Happy Anniversary Part II

On Friday I wrote about mine and Jason's 15 year anniversary (missed it? Here ya go). Well, today is our other anniversary.

Friday was the anniversary of our relationship as a couple. But eleven wonderful years ago today, Jason and I took our relationship to the ultimate level. On December 16, 2001, Jason made me the happiest woman on earth by becoming my husband.

These past eleven years have truly been beyond amazing. I can honestly say that I married my best friend. When I have good news, he's the first person I want to tell. When I need comfort, he's the one I turn to. He makes me laugh, he wipes away my tears, he doesn't mind going shopping with me (and he'll even hold my purse while I'm trying on clothes!). What can I say? I caught a good one.... and I'm not letting go.

So, happy 11th (wedding) anniversary to my best friend, my soul mate, the man I'm honored to call my husband.

Happy Anniversary Part I

In August of 1997, I started my Freshman year at the University of North Carolina at Greensboro. I was about 3 hours away from home - the first time I'd really been away from home on my own - and was loving the freedom and excitement of college. Being on my own for the first time, I decided I didn't want a boyfriend. I wanted to be single and concentrate on finding me. 

But, in November of that year I met a guy named Jason.... this guy irrevocably changed my life for the better. We quickly became friends. Our favorite thing to do was just hang out until sometime in the early morning (sometimes until 3:00 or 4:00), just watching Cartoon Network. 

Fifteen years ago today, our relationship changed from "just friends" to  "it's official, we're a couple." 

I can't believe so many years have gone by. Our relationship has been nowhere near perfect. But, anytime we've hit a snag, we've always come through stronger than before. 

Happy 15 year (overall) anniversary, baby! I love you so much more than you can ever know. Bring on the next 15 years. I know they're gonna be epic.

Look Up in the Sky...

It's a bird, it's plane, it's... ME!

Back in the spring I had a dream that I went skydiving. When I woke up, I felt so peaceful and wonderful that I knew I had to make that dream become a reality.

I started looking up jump sites that were close to me and found a couple, but I never went further than just researching into things. I don't know why. Mainly it was the fear factor. I want to jump out of a plane... but do I really?

Months went by and I still had the idea in the back of my mind. It was just a distant thought of "Yeah, I want to do it. Maybe I'll do it one day. Maybe not." Then in late October I learned that someone I know personally did it. Getting to actually talk to someone that I knew (versus just random comments from strangers online) was very helpful. It cemented my "I've gotta do this" mentality.

In early November I contacted two places - both about an hour away from my home -  to get more information and get a feeling for the companies. From talking with them both, I decided to go with a company called Piedmont Skydiving which is in a small town called Salisbury. In that city, there's a very small airport (emphasis on the "very") and that's where PS has their facility. On November 9th, I called to make my reservations and put down my $50, nonrefundable deposit. There was no backing out now!

Fast forward through two long weeks of anticipation and finally my Big Day was here. This morning I was a bundle of nerves as Jason and I drove down to Salisbury. Upon arriving at the airport, I had to fill out pages and pages of liability waivers, get outfitted in the harness, and kiss the hubster good-bye as the crew and I headed toward the Barbie's Dream Plane (swear to god, this thing was that little).

Once in the plane, we climbed to 10,000 feet before plummeting back down to the earth. Ok, so I really only plummeted for about 30 seconds before the parachute was released. After that point, it was a fairly nice glide down.

I will definitely go skydiving again. It was one of the most amazing things I have ever done in my life. I still can't believe I did it because I don't consider myself a daredevil. But, I guess a (small) part of me is!

Here are the videos of my journey. Enjoy!

Vera-ly I say unto thee

Do you remember when Vera Bradley purses came out? Females all across the nation went nuts (and bankrupt) over these floral-patterned purses. Except for this female, that is. The first time I ever saw one of these monstrosities, the first thought that flitted into my common-folk brain was, “holy shit, they've turned grandma’s wallpaper into a fashion accessory.”

Even if I did like one of the patterns I sure as hell couldn't afford it. Eventually patterns get retired (with full pension plans) and the prices of those pieces drop dramatically. But, the newly reduced cost is usually still above my spending plane. And lest ye forget – I don’t care for the sight of the products.

Yesterday, a co-worker had emailed out a coupon to a little local gift-shop-type boutique. The coupon was for 25% off your entire purchase. Knowing that this store sold cute novelty items (jewelry, candles, and the like) and it’s close to my work place, I thought why not take a trip there. So, on our lunch break, two co-workers (the infamous Melissa being one, Jennifer being the other) and I headed there for a shopping extravagance.

The store was small and tightly packed. You’re forced to take small, Geisha-like steps to scoot around different display cases and racks of baubles surrounded with ribbons. If you speak above a breathy whisper, the sales ladies glare at you disapprovingly. At one point I was just using hand signals – some mix of sign language and gang signs - with Jennifer and I think I moved the air too roughly because the librarianclerk cocked a haughty eyebrow my way.

At the back of store, there was a large section of Vera Bradley merchandise. For kicks and giggles, I decided to check out this area and see what ridiculous patterns were hip nowadays and what type of items I could get said pattern on. Good lord, pencils? I can buy a pack of 10 Vera Bradley pencils and that’ll only cost me $15?  Oh my god, just buy a pack of #2 pencils (you can buy 100 of those for, like, $1.00) and then paint a design on them yourself. Way cheaper. And probably way better looking too.

Melissa, intrigued by my snorting laughter (silent snooty sales ladies be damned), eventually wandered over to me to see what had captivated my attention.

“Look at this wallet,” I cried out to her.

Melissa stammers, “What the hell? It looks like... a... jungle...”

Both of us at the same time, “threw up!” (Great minds and all that jazz). And, no, I can’t make this stuff up. A jungle that threw up is exactly the best way to describe the design on this wallet (and the matching bag and matching luggage tag and matching chastity belt).

The two of us continued to make fun of some of the other patterns, before realizing that we needed to head out soon to get back to work on time. We found Jennifer, who had found a goody for herself. We all trooped to the checkout counter. While there, we noticed a display of Vera Bradley Iphone cases. As the cashier rang up Jennifer’s purchase, we flipped through the cases. I actually saw one with a design that wasn't grotesque. That case was sitting next to one that was. Jennifer noticed that the price tag on the ok one was more expensive than the Quasimodo one. Jennifer mused out loud, “I wonder why this one costs less” My reply, “because it’s uglier.”

The sales lady didn't appreciate that one. In the snootiest tone she could conjure (seriously, I felt a cold draft blow by), she informed us that the cases “are different types” – one’s a hard case. One’s a soft case. One’s made out of children’s skin. One’s made out of unicorn horns.

Really? Your name tag doesn't say, “Hello my name is Vera.” So, don’t act all high and mighty like you had a personal hand in creating this “artwork”... which resembles a cat’s uncleaned litter box.

With all that being said, would you believe I actually found a pattern today that I really like? Don’t worry, I didn't buy the purse (even though it was a great size and had a wonderful amount of pouches). Even with my 25% off coupon, the price on that bag was still more than 2/3 my annual salary.

An awesome(??) present

One random Saturday, Jason and I were just wandering the aisles of one of these box stores that sells everything from toilet paper to credenzas. We like to browse through these stores if we don’t have anything better to do (which is often. Don’t judge me).

As we rounded one turn, a box caught my eye.

I want one!

Pretty awesome device there.

But, check out the kid on the box. If I had human kids I so would not buy this for them (no, I’m not saying I’d buy this for my furry babies, either. None of them really seems interested in drawing).

Yeah, good job on the marketing plan there, geniuses at “Grafix.” I can see parents picking up the box... and immediately visions of colorful hand prints all over the walls, the dog, and the brand new Chintz sofa flash through mommy’s mind. Look, there’s a glimpse of mommy backed into a corner, drinking straight from a bottle of merlot, eyes wide as she takes in the horror of it all.

Hmmm, I have a niece who lives three hours away. And Christmas is coming.

Check out my stems

If you've read my past posts, then you know that I like trying different procedures in the hopes of bettering myself.

My latest thing is Sclerotherapy. What the hell is that? It's a treatment for spider veins. For years, I've had those veins running up the back of my legs, making me self conscious. And that sucks because I think my legs are one of my best features. From years of being fairly active (dance, Tae Kwon Do, now Crossfit and running) and of wearing high high heels, I have pretty nice calves. If I say so, myself. And I do.

My veins never stopped me from showing off my legs. But, I was always aware that those hideous blue tracks were there. Over the past few years, I've been looking into having some kind of vein removal treatment and started reading up on the procedures. I actually did contact a few places a couple of years ago, but some reason never followed through. But, I finally decided to go for it.

Earlier this year, I bought a voucher off of Groupon for some cellulite treatments (see, told ya I'm all about trying different procedures) and I liked the doctor's office. They offered vein removal, so during one of my cellulite treatments I talked to the doctor about treating my veins.

As I learned, I'd have to wear compression socks for awhile after my treatments, I thought I'd wait until the weather turned cold so that I could hide those socks under pants.  I'm so glad I waited. It turns out I have to wear thigh high "panty hose" because some the veins that I had treated were above  my knees, so calf high socks wouldn't work.

Wearing the "panty hose" wouldn't be so bad... if I were a delicate flower. But, I'm part ox or some other equally ungraceful beast. Within 24 hours of owning these damned things, I had runs and holes all over them. Sonofa.

Also, it wouldn't be so bad if the people who made these bleeping things understood height differences. The way you select which size you need (out of the standard small, medium, large, X large grouping) is by measuring different parts of your leg - ankle, calf, thigh. Then you read the handy little sizing chart on the packet. Where your measurements fall in that chart is the size you get. Now, please notice that HEIGHT is not one of the measurements.

Here's a picture on the box.

As always, sorry for the blurry picture.

Notice where the top of the stocking stops on the leggy model in this picture. I don't know how tall she is, but I'm 5'4" and the tops of the leggings basically comes up to my girl bits. Very comfortable. Hey. Assholes. I only needed thigh high. Not freaking armpit high. 

But, despite the joy of the compression hose, I am very happy with the results I'm already seeing from my vein treatments. Tomorrow will be one week since I had my first treatment. I go back on November 14th for a check-up and, if needed, to have some veins retreated (yes, it could take a few treatments). 

Now to start figuring out what my next "body project" will be...

I'm back... I hope.

I've missed this. Just sitting down, babbling on about something random about my life. Where have I been? Mainly training my ass off. This coming Sunday Jason and I will be running the Army Ten Miler. I'm so excited about that. This race starts and ends at the Pentagon. So I've stepped up my game and I've been training at Crossfit 3 days a week and trying to run 2 days a week (that latter bit didn't always happen). The other days were used to catch up on my reading (I get grumpy if I go too long without reading) and trying to clean my house.

But, as you saw my post's title - I hope I'm back. The reason I may not be back is because I'm obviously trying to kill myself... but not consciously. Let me explain.

Last night I decided to do the prepared adult thing and fix lunch for today. That way, I wouldn't be scrambling around in the morning. We had a package of sugar-cured ham in our fridge and I thought to myself, "A ham sammich sounds tasty." The ham was cut into long, wide strips and one piece would be too much for me. So I cut a bit off and made my sandwich.

Fast forward to today at lunch, I'm chowing down and trying to figure out what is up with this ham. It's tough and gummy. The flavor's ok, but not the greatest. As usual, I was eating lunch with Melissa and I actually apologized about my unladylike eating of my lunch. I made some offhand joke about me looking like a lion eating my prey.

Fast forward to my house, after work. I'm whining to Jason about the tough ham. He squints at me and says "how gummy was the ham?" I reply, "pretty damn gummy. It was kinda annoying to eat."

With that, he takes the package out of the fridge... only to find that the ham was uncooked. What the hell??? I just ate raw meat for lunch??? So, about that offhand joke I made. About the lion eating prey. Yeah, not so much a joke.

I immediately texted Melissa to tell her about my outstanding brilliance. Now she and Jason are making fun of me on Facebook. If you're friends with me there, feel free to join in the action. If we're not friends, and you wanna poke a little fun at me, send a request.

I sorta deserve it for being a dingbat.

It's not you, it's me.

Awhile back I wrote a post about some facial treatments I was starting to do - microdermabrasion and chemical peels (if you missed it, you can catch up here).

The technician I'm going to is really nice.  I assume her prices are reasonable (at least she keeps telling me how her prices beat pretty much everyone else's in town). And I do enjoy the microdermabrasion treatments. I even got brave and decided to have a second chemical peel done (this second time was much better than the first).

But - ah yes, the almighty "but" - circumstances have changed. While I want to continue with these treatments, I'm not sure I want to continue with her. Honestly, I do want to stop for a bit because of financial reasons. Jason and I are trying to tighten our purse strings and take care of some credit card debt we have (anyone want to give us a random "Happy September" present of cold, hard cash?). So, we're trying to stop some frivolous spending.

Another reason I want to move on to bigger and brighter pastures is because my technician has screwed up my schedule. When I first starting going to her, she took appointments on Wednesdays, Thursdays, and Fridays. Perfect! After having these facial treatments done, you can't workout because the sweat getting into your pores will sting. Well, Thursdays were out for a possible appointment day because I do a Crossfit class on Thursdays. So, I was good with one of the other two days.

Now, she's opened a new salon in a town about an hour away (I think she lives somewhere between that city and this one). But, she says she has so many clients here in Winston-Salem that she can't, and won't, leave the salon I've been going to. So, she'll be here on Mondays and spend all her other days in that other city. Great. Except... I'm still taking one class at the YMCA and Monday's the night for that class. What the hell, woman?

So, my question is - how do I "break up" with her? Most of you are probably thinking, "what's the big deal." Just don't schedule a new appointment and ignore her calls. Eventually she'll get the picture and go away. Or, even better, be an adult and tell her the truth. Something along the lines of, "I really like you, but I need to see other facial people. It's not you, it's me. I just need someone who offers me more appointment options." But, I can't do that. I guess part of me is worried that I'll hurt her feelings or she'll think badly of me.

I actually did call her today to cancel my next appointment. Since this past Monday was Labor Day, the YMCA closed earlier and therefore my class was cancelled. My next facial appointment was scheduled for next Monday. When I called Face Lady I used that as my excuse - the," since I missed class this week due to Labor Day, I don't want to miss it next week" drivel. In my defense, that is the truth. I did tell her I wasn't ready to reschedule because I needed to figure out my Monday schedule, basically saying I need to figure out when I'm willing to skip my class.

Now most of you will probably say, just leave it at that. Don't call her back. But, let me redirect you to the last sentence a couple of paragraphs ago - I'm worried I'll hurt her feelings, etc. I know she's not going to be sitting by the phone, anxiously awaiting my call. But, what if she is???

Sigh. This is why I hate doing things like this -  facial appointments or hair appointments or other such type of repeating appointments that don't really have an actual ending. I never know how to gracefully bow out of those "relationships."

A much needed vacation

On August 8th, Jason and I headed to Myrtle Beach, South Carolina for a much needed vacation. Prior to this beach trip, it had been EIGHT years since we had been to a beach. It had been over ten years since we had been to a "local" beach (eight years ago we went on a cruise, so those beaches were obviously far, far away from home).

Going that long without going to the ocean is strange for me. I grew up about an hour from the coast - just a hop, jump, and a skip away. Now it's about a 4+ hour trip, depending on where we're going.

On that Wednesday, we took a half day from work before heading home to finish packing and getting things ready. Finally we were on our way. About 4 hours later, we got to our hotel.

Our resort was awesome. We had access from the resort to a private beach. As soon as Jason and I checked in, we tossed our bags into the room and immediately headed for the shore. Too excited to care about changing into bathing suits. We just wanted to get our feet in the water.

I could've stood there forever.

After standing in the ocean for an indeterminate amount of time (literally, just standing there, looking at the grand infinity "pool" we were standing in, speechless), we decided to head back to our room and freshen up before heading out to dinner.

Across the street from our hotel was an outdoor mall/pavilion called Barefoot Landing. A lot of touristy shops and restaurants. We wandered in and out of stores, just seeing the sites, taking it all in. Enjoying life. We finally decided we were hungry and - being at the coast - felt we had to have seafood. I had always wanted to eat a Joe's Crab Shack, and there was one at Barefoot Landing, so we headed there. Of course I had to get one of their bucket o'crab legs (I love crab legs!!). Here's the bib the waitress gave me.

And, boy, did they itch!

The next day, we woke up at 5:45am. Jason had said he wanted to get up early one morning to see the sunrise. Why not? So, we got up and traipsed (sluggishly, mind you) to the beach. Oh, wow, it was so peaceful out there. The sunrise was beautiful. We sat on the sand for a bit, watching the sky lighten up, before heading back to our room. Where we promptly passed back out for a couple more hours.

The whole vacation was just uneventful. Which was perfect. With the stress of our everyday lives and the go-go-go pace we're so used to, we needed this time to recharge. We didn't have any time constraints.

As each day back in our normal (busy) lives takes us further from our time at the surf, those happy days become more so like a dream.

Don't ask why Jason and I haven't been to the beach in so long. I don't have a good answer. But, we've learned our lesson. We'll definitely head back next year. Maybe (hopefully) we'll even make more than one trip.

Two tickets to the gun show

I just have to brag on myself. Get over it, I don't do it nearly enough.

I've been doing Crossfit at Crossfit Amplitude since the end of April. Here's their website, if you want to check out what some of the classes look like http://crossfitamplitude.com/. If you don't know what the moves are, look them up on youtube.

In tonight's class we were working on personal weight lifting records. We worked with three different moves. I've included videos of the movements to help you see what each thing is if you're not familiar.

Back squat:

Shoulder Press (this video also shows 2 other moves we do in Crossfit):

Dead Lift:

Tonight, I did 125lbs on the back squat, 75lbs on the shoulder press, and155lbs on the dead lift.

While those weights are probably pansy weights compared to what other people can lift, I think they are pretty damn beasty. I'm proud of myself.

And, I'm only going to get stronger.

I'm what?

Part of my job is meeting with clients. Most of the time, I thoroughly enjoy doing this because I get to meet some very interesting folks and hear awesome stories. On the other hand, I also get to meet people that can make me stop in my tracks with the things that come out of their mouths.

Recently, I met with a elderly lady who just wanted to chat. Time schedule be damned. She told me about her grown kids and their families. She told me about her past times. She told me about some of her ailments.

Then she told me that I wasn't "from here."

What? Here's how the conversation went from there.

Me: "Ummm. Noooo. I was raised about three and a half hours away in eastern North Carolina."

Client: "Well, with your dark hair and skin I'd say you were fur-in."

Big pause as I translated what in the hell 'fur-in' meant. Oh, foreign. Ok, my tiny brain caught up.

Me: "Oh dear..... [another big pause]..... Ummm. Yes. I am actually half Asian. But I was born in America.

Client: "Huh."

Me: "I've enjoyed chatting with you! But, ummm, I guess I'd better get back to work. Have a good day."

I quickly scurried out of the conference room and through the door that separates the lobby/conference rooms area from the back, where all the offices are located. I was too frightened that my Asian roots might give her flashbacks to 'Nam and she'd try to take me down.

Good. Grief.

Dinner with a side of trepidation

Jason and I like trying new restaurants - whether those eateries are new to our area or are just new-to-us. Groupon and Living Social help with this "hobby" of ours. A few months ago, a voucher popped up on Groupon for Deacon Tower Grille. We'd heard of this restaurant and wanted to try it, but we figured it would be top dollar and just never made the time to go (or sold the kidney for the funds). When Jason saw the deal on Groupon, he thought this would be the perfect opportunity to try this place.

For those of you who don't know, DTG is a restaurant located in a building called Bridger Field House, which is at the football field where the Wake Forest Demon Deacons play. To explain more - Wake Forest University is one of the reasons Winston-Salem is on the map. The school itself is very posh. There's a lot of Deacon Pride around this town.... I personally couldn't care less. 

Tonight was the night Jason and I decided to cash in on our Groupon. We got home from work and freshened up a bit before heading to our dinner date. 

Upon arriving at the building where the restaurant is held, we were a little bit intimidated. Obviously, since no game was being played the stadium itself was dark and everything was so quiet. We had gotten there about 25 minutes before our reservation time, so we were just wandering the area outside Bridger Field House, reading some of the plaques and what not. We then realized that we had no clue how to actually get into the building and to the restaurant. There were no obvious signs pointing us in the right direction. Even worse - another couple had arrived at the same time that we had gotten there. They went straight into the building as we were meandering. We were now kicking ourselves for not paying attention to whatever Sieg Heil motion they did to get the secret passage way to open. 

With about 20 minutes to go until our reservation time, we decided we needed to stop being tourists and actually start pushing different bricks to find the hidden lever. We eventually found 2 doors on either side of an atrium area. One door led to "The Gold Lobby" and the other door led to "The Black Lobby." I'll let you figure out Wake Forest's colors. Although, on a side note, when we were looking for the way in I originally saw the door to "The Black Lobby" and thought Holy shit. Wake Forest University still segregates people??? But then I saw the gold lobby (versus the white lobby) and realized my mistake. 

We took our chances with the door leading to the gold lobby... Mainly because there were actually lights on in that area and not so much on the black side. I was just saying out loud to Jason, "Ya think they'd have a blatant sign pointing the way to this damn restaurant," when BAM, there was a 6 foot tall poster thingy informing us that The Deacon Tower Grille is on the 4th Floor. And this sign was right at the elevators. Well, that's helpful. But sheesh, couldn't you have had signs OUTSIDE the building too? 

Anyhoo - we jump in the swanky elevator (complete with a soothing female voice informing us that we were going up and that we had reached the 4th floor). The doors opened onto the lobby of the Deacon Tower Grille. It's a small intimate restaurant. Quite a few of the tables were filled, but most still stood empty. The hostess graciously led us to our table, where we sat feeling like we were poor white trash among elite society. Jason and I are sooo not caviar  people (thank goodness nothing like that was actually on the menu). 

As we were sipping our water and chowing down on our appetizer (crab dip, if you wanted to know), I start to check out our surroundings. Wait a minute. What do I see here... Or better yet, what DON'T I see? Holy mother of cheese-its! I was the only ethnic person in the restaurant. I was surrounded by uppity white folk and their white bread ways. I looked at Jason in a panic and asked if he thought I was safe. He asked if I had my knife on me just in case (I did, thanks for asking). 

A little ways into our main course, I was scanning the room making sure that no one was coming at me screaming something about Charlie in the bush, when I realized another weird thing. Every couple in this joint, with the exception of Jason and me, was sitting catty-cornered to each other. Not one other couple was sitting across from each other. Like we were doing. The smallest tables inside the restaurant were 4-seater, square tables. So, obviously, parties of 2 would be sitting at those. Now Jason and I have a great relationship. We love to snuggle together and all that jazz, but when we're eating, we like our space. We think it's weird to go to a restaurant that has booths and see a couple sitting side-by-side. The exception to this is, of course, when we go out with other people. Then we'll sit on the same side (or catty corner at a square table). But if it's just the 2 of us, we like to sit across from each other. It's easier to talk that way, versus both of us having to keep our heads turned to one side for the entire meal. 

Thankfully, those were the only scary parts of the meal. Despite being the only person of (some) color and realizing how different Jason and I were with our not sitting on each other's laps, we still had a good time. The food was awesome. Especially dessert. I had a scoop of Screaming Deacon ice cream - which is just plain ol' cookies and cream (my favorite flavor), but the ice cream is dyed yellow to represent the WFU's colors.

So worth cheating on my diet. 

Now tomorrow, it's back to eating lots of green leafy vegetables and healthy stuff. In other words, get back on the diet wagon. That is until the next meal deal on Groupon/Living Social.

East Bound and Down II: Mall Decorations

If you read yesterday's post, then you know that Jason and were in a crappy lil' town called Kinston last weekend. If you need to catch up, go here. As I mentioned at the end of that post, I wanted to show y'all the wonderful decorations at Vernon Park Mall (Kinston's poor excuse of a shopping center).

Many years ago, some brainiac decided it would be awesome-to-the-max to put up these HUGE banners advertising shows for the TV channel, WB. A channel that Kinston didn't even have on their cable network. Yes. That makes sense. Let's tease you people with shows that you can't watch. Remember - this was years ago. As in before Hulu. I'm not even sure if you could've gone to the WB's  website to watch the shows back then.

Anyhoo - fast forward to present day. Those banners are still there. Now, in Kinston's defense, I'm not sure if they now have the WB channel. But, to knock Kinston's credibility back down, all of the shows portrayed on these banners are cancelled. Some have been off the air for years. 

Look at us. We're soooo deliciously white. 

Ok, One Tree Hill actually did end earlier this year, so not so bad that this banner is up, right? But, I'll admit, I did watch this show for a few seasons (call it boredom), so I know that quite a few seasons ago the chick on the left and the guy left the show. So, this banner is still that outdated. Maybe the mall personnel left this banner up because the show was actually taped in North Carolina (and was set in this state too). Also, for a period a Winston-Salem native was a regular on the show.

Obviously this banner is trying to appeal to young, hip guys.
Should we tell them it's not working?

Look, a banner advertising 2 shows! Obviously neither show was big enough to warrant having their own poster. Well, Smallville did actually have a pretty good following from the nerdy crowd since this show was about Superman as a teenager. It made it to 2011. So, again this advertisement isn't too outdated. Everwood, however, ended in 2006. I'm assuming people saw the 2 guys portrayed on the banner, read the name Everwood, and figured this was a bad porno.

Just act natural and pretend that the creepy guy isn't
hanging out with us.  

Ah, Gilmore Girls. I actually watched this show while it was on... and liked it (hey, don't judge me). Notice I said "while it was on." This show went to the wayside in 2007.

This banner (tries to) show that the WB believed in
diversity by having a token black guy.

Three shows are portrayed here. I guess the makers of these large posters were just getting lazy. Whatever. Starting on the right. This actor was from King of Queens, which was cancelled in 2007. I have no clue what show the middle guy is from. I pretty sure his show is long gone. My favorite is the Bernie Mac, the guy on the left. Not only did his show end in 2006, but Bernie passed away in 2008.

If you ever happen to pass through Kinston, you should take the time to stop at Vernon Park Mall. You won't get to do much shopping or get a bite to eat, but you'll get to pay homage to some former WB shows. And that makes the visit worth a pound of shit.

East Bound and Down

This past weekend, Jason and I loaded up the Wookiee Mobile and headed to eastern North Carolina to a little pock-mark of a town called Kinston. This is the town where I grew up and it's about 3.5 hours from  the city where I live now (Winston-Salem). Although my mom, brother, and some other family still live there, we don't make the trek to Kinston much - for one thing I hate long car rides (seriously 30-45 minutes and I'm whining "are we there yet?"). Also, the town is dying and it's just damn depressing to be there.

Kinston wasn't always so crappy. We used to have a minor league baseball team - the Kinston Indians. But, after the 2011 season wrapped up, the Indians said buh-bye and headed to a city called Zebulon. When I went west into the state for college, I learned quite a few North Carolinians knew about Kinston because "my family stops there on our way to the beach" (Kinston's about an hour from the coast). But, now a by-pass is being built around the the town, so that tourism will be stopping eventually.

Of all the rundown, crappy parts of Kinston, the biggest disappointment is the mall... If you can call it that. Once upon a time, Vernon Park Mall was a pretty hip-happening place. In middle school and high school, my friends and I were the embodiment of the characters from Kevin Smith's Mallrats. We would spend alllll day, just hanging at the mall. We'd travel in packs and join up with other groups. A movie theater was in the parking lot, so if we needed to get out of the mall, we'd head there to catch a flick.

Sometime while I was in college, stores starting dropping out of the mall like flies. A store would close, something new would reopen in its place, and before you could say "grand opening," that store would close.  

One of my "favorite" visits was in 2005. Jason and I came to town for Christmas. Our Christmas present from my mom was that she took us to the mall to go shopping. On Christmas Eve. Now, in Winston-Salem, we avoid the mall from the beginning of November through the end of January because traffic around and at the mall is horrendous with shoppers (before Christmas) and then people returning gifts (after Christmas). But, in Kinston we could have run through the mall and not worry about bumping into other shoppers. Because there weren't any other shoppers. We went into Belk (ya know, one of the staple department stores that all malls have) and at one register there were 3 employees, hanging around, staring into space, bored. A manager came up to them and told them to draw straws because he'd be sending one of them home in the next few minutes. Whaaa?

When we were in Kinston this go-round, Jason and stopped at the mall to see just how much more desolate the place had gotten. It was a ghost town. We were there on a Saturday night around 7:30pm. Most of the spaces where stores should be were just blackened holes, begging to be filled. Oh, what's that? You're hungry and want to stop at the food court? Sorry, there is not one eatery in this place. The best you can do is stop at a random vending machine to get a pack of Nabs. I'm serious - all restaurants have moved out of this joint.

Just for fun, we stopped to look at a mall directory, only to discover that thing hadn't been updated in YEARS.

This is only a shot of part of the directory. But, let's take a quick look, shall we? Notice there are 4 things listed under the heading "Restaurants & Food." As I've already told you, those places are no longer in existence. Moving up the list - Sound Shop has been gone since around 2007 or so. Did you notice that there's a listing for a Cingular Kiosk??? Ummm, Cingular merged with AT&T in 2004. KB Toys hasn't been in the mall in many, many years. In fact, the toy store left, something else moved into that slot... and that "new" store has been closed for awhile.

What about the mall decorations? Well, you'll just have to wait until tomorrow for that...

Technology Overload

If you've been following my blog, you know that at the end of May Jason and I had a little fridge trouble. In case you missed it, you can read all about it here.

When we went shopping for a fridge, we were reminded how expensive they are. I don't remember what we paid for our original appliance, but we bought it about 11 years ago. Obviously, prices have gone up. Due to the scary costs (and that fact that we were going to have to wait for about 2 weeks to actually get a fridge delivered), we came up with a cheap and temporary solution. Our "band-aid" was to spend $450 to get a small, unimpressive fridge.We'd been saying for years that we wanted to buy something that we could put in our garage for extra storage. So, we decided to go ahead and get that fridge. For now it's in our kitchen, being a temporary place holder for our "real fridge." 

I am taller than this fridge.
And I am only 5'4".

We are thankful to have a fridge and to have gotten one quickly (we got it the day after ours croaked) and for fairly cheap. Even better, we have 18 months of no interest (but, since it was only $450, it shouldn't take us that long to pay it off). 

This weekend, we headed to Lowe's Home Improvement to get a couple of things we needed for our house. While we were there, we decided to go look at refrigerators again (since this time we weren't in panic mode). We're not ready to get our "real fridge" yet, but figured it wouldn't hurt to just browse and start taking notes. We came across one unit that had me so flabbergasted. I just stood there, staring at the thing, asking "what in the hell is going on here?" 

 This fridge had apps. As in, things you download on your smartphone. Or on a tablet. Trust me, I can't make this stuff up. 

This is the screen on the fridge.

I don't know if you can download other apps, but here are the ones that the display model was showing. I can understand Pandora - often when I'm washing dishes or cooking, I like to bring my Ipod and the speaker dock into the kitchen so I can listen to music. But, what the hell is the purpose of Twitter on your fridge? What, am I going to tweet to the world that "I'm getting a can of biscuits outta my fridge"? And Weatherbug? Seriously? When I want to know the forecast, I turn to my phone or TV... or even look out the window. I don't look to my fridge. 

The fridge itself was purty.

Shiny!

But the price tag wasn't.

Good grief. Will it cook dinner for me too?

I wanted to play with the screen more than I got to, but Jason saw the look on my face and figured he'd better pull me away before I became enamored with this thing (too late, babe). In my defense, I'm (slightly) better than that. For one, I don't get the purpose for having apps on my fridge. And, another thing, I am well aware of our poorness. In other words, I ain't spending that kind of money on an appliance...that is, unless said appliance did something really special. But, if I want to tweet something frivolous about my life, I'm not going to do that standing at my fridge. Seriously, I don't need to be connected to the world by every item in my house. I promise.

Happy Anniversary, Eyes!

June 14th is a very special day to me. Five years ago I had LASIK. An amazing, wonderful, awesome procedure. To this day, I am still astonished over the results of the surgery.

My journey into the world of corrective lenses started when I was in the second grade. My dad realized that I was blind as a bat and horribly near sighted when he took me to the circus that had come to a neighboring town. Our seats weren't near the floor, but they weren't that far away. At one point, I pointed at a blob laying on the ground outside one of the circus rings and asked my dad how it was posible that there was a lion just lounging there, out in the open, with people walking all around it. My dad looked at me and asked where was this lion. I pointed to the blob to show him. He looked back and forth from the lion to me a few times before slowly saying, "That's not a lion... that's a pile of rope."

Days later, my parents took me to the eye doctor. During that visit it was determined that I had horrible astigmatism that was making me very near sighted. At the time, I thought it was kinda neat getting glasses. Not a lot of my classmates had them and I liked being different. I saw it as getting a cool new accessory. For my face. Neat!

By the time I reached the age of 12, I was getting a bit more vain. Thanks to my lenses, my glasses  resembled the bottom of Coke bottles - very thick and they magnified my eyes a bit. I was never going to get a boyfriend looking like a bug. So I begged my mom to let me get contacts. We talked to my eye doctor about it. He said they normally preferred that patients wait a few more years to have contacts, but he agreed to let me try.

I had contacts for about a week before it was decided that I was too young. Grrr. During my trial period, I always struggled to put them in and take them out. When I would get them in, they irritated my eyes. The doctor told me to wait about 2 years and then we'd try again. TWO YEARS?!?!? In child-speak, that's, like, forever and a day away. Double grrrr.

Finally, finally, finally - the two years came to an end. The year I turned 14, mom decided my birthday present would be for me to try contacts again. Perfect. I was determined to make it work this time. And work it did. I got contacts and wouldn't be caught dead in glasses if I could help it.

As the years went by, the annoyance of dealing with contacts grew and grew. But the alternative, going back to glasses, wasn't an option. I started asking my eye doctor about LASIK. From about the age of 18 on, just about every year when I would go for my annual eye exam, I'd annoy him with questions about the LASIK procedure - did he know of any technological breakthroughs, did he think I'd be a good candidate, blah, blah, blah.

Fast forward to 2006. I was still wearing corrective lenses and wishing I wasn't. I started really researching into the procedure and the legit places I could go in this area to have the surgery. And, most importantly, I started saving up. Finally in May of 2007, I called a facility to schedule my consultation to find out if I was even a candidate. On May 14, 2007, I was told that I was one. I was really scared that my astigmatism would be an issue. The doctor told me that, believe it or not, the technology to correct my particular issue had only been around for about 5 years at that point.

So, now that I knew I was a candidate, the next step was scheduling the actual surgery date. Due to the doctor's schedule, the first date he could get me in was one month later. Only one more month of dealing with corrective lenses? C'mon, June!

The day of the surgery, I was nervous, but excited. The whole procedure took about 10-15 minutes! That's all. And, yes, that's both eyes. The surgeon was great - he talked me through each and every step of the procedure.

The best part? After the surgery, I was sitting up on the operating table. Sort of in daze (prior to the procedure, I was given a sedative to help calm me and then would later knock me out - they want you to pretty much sleep the first day away to let your eyes rest). The doctor pointed to a clock on the wall and asked me what time it was. Without thinking, I read off the time. As soon as I did it, my mind snapped to attention. I just read a clock on the wall... on the other side of the room. And I'm not wearing corrective lenses. I looked at the doctor wide-eyed, to find him grinning at me and my shock of realizing that I could see. Without contacts or glasses. I wanted to jump from the table and run through the halls of the facility, shouting my joy  But, alas, I was too drugged up to actually do that. Oh, yeah, I suppose my sense of decorum would've stopped me too.

So, here I am - five magical years later - still just as amazed about my eyesight as I was on June 14, 2007. So, today, raise a glass in honor of my beautiful, uninhibited brown eyes.

Here they come to save the... Just kidding.

While traipsing through Target over the weekend, Jason and I cut through an aisle in the toy section to get to our intended destination. While passing through, something caught my eye:

Step away from the cheeseburgers.

What. The. Hell? Seriously? These are toys for kids. If I were in grave danger and one of these super heroes came to my rescue, I'd know - without a shadow of doubt - that I was fucked. Does it look like Superman can leap a building in a single bound? No, I doubt he can even step over a crack in the floor. Wonder Woman's invisible plane ain't that sturdy. The latest battle royale between The Joker and Batman will be an eating contest. The Green Lantern is now used as a lighthouse. Batgirl... yeah, who really cares about her. 

Although, thanks to these figurines, I suddenly didn't feel so bad about myself.

I'm so not a girly girl

When I was a kid, I was a tomboy. I preferred climbing trees with "the guys" over playing house with "the girls." I've always hated dolls, finding them creepy with their glassy blank stares.

When I was in college I became friends with a Girl. Yes, Girl with a capital G. We became roomies in the dorm and eventually got an apartment together. In this apartment she taught me the way of shoes and purses.

While I have gotten in touch with my feminine side (so to speak), I'm still not one who knows or cares much about makeup. Every once in a great while I'll actually wear some... but, I usually can't be bothered with it. Hey it cuts into my reading time in the morning.

The biggest part of this whole "look I'm a girl" thing is my vanity. Wanting to make sure that I stay looking young and healthy for Jason, I've ventured into the area of having microdermabrasion treatments on my face. For those of you who don't know what these treatments are - it's basically taking a dremel tool to my face, sloughing off the top layer of skin to help smooth things out. Sounds horrible right? Well, those treatments aren't too bad. Yet. This past Wednesday I had my third treatment. It is starting to get a little more painful because at each visit the intensity of the sanding (oh god, that sounds ridiculous) is increased.

But, that's not the issue. At my appointment prior to this past Wednesday's the technician performing this sadistic sounding ministration suggested I try a chemical peel the next time I came in. She said that the chemical peel could be done immediately after the microdermabrasion treatment and it would be great. The two procedures together would really get my face on the right track to looking better.

So, I thought, why not. I'm fully committed to helping myself stay looking good for the Hubster. I'll do it. The next time I come in, I'll have this extra service performed on me. How bad can it be?

Beyond horrible. That's how bad it can be. Wednesday, I sauntered into the  doctor's office for my appointment. The visit went as normal - with the technician cleansing my face and then performing the microdermabrasion procedure. Then came The Next Step. She massaged this sticky goop onto my face. It burned a bit, but I could handle it. The massaging helped ease the burn. She informed me that this mask doesn't get removed. I would wear it the rest of the day. I was allowed to wash my face that night if I put on makeup. Well, since I've already discussed my thoughts on makeup, there was no fear of that happening.Then for the next 5 days I was only allowed to use face cleanser. No toner (whatever the hell that is) or moisturizer. She informed me that it was ok if I had to start re-using my products after 3 days, because some folks couldn't hold out for the full 5 days. She also told me that I may or may not peel that day because there was a good bit of humidity in the air. My head was spinning by this point.

Wednesday night, my face was fine. No peeling. Things were good. A chemical peel was pretty nice.

Thursday I woke up to find my chin peeling a bit. No biggie. Things got a little worse as the day went on, but I could handle it. Still liking this newly discovered procedure.

Friday was a different story. My whole face - let me repeat - my whole face was a hot mess of flaky goodness. And it hurt. My face, not the flakes. Imagine having a sunburn on your face that is now peeling. That's what's going on here. Only I've never burned this much of my face, so therefore, never had this much peeling going on. I reach to scratch my cheek and it snows. Disgusting. The skin that is now exposed, thanks to my nails, starts to scream.

Seriously? Women do this shit on a regular basis? Why? I told Jason that I am never doing this procedure again.

Well, unless I see some miraculous results. Then it all may make sense to me.

My dilemma

Last Wednesday, Jason and I went to a spin class at the YMCA. Before class started the instructor, Melissa (not to be confused with my best friend of the same name), came up to me and said that some of the other instructors had been talking about me recently. Oh boy, what had I done now?

There's a dance class at the Y called Sh'Bam. While the actual Sh'Bam class has been around for a good bit, it's still fairly new to our gym (they just picked up the class in late February). Loving to dance and having no shame, I dove head first into this class. I took dance lessons for many years as a kid and I miss those. It's so hard to find dance classes (at an actual dance studio) for adults around here. This class fulfills my need to shake my moneymaker for all it's worth. My Zumba class did it too, but due to a change in my schedule, I haven't been able to make it to that in forever.

So, why were the instructors talking about me? They are looking to hire some new teachers for this class and they thought of ME! Whaaaa? Really?!?! When Melissa told me this, I was shocked and honored, but I didn't know how serious they were.

Since my brief talk with Melissa, I've been approached by two other instructors saying they think I'd be awesome and I should do it. Did I mention that I'm so honored that they thought of me?

I am leaning toward doing it. Just going for it. Why not? But, I'm faced with some barriers.  As outgoing as I am, I do still battle with self esteem and self doubt issues. My inital reaction when the instructors have talked to me about this is "Yes, sign me up." But, right on the heels of that is "Oh shit. I can't do this. I'm going to be completely off beat and forget the moves and... just look like a big ol' douchebag."

In addition to those fears is the question of "how do I fit this into my schedule?" I'm already so busy with my life in general - between my workout schedule, trying (and failing) to stay on top of reading blogs I like and writing my own (how long has it been since my last post???), and giving myself down time. I'm not one of those people who can gogogogo all the time. I can go for a bit, then I lose steam and want to just sit on my arse with a good book or my TV. I don't know how to balance everything. Sh'Bam is a class that's through a group program called Les Mills. This means you have to go through 2 days of training to get on the path to certification. Then if you pass that ass kicker, you have send in a video tape of you teaching a class. Then, after you become a certified instructor, every few months you have to learn a new set of songs/dances to teach the class. I have no idea how many hours go into those training sessions. Obviously the instructor has to know the new moves before they can release it to the class.

Jason's words of encouragement are to not make a decision now, but to get with the person in charge of setting up the training to discuss everything - how often would they want me to teach, what kind of compensation would I receive, will the Y pay for my training, etc,etc. Just get the facts and then figure out if I want to do it. The issue is - I'm on a deadline to figure this out. The certification programs travel around the country. One is actually going to be in our area next week. So, I need to figure things out asap.

Any thoughts/words of advice/heckling from you guys???

A post in which I whine. A lot.

The Universe is against me. I don't know which offensive action has pushed my luck over the edge (there are so many to choose from), but I am currently being bitch slapped by Karma.

This happy action fun time started last weekend when I came down with a sinus infection. Oh joy. Being one who hates to go to the doctor, I suffered through the days. But, knowing that a 3-day weekend was coming up, I decided to make an appointment so that I could (hopefully) get some good drugs to help me out. I did get some medicine and have been diligently taking it.

This weekend I did a lot of laying around on the couch. I even took naps on Saturday and Sunday. I rarely take naps. Rarely. But, my body/mind/soul was just that exhausted.

Yesterday, Jason and I had plans to attend a cookout at our friends' house around noon. I was slotted to bring cookies and these crescent roll things with a cream cheese mixture in the middle (it was a recipe I found that I thought sounded good and would be fun to make - correct on both of those, thankyouverymuch). I baked the cookies Saturday night and figured I'd make the other dish Monday morning.

Jason and I woke up Monday to find a puddle of water under our refrigerator and most of the stuff in the freezer defrosted. We assumed (hoped) that one of us just hadn't closed the freezer door all the way Sunday night. So, Jason mopped up the puddle, we turned down the thermostat to the freezer to make it colder faster to refreeze everything again. This was around 9:40am.

I made the crescent roll things (obviously, I have no idea what the hell these things are actually called), we both showered and got ready to head to the cookout. Before we left, we checked our freezer... It wasn't feeling one bit colder than it had felt at 9:40. What. The. Hell? Jason checked the fridge. Hmmm, that's also warmer than it should be.

At this point, we needed to leave for the cookout. We were all ready going to be a little late. So, in complete denial, we told ourselves that since I had been baking that morning and it was all ready a very warm day, our kitchen was just hot and therefore the fridge/freezer just needed more time to get cold. Yeah, that's it. That has to be it.

No. No it doesn't. Because the Universe hates me. And the Universe knows I'm poor.

 We came home a handful of hours later to find a very un-cold refrigerator. Oh shit. We do not have time to deal with this. We do not have the money for a new fridge.

Thankfully we still have Jason's college dorm fridge. We keep it in our basement/Jason's man cave. We were able to get most of our food from the fridge in that thing. And, our next door neighbor has a freezer in her garage where she keeps excess food. We were able to squeeze our frozen food in there. After we took care of the food, we hit the road, heading to check out a few appliance stores in the area... where we learned an important lesson:

You cannot walk into a store and walk out with a fridge. At least, not a fridge that you actually want. Most stores just do not stock fridges. We had contemplated buying a floor model, but that was an issue because most of those were stainless steel. While we love the look, our appliances are white and the silver color won't really match the rest of our decor.

On a good note - most of the stores we went to last night do have some kind of financing available. On a bad note - most everyone told us that it would be DAYS to actually get our fridge to us (one store said  it would be about 2 weeks. At which point I attacked the sales guy like a spider monkey. Or at least wanted to do that).

So, that's where Jason and I are right now - fridgeless. We ended up coming home defeated last night. But got online to look at our options again sans annoying sales guys. We've  found one we like at Home Depot AND they currently have a 24 month, no interest deal going. So, Jason is heading there today to get this ball rolling. Keep your fingers crossed that all goes well for us.

Oh, and I still struggling with that crappy sinus infection.

Oh. There's my problem.

Yesterday I cleaned out the fruit bowl sitting on my island. I realized I had a handful of tangerines that had been living in this bowl for... weeks. Definitely more than one, probably (hopefully) less than five.

God! Sorry for my photo taking skills. My Asian relatives
are so ashamed of me.

In tossing out the healthy crap, I discovered a forgotten treasure:

Oh yeah, that's the good stuff.

Yes, Jason and I had added candy bars to our fruit bowl. Because that's exactly where these things belong. Oh, and while I can't tell you when I bought the tangerines, I can tell you when we procured the candy bars. May 5th. I remember because we had just left the Susan G. Komen 5K race (yes, I'm aware of the hilariousness of what I just said) and made a pit stop at a store to get some Gatorade. At the register, the candy section screamed out to us, "hey, you. Looking for a good time? I'm buy one, get one free. That's right. You know you want me." Jason and I proceeded to buy FOUR bars (2 of each, 2 for each of us). We both immediately ate one bar apiece.... And then, obviously, put our remaining stash into the fruit bowl. I assume we were thinking that by being in close proximity to the tangerines, the candy bars would take on some healthy properties. 

We still haven't eaten these bars. Why? Because we had to eat the other 4 candy bars that we bought the other night. We went to a different store that had the same buy one, get one free sale. Sigh. At least I've figured out why I'm a chunky sushi roll. It's because all stores are against me with their damn candy sales.

I need to be more selective when choosing my friends

If you read my post yesterday, you know Jason and I signed up for another race - the Army Ten Miler - which will be held around the Pentagon.

My friend, Melissa, is obsessed with all things Pentagon/FBI/CIA/Ninja related. Last year she and her hubby went to Virginia and Washington, DC to visit her sister-in-law who lives right at the states' borders. Part of their touristing (yes, that's a word. Because I just said it. So there) was touring the Pentagon. Of course, Melissa saw the signs saying "no photos allowed," but she didn't actually believe they meant she couldn't take any photos. To be sure the signs were only for the people who looked shifty and like they might be terrorists.  Eventually she did get yelled at by a security guard in a golf cart type of vehicle.

Knowing that she'd get a kick out of the race I'll be doing in October, here is the email conversation that took place between us:

From: Missy
Sent: Tuesday, May 15, 2012 11:07 AM
To: Melissa
Subject: YAY!!

I’ll tell you the details when we head to lunch, but guess who’s going to D.C. in October… This chick! We’re going for a race – The Army Ten Miler (which opened at midnight last night/this morning and SOLD OUT BEFORE 11:00AM!!!).

Whoot, whoot!

[Note: I apologize for the cheesy ass "whoot, whoot." I was excited that Jason and I actually got registered for this damn race.]

From: Melissa
Sent: Tuesday, May 15, 2012 2:51 PM
To: Missy
Subject: RE: YAY!!

I know we’ve already talked about this, but I am SOOOOO freaking excited for you guys!!! I demand LOTS and LOTS of pictures!! And I mean during the race too! Haha!

[Note: Melissa and I had discussed the race details over lunch.]

From: Missy
Sent: Tuesday, May 15, 2012 2:54 PM
To: Melissa
Subject: RE: YAY!!

Are you TRYING to get me arrested???? I’ll see if I can sneak some. But you better be willing to bail me out. Hahahaha!

From: Melissa
Sent: Tuesday, May 15, 2012 2:56 PM
To: Missy
Subject: RE: YAY!!

Hahahaha!! Hey, how cool would it be if you got arrested at the Pentagon? I mean, besides the body cavity search, it would be the coolest thing ever. It would put my silly “I almost got in trouble” story to SHAME! Lol! Take one for the team, Missy. I will totally bail you out.

From: Missy
Sent: Tuesday, May 15, 2012 2:58 PM
To: Melissa
Subject: RE: YAY!!

And I would make YOU a t-shirt that says “My friend got arrested at the Pentagon and all I got was this shirt.” Yes, I will take one for the team. Because who doesn’t like a body cavity search?

From: Melissa Webb
Sent: Tuesday, May 15, 2012 3:01 PM
To: Missy Moorefield
Subject: RE: YAY!!

Hahahaha!! Exactly! A body cavity search would totally add to the realism and authenticity of your story. Plus: coolest blog story ever! Bonus!

I’m totally excited about that shirt now too. Ahah!

So a couple of new goals in my life are:

1. Find new friends who don't encourage me to get arrested. Or succumb to a body cavity search (that just sounds fununpleasant).

2. And see if I can push the envelope as I'm running around the Pentagon. Oh Lord. If there are no more blog posts from me past October 21st, you'll know what happened. 

Oops, I did it again

Damn it. I never learn. Never.

I. Do. Not. Like. Running.  When the zombie apocalypse hits, I'm going to need guns with lots of ammo and pray that none of the zombies coming after me are of the sprinter variety, because if that plan fails... I think I can get use to eating brains.

Now that we've established that running and I are BFFs, guess what I've gone and done. Yep, I've signed up for another long distance race. Here, let me refresh your memory on my thoughts on running and me surviving that shit. By the way - I don't get a kick ass medal from this race.

In my defense this new race is NOT a half marathon. It's "only" 10 miles. Also it's around the Pentagon. So, how cool is that? Right? I suppose I can forfeit the medal for the sites I'll see. Maybe. [Note to self, demand that the Hubster make me a medal. Because I need one.]

Let me explain. In 2009 some friends of ours told hubby and me about the Army Ten Miler race in/around Virginia and DC. At that time hubby and I weren't even doing 5Ks, much less half marathons, so 10 miles sounded daunting (still does, actually). While we thought about doing it (we had a handful of months to start training), we bowed out gracefully because the race was the weekend before my black belt test in Tae Kwon Do. Besides not wanting to have 2 weekends in a row filled with ass-kicking, the fees for both my test and the race (plus gas, hotel accommodations, kenneling our dogs, etc, etc) kinda stopped us too.

Every year since then, those same friends would tell us about the race - either that the race was coming up or stories about how awesome the race had been that year. I got it in my head that I wanted to do this race. Not to mention, I sorta owe it to my father's memory and in honor of my brother. Dad retired from the Army and my bro enlisted for a couple of years before getting a medical discharge. So, obviously, the Army has a special place in my heart.

From visiting the website, I saw that registration would be open to the general public at 12:01am EST on May 15th. A few weeks ago, they had a special early registration for military folks (active and veterans) and for people who had done this race at least 7 times (2012 is the 28th year of this race, by the way). From that early registration, the number of registered participants was already up to 10,500. Only 30,000 can sign up. Our friends had told us that if we ever wanted to register of this race, we needed to be on the ball about doing so, because it sells out FAST.

So, being the anxious person that I am, I suggested to Jason that we stay up Monday night and register for this race, rather than wait until a decent hour on Tuesday. He agreed to my plan. And I'm glad we did. That race was sold out before 11:00am!!

So, it's time to step up my Crossfit classes and get my hard-core training on. I've got 5 months to get ready for another race.