What's the blogging theme for Mondays? I can't remember, so hopefully, it's, "I'm going to bitch and whine about all the random shit that happens to me Monday." How's that workin' for ya?
So...I ran two miles this morning. Not a lot, I know, but get this: NOTHING WAS CHASING ME. Oh yes. Now that's impressive. You see, the thing is, SMM is a runner. He's the type of runner that says, "I'm going out for a run," and I think, "Oh, a 'run'--ha ha he he." Yeah, well, he's not frickin kidding. The man "went out for a run" the other day, and came back to the house---TEN miles later. Ten miles. Who the hell runs ten miles. Wait a minute, back up, back up. WHY would you WANT to run ten miles?? But somewhere between watching him pop some kind of Gatorade caplets and stretching his calves, I started finding this whole "running" thing rather intriguing (I swear I'm not hitting the crack pipe). Running...with nothing chasing you? Surely there's an icecream truck ahead of you, reeling you in with its melodious song? No? Then why? Why run? A large frothy-mouthed dog chasing you? No? Again, I ask 'why'?
For most people, the answer would most likely be something like, "Because it's healthy, it's a stress-reliever, it's good for you, etc. etc. etc." MY answer: Because he can do it better than me. That, my friends,just poses a big challenge, meanwhile, pissing me off all the same. I've been running with SMM three times. Oh yes, thrice I have remitted myself to the dark lords of hell and ran in sweltering heat with a less-than-supportive sports bra and occasional asthma attacks just to be able to prove to SMM that I.CAN.DO.IT.
NEWSFLASH: I can't.
I am a shitty runner. SMM is so supportive: "You're doing great! Keep it up! You're doing awesome!" Meanwhile, I'm thinking, "Quit lying to me you miserable mother fucker. If you don't stop running when we get to the next mailbox, I am going to muster the last of my strength and beat your legs with the treaded soles of my new running shoes." But he just keeps on running. And I keep on wheezing. He DOES stop, however, when I tell him that I have a cramp in my heart. Something about chest pain that makes people stop and take notice. The "I'm seeing spots" works, too. He's all, "Maybe you should stop and walk for a while," and I'm all, "I don't think so, you sonofabitch. No heart-attack and black spots are going to bring me down!" Actually, I don't say that out loud. I usually say, "Okay" and start walking, but I'm thinking it...Oh, I'm thinking it.
This morning, I ran two miles without stopping. Okay, I stopped once. Well, I didn't STOP, per se, but slowed down to a quick walk. I thought there was a dead cat in the street and I had to slow down to look. Eh, it was just a wet and flattened newspaper. BORING. I might try this whole "running" thing again tomorrow.
On another note, my right hand is pretty swollen. I'd think I had broken it, but seeing that I'm sitting here typing away, I think it's safe to assume that I have not. And how did I go about semi-breaking my hand? I'll be damned if the fricking linen-closet-doorknob hit me. I was just walking down the hall, and it hit my hand. Don't know HOW it happened, as the doorknob has been attached to that door in the very same spot for the past 5 years, but it did. Asshole doorknob.
1. Clairey's been peeing and pooping in the potty since Friday. REJOICE! The end of diapers draws near...
2. My dad was able to bump-out the boo-boo on my MiniCooper. Some dickweed ran into my front fender last week, and DIDN'T LEAVE A NOTE. The person also took my fender flare with them. Asswipe. But dad just saved me $575. Dad, you rock.
3. SMM may be turning down this job offer for yet another job offer! We shall see...
4. I have so much laundry to do, that I'm considering donating it all to Purple Heart, and starting over.
5. Jenna just informed me, that she knows the Hollaback Girl lyrics say, "That's my shit," rather than the "That's my SHIP" that I've been substituting. I tried to get her to believe that Gwen Stefani's a sailor. That SO didn't work.
6. Claire has informed me that I am a "silly monkey-box-head." Alrighty then.
7. I love chocolate-covered marshmallow bunnies. Actually, I like the chocolate-covered marshmallow eggs, too. And seriously, a serving is actually 6 pieces! Rock on! Somebody finally figured out that, hell, I'm gonna eat half a dozen, so just make THAT a serving. Nobody eats just one marshmallow egg--that's sacreligious.
8. My formal dining room table is a mess from a redecorating stint...that I finished 2 weeks ago.
9. I still haven't set all the clocks in the house. I'm waiting for little elves to do it for me. Screw the shoes!! Set my clocks, you little bastards!
10. I bought a Barbara Streisand/Barry Gibbs CD. That's more of a confession...
And so ends "I'm going to bitch and whine about all the random shit that happens to me Monday."