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Archive for February, 2010

Here we go – found my train.

I’m almost embarrassed to admit that I haven’t been watching much of the Olympics this year. It’s not that I’m not duly impressed and awed by all of the athletic prowess out there – I absolutely am. Probably even more so because of how awful I am at winter sports in general. (Skiing, skating, sledding even…I’ve injured myself in all of them. At least I’m consistent?)

But, for some reason, these games haven’t grabbed me the way some of them have in the past. Maybe it’s because I’m sick of the snow. Or maybe, maybe it’s because I haven’t caught a whiff of as much scandal this year as I have before. Because, when I think about it, I realize that the last time I truly followed the games was 1994.

That was the year of Nancy Kerrigan and Tonya Harding.

That was the year my uncle would call one or both of a them “a witch with a capital B” at Sunday dinners, and I would get the look from my mom before I even attempted to say the word out loud.

That was the year that I followed the sport for the drama.

This year…not so much.

Though, I suppose I could always pick up the tail end of hockey. At least there there’s always fight potential.

Priorities, you know.

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I lost it

I started to write a post, got interrupted, and completely lost my train of thought. And now it’s not coming back.

I wish I didn’t have to chalk it up to one of those days so early on.

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Whenever I have any sort of doctor’s appointment, I always try to make it early in the morning. I like to get it over and done with and go on with my day.

On today’s agenda? The dentist. A routine cleaning and…a filling. *eeek!*

I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: the dentist is my least favorite of any type of doctor. Yes, even the lady bits doctor. His tools look (and feel) like torture devices; he’s NOT gentle; and I end up getting all drooly. And that’s just for the cleaning.

For the filling – my first in a long LONG time – he had to bust out the drill.

On the plus side, they numbed me up a bit and let me listen to my iPod.

On the minus side, I could still hear AND feel the drill digging into my tooth. (I’m cringing even as I write this. I re-feel it every time I think about it.)

After what felt like an eternity of scraping, poking, and drilling, the dentist finished up and he said, “Well, that was the quickest and easiest filling I’ve done in a while.

Good grief. If that was quick and easy, I don’t ever want it to be long and hard.*

*I know.

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I love my mama. And I love how much I’ve turned out like her, from our mannerisms, to our tastes, to our tendency toward mockery. But there is one thing, one teeny tiny little thing, that I could have done without: her pack rat habits. (Sorry,  Mom.)

Now, it’s fine for her. The house I grew up in has closet space like crazy and a very roomy attic. If you want to hang on to something “just in case” it’s no problem! Stick it in a box, label it, and take it upstairs. Those old holiday decorations? Labeled and in the attic. The clothes that you haven’t worn in a while, but you might wear again? In boxes that are stacked in the back of the walk-in closet. Books that you’ve read once that you probably won’t read again, and you don’t have room for in any bookcase? In “organized” piles in your new office, aka your daughter’s old room.

Whatever it is, there’s room for it. Don’t even get me started on the back porch.

But for me? In a studio? Well, there’s really no room to be a pack rat. When I haven’t worn something in a while, it has to go. My closet space is precious and limited. Holiday knickknacks? Only if they’re small enough to store underneath my bed in the off season.

I’ve had to get better and better at cutting down, but there are still two things I have trouble with.

1) Books

I think this is understandable. I love to read and re-read. I don’t want to give away my books. I’d rather make the space for an extra bookcase, or take after my mom and have piles, than get rid of them.

2) Cards

I have this thing about holiday/birthday/just because cards. I love getting them, I love sending them. (I especially love the obnoxious singing ones.) And I have this overwhelming urge to save nearly every.single.one. It’s not that they take up much space, but what am I supposed to do with them? I have several decorating my cube at work.

I have more on my bulletin board home.

And even more in piles on my table/bookcase/dresser because they’re so cute and thoughtful that I feel like a jerk throwing them out.

There has to be a way to either a) stop being a pack rat (I’d need a step by step plan), or b) reuse/decorate/do SOMEthing with these cards.

I’m open to suggestions.

Anyone?

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I’ve written before about my less than stellar skiing experiences. And as much as I consider myself a “get back on the horse” kind of girl, I’ve been skittish ever since. Willing to try, but still skittish. So when friends invited us skiing this past Sunday, I agreed, but in the back of my mind figured I’d probably spend a good chunk of the day in the lodge, sipping hot chocolate and watching through the windows.

Not even close.

We started off easy – bunny slope, then a few green trails. Each time down I felt more comfortable and more in control. Don’t get me wrong, I wasn’t ready to tackle any black diamonds, but a blue trail? I thought I could handle it.

And so we went. Up up up to the steepest blue trails I’ve ever seen (no, that’s not saying a lot, but still), and all I could think was, oh crap – how am I going to get down? And also, this is now feeling like a really bad time to give up cursing.

We went down "Fanciful." It only sounds sweet and innocent. (Also, I'm clearly only smiling because I haven't looked over the edge yet.)

But I did it. I started off as slowly as possible and wove my way down what felt like a cliff. Apparently, I even did it with some semblance of control. And if I cried and shook a little like crazy out of fear? Well, I suppose it’s all part of my process.

I’ll admit – after I finally made it down the trail, I wasn’t too excited about was vehemently against going up that side of the mountain again. But at the end of the day, after one more super easy run, I knew: if I don’t try another one of those blues I’m going to kick myself.

So Blue Take Two became the last run of the day. My last chance to conquer my fears of wiping out, of losing control, of another trip to the hospital.

And I couldn’t be happier that I did it.

Was I still nervous? Of course. But it was nothing compared to the fear I felt the first time. And as I flew down the last stretch, I was so incredibly proud of myself and so glad that I tried that one last time.

Taken earlier in the day, but I was just as happy after the final run. Win!

Maybe next time I’ll be ready for those black diamonds. Hey, it could happen.

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I’m sure you’ve seen some of the new Old Spice commercials manmercials by now. And, while it’s entirely possible that I’m just easily amused, I find them quite entertaining.

It’s an oyster with two tickets to that thing you love.”

Now, I’m not saying that I’m going to start buying Old Spice (it’s what you want your man to smell like, not what I want to smell like – duh), but I wouldn’t be opposed to a few more appearances like this.

Marketing at its finest. Heeya!

Happy Friday!

Jezebel also has an interesting piece on The Man Your Man Could Smell Like – and how he came up with the idea in the first place. I need more voicemails like that one.

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This morning was rough. And not the usual I’m-so-tired, or oh-crap-I’m-late kind of rough. But the, well-that-was-almost-a-specatcle kind.

I nearly fainted on the bus on the way to work this morning.

There was overheating, nausea, dizziness and slightly blurred vision (who knew that the whole “swimming before your eyes” expression was actually spot on?). And before I could fall over (which I was trying to avoid mostly because I didn’t want my purse to spill out everywhere), I quickly asked the woman next to me if I could please sit down.

Actually, if I’m being honest, it was more like me panting, “I need to sit,” practically hunched over, and her probably being worried I’d vomit on her. But nevertheless, she ceded her seat to me.

And then, as I looked up to thank her, I realized she was pregnant. Yeah, I’m the jerk who made a pregnant lady give up her seat on the bus.

I feel like I’ve just hit a new low.

P.S. When I emailed my boyfriend the recap of the bus situation, after expressing appropriate concern and laughing at me a litle bit, of course, he sent this little gem:


If that’s not inspiring, I don’t know what is.

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