pseudostoops

This is going to have to be brief, because I’m running late for work.  Yes, again.  I remember at my old job, when I was so smug and superior about how I was always early to work.  Turns out, pushing my start time back by an hour and increasing my commute by 15 minutes makes it impossible for me to get out the door on time.  Oh how the mighty have fallen.

John and I went to a wedding this weekend, our 6th of this season.  (One more this weekend and then we’re done until spring- we’ve had 6 in September and October alone, and that’s not counting the four we had to miss because we were double booked.  Dear friends: we love you very very much, but if in the future you could all stagger these joyful unitings of two souls a little more, our wallets would be eternally grateful.  Thank you!)

The one we went to this weekend was a great wedding, full of laughter and really obvious joy on all sides, plus the most delicious wedding food I have ever eaten ever.  In fact, we ate so much that we actual had to curtail our dancing for fullness-related reasons.  That’s a successful wedding buffet right there.

The groom at this wedding has two brothers, both of whom have themselves gotten married in the past year.  So this family has had recent some practice in the fine art of speech delivery, and the brothers did not disappoint.  They had a 15 minute presentation prepared, delivered in the style or a dissertation (their brother the groom recently got his PhD,) complete with flip charts and lab coats.  Now, a 15 minute speech has the potential to be an unmitigated disaster, but these boys pulled it off admirably, and had everyone laughing.

It reminded me, though, of a conversation we were having with some friends a few weeks ago.  One of them brought up the worst wedding speech they’d ever heard, in which the best man went on at some length about how he always thought the bride would end up with a different guy, one of the groomsmen, how she and that guy were perfect for each other, how their personalities complimented each other, etc.  He never really even brought it back around to the happy couple actually getting married.  Awkward.

It’s a great topic, though, bad wedding speeches.  We’ve all been there- the toaster gets a little too toasted before he or she takes the microphone and rambles on too long, or tells a story that’s a little too off-color.  My personal favorite was the wedding where the father of the bride said, and this is an exact quote, the memory is seared in my brain: “Well, we always thought [Christina] was going to marry someone really extraordinary, because she herself is such an extraordinary person.  But [Tom] seems great too.”

He was not kidding.  The silence was DEAFENING.

Please, I know we all have good stories, and some of us can’t share the very best ones on our own blogs for fear the parties in question might, you know, read them.  SO!  This is your chance!  Did the maid of honor call her sister a bitch?  Did the mother of the groom criticize the bride’s parents for being cheap?  Did the groomsman tell a little too much about the groom’s prior exploits?  What is the worst wedding toast you have ever heard?

Our building has an area down by the trash and recycling room where you can put magazines that you’re done reading.  This is a BRILLIANT idea, and I now get to read InStyle and Real Simple on a regular basis without paying for them.  (Don’t worry, I give, too- my discarded People magazines are always snapped up quickly.)

Last week sometime, I noticed a new-looking copy of Runner’s World sitting on the pile.  It appears, after a year of running more than one mile in a row at least 2-3 times a week, that I am sort of a runner now (no one is more surprised than me), so I picked it up.

Dude.  DUDE.  Runners speak like a whole different language.  Reading 2 pages of that magazine was enough to make me freak out, conclude that I’m not really a runner after all, and hide the magazine under the bed.

But I went back to it a few days later and read an article describing some of the ways you can mix up your running workout.  I’m definitely guilty of getting into a rut with my standard 3.5-4 miles runs at moderate pace, so I was interested, but like I said, this magazine doesn’t really speak my language.  Tempo runs? Mile repeats? Say what?

(Also, the article recommended “warming up at a brisk jog for 35-40 minutes before starting your workout” which: HAAAAAAAAA.)

So I didn’t think much of it.

Then yesterday, as I was heading out on my run, I had to pick up the pace to catch a green light.  For whatever reason (honestly?  It was seeing Kristen’s before and after pictures earlier in the day.  Holy GOD) I decided that I would run the first half of my usual loop at the fastest pace I could.  I wanted to see how fast I could do it, and thought I’d take a nice easy jog home after.

So I ran absolutely, lung-crushingly, balls-out, and completed the first half of my loop in 13 minutes.    At which point I doubled over and gasped for air for about a minute, then took another two minutes to walk and catch my breath before I started jogging gently back to our house, where I arrived…15 minutes later.

Did you catch that?  The difference between running 1.8 miles at a pace that made me truly worry that I might vomit and a pace that felt like a gentle jaunt I could maintain for miles and miles was a lousy TWO MINUTES?  Would someone PLEASE remind me of this the next time I go out too fast at the start of a run and nearly kill myself, hobbling miserably by the end?  The difference of a few seconds, which I certainly lose later in the run when I’m praying for death, is NOT WORTH IT.

On the plus side, I ran a 7:16 mile pace for that first part- I really think that 7 minute mile might be doable.  Maybe that will be my goal for the mind-numbing treadmill runs during the snowy season….

Okay, team, I need some help.  In less than two weeks, I am going to a rehearsal dinner for a wedding.  In an effort to discourage people from wearing costumes to the actual wedding, which is on Halloween, the bride and groom have elected to have a costume party rehearsal dinner.  I think this is going to be awesome.

But I am a little stuck about costume.  Usually, if I dress up at all, I really half-ass it on Halloween.  My all time favorite costume is the bloody mary: red shirt, red pants, red socks, red shoes if possible, ponytail with celery stick in hair.  (Get it?)  Yeah, I’m that girl who likes punny costumes.  Sorry.

But since this is, like, an actual costume party, it seems like I should have an actual costume.  My original plan, hatched several months ago, was to go as Kate Gosselin.  It was easy, it would pack well in my suitcase, it was topical- I even bought the wig.

But I don’t know, guys.  I’m not feeling so good about this anymore.  I mean, this family has really gone even farther off the rails since I first hit upon this costume idea, and somehow it now just seems a little…mean.  I was going for funny, not mean.  So I’m reconsidering.  And I want your help.

My main criteria for a Halloween costume is that I have absolutely zero interest in dressing as “sexy [instert profession or animal]“.  As anyone who has ever been to a Halloween party can tell you, “sexy [insert profession or animal here]” costumes seem to make up 95% of the adult women’s costume market.  Some highlights from last night’s perusal of costume websites:

Sexy Soccer Player:

Yes, because I always wear heels when I play soccer.

Sexy Limo Driver:

Isn't my hat jaunty?

If you want to go for something that’s political as well as sexy, there’s always Sexy Border Patrol Agent:

Deportation makes me hot

And my personal favorite of the “sexy profession” genre: Sexy Prosecutor (Slynnro, can you imagine wearing this to court?):

The state has no objection, your honor.

So I don’t want to be those.

I do have a few ideas:

• A.    Roller derby, ideally as a Hurl Scout from Whip It.  Pros: girl scout paraphernalia can be cheaply had on ebay, would be super fun, Ellen Page is a bad ass, and I kind of have her coloring (though I am, no exaggeration, twice her size).  Cons: would require (a) purchasing and (b) wearing roller skates.  That could end badly, particularly at an event featuring many beers.
• B.    Wednesday Addams.  Pros: I already have all the components in my closet, it is Halloween-y and fun without being trampy, and I would get to carry a decapitated doll.  Cons: maybe people wouldn’t get it?  My hair isn’t quite long enough to pull off the braids, so I might have to buy a(nother) wig.
• C.    Kate Gosselin.  Pros: I mean, I do already have the wig, and I could just wear some mom capris and a sherbet-colored sweater- easy to pack.  Cons: mean (see above).

I am seeking input.  What should I be?  One of these? Or something else?  I am VERY OPEN to other suggestions, so long as they don’t involve a slutty costume made of highly flammable polyester, and can fit in a suitcase.

John’s birthday was this weekend, and when he woke up on the actual day, he looked at me kind of mournfully and said “I’m in my late mid-twenties now! I’m so old!”

And then I kneed him in the nuts.

Sometimes it is not awesome to be married to someone three years younger than you, is all I’m saying.

Anyway, I had planned to take us out to a nice dinner in the city for a nice birthday dinner on Saturday night, but our college football team threw a wrench in that by playing an evening game that was actually being broadcast in our market (very rare) that John really wanted to watch.  And while I would have probably skipped the game and gone to the delicious fancy restaurant it was, technically, John’s birthday, so I acquiesced.

So instead of dinner out we got fancy takeout sushi from one of our favorite places.  I was a little bummed about this originally, but may I say, after Saturday I highly recommend fancy takeout for special occasions.  We get takeout pretty rarely, and when we do it’s usually from cheap thai places or pizza delivery.  Takeout fancy sushi is an entirely different animal.  It feels so decadent, sitting in your pjs, drinking your own favorite wine that you bought at retail (not restaurant) prices, watching your college team get beat in an absolute heartbreaker.  No waitress to interrupt your conversation, or make you feel guilty that the two of you put away five huge rolls in 10 minutes flat.  Heaven.

And it turned out to be a very good thing that we did not go out, because if we’d been out, I never would have seen the commercial for what has to be the greatest product ever created:  The Chia Obama.

Oh yes.

Christmas presents anyone?

Seriously, family members: do not be at all surprised if, under the tree on Christmas morning, you find a strange ceramic pot in the shape of our president’s head that promises to grow your very own green ‘fro.

Outfit: selected (after several false starts)

Fancy work bag: packed

Shoes: laid out

Hair: blown out

Makeup: actually applied, for a change

Train schedule: memorized

Stomach: flip-flopping

I start my new gig today.  Wish me luck!

Things that have changed since I was in college, as evidenced by what I witnessed of undergrads at university-sponsored concert this weekend:

• Clothes.  Whereas I spent 98% of my college days wearing baggy jeans/tshirt/flip flops, college girls on a Friday night these days all seem to wear some variation on the short dress/leggings/tall boots theme.  Many of these boots appeared to be of the “fancy expensive leather” variety. A few of the girls actually appeared to be wearing the SAME short dress/leggings/tall boots.  This did not appear to be intentional, though I can’t be sure.
• Bras.  Black! Lacy! Peeping out from under our too-sheer-to-begin-with tanktops!  I suppose we have Sarah Jessica Parker to blame for this. Also: American Apparel.
• Cellphones.  Ubiquitous. It seems impossible now, but I went to college in a time before cell phones.  I spent a solid 10 minutes imagining about how different the college experience would have been with cell phones.  Say you want to leave for a concert half an hour later than your friends.  How will you ever find them once you get there? No worries! You can just exchange 47 text messages that cause your screens to light up brightly in the darkened auditorium as you search for each other in the packed house.  And then you will find each other, and to celebrate, you can take dozens of cell phone camera pictures! And also squeal loudly! And call each other endearing ridiculous nicknames in shrieky voices! And have an outside-voices conversation in the middle of a ballad! Hm, we appear to have veered off course here.  Moving on:
• Handbags.  Did you carry a purse in college?  I did not.  I carried a little billfold thing with a Velcro fastener and an attached keyring.  It typically held my school id, the id that proved I was a 21-year-old resident of Alaska, 6 dollars folded into fourths to fit inside it, and my room key.  It fit nicely in the pockets of baggy jeans.  I suppose that going purse-free is harder in the age of cell phones, but must the purses be so LARGE? And SHINY? And must they bump into me with quite such frequency?

In sum: I am old.  Somehow, we have turned into those graduate students I always wondered about/mocked in my head when I was an undergrad.  You know the ones: the old people who insist on trying to be part of the school community by showing up at events like concerts and football games?  Who ARE those people? Don’t they have a life?  Well now I know: no, they do not.  And they would like to enjoy their university-subsidized concert in relative peace, free from blaring cell phones, visible undergarments, and torpedo-sized handbags.  IS THIS SO MUCH TO ASK?

I woke up this morning, looked on the counter, and realized to my horror that in the course of the weekend I had eaten an ENTIRE PAN of rice krispie treats, save for one small corner I saved for John.  One whole pan. In two days.  Gulp.

Rice Krispie treats, it seems, are one of my “trigger foods”.  (Isn’t that the term? I try to stay away from diet books and diet lingo after a protracted period of overdieting in high school, but I think you know what I mean.)

Like go-to pantry items, I think each of us has individual taste when it comes to foods that you just can’t stop eating.  You know the type: food that turns you into a mindless overeating robot and your stomach into a bottomless pit.  I, for example, can leave ice cream alone, am not overtempted by tortilla chips and salsa, and have no problem saying “no” to a second brownie.  On the other hand, I am apparently incapable of stopping myself from eating the following unless I physically move them out of sight to some deep forgotten recess of our kitchen:

• Rice Krispie treats
• sharp cheddar cheese and triscuits
• cookie dough (homemade)
• green grapes
• pretzel thins and hummus
• cherry tomatoes (Helpful tip: do not eat an entire quart of these  by yourself for lunch.  Trust me.)
• Swedish fish
• popcorn (especially kettle corn. Good god, when the movie theater near us started serving kettle corn, that was the end of me and my foolish attempts to avoid the extortionate pricing of movie-theater snacks.)

Please tell me I’m not alone in my lack of willpower around certiain highly-desirable foods.  What are yours?