25!

I officially hit the quarter-century mark today!

Scandalous Suprise

When I got home from work today, I discovered a pair of green floral underpants lying on the floor, a few steps away from my apartment door. I'm pretty sure that they just fell out of someone's laundry hamper, since the laundry room is right next door to me, but it was still pretty awkward. I kind of wanted to kick them further away from my door so people wouldn't think that they belonged to me, but I decided that would be kind of rude.

Hello Greece, here I come!

In less than two weeks, I will be in Greece. It's still so surreal. I can't believe I'm going to walk on the same ground that the ancient Greeks did nearly three thousand years ago. I have been busy researching and planning our trip like crazy, and I think C and I have got a pretty good itinerary going. Highlights include visiting the Acropolis, home of the revered Parthenon, an all-day excursion to Delphi, site of the ancient oracle of Apollo, a tour of Athens by night, and a day trip to the island of Hydra, where there are only donkeys for transportation. Coincidentally enough, some of my students are currently reading the Odyssey, so I've had ancient Greece on the brain for the past month or so. This is one of those trips that I'm so excited for I feel like I might literally burst...but thank goodness work has been busy enough to keep me preoccupied for the time being.

Pinnacle of my career

Well, I have finally reached the pinnacle of my career as a professional tutor: one of my students called me "mommy."

And the funniest part is, I'm technically not even old enough to be his mom (unless I gave birth to him at the age of 11 1/2, which may actually be technically possible, although highly improbable).

It's been awhile...

I know, I know-- I've neglected my blog for over a month now. And I'm actually legitimately bummed because I've had several anecdotes that would have been fun to share...from being made fun of by an Apu lookalike for driving a U-Haul to being serenaded outside on my lunch break with a really awkward rendition of Sean Kingston's "Beautiful Girls."

Unfortunately, in the world of blogging, too much time has elapsed for me to write about these stories and give them the proper credit they deserve.

So what have I been up to this past month? In a nutshell, moving, unpacking, getting settled, spending exorbitant amounts of money at Target on apartment decor, and visiting my familia at their new Houston hideaway.

Sadly, amidst all of the chaos associated with moving, I have barely been running. I can't believe I ran a half-marathon three and a half months ago, and now I've probably run that total distance over the course of a month. Now that school has started up again, I'm transitioning from my "normal" summer work hours back to my "weird" afternoon/evening hours, so hopefully I'll get my butt in gear and start running again. There's a race called the Pumpkin Push that's held in October, and I'm thinking about doing it because, (1) I need a goal, (2) I love pumpkins, and (3) the last time I ran at the park where it was held was at a cross-country meet in high school...which was 10 years ago (scary, I know). All this talk about running means I should probably go run now before it's too late...

A thank you note

Dear Gillian Anderson and David Duchovny,

From the bottom of my heart, thank you.

I DO NOT want it that way!

Last night I drifted off into a peaceful slumber around 12:30am. 45 minutes later, somewhere in between stages two and three of sleep, I was awakened by the sound of music emanating from directly below my bedroom window. The fog slowly dissipated from my head and I was able to make out the song as the melancholy lyrics rattled my windowpanes: "I Want it that Way" by the Backstreet Boys. A man was belting it out at the top of his lungs in a truly heartfelt performance. Now, don't get me wrong, I love a good BSB rendition as much as the next nostalgic 24-year-old, but being awakened at one in the morning on a work night because some dude has an unrequited crush on Nick Carter? Not cool. (But definitely funny).

Exhausted

So I have been working more hours lately, which is a good thing because I need moolah. The bad thing is that I have been absolutely exhausted. I forgot what it was like to work full-time (or closer to it, as is my case) and to come home and feel like all you wanna do is go to bed. After I get home, I make dinner, sit on the couch and eat it, watch TV or play Dr. Mario with the fan blowing directly on me, get up and get a snack, and then repeat the process a seemingly infinite number of times until I eventually drag myself off the couch to take out my contacts and brush my teeth and collapse into bed. And then the entire process is repeated the next day. But I have to admit, despite my extreme exhaustion, it's felt good working more. I think I'm a happier person in general when I'm busier (but not too busy!) because then I have less time to brood. And I brood a lot in my spare time.

Crazy Town

I know it's been, like, an eternity since I've posted on my blog, but things have been ridiculously crazy-busy these past couple months, primarily for the following three reasons:

1) My family moved.
2) I'm moving at the end of the month.
3) I'm working a lot more hours.
*I've been playing insane amounts of Dr. Mario. (I put an asterisk for this one because I didn't want to move the cursor up to the top of the page to change "three reasons" to "four reasons." And yes-- I am that lazy.)

So anyway, aside from having almost 500 wins online in Dr. Mario and cracking the top 900 players in the world (not that I'm bragging or anything), I have been busy stressing out over money, work, and my living situation. Things are starting to come together, though (finally!). I signed a lease today, so I have officially secured a dwelling for another year... as long as I can continue to cough up the rent. I can't wait until I publish a book and don't have to worry about money or a traditional job. I've been writing a lot more lately, and my goal is to finish the story that I'm working on by the end of '08. And then I will probably ask everybody I know to read it so I can get feedback and revise it until I think it's good enough to show to a literary agent. Does that sound ridiculous? Sometimes I worry that I sound like a little kid with some over-ambitious dream that will never be realized. The problem/good thing about me is that for some strange reason, I really, really believe in myself. Like almost too much. Like I'm so certain that I will publish a book--nay, multiple books--and that I will sell tons of copies. And it's not in an arrogant way, because I don't think I'm the most talented writer in the world or anything even close to that. It's just that I don't give up easily. We'll see, I guess. Hopefully these crazy schemes of mine will pay off eventually, and my dream will come true.

Couldn't've said it better myself

This quote from Entertainment Weekly pretty much sums up my thoughts on the latest Incredible Hulk movie:

"Five years ago, Universal spent $137 million on Ang Lee's Hulk movie and it grossed $132 million...Am I missing something? No one wanted to see the Hulk the first time around. And I'll play Jimmy the Greek here and predict that no one will want to see this one, either, regardless of how much capital-A acting Edward Norton brings to it."

I need a new activity

I have too much pent-up energy, and I miss competition and camaraderie...I need a new sport/activity to participate in. I've been researching rugby and roller derby, but as aggressive as I can be, these sports seem a little too violent, even for me. Now I'm thinking maybe I'll look into rock climbing or crew. All I know is that I need something new and challenging and athletic, and then I think I'll feel better.

My next frivolous purchase

I just found out that the animated Wizard of Oz Saturday morning cartoon series from 1990 is available on DVD. When I was a kid I used to love this show-- in fact, I used to love Saturday morning cartoons in general. I remember purposely waking up early on Saturdays just to watch TV. Now that's devotion.

I DID IT!!!

Last Sunday I ran the Kirkland Half-Marathon. The night before the race, I went to bed at 9:30 to ensure that I'd get my full eight hours of sleep (I really can't function with anything less than eight hours, especially if I'm running 13.1 miles the next day). I woke up the next morning well-rested but nervous. Anyway, I'll cut to the good stuff. My first goal was just to finish the rest without dying. My second goal was to finish the rest and run the whole time. My third goal was to finish the race in 2 hr 11 min, which averages out to 10-minute splits. I am happy and proud to say that I accomplished all three of my goals. I won't say what my time was, not because I'm not proud of it, but because for me, this race wasn't about speed-- it was about distance and stamina, and seeing what my body was capable of (now that I know what it's capable of, I should probably start holding myself to higher athletic standards...maybe a marathon is in my future after all).

Here's a play-by-play of how the whole thing went down, including the good (the downhill leg), the bad (the hills of horror), and the ugly (the salt deposits plastered to my face after the race from dried sweat):

The first couple miles were a piece of cake. They went by really fast, and I took a nice, slow pace. Around mile 3, there was gigantic, terrifying hill that seemed to go on forever. I tried to take my dad's advice to not lean forward as I ran up the hill (apparently most runners have an inclination to do that, at the sacrifice of good form and speed). After successfully conquering the hill, the course flattened out and I was able to speed up. As I approached mile 6, I heard the sound of music wafting through the air in the distance. Just as I recognized "Chariots of Fire," I caught sight of a guy with an electric guitar, an amp, and a giant speaker standing on the corner of the street, rocking out for all of us runners. It was awesome. The next two or three miles were all downhill, so I got a little excited and sped up. I was still feeling pretty good around mile 9, until I realized that I still was over a 5K away from finishing. By this point the ground leveled out again and the surface was flat. Soon, however, I encountered more hills (whoever planned this course was positively diabolical), and I had to use every last ounce of willpower and endurance I had to plod my way up the hills of hell. After successfully conquering one hill around mile 11, I was positive there couldn't possibly be any more-- but I was wrong. Around mile 12 there was another hill, and by the time I reached the top, there was some guy cheering for me who called out my bib number and told me to keep going. Naturally, not wanting to disappoint the one anonymous fan that I had, I kept running (if not also because that was what I'd been doing the past nearly two hours). The rest of the course was flat, and I briefly considered stopping at mile 13 when there was only one-tenth of a mile to go and calling it good. But of course I didn't. So I finished the race. I still don't have any plans of running a marathon in the near future, but I could definitely see myself doing a half again. It was fun. And even though I was completely starving by the time the race was over and my legs felt like Jell-O and I was soaked in sweat and there were blisters on my toes, it was worth it.

Race photos. (Keep in mind these were taken with about .2 miles left to go in the race...)

Doom's day

Tomorrow is the Half-Marathon (cue dramatic/scary/celebratory music). I can't believe it's almost here. The race starts at 7:30am, so I'm going to have to wake up around 6, which kind of sucks (correction: which really sucks). I could barely sleep last night I was so nervous, and I've felt on the verge of puking the whole morning. Why, you may wonder, am I so anxious for a race that I chose to participate in and that holds no repercussions whatsoever whether I win, lose, fail, or succeed? The answer to that, my friends, is simple: it's what I do best-- not running, mind you, but being nervous/anxious/nauseous (what can I say, it runs in the family). So there. I am an anticipatory ball of nerves and anxiety. On the bright side, though, if I can channel this anticipation into adrenaline, then I may still have a chance at success.

On a completely unrelated note, why are the Mariners so awful?

Here's an equation for you: cost of living in Seattle + my income= :(

Now don't get me wrong: I love Seattle. I love it so much that in fact I am often times blind to its flaws. For example, the fact that Seattle is apparently so cool, it's virtually not affordable to live here. Unless you work for Microsoft. Or Google. Which I don't.

Anyway, I'm planning on moving out of my current abode this summer, and will be looking for a new apartamento for just me. But living alone is not an easy thing to do in this city. I've been obsessively hunting for apartments for months, primarily just to see what's out there and to give myself some assurance that I won't be homeless. But I have to be perfectly honest-- it might be time for me to start getting acquainted with cardboard boxes and the amiable hobo who waves to me off of the 65th Steet exit. Hector used to be a stray cat, so maybe he can show me the ropes of life on the street. At any rate, here's case-in-point for why I may soon be homeless: back in the day when I was still in baccalaureate bliss, I lived alone. Some of you may remember my apartment as that quaint yet surprisingly pleasant little abode nestled in the drug and prostitution district of Seattle (in all fairness, I only got solicited once for sex, and that was by a female hooker). That former home, my friends, is now renting for $925 a month-- a staggering increase of nearly $200 in less than three years! And I don't have the feeling that that complex has undergone any significant renovations since I've lived there to adequately account for the steep increase...

On the flip side, my life of leisure may soon be drawing to a close (or an almost-close), which means more moolah. And I definitely need more moolah, because I am waist-deep in student loans. Funny how I have an advanced degree now but chose the least lucrative career path possible with a Master's. Essentially if I worked for one year straight, and spent absolutely zero dollars, I could re-pay all my loans. But alas...

Compliment, insult, or moderately offensive pick-up line? You decide.

One of the things I hate most on this earth is grocery shopping. Which is completely counterintuitive because I love to eat. I absolutely can't stand, however, the process of picking out food (how am I supposed to know what I'm going to want for dinner five days from now?), carrying my groceries up to my apartment (the circulation on my wrists has been cut off countless times as a result of the plastic bags cutting into my flesh), and putting everything away (there's never enough space in our freezer). What does this all mean? That I only make it to the grocery store on average every two weeks, and when I do go, I look like I'm buying enough food to feed a small army.

Case in point: I was making my bi-weekly grocery shopping trip to Safeway two days ago, and when I got to the checkout, the cashier who was ringing me up had this smirk on his face. My first thought was, crap, did I buy Care Bears fruit snacks again and get laughed at? (Believe me, I've done it. And believe me, I've been laughed at-- albeit in a good-natured manner, but still...) Finally the cashier looked at me and said, "Someone has a healthy appetite." And he didn't mean "healthy" in the traditional sense. To his credit, though, he didn't say it in a mean or judgmental tone, but how was I supposed to respond? I just said, "Yup, I like to eat and I hate grocery shopping." The good thing is, I'm not offended by people commenting on my appetite. The other good thing is that that guy will probably forget who I am by the time I'm back at Safeway again (in about another two weeks or so...)

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.