Happy anniversary, Hectorini!

I am a softy when it comes to my cat. I don't mean to be, but I can't help it. He's just too darn cute. Cute, but destructive. My couch is clawed up. My desk chair is virtually destroyed (not to mention covered in a bed of cat hair that seems to be permanently ingrained in the upholstery).

Those things are bad, but manageable, considering my couch is a worthless piece of crap from Ikea (home of the official post-baccalaureate "rite of passage" cheap furniture and kitchen essentials). What really sucks is that Hector has clawed up some of the carpet in my apartment...which is not as easily replaceable, considering I don't own my apartment.

Anyway, Hector and I recently celebrated our two-year anniversary. We hung out and watched TV together, like we usually do every night. There were a few extra snuggles, but that was pretty much it. While I was debating what to get Hector for our special day, my thoughts settled on an idea that I'd researched a few months ago: Soft Paws. They're these little plastic nail caps that you glue onto your kitty's nails, so when they scratch they don't harm your furniture, carpet, etc. I figured I have nothing to lose (except my $300 security deposit for my apartment), so I ordered them online. They have yet to arrive, but I'm pretty excited to try them out. I have no idea how the heck I'm going to hold Hector down long enough to give him his "manicure," but I'll figure it out. Soft Paws could indeed be my savior...or a waste of 20 bucks. Either way, like I said before, I have nothing to lose...except $320.

Lance Armstrong congratulated me

Yesterday I ran 9 miles. It was my longest run in my career of being a runner. And when I was done, Lance Armstrong congratulated me on my Nike+ iPod. He said (and this is a direct quote), "Congratulations. That was your longest workout yet."

I know I've said this before but I'll say it again: I think I'm a better distance runner. It seems like most of the time the first 3 or 4 miles are the hardest, and then after that, I'm in the zone. Of course, this does not necessarily mean that I'll be running and/or winning marathons any time soon, but just that I'm a little more Energizer Bunny than speedy hare (although I guess she did lose to the tortoise, but that's another story). After this week, I only have three weeks of training left, and then it's the HALF-MARATHON! Crazy. I hope I can do it. And I hope the hills don't kill me. I just want to finish, and say that I ran the whole time...and then collapse at the end of the race and take a month off from running. And eat a gianormous breakfast to celebrate.

Half-Marathon Training Update

I'm officially registered for the half-marathon, so there's no turning back now! I've still been training, but last week I got kind of sidetracked because I was in LA for a few days-- sunny, beautiful, eternally summer LA. Fear not, because my time spent in SoCal was equally productive--I spent an ample amount of time brawling, Smash-style. So while I wasn't able to complete my 7-mile speedwork run, I was able to put my chef hat on and fry up a few friends in a giant cauldron. But anyway, I'm up to 8 miles, and my training plan has me only running up to 10 miles (apparently my adrenaline will lead me the last 3.1 miles of the race). Five more weeks and counting!

A first... (plus running)

Today, as I was stuck in bumper-to-bumper traffic on I-5, I officially made myself car sick for the first time. The sun was hitting me at precise the right nausea-inducing angle, and I kept braking too fast. Needless to say my tummy was not happy...

In lighter news, my half-marathon training is going pretty well. I'm almost finished with week four of my customized Runner's World training plan, and it's been pretty good. Last weekend I ran 7 miles, which is the furthest (farthest? I have an English degree but still don't know) distance I have run. I'm actually pretty excited for next week, when I will get to experience the joy (and probably pain, too) of running 8 miles. I have seven weeks and counting till the Half-Marathon.

Now I'm off to go get my hair cut short. Then I'm going to dye it darker. I probably should just shave my head, because 75% of the time I'm just really annoyed with having hair on my head, and I'm not particularly attached to it, anyway. If I don't like it, it'll grow back, and I've become increasingly fond of hats, so whatever. We'll see.

Week One

I (more or less) successfully completed week one of my half-marathon training.
2/25: easy 2-mile run at 10:00 min pace
2/28: 5-mile tempo run; I was supposed to do a one-mile warm-up and cool-down with the middle 3 miles run at a 9:03 pace, but I think I started off a little too fast-- lost steam in the second and third mile and had to slow down a little; finished in just under 48 min.
3/1: 6-mile easy run; according to my training plan, I was supposed to run this at a 10:38 pace, but I felt really, really good, so I ended up running it a little faster, at about a 9:47 pace

Total distance: 13 mi
Total time: 126 min

Run, run, run, as far as you can!

Last week, my dad and I saw Spirit of the Marathon, an incredible documentary chronicling various runners training for the Chicago marathon. Needless to say, I felt very inspired after watching the film, and it got me thinking...how far can I run? I've been doing 5K (3.1 miles) races for a couple years now, and last October I branched out and ran a 10K. Anyway, I've come to the decision that I need to take advantage of my life of poverty and leisure (which may not be so leisurely very much longer since I really am becoming quite poor). So therefore I have decided to train for a half-marathon (13.1 miles). The weather has been beautiful in Seattle the past couple weeks, and with Daylight Saving Time and spring just around the corner, it's the perfect time to train. I have 11 weeks to whip my butt into shape for the race-- wish me luck!

In between your lettuce leaf lunch and celery stick dinner...

So I just saw a commercial advertising gum as a "5 calorie snack." I don't know whether to laugh or cry.

Since when...

...did Dante's Peak become an American Movie Classic?

Life in the fast lane

I came to a realization about myself today: I like moving fast. And I totally don't mean this in a creepy or sexual way. I think it has to do with efficiency. And competition. I like finding the quickest way to get places and I'm obsessed with "expediting the process"-- the process of what, you may ask? To which I reply, the process of anything-- making dinner, returning Netflix movies, writing notes for work-- whatever it is, I want to get it done fast. But my need for speed doesn't stop there-- it continues with my love for moving fast. I mean, we're talking raw, kinetic energy. I like to run fast. I like to walk fast. Sometimes I like to drive fast. But when I was sitting in orchestra today, playing my violin, I realized that I love sixteenth notes, and I love (attempting) to play them as fast as I can. Which leads me to two possible conclusions: I'm either ridiculously efficient, or insanely competitive. You decide.

Miss America

When I was a kid, I used to love watching beauty pageants with my mom and sisters. It was always a big event, and we loved "oohing" and "ahhing" over the evening gowns and analyzing the judges' scoring. Miss America was always my favorite because it's the only pageant that has a talent competition. But let's be honest, here: over the past several years, beauty pageants have gone waaaay down-- in nearly every aspect. I watched the 2008 Miss America pageant Saturday night, and I couldn't believe the crappy production value. First of all, the pageant was on TLC: The Learning Channel. Why the hell was a beauty pageant on The Learning Channel? Secondly, it was hosted by a pudgy Tom Cruise look-alike, who had about the same amount of charisma as the real Cruise. There was sub-par choreography (which actually is pretty typical of pageants), at least three less than beautiful women with disturbingly wide-set eyes, and about five pregnancy test commercials narrated by an ominous man's voice talking about a different experience with "peeing on a stick." The whole thing was creepy, crappy, and unsettling. What happened to the good ol' days of Tony Danza-caliber hosts and real talent, not just a thin, wispy rendition of "Over the Rainbow" that would make Judy Garland turn over in her grave? Frankly, I'm offended.

Free stuff

Last night I was reading Cosmopolitan, and I saw an ad for a free sample of Dove shampoo and conditioner. Never one to turn down a free thing, I hopped online and filled out a form to get my free sample. Naturally, that got me wondering...what other free stuff could I find on the Internet? I found a blog that gave me a couple leads to more promotional offers, and before I know it I should have not only shampoo and conditioner arriving in 4-8 weeks, but also samples of Gwen Stefani's new perfume, Aquafresh toothpaste, Maybelline foundation, Aquaphor lotion, and a Schick razor. My goal was to see if I could go a month without buying any toiletries-- I'm still looking for free soap and deodorant samples...

2008 Resolutions

Well, this marks my first official post of the New Year. I finally got around to writing my resolutions. I'm pretty pleased with my goals for 2008. I don't know when I started formally writing resolutions, but it seems like over the years I've become more and more goal-oriented and focused on self-improvement (probably because there's a lot about myself I could improve-- starting with my neurotic personality). I also think it's because I'm competitive. And a perfectionist. But I guess that pretty much describes everyone in my family (and many of my friends, too). Anyway, I feel like I've done a better job of making resolutions that encompass more areas of my life. For example, one of my resolutions is to recycle more...I discovered that for some reason, I actually really care about the environment. I hate being wasteful, so I'm trying to make a concerted effort to stop being lazy about rinsing out containers and other things that could easily be recycled. I also try to stay away from quantifying my goals too much. I like leaving a certain degree of open-endedness on some of them-- like another of my resolutions, which is to go on an independent adventure. Of course, what I define as an "adventure" is completely up to me. I'm also really hoping that my writing becomes more of a priority this year, and that I really buckle down and work hard.

I'm a klutz

On Friday I sprained my ankle at work. I was demonstrating a gymnastics station for the kids, and I was climbing up this mat when I lost my balance and began to fall. I landed on uneven footing below, and I felt a snap in my ankle as soon as my foot hit the ground and rolled outward. I wanted to swear or start crying, but of course I couldn't, since I was surrounded my kids. Over the years I've had several work-related injuries: burned fingers, stitches, and now a twisted ankle (hey, at least I've got variety, right?). I know you're supposed to fill out paperwork and tell your boss when you get hurt on-site, but I've felt like such an idiot about each of these instances that I've always had somewhat of a pride issue when it comes to admitting that I was clumsy and reckless enough to sustain "fill-in-the-blank" injury. Anyway, I think my ankle is OK, it's just a little swollen. I'm mostly mad because I can't run. I think I'll try tomorrow despite my better judgment, just to see if it hurts. My motto has always been "Sickness is a state-of-mind," and I've successfully ignored several occasions where I have been injured or ill, only to find that my symptoms have indeed miraculously "disappeared." After all, no pain, no gain, right?

Apparently I'm awesome

Two days ago I parallel-parked my car...on the left side of a one-way street. I'm that good.

Close call

It seems that my streak of bad luck with parking tickets may finally be coming to an end. As many of you may recall, this summer I received three parking tickets in quick succession, and successfully argued my way out of one and a half of them. It seemed I had an uncanny knack for being in the wrong place at the wrong time. Well, over the past four months, I have developed a sort of parking paranoia, and, as a result, have been hyper-sensitive to everything regarding proper parking-- including re-parking my car countless times to ensure that I am the requisite distance away from driveways and curbs. My parallel parking skills reign supreme now, as I parallel park my car roughly 2-3 times a day. Anyway, in the midst of my resolute attempts to win back the meter maids through karmic parking powers from beyond, it completely slipped my mind that I had parked in a metered spot last night and was supposed to wake up and move my car by 8am. As it turned out, I forgot to set my alarm and woke up at 9:30 this morning. I stumbled outside bleary-eyed and half-asleep, praying that I wouldn't see the familiar white envelope tucked under my windshield wiper. My months of parking paranoia must have paid off and transformed my luck-- there was no ticket on my car, and not a meter maid in sight.

Warning: Plantar warts story to follow

So it's not much of a secret, but I have warts on the bottom of my foot. One wart, which appeared on the underside of my toe approximately 1 1/2 years ago, finally spread to the bottom of my foot about 6 months ago. I know it seems kind of ridiculous and probably pretty disgusting that I've had two warts on the bottom of my foot for a long time now, but the truth of the matter is, they never bothered me or really caused me any problems, so I just kind of assumed that eventually they'd go away. I figured it was a let-the-virus-run-its-course-type scenario. Well, apparently, if you don't get rid of warts, they continue to spread. After several months of feeble over-the-counter wart treatment, I decided to just go to the doctor and have them frozen off. After briefly examining my viral foot, my doctor proceeded to inform me that I have not two but five warts on my foot! The moral of the story is, take care of warts right away. They might not seem like a big deal, and they may not even bug you, but they will slowly spread over your body, and if you are curious to see what that looks like, do a Google image search for plantar warts and you will be forever scarred-- I know I am. Plus, now I have to go back to the doctor in a couple weeks to get my "buddies" taken care of that have been on my foot the longest. That's what I get for doing too many extracurricular activities and jobs that require me to be barefoot.

MP3 time and a Mulder/Scully dream

And by "MP3" I don't mean music...I'm talking about Melrose Place season 3, which I received as a birthday present. It's the perfect Tuesday night activity when there's nothing else on TV to watch...and I guess it's the perfect writers strike activity as well, since who knows when the heck I'll be able to watch all of my beloved shows again after they disappear off the air. I already miss The Office, and I preemptively miss Heroes, too. At any rate, at least I've got Melrose and the second season of Supernatural to watch. And I'll probably re-watch Veronica Mars at some point. The most fantastic thing about Melrose Place is that there are 30 episodes-- 30! Back when TV shows were actually on for the duration of an entire school year, and didn't take ample and abundant hiatuses to interrupt the flow of the storyline. I wish I could say that MP3 will provide me with several weeks of viewing pleasure, but the reality is that I will probably end up watching season 3 in its entirety by the end of this extended weekend.

Speaking of TV shows, the other night I had a dream about Mulder and Scully. I can't really remember the details, except that Scully was out of the picture for a little while and it was just me and Fox--er, Mulder. I miss the X-files. I can't wait until the movie comes out. I hope there's a really inappropriate sex scene between Mulder and Scully-- and no, I'm not ashamed to admit it.

I've officially reached an all-time low/high

Today I started work at 5:15pm...and ended at 8pm. Thus is the life that I lead now.

Egghead

A few days ago, I was walking toward my car (parked on the street a block away from my apartment building) when I noticed what appeared to be an unusually large amount of bird crap splattered on the passenger side of my windshield. Upon closer inspection of the inordinate splatter-span of the alleged bird doo-doo haphazardly splashed on my car, I realized that it wasn't avian fecal matter at all, but rather the yolk of an egg smeared across my windshield, congealed in unsightly globules of goo, complete with egg shards protruding from the hardened yolk that tainted the window and top of my car.

I was egged-- without warning, without cause, and, seemingly, without intent to harm.

Interesting and disturbing fact

I just learned this on TLC: 25 million operations occur in the U.S. each year; of those 25 million surgeries, 1 in 15,000 people will have a surgical tool left inside them.