I just got a "why don't you like me any more" email from my 64 year old mother

Every now and then, I have a girl moment (see here).  And I *might* have a tendency to over-think things just a bit.  I kind of assumed this was something that I would eventually get over.  But perhaps not...

This morning I had an email from my mom, who I saw yesterday from a distance while I was letting my dogs run around on our family property.  She was out working in the field, helping an archaeologist survey some Hopewell mounds (this story could get complicated really quickly), so I waved and didn't bother to walk out there, thinking my dogs would just be in the way.  When I left, I waved again.  No big deal, right?  We live literally a mile and a half from each other and see each other all the time.

The email started: "Late last night, while I was wondering why you didn't come out into the field to say hi yesterday..."  What?  Late last night?  As in, you were losing sleep over this?  And you didn't just call to ask me?  And this was the first thing on your mind again this morning?

I guess I know who to blame the next time I want to go postal on my boyfriend for forgetting to call me back.

Nature v. Nurture

I have spent much of my adult life trying not to be girly.  I hate that girls swoon, and get emotional over stupid shit, and are ultra insecure when it comes to guys.  I want to be above that, partially because if guys aren't that way, why should we be? and partially because it just seems like a total waste of energy.

But, you know what happens?  I play the hardass for a long time--everything rolls off my shoulders; I'm one of the guys.  Until one day (lets say for arguments sake that might have been yesterday), I'm super stressed, and all the little things seem to go wrong all at once and all of a sudden I'm inconsolable.  It's like a therapy cry from a bad 80's movie; I'm sobbing on the couch, watching Gray's Anatomy, and wondering what went wrong.

And suddenly, my boyfriend, who was told (by yours truly) that he was dating a rational human being, is thrown for a roller coaster-size loop.  This was not exactly how I envisioned our first fight.  That sounds weird--who envisions their first fight, right?  But, I just didn't think it would happen with me all emo.  I'm pretty sure just dealing with an argument is hard enough, but then he has this girl who, up to this point, has been relatively level headed, but is now on the other end of the phone crying, I mean, seriously crying, and he can't figure out exactly why.  And honestly?  I'm not entirely sure either.

On the upside, I feel so much better after a really good cry.

Really? Is there a "Congratulations You Won the Lottery So Let Me Buy You Presents" Day, too?

Boss's day is tomorrow. I'm totally ok with Secretary's Administrative Assistants Day because generally, people who keep the office running are under appreciated and deserve some recognition. But Boss's Day? I'm pretty sure they make at least twice what I do, so I don't really feel like throwing them a big party and buying them a present.  And, when is Peon Day?  Last time I checked, no one has gotten me a card and a present for the work I do.

Anyway, we're having a potluck tomorrow morning for our bosses and, it's "totally voluntary" but in that we-know-who-you-are-you-non-participators sort of way. (Although, on the upside? Breakfast!)

When did I get old? I just found the recipe for Northstar burgers. I need to get out more. And other nonsequiturs...

I tweaked my back last night. Throwing a softball. And no, that's not some strange euphemism the kids are using these days. I was seriously just throwing a softball and now I'm having a hard time standing up straight. Also, when did it become absolutely impossible to stay out until almost midnight and still function at a decent level the next day? I mean, I wasn't even drinking, I was just playing a game (in the balmy 40 degree Ohio October weather). Clearly, someone, somewhere is playing a trick on me. Fine, I get it. Now please give me my 20's back.

In other news, I found a recipe on Tastespotting today for what is supposed to replicate the Northstar burger. If you live in Columbus and haven't been to Northstar, you've clearly been living under a rock. And if you've been there and haven't had their veggie burger, well, I just feel sorry for you. After you look at the recipe but before you say anything about how much you hate beets, let me just head you off at the pass. I do too. They are awful. I think I would have a better experience licking the ground than eating a beet. But somehow, in these veggie burgers, they not only transform into something edible, they become magical. I don't know--maybe the secret ingredient is crack. But honestly? I don't really care. They are that good.

Which brings me to my next point: I need to get out more. Why? Because I've just spent an ENITRE blog post talking about how I'm getting old and how much I love veggie burgers made out of beets. Do I need to say anything else?

Pack me in bubble wrap and call it a day...

My boyfriend likes to make fun of me because he says I'm the clumsiest athletic person he's ever met. He tells it like this:

Our friends told him they wanted to introduce him to someone who was in the local triathlon group with them, so he assumed that I at least had some measure of athleticism. We met, we hit it off, and on our first date we decided to go bowling. And I killed him. I mean it. I had the best bowling games of my life. Here's proof.

So he assumes that he's clearly made the correct judgment, although his ego is a little bruised. And then we hang out a little more and he begins to see that I can barely walk down the street, let alone up or down stairs without tripping. For awhile, I disagreed with him, and told him that I couldn't really be that clumsy, but then I started to add up all the injuries from the summer and I had to admit--he might be right.

Recent issues include:

When I hit myself in the head with the cork screw while trying to open a bottle of wine at the beginning of summer (I was sober). I probably should have gotten stitches.


There's the MANY times I've ripped open my knee from sliding during softball this summer (although I don't really think that's being clumsy...).

Then, about three weeks ago, I stupidly tried to take a turn too late on my bike, thinking I could make it. I didn't. Instead I got this:


And, most recently, while running on Sunday night, I tripped on a piece of sidewalk that was crooked and poorly lit and got this:

So, now when I go to a wedding this Friday in a nice dress, with my hair done, I'll have a scar healing on my forehead, a bright pink, barely-rid-of-the-scab scar on my forearm, and scabs on both knees. If I was a kid, I'm pretty sure my parents would be at the police station for questioning right now.

This might have been the best summer ever

I spent a large portion of May and half of June this year dreading the big 3-0. I don't normally get hung up on things like that, especially since it's wholly out of my control but, for some reason, this one hit me a little harder than I expected.

And then I blinked. And it was October.

I was driving to work this morning wondering, as I do every year, where the summer went. And I started to think about everything that happened and all of a sudden it hit me: this was an AMAZING summer. I mean it--AMAZING. I packed more into this summer than possibly the last three.

And suddenly turning 30 doesn't matter.