tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-70546358279036429852024-03-19T04:24:14.021-04:00What happens when your dogs outnumber youOnce upon a time I was a cat person...those days are over.tri2runhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07298239287198185846noreply@blogger.comBlogger70125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7054635827903642985.post-44976627163362031972010-11-03T14:25:00.000-04:002010-11-03T14:25:20.539-04:00Hang on, it's about to get a little headyI'm taking a PhD class at OSU this quarter. I'll be done with my MA in about two and a half quarters and I couldn't be more excited. Except, now I want to go back and get my PhD. But we'll save that saga for another day...<br />
<br />
I mention it because since the quarter has started, I haven't been able to turn my brain off. Ever. I analyze almost every thought that goes through my head, I question my motivation to do half the things I do every day (why do I go to starbucks? why do I think I like gray's anatomy? Does glee perpetuate more stereotypes?). It's not a sustainable model, and I know that, but I also think it's a worthwhile exercise as long as it doesn't become all consuming.<br />
<br />
On the heals of yesterday's election, though, my brain is spinning virtually out of control. What is most frustrating is that I don't know what we (and I mean we on both sides of the aisle) can do about the state of politics. I am of course frustrated that the democrats lost so many seats to the republicans, but not because I think they present the best form of politics out there, it's just because I agree with them more. Our political system is profoundly broken and it's broken in a way that is not easily remedied. <br />
<br />
There is this concept in education (and elsewhere) that talks about the locus of control. If a student feels like they have control over certain things in their life they are more likely to be successful students, to work harder, and to have fewer emotional problems. But once they perceive that locus of control to be outside of them, they give up more easily, don't work nearly as hard, and tend to act out in class. So, if they judge their teacher to be unfair and and the coursework to be "rigged" (whether or not that is actually the case), if they do poorly on a test, their response will be "whatever, I wasn't going to pass anyway, the teacher hates me and there's nothing I can do about it." But, if they think the class and teacher are fair, they are more likely to respond along the lines of "I will have to work harder or study harder next time and maybe I can get a better grade." <br />
<br />
So for this reason, I'm choosing to believe that there is something that we can do about the political climate in this country. If I let myself believe that there's nothing we can do, that the locus of control is well beyond our reach, it all feels pretty futile. People are frustrated. The economy is bad; there is still a double-digit unemployment rate, and I understand that people want to fix it. But neither electing a bunch of republicans or continuing to let the people in power stay in power is going to fix the problem long term. Have you listened to the news lately? Did you watch the political ads? Have you listened to a political debate? We have turned into consumers of media that are ok with being told part of the story, with being present with information that only touches the surface of any issue and most importantly WE STOPPED ASKING QUESTIONS! <br />
<br />
It became democrats versus republicans. And they both want us to believe that the other one is evil and doesn't care. It can't stay this way or we will continue to live in grid-lock indefinitely. I've got news for you--if either platform thinks they have all the answers, they are just wrong. And if you think that your elected official should support his or her party line at all costs, should fillibuster when they don't get their way on every issue, and that you "win" only if your agenda is moved forward, then you need to take a long, hard look in the mirror.<br />
<br />
It is our responsibility to be informed, educated, thoughtful consumers of media. That means the news, the paper, magazines, books, political ads, political speeches, debates. Everything. It means asking questions. I means thinking about the source of the information and what agenda that source might have. And it means telling the people we elect that we aren't ok with any of this rhetoric. Want to talk about health care? Great. Then if you oppose it, stop throwing around "Obamacare" and "Socialism." Talk to me about facts. And it goes both ways--if you want to be mad about the election, be mad that WE are not demanding more. Until we collectively change the dialogue and demand to be treated as if we are intelligent people, capable of understanding and participating in the actual debate, we are getting nothing less than what we are asking for (and consuming).tri2runhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07298239287198185846noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7054635827903642985.post-47498040872966434512010-07-28T10:54:00.004-04:002010-07-28T11:19:44.337-04:00It's not the destination, it's the journeyIn 2005, in a coffee shop I frequented on my way to work, I saw a flier for Team in Training . I had seen them in places all over town, but for some reason, this time, I picked one up and stuck it in my purse as I edged out the door in my pre-coffee haze. <br />
<br />
I was 26, wandering around aimlessly without much motivation, was in a dead-end (receptionist) job, and partying a little too much for someone four years removed from college. I wasn't in great shape, I maybe ran a couple of miles a couple of times a week and maybe jumped on the elliptical every now and then. The gym was definitely on the winning end of my membership package. But when I was in college, desperately trying to fight the freshman 15, struggling with self-image, and running 3 miles a day religiously, I had always been intrigued with the idea of one day doing a triathlon. So I pulled it out of my purse later that day and read it.<br />
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Five years later and I'm still swimming, biking, and running. Without knowing it, I think I began my triathlon journey to (re)find myself. But the person I found was stronger, so so so much stronger than I ever knew. Triathlon has become the norm for me, although often to my social life's detriment; it can be an incredibly selfish sport--you hear all the time about "ironman widows" who have lost their partners to ironman training. Even if you're not sacrificing time with loved ones, spending that much time doing something that in the long run doesn't benefit others is a rather selfish endeavor. So I try to do charity rides, fundraisers, and coaching for Team in Training (it's amazing how things can come full circle), and I hope to one day start a training program with inner-city kids. Through all this, I don't know if I'll ever be able to articulate all the things that triathlon and everything and everyone associated with it has given back to me.<br />
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<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">Successes are great; setting a new PR or racing a new (longer) distance is an amazing feeling. But, I've learned as much, or more, in my failures. When you're fifty miles into a century ride and realize you haven't taken enough calories or water in, you have no choice but to struggle through and claw your way home. Talking myself down from the brink of tears on multiple occasions, getting back on the bike, and finishing has taught me that I can do things my brain tells me I can't. 5:00 am swims on four hours of sleep, scorching hot runs and rides, racing under-trained, racing over-trained, have all taught me how to be smarter next time, and more importantly to remember that it's not always about shaving five minutes off your race time. Sometimes it's the simple fact that this is something we choose to do, a choice that most people across the globe, for many reasons, don't have.</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
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</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">Watching the sun rise over a lake, the morning of a race, is the most centering, calming experience I've ever had; this feeling alone might be enough to keep me coming back, but I know there is so much more. I'm sure one day my priorities will shift and I'll step back from racing, but what an amazing ride it's been, and will continue to be, and I'm so thankful that I had the choice and made it.</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div>tri2runhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07298239287198185846noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7054635827903642985.post-83322849323468623072010-07-12T13:42:00.003-04:002010-07-12T14:07:34.305-04:00ChoicesA friend of mine posted this <a href="http://youareagrownman.com/2010/07/09/ask-for-her-hand-in-marriage/">link</a> earlier, and in an effort to avoid work for a few more minutes, I started reading...in short, the post is telling other guys to man up and, assuming they are dating the right girl, to do the right thing and ask for her hand in marriage. It wasn't really the marriage thing that caught my eye (all things in good time, right?), it was the whole idea that threw me into a spiral of thought/emotion/reflection:<br />
<br />
"The reason we ask for her hand is marriage is because you can’t bullshit a bullshitter. When you’re sitting across the table from a woman’s father, he knows you, he knows your tricks, and he’s been you. Asking for a hand in marriage is the ultimate litmus test of predator vs. good man, worthy of my daughter vs. worthy of my Remington, husband vs. con-man."<br />
<br />
I was raised to be a feminist, a strong woman, an I-can-take-care-of-myself-thank-you-very-much girl. And so I'm conflicted by my feelings. Because having someone ask my father for my hand in marriage? Yeah, I want that. Having my dad walk me down the aisle? That, too, but not because he would be giving me away to another man like a piece of property, but because I was daddy's little girl and I want him to be there for one of the most important days of my life. I don't have a choice in the matter, so maybe that makes me want it more; maybe that's why I don't feel like having someone ask him for my hand and having him give me away flies in the face of everything feminist. Maybe simply making that choice is what would make it less sexist. But I don't have the choice.<br />
<br />
In this small way, I drew the short straw. In general, I'll shrug off the inevitable "I'm sorries" that follow when I tell someone my dad died when I was 14. I shrug them off because I'm a lucky person and I've never doubted that. I had 14 years with an amazing father who had a huge hand in making me the person that I am today. There are plenty of people who aren't that fortunate. But there are times when there is just no denying that it's just plain unfair.<br />
<br />
What I <em>can</em> choose is whether or not to wallow in self-pity, or try to do something in my father's honor. I choose the latter. <br />
<br />
Last year, I rode in the inaugural event of Pelotonia, a bike ride with the purpose of raising money and awareness to one day find a cure for cancer. This year I'm riding again. Many of my friends and co-workers, I'm sure, are tired of me begging for money; this will be the fourth time I've come to them asking for donations in five years. I know I'm asking a lot. But I'm only asking for a few dollars from each person. I'm asking for a few dollars so that one less daughter will have to figure out how to define herself as father-less. <br />
<br />
I don't mean this as a guilt trip; we all pick the charities we are most comitted to and we all have a finite amount of money to spend. Even if you can't donate, check out my <a href="http://www.pelotonia.org/ride/riders_profile.jsp?MemberID=4187&SearchStart=0&PAGING">page</a> on Pelotonia's site because I think it's important to share why this is so important to me, that I'm not just blindly asking people for money.tri2runhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07298239287198185846noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7054635827903642985.post-89299710292165459762010-02-08T16:56:00.002-05:002010-02-08T17:05:19.545-05:00There has to be something betterI want to be done with school. I want to be done with this job. I want to being doing something of consequence. Because this? This sucks. I spent the day making charts so someone can put state standards on a crappy textbook page. Standards that are only going on there because some board member somewhere in the state of Florida who doesn't know anything about education, textbooks, or probably even science decided that was the hoop that the textbook companies should jump through to prove that their sub-standard textbooks are somehow magically correlated to their substandard standards. And you know what? At the end of the day, NONE OF IT MATTERS. NOT ONE BIT.tri2runhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07298239287198185846noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7054635827903642985.post-50414299228769373212010-01-25T20:53:00.000-05:002010-01-25T20:53:49.996-05:00This might be the first time I've actually wanted to use the tag FLMFunny story...I was in class tonight (ok, ok, I'm still in class and writing this while I listen to a group presentation) and let's be honest, the only way I make it through class is to play on facebook, twitter, and whatever other random websites I stumble on. So, I went to Yahoo to check my email and on the homepage was a story about how Hayden Panettiere and Madonna wore the same dress to something recently (the Golden Globes? I have no idea...I don't actually watch that stuff. I do, however, enjoy a good old fashioned cat fight.). Plus, I grew up in the '80's and I have a still healthy fascination with Madonna, so you can clearly understand how I *had* to click on the link. You want to, too, don't you? Of course you do. <a href="http://www.shine.yahoo.com/event/the-thread/who-wore-it-best-571690#photoViewer=1">Here</a> it is.<br />
<br />
One minor problem--it's a video. And in one of those "oh shit, I just opened porn at work" moments, I realized the sound on my laptop wasn't muted. In fact, it was pretty much on full blast. I desperately tried to close the website, mute the sound, throw my computer out the window. ANYTHING. But of course it didn't work. Instead, the entire class turned around and stared at me and the professor actually stopped the entire lecture until I could manually shut down my laptop. Awesome.tri2runhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07298239287198185846noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7054635827903642985.post-51676691792739890272010-01-05T09:15:00.000-05:002010-01-05T09:15:12.712-05:00Where is the restart button?I just spilled an ENTIRE cup of coffee on my desk. And in some sort of cruel comedy of errors, the only place to get paper towels on the ENTIRE floor in my building is in the bathroom or the pantry where they have installed automatic dispensers (which, by the way, only work about half the time, so the rest of the time, when you leave the bathroom, you have to wipe your hand on your pants, but maybe they only work half the time because people insist on taking an extra paper towel to carry to the bathroom door so they can use it to GRAB THE HANDLE because OMG THE GERMS, THE GERMS, THEY'RE GOING TO KILL US ALL! How I haven't gotten swine flu yet by opening the bathroom door WITH MY BARE HANDS is beyond me) , so the only way to get a volume of paper towels is to stand in front of them and wave your hand, wait for the 6 inches of paper towel to come out, rip it off, then wave your hand again, wait, rip, and repeat LIKE 50 TIMES! And now all I can smell is a really gross mix of cleaning spray and coffee.tri2runhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07298239287198185846noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7054635827903642985.post-38488092829014242662009-12-26T00:14:00.003-05:002009-12-26T11:22:12.497-05:00Things I learned this Christmas:1. Religion can be found at the barbecue cart on the corner of Longview and High. Best BBQ I've had outside of Alabama. Go there. Immediately. (As long as it's Thursday--Sunday.)<br />
2. Kumquat liqueur is good in mimosas.<br />
3. Christmas should not be celebrated without alcohol. Let's be honest; holidays are a fantastic excuse to drink in the middle of the day and not be judged. Take advantage of it.<br />
4. Julie and Julia is actually a really good movie. <br />
5. A two person Christmas really sucks. After you get done walking the dogs, opening presents, eating, watching a movie, eating again, and staring at each other for a while, it's still only two o'clock.<br />
6. A new door for my house does, in fact, make a good Christmas present.<br />
7. You will get no less than 5 "Merry Christmas" mass texts, at least one of which will say "Merry CHRISTmas," just in case you forgot... A couple of the texts will come from people you don't even have programmed into your phone. But, a couple of them will make you smile.<br />
8. I will not spend another Christmas at my mom's house unless one of the following happens: she gets cable or wireless internet.<br />
<br />
UPDATE: 9. My mom and I can get along in the same house for approximately 36 hours. No more.tri2runhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07298239287198185846noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7054635827903642985.post-53170143725906650422009-12-21T21:10:00.001-05:002009-12-21T21:16:22.564-05:00You didn't really play that whole conversation out in your head first, did you?M: So, my brother went on a first date with this girl and things went well, and he's pretty sure there's going to be a second date.<br />
Me: Ok...that's good.<br />
M: And her birthday is Wednesday, so he wants to do something for her, like send her flowers or something, but roses wouldn't be a good idea, right?<br />
Me: Yeah, that might be a little too much too soon.<br />
M: So, what should he do? <br />
Me: Uhm...well, definitely not carnations either.<br />
M: Why?<br />
Me: Because they're cheap. And girls know it.<br />
M: Girls are dumb.<br />
Me: Do you realize you just called to ask if your brother could get a girl flowers after they've gone on one date and we've been dating for six months and I've never gotten flowers.<br />
M: We're about to go into a tunnel, with an elevator, in a dead spot...<br />
Me: *sigh*tri2runhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07298239287198185846noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7054635827903642985.post-36802358177347040382009-12-15T15:00:00.000-05:002009-12-15T15:00:27.150-05:00Happy Holidays!In one of my top 10 feel good moments of the year, when I asked my boyfriend how he wanted to handle our Christmas (this is our first one as a couple and we won't actually be together on Christmas), he suggested we adopt a family from the Salvation Army and buy them Christmas presents instead. If you know me, you know that suggesting something like this is one sure way to make my heart melt into a gooey ball of happiness. Which it promptly did.<br />
<br />
We spent the majority of the day this past Sunday shopping for bikes and remote control trucks (two of the things the boys put on their wish lists) and with the help of some sort of early Christmas miracle, we made it through six hours of shopping among throngs of other holiday shoppers without disagreeing about ANYTHING. <br />
<br />
So today we had our Christmas, which means during lunch, I picked him up at his office and we drove all our gifts downtown and dropped them off at the Salvation Army. It was possibly the most romantic thing I've ever done with anyone.tri2runhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07298239287198185846noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7054635827903642985.post-8369962983378208342009-12-11T10:21:00.000-05:002009-12-11T10:21:58.664-05:00I lost 100 pounds on a diet of nothing but tofurkeyI <strike>love</strike> am profoundly creeped out by how smart the internet is. Like, how someone tracks your facebook status and when you have the dreaded "Stephanie is no longer listed as in a relationship" (complete with the really sad little broken heart icon) change, you start getting ads for dating services on the side. Without a mourning period.<br />
<br />
Or like when I tweated once about the crying baby in Target being an amazing form of birth control, I suddently have all these weird Mommyblog followers, one of which was called Thelaughingbaby. And let me tell you, using a head shot of a laughing baby as your profile pic is not creepy. Not at all.<br />
<br />
Or like how I have ads on the side of my blog for drain cleaners because I posted two things about having a clogged drain. Because you know what else was in that blog? A lot about how I ALMOST KILLED MY MOTHER. Maybe an ad for some sort of counseling service would be more appropriate?<br />
<br />
It makes me want to say random crap just to see who will follow me or what kind of ads I can get to pop up. Like hair plugs. Natural male enhancement. Marshmallow peeps.tri2runhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07298239287198185846noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7054635827903642985.post-39918865976203364362009-12-11T00:16:00.002-05:002009-12-11T13:58:45.151-05:00Work itSo let's have a little conversation about how I'm not supposed to post things about my boyfriend on my blog (or twitter, or facebook...). Is this fair of him to ask this? Absolutely. This should not be the forum for me to air out our issues. The world does not need to hear about it (ha! see how I just implied that *so* many people read my blog and follow me on twitter). But, if not here, where? Should there be a place? Do people still keep diaries? I mean seriously, I can't imagine..."Dear Diary, Today I had got into a stupid fight with my boyfriend..." Ack! I don't know...I adore him, I'm gushy right now, even though we had a long "discussion" that started out as an almost-argument, but ended in a really great conversation. I understand now, that because we are coming into this with some really different life experiences, this relationship might to take a litte more work up front for both of us. But this one, well, it's worth it.tri2runhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07298239287198185846noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7054635827903642985.post-89782981612817704242009-11-12T08:53:00.004-05:002009-11-12T15:51:31.245-05:00I think there's some sort of karmic imbalance in my lifeTuesday was not what you would call a highlight for my mom and me in the "Wonderful Moments in Our Relationship" reel (see <a href="http://www.edweek.org/tsb/articles/2009/10/01/01twitter.h03.html">here</a>). In addition to that gem, we had several other equally non-productive conversations about my clogged shower drain. After about three hours of pouring Draino down the drain, taking apart multiple pieces of plumbing, putting the plumbing back together, testing it, taking it apart again, snaking, snaking, snaking, snaking, and more snaking, still with no luck, I collapsed on the couch in a ball of frustration and was whining to my boyfriend over the phone. And then I heard a knock at my door. I was literally in the next room, but I clearly did not answer the door quickly enough.<br />
<br />
"Hellooooo?" Her head popped around the corner.<br />
<br />
"Crap, it's my mom, I'll call you back."<br />
<br />
"How's it going? Did you fix it?" I just stared at her. "Still clogged, huh?" Again, just staring. "It sounds like it might be tree roots."<br />
<br />
"Oh my God, Mom!"<br />
<br />
I suppose she took that as her cue to stop talking about my drain. Which, on the one hand was good, but she apparently missed the cue to just LEAVE, and spent the next five minutes making small talk about many, many, many things that I don't care anything about until the voice in my head screaming "OH MY GOD I DON'T CARE WHAT KIND OF DOG YOUR CO-WORKER IS ADOPTING" became so deafening that I couldn't hear anything else. I guess my lack of interest made her mad because she kind of just stormed out. Maybe I said those things out loud. Who knows.<br />
<br />
But when she offered to meet the plumber at my house yesterday so I didn't have to leave work early, I felt pretty guilty for being, well, a bitch, and I made sure to thank her profusely and made a mental note to maybe try a little harder to be nice in the future. Until I actually got home. Yes, my drain was completely unclogged. Yay for showering again! But, this was the first thing I saw when I walked in the door.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEtOvKjqyP5XvG4j-AJnhgR5bdeortEbHhuk-TZUyZr5txZf23OtM8PEemAJa-zOspNf1fVFzskURh28D98iIWI__v4jzBHfsP_gchHZHsOZYAonj5_ke42hbm3SgH-vP_MQ3NqjnOVn3S/s1600-h/trash+2.aspx" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEtOvKjqyP5XvG4j-AJnhgR5bdeortEbHhuk-TZUyZr5txZf23OtM8PEemAJa-zOspNf1fVFzskURh28D98iIWI__v4jzBHfsP_gchHZHsOZYAonj5_ke42hbm3SgH-vP_MQ3NqjnOVn3S/s320/trash+2.aspx" /></a><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">My dogs are REALLY bad about getting into the trash, so I keep it in the basement and keep the door shut. Also? I keep my bathroom door shut FOR THE SAME REASON. But, that one was open too. This is what was in my bedroom:<br />
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</div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwnmcXAKsqSLdniKWLX17o1uhwXRC6VFuL1Iy2vRTobRI5n2dwPLgWEuu9PNoYAGD_3aItTlSo5sVtYKnp2bzEhjmDkV7XcUzXiV8y3MxFUyFCFZHLI6K0LrvYEcihyooiMbcXJj55asMy/s1600-h/trash+1.aspx" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwnmcXAKsqSLdniKWLX17o1uhwXRC6VFuL1Iy2vRTobRI5n2dwPLgWEuu9PNoYAGD_3aItTlSo5sVtYKnp2bzEhjmDkV7XcUzXiV8y3MxFUyFCFZHLI6K0LrvYEcihyooiMbcXJj55asMy/s320/trash+1.aspx" /></a><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">I went to bed at 9:00; I was seriously done with yesterday.<br />
</div>tri2runhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07298239287198185846noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7054635827903642985.post-54506677139665550352009-11-11T11:07:00.000-05:002009-11-11T11:07:34.822-05:00Let's just say it's a good thing I don't own a gunMe: I have a clog in my shower drain.<br />
Mom: It's probably tree roots. You're going to have to call someone.<br />
Me: But I haven't even tried Draino yet.<br />
Mom: DON'T USE DRAINO!<br />
Me: ????<br />
Mom: If you use Draino, a plumber won't even touch your plumbing...it's too caustic.<br />
Me: ????<br />
Mom: It's probably tree roots, you should call someone.<br />
Me: *sigh* I have to go.<br />
Mom: Ok, well let me know if you need a number for someone to get the tree roots out.tri2runhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07298239287198185846noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7054635827903642985.post-12011223587368539022009-10-26T10:10:00.002-04:002009-10-26T10:14:54.023-04:00I just got a "why don't you like me any more" email from my 64 year old motherEvery now and then, I have a girl moment (see <a href="http://stephanieharless.blogspot.com/2009/10/nature-v-nurture.html">here</a>). 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...<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
The email started: "Late last night, while I was wondering why you didn't come out into the field to say hi yesterday..." What? <i>Late</i> 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?<br />
<br />
I guess I know who to blame the next time I want to go postal on my boyfriend for forgetting to call me back.tri2runhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07298239287198185846noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7054635827903642985.post-33112853316655703902009-10-23T00:38:00.005-04:002009-10-23T13:15:36.741-04:00Nature v. NurtureI 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.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
On the upside, I feel so much better after a really good cry.tri2runhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07298239287198185846noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7054635827903642985.post-89525437087591666812009-10-15T14:34:00.001-04:002009-10-15T15:00:35.865-04:00Really? 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 <strike>Secretary's</strike> 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.<br />
<br />
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!)tri2runhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07298239287198185846noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7054635827903642985.post-70977722519465168012009-10-14T10:49:00.003-04:002009-10-14T11:04:38.527-04:00When 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. <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"></span>Fine, I <span style="font-style: italic;">get</span> it. Now please give me my 20's back.<br /><br />In other news, I found a recipe on <a href="http://www.tastespotting.com/"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">Tastespotting</span></a> today for what is supposed to replicate the <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">Northstar</span> <a href="http://www.thekitchn.com/thekitchn/restaurant-reproductions/restaurant-reproduction-bestever-veggie-burgers-from-northstar-cafe-096967">burger</a>. If you live in Columbus and haven't been to <a href="http://www.thenorthstarcafe.com/"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">Northstar</span></a>, 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.<br /><br />Which brings me to my next point: I need to get out more. Why? Because I've just spent an <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">ENITRE</span> 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?tri2runhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07298239287198185846noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7054635827903642985.post-82017642943501422242009-10-07T14:57:00.008-04:002009-10-08T10:11:19.188-04:00Pack 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:<br /><br />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.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEfKv31c-U_6w1qmQbwcEa1ymhYgYAe7baB2aY71XpBno8_Pv3tqCystwT3k_C7PXqq0mEbFYBcvXc1OymrjV0hAo5NCyDfx8voEupyykO9U-tKSESbXLQ-gTIXeyqWwuaqO1IfXZ8de4m/s1600-h/bowling+score.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 251px; height: 201px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEfKv31c-U_6w1qmQbwcEa1ymhYgYAe7baB2aY71XpBno8_Pv3tqCystwT3k_C7PXqq0mEbFYBcvXc1OymrjV0hAo5NCyDfx8voEupyykO9U-tKSESbXLQ-gTIXeyqWwuaqO1IfXZ8de4m/s320/bowling+score.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5389938539696103058" border="0" /></a>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.<br /><br />Recent issues include:<br /><br />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.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEbXaapZ2aDY6l1bT-2xbeYLugJJw7PLqOUTq2kFfE8oFYTvqoFU_yZXM-boXJmvjDLj-CRy0GF9Maaf9iEmi9jfY7Bs8dpJxTe2yJrQjkTb20QKc40UNZ3i0K1RNL7VT3gTcglJGYmr4r/s1600-h/wine+accident.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 192px; height: 154px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEbXaapZ2aDY6l1bT-2xbeYLugJJw7PLqOUTq2kFfE8oFYTvqoFU_yZXM-boXJmvjDLj-CRy0GF9Maaf9iEmi9jfY7Bs8dpJxTe2yJrQjkTb20QKc40UNZ3i0K1RNL7VT3gTcglJGYmr4r/s320/wine+accident.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5389935270143011026" border="0" /></a><br />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...).<br /><br />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:<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhU8zLD-fIgy9CX6qHzFXilLQJnRgORC80qfdOzkf79n2zsRiIoTkF-4q8aB50IbxLRVFvEIycSjL1bEnYz-E7CXJcqb_3wno9mhK_Qwp3sxO62dRsqhkNmelnuKylPrTJoca_iIx86rIPj/s1600-h/bike+wreck+2.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 247px; height: 198px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhU8zLD-fIgy9CX6qHzFXilLQJnRgORC80qfdOzkf79n2zsRiIoTkF-4q8aB50IbxLRVFvEIycSjL1bEnYz-E7CXJcqb_3wno9mhK_Qwp3sxO62dRsqhkNmelnuKylPrTJoca_iIx86rIPj/s320/bike+wreck+2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5389936917216770882" border="0" /></a><br />And, most recently, while running on Sunday night, I tripped on a piece of sidewalk that was crooked and poorly lit and got this:<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgv9-si0Wrf8wXg51B4BGTKegKowGXUrukUdjWQVn4EAdz4EzxvnbPHBzmbGO4WOhzrz891ntEZXjZ3u33_MLNjzis3Utpyd_OJwD2o5XQPqeSRK-0l6QOwq4ANf21f2S3YLS8lScypwGup/s1600-h/Oops+I+tripped.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 244px; height: 196px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgv9-si0Wrf8wXg51B4BGTKegKowGXUrukUdjWQVn4EAdz4EzxvnbPHBzmbGO4WOhzrz891ntEZXjZ3u33_MLNjzis3Utpyd_OJwD2o5XQPqeSRK-0l6QOwq4ANf21f2S3YLS8lScypwGup/s320/Oops+I+tripped.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5389937257240768658" border="0" /></a><br />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.tri2runhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07298239287198185846noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7054635827903642985.post-19300980923714314652009-10-01T09:08:00.003-04:002009-10-01T15:01:47.433-04:00This might have been the best summer everI 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.<br /><br />And then I blinked. And it was October.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />And suddenly turning 30 doesn't matter.tri2runhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07298239287198185846noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7054635827903642985.post-56974165555691639492009-09-22T12:08:00.003-04:002009-09-22T12:35:16.199-04:00I think to get fired for blogging about my job, I'd have to be more importantOr reveal some sort of deep, dart secret about the textbook industry. You know, like how we use child labor to bind our books. How Hill, formerly the other half of <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">McGraw</span>-Hill is buried in the catacombs at 1 Penn Plaza. Or, how we cut down <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">rainforests</span> to make paper. Wait, that last one might be true, I don't actually know.<br /><br />Anyway, I think I'm safe.<br /><br />GOOD GOD I HATE MY JOB!<br /><br />Thanks <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">internet</span>, I feel much better.tri2runhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07298239287198185846noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7054635827903642985.post-24620200548653733942009-09-09T09:31:00.003-04:002009-09-09T09:39:15.268-04:00It's like crack, only legalDear Person Who Invented Coffee,<br /><br />I love you. I want to bear your children which is saying a lot since I've never said that to anyone. Ever. <br /><br />Also, I'd like to know what possessed you to roast those little brown beans, grind them up, put them in hot water, and then drink them. Did you wait around wondering if you had just poisoned yourself?<br /><br />If you could get back to me ASAP, that would be great, especially on the whole "bearing your children" thing. I'd really like to get moving on that. Thanks.<br /><br />Stephanietri2runhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07298239287198185846noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7054635827903642985.post-61308652963520266352009-08-28T11:16:00.002-04:002009-08-28T11:38:50.664-04:00PerspectiveI'm so freaking geeked about <a href="http://www.pelotonia.org/ride/">Pelotonia</a> this weekend! I've been really frustrated with training and feeling burnt out and not having enough time to do anything that I want to do, and I think this is exactly what I need. This is all about perspective.<br /><br />The energy that you can feel when you get in the middle of a crowd of people, all brought together by the same cause is always amazing, and I don't expect this to be any different. Pelotonia will raise over 4.5 MILLION dollars, all of that going directly to the James Cancer Hospital at Ohio State. <br /><br />I've never been able to fully articulate why this is all so important to me. I was pretty young when my dad passed away, even younger when he was sick, so I didn't experience his sickness and death in the same way I would have as an adult, the way my mother did. I miss him more now than I did when I was younger because I now see all the things I want to share with him. In fourteen short years, he gave me a lifetime of aspirations, skills, and a the ability to look at the world with a critical eye and compassionate heart. I'm riding for him and I'm riding for me. These experiences help me remember who he was and what he gave me. He was a truly amazing person.tri2runhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07298239287198185846noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7054635827903642985.post-67375425857765101502009-08-27T10:30:00.006-04:002009-09-09T13:10:11.786-04:00Shit my dogs ate because I'm too lazy to put stuff away(in the last couple of weeks)...underwear, lots of underwear. I know, I know, get a hamper, right? Wrong. They can open it. I now have to keep my dirty laundry in ANOTHER ROOM. Socks. Shorts (well, just the crotch, so I suppose I could wear them as a skirt now.) Condoms (seriously, seriously, seriously gross). (Sorry mom! At least I'm being safe. And for the record, these were in the trash in the bathroom--they opened the can.) A loaf of bread. Flour. Powerdered Sugar. Brown Sugar (I've been doing a lot of baking, don't judge). The garbage that I forgot to put out. Tampons (again, GROSS!). And, because they were apparently feeling a little unhealthy from all the other crap, some lettuce. Show of hands...who wants to be me?tri2runhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07298239287198185846noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7054635827903642985.post-57141956369892890972009-08-25T15:39:00.005-04:002009-08-26T14:38:46.708-04:00Things you can't have too much of:<span style="font-weight: bold;">Garlic</span>...given an ample surplus, even if you scare away your date, you won't have vampires. Plus, one word: pesto.<br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Onion</span>...I've heard that there are people who cook without garlic and onions. I'm very suspicious of these people.<br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Sushi</span>. Enough. Said.<br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Salt</span>...I mean, I guess if you added salt to concentrated soup, it might be a little over the top, but in my world, salt is one of the best things ever.<br /><br />Things people claim you can't have to much of, but, really, you can:<br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Sex</span>...I mean, come on...sometimes there just isn't enough lube in the world.<br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Money</span>...have you <span style="font-style: italic;">seen</span> Donald Trump's hair? There has to be a connection. Or, at least that's what I tell myself to make myself feel better.<br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Ice Cream</span>...hello? Ice cream headaches.tri2runhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07298239287198185846noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7054635827903642985.post-7399130839887957492009-08-24T14:52:00.002-04:002009-08-24T14:58:23.250-04:00WeirdSo, Sara, Ryan, Martin, and I are at <a href="http://dirtyfrankscolumbus.com/">Dirty Franks</a> (seriously, if you live in Columbus and haven't been there, you MUST go) a couple of weeks ago and Ryan asks me what the weirdest thing I've learned about Martin so far is. So, I sat there for a minute, and actually couldn't really come up with anything (contrary to what <span style="font-style: italic;">he</span> thinks, he's actually pretty normal...or, he seems normal to me, which could be a completely different thing...). <br /><br />I still haven't come up with anything good, but that started a whole conversation about what each of our "weird things" are. Ryan definitely takes the cake, although I won't tell you what his is even though it's f-ing HILARIOUS...but now every time there is a lull in conversation with any of my other friends, I want to ask...what's your weird thing? <br /><br />So, what is it? And, if you can think of something, what's mine?tri2runhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07298239287198185846noreply@blogger.com0