The girl with the heart condition

I'm never blogged about it in depth before, but I have a heart condition called supraventricular tachycardia. I was diagnosed with it when I was 16. The way my doctor explained tachycardia to me then was that we all have a spot in our heart that regulates our pulse. Those of us with tachycardia have a bad spot that wants the heart to beat much faster -- in my case, 200+ beats a minute (often even higher than 230) faster. Occasionally, that spot takes over for a while, resulting in an "episode."

The doc said I'll have more frequent episodes as I age, and that they'll last longer. I can opt to have surgery where doctors insert tubes into my veins through my hip and shoulder to electrocute and kill the "bad spot." But it's not a serious condition -- just something that might annoy me enough someday to have the surgery.

He seemed pretty unconcerned about the condition (his wife even has it!), so I never worried about it. I'd have episodes from time to time, but they're really just a temporary inconvenience. I compare them to asthma, although the episodes are not as serious: I will always have symptoms from time to time.

When I have an episode, it's harder for me to catch my breath. It's never even close to something to panic about. I just take really really really deep breaths. Episodes can last as little as a few seconds, and once as long as several hours (that was the longest by FAR). It's instantly clear when an episode starts because of how hard my heart starts beating -- so hard you can see it through my shirt (heck, even through a band uniform). My doctor had told me the way to get an episode to stop is to stand on my head (no lie), so I'll usually try to find somewhere to lie down and put my legs over my head.

When the episodes last a long time, I start feeling pretty tired. If they last longer (like 30+ minutes), my left arm can start to feel tingly, and every once in a while my chest will hurt. As soon as the episode is done, though, the tiredness and tingly arm go away. (Once when I was in college, I had an episode start when I was in the car with my boyfriend. I said, "My pulse started," so he waited until the last minute to stop at a stoplight. I thought we were going to rear-end the car in front of us, which kickstarted my pulse and made it go back to normal. It worked, but it actually hurt like hell. It felt like my heart was twisting or something.)

My doctor in Dallas seemed a little more concerned with my condition. I've had ultrasounds on my heart, and EKGs ... I've even worn a Holter monitor for a few days. Everything always comes back normal. My Dallas doctor gave me two options (since I think the surgery is unnecessary): 1) I have to stop whatever I'm doing when I have an episode until it's done. 2) I could take beta blockers to alleviate symptoms. They would make me fatigued quicker, and I would have a steady, slow pulse at all times -- whether I'm on a roller coaster, working out, or sitting on the couch watching TV. That sounded so lame to me. Like not living.

I like feeling my heart beating like crazy when I'm sprinting or toughing out my kettlebell class. I remember how hard and fast my heart started beating when I found out about my kickball friend last month. None of these are episodes, but normal reactions to life. It makes me feel alive.

To be honest, I never thought about tachycardia often until lately. I never thought of it as a limitation, but as an extra little hurdle I have to deal with from time to time. 

But then, just 4 days after running my marathon last November, I got turned away from donating blood because of tachycardia. And last week, I got denied for placement on the bone marrow donor registry because of it. Even if I have the surgery or take beta blockers, both of those would disqualify me for the donation as well. 

I don't have episodes very often, but every month or two I'll go through a phase where I have a few pretty close together before another dry spell. I'm in an episode phase right now.

I had my first episode in a while on Wednesday at a kickball scrimmage. As I laid with my legs up in the air, hidden behind trees so the other kickballers wouldn't make a fuss (pretty sure none of them know I have a condition), one of my teammates was arriving. Naturally, she asked what I was doing, so I mumbled something about a minor heart condition and getting it to stop. Another episode came when we were on the field, so I had to tell my team I needed to sit out. I hollered for an outfielder to take my spot at 3rd base.

As I walked off the field, someone said, "Did you get stung by a bee again?" (True story: I got stung by a bee during our game last week.)

"No."

"Is it your knees?" someone else asked.

"No."

"Is it your heart?" my teammate who'd caught me stopping the earlier episode asked.

"Yeah." Someone cracked a joke about my many problems. It wasn't meant in a rude way or to call me weak or anything like that, but it's exactly why I don't tell anyone about the heart condition (unless an episode happens around them) and probably why I don't think much of it. It's one thing to be the girl with the shitty knees. But the girl with shitty knees AND a heart condition? No thanks.

And last night at kettlebell, another episode. Right at the start of the last song. Do you know how hard it is for me to tough out a hardcore class like that for 52 minutes, only to leave in the last 3? It f*ing sucked.

Part of the reason I had never thought of tachycardia as a weakness is because most of the time, it doesn't keep me from doing normal things. I can go on about my business without most people knowing I even have it. I can pretend I don't.

Until lately, with the blood donation and the bone marrow donation, the only times I had had to accept that it is a weakness was when an episode was happening -- from the humbling, frustrating second it begins to the relieving moment it ends.

Ramblings on shopping

So I found out a couple weeks ago that evidently I like to shop when I'm sad. At least in this instance, I got things I'd been thinking about for a long time, and in a way, I kind of saved money. Kind of.

See, at lunch that day, I bought a pair of shoes for a wedding we're going to in early June. I knew what I wanted and had planned to go several times before, but I finally made it that day. After trying on every pair of nude heels in the store, I found the top pair for $50 ... and a really cute clutch on sale for less than $20.

That night, I stopped at Target while I was out buying a gift for a friend's wedding shower the next day. Since I felt like wandering aimlessly, I headed over to the shoe department, where I found myself in front of a pair of even better nude heels for half the price. (I just took the first pair back today.)

Back at home, I took advantage of a free shipping offer at Victoria's Secret by ordering every pushup swimsuit top they sell so I could find the one that would make me not look like a boy in a bikini (and send back all but one top).

And I ordered a couple necklaces I'd been eyeing on Etsy for several months, thanks to clicking on my listing of favorites and seeing one of them -- a hot air balloon necklace that reminds me of our first anniversary -- had sold. As soon as I saw the seller had posted an identical necklace under a new listing, I snatched it up with a camera necklace ... which I'm wearing today.

Trying to sport the double necklace look today ...

I love the camera necklace, but an unintended side effect is that it now reminds me of the day I ordered it. In time, I think that could be a good thing ...

Luckily, these were all purchases I'd thought about for a long time. Luckily, K doesn't think I have a shopping problem (I'm not sure if I agree).

Luckily, I don't get sad often.

A lesson in perspective

I wish I could tell you that my day got better on Friday -- that K and I worked out our argument, and that my day was productive and great from there.

The first part happened. K and I did talk around 3:15. It was good to clear things up, get our apologies out, and feel better again. I wanted to be able to hug him, but at least I could have my head clear to at least make the end of my day productive.

For about 20 minutes, it was nice.

And then I found out one of my kickball friends died. He wasn't on my team, and he was new to the league this season. I met him the first week. He was so fun and full of life. I didn't know him well, but these traits were obvious to anyone who interacted with him. He was someone I looked forward to seeing after the games each week. He was 23.

I felt a little silly for how upset I was about the whole thing. I've only known him for a few weeks, and even then, we've only talked a handful of times. It's just shocking and heartbreaking when you lose someone so young.

With that news, I just called it a day and left work a little after 4. There was no way I was going to get anything done anyway.

It put my day into perspective, obviously, but it was a frustrating way to deliver that lesson. I really do believe that everything happens for a reason and that we all go when it's our time. I believe these things because I trust that God has a plan and, frankly, it's comforting to think there's a plan. Especially when someone so smart, so loved, so full of life and energy, and someone with so much to give is taken from us so unexpectedly.

Needless to say, I'm glad it's a new week.

Pardon my cattiness, but ...

... I'm fucking brilliant.

I love photography. Love. It. In a perfect world, I would get paid to travel the world and take photos of beautiful landscape, and thousands of people would buy my pictures. I'd be "Ansela Adams," as a friend once (overgraciously) called me.

But the little secret I love most about landscape photography: As beautiful and sentimental as I find the photos I take on our travels, the thing about landscape photography is that I really didn't do anything. God did all the creating; I just do the capturing. If I just get a good angle or an artistic focus with the right composition, all of a sudden I look like a photographic genius.

Food photography, on the other hand? That's tough.

I was recently asked to help out with some food photography. As in, BE a food photographer. For menus. And ads. And a website.

Whoa. (I seriously instantly thought of L and GFF. They're both constantly posting mouth-watering pictures of fabulous food. If those were my pictures, I'd have felt a little more confident.)

I was honored and excited, but nervous. I mean, I've always taken photos for myself. If someone else likes them, perfect. If not, it doesn't matter. But this time, if I screwed up, I'd be costing someone else money and time because there would have to be a do-over. And given the people who were asking this of me, a do-over would not be awesome.

Without going into too much detail, because of other conflicts, someone else wound up doing the photo shoot. I went along, though, for another purpose, and I ultimately played backup photographer.

Today, I saw my photos and the primary photographer's photos. I got some pretty decent ones, but I was anxious to see the primary's images.  I don't mean to brag, but

MINE WERE TOTALLY BETTER!!!

Like, heads and tails better. Like, right thing in focus and perfect amount of sharpness on the main dish, with perfect blur on side dishes.

Who's ready for dinner?

I AM, after looking at these pictures!

I know it sounds mean and bitchy and catty and ugly, but I was just excited for my own little victory. For thinking I couldn't do it and for totally kicking ass.

I love photography.

I'm gonna make this look good

I pulled my hair out of my face today just to realize I'd moved enough back to show off a new highlight I'm sporting.

I've seen smaller ones around my hairline. Those first started appearing when I was 24 (when K was in Iraq and I was planning our second wedding). But this one is a full strand, somewhere in the middle of all my hair.

I'm pretty unphased about the gray itself. Honestly, I'm just excited to see that it's still curly. My hair was straight until I hit puberty, so I've worried that it could return to that texture just as easily as it switched before.

Another bonus: This strand totally matches my earrings!

Are they trying to get rid of me?

When I was a music major in college, my Music Ed professor told me I should be a writer -- this based on an email I wrote him about my uncertainty about my music major future. He said I was a great writer.

When I worked as an editor, my boss encouraged me to consider writing -- this based on emails I wrote to others in my department. She said I had a great voice for it.

Today, I am a writer. Only I do lots of other things at my job -- including photography and videography, in small, informal scale.

And today, my boss told me I should consider doing photography or videography someday. (Granted, I really enjoy both of those -- particularly the first one.)

Either I'm really good at a lot of (journalism-based) things, or my supervisors are always wanting to get rid of me.

Happy St. Patty's Day!

I'm sporting my green today (duh). I've even got it on my fingernails ... kind of.

I've been on the lookout for a certain shade this season, and I've tried different polishes and been disappointed. Today, though, I found it. I hadn't tried this brand before, but I'll definitely get more of it. I don't know what's different about this brush, but it's awesome! Plus, the polish dries so quickly, and so far the polish seems to be pretty tough.

Mint Sprint. Love it!
(No, those aren't my hands. Picture taken from here.)

Yay for being festive!

Trust me.

Wherever you are, whatever you're doing right now,

STOP!!!

In another window, go to your music downloading site of choice and search for the Mumford & Sons album. Buy it. Immediately.

You're welcome.

Out of practice

This has been a busy AND tiring week for me! K & I were out of town last weekend and ran the Cherry Blossom 10-Miler. Then, I started my job on Monday. I was pretty exhausted that day, and Tuesday night I hung out with some friends. Tonight, I rushed from work, to kickball, to dinner, to kickball.

Evidently I've completely forgotten how to balance blogging and working. Or, more realistically, I'm in a new job and am definitely not risking blogging from work like I used to in Dallas.

Maybe tomorrow night will leave me with time for details and pictures.

Here's hoping.

The friend-making continues!

Last night, K and I went to a party hosted by a couples group I found on MeetUp. We arrived about an hour after the gathering started, since we procrastinated on making the appetizer we were bringing as our contribution. When we walked into the house, most of the couples there were a little older than we thought they'd be.

We played several rounds of Catchphrase -- guys vs. girls. Of course the guys lost miserably. It was a fun game to play, but there were a few people there who took it a little too seriously.

There were 7 couples there. Everyone was nice, but most of the people, I don't think we'd be interested in hanging out with on our own. The older couples tended to be pretty quiet. They just seemed mentally old. Of the two couples there around our age, one was amazingly awkward. (The husband actually had no idea who Ryan Seacrest is. That tells you how big the rock is that they live under. Not that Ryan Seacrest is particularly amazing or anything, but I thought everyone knew who he was.) The other younger couple seemed nice, but they were the last to arrive and the first to leave, so we didn't get to talk to them much. The girl had one of the loudest laughs I've ever heard, and I think it was getting to K. (Seriously, when this girl laughed, the game went on hold because no one in the room could hear a thing!)

The hosts were pretty cool. They were also a little older than us (the husband has a 14-year-old son), but they're probably just in their late 30s or so. They were really fun and laid back. K and I could definitely see ourselves hanging out with them again. They're actually the organizers of the group, so I'm sure we'll have plenty of opportunities to hang out with them again at other events.

It takes time to make friends, and we know that. It was a fun Saturday night out of the house. And after our first couples' meetup, we have at least one couple we look forward to hanging out with again. Not bad!

I made a friend!!!

Today was my big lunch date with the girl from MeetUp.com. It went really well!

We had a lot to talk about, and we seem to have quite a bit in common! We were at lunch for over 2 hours, and it flew by. As if that wasn't enough to feel good about, she's already friended me on Facebook! That's right, it's an Official Friendship.

She has a small group of girls meeting at her place on Monday to watch the finale of The Bachelor, and she invited me along. I haven't watched this season (I swore off the show after that whole Jason Mesn!ck mess), but I did catch part of the Women Tell All show last week.

I'm pretty sure I'm going to go. I'm excited about it! I'm definitely due for a good girls' night!

The post I've been putting off for months: How one of my best friends married a douchebag

Rachel is one of my best friends. I've known her since we were 5, when we were in the same kindergarten class. We were in the same class every year until the 6th grade. We double-dated to junior and senior prom. Her first job was working for my dad. We roomed together all through college. She's been a big part of my life.

When Rachel and I were little, as pretty much all little girls did, we would talk about who we'd marry someday. In all that time, it never occurred to me that Rachel might marry a douchebag.

In October of 2008, I met this guy Rachel was dating, "Dre.wby". They hadn't met long before then. Dre.wby had found Rachel on MySpace, and they'd talked a couple weeks on there before meeting in person. When I met Dre.wby, we were at a bar, so it was loud, and Rachel was a little buzzed. I didn't really get to talk to Dre.wby. It was pretty much just an introduction. He didn't seem at all excited about meeting me, which isn't the best move when you're meeting one of your girlfriend's closest friends for the first time.

But I brushed it off. Hoped the next meeting would go better. It didn't. I met Dre.wby again before Thanksgiving. I was back in our hometown for the holiday, and Rachel met my dad and me out for appetizers and drinks. She brought Dre.wby.

K was deployed at the time, and Dre.wby is a Marine. He was more talkative in this meeting, but all. he. wanted. to talk about. was. the effing. Marines. He actually came off a bit insensitive to me, since he seemed to be interested in playing a compare penises (sorry to be vulgar) game of sorts about where my husband was, what he was doing, and how it differed from Dre.wby's deployment a couple years earlier (By the way, Dre.wby is a Marine photographer. My husband was in charge of 100 soldiers in combat. You lose, Dre.wby.).

My opinion about Dre.wby remained the same: Unimpressed. What the hell is Rachel thinking? Which is the first thing my dad said when we left the restaurant.

I wasn't too worried, though. Rachel didn't talk about Dre.wby like he'd stick around long. In fact, she was annoyed by him a lot. Plus, he was younger. Rachel didn't go for younger guys, and he was 21 (she was 25). Just young enough to offer Rachel two of her very favorite things: spontaneity and spoiling. Surely he'd wisen up and get sick of it. And if he didn't, she'd wake up and realize Dre.wby is a jackass.

But then Dre.wby went out of town. And since Rachel had spent so much time around the nitwit, she missed him. She was used to him! It was only then that she started talking about Dre.wby a bit differently, but I still had hopes that she'd wake up.

I didn't get to talk to Rachel much over the next couple months (that's another thing -- she sucks at keeping in touch since Dre.wby came along). The next time we spoke was February, when she told me Dre.wby was living with her.

I had hoped and prayed every time that I spoke to Rachel that she'd pick up on my lack of enthusiasm about the relationship. Ask what I thought about him so I could tell her. Now that they were living together, it was too late. Shit! Rachel had never lived with a guy before. I hadn't seen that coming.

Dre.wby had wanted to propose to Rachel very early on. He planned it for their 6-monthiversary. Rachel picked up that something was going on, and she told him not to propose yet. She said she wouldn't get engaged until she'd known someone a year. Said even that was too fast; two years would be better.

Dre.wby held off, but he told a couple of our other friends in May that he was proposing in June (8 months in, if you're keeping count). Each time Rachel called me that month, I winced as I answered the phone. Dre.wby proposed at the end of the month. Rachel said yes.

She told me they were waiting until August of 2010 to get married. They'd definitely have a long engagement. I knew it was B.S, and unfortunately, I was right.

I called her one Thursday in August (of 2009, obviously), and she told me that she and Dre.wby had gotten married the Sunday before. Only their immediate families were there. They were going to keep it a secret. They'd have a full ceremony in August of 2010. She asked me to be her maid of honor. (I immediately started working on my speech. It's going to be a challenge to hide my feelings about the groom.)

The reason for the early wedding? Dre.wby would get a raise for having a dependent, so they could use the money both to pay off his debt and to save for their wedding and honeymoon. Rachel would also get added to his insurance, which would save her money.

Then, in October, they bought a house together. Which is so not the thing to do if you're trying to save money ($7,000 tax credit or not).

Now that the wedding is getting closer, it's time to really talk about showers and details and a bachelorette party. The more I find out about it all, the more blah I feel about the whole thing.

Rachel sent me a draft of their invitations the other day. Dre.wby designed them. They look nothing like Rachel. Or wedding invitations, for that matter.

The thing is, I really do just want Rachel to be happy. I'm afraid (and truly believe) that she's just comfortable. The one good thing about Dre.wby is that he treats Rachel well.

I want more than anything to be wrong about him. To get to know him better and realize that he really is perfect for her. But considering all of Rachel's other close friends feel the same, I don't think that's gonna happen.

Colorado, Part 4 -- Or, How NOT to stop on a ski slope

Since you can collect some good stories when you go skiing for the first time, I'm sharing them in installments. Find out why my instructor called me "The Troublemaker," and then read about how I earned that nickname by having a screaming Tourette's tantrum on my first green slope. Then learn how I finally made it to the bottom on an intermediate slope.

We got to the top of the mountain on Day 2 around 10:30. K headed off to ski with one of our friends. I assured him I'd be OK doing a few warmup runs on the bunny slope by myself. As he and our friend walked away, I put on my skis. As soon as they were on, a feeling of uncertainty washed over me. All I could remember was the struggle, frustration and anxiety I had had on the supposed green slope at the end of my first day. Had I forgotten everything I'd learned?

I pushed myself forward in the direction of the bunny slope. The area I was on was level, so I wasn't exactly skiing yet, but I was nervous. I felt shaky.

When I got to the bunny slope, I realized I couldn't do it.

There were classes on the slope. Snowboarders. Skiers. Kids. Adults. Instructors, including mine. There were families. Friends. I was by myself. By myself on Day 2. After intense failure on Day 1.

I was stuck on what to do. I didn't want to call K because he was going to get in some good skiing with someone who knows what he's doing. I didn't want to go by myself because I had no confidence. I didn't want to bug my instructor because he had a new class of people to teach (and tell to avoid Schoolmarm).

I searched for people from my class, since several had said they'd be out that day. I couldn't see any of them.

So I took off my skis, and I sat at the top of the bunny slope. K had said he was going to do a couple loops with our friend. I couldn't imagine he'd be gone that long.

I felt stupid. We had paid $60 for a lift ticket, and I was wasting it. I thought about just hopping on the gondola and heading to the bar at the bottom of the mountain, where the one friend of ours who doesn't ski was hanging out. Since I figured that would be a bit dramatic, I stayed put. I felt like my semi-pouting was completely acceptable. No one else was skiing alone. Why should I?

When K showed up, he was surprised to see me sitting. He felt bad, since I'd told him I would warm up on my own, but he understood why my nerves had gotten the best of me. So we conquered them together.

We went down the bunny slope slow and easy. I took long, wide turns so I wouldn't gently bring myself back into it. When we reached the end of the slope where we'd ridden the Magic Carpet Ride (a Jetson's style conveyer path that takes you back to the top of the bunny slope), we curved to the left instead, where our friend told us the slope continued.

The curve to the left was a little steep, but not bad. Nothing like on Schoolmarm. Once you curved, though, on your right, there was a rope on the edge of the slope. Past the rope, there was a big dropoff. About 15 to 20 feet beyond that, there were trees. Basically, if you managed to slide under the rope, you'd fly into the trees and die. (Funny thing to line a bunny slope.)

On the left side of you after the curve, the mountain started climbing up again. There were trees a couple yards up, so there were mounds of snow at the base. If you hit the mounds of snow, coming down them could increase your speed, which (if you're going fast enough) could leave you flying to the right ... and under the rope and into the trees to your death.

Other than that one area, the slope was all right. Past the curve, there was a long straightaway (probably 100 yards, easily) that ended with a chair lift, just like our friend had said.

"This is exactly what I was wanting for you yesterday!" K said. It was awesome. Just enough slope to get me comfortable, and wide enough so I could practice turns. The base of the slope was perfect for me to pick up a little speed and try to stop quickly.

We went around several times. Each time, I picked up a little more speed. I weaved through snowboarders and skiers, anticipating their movements to plan out my path in the snow.

I was having fun.

"You're doing great! I'm so proud of you!" K kept saying.

I was always careful around the curve. In the beginning, I all but stopped before taking it. By the fourth or fifth time, I let myself keep a tiny bit of momentum going into it. And by the fifth or sixth time, I took it fast. I was a little nervous about my speed, but I'd gone pretty quickly the previous run, and it was fine. How else would I start going faster?

The slope in front of me was pretty clear, so I went with it. I was going so fast. Ridiculously fast! It was so much fun!

Up ahead of me, there was a little girl on the left of the slope, at the base of the trees. In the middle of the slope several yards ahead, a man was heading toward her. I decided to curve to the right around him. I moved my hips just a bit, and I continued to race forward.

But then he stopped. Or curved right again. I really can't remember what it was he did, but it was a move I hadn't seen coming.

Oh God.

I'm going to hit him.

I did the first thing I could think of: I applied my imaginary brakes, complete with sound effects. "ERRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRKKKKKKKKKKKKKKK!!!!!!"

I turned my body to the side to try to slow myself down. Damnit, I'm not good at stopping yet!

I braced myself, and I crashed into the back of him. I collapsed into the snow, but he was still standing. "Ohmygosh, I'm so sorry! Are you OK?"

I looked up at the man. He had moved over so that he was now a few feet from my right side. He had a funny look on his face, as though he was still trying to process what had just happened.

"I'm so sorry! Are you OK?" I asked again.

Suddenly, his face changed. It was as though he had caught up with everything that had just happened.

"GET YOURSELF IN CONTROL, GOD D#MN IT!" he screamed over the mountain.

I'm pretty sure my eyes doubled in size. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to!"

He continued to scream and curse at me. What's funny is that while he was doing the screaming and cursing, he was mentioning that there were children on the slope.

K, who had been skiing behind me, took a step toward to him. "Sir, you need to calm down." I noticed K had removed his right glove.

"This a beginner's slope! You shouldn't be here!" the man said.

"She is a beginner. That's why we're here," K said.

The man said something along the lines of, "Well you shouldn't be flying through here like that. My daughter is over there!" (He was still yelling.)

"Well, what kind of example are you setting for her right now?" K asked.

That shut the man up. He headed over to his daughter, and they skied down the hill.

I was still sitting in the middle of the slope, with my left leg (and ski) underneath me. I was shocked, dumbfounded.

"Whoa ... um ... I'm the beginner, so I'm going to assume that was my fault, right? Or was it both ours? Be honest. You can totally tell me if it was all me. I need to know. I was probably going too fast, right?"

K said something. I was too busy replaying everything that had just happened to really hear it.

"You didn't do anything wrong," a voice said behind me. I turned. It was a ski instructor. He'd seen the whole thing. "Don't worry about that guy. I heard you try to warn him. You did everything you could."

I was so glad an instructor had seen the whole thing and was able to tell me I hadn't royally screwed up. An instructor would definitely tell me the truth (not that K wouldn't, it's just that he's biased).

"Do you think he's gonna apologize later, like maybe his initial reaction was to get pissed off?" I asked.

"No," K said quickly. "That guy's just an asshole. If he was gonna apologize, he would've done it right then."

I gave the man and his daughter plenty of time to get to the chair lift before we did. We went around the slope a couple more times, but I was completely gun shy, opting to work on my turns and my stopping (real stops, that is) the whole time instead of picking up much speed. I think K was a little disappointed that we'd had such a hit to my momentum, but it was understandable to have that reaction.

We decided to call it a day and take the gondola to the base of the mountain to get some lunch. When we stopped to take off our skis, the man and his daughter were a few feet away from us. I intentionally didn't move elsewhere because I was curious to know what the man would say if he saw us again.

And he did.

Oh my gosh, how could I leave you hanging? I know. I wanted to keep going. It's just too long as it is. The conclusion of the Colorado trip will be here tomorrow morning!

For the days when you need a pick-me-up

I saw a link to this site on PostSecret, and it's amazing!

http://1000awesomethings.com

Restarting the counter

Until K and I moved to VA, the longest we'd been together consecutively was 20 days (his R&R last year). That all changed, though, just days before we moved out of our apartments in Dallas and Louisiana. Since June 24, we saw each other every single day ... until yesterday.

On Tuesday, K had to go to some sort of conference in Arlington. He left just after we met up for lunch.

I've been fine with him gone. It's been barely over 48 hours, so it's not like it's been that long.

But it's funny how you can get used to having someone around so much. He's on his way back home now. It'll be nice to have him back home, especially just in time for our weekly TV date (we love Flash Forward)!

What's funny is I've often been called 'the mom' in my group of friends

I think moms are superheroes. I swear, the things they have to carry (all at the same time!), the things they have to do and think of and prepare for ... They constantly have to have this other tiny person on their mind because that other tiny person is completely dependent upon them.

I could silently observe babies for hours. The things they do, the things they learn ... They really are fascinating. But they terrify me. They somehow make me feel shy and uncomfortable. I wind up asking them stupid questions: "Are you all dressed for Halloween?", "Are you going to read me a book?", "What is that? Is that your toy?" Idiot! It's a baby! You know she can't answer you!

Sometimes a baby will hand me something, which really makes me nervous, especially if there are other people in the room: Great, she just handed me a book. Does she want me to just look at it, or should I read it to her? ... Oh gosh, he's bringing me a cup. Do I say thanks, or do I have to pretend to drink out of it?

I was never really around babies growing up. All my cousins were right around my age. Then, when I was 9 (and too busy playing to care), my uncle and his wife had a baby. He was the only baby I was ever around at all growing up, and I rarely saw him since he lived far away.

Having a child of my own was something I knew would happen sometime in the future, but I never thought much of it until I got Piper. All of a sudden, I had this dependent little puppy to take care of. I wanted people to like her, and I wanted her to constantly behave (did NOT happen when she was a puppy). I worried that I was overdisciplining my dog. In an effort to not become my mother, I was second-guessing everything I did. I wanted my dog to be good, but I didn't want to be too strict on her, either. AND SHE'S JUST A DOG.

It was then that I developed my fear of having a child someday. If I was this bad with a dog, there's no telling how insane I'll make myself with a child.

At 26, I still haven't spent much time around babies, but I'm quite certain that will change. A few of our close friends (including the ones we're staying with this week) are starting families, and a few more are getting to that point pretty quickly. And in two or three years, K and I will be at a logical point in our lives to begin our family. Whether or not we're ready then will be another story, but we'll see.

My fear of babies might have made me abandon the whole idea of even having kids of my own, but I can't spring that on K after we're married. Plus, in spite of my missing mom gene, I'm excited about someday sharing that experience with K. He's great with kids, and it's obvious that he's going to make an amazing father someday (again, in at least three years).

Hopefully spending little bits of time with our friends and their children will make me feel more and more comfortable around kids. And if that hasn't happened before K and I find ourselves with an expanding family, then I guess I'll just be thankful that children don't form long-term memories until after age 3!

For a minute there, I wondered if she had read my post about our first meetup

The dog park "date" went well. It was funny -- when I called Jill back, I explained that I had lost her number because I had phone trouble just a couple days after I met her. (It was true.) Jill immediately said, "Oh, good! I was worried I'd talked too much and scared you off! I have a tendency to talk about people I know but you don't know, and I just knew I'd bored you to death."

(Eerie, huh?!)

The conversation was much better this time, thanks to the welcome addition of our dogs and a few others at the dog park. Jill seemed more at ease. There were still a few times she revealed some random negatives, like how her husband said he's tired of their dog after 4 years, but how he probably feels that way because he hates his job and it's affecting things outside of work. I guess that random negative just leaves me more apprehensive about ever meeting her husband than anything (seriously, who "gets tired" of your DOG after having her for FOUR YEARS?!).

I'm still not going to be calling Jill up just to chat or see if she wants to go browse around the mall, but I definitely feel better about the one person I know in this area who isn't retired (well, besides my husband).

I'm either stupid or ridiculously optimistic

Remember that awful blind date I had recently? Well, Jill just called me to see if I wanted to take Piper on a dog park date.

I'm going.

26

I have an adorable, well-behaved dog.

I am extremely blessed with wonderful friends (even if they are a bit farther from me now).

I have a wonderful husband who loves me more than I could have ever imagined.

We live in a house that we love.

My family and friends are in good health.

I am excited for what this new life in Virginia has in store.

I am healthy, I am loved, I am happy.

I am blessed.

Twenty-six is off to a pretty good start!

(OK, knock on wood. Because I'm slightly superstitious, but only because it's better safe than sorry.) :)

I'd want you to tell me!

I got a gift from God in the mail yesterday.

It's amazing. And it's on sale now.

Girls, buy it for your girls. Boys, buy it for your girl.

Trust me.