Scrubs.

So I'm at a conference this week and yesterday someone was doing a presentation and they said it takes "preparation preparation preparation." All I heard was "smurfaration, smurfaration, smurfaration." If you watch Scrubs you will know why (and probably have a similar love affair with Zac Braff.

One more point on scrubs... you do not get them when you go into a hospital room to observe a child being born. How has TV mislead me all of these years? Where are my scrubs?

Who wants to drive me to Ft. Worth today?

Bad decisions lead to good stories.

This statement makes me laugh.

So as I am nearing 30, I think I've mentioned that before (maybe 925 times), I like to think of myself as almost an adult. You may be thinking "almost?" Isn't it about damn time? Well, yes... probably, but where's the fun in that? I mean, I have a job, pay bills, student loan payments (my arch nemesis), can carry on a conversation about intelligent things, go to musicals and other cultured events (we just got season tickets to some musicals!) etc etc. I even have a suit. So, on the outside--an adult.

However, here I sit on a Friday morning with bloodshot eyes and a headband in. Granted, it's a super cute headband and is covering up my undeniable roots (having repaired today.) It's a situation of lack of sleep and some fooseball and maybe a drink.

So we went to see The Hangover last night. Funniest. Movie. Ever. We saw it at the Alamo Draft House with some friends. So I had 2 glasses of wine and a tasty salad with some fried goat cheese rounds. The movie ends, they ask if we'd like to go out for a drink. Sure! I mean, we are grown ups after all--we cans tay out as late as we want.

We went to this tiny dive bar called La La's. It is completely decorated with Christmas decor. So we walk in, order drinks, our friends see other friends they know so we all 6 are sitting, talking, laughing. Somehow, and I have no clue how, we started talking about quarters--the drinking game. I think you see where this is going. I'll give you a hint--it involves a germy quarter, a glass in the middle of the table, and a communal drinking cup. This rousing game--that I am positive no one won, also lead to an impressive game of fooseball. Ben and I KICKED ASS. Granted, I simply just spun my men and it seemed to work. I did not play table soccer growing up so I'm not sure of all of the rules and techniques. Then I realized it was LATE.

Home we go to sleep in our aura of victory, quarters well spent, and the stinch of a good night that blind sided me like a ninja.

Hey, I can do that. Because I'm an adult.

Please note that city search says in the "know before you go" section the following:

"Lala's was grandfathered out of the "no smoking" ordinance in Austin, so expect a thick cloud of smoke throughout."

My car smelled like smoke this MORNING.

Can we still be friends?

More often than not, when someone is telling me a story all I can think about is that I can't wait for them to finish so that I can tell my own story that's not only better, but also more directly involves me.

Kidding. ish...

I like to think of myself as a pretty thoughtful person, but occasionally--well, I more reflect the statement above. So now when you are talking to me you can sit and wonder if I'm listening or if I'm waiting for you to stop talking.

Firing my cleaning lady.

So, I'm going to fire my cleaning lady someday. I keep wondering when that day will come--when she hasn't done what she's supposed to and I finally give up on her. I mean, lets be honest, she doesn't really like to clean.

Of course I'm talking about myself. I look forward to the day I fire me.

The other thing... I'm going to get rid of some shoes. Shoes I have only worn like 3 times. Shoes that make my feet hurt more than they have ever hurt before AND give me blisters. They are the silent devil. I tried them on and got them because they are a good brand and they were comfy--or so I thought. It seems my memory must be going. I wear these shoes and am reminded of the firey pits of hell. I put them on and they are comfortable, until I get to my destination and then holy of all goodness--they hurt. Then I don't wear them for approximately 4 months and think... hey, those shoes would be cute with this outfit. Oh, and they aren't hurting my feet! I'll wear them today! YAY! Only this leads to silent cursing and wishing their demise.

So on top of horrid shoes I also sit facing a window that reflects my image. Blast! My hair is awful. Seriously, I'm attempting to grow it out and it's awkward and I have roots and my husband mentioned how many grey hairs I had last night. This could have lead to general bad thoughts of him like when he snores, but it's just simply true. Fact is fact no matter how ugly it is--and this is ugly. Luckily for all this will be remedied tomorrow when I go and see Ryan. I heart him and his color trickery. Now if only he also knew how to fix shoes...

2 years.

I initially typed "2 ears" but then that seemed misleading...

2 years ago we moved to Austin. We closed on our house on August 17, 2007. Where has the time gone? Which means I have been blogging, I suppose, for a year and a half. I started in Jan '08 and look how far I've come-- I mean, back then I was only 28 instead of nearing 30--and we no longer have our tv on a milk crate--no, we've CLEARLY moved on since then and our TV now resides on a hand me down tv stand from 3 bachelors who have upgraded. I mean, I'm going places, people--granted, I still have the same phone. Lame.

Ok, by same phone, I mean that I lost the inital phone and have a replacement phone that looks just like it. Either way, I'm soooo over it.)

Back then I was workign hard to make it work. We moved. I had no job. No furniture. No friends in Austin. Now, I'm gainfully employed (a WHOLE year and one month now) at a job that I love and is way more impressive than I am. I'm no longer lounging on the couch. I've got friends. I've gone to Italy. I've ran a marathon. I've celebrated 4 years of marriage bliss. I've gotten an email from Clinton Kelly. I've successfully traversed having swine flu. I have a nephew. I've seen wonderful friends get married. I've raised over 4k for the Leukemia and Lymphoma Society. I've mourned with a friend at the lost of her breasts. I've mourned with friends at the loss of their marriage. I've bought a car, a house, a dog, a couple of pairs of shoes...

Jan 2009 theese were my resolutions

keep running--done
make healthy eating choices--usually (but the thin mint blizzard is back sooo...)
go to Italy--done
be more aggressive at work--usually
read for pleasure and intelligence--more for pleasure, but check!
Keep talking like a teenage (totes, unfortch, sors etc)--always
Curb my spending and purge my closet--you win some you lose some...
Try new restaurants--we've done this a couple of times
run 4 1/2 marathons--well, I ran one "official" and many many times just on a saturday
stay involved with TNT--training again! Just got asked to be on the alumni board
maybe join a women's organization--umm... I get my nails done. Not sure that counts.
continue volunteering with the college kids at UUMC--did this for a while. They meet TOO late.
find a church--need to keep up with this search
look into ordination in the SWTX conference--still thinking about it

It's interesting to see where we've been and where we are going. Who knows, really. There is no way to predict what our next year will hold or even tomorrow (except track practice, a happy hour, and then watching The Hangover (at alamo) with some friends.)

So tonight perhaps I'll celebrate... and by celebrate I mean have a glass of wine and go to bed by 10:30. OH the life of a person nearing 30.

Gone are the days

Of freedom of speech--in my family, anyway.

Ben alerted me to the fact that I have written slander in my last post about his gazelle-ness. He would like for me to make clear...

He drinks more whiskey than he does beer.

(I'm still unclear about how this makes things better.)

(I also pointed out that though he may drink more whiskey than beer... he still drinks more beer than the average person.)

(He thought a minute and said, "nu-uh...")

Does this guilt make me look fat?

So I live in one of those cities where you feel bad if you don't work out--because EVERYONE works out. Like on a weekend if you choose to have brunch instead of running, and drive to your destination (vs. biking), you pass millions (ok, millions don't live here)of people jogging biking, swimming (due to the humidity, I'm pretty sure that walking counts as swimming.) So many mornings a week I get up when it's dark and get in a run (so I fit in.)

In my adult life I ran when chased. I start with adult life because honestly, anything before college doesn't count. I mean, we could go back to childhood where I had endless amounts of energy and my parents put me in every sport possible so that when I got home I was exhausted. I've grown out of that phase. So you can only count it if you are my husband who is a gazelle and ran CC in college. Ok, maybe he's a gazelle that drinks a lot of beer, but he still recalls how to run. So yesterday he decided he's going to get in shape again--which will take him like 2 weeks and he won't have to stop drinking and he'll lose like 20 lbs in 2 days. Jerk.

In college I participated in many a choreographed dance. Oh... how I love a group dance scene. (for rush, sing song, homecoming...) Step aerobics was at it's height back then so I took some of those classes too... Oh, and I swam for a class and took yoga. Grad school.... eh, is a wash. I went, worked out, got married, got fat, graduated.

Then Nikki and I started running--and eating biscuits and gravy after our 5k races. Then we started running and going to weight watchers. This proved to be a more effective option. Then I joined Team in Training for my first endurance event. I was going to run 13.1 miles. This was beyond my realm of comprehension, but I did it.

I'm now on my 3rd event--training for my 2nd FULL marathon. As my alarm went off this morning I sat there thinking about how great sleeping for an extra hour would feel. And I got out of bed, changed my clothes, put on my NEW running shoes (which are the same as my old ones but NEW and purple), pulled back my hair with my new sweatyband* and off I went at 6:10AM. It's amazing what a good dose of guilt can do for you.

Well, guilt, wanting to fit into my clothes, continuing to get to purchase fab running clothes, and finding a cure for blood cancers. I've become one of those people. I run a million miles on Saturday mornings before you've had your first cup of coffee. I talk about needing a little more protein. I am likely to have some gu in my car, probably some socks, possibly a sports bra. SO my workout for the day is done. Now I can move about my day... sports watch in tow.

*a sweatyband was not a mis-spelling. It's an amazingly cute, amazingly durable, amazingly non slip head band.... and perhaps I'm wearing one at work.)

I think I blacked out...

or something like that. Yesterday, after getting up and cleaning and doing 900 loads of laundry, going to the pool, playing a little wii, going to world market, etc etc something happened.

Ben left to go fishing and I was going to go rent a movie. SO off I set to blockbuster when low and behold--I ended up at the pedicure place! How did that happen? it's like my car had a mind of it's own (we should check into this--maybe it goes for joy rides by itself too. I'm well aware that it steals sunglasses.) I mean, and what am I to do? SO, I got a pedicure AND THE LADY ACTUALLY REMEMBERED ME! I figure this is due to my celebrity status. Well, that or the fact that I make them cut my nails shorter than they would like. She also rubbed my legs longer than normal--sheer bliss.

Other convo's that apparently happen when you near 30.
Random Person: SO, are you married.
AB: Yes.
RP: How long?
AB: 4.5 years
RP: Do you have kids?
AB: No. smile awkwardly.... remove eye contact (no, not my actual contact, but more stop making eye contact... whatevs.)
RP: SO when are you going to have them?
AB: umm... I don't know?
RP: Well, you should be ok because I didn't have my first one until 38. You still have a few years.

Um, so some random nail lady told me I still have some good years left. Uh, thanks? I'll let my ovaries that though they are drying up... they may still have a few good years.

Thanks random people of the world. Thanks. I mean, at least my nails look nice so I have that going for me.

Conversations

So when the BB came to bed the other night and I was semi conscious I asked him,

AB-"Did you bring the citations?"
BB-"Um... what?"
Ab (realizing that I said something strange... so just repeating it like I know what I'm doing) "Did you bring the citations?"
BB-...yes...

This is the sound....

of silence. Or not. You may recall how yesterday I admitted that I have an aversion to some noises--flip flop noise (though it could be ship ship noise, tbd), a lot of mouth noises, scraping your teeth across a fork noise, paper towel on dry hands noise, smacking, spitty k's (like in mil-K), it could go on forever really--and snoring.

I am the lightest sleeper ever--hence the deep love and devotion to ambien. So I took a half of one last night read a little Julie and Julia (which has me convinced that someday I can be famous for making eggs), and went to sleep. My husband stays up late doing things like making flying robots and saving the world from meteors, and perfecting all games on the wii (from which I'm very sore from boxing.)

And then it begins. The snoring. I keep saying his name, then yelling his name (and not in a good way.) Then I lay and brood. I wish I had a needle to poke him. not a crack needle (do you inject crack?), not a needle like you get shots with, but a tiny sewing needle. I mean, I'm not a barbarian. (everytime I say "barbarian" I think of Hana Barbara cartoons taht I watched on sunday mornings. Anyway, neither here nor there.) So I want to stick him every time he snores. I think it would greatly lead to more incidents, and maybe a divorce, but perhaps also some sweet sweet sleep. So there I lay... plotting my next move. My elbow is about kidney height. I'm awful. I JUST WANT TO SLEEP. Instead, I can't. I mean, if I get to the point to where I'm about to sleep (after I've said his name and perhaps given a love tap to encourage a roll over), it starts again.

Ps. He has now called in sick because he didn't sleep well. I'm partly to blame for this. Or am I? I think you brought it on yourself, buddy. Basically, it's your fault that I'm an evil, rude, pin poking, name yelling, biatchy wife who could use a little more sleep.

random annoyance #372

someone I work with has flip flop shoe noise.

every day.

all day.

all year.

so loud....

(have I mentioned how I have a thing for noises?)

I love Jesus... but I drink a little.

Oh Gladys. I miss you and your funny ventures that reflect my life. I joked with some loverly friends last week that perhaps I'd change the name of my blog to that. I'm going to say TBD on that one... and you can think it in your mind until all persons have voted. (PS. That is a joke as no one is voting.)

So I have been at my job for one year and 10 days. At the one year marker you can start contributing to your retirement fund (or something like that... there is the death fund too... you know, where all of my royalties will go to my husband, unless he is also deceased and then will all go to my sister.) Anywho... I am not economically minded--nor mathematically minded--and realized (with use of my calculator on my computer today) that it will be 2044 when I'm 65 and of retirement age. HOLY GEEBUS!! I was hoping I could retire in like... a year or something a lot sooner than 2044. (ps. spell check asked if it was GEE BUS...wtf is that? and who says it?)

How overwhelming. After one week of real life slamming me in the face--I'm tired of dealing with it. Why can't I come up with some amazing venture that people want to read about and then make me oodles of money while I'm able to travel around and visit friends and family and always be well rested.

I'm tired of having events every night--which means I haven't grocery shopped in over a week and it makes me feel icky to eat out so much. Oh, and I need to run 5. 8 million miles but don't have time because I'm tired.

So while, I yield high returns on my life for the next 35 years, I'm sure I'll be able to buy a bunch of shoes when I retire. Then again, I'm probably never going to look back and wish I worked more...

Why? little creature?

I know I've mentioned the roly poly epidemic of 2009. They are everywhere in Austin in my office bathroom. Ok, I think more than just that because I've also noticed them at my house by our flower pots. I do not recall seeing so many of them before (except when I was a vile little child who played with them.)

Anyway, so I go to the bathroom and there is one devoted roly poly hanging out... stuck. on his (or her) back. 500 little legs in the air. SEriously, you are created to be ROLY why can't you roll in a ball and roll over. I help them with a little piece of toilet paper. latch on little roly poly, latch on. I save their lievs at least 3 times a day.

Which makes me wonder... are they part of the centipede family? Which then made me think about when I lived with Amy and I was home alone. I turned on the garbage disposal and a centipede FLEW UP INTO THE AIR. After I shit my pants screamed at the top of my lungs--seriously, loud enough for the next door neighbor who was in love with Amy and would give her expensive bottles of wine and ask her out 3x a week the entire time she lived there, would hear me and come to my rescue. (He didn't.)

Which then made me think... if I screamed at our house would my neighbors come? No shoes neighbor? hispanic neighbor? creepy guy living with hispanic neighbor? crazy eyes and no shoes neighbor? lady who works out 80 times a day?

Then I wondered about the roly poly... i hear your screams little friend. I will rescue you.

Friends.

So, yesterday I woke to my dad calling. No, I woke up at 5:15 and then went to run and then came home and showered and then heard the phone in the other room.
1. My dad rarely calls me (I talk to my mom like 3x a day so there's no need because she relays all information.)
2. If he calls. I answer. (I don't ever think, oh, I'll just call him later. Because, back to point A, he doesn't call often--except when he accidently calls me which did happen frequently for a while, but that wasn't his fault it was because his phone was messed up and when he tried to check his voicemail it called me.)
3. He's worried about my mom and thinks she may have had a small stroke.
4. Panic.
5. Panic.
6. Panic. Calling sister. She doesn't answer. Call her again. No Answer. Call her husband. Call her back.
7. Mess of tears and stress because I can't be there.
8. Spend most of the morning convincing my mom to go to the ER for tests. She doesn't want to miss any work so she stays until lunch time so she can only take a 1/2 day.
9. Complain about how this is ridiculous.
10. She goes. Tests run. Could be a TIA stroke in which there is no evidence. On a heightened state of alert and panic.
11. Drink wine and eat cheese for dinner with friends from out of town.

I admitted to some friends that I'd like to call this an "episode." You know, because that's what old people call things when they try to pretend that nothing serious is happening even though it is and it re-occurs. Case in point. Remember the Friends when Joey wore Thanksgiving Pants?, "We were on a break!," Chandler having a 3rd nipple, when Pheobe got married, when Rachel ran all crazy in the park like Pheobe....etc etc etc. They re-run. I watch them. They changed worlds.

Much like this "episode" will change things.

My dad called againt his morning while I was getting dressed for work--Instant panic. Answer. Not a scary phone call. THANK YOU TOM CRUISE.

Still really stressed. Lets all practice a little self care, why don't we.

update from yesterday

I did not take a preg test because I ACTUALLY believed myself to be so... just because I enjoy spending money and being paranoid.

SO I went to the dermatologist. He was a character--to say the least. He talks about 500 miles per hour. He also talked into a recorder IN THE ROOM WITH ME. I didn't know where to look or if I were to make eye contact. At first I did, but then it got awkward.

He also told me that no one needs moisturizer and unless I'm spending a day in the sun to go ahead and skip the sunscreen.

We'll see what happens. I have new creams that, so far, have not made me break out in a rash like last time. Fingers crossed this continues to not happen.

Doctor, Doctor give me the news...

I'm a paranoid person. I mean, not really, but I worry things are wrong with me. Not in a way that I sit around obsessing, but in a way that I just think about it and then I start reading webmd and it takes me to countless items to consider... and by items I mean rare illnesses. I hope somewhere there is someone tracking the amount of crazy that is looked up on webmd. I think I'll go fashion my tin foil into a hat now.

Anyway, so I have an appointment next week at the dermatologist. However, I woke up today with crazy (aforementioned) breakout. I call and dramatically tell the front desk person that I really need to get in today. I really can't wait until next week and that I look like one of those people you kind of feel sorry for that you see at the grocery store because their complexion is so bad. I'm going at 2:30.

So, I'm asking my friends why why why.....and one responds, oh woman of wisdom, remember that you got your ENTIRE face threaded? Oh yah... that could possibly have something to do with it. I wasn't going to tell the Dr. this, but I suppose I have to now? I'll leave out the part that (even though it's physically impossible for me to be pregs) I went to walgreens before work and bought a pregnancy test and fiberone poptarts. Yes, I feel this is probably best kept to myself and my 10 loyal readers.

Fiber One poptarts=amazing. Seriously, you should try them. I have also recently purchased fiber one muffin mix (delish) and fiber one pancake mix (it's ok...alright, it's actually pretty good, but there was some user error in making said pancakes. It said to grease the pan/spray pam, but I thought with my fancy calphalon skillet I could forgo pam. Because NOTHING sticks to these pans except fiber one pancakes.)

Oh Miley ray Cyrus...

Yes. I realize that isn't her name.
No. I will not stop calling her Miley Ray.

So I have previously written of my random breakouts. Usually they are linked to my random high school girl mentality (I'm convinced.) Like, when I was having a love affair with the Twilight series or when I had the need for a pair of Uggs. Or when I wore Nike tempos to the mall--kidding that never happened. I put leggings under them and wore them with uggs. Kidding again. I wore a mini-skirt, tank top, uggs and a scarf in 75 degree weather. no. Ok, so just the twilight series and the need for text assurance.

Well, I've been buffing up on my Josh Radin, loving some Colbie Calliet, and I love me some James Taylor. SO why is my face breaking out as if I'm going to have Aunt Flo visit for the FIRST TIME EVER. I've never had my skin look like this. It's rough, and gross, and narsty.

I blame the impending birthday. Maybe my skin feels like this is it's last hoorah before adulthood? I mean, if so, give me lines and sagging jowls. I can't take this anymore.

This weekend I returned to a face system that I used all through grad school with no problems. Why did I stop? I get bored. Hence the ever changing hair styles. I'm hoping for a miraculous turn around that takes until approximately tomorrow. I do have an appointment with the dermatologist for a full body scan (and discussion of my ever failing skin) in a week. I pray for promises, friendship bracelets, and maybe a zima with a jolly rancher in it.