment yesterday. I am now the owner of TWO hardcore knee braces. They fitted me for one for my right knee too!

The doctor started the appointment by telling me that I have a minor tear in my menial meniscus on my right knee (that means it's on the outside of my knee). Evidently that's pretty uncommon -- most people who tear their meniscus tear it on the inside of their knees. When I asked what could've caused the unusual tear I have, the doctor told me I must have twisted my knee. (I've definitely done that well a couple times.) He said this damage was done some time ago.

Then, he moved the discussion to my left knee. "Have you had a serious injury on your left knee?"

"Yeah, lots of 'em." I gave him a brief rundown of my knee problem history:

In the 6th grade, I injured my right knee. I was wearing hiking boots on carpet (thank you, Jurassic Park!), went to turn, and my knee popped very loudly and gave out. The doctor couldn't figure out what happened, but they found something in my X-ray that made them think I had cancer. My parents forgot to tell me about that part until a good 5 or 6 years later.

When I was in the 9th grade, I fully dislocated my right knee. When that happened, a piece of bone chipped off and lodged in my joint. I had arthroscopic surgery to remove the bone and to repair the cartilage that was damaged. After that, I bounced back and forth on partial knee dislocations. Between the two, I've dislocated my knees a good 6 or 8 times. At least. I kind of lost count. Especially since they managed to happen in such unexciting ways, like while I was wearing my knee brace, sitting on my bed doing math homework (I KNEW math was bad for me!).

I left out the hiking-boots-on-carpet and the knee-in-brace-during-math-homework details when I talked to the doctor, but his face showed more and more disbelief as I explained my colorful knee history.

And then he told me that at some point years ago, I had fractured my left kneecap. I was shocked. I have no idea when that happened.

I instantly felt like a badass.

Luckily, it's managed to heal itself. The doc threw around the a-word ("arthritic") a couple times, but I honestly don't remember which knee he was talking about. (Heck, maybe it was both!)

K had come to the appointment with me, since after my last one, I had trouble remembering what info related to what and what terms the doctor had thrown at me. (Plus, since K was pre-med in college, he's a bit more familiar with the terms, and it's always good to have another person to ask questions and help remember everything the doctor says.) We laughed when we realized that between my bad knees and K's Army-imposed torture, we're both going to be reliant on our future children to push us around in wheelchairs!

The doctor said I'm still cleared to run, though. I just have to be sure to keep my weight down and to train properly. Not a problem (I hope). Everything's fine as is, unless I start having problems with my knees locking or buckling. That happens very rarely, so I'll just make note if and when it does (hopefully doesn't). Until then, my knees will swell from time to time, which isn't anything different, except that now I know specifically why.

The best news: I asked if I have to wear my braces on shorter runs, like 2- and 3-milers. The doctor said no! That shaves a good couple minutes off my pre-run prep time. Plus, those things get hot and uncomfortable to mess with for such a short run. (Not to mention how tough it is to get them off afterwards, since they're designed to stick to your skin to stay in place AND they get sweaty. K has to help me pull them off!) Of course, I'll wear them for longer runs, but for the short distances, it'll be so freeing to not have those on!

Avoiding the knee braces for short runs should definitely help my feelings about running. And the knowledge that I've got at least a few years before I run myself into a wheelchair is pretty comforting too.

Ugh ... men

K was in upstate New York last weekend for a bachelor party. Between having friends visiting, getting the house in order post-visit, and our own traveling, it feels like it's been a good, long while since K and I have had a nice, chill weekend to ourselves. And (in true K & MLIB style) we'll have to wait at least a couple weeks more before that happens.

There was a lot I wanted to do around the house, so I made myself my big to-do list. I did a ton of laundry, and I folded all of it. I washed our guest bedroom duvet cover. I vacuumed almost every inch of floor in the house. I cleaned out the refrigerator (there's ROOM in there now!). I cleaned all the toilets and sinks (I hate cleaning the showers, and since I just did it last week, I decided it could wait a few more days). I washed and ironed our dining room table runner. I even washed my reusable shopping bags!

I felt like such a good wife -- not that scrubbing the house is my job as a wife, but because since I think it's absolutely wonderful to come home to a spotless house, K would surely feel the same.

I had just finished my very last chore and was about to collapse on the couch and relax when K got to the front door. I waited for him to say something about the house.

Nothing.

He had just arrived, though, so I waited patiently. We watched TV for a bit. By then, he had been to the kitchen and all around downstairs, but he had still said nothing.

"Why don't you take your stuff upstairs?" I asked him. That way, he'd have to walk up the freshly vacuumed stairs, down the freshly vacuumed hallway, and into the freshly vacuumed bedroom. He'd notice the bed was made and the sheets were cleaned (they're a different color than when he left), and he'd see the stacks of his laundry that I'd folded.

I went upstairs a few minutes after he did. I started a conversation. He still said nothing about the house. I couldn't wait any longer. "Will you just tell me the house looks awesome?" I threw my hands in the air.

He looked at me like I was crazy. "I cleaned the entire thing this weekend. Can you just acknowledge that it looks good?" (K would want me to tell you that there was an F-word or two dropped in these lines somewhere, but I don't remember where, so I didn't add them here.)

As you can imagine, none of this went over well with K. Instead of telling me it looked great and leaving it at that, he said something along the lines of, "Fine, it looks great. What do you expect from me? I'm tired!" (For the record, there were some F-bombs dropped in those lines, too.) He continued griping about how tired he was, and he finally told me that he didn't even care that the house was clean. That it didn't look any different from how he remembered it looking when he left (he was way off).

"No," I said. "When you left, it was tidy. Now, it's SPOTLESS!"

"Those are YOUR DEFINITIONS!"

He went on and on, and I finally just started laughing at him. I could tell he was tired and cranky. All I had wanted was acknowledgment of my hard work.

I told him I was going to wear the hottest pajamas ever to bed, and he wasn't going to get anything out of it.

"Hot pajamas? Is that even possible?" (I told you he was cranky!)

I rolled my eyes, laughed and left him to finish unpacking. When he was done, he started getting ready for bed. I picked out a soft, sexy nightgown, and I made sure to start getting ready for bed while he was still in the bathroom. He was in bed and asleep before I was done. The guy was too tired to even be tortured. Damn.

Yet again, a reunion that went nothing at all like I had thought it would.

I'll just have to remember from now on that we suck at first nights back. The traveler is always tired and cranky; the non-traveler is always too excited about whatever got done around the house in that time (no matter how big or ... not).

But at least my house is freakin' spotless.

Even if I am the only one who's excited about it!

Help me decorate my living room!

I've been wanting to update the pillows on our couch to mix in some patterns and add some color. I ventured onto Etsy this week, and I found some I really like. In fact, there's one set in particular that I so want to work, but the colors in it don't match the rug ... I like the set so much that I'm worried it's clouding my opinion of whether or not it's an acceptable fit. 

All three pillow sets below are approved by K. There's one set I LOVE, one I'm not crazy about, and one that I'd probably like more if I wasn't so in love with the other set. 

So I'm asking you guys! What do you think? 

This was taken a while ago, but it's pretty much what our living room looks like.

Option 1

Option 2

Option 3