A Horrible Warning

Wannabe Marathoner

So were you out at the American River Parkway last evening? I was, and frequently am for runs on Monday, Tuesday, and Thursday. It's too bad if you weren't there. You missed the opportunity to see me, tangled in my Camelbak backpack (kinda like this one), the wires to my MP3 headphones, and my visor. All of this entanglement, while still running.

When I realized that my hat was roasting my melon (I am a total head sweater...a hot head if you will), I decided that I would take it off and use the velcro closure to the hook on the back of my backpack. I did the prudent thing and waited for my walk break. However, the wires got stuck in the straps to the backpack, and I was unable to get them unstuck by the time the beeping sounded signaling time to run. I'm nothing if not a living Pavlovian response, so I started running while still attempting the untangling. Picture yourself unwinding messy Christmas lights. Wearing gloves. With several glasses of strong eggnog in you. Now you have an idea.

OK, maybe this is a you had to be there story. It would definitely be better if I tripped and fell. In front of a speeding bike. While being attacked by a crazed squirrel. I'll work on that for next time.

Today I did up the ante. I was on a different stretch of the Parkway, doing 38 minutes. About 1/2 a mile out, I was really feeling how much I needed to use the potty. I knew there was one in the parking lot, so when I got to the lot, I kept running down the sidewalk toward it. I have to confess, it was a close one. I couldn't peel off those sweaty shorts fast enough.

In fact, I was so desperate that I didn't take my backpack or headphones off, and just plopped right down and did what Mother Nature demanded. When I reached over to grab some TP, Guns N' Roses blaring in my ear, I managed to dislodge the bite valve (that little rubbery piece on the tube that you bite lightly on to release water) from the tube it's attached to. Water immediately started flowing from it, all over my left thigh, which funneled it right into the crotch of my shorts. I tried to stem the tide by quickly putting it back on, but the combination of water pressure and tightness of the connection made that impossible. 

I finally figured out that all I had to do was raise it higher than the backpack and hold it vertical and the water would stop. I mean, sweet jebus, duh.

Of course, this was not before I had soaked the floor and my shorts. But I still walked down the trail a bit to a bench that I had seen so that I could stretch. I figured it wasn't a big deal if it looked like I peed my pants.

Marathoners do it all the time.

Adaptation

2008 is off to an interesting start for me.

As Aimee has already mentioned, we had some major storming all over Sacramento on Friday. It seems like a zillion trees toppled, some of them into cars and even houses. There were power outages and street flooding, both of which I experienced firsthand. I have to say that I was extraordinarily lucky. Not only did my car not float away (I even did a 3 point turn in the middle of a busy shopping center entrance, right in front of a large truck, to avoid a puddle that was too high for me to attempt in my wee car) in street flooding on my way home from the Toyota dealership (I had to have some drive fan thingamajig replaced under warranty...and Bree was kind enough to deliver me from my office door to the dealership's door because she rocks), but I also never lost my TV or my internet because all of my power outages were either when I wasn't home or were partial (lights dimmed, stove burners worked intermittentantly). Whew, I think that might have been the world's most convoluted sentence. Yay me!

I finally got a new glucose monitor on Thursday night to try and control my blood sugar and maybe lose some weight in the process. I also bought a very cute little notebook to keep track of it all with. It is called Tracy's Very Orange Big D Diary. It's true, I even wrote it on the inside cover. Of course, after writing in it religiously on Thursday and Friday, I already fell off the wagon this weekend. I did still take my blood sugar, but writing stuff, not so much. Fortunately, my numbers have been good. At least I think they have. Hopefully the nutritionist will think so...if I ever get a call back from my doctor's office for a referral.

Anyway, let's suffice it to say that even though I've done a pretty good job so far with making changes to my diet, seeing what I put in my mouth everyday is somewhat shocking. Mostly I have a handle on my portions. But then I find myself writing "several handfuls of trail mix." Which probably means 22 handfuls of trail mix. At least it is sitting on my kitchen counter and I have had to walk the 20 feet from couch to counter every time I get a handful (heaping, natch) instead of sitting on the couch and pouring it directly into my mouth. Baby steps, people.

My biggest adjustment for 2008 is coming earlier than expected. In fact, it started in early December 2007. I haven't seen EB since sometime in the first week of December (we both admitted on the phone yesterday to not being entirely certain when the last time we got together was). First he had work commitments on his new project in Central California (although that doesn't officially start until sometime this week, but could've fooled me), then he had to beat the weather to go home for the holidays in New York. I know I haven't mentioned him much recently, and that is mostly due to not wanting to be a broken record of frustration, frustration, frustration.

That's definitely how I've been feeling, especially in the past few days. We're both going a little nuts. I have already warned him to be prepared to end up on the floor, what with the inevitability of me literally throwing myself at him.

And yesterday it got worse. He should be landing in California in the next 30 or so minutes, but instead of coming home like we originally thought, he has to be in Central California at 7 tomorrow morning.

And he's supposed to be there for the whole week.

That primal scream? Is my severaly disappointed libido, freaking the fuck out. Hey, I could have been much cruder about it...it's been more than a month!!!

Yes, yes, I really, really miss him, too...not just the naked time. But at this moment? I'm damned near movtivated to drive the 300 miles for some naked time. Followed by passing out while spooning him, my face buried in his back, breathing in his lovely scent.

Which I hope I don't have to do. I really want him to come home to me.

Or rather to his home. He has the oh-so-comfy TempurPedic.

Yep, 2008 oughta be interesting all right...

Shots, Blood, and the World's Yummiest Candy

I saw Dr. Jackass today and received 2 pieces of news.

First, he thinks it sounds like I am diabetic. So he ordered a battery of tests, including 3 hours of fasting and checking my blood once an hour, and gave me a flu shot.

Second, he's moving on to a new job, one that doesn't involve dealing with actual patients.

I will let you guess which one I'm excited about and which one I'm super duper uber excited about.

What was left of that box of chocolate covered macadamia nuts my sister brought me from Hawaii didn't stand a chance.

What? I haven't been officially diagnosed with anything yet.

Ahem.

M-I-C-K-E-Y M-O-U-S-EEEEE

I just have to share with the Internet: I get to go to Disneyland.

In my head, I'm singsonging that. I haven't been in probably 6 or 7 years, so long ago that I don't really remember, so I'm extra special super duper excited.

Plus, I get to take The Chipmunk. And it's my sister's treat since I will be watching the girls for the week (with our other sister, when she doesn't have other stuff going).

Apparently The Chipmunk will go on any ride she's tall enough to be allowed on, the crazy little daredevil. My sister says her face just lights up.

I cannot wait.

About to Prove the Old Saying

So like I said, EB and I haven't had a lot of time together. Recently that has been out of sheer busy-ness...one or the other of us has been out of town or had other plans most days for weeks now. It happens, usually in rashes that eventually calm down (OK, that didn't sound as gross in my head...but am too lazy and or tired to think of a better way to put it...plus, I have a genuine appreciation for the gross).

But at the beginning of next year? The condition will be more shall we say, chronic. EB, for many reasons he has told me (mostly career advancing) and maybe one or two he hasn't, has accepted a temporary project on the coast. The central  coast, the one that is 300 miles away. And by temporary I mean 18-24 months.

It may sound dire, and in some ways it is. I have known about it for probably over a month and haven't wanted to write about it. I'm very much not excited about no longer having the time I've grown used to with him. Well, the time I was spending with him before the past couple of weeks. I'm also unenthusiastic about the sheer distance. I like him in the same area code.

But mostly, it's an adjustment. We will have to find ways to see each other (as he said, it's on the way to my parents'...well, sort of...plus hello beach).

Also? I'm totally proud of him. He's willing to take risks to reach his goals. He is adventurous. I've always admired his level of focus and determination, even if it is counter to my own best interest.

It will be challenging. It might prove to be overwhelming.

But it's not just me. He's going to miss me like hell, too. 

He's Waiting

EB and I have had very little time together over the past several weeks (read: we aren't doing it enough). He has sent me no fewer than 4 texts over the past couple of hours (I had to go running, take my ice bath to recover from my run, then a hot shower to recover from my ice bath, then eat some dinner...whew!) reminding me that he is waiting.

Good God.

(That was another of them)

So I'm off to spend some quality naked time with my Italian Stallion.

I know, you probably won't respect me in the morning. I can live with that.

Yet Another Reason

When I was on my way home from my run tonight, my dad called me. I was pretty sure that he was on his dinner break (he works the swing shift), but that didn't stop me from being taken just a bit aback. My dad does talk to me on the phone, but an overwhelming majority of the time, I am the one who initiates the call. In fact, I'm pretty sure that the last time he called me was to tell me that my youngest sister's godfather had taken his own life.

Still, I didn't jump to conclusions. It's a good thing because he wanted to ask me if I had heard about David Lee Roth rejoining Van Halen.

I giggled and breathed a sigh of relief at the same time. This was definitely not about any kind of bad news. In fact, as much as we both dug Van Hagar, it is joyous news that Diamond Dave is back in the saddle.Van Hagar was a whole separate deal...good in a very different way.

Dad had to get off the phone pretty early in the conversation, about when we first began to discuss catching the LA stop of the tour, because my mother called (nearly 37 years of marriage and he's well-trained). But before he did, he said, "We'll talk about this again."

My dad rocks. Literally.

On New Friends and Old

As promised:

I figured if I have to wear retainers like a 12 year old, I might as well have the fun pictures like one. The first one is a design that they already had on hand. The second is semi-custom. The tech at my ortho's office told me that they could put pretty much anything on a retainer that they could find on the internet, and the first thing that came into my head was the 13.1 sticker I have on my car. This one is a little different...it has the cute little runner in place of the point.

I won't say it. You already know.

******

Yesterday I went to see my close friend, K. I was in her wedding in September 2005, and we've seen each other a grand total of twice since then, including yesterday. The other time I saw her was at her baby shower last fall. The baby is now almost 5 months old.

Baby E gave me a huge grin as soon as I walked up. K was waiting outside holding her when I pulled up at the gym to watch her son play basketball. I swear, I could feel my uterus sigh. I love babies anyway, but Baby E is not only beautiful but contagiously happy. She even let me hold her, for about 30 seconds. When she realized that she did not in fact know me, she suddenly crumpled up and cried. But she at least got to tangle her little fist in my hair, so it was a fun 30 seconds for both of us.

So we spent the next hour or so sitting on the sidelines of the basketball courts, watching the elementary kids play and chatting. We talked about everything and nothing, like always. Baby E inspired countless coos from me as she grabbed my watch, tried to grab my bottle of tea, and knawed a little on my knuckle. I marveled at how big K's son has gotten (he was the tallest kid on the court, and I noticed that he will be passing his mom up in a matter of months). I asked K's husband how thing were with him and he kind of shrugged like same old same old, so I teased him that a wife and a couple of kids weren't a big deal.

K and I were very single girls together for quite awhile. We met through a group of mutual friends who were either members of or connected to a now defunct local band. We went to practically every show, plus out clubbing on our own, often. We went on roadtrips to go to shows for another band out of SF that played often with our guys (some of which involved time off of work and getting lost in industrial San Francisco...and a lot of alcohol, but not all at the same time). We actually liked the music.

We were groupies. Yes, I said it. We weren't groupies like groupies were in the 80's, though. We didn't do body shots off each other for the band's benefit, and only one of us slept with the bass player.

Uh, yeah, that was me. But that is a story for another day. Or never.

Quite a number of my best drunk stories are with K (a fact which I know she is incredibly proud). We once ran up an escalator the wrong way in Reno. With heels on. Being drunk was probably the only reason I didn't fall down. There was the time that she almost set her kitchen on fire while making Hamburger Helper. The same night, I dropped about half of my plate of Hamburger Helper into the crevices of her couch because I couldn't quite get the fork to my mouth. One New Year's Eve we downed the contents of all of the plastic champagne glasses on a full tray because everyone else at the bar was out watching the midnight fireworks.

Anyway, when I left the gym yesterday, I had a slight urge to cry. It surprised me, and it took me awhile to figure out why. At first I thought it was because I was a bit jealous of the lovely life and family that she has created (which I am, but only in a 'I'm proud of, and happy for, her' kind of way). But then I realized that it was great to hang out again and I wasn't ready for it to be over.

The thing is, it isn't over. Somehow we will find time to hang out and catch up, even if it is only once or twice a year. Things aren't the way they used to be. But who wants that anyway?   

It's funny how with some friendships, usually the ones in which you've seen each other throw up, time and major life changes don't matter so much. 

In Which Tracy Freaks the Fuck Out (Again)

Please ignore the lack of make-up, crows feet, twelve chins, and hair-eating cleavage.

What you should be checking out is my teeth. Those braces? The ones that look slightly yellow because I have had them for 25 months, and whitening toothpaste can only fight my morning coffee for so long? If my orthodontist is not fucking with my head, those braces will be pryed from my (almost) straight teeth at 9 a.m. tomorrow. I say the "almost" part because my front teeth are still kind of, well, not quite straight. One is longer than the other, so I'm all lopsided. I have not decided if it is pronounced enough to worry about, or if I want to let the ortho try again to pull one of them down. It's not that I'm lazy (I mean, I totally am...but that's not the issue here), it's just that I'm a little worried it won't work and maybe I should accept that. So I decided not to decide. I decided to get a consensus of everyone in the office tomorrow. It's mob rules, folks. Not deciding kind of rocks. So does (maybe) having my braces removed. Woot!

Know what doesn't rock (nice segue, no?)? Being an old biddy, that's what. There is much evidence supporting this assertion that has in the past couple of weeks wandered by at varying intervals, said "hi, you are old," and bitch slapped me with some Preparation H (and when it did that, it said, "for the bags under your eyes and/or your hemorrhoids induced by old age, it is all good"). Then it handed me a pack of Depends and some liver spot cream. This evidence, well, it is not so much with the subtle.

Thing the first (so not in chronological order, BTW): tonight as I was leaving the Rite Aid, with my beta blockers for the high blood pressure/mirgraine combo (oh God, that's an old thing that had not even OCCURRED TO ME, the whole high blood pressure deal...aw crap), I walked by the person stocking things by the door, and thought 'How did he get a work permit? What is he, 11?'  Dude is probably an 18 year old MAN. At least I didn't want to hump him. Or maybe that is a problem, too?

Thing the second: when I was at Target, to buy some moisturizer for my old dry cracking face (and trying in vain to find some cheap ass clearance Easter candy), the really nice Target in the lovely neighborhood, I got to thinking: 'I am in the burbs. And I like it. Since when did I become a suburb shopping, bill on time paying, buying house wanting, taxpayer? Who gets worked up over current events and how stupid people are (oh, wait, I have always done that)? Who thinks that idiot is driving too fast? Who remembered to refill BOTH of her prescriptions before they were totally out? Who thinks that 14 year old girl back in the store, with the too much make-up, pigtails, and short skirt looked like a total whore, and what was her mother, who was with her, thinking? What am I turning into?

Thing the third, and the real ass kicker: Sunday, April 15th, is a couple of important things. It is tax day (uh, no, I'm not quite done with mine...am not THAT responsible). It is EB's 31st birthday (which I will probably only mention if he does, because, well, how does one in an wholly undefinable situation deal with a birthday except to ignore it unless he says something...nevermind, don't answer THAT). But it is also MY birthday...well, not my actual birthday. It's my half birthday...you know, the day that is exactly 6 months before my real birthday? The day when I come closer to, *gulp* 34 than 33.

I know, 34 should not be a big deal. But somehow it is. I can't believe that it has snuck up on me like this. I won't really be able to say I'm in my early 30's anymore. And that big one, that big 3-5, the year that begins the downhill fertility slide, is just around that ominous corner. I have to admit, it worries me. I used to always say that if marriage wasn't in sight by 35, I'd consider having a baby alone. I said that when I was 27. How the hell is it here already? I'm honestly not ready. But what if my body won't wait? I don't like thinking like this.

But my biological clock isn't making me deaf yet.

That is my radio. They say if it is too loud, you are too old. My radio will only be turned up.

That's what hearing damage will do for you. Rock on.

No, My Food is Not Laced With Crack

I had such an exciting day. First it was Monday. Just that made me have to sit down for a minute. To read news on the internet. Hey, I have to stay informed...and maybe make some increasingly grumpy comments on the message board for one of the local paper's online stories. What? People care what I think, dammit (question for y'all: is it sad that I check back often (hit refresh like a research monkey hitting the pleasure button) to see how many people said my comment was "helpful?" I didn't think so...there is nothing wrong with seeking anonymous approval).

Also? Emily, she of emailing brilliance, finally started a blog already, geez, huh. I'm all atwitter and aflutter and agape. Go there and visit her and her white trash tube top (note to Emily: dude, your photo is freakin adorable, but seriously, you should be wearing a tube top...no? Oh, gawd, I just called Em white trash while talking about her own blog...reason #15 bazillion 2 trillion 25 million I'm going to H-E-double-hockey-sticks...sorry Em, that's not what I meant...aww crap, I think I've had about 6 too many of those chocolate covered raspberry sticks from Trader Joe's that I never buy because they always give me a sugar high and I have to stop now with the parenthetical). Just promise you'll still read me when you figure out how hysterical she is, kay?

So. Anyway. Deep breath. Much less exciting is my trip to get my car serviced after work today. It was lovely because I didn't have to pay anything (I added a prepaid maintenance plan on when I bought my car, and while I'm probably paying 5 times what service is worth in interest, at least I don't have to come up with 60 bucks every 4 or 5 months because that is hard), it was very quick, they washed my car (and vaccuumed the carpets...wee!), and when I drove away, there was a nice little present sitting on the passenger seat. It was a cute box with the Toyota logo all over it. When I finally got to a traffic signal and stopped, I opened that puppy right up. To find a dirty air filter. I appreciate that they wanted me to know not only that they changed it but that it needed it. But I didn't need to touch it.

As a last thought, is it wrong that I want to be the meat in a Jon Stewart/Dennis Miller sandwich?

You can't look at me now, can you?