Running

I ran another stupid race this past weekend.  I ran this race last year, too.  Last year, I came with 4 people, but, after the race began, it was pretty clear I wasn't going to keep up with them.  This year, I didn't even pretend to try.  I kept their pace the first 1/4 mile (and almost died), but then I was all, Fuck it!  Save (gasp!) yourselves!  I'll be (gasp!) over here by the (gasp!) water tent!

So, cool.  I ran by myself.  It's what I do most days anyway.

Last year, I came in almost last place.  I beat the 90-year-old man (who almost passed me until I elbowed him in the throat).  And the walkers.

Woo hoo?

Because I kept my insane friends' pace for a bit, I had a good head start in this year's race.  Even though I gave up and ran my comfortable pace, I had a decent chance not coming in last place (it's good to have goals, right?).

Yay!  I was on fire!  I was going to medal in my age group this year!  Woo hoo!

So, the course has a turnaround at the halfway point, right?  You end up running next to the people who are way ahead of you and you realize how far behind you actually are.  I flipped off waved to all my friends (and my 9-year-old niece who beat us all [jerk - she said she'd wait for me]) and kept going.

I'll admit, it was a little disheartening to see how far everyone was ahead of me.  So, even though I shaved 3 minutes off last year's time (another PR!), I still felt like such a failure.

Is it wrong to want to run fast?  Like, why can't my body just do it?

I vented to my Zen-like friend this morning and she assured me that running fast isn't everything.  It's about the love of running, accepting your limitations and running in spite of those limitations.

To that, I say, BULLSHIT.

Running is a constant battle with yourself.  You're constantly battling your previous times, your stupid brain, your knees, the elements and, in our area, the potholes.  So, you have to be a fighter.  You have to want to beat your time, tell your knees to be tough, shut off your brain, fight through humidity and hop over potholes (take that, bitches!).  And, when it's over, you celebrate.

The celebration is the best part.  BAM!  I just ran!  Have a burger!  And fries!  And milkshake!

So anyway, I'll get over it.  And run another race.  And be pissed (but celebrate) about it later.  Running is awesome!

Hashtag This

My day job requires me to write.  This week, I've been tasked with promoting next summer's internship.  Writing the job description, describing our company, that kind of thing.  My target audience is second and third year college students.  The content should be hip.  Fresh.  Da bomb.

That's not how young people talk anymore, is it?

Last week, on Spotify's Throwback Thursday Hip Hop station, it showcased all my music.  I refuse to believe that I'm a dinosaur.  Or have finally made the complete transformation into My Mother.  But, I admit I can't relate to kids these days.  Texting acronyms?  Instagram?  Hashtags?

#forgetit

So, I did some research.  How do you reach college kids these days?  I came across a website, explaining college lingo.  I realize it's been 20 years since I attended college, but really, have things changed so much?  We drank alcohol, too.  And went to class hungover (hey, at least we went!).  We mashed with inappropriate people.  We skipped classes on the first beautiful day of spring.  

But, here are the things I noticed:

- What the hello is an ABC (Anything But Clothes) party?

- We didn't make up nicknames for everything we did.  If we hooked up (I guess that is slang) with a dormmate (not that I ever did that, Mom), we didn't call it Dorm-cest.  It was just a hookup.

(Sidenote:  when I was in 6th grade, we started "going with" the opposite sex.  My mom used to always joke, "Where are you going?")

(pause)

(I can totally see myself doing that to my children.)

- I was thrilled to see Natural Light is still the college freshman beer of choice.  Go Natty Light!

- Reading Day is apparently a day the college sets aside for last minute studying before finals.  The hello?  We didn't get special treatment like that!  Every day should be reading day!  Stop coddling these bitches!

- Sexiled is a term used when your roommate kicks you out because they're "entertaining".  My second-year roommate didn't bother.  One night, I dreamt I was in an earthquake, woke up and realized my bunk bed was, in fact, moving!  But... oh.  It wasn't an earthquake.

- The 15-Minute Rule has been reduced to 10 minutes.

- There are dictionary entries for Ecstasy (X) and Venereal Disease (VD).

#iweepforthefuture

The worst conversation. EVER.

I had a horrifying conversation with my aunt and mother the other day.

Setting:  the family room of my house.  Mom, Aunt and I are all watching TV.

Aunt (I have no idea what led to this):  You know, it's very important for husbands and wives to have sex.
Me:


[Background info:  In my head, I'm still 17.  I don't know why I've clung to that age, but it's most likely because it was my last year of total and complete irresponsibility.  Sure, I had a job by then and some freedom, but I still lived at home, was not responsible for food or bills or laundry or little people.  I didn't even have to study yet.  My biggest worry was getting up before noon to get to a job that required folding sweaters.  It was great.  I don't necessarily mind being a "grown up", but sometimes, having no responsibilities and doing stupid shit for no reason whatsoever would be awesome.]

Anyway, because I'm still 17 in my head, I knew this conversation was going in the wrong direction, and fast.  Kinda like a speeding train racing headfirst into a cement truck.  In front of a brick building.  I am a virgin, after all.  Never mind I am married.  With 2 children.  (Sidenote:  I also had trouble looking at my parents the morning after my wedding as well as the day I told them I was pregnant.  If you need further explanation, I recommend watching the wedding night from Just Married.)

My aunt continued this disturbing conversation to teach me the finer points of marriage.  (This may have come in handy before getting married.  As it is, I've been married over 10 years and kind of know what I'm doing.  Kind of.  My husband may disagree.)  I appreciated her candor, but honestly, I'd rather think of my parents, my aunt, and pretty much anyone in a role of management as asexual.  It was all I could do to keep my eyes from bugging completely out of my head.

My mother (amused):  This is more than you ever wanted to know about this (read:  us), isn't it?
Me (outwardly smiling and nodding, trying to keep my ears from exploding):  Oh no, this is great.  Very enlightening.  I'll cherish this wisdom forever.  Thank you for sharing.

I'm going to lie down now.

Getting older means getting crazier

Recently, the boys were in the husband's cousin's wedding.  Because she had been in 1,000 weddings herself, she decided she wouldn't torture her friends.

Instead, she decided to torture family.

I jest, I jest.  We loved being a part of her day.

Anyway, the night of the rehearsal, the cousin was the epitome of calm. She's a lawyer (read: pays extreme attention to detail).

(NECESSARY TANGENT: I learned a lot of stupid shit wedding "rules" when I was getting married.  And, because I'm an idiot, I tend to turn into my mother at times and lovingly give unsolicited advice.)

So, she had 3 little boys and 3 little girls as her attendants. She had paired them in such a way that one tall kid was with one short.

Because I am an idiot, did I say:

A. That looks great!  You're brilliant!
B. Look at those adorable dresses!  You really planned this well!
C. Why don't you put tall kids with tall kids and short kids with short?

The answer is:  C

Her response:  Well, because of their ages, I thought it'd be better to have an older child walk down with a younger one.  So, they'll actually, you know, walk down the aisle.

Oh.  Of COURSE that makes sense!  Shut up, Lea!

The kids walked down the aisle with no issues (see?  she's brilliant).  The bride got ready to walk down the aisle with her dad.

Now, one of the stupid rules I learned when I got married is that it's bad luck to walk down the aisle more than once.  Meaning, you should only go down the aisle on the day of your wedding.  (Note:  my aunt took my place during my rehearsal.)

Did I:

A.  Keep my mouth shut.  This is just a silly rule that means nothing.
B.  Keep my mouth shut.  It's not my wedding.
C.  Keep!  My!  Mouth!  Shut!
D.  Say:  Bride!  It's bad luck to go down the aisle during your rehearsal!  Don't!  Go!

Yes, D.  Of course, D.

She paused.  I distinctly remember this pause.  It was one of those pauses that makes you think you've just stormed into a quiet room.  Naked.  In the middle of a presentation.  In front of a million people.  Like, what are you doing here naked, crazypants?  Don't you realize you're naked?  In public?  In a church?  In front of a priest??   And your FATHER???!

She finally said:  Yeah, I don't believe in that.
The helpful wedding coordinator added:  I've done thousands of weddings and I've never heard that.

Oh.  My.  Gawd.  Of COURSE you don't believe in that!  Shut!  UP!  Lea!!

Older = no filter.  It's horrifying, really.

Going Dark

The Urban Dictionary definition of "going dark" is as follows:

To disappear; to become suddenly unavailable or digitally out of reach for an undefined period of time.

I'm pretty sure it's intentional for most people who go dark.

It wasn't for me.

On Saturday, I ran a race.  In a torrential downpour.  And, ultimately, ruined my iPhone.

(Sidenote:  I really REALLY hate that the iPhone isn't water resistant.  Someone at Apple needs to fix that.  Pronto.)

Because I can't be trusted am practical, I have phone insurance.  So, they shipped me a new phone.  Which didn't end up in my hot little hands until Tuesday afternoon.

That meant I was without my cell phone for two-and-a-freakin-half DAYs.  (Cue the dun-dun-DUUUUN! music.)

This obviously is not a post about how you should turn off your phones and Be Here Now.  I am not THAT person.

But, I didn't know I was THIS person.

Fine, I couldn't call or text anyone.  That was cool.  It was the weekend.  I didn't have time to kill at work (not that I'm not diligently working all day every day, of course).  But, there were no less than 50 times during the day I went to grab my phone to:

• Check the weather
• Access my music
• Facebook stalk
• Look at pretty pictures on Instagram
• Confirm this guy on TV was the same guy who had guest starred on an episode of 90210 in '95
• Launch iBooks
• Access my music
• ACCESS MY MUSIC!

And I certainly couldn't run the last 3 days.  I didn't have my music and I didn't have RunKeeper to tell me how fast I wasn't.  So, while dark, I had become:

• a hermit (I can't go out if I don't know the weather)
• my mother (without proper knowledge of good music)
• a non-stalker (this no FB thing was actually a good thing)
• depressed (with no pretty pictures to look at)
• confused (where have I seen that guy on TV?)
• dumb (according to the kids' principal, I lose brain cells by not reading)
• fat and lazy (no running)

Now that I have my phone back, all is right with the world.  I checked the internet (on my new phone!).

He told a lie.

Well, shit. Now what am I going to do?

I’m sure this wasn’t the first time he’s told me a non-truth, but this was a boldfaced lie. Just to get a new game on his iPhone.

What happened, you ask? Well, I’ll tell you.

So, yesterday, we had a snow day. Snow days have lost all meaning and excitement for us this winter and, truth be told (see? I tell the truth), we are pretty sick to death of each other. Anyway, early in the morning, the 9-year-old had asked to get a new game on his phone. We, the parents, are the keepers of the iTunes password (we’re no dummies), so, once I learned the game was free, I agreed to the purchase and entered the password.

A few hours later, he came back to ask for the password again.

Me (the phone was already on the password prompt, so I couldn’t clearly see what it was for): What is this for?
Him: The game from this morning.
Me: Didn’t I already get you that?
Him: Yes, but it didn’t work.

I had no reason not to believe him up until now. Besides, why lie about something so silly, right? So, I entered the password. Then the “are you sure you want to buy some silly game for $4.99, crazyperson??” notice popped up.

Me: WTF is this?? (Okay, no Fs were involved in this dialogue, but there should’ve been.)
Him: Aw, shit. Busted. (Okay, no swearing whatsoever took place here, but it makes the story more entertaining to me.)
Me (taking the phone from his grubby little hands – perhaps FOREVER): I can’t believe you would lie about something like this. You could’ve just asked me to get this $5 game. I would’ve said no, but you could’ve asked.
Him (running to his room): …

Sonofa.

Is this what happens at a certain age? I can still clearly remember one of the first times I was caught in a lie. I was 10 or 11. My friend was having a sleepover birthday party that night. For her birthday, I had gotten her the Whitney Houston “Whitney” cassette tape. Well, I didn’t like the plastic cover around it and wanted to take it off. My mother had told me not to – that it would no longer be new. I, of course, thought I knew better and took it off anyway. When she went to wrap the present, she saw what I had done. Dun dun DUN!

Her: Did you take off the wrapping?
Me (all shifty-eyed): NO.  (I was never a good liar.)
Her: Don’t lie. I know you’re lying. And because of that, you can’t go to the party.
(In retrospect, I was kind of an idiot. Of course, I did it. She knew I had wanted it off and SURPRISE! It was off. What could be only reason?)

Enter my brother.

Growing up, my older brother and I did not get along. I think there was a time when we did, but then there was definitely a time when we didn’t. And that lasted a looonnnngg time.

In our early years, his favorite pastime was to terrorize me and our younger brother. The guy gave me a concussion (I lost my sight!), for goodness’ sakes. Because he shoveled my driveway last night, I have finally decided to forgive him for that.

You’re welcome, Brother.

Anyway, while my mother was doling out my punishment, I could see my idiot brother laughing behind her.

And what did I do?

Me: HE did it! Look, Mom, he’s laughing! He just wanted to get me in trouble!

This threw my mother for a minute, I could tell. Now that I’m a mother, I can see that she wanted to believe me. It was almost impossible to believe my story, but, well, my brother was laughing, and, because he was such a jerk back then, it was possible he was screwing with me.

In the end, my mother let me go to the birthday. I’m sure I admitted to lying (I’ve blocked that part out), but she let me go anyway. I didn’t deserve it, but she’s a good mom.

And now that the 9-year-old has been caught in a lie, I’m at a loss. What if he’s been lying his entire life? What if he’s a big fat liar liar pants on fire? And will go on to become a sociopath, thief, and cheat? And end up in jail?? Am I ever to believe him again? Like when he blames the 6-year-old for breaking a Lego or my niece for being bossy? Am I going to question everything he says from now on?

Most importantly, will he ever get his phone back?? How else are we to entertain them on snow days???

See no evil, hair no evil

And the search for a hairstylist continues!

So, I got a haircut last week.  I had a coupon, I normally trust this place, so I took whomever was available. 

Let that be a lesson to me.

To be fair, she's very sweet.  She is funny, easy to talk to, and has the ability to make you feel comfortable right away... until she slashes your neck with her scissors.

It was all downhill from there.

It was, most likely, my fault.  I think she had made me laugh while she was cutting around my neck.  I jolted forward (as I sometimes do when I laugh) just as she was in a crucial spot.  She was inches away from my jugular.  I could've DIED.

Oh fine.  It wasn't that dramatic.

At any rate, I think because my near death experience freaked her out so badly, she stopped paying attention to what she was doing to me.  And, more importantly, to my hair.  After she spent the next 30 minutes apologizing and cutting, apologizing and cutting, apologizing and drying, I was sent on my way.  I thought it looked okay, but, then again, I didn't get a good look at the back.  I think she was trying to get rid of me pretty quickly.

I came home and looked at myself from all angles (a la shampoo commercial), and noticed that it looked like there was a big chunk cut out of the back of my head.  It could've been the new color, it could've been my cowlicks, but I was pretty sure it was cut wrong.  So, I made an appointment to get it fixed.

This is, unfortunately, becoming a regular occurrence for me.  I had to get a redo the last time I got a haircut, too.

I never thought I was freak about my hair.  I tend to make fun of my one friend who constantly obsesses about her hair.  But, it turns out I'm just like her. 

Gaaaaah!

So, 2 days later, I was back with the Slasher.  She was so glad I came back (probably wanted to make sure I hadn't bled to death / called a lawyer).  She cut and apologized, cut and apologized and I thought it looked okay by the end.  I was on my way out the door (again) when the manager came up to me.

Her:  Lea?
Me (thinking, should I know this person?):  Um, yeah?
Her:  Hi, my name is so-and-so.  I'm the manager.  I saw that you were a redo.  I've been watching her butcher cut your hair and yeah, even though you're not bleeding this time, it's still not right.  Do you have time for someone else to fix it?
Me:  Do I have to pay for this?  

Insert stylist #2.

I have never had anyone - not even Chad - take this much care to make sure my hair is even.  She was all up in my grill, making sure it was perfect.  I bet I beat the world record for longest breath holding in a single sitting.

2 stylists, 3 haircuts later, I'm alive to write about it.  To be honest, I don't think it looks much different than cut #2, but if the manager is happy, I'm happy.


I'm even more happy the problem is at the back of my head, which makes me conveniently forget all about it. 

An Apple a (whole frickin') day

Yes, I'm aware it's been almost 5 months since my last post.

So, last night, in my rush to make a yoga class on time, I dropped my phone.  My iPhone, to be more specific.  I didn't look at my phone until I was in the car, ready to jam to my iTunes.  

Sonofa.

The phone must've hit the kitchen floor in the most perfectest (yes, it was that. perfect.) way to completely eff it up.  I've dropped this phone lots of times never and nothing like this has happened before.  I guess practice makes perfect?  I've never ever done anything like this, ever, so imagine my surprise that a) it happened in the first place and b) it was as bad as it was.  There were all these white lines going down the length of the left side of the screen.  The right side?  Perfectly intact.  I was able to text my sister "y-u-p" as those letters were all on the right side of the keyboard.  Of course, I had to hit the camera button to get the phone unlocked, then click the center button to get to the home screen, but hey, I'm resourceful.  And my iTunes worked.  So, I didn't worry and continued to my yoga class.

After some namaste-ing, I came back to the phone.  And, because of my new state of calm, expected the phone to have reset or something while I was away.  Isn't that what happens?  You do nothing and it just fixes itself?  No?  Crap.  I was, unfortunately, left with the dreaded task of telling the husband.  No amount of yoga breathing could get me out of it.

This led to a mini-lecture about how I should be more careful (a doy) and an hour phone call to Apple or ATT&T, whomever he called.  Good news was I was eligible for an upgrade.  Just had to go to the store and get a new phone.  (Yay, new phone!)

This morning, we went to AT&T.  Got the new phone (yay!).  The salesperson told me I should make an appointment at the Apple store to sync all the information from my old phone to my new phone.  Sounded easy enough.  I scheduled an appointment at the Apple store.    

That was a mistake.

The (very nice) Apple guy told me that, basically, I could do whatever I needed to do from the comforts of my home.  Smiled (nicely) and (nicely) sent me on my way.

Ugh.  Fine, whatever.

I went home and plugged my new phone into my computer. 

Error #1:  You must download the newest version of iTunes

I've been putting this off for months (years?), ever since a FB friend asked if there was a way to undo the download.  I wanted no part of that.  But, if I had to, I had to.  Clicked on "update software".

Error #2:  You have too much shit on your computer.  Remove some and you can download iTunes.

Well, hell.  How do I do that?  As it was, we had an external hard drive for our photos.  What more could I do? 

Since I had no idea how to find files to delete, I went to Apple's site to find the (very nice) tech support.

Error #3:  You must use the latest version of Firefox for Apple Support.  Or something like that.  Basically, if you're using this version of Firefox, we have bigger problems.

Oh, fercrankinaford.

After an hour on the phone - an hour of deleting files, downloading iTunes, creating new accounts, resetting the phone (twice) - tech support (nicely) sent me on my merry way. 

Is it working?  I have no idea.  According to the phone connected to the computer, I still have 7 hours remaining in my backup process to know for sure.  It's usable.  However, none of my apps are on the phone, but, then again, my darling wallpaper is there. 

That's a start, I guess.