First of all my little Snark Bugs no one sent me questions, so I guess Q&A Wednesdays have gone the way of the way of the beeper, no longer relevant but cool to talk about.... See if I ever ask you guys to do anything ever, ever again. HMPH (Stamps feet)
It's ok though, because instead of pouring over your questions, I have been obsessively pondering the following:
What is Ms.VampireS going to tell the phubster when I come back from San Fransisco in a body bag.
(Go ahead, take a moment and let that soak in, s'ok.....)
So here's the thing..... sometime in April or so.... I let one of my other good friends talk me into signing up for the Nike Women's Half Marathon (there's also a full marathon) in October of this year because I figured one of two things:
1. Our group wouldn't get selected (participants are chosen at random by drawing)
2. If we did get picked I had over 8 months to prepare, so it would be ok
Imagine my surprise and the kick in the gut I felt when we were indeed "chosen" to be participants at this year's marathon, followed by the weighty decision of actually having to train for this marathon. By train I mean walk around, and possibly run, maybe.
I'm going to let you in on a little secret here--> I hate running.
I'm not built for it with my one leg being shorter than the other (what it's a real problem I swear), and my activity induced asthma. The mere idea of running is enough to send me at leisurely strolls pace heading towards the hills. And yet somehow I had gotten myself inextricably tangled up in participating in a half marathon aka 13 miles of PURE HELL.
I started training with a vengeance. I was determined for the most part to make good on this whole marathon thing, I mean I had to buy a ticket to San Fransisco, figure out hotel arrangements, etc. So I was going to put in the effort necessary to make sure that it would be a successful venture. None of this typical devil may care attitude. I was going to focus, get strict, eat right, train every other day, and......................
After about the third week of this regiment, I broke down.
The kids got sick, I got sick, I got a cough I couldn't shake, so it was hard to be aggressive about training. I figured I have plenty of time, and my friends (I had also talked Ms. VampireS into this utter nonsense) were keeping me accountable, so no reason to worry.
Over the next few months I trained off and on.
Today I looked at the calendar. Race day is 10 days away. I fear I may die.
Even at the height of my training I never got into the true rhythm running a full on marathon would require. My lungs would get tight, I'd stop and power walk, or I'd turn my foot funny and then I'd limp around for an hour. I think I may just barely squeak by if I really keep my mind in the game and bear through the inevitable pain, cramps, scrapes, cuts, and bruises. I am hopeful that I will at least make it across the finish line before I collapse and die. Again, the key word here is hopeful....
Although I won't be too saddened by my many perilous tumbles as there will be most of San Fransisco's finest fireman stationed along the course to provide first aid, etc. In fact a well timed trip or two, may be just what mama ordered....
Anyway the prize at the finish line is this really great Tiffany's necklace (basically the only reason why I signed up anyway), and the only way to get it is to actually finish in the time allotted. Have I mentioned that I am pretty much shit your pants scared that I won't finish, that I might in fact have a heart attack and die from overexertion, and then have to be shipped back home in a body bag....
I'm hoping to be able to push these fears aside and just focus on the task at hand. It's too late to turn back, or amp up training any harder. I'm either going to drop dead, or barely stay alive. I'm hoping for the latter. I was thinking I should get my will drawn up before I leave next weekend, you know just in case... maybe leave a letter or two of apology, something for the kids to have to remember me by.
What can I say snarksters, I've got pre-race jitters and I can't seem to shake them. Any tips, tricks, helpful meditation ideas out there?
Ms. VampireS--> let me just apologize now in case I do in fact die, and you have to ship my body home. I didn't mean to collapse on you, I just really suck at running.
Lesson learned:
You probably shouldn't attempt something you already know you're really shitty at and from which you may possibly have to be toe tagged and shipped back home in Ziploc.
Showing posts with label Me=Fail. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Me=Fail. Show all posts
Thursday, October 6, 2011
Monday, October 3, 2011
I Didn't Quite Cry Like A Little Girl....
Well my little Snark Bugs I'm going to make it official. I think my liver is broken. Or my brain my be actually working, or I have been abducted by aliens: any one of these scenarios is highly plausible. Just when I thought I was going to be able to regale you with climactic and scintillating stories of this past weekend's complete debauchary, I have a confession to make:
I have failed you.
And you better get used to that shit now, you know the lingering garlicesque quality of bitter disappointment. No matter how many times you brush your teeth that shit still sucks. What can I say Snarksters.... I did not drink at all this weekend.
Wait--
Let me retract that.... I drank a really watered down fruit cocktail with vodka, and by drank I mean I had two sips.
I can hear the feigned outrage and threatened lynchings now, so let's just get to the punch shall we (yes I revel in irony the way some revel in power, or you know glitter and spanx). It's not that I didn't want to drink per se, in fact I spent most of Saturday afternoon preparing for the onslaught of moonshine I was going to force on my gullet. I drank copious amounts of water, and an Urban Detox drink/elixir. I had everything planned out... I was going to spend the night at Ms. VampireS's place, we were going to do a little pre-party, the whole thing....... I had a free pass from the phubster to have a good time... and yet when the time came I just couldn't do it.
I know.... pick your jaw up off the floor and keep reading, if you can....
But Becca WHY............ you're asking yourself, or accusingly pointing at the screen and shouting....
Ummm.... to put it in a nutshell--> I felt homesick.
Oh God, and there goes all my hard earned street cred.
So here's the thing, the phubster and I don't see a lot of each other during the week, in fact we don't see each other at all because of our work schedules, locations, etc I actually spend the week with the kids at my parent's house and we don't see him until the weekend. Well we do see him during the week for dinner and stuff but we don't actually stay together, and Yes, this is by choice. The money we save on gas, and the stress that's avoided by me not having to rustle the kiddos up early and drop them off is immeasurable, and so for a while, we're traversing down this road. Obviously it's not all roses and peaches, and for the most part it's pretty much vomit and shit, but it is what it is, so let's just move on....
I had been planning on this party for at least 6 weeks now. It was promising to be an epic night, replete with funny drunken stories, and maybe projectile vomiting. I had a crazy morning trying to get everything together for the phubster so he could take care of the kids, and it took me forever to leave the house because he was being cranky, and the Crybaby was being extra clingy. It was just about World War 3 to get out and get over to Ms. VampireS's place somewhat on time. And I was irritated too. I was really ticked off that the phubster and the kiddos had gotten me all sorts of pissy while I was trying to get into "get drunk party mode" and leave. I was in fact really happy and looking forward to all kinds of inappropriate fun just for spite. Ms. VampireS and I started off at her local nail salon, and the moment I sat down in the chair I knew it... I was screwed, because I was suddenly and desperately homesick for my cranky ass husband and insane kiddos.
But I was committed, and I was determined to push through this, I really was. So I swallowed the lump in my throat, and tried to ignore the texts with pictures of the kiddos from the phubster who really wasn't helping the cause (and I take this tactic to be part of new strategy in his game, which I'm fucking on to, now....), and I was just going to go ahead as planned. Also in part (a particularly large part) I was embarrassed to be feeling like such a sissy crybaby, and not really willing to let Ms. VampireS know about my current blues. So the festitivites continued and I tried to keep it light, and I really wanted to drink, but as we got ready, and got our eyelashes done, and put on my going out face (aka spackle, aka make-up), I just couldn't shake it. I was sure it would get better at dinner, where I would see some more of our mutual friends and for sure have a drink or too, at least to relax.
At dinner I kept meaning to order a drink, really. I did. But the service was kind of God Awful, and the phubster was still blowing up my phone (bastard), and when the food finally arrived I was only too grateful to just inhale, without thinking about drinking. After dinner, I promised myself I was going to have a drink at the bar. I was going to get drunk and dance on top of the bar and make a fool out of myself, I swore it, but instead, the achy hollow feeling, filled up the space that was meant for my liquor, and pulsed in rhythm to the deafening music. I danced with Ms VampireS, kept the creepers off my girlfriends (and Oh LORD we're there ever some fucking wierdos at the bar), told a drunk guy's homie he better "check his boy" before I do, and made daggerous eyes at some insane fuck that sniffed one of my other friend's neck.
I was told numerous times I should have a drink, and I wanted to, I didn't have a good reason not to, other than the fact that I just couldn't. Couldn't bring myself to imbibe in some "forget the feelings juice" and let loose. I stayed until the bar closed and we all went back to Ms. VampireS's place, where I guilitly broke down and said, "I think I'm just going to go home, the phubster was blowing up my phone all night." The look on her face could have recdued me to a puddle of toxic waste, but she gracefully aqcuiesed. I suddenly felt guilty, and knew I couldn't fight either feeling as I did the walk of shame back to my car and drove home.
Ms. VampireS I'm sorry. Really. For being such a fucking pussy. Seriously. But I know you're going to forgive me which is why we're such good friends, and I promise that at your Star Wars themed wedding bacholorette party I'm going balls to the walls........................
All the way home, the heavy feeling, like walking through a mucky pond became lighter and lighter as the miles flew under my tires, and when I finally arrived home I quietly went inside, laid down next to the phubster and went to sleep. I felt complete.
The next day I was exhausted, as though I had actually stayed up all night drinking. This is when I realized how incredibly old I'm getting, and that I really shouldn't be out at the bar dancing if I'm not drunk enough to make my muscles loosen up to handle the torture I'm putting it through.
New rule.... I have to stop being such a pussy, and I really need to start doing some yoga or something, because shit, my legs fucking hurt.
So, ever felt homesick as an adult? Please share... emabrassment loves company.....
I have failed you.
And you better get used to that shit now, you know the lingering garlicesque quality of bitter disappointment. No matter how many times you brush your teeth that shit still sucks. What can I say Snarksters.... I did not drink at all this weekend.
Wait--
Let me retract that.... I drank a really watered down fruit cocktail with vodka, and by drank I mean I had two sips.
I can hear the feigned outrage and threatened lynchings now, so let's just get to the punch shall we (yes I revel in irony the way some revel in power, or you know glitter and spanx). It's not that I didn't want to drink per se, in fact I spent most of Saturday afternoon preparing for the onslaught of moonshine I was going to force on my gullet. I drank copious amounts of water, and an Urban Detox drink/elixir. I had everything planned out... I was going to spend the night at Ms. VampireS's place, we were going to do a little pre-party, the whole thing....... I had a free pass from the phubster to have a good time... and yet when the time came I just couldn't do it.
I know.... pick your jaw up off the floor and keep reading, if you can....
But Becca WHY............ you're asking yourself, or accusingly pointing at the screen and shouting....
Ummm.... to put it in a nutshell--> I felt homesick.
Oh God, and there goes all my hard earned street cred.
So here's the thing, the phubster and I don't see a lot of each other during the week, in fact we don't see each other at all because of our work schedules, locations, etc I actually spend the week with the kids at my parent's house and we don't see him until the weekend. Well we do see him during the week for dinner and stuff but we don't actually stay together, and Yes, this is by choice. The money we save on gas, and the stress that's avoided by me not having to rustle the kiddos up early and drop them off is immeasurable, and so for a while, we're traversing down this road. Obviously it's not all roses and peaches, and for the most part it's pretty much vomit and shit, but it is what it is, so let's just move on....
I had been planning on this party for at least 6 weeks now. It was promising to be an epic night, replete with funny drunken stories, and maybe projectile vomiting. I had a crazy morning trying to get everything together for the phubster so he could take care of the kids, and it took me forever to leave the house because he was being cranky, and the Crybaby was being extra clingy. It was just about World War 3 to get out and get over to Ms. VampireS's place somewhat on time. And I was irritated too. I was really ticked off that the phubster and the kiddos had gotten me all sorts of pissy while I was trying to get into "get drunk party mode" and leave. I was in fact really happy and looking forward to all kinds of inappropriate fun just for spite. Ms. VampireS and I started off at her local nail salon, and the moment I sat down in the chair I knew it... I was screwed, because I was suddenly and desperately homesick for my cranky ass husband and insane kiddos.
But I was committed, and I was determined to push through this, I really was. So I swallowed the lump in my throat, and tried to ignore the texts with pictures of the kiddos from the phubster who really wasn't helping the cause (and I take this tactic to be part of new strategy in his game, which I'm fucking on to, now....), and I was just going to go ahead as planned. Also in part (a particularly large part) I was embarrassed to be feeling like such a sissy crybaby, and not really willing to let Ms. VampireS know about my current blues. So the festitivites continued and I tried to keep it light, and I really wanted to drink, but as we got ready, and got our eyelashes done, and put on my going out face (aka spackle, aka make-up), I just couldn't shake it. I was sure it would get better at dinner, where I would see some more of our mutual friends and for sure have a drink or too, at least to relax.
At dinner I kept meaning to order a drink, really. I did. But the service was kind of God Awful, and the phubster was still blowing up my phone (bastard), and when the food finally arrived I was only too grateful to just inhale, without thinking about drinking. After dinner, I promised myself I was going to have a drink at the bar. I was going to get drunk and dance on top of the bar and make a fool out of myself, I swore it, but instead, the achy hollow feeling, filled up the space that was meant for my liquor, and pulsed in rhythm to the deafening music. I danced with Ms VampireS, kept the creepers off my girlfriends (and Oh LORD we're there ever some fucking wierdos at the bar), told a drunk guy's homie he better "check his boy" before I do, and made daggerous eyes at some insane fuck that sniffed one of my other friend's neck.
I was told numerous times I should have a drink, and I wanted to, I didn't have a good reason not to, other than the fact that I just couldn't. Couldn't bring myself to imbibe in some "forget the feelings juice" and let loose. I stayed until the bar closed and we all went back to Ms. VampireS's place, where I guilitly broke down and said, "I think I'm just going to go home, the phubster was blowing up my phone all night." The look on her face could have recdued me to a puddle of toxic waste, but she gracefully aqcuiesed. I suddenly felt guilty, and knew I couldn't fight either feeling as I did the walk of shame back to my car and drove home.
Ms. VampireS I'm sorry. Really. For being such a fucking pussy. Seriously. But I know you're going to forgive me which is why we're such good friends, and I promise that at your Star Wars themed wedding bacholorette party I'm going balls to the walls........................
All the way home, the heavy feeling, like walking through a mucky pond became lighter and lighter as the miles flew under my tires, and when I finally arrived home I quietly went inside, laid down next to the phubster and went to sleep. I felt complete.
The next day I was exhausted, as though I had actually stayed up all night drinking. This is when I realized how incredibly old I'm getting, and that I really shouldn't be out at the bar dancing if I'm not drunk enough to make my muscles loosen up to handle the torture I'm putting it through.
New rule.... I have to stop being such a pussy, and I really need to start doing some yoga or something, because shit, my legs fucking hurt.
So, ever felt homesick as an adult? Please share... emabrassment loves company.....
Wednesday, September 14, 2011
How to Avoid A Burt Bee's Chapstick Shanking...
I try to set goals for myself that I know I probably won't achieve.
I am fairly certain that this means I am totally awesome at failing.
When I birthed this blog I set a goal for myself, at least 3 posts per week. I figured this was an acceptable amount of pressure to put on myself, because, hey what the hell else was I going to do at work besides pen the great american novel (which is actually harder than I originally assumed). Like any great love affair it started out wonderfully, full of that butterflies in your stomach-- I hope we don't get caught dry humping in the car -- let's meet up at lunch in a remote location induced thrill/panic. Inevitably the blog started becoming really clingy and demanding; I was spending more and more time on Twitter and then I started seeing other people, namely other projects that required my full attention, unrelenting little hot numbers like monthly financial reports and those slutty work related emails with their pornographic requests for certain types of pens to be ordered with the monthly office supply run. It was just too much fucking temptation.
Total adoration is my kryptonite.
To make matters worse this sexy, slinky minx of a devil aptly named "my boss's Visa renewal hell" has completely consumed me, and like the jealous whore she is has threatened to ruin me if I don't comply with her every whim. I'm really beginning to hate that bitch.
So this is where my blog productivity dropped to 0% and gave me the finger and threw all my clothes at me while pedantically screaming "really, you stepped out on me with sans serif font mother fucker, that shit isn't even readable! Serif font gives definition to each letter so your eye can pick it up and read it faster dumb fuck. Don't touch me!" Suffice to say my break ups are always super messy.
But just before you get all "team blog" on my ass can I mention that this hooker right here stole my God Damn funny and forced me to write bitch ass posts of pure literary torture....oh the horror!
In the mean time my children were busy at home getting the stomach flu, a sinus infection and a double ear infection which means that I haven't slept in about a month -- which means that if you want to live you better get the fuck out of my way and just smile nicely at me unless you actually want to get shanked by my Burt Bee's chapstick.
I was pretty sure that my blog and I were finished, we weren't really even on texting terms, but what can I say except that I really like punishment. I think the make up was mutual and I promised I would make every effort to swing by more, maybe twice a week, you know take it slow... so far so good.
While I was on haitus from here and seeing other textual (like the new word... sounds like sexual, but it's not, chortle chortle!) sluts I attempted to drown my overwhelming grief in box wine with my sister in laws and cousin. Forthwith please find our life altering conversation... (and for the simplicity of this conversation said sister in laws shall be named thing one and thing two)
Me: You know what we should do
Thing 1: karaoke
Me: Awesome.... but no
Thing 2: What...
Me: Have a passion party. How funny would tbat be
Thing 2: I always wanted to throw one.
Me: Let's get really drunk first so we can giggle inappropriately through the whole thing
Thing 1: What's a passion party?
Thing 2: It's where you like get together and look at vibrators and lube and stuff
Thing 1: And why do people have these parties
Me: To get drunk
Thing 2: To spice up the bedroom
Thing 1: Oh... (takes a big sip from cup) is there like strippers there?
Me: That's called a bachelorette party
Thing 2: We could get strippers
Cousin: We're going to see strippers, males or females?
Me: No we're going to throw a Passion Party
Cousin: Are we getting drunk first
Me: Hell yeah
Thing 1: So wait what do you do at a Passion Party?
Me: Get drunk
Thing 1: But don't we already do that without the party?
Cousin: Hell yeah
Thing 2: But I really want to throw one
Cousin: What, throw a stripper?
Me: Me too
Thing 2: No a Passion Party
Thing 1: Why is it called a Passion Party?
Me: We're out of wine
Cousin: Shit
Phubster: What the hell are you girls talking about
Cousin: Strippers
Thing 1: Lube
Thing 2: Passion
Me: You really don't want to know....
And there you have it, more proof that I should be more faithful to my blog and little less faithful to my box-o-wine. I should also probably take the girls to go see the "Thunder Down Under," who's coming with me.............
Photos courtesy of freedigitalphotos.net
I am fairly certain that this means I am totally awesome at failing.
 |
| See How Suggestively Happy this woman is to her beloved office pen... |
Total adoration is my kryptonite.
 |
| This Stack of Papers is just sooo SEXY |
To make matters worse this sexy, slinky minx of a devil aptly named "my boss's Visa renewal hell" has completely consumed me, and like the jealous whore she is has threatened to ruin me if I don't comply with her every whim. I'm really beginning to hate that bitch.
So this is where my blog productivity dropped to 0% and gave me the finger and threw all my clothes at me while pedantically screaming "really, you stepped out on me with sans serif font mother fucker, that shit isn't even readable! Serif font gives definition to each letter so your eye can pick it up and read it faster dumb fuck. Don't touch me!" Suffice to say my break ups are always super messy.
But just before you get all "team blog" on my ass can I mention that this hooker right here stole my God Damn funny and forced me to write bitch ass posts of pure literary torture....oh the horror!
 |
| If this doesn't make you spill all your secrets, I got a tape of high pitched baby screaming that will..... |
In the mean time my children were busy at home getting the stomach flu, a sinus infection and a double ear infection which means that I haven't slept in about a month -- which means that if you want to live you better get the fuck out of my way and just smile nicely at me unless you actually want to get shanked by my Burt Bee's chapstick.
I was pretty sure that my blog and I were finished, we weren't really even on texting terms, but what can I say except that I really like punishment. I think the make up was mutual and I promised I would make every effort to swing by more, maybe twice a week, you know take it slow... so far so good.
While I was on haitus from here and seeing other textual (like the new word... sounds like sexual, but it's not, chortle chortle!) sluts I attempted to drown my overwhelming grief in box wine with my sister in laws and cousin. Forthwith please find our life altering conversation... (and for the simplicity of this conversation said sister in laws shall be named thing one and thing two)
Me: You know what we should do
Thing 1: karaoke
Me: Awesome.... but no
Thing 2: What...
Me: Have a passion party. How funny would tbat be
Thing 2: I always wanted to throw one.
Me: Let's get really drunk first so we can giggle inappropriately through the whole thing
Thing 1: What's a passion party?
Thing 2: It's where you like get together and look at vibrators and lube and stuff
Thing 1: And why do people have these parties
Me: To get drunk
Thing 2: To spice up the bedroom
Thing 1: Oh... (takes a big sip from cup) is there like strippers there?
Me: That's called a bachelorette party
Thing 2: We could get strippers
Cousin: We're going to see strippers, males or females?
Me: No we're going to throw a Passion Party
Cousin: Are we getting drunk first
Me: Hell yeah
Thing 1: So wait what do you do at a Passion Party?
Me: Get drunk
Thing 1: But don't we already do that without the party?
Cousin: Hell yeah
Thing 2: But I really want to throw one
Cousin: What, throw a stripper?
Me: Me too
Thing 2: No a Passion Party
Thing 1: Why is it called a Passion Party?
Me: We're out of wine
Cousin: Shit
Phubster: What the hell are you girls talking about
Cousin: Strippers
Thing 1: Lube
Thing 2: Passion
Me: You really don't want to know....
And there you have it, more proof that I should be more faithful to my blog and little less faithful to my box-o-wine. I should also probably take the girls to go see the "Thunder Down Under," who's coming with me.............
Photos courtesy of freedigitalphotos.net
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