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.