Sbohem

Well, I think it's quite obvious, three months later. . . . I blog no more. I never even started the so-called "private blog" back when I meant to escape an unfriendly. I didn't have the "ooomph".

I started blogging back in 2004 or 2005, I can't quite remember. I did it initially to stay in touch with my family in the great white north & my friends who swelter south of the Mason Dixon Line. I never thought I'd make and meet the friends that I did throughout my time at Texaconsin Diva. It's been lovely. And fun. But somehow and someway I got fulfilled from something in someway. I love to write, badly as it may be, but I also love to share, even if it was too much at times. I also started to write not for me, but for my readers, which is not to say a bad thing. It's just that I wanted to quit long ago, but didn't want to let anyone down. No, no, your life certainly doesn't revolve around me and mine. I get that. I just felt obligated to keep on keeping on. Then I stopped. Suddenly. And out of the blue, when I checked my blog 3 months later & still had nothing to share or write, I knew it was time to leave "Tales of a Texaconsin Diva" behind.

Besides, most of my extra time is spent in marathon training. Yep. I'm at it again. One more for the road. For some reaon, which is only known to the Gods that Be, I just can't quit running like a girl. . . . .

A great shout-out of thanks to those of you who came, read, supported and even felt compelled to comment every now and again. I've run my course here in this great blog-o-sphere of ours. I have enjoyed our time. But it is also time for me to fly. For some reason though, I'm still not able to fully close the door. You never know, I might just be back. . . . .

With that, I bid you adieu.

"Saying goodbye doesn't mean anything.

It's the time we spent together that matters, not how we left it."

(South Park, Tweek Vs. Craig, 1999)

The First Amendment Only Applies

. . . .when you don't have a harassing stalker. . . . .

Texaconsin Diva is going private, if you want in, you've got to ask, but you must also tell who you are (send your blog link, state your name and/or send money - I always accept dinero. Duh):

jenjlu007@gmail.com

It's Just Something I Know

Some days are more about not knowing your arse from a hole in the ground.

Don't Know Dum Diddly Doo

I conjured up some homemade salsa yesterday to go along with the husbands and my dinner. Super fab yum!

I decided to eat some with my lunch today as well. Though, I'm thinking garlic, onions and jalapenos were not the best of my consuming choices I have made.

I've now brushed my teeth three times in the past 1.5 hours and followed each with mouthwash. None have worked their magic. I could still kill an elephant with one blow of my breath; let alone what I'm doing to myself.

Why? Why, do you ask, is this anything you should care about? It is majorly important, because I have a massage appointment with a client in 1-hour. (panic!)***









***. . . . And I thought the only thing I really needed to worry about was burping, growling tummy or farting in front a a client. . . .

Sheesh.

I've Done the Calculation and Your Chances of Winning the Lottery Are Identical Whether You Play or Not f. lebowitz

Pre-Marathon

First off, I want to thank those of you who wished me well for my inaugural marathon run this past Sunday, April 5. The generous support I received has been overwhelming! It is also much appreciated.

Me

I have to say, I loved, loved, loved every minute of that run even when at mile 22 my feet began to cramp. I never did hit that infamous "wall" marathoners talk about, so I was more than happy with that. It was amazing. I can think of no other word for how I felt crossing that finish line.

My running partner and I at mile 19

A huge shout-out to the husband. His love and support throughout these past 5-months was absolutely incredible and I could not have done this without him. On numerous occasions, he was my personal Sherpa on my long training runs riding his bike by my side encouraging me on and keeping me hydrated as well as Gu loaded. During the marathon he selflessly carried a camera (and took 350 photos!), sport drinks, waters and Gu as well as jackets and warm clothes for the wind and cold the entire 26.2-miles for my friends and me. Dallas had 27 mile-per-hour winds the entire run with gusts up to 40 miles-per-hour. That wasn't right (yes, it sounds just as bad as it was). But the husband was by my side for most of the run. If my friends fell back for a bit, he slowed to bike next to them and they were so very thankful for that He's such a good soul. A few other racing friends and their wives came to bike it too despite the cold. I have fantastic friends! It was all just . . . amazing. . . !

My domestiques - as well as the husband and I at mile 22 (x2)

Finally, I have to confess, I bawled as the husband hugged me coming across the finish line and then I bawled all over again when one of our honored hero's came up to hug me while I was signing out at the Leukemia & Lymphoma Society's tent. . . Everything was so surreal for some time after finishing. I couldn't keep any of my tears in check. It was great to finish! I'll be signing up again with Team in Training in 2-weeks time to run the Nike San Francisco Marathon this coming October. I've got to do at least one more. . .

Arriving at the finish line
5:19:21

Me at 26.2-miles

Celebrating 26.2!

Quick physical update: I'm up and moving about, if even a bit more slowly than usual. Everything has been checking out okay and I'm not curled up in a fetal position. The only injury I sustained thus far has been a tiny blister on the tip of my third toe on my right foot. So far, this blister has not been debilitating. I am exhausted, but that took until Tuesday to hit me. I believe adrenaline kept me moving and grooving these past few days. Now I'm ready to sleep. All this to say, I'm good and feeling sweet; just going to hit the pillows.

Once again, thank you all. I hope to someday repay such generosity to each and every one of you.


“Pain is temporary. It may last a minute, or an hour, or a day, or a year, but eventually it will subside and something else will take its place. If I quit, however, it lasts forever.” ~ Lance Armstrong

Be Humble for You Are Made of Dung. Be Noble for You Are Made of Stars. serbian proverb

I woke up to dog puke today. That was lovely. I wonder if that is indicative of my day or even my week?

Speaking of days and week, exactly one week from today is my 1st ever marathon run. To say the least, I'm a bit nervous. Not worried like my two running partners who have both been having nightmares. One dreamed I showed up to the marathon with a broken foot. She said she cried.

I need to make mention here that later the same day, in real life, I slammed my foot in my car door. Yes, I am that talented. It's bruised, but not broken. I told her not to tell me her dreams of horror anymore as apparently I'm now obsessing. I wasn't worried about breaking my foot, but now it seems I kick the wall when just casually strolling by it. So, while I'm not having the bad dreams, I am a bit apprehensive, as in, "if I think about the marathon my stomach gets 1,000 butterflies." I think that's a type of anxiety. Isn't it? If not, then it's just confirming I'm a loon. I usually force myself to take a deep breath to try and shake off those winged critters. Eventually, I'm pretty sure that the beautiful butterflies will turn into nervous poo'ing. I'm not really looking forward to that. Unless, of course, that causes me to lose 50-pounds. . . .

Nervousness and its poo aside, I am really looking forward to it! I've trained hard for this and I deserve to finish. And that's all I am really asking for. To finish. Besides, there are people out there going through so much more than I ever want to imagine or know. "Think training is hard? Try chemo." It's a quote that has kept me moving these past 6-months. Yet, it is my hope you nor I ever have to.

Wish me luck. It's something I'm going to need, well, that is if I don't break my foot first.

Keep Your Mind On Business, Not Bunnies

My running team ran a hill workout last night as we usually do on Thursday evenings. I am starting to get used to those or maybe I should say that I am able to continue to mostly stand afterwards. I even manage to keep breathing. Which is good for, well, living. And, is not the point of my post. The point of this post is that usually after our Thursday night hill workouts, the team heads to a food establishment. The place we end up typically is "Fuzzy's Taco's." Many consider the place a legend in their own time. I tend to agree.

And I think the food tends to agree with me. Even if it does totally annihilate my calories burned on those damn hills. The place is fun, hip and placed smack-dab on the very outskirts of a college campus. Thus, there tends to be many a post-adolescent teen placed throughout this yummy eatery. Give them a few margarita's or check in after bar time and the place can get hopping. . . . which, again, is not my point other than to say, the tables have glass counter tops. This means it's easy to slip a personal note, photo or card, etc. underneath the glass. One can find some wild pictures there. Or find out that a certain someone has a small penis, phone number included. Men, be careful what woman you spurn. . . . Hell hath no fury. I'm just advisin'.

Anyhow, my teammates and I sit down. My coach brings me my lite-cerveza - calories burned, even more put back - while having his own seat. He looks at the photo's on the table around him and wondered out loud, "how is it that you got that picture?" That picture was of a woman who was out in public completely nude except for the body paint and the very teeny-tiny insignificant tha-dahnk-ka-dahnk. So, me, being the one who cannot not look at the train wreck or even leave the crime scene as well as being ever so accommodating, moved the tortilla chips basket and pointed at the picture lying directly in front of him. . . .

There, under the glass counter top, sits a photo of the blondie-nonbombshell in all her barely covered gi-normous double-puppy glory love. I am not mean nor am I jealous (if I was 13-flat-chested-years-old, you could maybe say that about me, but these days in my old fogienesses I can and do appreciate another beautiful woman), she really was not cute as she had the face of Magda in "Something About Mary," but she had bewbies. And big one's at that.

In response to my assistance with his viewing pleasure, my generous & very quite-natured running coach said, "she's definitely not a runner."

Smiting Shame

This morning I was going through my old iPhoto's . . . . I found this little ditty of a gem. And since it's so vicious in nature, I had to share it with my 7 readers. Don't judge. This is pre- morning java. It is very, very early for a Texaconsin Diva. Also, notice the reaction upon discovering it is not a photo, but a video. Divine.

My Advice To You Is To Have Nothing Whatever To Do With It.

The husband is an avid cyclist who actually races on a team. I am a runner who is on a team. I participate in events. The husband competes in events. There is a very clear delineation between those two words during our each of our sports. There is also a clear boundary between runners and cyclists.

This is important to know. It's imperative, because the husband decided he would go with me to pick out new running shoes. This type of activity entails a trip to a running store. Just running. A store full of runners, joggers and two-legged racers - not two wheels.

As the cyclist husband held open the running store door for me, he quickly and in pro-ninja stealth mode mentioned, "you know . . . . . this is like throwing vampires and werewolves together."

Someone's Boring Me. I Think It's Me.

If you make it to reading the story typed below, here is the post I started yesterday. I'm pretty sure I'll be continuing it tomorrow.

*************************

It's tax season again. Here I sit in front of the computer wishing my face would melt off instead of doing the inevitable. . . .

Our dreaded deadline fast approaches, March 15th, without me doing much about it. Blehck. Corporate/personal taxes. Just blehck. Though I suspect I am actually giving our financial planning accountant some pretty quick heart palpitations at this very point and time, seeing as he has nothing from us yet. So, I am doing something. Right? Right?

It's Not Like You Were Doing Anything With It

So, as I'm getting older, I find myself at the door of the doctor. I even make it into the office, which includes the dreaded scale. I don't want to go to the doctor or get on his evil, vile scale, but I'm pretty much made to go to the doctor where I believe they will pick you up and put you on that soulless fat counting machine if you refuse. Have you seen some of those nurses?! I don't like going to the doctor even though I always feel like my face is melting off and that I'm dying. The doctor proceeds to tell me that my face is not vaporizing and death is not imminent.

Irregardless, of my wanting to go to the doctor, I was made to make an appointment. So, I did. I love the husband and he seems to love me back, so when he tells me to go see the doctor over 100-times, I'm inclined to go.

Eventually.

Even though I am fine. Really. I am. And I will go only to be told that I am still living and breathing in which I will continue do so for many, many years to come. I already knew this. Apparently, my face is not melting off. But since I was there and I had to speak to the doctor, I did. I actually really, really like this doctor. In fact, I'm a huge fan of doctors in general. But most of you know this already. My wedding vows made that crystal clear.

So, because I like to share, here's a wee bit of one conversation I did have with my PCP this past Friday morning:

doctor: are you exercising?
me: yes. I'm actually in the middle of training for a marathon with Team in Training.
doctor: really?
me: yes. I absolutely love it!
doctor: so how is it that you're running all these miles and not losing any weight?
me: . . . . ? ? ? . . . . [blink, blink]

I think my face began to melt off.





That was a fun day.

Looking Into the Soul of the Dog Sitting Next to Me

So, I'm cheating. I know most of my FB friends have read this, as it was a "tag" thing on FB, but until I actually have some time to sit and write again, this "cheating repeat" will have to do. It took me all day to compose the damn thing and that has to count for something when time is a luxury I don't have these days. Right? My sincere apologies to those of you who must read this twice. At least you know I'm still breathing in my Longhorn City.

Barely.

Anyhow, let us get to it. Twenty-five Randomocities about me:

1. I deeply, deeply love and adore my husband. His heart, soul & mind are bigger than anyone's I've ever met. He loves me back unconditionally - including my idiosyncrasies, faults and happy's. It still amazes me. I've never experienced that from anyone but family previously.

2. The husband laughs with me & at me daily. It keeps me grounded.

3. I also wear my pearls &/or sparkly's on a daily basis. Why keep something so beautiful in a box?

4. I love, love, LOVE to drive fast (but only if I'm the driver)! Then again, I am a total car freak. . . . I don't drive the husbands car b/c of this. I found myself driving over 180 mph down the toll-way once. That cured me of that car - not the speed, but the pure power of speed and what it can do.

5. I've learned (over the years) not to trust too many people. I used to love everyone. Not everyone loves you back - friendship or otherwise. That's a very hard lesson to learn.

6. I have a blog, which is where you'd find most of all this list of information already previously written & published.

7. I am a total goofball!

8. I love vodka, wine and cupcakes. Not necessarily in that order. And, never too much of any one or the other unless it's wine, cupcakes or vodka. Wait. What?

9. Since I was 5-years-old, I only ever wanted to be a veterinarian. My mom took me to talk to one about becoming a vet and how to achieve that goal when I was 12. He told me I'd never, ever be able to do it. I believed him. I gave up my dream from that day forth. I regret that I never tried.

10. I am currently training to run my first marathon with Team In Training for April 5th, 2009. I'm not crazy. If you think training is hard, try chemo (though, it is my hope you nor I will ever have to).

11. My hobby is cooking. This makes Williams-Sonoma my absolute most favorite store in the whole wide world!

12. I abhor clothes shopping. I'd pay to have someone do that for me. I'm such a non-girlie girl! But I do heart stilettos and makeup. So, I actually am a girlie-girl!

13. I've had to learn to say no to animal rescues, but it still breaks my heart each and every time to do so. Six four-legged furries in one house is more than enough. It gives me plenty of story fodder though!

14. I adore, respect, love, cherish & look up to my little sister and her husband more than they will ever know or comprehend. They are hardworking, kind, loving and generous souls who encompass wisdom beyond their years. I wish you all could know them too.

15. I miss my family immensely. As much as I love our Longhorn City, Texas, I wish I lived closer to them.

16. I believe in angels and demons. I also think I heart zombie's, vampire's, lycan's and ghost's far more than any normal human being ought to. . . . Uh-huh! They are to real! As are aliens.

17. I try to remind myself daily that in the end, it's not between you and me, but between God and me.

18. I've never been in a fight that I didn't ask for (aka: kickboxing, karate, jujitsu or boxing lessons). I'll continue to say till the day I die that being Amazonian has its perks. . . .

19. I am terrified of spiders. They are evil, vile beastly creatures.

20. I'm naturally blonde. Dark blonde, but blonde nonetheless. Obviously, I dye my locks.

21. I've tried to read, "Skinny Bitch" on three different occasions over 1.5 years, but I didn't like a book yelling at me or telling me how effing stoopid I was. I also eat a little meat now and then, but only meat that has been organically and humanely grown. I tried to give it up a few years ago and only made it 2-years. I really love steak too much.

22. I can't watch Animal Cops or anything related to animal cruelty (this includes Sarah McLachlan's advertisement of beaten, abused and neglected animals), because I start crying each and every time. The husband will change the channel for me/us - he can't take it either. I used to think I only felt this way about animals until I watched a show on St. Judes Children's Hospital. The husband, once again, gently reminded me to change the channel and when I couldn't move to do so, he did it for me. Cancer is evil. Beating animals is just as evil.

23. I seriously have bad hearing. Take, for example, this conversation that the husband and I had once upon a time:
me: how was your ride?
the husband: I got to potty-train. . .
me: *???*
me: . . . . you got to potty-train? Huh?
the husband: I. got. to. potty-train. . .
me: you have to potty-train? Whut. . . . ? *[blink, blink]
the husband: I! Got! Stuck! By! A! Train!
me: oh.
the husband: yeah. You and your bad hearing.

24. I don't debate religion or politics. Especially when wine is added (lesson learned)! I have mine. You have yours. Lets leave it at that.

25. Having Reef Sharks as well as Nurse Sharks swim around you, under you and over you is unexplainable, amazing and somewhat anxiety producing. No, we were not in a "cage". We were free diving in these parts. Besides, I always thought Nurse Sharks were like big Labrador puppies - always sleeping on the ocean floor. Seemed harmless enough. It is a bit different when they are swimming around you. Add in some Reef Sharks and you have yourself a mighty fine time with a bit of a fast heartbeat. Do you think sharks can sense fear?


That is all.

What Do You Want An Adorable Pancreas?

This was my day today. . . 

I tried to make my cappuccino on three different occasions.  Not once did I complete this task.  

Not to be defeated, I continued to turn on the espresso machine three different times.  And was distracted three different times.  And I have to point out that the espresso machine stays on for 2 hours at a time before turning itself off. That's 6 hours.

Six hours that I could not get my cappuccino made on this day.

Seriously, who cannot find time to make a cup of coffee during normal hours?  

Long Time Coming & Then Some Part Deux

Aaaaand another from thy Princess of the Universe:

Numero Deux: I am totally DYING to meet you - what would you do with me if I just showed up on your doorstep one day and announced I was there for a week?

Princess!  Do not give me such tachycardia!  Not that I wouldn't love to have you come to my awesome Longhorn City and stay with the husband & I.  We heart company.  We also heart entertaining.  We do.  But. . . just showing up.  Ahhck.  Well, it wouldn't normally be a problem if my house weren't such a mess on a consistent basis.  Four dogs does not make a clean house. Like, ever.  

Anyhow, having a slight mess is not an answer to your question.  Thus, to comply with the interview question, here is what I would do: 

I'd take you on a 14-mile run.  18 if you're on best behavior.  

I'd then toss you into an ice bath.  

I will be looking forward to your pink princessy knock on my front door.  Soon, I hope!  

But don't think we're finished with our fun, fun, fun!  Oh we're so not!  Because the husbands and my Longhorn City is so close to one of your favorites - and really, this should be many, many peoples favorites - we will go on a search to hunt this one down.  What happens when we do find him is up to you.   Remember, what happens in Longhorn City, stays in Longhorn City.  

Unless I blog about it.  [But I wouldn't do that. . . Really.  I wouldn't.  Pffft.  Have faith.]  

Furthermore.  I'd also have to take you here.  Loads of sparkly princessy goodies to be had  in this place.  I can even buy prettiness here due to hypo-allergenicness.  In fact, the husband originally bought my engagement bling here and continues to do so.  It's an original Texas craftsmanship one cannot come to Texas and not visit this store.  

We can show off what we've found, jewelry and Ackles at the oldest zoo in Tejas.  I know, it's a zoo, but it is beautiful and the animals are treated very humanely here.  Sometimes zoo's are a necessary evil.  This one is a great one.  Trust me.   The animals are awesome.  

When you finally arrive on my doorstep, don't forget your appetite.  Texas has great food and loads of it!  Barbecue, Tex-Mex, Chili, down-home and fine dining.  If you crave it, we have it with a bit of Texas flair added in.  In fact, we have cook-offs, fry-offs, festivals, jamboree and many, many food celebrations including Turkey trots, watermelon thumps and peach jamborees.  If you're adventurous you can even enter into a jalapeno eating contest.  But I'll leave that one to you and you alone.  

But if you do that, you will need a pair of these so you can kick a cockroach to the corner.  Or just wear them to the Stockyards.  I swore I'd never buy a pair, but last year I broke that swear.  I'm glad I did.  Cowboy boots are the most comfortable item you can put on your feet.  I have yet to buy an actual Stetson, but truly I don't see that happening.  Maybe the big-a** belt buckle, but not the hat.  

I'd also cook for you.  Anything you wanted.  Ask and you shall receive.  I might even make a party out of it, so you can meet other fabulous Longhorn City people.  Did I mention, we love to entertain?  

Princess, there are so many goodies here in my Longhorn City that I couldn't practically link them all.  And I'd bore everyone.  There's museums, boutiques, water art, trails, hiking, dancing, biking, horseback riding, shopping, food, drink, glittery sparkly's, etc., etc., etc.  Just come and you'll find out for yourself.  

Then, you can blog about it.  

Oh.  Right. You'd have to give Jensen back when you're done here.  Okay?  

When Vultures Drop Dead, It May Be Time To Wonder

The husband said it would be tough; maybe even distressing.  Well. . . those weren't quite the words he used, but suffice it to say he more or less said it would be agonizing.  And that did make me take a slight pause.  

Of course, I ignored it and forged valiantly onward, but only because I'm sick and twisted.    

When it comes down to it, I have to say, once again, the husband's uncanny ability to be right about everything humanly possible (except when he says I'm not dying when I actually am), was exactly on target.  It was dreadfully awful.  And I'm demented.  

Adding 40-pounds of ice to my cold bath water so I could sit in it for 15-minutes is probably not going to be my claim to fame.  

For serious.  

****************

Ooops. . . .I created confusion. Imagine that. So, I need to do a wee bit of clarification for all y'all.  The ice bath was agonizing.  I only ran a training run of 14-miles prior to that.   Currently, my leg muscles feel like a million-trillion euros, even if it seemed as if I was completely and utterly neekid in the subarctic Antarctica where only penguins survive for 15-minutes of my life.  

I did; however, wear a sweatshirt on my upper body.  No reason to completely torture myself. . . Right? 

Long Time Coming & Then Some

Princess of the Universe probably gave up on me on long, long, long time ago.  I can't blame her, I mean, I asked for it and then there it sat.  For almost a couple months.  Actually, I have until February 19th and that would officially make it two months, but that is neither here nor there.  Either way, there it sat in my in-box marked as "unread" so I would not forget.  Hmmm. . . Yeah, that tactic worked.

I'm blaming Blogger.  For some reason, I can no longer "copy, cut and paste".  Add that to the fact that I'm lazy, well, you don't get the post I've been meaning to write for over a month now.  However, I have another fellow blogger that I heart and covet!  In fact, I believe she's a little known secret, but will be busting big some day.  Which is besides my point and I'm hoping she'll forgive me for stealing her idea by gushing loads about her funny.  So, I'm copying her and will be answering my interview questions one by one by one by one by one.  If you're lucky, I'm in a good mood and not lazy, I may even answer two questions at once.  Huzzah.

So, you owe this post to Verbal Diarrhoea. . . .  

I give you, my seven readers, Princess Interviews a Texaconsin Diva.

Numero Uno: How long did it take you to write your Christmas letter?  Cause I couldn't even imagine trying to condense a year into one really interesting page. 

I plead the fifth.  

Moving on . . . 

I keed - I keed, Princess!  See?  I'm funny too.   Maybe not Steve Carell, but hey beggars cannot be choosers. 

To get to your question, it takes more time than I like or seem to even have.  For those of you who didn't get a letter, you may be in the dark here.  I'll try to explain.  Once the husband and I got hitched by the good ole ball and chain, I thought it would be fantastic to start a yearly Christmas letter and send it world-wide to all our friends.  Big mistake.  I am now tied to doing it year after year.  If I don't, I have people call me out in front of many others on them either A) falling off my yearly letter list or B) I didn't do one.  That was a good time.  I enjoy being called out in front of groups of people in the middle of restaurants.  

Anyhow, the first letter I did was a "Top 10" list as to why it was a good thing the husband and I got married and attached a cute little wedding photo to the front.  That wasn't bad.  Pretty painless, but then the second letter, I decided to get really creative and did a letter to what it was like to be married in accordance with the "Wedding Vows".  You know the "till death do us part," "to have and to hold," and "in sickness and in health," (according to the husband I am never sick and never about to die.  I'd like to disagree here.  There are plenty of times I am dying.) etc., etc. . .  I'd have to say that took many hours of writing and re-writes as well as editing to make it fit on my itty-bitty card.  That one also had a cute little picture of us on it.  I think that was my favorite letter to date - maybe I'll post it here someday.  Maybe not.

The third year was mundane stuff of us making a move to our Longhorn city.  Blah, blah, blah.  Not my best.  

The fourth year, I skipped it.  See above when getting called out at a family birthday party in the middle of a restaurant.  Fun times (yes, I'm reiterating.  To this day I'm damaged by that).

This year, I spent a few weeks trying to come up with a subject.  I wrote and deleted.  Wrote and deleted.  Wrote and deleted.  Wrote and deleted.  I finally came up with . . . the husband.   Duh.  Had I just done that subject in the beginning the letter would have flown from brain to keyboard to print.  As always, he's my perfect subject.  

So, while I'd like to say it doesn't take nuttin' to write my yearly Christmas letter and be included in the cool kids crowd, I would be lying.  It takes a lot of time and even more thought.  More than I have of either that time of year.  Sometimes I wish I hadn't even begun and low expectations would sit in place.  Though, I would be lying there too.  I enjoy my Christmas letter even if it does stress me out year after year.  

The end.

More interview questions to follow.  Thanks Sid of Verbal Diarrhoea for giving me the idea to post each question separately.  May you not get any additional readers so I can keep you as mine.  All mine.  

When We Die We Are Nothing More Than Worm Meat

I have something that has really been on my mind.  A bother if you get down to it.  Thing is I can't seem to shake it.  

I cannot sort out what is more disgusting.  The fact that I am close to losing a toenail from not paying attention to length and long run training mileage or the fact of that little "flutter" I heard the other night during my real live nightmare of a $&%@'ing cockroach crawling across my head, were really its legs.  

Apparently, cockroach legs make a clicking sound when they walk.

Ugh.

Safety is Not Created in Numbers, Nor Anything Else

Holy mother-lovin' buckets.  I haven't posted in three weeks!  It doesn't seem like that long, but it is and I seriously apologize.  Thank you to those of you who reminded me I need to write something, even if it's crap. I'm not being sarcastic either - I've got a million and one blog ideas floating around the great abyss known as Jen's-Amazonian-Brain.  For serious.  I do.  I just need to find some time to get it from brain to keyboard to computer screen and finally to the great blog-o-sphere.  Suggestions on how to do this?  I mean, I'm not even a parent and I don't have time.  Gah.  

Anyhow, this one is about numbers and math.  I severely dislike both. Never been good at either.  Aside from the three weeks of neglect, take for example, that tomorrow in our Longhorn City at 9 AM we are supposed to be at 28-degrees Fahrenheit. However, yes that's a HUGE however, with the wind chill, it's going to feel like 17-degrees Fahrenheit.  Right now, I hear it's 2-degrees in Chicago.  So, no, I should not be complaining, but I still don't have to like it.  Tomorrow night is supposed to be record setting.  Of course, in the wrong direction - low 20's. . . I can't even think about it without my brain hurting.  Wait. . . I think something burst. . . erm. . . froze. . . anyone know a doctor? 

Ha!  

And to continue on my rant on horrible, irresponsible numbers, let's just say I've been running my arse off for the past few months.  Some of you may know this and some of you may not, but suffice it to say that while I've been run-eng and run-eng I noticed a slight change in being a lot less curvaceous.  Hurrah!  Finally.  Right?  Right!  Wrong!  NOT ON THE SCALE I DON'T. I weigh exactly the same as I did when I started this marathon training adventure.  So, so, so not fair.  It's been almost 3-months.  My minimum run is 5-miles and my long run is up to 12-miles. I run 4-5 times a week and throw in a low-impact cardio for good measure once per week.  I also watch what I eat. For real.  So, when does that atrocious, ugly, corrupt, villainous, malevolent, hateful, unpleasant, wicked, and heinously evil Beelzebub device formally known as the "scale" start recognizing my hard work?  

See?  I don't like numbers.  Never did.  Never will.  

The end.