Help

So, if you remember from this post I'm a giant idiot and signed up for a half marathon.  The biggest problem with that, is that it's no longer three months away, but less than two days away.

Sure I've been training, but still, 13.1 miles, man.  I've been running for about six or seven years, but I am still the most nervous I think I've ever been about something.  Sure, there is a little bit of excitement sprinkled in, but mostly I feel like I'm going to throw up every time I think about running.  And since I like to open my big mouth all the time, entirely too many people know about this for me to back out now.

I'm not going to lie, I've been crossing my fingers and toes that something, ANYTHING, would happen that would give me an excuse to get out of this bad boy.  And no, I don't know why I signed up for it.  If I remember correctly, I was a little drunk.  Apparently my confidence in my endurance is positively correlated with my blood alcohol content.  I'm not happy about it.

Anywho, I've decided to take it easy with running this last week before the half marathon, and just stick to short runs with my Joe or yoga, so I've had some spare time to come up with some scenarios that would get me out of this.

Now would be an excellent time for you to come rapture us, big guy. I'm not necessarily saying I would make the cut on who gets to head back upstairs with Jesus, but He could at least write me a note or something to get me out of this. I know a couple of notaries.

Maybe Hurricane season could show up for the party a little early this year.  These past few seasons have been weak, so Mother Nature has some serious catching up to do.  Starting in March instead of June would help you and me, lady.  I'm all about running in a light drizzle, but not in eighteen inches of rain.

I mean, I can't possibly be expected to run a half marathon after getting hit by a bus.  Maybe it just runs over my toe or something, because ya know, actually getting hit by a bus would require death.  Regina George may have survived, but I would rather not take my chances.  Although, I do really want to get out of this thing....so maybe a bicycle clips me on the sidewalk instead.

I will also be praying for a flat tire on the way there, a sprained ankle, lost keys, heavy traffic, catching pneumonia, or any other miracle.

Since I probably have a better chance of winning the lottery than any of those things happening, I should probably get to stretching/carb loading/hydrating/crying.  Also, if I do win the lottery, I will be purchasing the land this thing is being held on and setting it aflame.  And by 'carb loading' I mean I've typed most of this post with one hand because I've been stuffing cookies in my mouth with the other.  That's that Paleo diet thing, right?

Whatever.

Kill me.

Going For the Gold

Ho there!  Happy Friday!  I haven't been the biggest fan of sleep this week, so there's an excellent change only about 25% of this sucker will make sense.  

I feel ya, sistah.


Anyway, this blog post is kind of painful because some jackass wrote an article informing everybody that the 'double space after a period' rule that we all learned isn't actually a rule.  

My fingers are cramping up from me constantly trying to avoid tapping that space bar a second time. It's stupid. I would post a link to the article but, remember, I'm tired so I'm not hunting it down for you guys.

While I was stressing out about important things like everything I ever knew about typing being a lie, the Winter Olympics were starting up.  There's nothing I love more than watching a bunch of people my age and younger reminding me just how uncoordinated I am. I tripped over five different dog toys in my living room yesterday, so an Olympian I am not.  Also, a housekeeper I am not.

Maybe if they changed the categories up a little bit, some of us lesser humans could snag a gold medal. I mean, I can make a sandwich faster than anybody you know, but all that really ever got me was a little more than minimum wage and some free smoothies.  I can also lay so unbelievably still on the couch for so long people start to question if I'm alive or not, 'play dead' if you will.  All that got me was three seasons into Lost on Netflix before I realized it wasn't any good (translation: it confused me). I also put my shoes on the wrong feet at least once a week and have recently gotten in the habit of putting my underwear on inside out.  Ok, so maybe not give me a medal for those ones so much as point me to the nearest support group. 

Basically I just need somebody to pat me on the head and telling me I'm doing a good job at life.

God, this is the worst post ever.

And I think I double spaced behind after every sentence.

Joey and I are going to go work on our figure skating routine. 

When You're Uncool

My intention was for this blog to be as light hearted as possible, but unfortunately, life isn't always light hearted. 

Some people who know me are aware that Philip Seymour Hoffman is hands down, my favorite actor (with Mr. Joaquin Phoenix being a very close second). Sure, I didn't know him personally, so I was fortunate enough not to be effected in that sense by his death, unlike his children, partner, and other family members and friends, but I LOVED to watch his movies. When you watched one of his performances you just knew you were watching something special, whether he was comedic relief in Twister or he was somehow turning the role of a villain in Mission Impossible into a damn Oscar worthy performance, the man could do no wrong when it came to his art. Setting aside the manner in which he died, the world lost a true genius, and will most likely never see an actor that talented again. So yeah, I'm genuinely bummed out that I will never get to see new work from this man again. 

You know what I'm also bummed out about? People. Specifically the ones who feel the need to more or less say this man deserved to die. Do I agree that drug use is a selfish thing? Yes. I don't think these people are concerned with others when they make these bad decisions, and that is the definition of selfish. But, to pass judgment on somebody with barely any facts on a situation is what is wrong with the world. Your lack of compassion and tolerance is sad, and count yourself lucky that none of your poor choices have led to your death. I don't want to spark a debate on whether or not addiction is a disease (my opinion is yes, by the way, and your entitled to yours) but I know what it feels like to only get relief from something negative. Did I know for two years that sticking my finger down my throat after very meal was a bad decision? Absolutely. Did I know that nothing good would ever ever come from it? Of course.  I didn't care. Those few moments of relief that came right after made me not care. I NEEDED those moments to get through the day. Sure, I knew this would never solve my problems, but it made me feel better about them for a little bit. What would your opinion been of me if this would have led to my death? Good riddance? One less idiot on this planet? I certainly hope your answer isn't 'yes'. 

An urge like that never goes away, and hangs out in the back of my head all the time. I just do a much better job of ignoring it than I used to. I can only imagine what this 'urge' is like for a drug addict. I imagine almost as strong as your urge to speak out negatively and harshly about somebody you know nothing about. I hope you got the attention you wanted from those awful comments.

I'm not trying to change anybody's mind on how they feel, but I do wish being compassionate came easier to people. 

Also, go watch Love Liza if you feel like watching a true genius at work, or every other movie Phil had a hand in. 

And be nicer to people. Most of us need it.