While packing for BlogHer it occurred to me that my pajamas are beyond ratty. Knowing that I was rooming with Whitney and not jparks, who is very used to my scrubs that are so old they are basically transparent, prompted me to think “I should go buy some new pajamas.” But I didn’t actually go buy new pajamas, I simply dug out some yoga pants and a tee shirt and called it a day, because that’s how much I respect Whitney, enough to cover my naughty bits around her, but not with the proper garments (on a side note, at one point over the weekend I did fall asleep naked but wrapped in a towel. So that thing about respecting Whitney? It just jumped out the window)

I honestly hate buying pajamas. And underwear. And right now I desperately need both. I know some people hate the shopping for underwear portion of the experience but I actually like that. I don’t mind bra fittings, even really touchy feely ones. I don’t mind that I’m one size in regular clothing and the next size bigger in pajamas and underwear. Nothing about the experience bothers me expect for paying for the items I need. I hate shelling out money for pajamas. I hate paying for bras. And I will spend a stupid amount of money of shoes, but then go cheap cheap cheap for underwear. (Although I draw the line at CostCo underwear. That’s just wrong)

And the fact that bras can easily be the most expensive item of clothing I’m wearing on any given day just pisses me off. No one (except maybe jparks if I’m feeling giving) is going to see it, so why should I have to spend a crapload on them? I’m not trying to make a fashion statement with pajamas, I’m just trying to comfortably sleep in them, so why can’t they be cheaper? GAW, this really pisses me off.

Maybe if I make a day our of the pajama and underwear shopping that’ll ease the pain of spending the money. Who’s up for a champagne brunch and an afternoon of shopping? Anyone? Bueller?

I don’t want to be a drama queen but the worst thing that could happen to me while training for a marathon has happened. Like for reals people, I don’t know how I’m supposed to finish training now.

No, it’s not an injury, although my knee is pretty banged up right now. Falling off a curb onto Market St and landing on your hands and knees will do that to you. I think if someone had videoed the fall, and we watched it in slow motion, we would see that when the light turned green the top of my body went, but my legs didn’t. Whitney witnessed it and I don’t know how she kept from laughing because I know I looked like an idiot.

But no, that’s not why my training has gone out the window. It is something much more tragic: The only podcast I listen to while running has been cancelled. CANCELLED.

The problem is that I can’t listen to music while I run unless it’s a short run (4 miles or less). Knowing that most songs last 3 to 4 minutes makes me really aware of how long I’ve been running, which is not a good thing. “oh, 5 songs have gone by. I’ve run 15 minutes. Wait, just 15 minutes?!? You mean I have another hour of movement ahead of me?!? Holy crap, I’m going to die. I’m going to have to throw myself in front of a truck so I have a reason to just be still.” So yeah, music just doesn’t work for me.

My beloved podcast is the Byrant Park Project from NPR. I loved that it gave me a breakdown of current events as well as off beat topics and discussions. I looked forward to the Tuesday new music discussions and the Friday movie reviews. I love the Ramble and the Most. And I love that Alison Stewart was the host (Remember when MTV had vjs that weren’t all young and scary? Although I think Alison was part of the MTV news team and not technically a vj. And maybe the vjs just look young and scary to me now because I am old and cranky). Oh my god NPR, why do you want me to quit my training plan?

So now I’m being forced to shop around for a new podcast. I’m thinking that Wait Wait…Don’t Tell Me might be a good option, but it only comes one once a week. Maybe the Onion’s podcast would be good, but is it funny? It has to be, right? But is it maybe too funny? Will I be trying to laugh while I run and then keel over from lack of oxygen? What about This American Life? Is that show’s content ever depressing? I’m thinking depressing might not make good running entertainment. Does NPR have any music based shows? Not ones that play music, but maybe discuss music? Is there some other podcast, not from NPR, that I don’t know about? Please help me or else, in two weeks when I’m running across the Golden Gate Bridge, I might just jump.

Do you have any idea how hard it is to go back to work after having 4 days off, and spending the bulk of those days drinking and stealing lube? Oh my god, so damn hard. Every part of my body fought against going in to the office: my foot started hurting again, my ear ached, my head turned a couple more hairs grey. But, seeing as how I like money, I forced myself to go in but I couldn’t force myself to work. Much, I mean, I couldn’t force myself to work MUCH. I mean, I worked all day, not once did I slack off. I am the best employee ever. Please don’t fire me bossman.

So what did I do between all of my very important tasks at work today? I shopped for domain names. That’s one of the things that I walked away from BlogHer with, a strong desire to create more spots for me to vomit content onto the interwebs. Thus far I have only purchased two new domain names, but I have one that I keep going back to look at. I want it, but I don’t need it. But it’s only $10. But $10 is half a box of lube. How will I ever make up my mind?!?

Right now both of the sites I’ve purchased are blank so I won’t share the names just yet. But I will tell you that one of them might have something to do with hamsters. Why hamsters? Because they fucking rock!

I woke up this morning and found a McDonald’s cheeseburger, a pack of Reese’s peanut butter cups, and a box of KY Yours + Mine lubricant in my purse. My favorite part about this collection is that the KY was stolen from a vendor table at the BlogHer cocktail party held in Macy’s. Look, don’t judge me, stealing the lub had to be done for many reasons:

I’m at BlogHer this weekend and have been handing out my card to many people that may or may not decide to visit this little corner of the internet after meeting me. If you’re new here let me say hi and welcome to what is possibly the most boring spot on the web.

Since I don’t have much to say right now that’s exciting or interesting I thought I would give everyone the chance to relive one of my favorite posts from this site. If this is your first visit, I think this post will give you a glimpse of what an idiot my husband is. And I hope you’ll come back after even after seeing the following pictures. Enjoy:

Let me tell you a little story…
Once upon a time there was a boy and he was in lurve with a girl. They both had their own flickr accounts but when the girl posted pictures of the boy she only selected ones where he didn’t look bad. The boy, on the other hand, posted any picture of the girl that he could. He didn’t care if she looked bad, if her eyes were closed, or if every picture was exactly the same. He didn’t care if she begged him not to give those pictures to the public, the bastard boy still posted them.

One night the girl came up with a plan. “I have a bunch of pictures of my love on the beach and in ponds without his shirt on. I could threaten to post them and then he would understand why I don’t like it when he posts all those crappy pictures of me!”

Thrilled that she had come up with a way to stop the posting of unflattering pictures of her, the girl floated through the rest of her day. That night she laid down the law for the boy and he scoffed at her idea. Then he told his secret lover best friend “She won’t do it.”

The girl responded with a hearty “Not only am I posting them, I’m sending links to TONS OF PEOPLE!”

This, dear friends, is where the story turns into a picture book.

“I wonder if she really will post those pictures of me?” thinks the boy.

“Uh oh, I think she really is posting those pictures. Maybe if I flex my guns and show her I’m a sexy beast she’ll change her mind”

After recovering from a laughing fit over the boy’s “guns”, the girl continued to upload pictures.

“This picture is pretty identical to that other picture” the girl thought as she posted it.

“Sexy!” thought the girl.

“hmm, this picture of the boy running and jumping in the forest is best viewed at the large size so people can see his facial expression,” thought the girl but she posted it anyway.

And finally the girl posted the last picture of the boy, a closeup of him lounging on the beach. “Hmm, he seems to have forgotten to take off his sweater,” the girl thought.

As the girl finished uploading the pictures a great feeling of satisfaction washed over her. “HA!” she thought as she waited for the boy’s reaction…

Dude. You people are some baby wishing fools. Well, I hate to disappoint but I am not pregnant. N-O-T-P-R-E-G-N-A-N-T

I am however starting to dig my new hair. Every night I throw on a headband before I wash my face and when I put it on post haircut I didn’t grab all of the bangs and OMG, cute hair! Since then I’ve been scouring local Targets for headbands, mostly unsuccessfully because now that I want a headband Target has cleared out all of their stock just to piss me off. I need to make the trek to the mall to visit Claire’s, where I’m assuming I’m still allowed to shop despite the fact that I’m not 12 years old. Oh, wait a minute, Clare’s sells nose studs now? Um, wow? I guess Clare’s is now for people over 12 year old. Oh, that could be their new slogan “Clare’s: We’re for adults with only the best taste in nose studs and star belly rings. Strippers also welcome for the body glitter”

In other news, on Saturday I set out for a run and got to mile 14 when a throbbing sensation started in my right foot. Since then the pain has been coming and going and when it flares up I limp around like an idiot. I’m hoping it gets better by Thursday so I can wear heels to BlogHer and not the comfortable, but slightly unattractive Crocs, trainers, and flip flops that I’ve been wearing since Saturday. Will people still talk to me if I wear ugly shoes? Probably, but I’m going to be nervous about meeting the internet for the first time and cute shoes will at least give me one topic of conversation.

And finally, I have a question for you. Lately, when you leave a comment I’ve been trying to respond with an email. I haven’t been doing this for every comment but I’m trying my best to reply to as many as possible without seeming like a desperate stalker. Are you guys getting those emails or are they falling into your spam filters?

And now it’s time to run off to Mountain Winery to see Aimee Mann in concert. Seriously, this week is starting on a high note and is only going to get better.

Today I got a haircut (just like every other female blogger out there that’s heading to BlogHer next week) and I asked my stylist if we could do something, ANYTHING, with my side swept bangs because I was over them. She asked if I’ve ever had straight bangs and, after admitting that I haven’t since I was 12 years old, she convinced me they would be fun! And cute! Snip snip snip and now I have proper bangs again. Um, yeah. I’m not totally sold on them yet.

Here’s what I look like:

Oh how I wish I were kidding. Don’t believe me?

How long until those bangs grow out and drive me crazy? Also, not related to the hair cut, but damn my boobs are huge. What’s up with that?

edit: Do you need to see the pictures side by side?

Jparks and I are quickly rounding the corner on one year of home ownership and I wish I could say it’s been easy and fun, and YAY OWNING A HOME RULES! but seriously it stresses me out. Like a lot. As much as I love our little townhouse, I know this is our starter house and I can’t help but look at all the little nicks and dings we are causing a think “Holy crap, there goes our resale value”

Like last night I discovered this growing behind my bathroom mirror: I promptly freaked out and made jparks get out of bed to look at it. Then I proceeded to lecture him about how the resale value is gone! We are going to take a hit on this house and will be forced to live here forever. And that would be the end of the world. And then I’ll die. The end.

I really want to enjoy my house but I just can’t. I look at my hardwood floors and I see all the scratches that my furniture leaves. I look at my carpets and only see the stains on them. I have a problem and I can’t stop.

So how do you other home owners get over the fact that living in your house is killing it? Should I just sign up for the prozac now since having kids is going to make the destruction of my house happen that much quicker? Can kids really tear the house apart worse than jparks? I mean, the other night the boy was doing handstands in the bedroom. With his feet up on the walls. Seriously, how much more damage can kids do? Do I just need to accept that when we are ready to sell I’ll have to sink a large quantity of money into fixing the house that I no longer want and will therefore have less money to sink into the house I want to buy? Or am I just over-thinking this whole house thing?

Help! I’ve fallen into my own neurotic mind and I can’t get up!

Thursday, the 3rd, was jparks and I’s second anniversary. We went out to a fancy dinner, shingles be damned.

We went to Sent Sovi and the meal was absolutely amazing. I enjoyed all of the courses (10!) and wine pairings and jparks found things to complain about (”There’s too much food!”) and, since his greatest joy in life is complaining, I can say he had a good time too.

The rest of our weekend was pretty low key, mainly spent hanging out with friends and doing as little running as possible. I figured shingles weren’t enough to keep me away from fancy meals and friends, but were enough to keep my sports bra at bay. This now means that my training is a week off, but I have enough buffer weeks built in that I should still be fine. And speaking of shingles, mine have scabbed over, which eww but also yay! The recovery time has gone much faster than my doctor anticipated and while it’s still painful, it’s not as painful as it was last week. Today I’m going to slap on the sports bra and try for a four mile run. I think I can. I think I can.

My goal for the weekend was to get all of our laundry washed and put away which, if you recall, is no small task. It took me five episodes of Gossip Girl, plus some of Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire to complete. In the end I found out that we have more clothes than clothes hangers and that sometimes the stupid iron leaks rusty water onto the shirt you are ironing forcing you to rewash it. And please don’t suggest that if I stay on top of the laundry now, I won’t ever have to devote a whole day to washing, drying, ironing, and folding, because I will force you to come over and stay on top of my laundry for me. And trust me, you don’t want to deal with finding black socks for jparks. It is enough to drive a very patient and loving wife bat-shit insane; so imagine what it could do to you.

One night I walked into my mom’s bedroom and woke her up to show her three sores that had just popped up on my stomach. She took one look and said “Those are chicken pox. Go to bed because tomorrow you’re going to be miserable.” Sure enough the next day I woke up and the sores had spread to the rest of my stomach and chest. Later that day I was almost completely covered. I was 18 at the time and this was 2 days before my high school graduation. Good times!

Today I called my dermatologist that I saw on Monday to let him know that the medicine he had given me was not working and that the pain was becoming unbearable. He asked if I had ever had chicken pox and I said yes. He said “Well, I think it’s safe to say that you have shingles.” Motherfucking shingles! The doc said he thought it looked like shingles on Monday, but since he had never seen it on someone so young before he thought for sure he was wrong. In case you’re not familiar with shingles it is most common in folks over the age of 55.

The moral of these two incidents? I apparently get diseases at ages when most people are not prone to them. I am a freak of nature and you all shouldn’t be surprised when next week I start to complain about how my knees ache when it’s about to rain and I mention that I might want to move to Miami and live in a retirement community.

And the real kicker is that the nurse from my doctor’s office called me to say that the doctor wants me to stop shaving for a month now because that’s how long it could take for this to clear up. And when I asked why they thought I had gotten this, she suggested that possibly all of the running caused my immune system to weaken and caused the virus to flair up. Oh, and I should stay away from deodorants with chemicals in them because it could BURN MY SKIN. I hope for the sake of jparks and others that have to smell me that Tom’s Hippie deodorant works.

So, to review, I have an old person’s disease, have hairy pits that are getting more hairy by the moment, and will be one smelly girl for the next month. If you were thinking I might be cool to hang out with at BlogHer you might want to give that a second thought. I’ll just ease the pain of losing the chance to meet people and the pain of my shingles with the Tylenol 3 the doctor prescribed me (yum, codeine!).