How to Defend Your Condo and Cat Against a Killer

        This morning I woke up to Kittles snorting, and then licking my ear.  Next, she sneezed all over my face, licked my ear some more, and curled up with her butt right next to my head.  Funny, if a human had done this to me, they never would have lived to tell the tale.  Since it was Lola, I just thought it was cute.

She is a disgusting person, but I love her.

        Speaking of disgusting people, I am becoming one, myself.  I haven't run since the Seattle Rock n' Roll Half Marathon on June 23rd.  I have a sneaking suspicion that I have a stress fracture in my left distal tibia, which is a fancy way of saying I have a crack in my shin bone.  One thing I have learned after spending some time as an orthopedic nurse is that if you can point to one spot that hurts (as opposed to a generalized area) it's not a good sign.

This doesn't look like a good sign either

        Not running wouldn't be the worst if the weather hadn't finally turned a corner for the better in Seattle...

Every tourist riding the Ducks is ready to move here today.

        It also wouldn't be such a big deal if I had just been eating regular food.  Bad news: since we just moved I have been eating out.  A lot.

I know, Eric, but what are you going to eat?

        Bottom line is, I am kind of a heinous B when I can't run.  Hahaha.  More so than usual, okay? Rude, you guys.

I am the one in the pink socks having the time of my life.

        So, it has been a challenging couple of weeks with the move and no running.  

        Oh, and Eric went to Kansas City for the All Star Game, so I had to sleep with a big ass Gerber knife under my pillow (obvi) just in case someone climbed onto our third floor balcony and tried to murder me in my sleep.  I couldn't sleep very well even with the knife under my pillow (it was locked shut, so I couldn't cut myself or Kittles inadvertently) because I kept thinking that if someone did break in, I was more likely to be killed by my own knife than to save myself with it.  My next logical solution was to calculate how fast I could grab the cat and my phone, then slide into, and lock the bathroom door "Panic Room" style.  On the other hand, if the killer broke in through our front door, it might make more sense to just jump off the balcony for a quick escape.  But then I would really be in a pickle with the old stress fracture situation.  In fact, it might turn into more of a bone- through- the- skin- fracture situation.  It's hard work evading killers, let me tell you, but I've kept myself alive thus far, so I suppose it's worth the effort.

        I guess the moral of this blog is that unless you are a smoosh faced cat that I rescued approximately 2 years ago and/or your name is Eric E. Engel, do not cross me this week.  I am low on sleep, I haven't run for an eon, and I have a big ass Gerber knife under my pillow.  I will cut. you.  Just kidding.  (Not really.)

I wanted to cut Bob Prill when he told the DJ at my wedding he had changed their table name to "Da Bears."  This was my face when the DJ told "Da Bears" they were dismissed to the buffet.