Rules to Live by

It's been a while since I've been on a first date.

Today, however, I stumbled across a very important piece of important Dating Knowledge scribbled on the back of a Red Robin napkin.  This Knowledge is something every first-dater should a) already know or b) keep in the forefront at ALL times.

This little gem of wisdom is as follows:




Worst First Date Foods of All Time

1) Pizza: to eat with fork, or to not eat with fork? That is the question.  Eating with a fork is ultimately cleaner, but what if the crust is too tough to cut?  Do you give in mid-slice and pick up with your hands?  Or do you dive right in with your fingers, not caring that the combed over, mustached, cashmere sweatered man across the table from you is daintily and diligently cutting piece, by piece, by piece.  Or maybe it's better to see what he does first.  Which, if you're a lady dating a gentleman, he'll wait for you to start eating before he does, which puts you in kind of a pickle.  Easy solution: don't order it in the first place.


2) Pasta: three words.... angel-hair-spaghetti-swimming-in-splattering-tomato-sauce-hanging-5-inches-out-of-you-mouth-because-you-clearly-and-painfully-misjudged-the-length-of-said-spaghetti-noodles-and-it's-too-late-to-turn-back-now.


3) Salad: surprising?? Yes.  But you know that the one time you're set to impress this filthy rich lawyer slash athlete by ordering a health conscious salad is the one day that the guy in the back prepping that nights dinner got lazy and didn't cut the Romaine lettuce as small as he was supposed to.  No one wants to look like a rabbit with a 6" x 6" piece of salad hanging out of your lips.


4) S'mores:  think of the last guy you saw eating one.  enough said.



These are all foods that should be enjoyed in the comfort of your own home.  Or, if you're me, 6 + mo's into the relationship.  WINK!!

I would be cranky, too!

Kindergarden.

The age of play, new things, and acceptable public nose picking.

Music class should be fun, right?  I should look forward to teaching Kindergarden music every day.

I don't know if it's because it's the last classes of my day, perhaps the kids are worn out by then.  Or maybe being ornery is just more interesting than being able to freely bang on bongos and xylophones.  Either way, teaching Kindergarden is like a coin toss.  Every time I walk through the door I'm thinking, "what's it going to be today??"

Last week, every class went smoothly.  Even the kindergarden class that is ALWAYS awful was pretty good.  Then I walked into my last Wednesday class.

Long story short, by the time their teacher came back, I had 3 kids crying, one kid tangled up in my computer wires, two jumping up and down on tables making monkey noises (literally) and one scaling the bookcase.  The other ones were just busy wreaking unimaginable havoc.  I had had enough.  I ran out the door yelling "good luck!!" over my shoulder.

Poor Mrs. Allen.

Needless to say, the next week I was greeted at the door by a stack of "I'm Sorry" letters from each one of the kids.  They were amazing.  Every single one was unique, decorated with drawings of flowers and hearts and self portraits of them holding my hand.  They all had their interpretation of how to spell "I'm Sorry Miss Kym" and some of them even had more, like "I'm sorry for whispering in someone's ear" or "I'm sorry for not singing."

The winner??

This little gem:

Well, if my leg was hurting and I had a cavity, I would be pretty miserable too.

All is forgiven, Lilly.

As for the other ones... what was your excuse????

you can call me "Janitors Closet"

Fact:


Native Americans would name their newborns after the first thing they saw upon exiting the teepee post birth.  This would explain names like Sitting Bull, Running Water, and Raven Feather.






I wonder: 


What would our names be if we followed the same tradition??


Would the same rules apply?  Would it be the first thing we saw outside the hospital doors? Or would it be the first thing we saw upon leaving the hospital room??




I think I would prefer the first one.  I would much rather be named "Hibiscus Flower" or "Red Volvo" than "IV Tube" or  "Bleeding Arm."


Or "Gurney."




*shudder*

Camera vs. Bear

Ok, I caved.

I didn't even put this on my list because i had no intention of ever doing it.

But here goes.

One of my greatest fears in life is Person Holding Camera.

I'm the queen on dodging, dipping, diving, ducking, and ... dodging photos.

...it's like, I can hear the flash before it even goes off.  

it's a talent, really.

Cameras, in general, make me shy away.

Professional cameras, however, make me shrivel up and work on my disappearing skills.

Example:

This:

scares me more than 

this:

Since it IS so terrifying, I thought, it's about time I got over it.

Good photographers can make anyone look amazing, right??  

Clayton Modic and I met up at a crazy farm/junkyard (it was very, very borderline of both) and thanks to his incredible talent, he made my three wishes come true.  All I asked was that he made me:

1) skinny

2) pretty

3) badass

Here's a sneak peek:

Despite the random bouts of insanely pouring rain, huge areas of mud to tromp around in, and the thrill of changing outfits in public, I had a blast and Clayton pulled it together effortlessly.

To see some of his other awesome work (and a jillion more pictures of me, yay!) click HERE!

(and yes, i would totally do this again)

i just know.

David's Valentine's Day gift to me:



(along with a SWEET runners watch and some Burberry)


PERFECT.





My Valentine's Day gift to me:


46" Sony Bravia 1080p





I'm such a good gift giver.

I always know exactly what to get.

Unorthodox Valentines Day

Probably the best Valentine's Day of my life.

But first, let me cross out #66*
It feels good.
*see The List ---------->

The day before the race (Feb. 13th), David took me out to pick up our race packets (and to see the movie Valentines Day...but we'll pretend I don't have the power to sucker my boyfriend into taking me to a chick flick). This race thing is all a new experience for me, but he had me at "goody bag."

...which turned out to not be much more than a bunch of dumb fliers (boo), a tiny cliff bar that wouldn't have even helped a midget run (wtf?), and a 2010 Lost Dutchman Marathon shirt (yay!).

Basically it was just a small expo of a few vendors that were going to be at the race and information about the race... like how to put the chips on the shoes and how they work and all that. And it was all worth is because I got to experience the majesty of vanilla cream cookies and a free 5 min massage from a girl who had the STRONGEST hands I've ever felt in my life...in a good way. Despite the massage, I left the expo feeling a weird combination of excitement and vomit stirring around in my stomach.

The night before the big day consisted of a two mile run (to convince myself that my legs did still, in fact, work correctly) and PASTAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA:

(<-----post-carb load)

Lets pretend I enjoy running just for the sake of running, and not because it allows me to eat all the carbs my heart (and stomach) desires. I have one word for you, Mr. Atkins: YOU LOSE!!!

We also put the chips on our shoes and I caught David doing a weird nipple-rubbing dance thing, it might've been for good luck but I didn't ask.



We woke up at 4:30 the next morning, threw our stuff together, and jetted out to Apache Junction. The sad part of this story is that David's race (the full marathon) started at 7 up in the mountains, while mine (the half) started at 7:30 at the finish line (it was a there-and-back race). We split up at the park, David took the long bus ride up the mountain and I jumped on the other bus that drove a mile out to our start/finish line. So while David was sitting on a bus full of people (and warmth), I huddled outside in the chilling winds and 45 degree still-dark morning, trying to not freeze to death. Not to mention that he, along with all the other marathoners at the top of the mountain, got fire pits. FIRE PITS.



It got so bad that a bunch of us went and huddled outside of the bathroom (the one light that lit it up felt pretty warm and the building broke the wind chill). When that didn't work as well as we anticipated, we resorted to taking turns in front of the ONE hot air hand dryer in the bathroom (more warm-ish than hot air but better than nothing).

3 potty breaks and 2 hours later, the sky was brightening up and it was time to start running! I dreaded the minute I had to strip my outer layer sweats off and stand there in shorts and a tank, sporting goosebumps the size of Canada. Once the guy on the mic (I never really saw his face or where he was...it was just a voice coming from nowhere) said we could start, I had a weird, panicky, center-of-the-moshpit-at-a-Chevelle-concert feeling as everyone pushed forward. I was towards the middle of the crowd so I got to walk for about a minute before I crossed over the starting line... And then it was running time!

Needless to say, thanks to an amazing carb-load, a good nights sleep, scouts handing out water every two miles, and Ludacris (can't run without my ipod!), I ran the whole thing without stopping (despite the fact that I had to pee around mile 9) and crossed the finish at 2 hours, 12 minutes. Thank you, race announcer, for making me look like a bad-ass by mentioning the fact that I didn't look out of breath (which I wasn't). Also thank you for making me feel ugly by announcing how red my face was. It's sensitive skin, it's a condition, get over it! (ha, ha)

I took 5 minutes to walk around, call my parents, pound some Gatorade, then head back to the finish line to wait for David, who ran across at 3 hours, 45 minutes (beating his personal record by an amazing 7 minutes!!). We didn't hang out for the awards ceremony. We found out later that David placed 2nd in his division...never mind the fact that he placed just behind the guy in his division who won the ENTIRE MARATHON (eeeeek!!)




To me, the race itself wasn't even the highlight of the whole experience. I mean of course it was awesome, running for 2 hours, passing people and getting passed (and owned!) by 70 year old men (seriously)....watching as these two Kenyan 1/2 marathoners flew past me in the opposite direction, heading towards the finish line, while I was still running UP the hill, still on mile 5 (how can people who look like they haven't eaten in 8 months run that fast?? Maybe someone was holding a warm burrito for them at the finish. I'll look into that). I look at the few months of training, the time spent making the perfect ipod playlist, the carb loads, the swollen feet, the huddling in front of a bathroom hand dryer, and the rubber legs after the race and ask...would I do it again??

I answer that question with another question:

Is it too early to register for Whiskey Row???

1/2 Marathon

One Week Before the Race:
Energy Level: 6 out of 10
Health Level: 5 out of 10
Feeling: icky, got a cold :(

Week o' the Race:
Energy Level: 3 out of 10
Health Level: 2 out of 10
Feeling: &#$%!!!!!!


I'm running my first 1/2 Marathon this Sunday. I was excited 2 weeks ago. Things were going really well. Running was getting easier and I was feeling awesome. The closer I get to race day the more I feel like the odds are against me:

1. I got a dumb cold a week before the race.
2. I really only got in two distance days (one 8 miles and one 10 miles)
3. I'm house sitting this week amongst a plethora of junk food, diet cokes, and a huuuuge television with endless channels (not exactly a recipe for motivation to get outside and run)
4. SURPRISE: turns out there's a possible carbon monoxide leak in the house due to the heater I turned on (which the owners never use) that has been making me one hot mess (and by hot mess I mean all I do is sleeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeep)

But:
I could always have an excuse NOT to. David is smart and made me buy my registry online and now there's no backing out (unless I want to donate $80 to the Lost Dutchman Marathon).

I went to my sisters house two days ago (a.k.a. my personal witch doctor) and she hooked me up with oil of Oregano pills and a jar that could hold the Atlantic ocean full of Fire Water (if you're thinking I'm talking about Indian Whiskey... I'm not. WINK!). Whatever is left of this cold is going out the window. As for Carbon Monoxide poisoning... I guess just lots of sleep and yoga and oxygen-rich foods until Race Day!!!!

P.S. I'm getting my virtual pencil ready to scratch #66 off my List !!!!!

Boston's Balls

Today, Boston became a man:

Or maybe opposite of that.

(I know my photoshop skills are amazing, but I will have you know that he didn't actually grow a beard or start smoking cigars. Pretty convincing though, right?)

David dropped the lil guy off at the Humane Society out in Phoenix this morning to spend a day meeting new people, playing with other dogs, getting injected with painkillers, and getting his balls chopped off. All in all (except for one thing), sounds like a pretty good day!

Bos-Hog is taking it like a champ. Despite the fact that he won't leave my lap and whines from time to time, the painkillers have made him pretty lethargic and he's just been sleeping most of the time (maybe I should see if i can get more of whatever they gave him...sounds like it could come in handy). He's even taken a few little nibbles at one of the new toys i bought him on the way (my way of feeling better about taking away his manhood).

On the plus side, I looked into it and apparently, the Elizabethan look is totally chic:

+



=

Granted, we're about 500 years too late on the Chic-o-Meter but we don't have to tell Bos that. If Shakespeare can rock it, anyone can.





.........that is by far the worst fashion advice I've ever given.

But it's not only Shakespeare! We can thank Queen Elizabeth I for high fashion gems like this:









And look, even Barbie's doing it:









I feel so much better now. So should you, Boston.




Disclaimer: No animals were hurt in the making of this blog. Just mildly humiliated.

Non-Resolution

There are many things that I'm into. Spinach smoothies, sunshine, Twilight books (don't hate!). Some interests will last forever: music, window shopping, my good friend and companion (and puppy!), Boston:



















....while some ideas are fleeting, like becoming (temporarily) anorexic or deciding to become a geologist.

Most recent obsession?

Running.

If you knew me, or anything about me, this would be your immediate cue to laugh. I've been 5' 9" since my 3rd birthday (or so it feels) and up until recently about 93% of my body mass was strictly arms and legs. I mean, I was ALL limbs: bony knees and all. Was I a basketball player? No. Was I a model? NO. Was I ever a ballerina?? ...........that career ended at the tender age of 5, when my own mother took me out of tumbling class because she couldn't endure another recital of all the other super limber, talented, coordinated girls showing off with their one handed cartwheels and ariels while her daughter, a clumsy string-bean with an afro came out proudly (and flawlessly, might I add) executing somersault after somersault on the red, sticky tumbling mat. She denies it to this day but I know the truth! While I admit that my skills were limited, my technique was PERFECT and I looked damn good in that tutu. Besides, somersaults are way cooler than back hand-springs. You don't see Chuck Noris pointing his toes, prancing around doing split leaps. But you ALWAYS see him using that good, old-fashioned (yet highly effective) "tuck and roll" technique.

Ok, bad analogy. Moving on.

Needless to say, I was never the most coordinated or athletic girl. I can't throw a football (well, I can make it fly through the air but the whole throwing straight thing still mystifies me), I lost two teeth trying to catch a baseball (that's another story entirely), and I had training wheels on my bike until basically last year (ok that's a bit of a stretch). So maybe it was more out of necessity than interest that I found myself much more comfortable drawing, writing, and creating. The smelly costume closet of the drama room was home to me. I didn't necessarily have to use my body to sing (unless it was musical theatre and I assure you my dream of Broadway died out rather quickly as soon as I heard the words "step ball change").

But something has happened within the last few years, that I was completely unaware of until recently. I'VE GROWN INTO MY BODY! Yes I know this usually happens a little earlier for some (ok, most) of us. But I'd rather it happen late than not at all.

Regardless:

My arms and legs are suddenly in proportion with the rest of my body, and I don't feel like an out of control, airborne spaghetti noodle when my legs move faster than a 4.5mph pace. I always wondered what it was like to feel like I actually belonged in my own body! Which begs the question: what else have I been depriving myself of? What else have I told myself I COULDN'T do, but never actually tried? This is not a New Years resolution by any means, but it is high time I go out and try all the things that I've always said "NO" to (within reason, of course: I've never had any success saying "yes" to a hooker. Or a guy at a bar). Why limit myself? 2010 (correctly pronounced "twenty-ten"....look it up) is a year of no limits, more YES's ("yes-es"?), and more balls!!!

...."more guts" may be a better term.