Last night I ran my five miles, drank a ton of gatorade, and ate dinner. Then I spent the rest of my night puking. Seriously, WTF people? Didn’t I spend a night puking just the other day?

The good news was that I had a pre-existing doctor’s appointment this morning. The bad news is that the doctor felt that my puking was the result of bad food from last night. After telling him that I only had salad he suggested that I had probably eaten bug eggs. B.U.G.E.G.G.S. I ate them. They were in my belly. Kill me now.

Why am I the one that always get sick? Why doesn’t jparks ever wake up at 3am to empty the contents of his stomach into the toilet? Why doesn’t he ever eat bug eggs? Life is not fair.

You how some folks say they have a mountain of laundry to do but then that mountain turns out to be a small-ish hill, and not mountain like at all? I hate those people. Jparks and I truly have mountain of laundry to deal with and it’s existence has been eating away at my soul for weeks. WEEKS, I tell ya! Laundry is just not something that either jparks or I have any interest in.

Actually, that’s a lie. I love the laundering part of doing the laundry. I love sorting pieces into piles: dark colors, pastels, whites, bleachable whites, gentle cycle items, no fabric softener items, items that need to go into these awesome mesh bags that you can only find at Japanese dollar stores, etc. It’s a sickness really. I love filling the washer and measuring out the detergent. It all appeals to the OCD side of my personality. But once the items come out of the dryer I want nothing to do with them. And that’s where our mountain of laundry comes into play.

We have a hamper tucked into a corner for our dirty laundry but no real spot for clean laundry. Why should we? Shouldn’t it go directly from drawer to closet? ha. In order to accommodate our laziness we have added an ugly plastic hamper to our bedroom and all the clean laundry gets deposited right into it. And then more gets deposited. And then some more. Until we have this:

Cat included in picture for scale. And I know she’s blurry, but look at that tongue! OMGZ!!1!

Dude, that pile of laundry is almost as tall as our dresser. And notice that it is spilling over and spreading onto the floor. That pile of laundry contains all of jparks’ socks. And possibly all of my underwear. And probably all of jparks’ shirts. But do we care? Does it motivate us to fold it? Hell no! It does, however, motivate us to wish for magic laundry folding elves. And jparks will regularly wish for the ironing fairy to come so he has shirts to wear to work.

The real pain in the ass part is that, by the time I cave and start folding and ironing, I have at least 8 hours of work ahead of me. You would think that would motivate me to fold as soon as the stuff comes out of the dryer, but it doesn’t.

Maybe the solution is for jparks and I to join a nudist colony. We could spend our days playing volleyball and when I run the marathon I won’t have to worry about bloody nipples. Of course, we would never see our friends again, but such is the price of being laundry free.

me: “I have another f’ing nail in my tire. How is that possible?!?”

whitneybee: “Is someone following you around dropping nails?” (I think that’s what she said, I might have accidentally deleted that message)

“I guess I get them when I’m trolling for hot man ass at construction sites.”

“You’ll have to start trolling for hot man ass somewhere else, preferably a place with less sharp objects on the ground.”

“So the broken glass factory is out. Dang, lots of hot man ass there.”

“I know. We’ve really cut down on spots for trolling. Maybe you need to find a different form of transportation for trolling for hot man ass.”

“Bareback unicorn for trolling?”

“I think that would definitely draw attention to you. It’s a bit more interesting than a Segway at least.”

Anyone know where I can rent a unicorn?

I often make fun of jparks for acting like a 13 year old girl (He cried at the end of Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants. A couple of times a year he has a breakdown about his wardrobe and I have to buy him a bunch of new stuff otherwise the other cheerleaders will make fun of him) but the truth is that I haven’t aged past 13 either.

I began to realize this when, after the hurricane, I was hunting for a desk. We went to all the typical furniture stores, but their desks were so executive and not at all what I wanted. I wanted something fun! young! hip! Something that didn’t scream “I’m going to need you to come in on Sunday too” After much frustration I stumbled upon a Pottery Barn Teen catalog and found the perfect desk. It’s bright green, totally functional, and, most important, cute. And with that desk I feel hopelessly in love with PBTeen.

I haven’t ordered anything else from them but I do devote large chunks of time to drolling over things I would order if I could decorate my house like a dorm room. I seriously hope PBTeen is still around when my future kids are teenagers. I don’t care what they want or what their style is, they will have rooms that look like the catalog threw up in them. I’m also assuming jparks and I will be winning a lottery between now and then because PBTeen ain’t cheap.

The latest catalog arrived yesterday and here are the things I would order if jparks wouldn’t mind living in a sorority house:

Brown Squirrel! Green Leaf!

Polka Dots! I doubt these sheets come in king size seeing as how teens don’t usually have king sized beds. Well, maybe slutty teens have king sized beds.

This bedding set is awesome. Green + bird + circles = awesome!

And a close up of the matching pillow:

I want this lamp in all of these colors:

So simple and clean. A teenager can’t possibly appreciate this headboard:

If only it weren’t weird for jparks and I to have a bunk bed/desk thing:

I don’t know if I want this because I love the color or if I really like the idea of a wardrobe. I could use it to get to Narnia!

More lamps! Because you can’t have too much reading light:

What bedroom is complete without a chandelier?

Do you guys remember that fridge I wanted to put upstairs for ice cream? I could have it in green!

Anyone want to guess which color I want this in?

Elephants! (this post may use up my yearly allotment of exclamation points)

And finally, big, white, fake antique keys. Why? Why not!

On Sundays I do my “long runs”. Long run is in quotes because right now they are only 5 miles and when you’re training to run 26 miles, 5 seem like nothing. Except that was not the mindset I should have had this morning. I should have associated 5 miles with a much more difficult task. Perhaps teaching Lily to perform the piano concerto no. 1 on one of those walk on pianos from Big. Or teaching jparks to sit still for 2 minutes. Both of those seem on par with running 5 miles.

The reason these 5 small miles were such a huge endeavor is that yesterday the Bay Area decided to say “fuck you” to spring and move right on to summer. A summer that rivals summer in hell. And I’ve been enjoying running in cool temperatures with long sleeved tops and no need for hydration packs. I mean, who knew that running in 50 degree weather was so much easier than running in 90 degree weather. I had NO IDEA.

(Those of you in the Bay Area going “It’s not 90 degrees, you baby” Well let me tell you, on the trail that I was running, it was easily 90 degrees. Sun glaring down + black asphalt + no shade + running= 400 billion degrees but I’m rounding down to 90. Also, when I finally crawled back to my car, it said the temperature was 96 degrees. So suck it, it was hot.)

I did leave for my run in shorts instead of my normal spandex capris (what a great look that is) but I didn’t have tank top to wear. I also don’t have one of those hydration belts which can hold an iPod so you don’t have to wear it in a sweat inducing arm band. I was so not prepared for this run and somehow I didn’t realize this until way too late.

I got out to the trail, which for some unknown reason I thought would be shady, and started to run. I got a mile in and had to take a walk break. I noticed that I was kind of thirsty, but figured there had to be a water fountain at some point and I should keep going. After a quarter mile of walking I decided to pick up the pace and start running. Heh. That lasted half a mile. Back to walking.

I continued this run/walk pace for another mile. At this point I’m 2 miles from my car and haven’t encountered a water fountain. What would a sane person do? Turn around, right? Not me! I kept going for another half mile because dammit, I was going to do 5 miles, if it killed me.

At 2.5 miles I turned around. I was still trying to run some, but at this point I was THIRSTY. Like, staring at the nasty creek that ran next to the trail and thinking about going down to it for a drink, thirsty. Hobo pee in it be damned, it looked refreshing. Somehow I managed to resist.

By mile 3 I had given up on running for the most part. Every couple of feet I would run a bit, but only enough to remind myself how dumb I am and then I went back to walking. At mile 4 I had totally given up on running and was just praying that I would make it back to my car where my water bottle was.

At mile 4.5 I was thinking about laying down on the trail and acting dead so maybe a biker would stop and offer me water. In my mind this seemed like a brilliant idea and I’m not sure why I didn’t do it. I was so thirsty at this point that even the water bottle in my car didn’t seem like enough. I was also hating everything at this point. I was hating the weather. The people on bikes that were flying past me. The hydration belt at the running store that wasn’t wrapped around my waist. Jparks who was sitting on his ass at an air conditioned Google. The scoop of ice cream that wasn’t in my belly.

I finally crawled back to my car, grabbed my water bottle, and spent the next few minutes making out with it. I was red faced (did I mention that I only put sunscreen on my legs? Yeah, because I. AM. DUMB.) and tired and ready to be home. Except when I got in my car and got on 101, I stopped paying attention and missed my exit. Nice.

Finally, after much cursing, I made it back home. I was so thirsty that I filled the bath tub, stuck a straw in it, and drained the whole damn thing.

Could this day get any worse? Yes, I am now off to complete online driver’s ed. I would rather go back out and do another 5 miles.

~Grouch Marx

Once upon a time I was an English major. (as in literature, not grammar. Just throwing that out there so maybe, maybe, jparks will finally shut up when I miss a comma.) During this time I was also a bookstore employee, so it’s safe to say that I enjoy reading. It’s also safe to say that I enjoy lemon squares with a light dusting of powdered sugar, but that’s off topic. I’ve got a pretty diverse palate when it comes to books; I enjoy all types of fiction, children’s lit, biographies, nonfiction, and the occasional trashy romance novel (kidding. I’m just not into heaving bosoms. Well, other than jparks’). But lately, when I look at my overflowing bookshelf, nothing appeals to me.

It’s like I’m experiencing some kind of reverse writer’s block, a reader’s block, if you will. Jparks and I are both in the habit of buying books as soon as we see them, instead of buying them when we are ready to read them, so I have a large back stock of things that I know I wanted to read at some point in the past, but not so much right now.

I think the reader’s block is growing from really missing the reading assignments that were given by my English professors. I attended a “classics” high school so a lot of the books and authors we read in my college classes were new to me and I instantly fell in love with many of them. I was the student that bought my books before the semester had even started (the professors always posted the book lists on their doors) and would try to plow through as many of the novels as possible before the start of class so I would have a good base for rereading during the semester.

Yes, I was a dorky teacher’s pet, why do you ask?

Anyway, the point of this meandering post was that I’m wondering if you’ve read anything good lately that you might want to tell me about. It doesn’t have to be fine literature, it can be crap fluff literature and I won’t judge. Or it can be nonfiction, I’m an equal opportunity reader. Maybe it’s not something that you’ve read lately, but your favorite book that you can reread and never tire of. Oooh, or do you have copies of your college English class syllabuses that you want to share? Come on, stop bogarting the authors and share with the rest of the class.

I am in a MOOD. Mess with me right now and you might lose an eye. Or a testicle. Probably just an eye if you’re a girl. But if you’re that guy that’s pregnant, then you lose an eye AND a testicle.

not that there’s anything wrong with the pregnant guy, he just gets the male and female punishment for messing with me

I have been embracing the idea of running the marathon whole heartedly; finding books to read, researching running groups, and making training plans. But I with all of these informational sources comes new knowledge. New, scary as all hell, stops me dead in my slow-paced-barely-able-to-breath tracks. I knew about many of the risks involved with running; shin splints, joint problems, and dehydration did not deter me from wanting to train. But then I read about “runner’s nipple” and I’ve got to admit, I’m scared. Will someone hold me?

Here, let me share: “As the clothing next to the skin absorbs sweat, the clothing becomes more gritty and increases the friction against the nipples. It can become so severe in some runners that the nipples actually begin to bleed.”

Dude, running long distances can cause your nipples to BLEED. Blood will be coming from your nipples. Just thinking about this makes me want to die, but not from blood lose through my nipples. It makes me want to die in a dignified way, like chocking to death during a hot dog eating contest.

The book goes on to suggest either covering your nipples with band-aids or lubricating them with Vaseline to prevent nipple blow outs. (okay, it doesn’t actually call it nipple blow outs, but typing nipple blow outs makes me giggle) I’m trying to picture me applying Vaseline to my nipples before starting the marathon. I think ideally you would want to apply right before you start running so it doesn’t absorb into the sports bra before you even get to the start line. I’m also trying to picture reapplying it at some point during the race. Run, run, run, dab, dab, dab.

Do you think they have lube stations situated throughout the course? Like a water station put instead of grabbing a cup of water, you grab a little pot of Vaseline? If they don’t have lub stations, should I have various friends spread around the course holding pots of Vaseline for me? Would you come out to man a lubrication station? We could make tee shirts that say “Lub’ing up to save Regan’s nipples!” Or how about: “Team No Nipple Bleeding” Maybe: “Ask me how I can save your nipples” And finally: “Working to prevent nipple blow outs one boob at a time”

Any volunteers?

Up until today the marathon that I’d mentioned before was just hypothetically happening. I mean, the marathon was definitely happening, but my running it was only a crazy idea that wasn’t real yet. That all changed when I got this today:

Uh, oh shit. Let the training officially begin.