Yesterday, my older sister completed a half marathon. I am incredibly proud of her and in deep admiration of her healthy choices and commitment to physical fitness.
(She’s the one in light blue–isn’t she lovely?)
Every day, it seems, pictures are cropping up in my Facebook newsfeed about marathons completed, Tough Mudders conquered, miles logged on a daily jog, etc.
Running seems to be the it thing these days—that thing that all the cool people do… The thing that all the healthy people do.
And I want to be motivated enough to run. Really, I do. But it seems like the only running I ever do is a) from my problems or b) in the opposite direction of spiders. (And that is generally a short-lived effort at best).
Running (Nay—athleticism in general!) is just not my thing. But I feel excessively guilty about this. (Don’t ALL single twenty-something’s have a gym membership?) I briefly considered naming my bathroom Jim. That way, instead of going to the John first thing every morning, I could say I go to the Jim.
But semantics aside, I lack the motivation to turn thinking about wanting to run into actually—you know—running.
But different strokes for different folks, right? Some people are the spinach and kale type while others are more the pizza and ice cream type. I had always classified myself as the pizza and ice cream type until today.
Alas, this morning, I realized that even ICE CREAM, when left out for too long, runs more than I do.
It might be time to re-evaluate my life decisions.
Until then, If you ever see me running, you should probably start running, too, because chances are, something scary is chasing me.
Teenagers make me laugh.
We are currently in tech week for a small community theater production called Disney Showstoppers.
It’s great fun!
Because this community theater group does not actually own any space, we must bring everything with us and take everything home at the end of each rehearsal. Thus, each performer has his own costume box or basket.
This box belongs to one of the teenagers in the production.
The clarification cracks me up.
Just in case… You know… You actually BELIEVED this box could take you to Narnia…
Been there. Done that. Never bought the t-shirt because–let’s face it– I’m way too cheap for souvenirs that aren’t at least figure-flattering, but I COULD have had I wanted to.
I get it. You’re looking for someone else–Someone smarter, prettier, lower maintenance, higher maintenance, thinner, curvier, funnier, less cheesy, more graceful, more gracious, more assertive, more compliant, more ambitious–whatever. You discovered that you wanted something different; and I’m just not what you’re looking for.
And yet, regardless of what you seek, I am what you found.
Recently, there has been a slew of searchers who, in their quest to obtain something else, have found me.
And it’s been hilarious.
Below is a sampling of the terms we’ve come through:
[trigger warning: pictures of food that will compel you to abandon your diet (or your good intentions of making healthier choices by reducing your sugar intake)]
Today was a day for improvisation, improvisation which led to the tastiest s’mores I’ve ever eaten. It was a group effort–My sister and bro-in-law brought the graham crackers, the ex-Physicist provided marshmallows and a fire pit (not only do I still hang out with him occasionally, so does my family), and I delved into my chocolate stash. (I don’t nibble on it terribly frequently… the caramel Ghirardelli squares are from Christmas. They are great to always have on hand because one never knows when an impromptu camp fire might happen.)
Click the “Continue Reading” link to see the recipe (with photo guide!) for Ghirardelli Caramel Crunch S’MORES.
For one hour each day, I am the receptionist at my place of employment.
I sit behind the front desk and monitor the security cameras, greet guests, distribute badges, sign people in and out, answer the phone, and scroll through my WordPress Reader feed while the security guard is on break. For obvious reasons, it is one of my favorite segments of the workday.
I am at that awkward age where my friends all seem to be either getting married or having children, (or busy having a life somewhere far, far away–usually a combination of these things).
Having a life, Getting married, Having kids–all are things that I support in the nebulous “positive feelings toward this thing in general” sort of way.
But as the years pass, my desire to participate in weddings steadily decreases.
Just over a year ago, I made a near-fiasco out of a friend’s wedding when, as Maid of (dis)Honor, I forgot to bring the ring down the aisle with me. After that delightful affair, given my penchant for disaster encouragement coupled with a tight budget, I determined that five stints as a bridesmaid had been sufficient. Continue reading “In Which Bridesmaiding Seems to Be a Hobby”→