Stuff

Recently I posted about how the Puppy likes to chew and that she had found a Mystery Earring.

So just now, I'm sitting here at my desk, as I'm wont to do and she comes running in, plops down and proceeds to chew on something.

I get up and go to take whatever it is and guess what she was chewing on.

Go on, guess.

Give up?

I'll give you a hint:

Somehow, somewhere, she had found the mate to the Mystery Earring.

I still have no idea where these earrings came from, nor who they belong to.

I also was not paying attention as to where the puppy came from, if she came running from the bedroom area or if she came from the living room or if she came from the backyard.  

No clue.

So, if anyone is missing a pair of dangly diamond-like earrings, let me know.

In other news, my little boy, Thing 1, is recovering from surgery to repair his jacked up shoulder.

He's coming along nicely except for a bit of an allergic reaction to his pain meds, an evening when he was a complete and utter dick and the fact that he hasn't been able to shower or bathe since last Wednesday and can we say, "eww?"

Here's a picture of Thing 1 right before being wheeled into surgery:

Yeah.

And here he is post-surgery:

Yeah.
And here he is after getting up to use the toilet proved to be a bit much:

And here he is high on pain meds and desperately needing a haircut:

 
Good shit, man.
 

WORDLESS WEDNESDAY

A PENNY SAVED IS, WELL, A PENNY

So we have moved to the other side of the Thanksgiving holiday and you know what that means, don't you?

Those most cherished of religious holiday traditions:

Black Friday and Cyber Monday.

I KNOW!!

Here's how I got ready for Black Friday:

On Thursday evening, after I cooked our entire Thanksgiving dinner BY MYSELF and then cleaned up afterwards BY MYSELF while the rest of the family lazily watched that classic Thanksgiving movie "Shrek Ever After," I opened my wallet and watched the moths fly out and then blew the dust away and counted my shekels.

Of which there were none.

Because shekels aren't legal currency in this year neck of the woods.

After the dust cleared, I peered into the depths of my wallet, sighed and then went and plopped on the sofa.

On Black Friday, I was gently awakened by a little fat puppy whose inner alarm clock goes off at 5:30am.  Every. Single. Morning.  

And when I say, "gently" I mean she pounces on my head and nips at my nose.

Just once I'd like her inner alarm clock to go off at the decadent hour of 7:00am.  THAT would be a treat. 

So after taking the puppy, who we still refer to as, "The Baby" or "Puppy" or "Trouble" because we just cannot agree on a name and I don't know what I'm going to tell the vet when she goes under the knife to make sure she doesn't get knocked up and they ask for her name and you know what name *I* thought was cute was the name "Nugget" because she's just a little golden nugget of a puppy but Thing 2 was all, "That's stupid and we are not naming her Nugget; her name is Puppy" and why yes this is a run-on sentence and I've totally lost the thread here.

Oh.  Right.  So I take NuggetPuppyBaby outside to take care of business and hightailed it back to bed, hoping against hope to get at least another hour of sleep.

Denied. 

Dammit.

So due to the lack of funds in my wallet, my Black Friday purchases were nothing, nada, zip, zilch.

Which means I saved HUNDREDS!

I KNOW!!!

Then yesterday was Cyber Monday but instead of once again spending money I don't have on stuff I don't need (although boy do I want more than a few things, a list of which will follow at the end of this post just in case a Secret Millionaire reads this and wants to be a doll and get me something off my list.  A Girl Can Dream*), I spent the day saying Goodbye to the mother of one of my dearest friends.

The sad thing about a funeral, other than the fact that it's a FUNERAL which means SOMEONE DIED, is that you get a little too happy to see people whom you haven't seen in years and then you feel guilty that you're happy to see them because it's not as if this is a party or anything but when you get to a certain age, funerals are pretty much reunion time.

And so you make remarks such as, "I'm so happy to see you!" to your old boyfriend who also happens to be the son of the deceased and then you wince at what you said because the only reason you're seeing him is because his mom is laying 3 feet away in a silver box but he hugs you and tells you it's good to see you, too and you head to the ladies room to remove your foot from your mouth.

By the time I got home, I was pretty well pooped and also out of sorts because, and this is TMI but it's not as if there's a bunch of men reading this, Aunt Flo decided to make a VERY belated yet surprise appearance and since it's been a few months since she's graced me with her presence and I thought I'd never see her again, I was woefully unprepared if you get my drift.

So after all that, and because of the woeful state of my finances, I once again saved HUNDREDS by not shopping on Cyber Monday.

And that's how you save the big bucks on Black Friday and Cyber Monday, folks.

*Stuff Kelly Wants (but doesn't really need but WANTS):
Kindle Fire HD 8.9"
4 quart CrockPot
Foodsaver device
Bose iPod dock speaker thing
Artistic Talent

*Stuff Kelly actually DOES Need:
A job that offers good benefits because Anthem Blue Cross (those BASTARDS) is jacking up her medical insurance premiums a whopping 18.7% for a total increase of 25% in one year which means that she will be paying more for her medical insurance than she does for her mortgage.  And that's just wrong.

And wow, this became a Debbie Downer of a post.

Sigh.
 


 

 

AND YOU MAY ASK YOURSELF, WELL, HOW DID I GET HERE?

After being woken up at the lovely hour of 5:45 in the Aye Em by an energetic perpetual motion machine, aka, the Puppy, after taking her outside to pee, I attempted to go back to bed and get a little more sleep.

The dogs, however, had other ideas.  I figured this out when they started wrestling on the bed.

And that was my cue that any chance of sleep was over and done with so I said, "Ah, screw it!" and got out of bed.

After reading the paper, checking e-mails, Facebook, and the Twitter, I made a momentous decision, one that caused TheManTheMyth to ask, "Are you sure about this?"

I decided to go for a run.

I KNOW!!!
 
Well, you see, in the last year, I have lost 20lbs (although 5 of the little bastards have managed to find their way back), I've run a 5K, completed the grueling AND brutal Palm Springs Tram Road Challenge and now I need to start training for the Surf City (Half) Marathon which will take place in February.

And this is the part where you may ask yourself, "My God, what have I done?!"

And this is also the part where you ask yourself, "Who are you and what have you done with Kelly?"

Craziness.

So I stuffed myself into my hideously ugly but extremely effective sports bra, the one that feels as if I'm wearing a corset but in the wrong place.  This thing has 11 hooks!  ELEVEN HOOKS, PEOPLE!!

And off I went.

And promptly discovered that when it's been a few months since I last actually ran, I lurch and stumble and look like Quasimodo dragging one leg behind him while gasping, "Sanctuary!  Sanctuary, Master!"

Yeah, I'm a catch.

But I did get in a good 3 mile run/walk/stagger so, yay me!

And this was all possible because TheManTheMyth was home to babysit the pooches because I just can't bring either of them with me because they drag me down and I gotta move, people.

I also gotta get this goddamn bra off; it's killing me.







 

THE TOOTH, THE WHOLE TOOTH AND NOTHING BUT THE TOOTH

As you know, we have a new baby on our hands.  And who do we just absolutely LOVE LOVE LOVE?  The new baby puppy.  Who we all just continue to call, "Little Puppy Baby."  

I don't know why we can't come up with a name for her. I wanted to call her, "Cookie" because she is the same color as a sugar cookie and just as sweet but THAT suggestion was shot down by the rest of the family.  And nobody likes any other suggestion so "Little Puppy (Baby)" it is for now.

But anyhoo, she is just the cutest, sweetest, funnest (AND funniest!) little puppy baby!

And I will never sound this gushy about any future grandchildren, guaranteed.

Even TheManTheMyth loves her:

However, Little Puppy is now going through the teething stage.  And she is in the process of losing her baby teeth.  I keep finding little tiny baby puppy teeth on the floor:

She gnaws on anything she can get her paws on including but not limited to:

Shoes
Gracie Lou
Her food bowl
Gracie Lou
Baskets
A Belt Buckle
Various Official Chew Toys
Gracie Lou
The outside corner of her crate
Gracie Lou

And the other day I caught her chewing on something shiny and when I took it away from her, it was this:

Yes, it's an earring.  No, I don't think those are genuine diamonds (dammit!).  The kicker is that I have never seen that earring before in my life.  It's not one of mine, Thing 2 does not have pierced ears nor do the menfolk who live here and Thing 1's on-again GF also denied ownership.

Where did it come from?  Who is missing an earring?  These are questions that must be answered.

And that's the tooth, the whole tooth and nothing but the tooth!


 
 

TROUBLE WITH A CAPITAL T

One week ago, Thing 1 came home with a little surprise for us.

And I said, "No.  Absolutely not."

Then a little while later, I said, "Okay but only for a couple of days.  This is not going to be permanent!"

I was so, so wrong.

We've got Trouble with a Capital T.

Meet Trouble, aka "Stinkerbelle" aka "Nala":

She's a 4 month old Something mix.  Rumor has it that mix is Chihuahua/Lab although we're all pretty skeptical on the Lab part of the mix.  Thing 1 says her litter mates were all much, much larger so maybe.

I'm not saying she's tiny but take here's a good comparison:

She was Thing 1's girlfriend's puppy but Girlfriend just moved to a new place and can't have pets so without asking permission from me, Thing 1 volunteered to take custody.

Again, without asking permission from me.  And I was adamant that I did not want another dog to take care of, especially a puppy.  I haven't had to deal with a puppy in YEARS!

Sadly, within just a few hours, I was smitten:

TheManTheMyth was smitten. 

And obviously, the BabyDaddy is smitten:

Thing 2 is, well, not QUITE as enamored but she does unbend slightly now and then:

Just look at those ears! 

Gracie Lou, however, is the lone holdout:

"Why dis stoopid puppee here?  Why it in my bed?  Why it eat my food?  Why it always want to wressel?"  Why it not leave me alone?  I hate you all.  I stick tung out at you!"

Here's some things to know about this here puppy:

1.  She's housebroken.  I KNOW!!!  She figured out the dog door within minutes and goes out on the grass and does her business and then comes running back in.  She has not had a single accident in the house.  Gracie Lou, on the other hand, crapped on the floor next to MY side of the bed the other night as a "Fuck You" and guess who unknowingly stepped in it and then got into bed?  That was fun.

2.  She's an Eager Eater.  She wolfs down her food and the marches over to Gracie Lou's bowl and tries to horn in on the action.  She practically does cartwheels with excitement when it's feeding time.

3.  She loves her toys.  Plays with them, all of them, throughout the day.  When I put her toys away, she immediately goes and drags them all out again.

4.  She has yet to destroy anything.  Yet.  I'm trying to be very vigilant about not keeping anything within reach that I don't want chewed up and when she DOES find something, I take it away immediately and give her one of her toys in exchange.  So far, so good.

5.  She loves Thing 1 best.  He is, after all, Daddy.  And she sleeps with him.

6. She's a better running partner than Gracie Lou.

7.  She's smart.  The 2nd time I took her for a walk around the block, she exactly which house was ours/hers and marched right up the steps.  When I tell her, "NO!"  she immediately stops and sits.  She knows "Stay."  And she's incredibly laid-back for a pocket dog.

8.  She doesn't like bicycles.

9.  She loves to snuggle.

10.  She loves to annoy Gracie Lou but also knows when not to push her luck and acknowledges Gracie Lou's Seniority in the household.

I didn't want another dog.  I was ADAMANT about not having another dog.

Uh huh, yeah.

IT'S A LONG WAY TO THE TOP

No, you are not hallucinating.  It's an honest-to-goodness new blog post, the first one since July.

I have no reasons or excuses for not blogging other than I just couldn't seem to have anything to say or write about.

As that great philosopher, Steve Martin, once said, "Some people have a way with words.  Others not have way."

Anyway.  

Now I have way.

And a story about how it's a long way to the top and how I made it there.

So gather 'round, children.

This is the story.

About a month or so ago, my sister asked if I wanted to do the Palm Springs Tram Road Challenge, a 6K event that goes up the, wait for it, Tram Road in Palm Springs.

Sure, I said.  She offered to sponsor me but I HAD to commit.

No problem, I said.
  So last weekend we made the 2 hour drive to Palm Springs.  After a good carb-load up for dinner, it was off to bed.  Where I tossed and turned all night long.

After getting up at the buttcrack of dawn and scarfing down half of a bagel (carbs), a yogurt (protein) and half a banana (potassium), we headed to the Tram Road to take the Challenge.

As we're walking across Hwy 111, a race official or someone tells us Good Luck and that the first 2.5 miles aren't bad but the last 1.7 will be hell.  Yeah, yeah, I think to myself,  *I'VE done a 5K and hiked to the top of the summit at Lake Tahoe.  I walk my dog in El Dorado Park every day.  I can do this easy pie!"  Despite numerous warnings from People Who Know These Things, I think to myself that it won't be THAT bad.

Oh, what fools these mortals be.

Pre-race pictures are a must:

Look at me, all happy and clueless with my friend Sandy. 

So Lisa, Sandy and Gaga go toward the front the pack for the start because they're running while my sister Bippy and I are a little further back.  Because we're Not Running.  The National Anthem is played and then 30 seconds later, we're off.  25 feet later, someone body slams me to the ground from behind and gives me a flat tire on my shoe.  And I'm all "Dude, what the hell?"  No idea who it was and nary an apology or even a "Sorry" pat on the back.  So I have to fight my way through the crowd and limp over to the side of the road so I can get my shoe back on and I see Bippy up ahead looking around like, "Where did she go?  She quit already?" (I wish) I get my shoe back on and then I started jogging so I could catch up with Bippy.  That was a mistake because it used up valuable energy.

The first 2 miles were not easy but if kept at a steady pace, it wasn't too bad. 

And then we hit Mile 2.5-ish and shit got real.  

My pace got slower and slower as my legs started turning to cooked spaghetti. I didn't feel winded (much) and my heart wasn't pounding (much) but my legs, especially my quads, were starting to put up a fight.  Bippy and I had already agreed that if one of us (that would be me) fell behind, to keep going and not get dragged down by the dead weight (that would be me).  I had to stop several times for about 30 seconds each to let my legs stop shaking and quivering and there were more than a few times I thought to myself, "I can't do this any more" but then I would tell myself, "Bippy will KICK. YOUR. ASS if you quit" so I kept plugging along.

I passed the 3 mile mark and knew it was only .7 miles to go but that .7 miles would make me its bitch.  I'm not saying I was going slow or anything but an 89 (EIGHTY NINE!!!) year old man with a recent hip replacement and using a cane passed me and left me in the dust.  While flashing me the "LOSER!" sign.  

I can see the finish, which is at the top of a STEEP hill and I am dying.  DYING.  I had visions of that woman triathlete who crossed the finish line on her hands and knees while puking and thought, "That is going to be me.  I will have to crawl across the finish line looking all pathetic" although I never had the urge to puke or faint.  Although I DID pass one lady who was puking at the side of the road.  So, yay me.  I think.

I'm barely shuffling along, trying not to collapse and then I hear, "There she is!" and there was my friend Lisa and another lady coming to get me to the finish. It's barely a 1/4 mile to the finish and I had to stop several times until my legs stopped shaking.  I climb to the finish and I really don't remember much about it.  The only thought I had was SIT DOWN AND DON'T MOVE.  Which is what I did.

I'd been sitting there for, oh, 3 minutes when Sandy, my friend Sandy, says, "Okay, let's head back down!" and everyone was all, "Sandy, Kelly CAN'T WALK.  We have to wait a bit.  You wouldn't want to just leave her here, would you?"

To which Sandy, my GOOD FRIEND Sandy, says, "Sure I would!"  Because Sandy's a Giver like that.

Luckily, the shuttle buses were ready to load passengers and we all climbed aboard and I wasn't left behind.   

I had estimated that it would take me 1.5 hours to finish and my time was 1:26:56.  

People asked me how I trained for the Tram Road Challenge and well, I, uh, DIDN'T.  And it showed.

When we were rehashing it later and saw our times, Bippy tells me, "Now for next year, you can set your goal for 1:15 and I'm thinking, "Yeah, no.  I think I can just consider this box checked."

And to add insult to injury, the winner of the Womens category was a 10 YEAR OLD GIRL.  Just kill me now.

When I finished the Seal Beach 5K, I was all, "Woo hoo!" and all happy and my adrenaline was high and I loved the experience.   Not so much with the Tram Road Challenge.  While I can be proud that I actually finished when a lot of people DNF'd, I definitely had my ass handed to me on a silver platter and that Tram Road said to me, "You've been schooled, bitch."  There's a reason it was called the Tram Road CHALLENGE.  Which should have been my first clue.

Special thanks to my sister Tracie aka "Bippy" for sponsoring my entry and keeping me more afraid to quit than dying, my friend Lisa Deaton aka "Miss Lisa" for pacing me that last 1/4 mile and of course, Del Taco for getting me to where I am today. 

Now, it's time to start training for the Surf City (Half) Marathon in February!  

It's MADNESS, I tell you!

AMUSE YOURSELF WHILE AMAZING YOUR FRIENDS

I had all sorts of things planned for today.  

I was going to pay bills.

I was going to do laundry.

I was going to buy a shipping box to send back a pair of shoes I had ordered that turned out to feel as if they were sewn with barbed wire.

I was going to go grocery shopping.  

I was going to, once again, attempt to put my office in a semblance of order.

Have I done any of these things?

That would be No.

Do you want to know what I HAVE accomplished today?

Prepare to be amazed.

Or perhaps stupefied.

I MICROWAVED A BAR OF IVORY SOAP!!!

I KNOW!! 

One day, while perusing Pinterest, which is something that can keep me occupied for HOURS, I saw a pin about what happens when you microwave a bar of Ivory Soap and I said to myself, "Well, why the hell WOULDN'T you microwave a bar of Ivory Soap?"


So a couple of weeks ago, I purchased said bar of Ivory Soap and stuck it in my laundry cabinet and promptly forgot about it.


Until today.


I don't know what reminded me but I said to Thing 2, "Hey, you wanna see what happens when you microwave a bar of Ivory Soap?"


And Thing 2, being quite the Adventurous Type, said, "Sure, why not?"


So we unwrapped the bar of Ivory Soap (no, I am not being paid for each time I use the words, "Ivory Soap" in this post), popped it in the oven and set it for 4 minutes.


And then we stood in front of the door and absorbed some radiation while staring through the window-thingy and waited to be amazed and/or stupefied.


AND BOY WERE WE!!!


Check it out:

 It was like this fluffy cloud of...stuff.  It was light and airy and when you attempted to pick it up, it just kind of crumbled and got EVERYWHERE!!!


So what I did was just crumble it all up and then scooped it all into a jar.

I'm not sure what I'm going to do with it, perhaps use it to make another batch of my homemade laundry soap, perhaps stick it out in the boys bathroom so they can wash their hands, who knows.

Microwaving soap for shits and giggles.  

Do I know how to have a good time or what?

BREAKING UP IS HARD TO DO

Yeah, yeah, yeah, I know I've been kind of missing in action but every time I'd sit down to write a post, I'd just SIT there and stare at the screen or I'd start to write SOMETHING and then my train of thought would pull out of the station and I'd be all, "I'm trying to think but nothing's happening!" and I kind of also got a little "why bother when I've got 3 readers and no comments" and aren't *I* feeling sorry for myself?

I've also been rather busy doing stuff.

What kind of stuff?

Different stuff.

I transformed my old fountain into a swell planter.

Before:

After:

And because I have a brown thumb when it comes to gardening, I've already killed the geraniums although the impatiens are still clinging to life.  Watering helps, I've found.

Let's see, what else.  I worked an Aid Station at the San Diego 100 Mile Endurance Run:

Which was crazy, let me tell you.
 
I've been selling my library of books and making a couple of bucks.  And weeping when I thought about the HUNDREDS of books I've given away over the last few years.


Which leads me to the title of this post.


Have you ever discovered an author and thought that they were the absolute shizz?  


You read their blog and follow them on Twitter and Facebook and then with each subsequent book, all but one of them memoirs, you start liking them a little bit less and less and then one day you realize that the smell is off the rose and that not only are they NOT all that funny, they're not someone you'd even want to be friends with in real life and you have absolutely NOTHING in common with them and everything they write lately just ANNOYS the ever-loving CRAP out of you and you really get the urge to SMACK them and that is when you realize that It's Over.


Oh, and SPEAKING of Breaking Up, who here is shocked and/or surprised that Tom Cruise and Katie Holmes are getting a divorce? 


Anyone?


Anyone?


Yeah, didn't think so.

PAWING THROUGH DEAD PEOPLES STUFF

So this morning I needed to go to the gas station and as I was leaving said gas station, I saw a sign that read, "Estate Sale" and I knew I had to follow the signs.


Now I'm a sucker for estate sales for the following reasons:


1.  You can find some swell stuff.


b.  You can find some swell stuff for low, low prices.  And some not-so-swell stuff at "Who are you trying to kid here?" prices.


iii.  It gives you a chance to be nosy paw through someone's stuff and nobody will say, "Hey!  What the hell do you think you're doing in here?"


So of course I must check it out and when I got there, it was apparent that as the sale actually started yesterday, the majority of good stuff had already been snatched up but I took a look anyway.


I wandered from room to room, picking up this, looking at that but not really seeing anything that I absolutely HAD to have.


Until I got into a back bedroom and hanging there in front of me were not one but TWO beautiful satin wedding dresses.


Oh, these were beautiful dresses, one from the 1930s and the other from the 1940s.  Both had cathedral length trains and both still had the headpieces and cathedral length veils as well as the satin shoes.  The satin had yellowed to a gorgeous creamy color and the lace and embroidery were still perfect.  Someone had spent A LOT of money on these wedding dresses.

I wanted these dresses SO BAD, even though I need them like a hole in the head, have no use for them and didn't have the money to buy them anyway but still.  I wanted them.  Sue me.

And then I got sad.  Like the time I went to an estate sale and one of the items was the wedding album of the dead lady. For some reason, that saddened me more than anything else that was in that house.  Someone had lived their life and now strangers were pawing through their personal belongings, hoping to score some good stuff for cheap prices.  

Anyway, I wondered about those wedding dresses.  Why were there two of them from roughly the same era?  Did the lady of the house marry twice in a relatively short time, both times in formal ceremonies?  What was their story?

I finally had to tear myself away from those beautiful dresses and headed toward the door empty handed.

Then I saw a pretty teacup and saucer and something made me grab it, I don't know what or why but I had to have that cup and saucer:

And as I went to pay for them out in the garage, I spied a mirror laying on a workbench and grabbed that as well:

I need a mirror for my entry way and this will be perfect after I've painted the frame.  Sucker weighs a ton, though.

So that was my day today.  Pawing through Dead Peoples Stuff for Fun and Profit.

And feeling sad and guilty about it.

 

WORDLESS WEDNESDAY

SELLING MY CHILDREN TO THE GYPSIES

Not that I haven't considered it a time or two.

Actually, I'm not talking about my offspring, Things 1 and 2. 


Only because I don't think I can get any money for those two.  Goats, possibly.  Money, no.

Because who wants to pay good money for surly teens with expensive hobbies?

*I* certainly don't.  So, I'm stuck with them.

Anyhoo, the children I'm talking about are my books.  My babies.  My raison d'etre.

I never, EVER thought I'd say this but I have too many books and it's time to let them go to new homes.  

I KNOW!!!!

Anyone who knows me knows that is a shocking statement.  And at this point, you're thinking one of the following reasons for that shocking statement:


1.  She's dying.


b.  She's getting divorced and moving to a tiny hovel without any room for books.


iii.  She violated one or more of the multiple restraining orders that various hockey players have taken out on her and will be exiled to some Godforsaken hellhole that doesn't have a hockey team to stalk as punishment and she can't take any books with her.


If you guessed "iii" you'd be correct.


Oh, I'm kidding.  The correct answer is "Diabetes.  John has Diabetes."

Seriously, I laugh every time I see that poster.  The Bucket to Hell has room for one more and I'm climbing in.

While Answer iii is totally viable, not to mention probable, it is still not the correct answer.


The real reason is I need to clear out my office and the bookcase in my office is one of the things that needs to go:

For starters, it's ugly and I can say that because I didn't pay any money for it.  It was someone else's discard and came with my massive desk I hate so much.  That will be shitcanned as well, as soon as I convince TheManTheMyth to build me the desk I want, which is very similar to this one in Pottery Barn although I believe we can do it for much, MUCH less.  Basically, I want a countertop desk over 2 file cabinets.  One of which needs to be a lateral file cabinet.


But back to my books.


I have two other bookcases as well, one in my entry:

and one in my living room:

Please note my Nancy Drew collection.  Those aren't going anywhere.  And look, Mom!  There's the lamp you (and the rest of my family) hate so much!  That's not going anywhere, either.


But I have a diverse collection of books on various subjects and it's going to be hard deciding which to get rid of and which to keep. It's like Sophie's Choice in book form.


Or deciding which of my children to sell (or trade) to the Gypsies.


Decisions, decisions.

LOVE HURTS

So, last week, TheManTheMyth was working on his motorcycle, prepping it for the April 22 Vikings MC National Hare & Hound desert race and I was interrupting him by blathering about my upcoming 5K race when suddenly, I realized something.

Me:  I just realized something, do you know what Sunday is?

TMTM:  A Day of Pain.

Me: What?


TMTM:  I'm racing a National, it's going to be 100 degrees at the race so it will be a Day of Pain.

Me:  No, it's our 23rd wedding anniversary!

TMTM: Same thing.

And we looked at each other and then roared laughter because Romantics we are Not.

Which is one of the reasons our marriage works.  


So, flash forward a few days to April 22, aka, "A Day of Pain."


I get out of bed and you may as well call me Uncle Joe because I was a-movin' kind of slow (at the Junction.  Petticoat. Junction) due to muscles that had not been used since Hector was a pup.  Oh, I was stiff and sore.


I spend my 23rd wedding anniversary doing laundry, paying bills, watching the Stanley Cup playoffs and waiting for my Menfolk to check in and let me know that they had finished their race and were safe and sound.  

Or alive at least.


Nine out of 10 times, their method of "checking in" consists of their arrival at home, tumbling out of the truck and announcing, "We're alive."


This time, TMTM actually calls to let me know they were done and heading home.


Yay, I say.  How was the race, I ask.  And TMTM replies, "I got T-boned by another racer barely 2 miles in so I didn't finish and Thing 1 had his best start ever until he went about a mile and sputtered to a stop because he forgot to turn the gas on like an idiot and he got passed by a bunch of racers."


And I'm all, "Wait.  You got T-boned?  Are you okay?"


And he says, "Well, I don't think anything is broken but my sternum hurts when I breathe.  But I got checked out by the medical team so I'm probably okay."


So they get home and TMTM gets out of the truck verrrrrrrry slowly and he's holding his arm kind of funny and I ask what's wrong and he says it just feels better to hold it like that and I help him hobble into the house.


He's unable to lift his arm to take his shirt off so I have to cut it off.  Nice road rash on his hip and shoulder from hitting the ground.  I get his shoes and socks off and I look down and ask, "What did you do to your foot?"


And he says, "Nothing, why?" and I say, "Oh, I don't know.  Maybe because it's swelling up like a sausage and is turning black and blue as we speak."


And he looks down at his foot and says, "Huh.  How'd that happen?"

So after a visit to Urgent Care, it has been determined that TheManTheMyth has broken ribs.

He can't lift his arms any further than chest high, he can't lean forward much, he can't lay on his side which means he has to lay on his back when he sleeps which means he snores like a lumberjack and I can't nudge him over on to his side which means I've been sleeping on the couch.  Again.


I coaxed Thing 2 into letting me bunk with her and she grudgingly agreed but then she complained that I snore (LIES!) and Gracie Lou got all freaked out because I wasn't in "our" bed and came looking for me and since Thing 2 INSISTS on keeping her bedroom door closed, Gracie Lou scratched frantically at the door and barked until I let her in and then Gracie kept moving around and then found something to chew on (and that Something turned out to be Thing 2's bottom retainer that had been left within reach) and that was when Gracie and I found ourselves unceremoniously booted out of The Cave with my pillow chucked at my back and we were told to find someplace else to sleep.


WhatEVER.


So I'm back on our Looks Comfy but Sure as Hell Is NOT sofa until TheManTheMyth heals up enough to at least turn on to his side when he sleeps.


Goody.


Oh, and today, I found out that when you hug someone with broken ribs, they will scream like a girl.


Because Love Hurts.

AND I RAN, I RAN SO FAR AWAY

Guess what I did yesterday?

No, go on, guess?

Give up?

I entered, ran AND finished my very first 5K race!

I KNOW!!!

I, who have not run willingly unless the police, hockey players, rabid dogs or zombies were involved, did this willingly.

LOOK!  Photographic evidence!

And, for all you doubters out there, proof that I finished

I KNOW!!!

Yeah, I know it's not the fastest time out there, I believe I finished something like 82nd in my age group (45-49) but dammit, I FINISHED!


My time would have been much better if either of these men* were running away from me ahead of me, 

They can run but they can't hide.
 
I have to give huge thanks to the following people:

My seester, Bippy (in blue), who "sponsored" me, meaning, she paid for my entry fee which meant there was no way I could flake out because she would kick my ass.

My friend Miss Lisa (in DayGlo Green) who kept me motivated and encouraged throughout because people, I had never run for more than a few minutes at a time since high school.

And kudos to my brother-in-law, Garen, for finishing his first 10K.  

That's Garen in the white tank, with Lisa's husband John (who finished WAAAAAY before Garen), offering encouragement toward the finish line.  Pay no attention to the little kid finishing ahead of Garen. 

We all had a great time, the weather was perfect (overcast, cool and gloomy) and when I got home, still feeling that Runner's High, Gracie Lou was waiting for me to take her on HER morning walk.

And guess who's moving just a wee bit slow this morning?  That would be me.  You can call me Uncle Joe, who's a-movin' kind of slow at the Junction.

*Of COURSE I would find a way to include hot hockey players in a post about running.  Because I'm Me.  And I love hockey.  And hockey players.   Okay, I'm done.
 

ONE MORE YEAR. PLEASE.

If there is a sport that I love more than any other, it's hockey.


I love me some hockey.


I also love me some hockey players.  Although they prefer that I love them from a distance of at least 150 feet.


Party poopers.


Anyway.


My daughter, Thing 2, shares my love of hockey.  TheManTheMyth and Thing 1 do Not.


Philistines.


Anyway.


What with the love that Thing 2 and I share for hockey, you'd think that we'd be season ticket holders for Our Team, the Anaheim Ducks or at least attend as many games as possible.


You'd be wrong.


I have gone entire SEASONS without attending a single game.  Which kills me but shit happens.


This year, I vowed that I would go to at least ONE game and as the clock ticked on the regular season and it became apparent that my team would not make the playoffs, I threw caution to the wind and bought tickets to last night's final home game.

Which means we'll be eating cereal and soup all week but dammit, I NEEDED my hockey.


Here is a view from our seats, which came with oxygen masks because we were WAAAAAY up there in the nosebleed section:

And those weren't the cheapest seats, either.


It was Fan Appreciation Night and there were thousands of prizes and goodies being given out as well as actual game jerseys given to a handful of lucky fans after the game.

Guess who didn't win a single thing?  Not even a coupon for a haircut, let alone Jonas Hiller's game jersey.  I would have traded Thing 1 for that jersey.

The three of us (Thing 2, her sidekick Sara and I) had a great time despite coming home empty handed:

Gee, and you wonder why the demented woman pictured above is not allowed anywhere near the players.

I promised Thing 2 that we would try to make it to at least one game a month next season.

We're hoping that Teemu Selanne will hold off on retiring and give us just One More Year.  


Last night, the cheers and chants of "One More Year" even delayed the dropping of the puck.  Even Thing 2 said that's the loudest she's ever heard the crowd at Honda Center.


Come back, Teemu.  Just One More Year.