Shafted

I had posted yesterday about my August marathon. I though I'd start getting comments rolling in about how hilarious I am, and about how much I was missed this summer.

(Enter humble bow here)

I didn't.

Not a one.

I was pretty bummed, to say the least. But then I actually logged on to my blog (which I rarely do, I just rely on emails), and saw that I had 3 comments! Instantly I was jazzed. There may have even been jazz hands involved. It was sort of like an episode of Glee, but less gay, and more lame.

I guess what happened was this. About, oh, two and a half years ago, I posted on my now non-existent blog, that I was moving to Chicago. For some reason for the last couple of weeks, I've been getting tons of random spam comments on that particular post. And let me tell you, they are way spammy. Things like "gay hook ups now available in your area", and "free viagra for your womans pleasure", and lots and lots in some strange code-y language with numbers and characters and such. I mean at first I was interested, because who doesn't want a great gay hook up in their area? By raise of hands? But then I was freaked out.

So I finally just marked those comments as spam, and suddenly every comment that comes to my blog is sent to my spam folder. So not only do I feel like I'm getting the shaft, but it's kind of the shaft to my commenters as well, because their witty banter is getting flushed down the email toilet.

I apologize for any shaftiness that may have been implied by my lack of response. And I take back all the bad things I was thinking about my readers when I thought no one was commenting at all. So sorry.

My August Marathon

I ran a marathon! I bet you didn't even know I was in training for one, huh?

Well, I did it. And my time?

30 days.

Yep, I ran a marathon in August. All of August. 26.2 miles in 30 days. Not too shabby for my first effort, I think.



Here is proof. See, my RunKeeper app (with which I have a love hate relationship) keeps track of all my stats. Month of August comes in at 26.2 miles exactly. So I guess since there's what, like 2 days left of the month, I should just go ahead and take those days off.

Maybe my next marathon will take me less time. Like say, 15 days? I mean that would have me beating my PR by half! I'm an overachiever, what can I say.

Lachanophobia

It seems I've been suffering with this phobia for some time now. And it has actually started to affect my daily life. I guess it's time to do something about it.

But what?

Well, for one, I could just get over it. I could seek therapy, or group counseling, but I doubt that will help.

I could make friends with some vegetarians, but then I would feel like they were being all judgy and whatnot because of my choices.

I could take a vitamin, but I can't swallow those giant horse pills.

So what's a girl with fear of vegetables to do?

I bought myself some liquid multivitamin drink stuff from Sam's Club.

Honestly, I don't usually have a problem eating my veggies. It mostly fruit. I can't remember the last time I ate fruit. It seriously scares me. But lately my restless legs have gotten so bad, that even my medicine isn't touching it, which makes me a very nice person to live with, if you can imagine that.

So after some research, Sean found that low levels of iron and folic acid are sometimes a culprit in restless legs syndrome, and also the lack of fruits and vegetables in the diet. I'm desperate, so I'll try anything. I bought myself some V8 Fusion, you know, the yummy fruity drink that has a full serving of veggies in it too. I really like it! And it makes my poop pretty. I know you wanted to know that.

I'm hoping with the drink, combined with the multivitamin drink, combined with the iron supplement I'll be taking, things will have settled down ( I crack me up). Wish me luck.

Gratuitous

I'm gonna be honest, I had to read that title repeatedly to make sure it was spelled correctly. It is, right?

Well, it's time for the annual Table Dance Of Joy at our house. Yes, folks, I literally get up on the table and do a little happy dance. You may remember it from this post, and this post. This was the first time Sean has been around to see it. He was impressed.

The table dance comes because, like I'm sure you've seen on Facebook and every single blog you read, it's back to school time. I'm just gonna say it, I don't really look at your kids' back to school pictures. I'm sorry, I just don't. And I don't really expect you to look at mine. I'm totally okay with that.

But I do expect you to see the proof that I did indeed do a table dance.


See? Proof. And if you need a verbal witness, ask Sean, he'll tell you. I may have even given him a little shimmy just for kicks.

(Also, note the glitter toes. So awesome. I love mine. And guess what? Yours truly does them now! So give me a ring, or a text or a FB message, and we'll get you hooked up)


And here's Emma. 6th grade. Holy crap. Really? She rode her bike to school today with some friends, and I think she was pretty excited, although she's at that age where it's not cool to get excited anymore, so she tries to keep it inside.

Maggie is obviously missing, since she's doing school at home with me, so I'll do a back to school picture of her tomorrow when she gets her new clothes on.

Back to school also means my fabled return to blogging. Ah, schedule, how I've missed you. I'm hoping to hop right back on the every day blog post thing, so I'm sure you're all on the edge of your seats for that. Stay tuned.

Visitors

This weekend we were blessed to have visitors from all over! First, we ended up with Jake and Amy from Idaho crashing at our house, and they're always a good time.

Then Mark and Kelley from Chicago came to visit, along with Gary and Noel from Seattle.

If only Kate (who hasn't posted in for.ev.er) were here, we would have had friends from each time zone chillin in our back yard.

It was like old times, except I didn't take one picture, and I'm okay with that.

Don't mind the lack of link to Kelley's and Noel's blog, they're private, so unless you're invited, fuggedaboudit.

I heart visitors, so if any of you (you know who you are!) ever get out thisaway, you can totally crash here. I'm just sayin'.

A Short On Shorts

So I have a problem. Well, I probably have lots of problems, but one that's bugging in particular.

No, it's not the way my belly jiggles like a Jell-O mold when I run.

No, it's not the fact that my skin looks like a 14 year old boy's.

It's that when I run, my shorts, they creep. Up and up and up, until I feel like my vajazzling is hanging out. It's not really, I hope (I'm pretty sure it's not!), but I start to feel a little immodest.

I know, most normal people wear compression shorts under their running shorts. I tried that. Problem is, since they are, well, compression-y, they give me the worst muffin top Ev.Er. It's gross. It's like the Jell-O mold exploded and there are Jell-O Jiggler bodaggits bouncing around under my shirt. It's really quite ugly, and not nearly as funny as the explanation. So I quit wearing them.

Now, I don't run in the 1980's version of running shorts, just so we're clear. They are not made out of neon nylon, and they don't have slits up the sides all the way to there. They're just regular Under Armour shorts, not of immodest length. I trade off between the creepers, and my longer shorts, which don't creep, but are hot and a little cumbersome.

So I guess my problem is this: Do I wear the compression shorts and jiggle down the road, surely to garner snide and hilarious comments from drivers as they pass, or do I skip the compression shorts, and hope to all hope that my vajayjay stays covered and just pretend like I don't notice the creeping?

What would you recommend as a passerby? Would you be more apt to notice a jiggly middle, or shorty shorts that look like they are being eaten by Ladytown?

Discuss.

Because I Was Tired Of Hearing Them Fight

I woke up Saturday morning(ish), and the first sound I heard was my kids fighting. So since I had to do it anyway, I had Emma throw on her shoes, and we headed out for a run. I intended on it being a mile or so, then dropping her off at home, and finishing my 5 miles alone, but she insisted she could make it.

So we ran.

7 miles to be exact. She kept up most of the way, and we only walked up the biggest hill, and probably the last 2 miles. What a trooper. I'm a little sore today, and she's pretty sore.

But I was tired of hearing them fight, so maybe next time she'll learn that if she gives her sisters any crap, she and I are heading out for a run.

Mother of the year right here.