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.