Old as the Hills

        First off, I am drinking sparkling wine out of a miniature pink can with a tiny pink straw included in the package.

      Don't judge me- the staff picked it

        I felt super bad ass today because I went running down by the water front even though the weather was shit.  I ran 5 miles at an average 8 minutes 45 seconds pace- this is fast for me.  I then went to yoga.  It was a freaking glorious morning.  I would be in amazing shape if I never had to go to a job, and all I did was work out.  Also, it would help if I didn't drink sparkling wine out of cans.  It does have a bendy straw, though- how could I pass this up?!  Does this make me old?

        This weekend I was further reminded that I am slowly growing old and senile.  At approximately 10 pm every night, I became incredibly tired, and simply had to go to bed.  I mean, it was as though it were 4 am, I was so tired all of the sudden.   I got really fussy, you guys.  And then, Saturday morning I woke up at 7am and could not get back to sleep for the life of me.  Question: am I thirty or seventy four? 

        There are other serious signs of aging that I have noticed.  The main one being my lack of ability to work technology.  I should have seen this one coming because I historically have no patience for people I deem old who can't work a computer, camera, microwave, DVD player, etc.  Karma's a bitch, as they say.  

       
         I was volunteering at a children's Halloween event last weekend; there were a bunch of UW college kids who were helping out as well.  (Yes, I know, the fact that I think of them as "kids" makes me old in and of itself.)  This group wanted their picture taken, and I couldn't figure out how to work the camera.  "Fuck," I thought to myself, "I am so not going to be that old lady who can't work a Nikon Coolpix.  Ashton Kutcher and I are the same age, damn it!"  I futzed around with it, and yelled at the Huskies (University of Washington Mascot- nothing to do with the size of individual volunteers) to move in because they couldn't all fit in the picture.  Finally, the owner of the camera came over, and pressed a few buttons.  "You had it zoomed in.  I just fixed it for you."  Then she bounced over to her friends, rolling her eyes.  F my life.  I just became everything I said I never would.  Old.

        The good news is, once you are old, you can fart whenever and wherever you want, and you don't have to feel sorry about it.  Also, you can wear bright colors that don't match and say things like, "My stars!" and "Oh, for the love of Pete!"  Or if you wanted to be like my Grandma Donna, just shout, "Goddamnit you kids stop fighting- you're going to make me get in a wreck!" and "I can't believe they made me pay 25 cents for a goddamn thing of sour cream."  (That last quote was in reference to a tablespoon of sour cream she ordered extra at Taco Bell right after my brother and sister and I almost killed us all by fighting in the back seat of her 1986 white Toyota Corolla.)  

       

I have a head start on dressing old- obvi

        I guess all I can do is enjoy life, and respect my elders.  Pretty soon I will be one of them, and I don't want those damn kids rolling their eyes at me behind my back when I am.

The Ugly Dorkling all grown up

       It turns out, I just recently got friends.  And by recently,  I mean within the last five years.  Growing up, my parents were incredibly strict- to put it mildly.  (My dad once paid me $100 not to go to the high school homecoming dance.  My curfew was 10pm on the weekends when I was 18 years old.  I was only allowed to listen to contemporary Christian music.  I hid Harry Potter books under my bed when I was in college so I wouldn't get in trouble for reading about magic- you get the idea.)

        FYI- this is not a boo hoo kind of a blog post. I find my unorthodox way of growing up akin to Ron Washington's vernacular.

"That's the way baseball go." 

        That's just how my life go. Those of you who know me, know that I am... a weirdo.   I have a melt down if I think I might get hungry in the near future.  I seriously lose my shit if -god forbid- I actually become hungry.  Also, I order people around like I was either royalty or a Persian cat in a past life.

Diet Coke!

         Let's just be honest, I am a freak show. Thus, in addition to stringent parents and lots of rules,  my history of friendlessness should surprise none of us.  I don't feel sorry about it, and neither should you.  It's just the fact of the matter.

        Now, we all need friends.  The obvious reason to have a friend or two is so you don't have to do crap by yourself all the time.  The main reason I am glad to have friends is so I don't end up like this...

        I also personally need friends who can tell me, "Stop making that face" or "Don't get that lesbian hair cut*" and the ever popular, "No you cannot say that out loud."

*You really screwed the pooch letting me get that haircut, Car

        But here I am in Seattle with great friends who have seen me through all sorts of life events- good and bad.  I guess what I am trying to say is, I haven't always had...peeps.  It feels good.  Thanks peeps.  

       

The unsung Trophy Wife

        First of all, the Green Bay Packers are 7-0 this season.  Obvi.  Now that I have that great news off my bust, we can move on.

        Tonight Eric convinced me to go out to dinner. I have to say, I really didn't want to go.  I ate like shit last week.  I was determined to make a nice, healthy soup for dinner after my four mile speed work run this evening.  I guess I wasn't determined enough because I ended up beers deep at the Tap House downtown.  I'm not complaining.  How can you complain when your significant other pays for dinner and beer, and all you have to do is watch the world series and Monday night football at the same time?  Nailed it!

        While I had really wanted to eat healthy for the remainder of this week, I ended up two Ichibans, sushi, popcorn shrimp, and a steak salad later, and thought, "Epic Fail, Warwick."  (I know I am an Engel now, but I still think of myself with my maiden name when spouting reverse pep-talks about over-consumption of fried food and hops.)  Operation "Sextastic" out the window...

we're fighting

        Okay, so do I want to look like that?  Duh.  Who wouldn't? Do I want to eat (or not eat) like she does in order to look that way? Shit no.  Lesson of the day:  Skinny people aren't just naturally skinny.  Those little bastards like to pretend they eat cheeseburgers and drink beer all the time, but I guarantee you that for every cheeseburger they eat, there are ten 3 ounce boneless skinless chicken breasts that last those assholes for the remainder of the year.  So don't feel bad, normal people, when some skinny fool tries to make you think it's easy to be skinny.  It's not!  If you want to look like a movie star, you either have to work out and/or diet in excess (according to the 'smarter not harder' philosophy, anyway.) 

        This puts those of us who like to work smart at a distinct disadvantage when it comes to looking hot.  What's an average gal to do?

First of all, take off those sunglasses

"When in doubt, pinky out" -Sponge Bob Square Pants

        I still wish I could effortlessly turn into a size 2, but to be honest, I would rather have a beer or a cupcake.  Screw it, I would rather have a beer and a cupcake.  Not to say that maybe there are people out there who would rather be skinny than, say, enjoy life- I mean eat carbs- I mean... But [to a point] that's okay too.  Find what makes you happy and do it!  I am personally much happier on a full stomach.  Whatever you do, try to work smarter not harder- just love what you've got and work it instead of wasting time hating Cameron Diaz.  (I have done enough of that to cover all of us.)  Life's too short to pass up a cupcake when you want one.

Leavenworth Oktoberfest

       As some of you know, this was the weekend of the Leavenworth half marathon.  I decided this should be my first big race because when running that far, beer, brats and lederhosen should be in close proximity.  It was a good decision; right off the bat I was a winner!  I finished in an okay sort of time, but i really had wanted to run about a 9 minute pace, and ended up doing a 10 minute pace.  I can't say I'm surprised, since that is about the pace I ran for my long runs during training.  The good news is, it's my PR since it is my only half marathon thus far.

it was a beautiful day!

        Don't worry.  The medal has a built in bottle opener.

        I am sure no one will be surprised to hear that it didn't take long to find my way to the beer garden after finishing.  Many beers, pretzels with cheese cups, and tubed meat items were had by all.  And thanks, Beerfest, for this photo opportunity:

 I'm the kid scratching my knee

        I wish the picture accurately portrayed how awesome this was.  You at least get the idea.  As the afternoon turned into evening, and everyone's judgement turned into slightly drunken tom-foolery, individuals would leave the table for one reason or another and return with random items purchased at the festival booths.  Our friend Mike was gone for about 45 minutes and returned with a miniature drinking boot.

So cute! You little beer baby!

        Eric left for a while and came back with my new favorite hat.

That's right, jagweeds! I'm turning you to stone.

        Aaaaand since I am now thirty, the night ended with us walking home on a dark highway at approximately 10pm.  I guess the highway part has nothing to do with my being thirty, but the evening ending at 10pm most certainly does.  Luckily, I chugged a Gatorade before and after all of the German beer, so I felt fantastic this morning when I woke up at our B&B, The Ponderosa Country Inn.  I pretended I was staying at Schrute Farms since we actually stayed in a barn.  The only thing missing was beets... and Dwight K. Schrute, obvi. 

        All right folks, my first half is out of the way.  Next stop: Edinburgh rock n roll half marathon!  And don't get any funny ideas, 13.1 miles at one go is my max.

 

 

SaCURRity!

        Well, since I am thirty today, I thought I should live it up.  I promptly woke up and got my teeth cleaned by the lovely Pat at Roosevelt Dental- obvi.  Pat is the only person I will let near my grill.  She is the sweet lady to the left of orange turtleneck.

Good Morning! 

        Next stop: Starbucks.  My coffee maker broke yesterday.  (Emergency! I know, right?)  I gave some kid sitting outside SBUX 80 cents because apparently, I look like [and am] a sucker.  I felt bad lying about not having change, and I figured he probably wouldn't be able to by crack for so little money.  At least not much crack anyway...

        The next place on my list was the office of Social Security Administration in the International District- or as I like to call it, the I.D.  As is nearly always the case with government offices, there was a choice selection of humanity on display for people watching.  This included, but was certainly not limited to the hard ass security guard (complete with flat top hair cut- duh.) I would have loved to snap a picture of this freak, but I was afraid of getting tazed and having my phone confiscated.   He did bear a striking resemblance to Kevin James...

        I like to say "SaCURRity" like Anjelah Johnson  does in the MAD TV Bon Qui Qui skit.  I didn't want to try it out on the SaCURRity guard in the office, though.  Again, afraid of getting tazed, and also,  he kept regaling us with tales of putting his knee in people's heads if they looked at him "crazy."  I always look a little crazy, so I just kept my eyes down and my comments to myself.

How not to look if you want to remain un-tazed

        Turns out, changing your name on all your cards and identifying documents is kind of a big deal, as well as a serious pain in the ass.    That's what I get for gettin' hitched.

Good thing he's cute

        Now I am just stone cold kickin' it here with Kittles.  I have a short run to get in some time before E gets home.  Last run before the 1/2 this weekend in Leavenworth- eeks!  We are going to one of my favorite restaurants for dinner tonight, Buenos Aires.  The steak is to die, the staff is fabulous, and they have a killer wine list.  I like going on the weekends because they also have live tango dancing.  And why wouldn't they? It's awesome.  Anyhoo, no tango dancing tonight- just steak and wine.  Nailed it!

Yo fools!

Dancin' up on my man

Where I do Pilates and become awesome

Me and Kittles kickin' it old school

        I just showed you a few of my favorite things.  If my blog ever becomes one of your favorite things, make sure you become a member!  Ok, even if it becomes something you sort of like, but don't really read, you still need to become a member. That way you can leave funny comments about how much cooler you are than me... aaaand other people who don't even know who I am will think I am important - I said think.  I'm trying to be a serious blogger here, people; help a sister out.

Beautiful. Fun. Fantastic.*

        This marks the second year of an increasingly popular tradition- going to the Oregon coast for a long weekend before my birthday.  I wanted to be grumpy about turning 30, but then I saw this sign at the cabin...

     
         Getting older isn't all bad.  For instance, as a nurse, people respect you more the longer you have been in the business (usually.)  I remember when I first started working as a nurse and my patient's  parents would ask me, "Are you sure you're old enough to be a nurse?"  So annoying.  I wanted to respond, "Are you sure you're smart enough to be a parent?"  I didn't say that, however, I am certain my face revealed it all... as per usual.

You dumb ass.

        Anyway, I kind of figured getting older would give me more street cred, and thus, looked forward to aging.  Lately, though, I have noticed I can't figure technology out very easily.  Tell tale sign that I am turning into an old lady.  I signed up for pintrest - can't figure out how to use it.  I'm following people, people are following me, and I have no idea what is going on.  Old.

        Back to the beach.

Ta-Da!

        The fact that I wore the above outfit in public is a serious testament to the dementia setting in.  This picture was taken right before a rogue wave attacked me and sloshed a mess of sea foam and sand down my boots.  Totally ruined my look.  Well, the Green Bay Packer rain boots weren't ruined- obvi.  They helped us pull out a win over the Falcons Sunday night.  Suck it nerds!

        I guess over all, I am enjoying getting older.  Our good friends, Joe and Carly, came to the beach with us, and we played a lot of cribbage- duh.

        One night, in between "muggins" and irish whiskey shots, Carly said, "Do you realize we've been friends for eleven years?"  Well sheesh.  I have never been friends with anyone for eleven years.  My family moved too much, and plus, I am just too much of a freak to stay friends with anyone for that long.  "Wow.  I can't believe we've been friends for eleven years," I said.  "Yeah," Carly responded, "If you had told us eleven years ago that we would be at a cabin in Gearhart, Oregon playing cribbage with our husbands, we never would have believed it."  True.  Laugh all you want, but it doesn't get better than this.

Muggins' Pub- Gearhart, OR

        The 20's were fun at the time, but I am ready for my 30's now.  I'm ready to increasingly embrace my inner dork.  I am ready to care less about what others think.  I'm ready to see what happens, and in another eleven years, I can't wait to remember that time Carly and Joe kicked our asses at cribbage, and say, "No shit, can you believe we've been friends for over twenty years?"

*The title of this blog entry is dedicated to Emily and Jesse Johnston.  Fairbanks, I know you are going to wish you were here, but you can't even be jealous  that you missed it because you were in ITALY.

GD hot yoga

        Son of a bee sting if working harder didn't win today.  It all started when I had the terrible idea to go to a 6 am yoga class.  It's not the Bikram yoga- which is total bullshit- but I was sweating my nuts off after the "warm up." Why do they bother calling it vinyasa flow?  They should call it sweat your balls off yoga.  It would just make it easier for everyone.

This is so not me

        If you saw that picture on a website, wouldn't you think, "That lady looks amazing and not sweaty at all.  That's what I will look like when I do yoga at this studio."  False advertising.

        Now, though, I am happy I got the GD hot yoga out of the way at 0600. I can sit here on my butt and drink a beer while watching "The Biggest Loser" relatively guilt free.  Mission accomplished.

The stadium burger

I would have taken a picture of the burger I just ate, but I inhaled it before the flash went off.

So, I had to use a stupid generic picture from The Ram's website. But, anyway, you get the idea of the food baby that is in my belly right now. Not. Good. Better than a real baby belly, though.