PSA: For all you new allergy sufferers out there

You all know how anxiously I have awaited Spring. However, I always seem to forget in my anticipation that spring also brings things like pollen, ragweed, grass, etc. Things to which I am very allergic. I never had allergies in San Diego, but they started up about a year after I moved here and they have gotten progressively worse each year. Each year I try a different cocktail but have never really found what works for me. I decided this year I should go to the doctor and get some advice. I couldn't get in to see my normal doctor last week, so I went to this other whackadoo doctor and it was a complete nightmare (I can't even talk about that doctor's appointment, it was so traumatic, and I don't even think I'm being overly dramatic about it).

Yesterday my allergies hit bad and I was just so cranky last night (sorry to everyone who had to deal with me). I finally got in touch with my real doctor today who told me to buy these two lovelies:

These are AMAZING if you are having leaky and heavy eyes.

I put one drop in each eye and a minute later I had my eyes back.

No joke.

These are better than the 24-hour relief. By a LONG shot.

The 24-hour pills aren't even worth taking.

I love my doctor.

Down with crazy doctors.

Bring on the spring.

(Man, what a difference the right drugs make.)

Tommy Chucky Wah

As a great surprise my little brother Tom drove down for the afternoon from Philly (where he is working for the weekend) to hang out with me.  

Tom has a special face I like to call his "sweet and tarty" face.  He spent the day trying to help me perfect the look.

This might be my favorite picture of the day.

Bob....and Frank...

Joining the tourists on a beautiful spring afternoon.

I also really love this picture.

This is the "sweet and tarty" face and pose.

Tom says this was my best attempt of the day.

I love brothers.  

Boston-bound

3:40:13

What is that, you ask?

My official National Marathon time from Saturday.

I eeked into Boston qualifying by 47 seconds.

Close.

Way too close.

Feelin' good at mile 17

Devoted fans, anxiously awaiting my arrival at the finish.

Not feelin' so good at mile 26.

(Kim gets the award for best marathon pic taken)

Way too much emotion going on.

I just couldn't stop crying.

The timing was so close no one was sure if I had made it or not.

I'm not even sure if I can explain why I was crying, uh, sobbing.  The first 20 miles went really well.  I was sitting pretty around 7:40-8:20 pace (depending on the hills).  Then Scott (who is hugging me in this picture) jumped in and ran miles 21 to 25.5 with me.  When he found me, I was hurting, worse than I can ever remember hurting during a marathon.  I went out to leave it all on the road and so when I hit that wall at mile 20, I hit it hard.  I wasn't sure I was going to qualify, let alone finish the darn race.  I can't lie: I almost quit twice.  I cried twice (and around the same two spots I always cry in marathons).  I threw up twice (a new experience for me - I think it was the GU I ate).  (I know this makes you all want to do a marathon.)  And when Scott left me to finish by myself at mile 25.5, I told him I hated him for leaving me.  Then I tried to run as hard as my lead-legs would carry me.  When I came across the line and stopped, I burst into tears.  The official asked me if I was okay.  I said yes, that I was just happy to be done.  He made me walk through the chute.  So I did.  I was freezing, so off went the shirt as they handed me my metal cape.  I tried to hold it together but I was still choking back sobs as I was looking for my friends.  Then I saw Scott...and the floodgates opened.  I sobbed into his shoulder as I've never let anyone see me sob before.  Shameless.  I was relieved to be done, grateful for his help, disgusted with my weak mind (I can't even count how many times I told him I didn't want to run anymore and wanted to quit), happy to have qualified again.  

I have really great friends.

I'm really glad Boston is a year away.

I thought about trying to go for a quick run tomorrow but I tried to run after something today and my knees buckled under me.  Maybe Tuesday...

Oh, and Jay made me cookies.  They were divine.  Absence (abstinence?) makes the heart grow fonder...

Google got the memo

You guys, how much do I LOVE Google's logo today?

A LOT.

It makes me so happy.

I think Spring missed the memo

Dear Spring,

Today is March 20. Where are you?!

Warmest regards,
Freezing in D.C.

Seriously. How am I supposed to live like this?

I have a few things to share today in an attempt to spice up an otherwise cold and windy SPRING morning.

I forgot to mention something in my shoe post yesterday. As soon as I left the office, it started raining. And it got cold. And I was in a dress. And of course I didn't bring an umbrella. As I stood at the stoplight by work, I considered my options: go back to the office and race on Saturday in hashed shoes that are hurting my feet, or weather the cold rain and get the shoes. Mid-contemplation, a very nice middle-aged man from South Carolina offered me shelter under his umbrella. Then he walked me to the metro. It's hard to explain the effect his kindness had on me. I forget sometimes that I truly appreciate the gentlemenly-types. It makes me feel and behave more like a lady, which I like. It also makes me blush a little in a non-scandalized way, which I also like.

So, the marathon is tomorrow. I'm proud to report that the only cookies that derailed me over the last month were Girl Scout cookies. I did not bake one treat during the cookie fast, nor did I fall victim to the dreaded pink cookies of death. Aren't you so proud? We'll see if it did me any good. Also, the marathon's in D.C. so anyone finding themselves on the mall up towards the capitol around 9 or 9:15 or so can see me at mile 16 or 17. Not that you need to, but just in case you want to.

I think that's all. Sorry for the boring post. I do have a great confession in store for next week, though. And suddenly I just want to ask, how is everyone doing? I'm not very good at posting things that inspire a lot of chatter (still learning), so I don't feel like I get to engage in online conversation, but I do really want to know what's going on. Talk to me. At the very least, give me the link to your blog so we can blogstalk each other.

[insert big fat smiley face right here]

During lunch I went to buy these:

Which I did.

But I also bought these:

[insert big fat smiley face right here]

You might be asking why I need two new pairs of running shoes (and why the second pair makes me smile bigger than the first pair). Or you might not actually care, in which case you should stop reading because I'm going to explain and it might be boring for you.

The pair on top, the Mizuno Wave Creation 10, are my trainers, the pair I do my long runs in, the pair that are for sure going to take care of my feet, shins, knees, and back. They are my reliables. I realized the other day I had put close to 450 miles on my current pair (oops!) instead of the 350 I thought I was at. (You really should only put about 350-400 miles on a pair of shoes, especially if you are injury-prone.) So yeah, I needed a new pair. Check. Nice, but not necessarily exciting.

Now the Brooks Racer ST4...those are exciting. Why? Well, because they are racers. What are racers? Racers = speed (they weigh less than half what the Mizunos weigh), and it's been years since I've put on a pair (even though I've been researching them almost every year). These babies make track workouts fun, hill workouts easier, and races faster. These babies are going to take me to a sub-6 mile this summer.

I saw them. I wanted.

I succumbed to temptation.

I tried on a pair. I caved. I bought.

I'm so excited.

p.s. On a completely unrelated note, I just saw an advertisement for X-Men Origins: Wolverine and got a little shiver of anticipation. I can hardly wait.

The Ability to Create

I was all set to blog today about my very first experience with a Neti Pot last night, but as I worked my way through a network of blogs today, I stumbled across a video that I rather liked and felt would be more worthy of today's blog space than a comical account of saline solution being poured through one nostril and coming out the other. (I'm not kidding--and now that I'm thinking about it, maybe it's best that I don't post on the Neti Pot. Ever.)

About a week or two ago I became aware of a YouTube channel called Mormon Messages. A statement on Lds.org explains its purpose: "If you are looking for a simple way to watch and share brief, gospel-centered videos, visit Mormon Messages, a Church-sponsored YouTube channel that is updated each week with teachings of our basic beliefs, stories of hope and inspiration, and more." I think this channel is not only a great missionary tool, but also a great way to give members of the Church both uplift and clarification on various concepts. These short messages, I believe, can help unclutter our own personal articulations (or inarticulations, as the case may be).

The video that automatically plays when you go to Mormon Messages right now is on why Mormons build temples. I sent this video to some of my temple prep students last week because I felt like it was a great great sum-up of what we have learned in class. I found it to be very powerful as it was direct, informative (but succinct), and quite uplifting. I'm sure many of you have seen it. If not, here it is:



It's a great video, but not the one I came to blog about. The one I wanted to talk about briefly was one I found in my blogging travels today. It is a talk/music/image medley. The text of the video is taken from a talk President Uchtdorf gave at the last General Relief Society broadcast:



I'll be honest, I usually feel like these kinds of videos are a little bit cheesy, but for some reason instead of rolling my eyes a little bit, I felt comforted and inspired.

I loved this talk when it was given, and I actually quite like how it is presented here. I believe him when he says that the desire to create is one of the deepest yearnings of the human soul. I also believe him when he says that we can satisfy that yearning through the small and simple tasks of our day. Too often, I think, I want to change the world by being involved in a great, far-reaching, world-impacting organization or cause. Too often I forget that creation is something I do every day, and that my actions often have a domino effect, affecting more people than I realize.

I know this blog usually revels in the ridiculous, but I want to make sure I take time every once in a while to share the things that matter most to me--such as family, temples, and eternal progression--because in a lot of ways this blog is a major creative outlet, and, while I absolutely love to entertain you all (I really mean that; It brings a lot of joy to my soul), I also hope that sometimes I can provide a little positive lift. Especially on a dreary Wednesday morning following a very... interesting experience involving a Neti Pot and allergy medication. Ah Spring.

Coupon offer

This is for you.

(You know who you are.)

Four eyes

These are the glasses I wear at work, except imagine them in a smoky green color.

I have another wire-framed pair I keep at home and travel with (they are not as comfortable but more durable).

I haven't had my prescription changed (or even checked, come to think of it) since I moved to D.C. Not because I haven't needed to, but because I've just been too lazy/cheap. However, the last two weeks have been long and have convinced me that it's probably time to pay a visit to the optometrist. I took off my glasses the other day to talk to my boss (it's hard to focus far away with the glasses on and hard to focus on what's being said when you can't focus on the subject speaking...so annoying) and then turned back to my computer screen to do something only to find that without my glasses...well, I had to work infinitely harder to figure out what was going on. So depressing. Driving at night has been more difficult as my depth perception has been worse than usual in the darkness (I've almost biffed it down my stairs countless times on my way out to run or swim). Soooo, I have an appointment for next week. I'm considering getting new frames.

These are a few I saw and liked:

I like the two-tonedness of this pair.

I know these two look essentially the same, but they aren't...

I don't love these as much, but they could be an option.

Thoughts?

Other suggestions?

You guys

I saw them. Last night. On my way to the temple.

They weren't there last week.

Spring might happen after all.

Addendum to "Yeah, NOT a kid's movie"

My sister lovingly found this for me. (Karen, my heart started pumping really hard when I saw it and I felt a little bit pathetic. I hope you're happy.)

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_mttxfNhi0Y&feature=related

Go to minute 4:20. As soon as I saw it, I remembered that this is what freaked me out so badly.

My fear makes a lot more sense now...I mean, seriously, that is freaky. Right?

Yeah, NOT a kid's movie.

Last night was an interesting night. The ranks gathered for TT and the jokes about yesterday's post were flying. One of the attendees hadn't had a chance to read the post (hey, at least someone's working at work) and so Kim decided to read the post aloud in the kitchen as we finished cooking.

I'll admit, I've never heard my work read aloud in a non-workshop setting. It was slightly unnerving. It was also a little exhilerating. It made me sort of feel like a real writer. Everyone laughed in just the right places, moments were relived, and some even clapped when it was done. I self-consciously stirred the beans and occupied myself with serving up dinner, but was secretly a little bit pleased.

We ate, talked, and confessed, and eventually the crowd dispersed and I was left in the kitchen with Leanna and Katie. Leanna was cooking up a storm, as usual, and I was trying to learn by observing, as usual. Leanna cooks with lots of different vegetables, which I love. Last night she pulled out these:

Radishes.

I have an irrational confession to make, and it deals with radishes. It's not that I don't like them--I can't actually remember the last time I ate one (I was maybe 7?)--but they scare me. I know. Who gets scared of vegetables, right? Well. Hi. My name's Julie.

I decided I hadn't really confessed to anything earlier in the evening, and I've always kind of wanted to have this fear quelled, so I decided to share:

"So...I've always been a little bit afraid of radishes." [Leanna paused in cooking and Katie looked straight at me, ready for a good confession.] "I know this sounds weird but one of my earliest childhood memories involves a movie, and in it there's this woman who's pregnant and I think she craves radishes and --" I paused, uncertain I wanted to continue. Why? Well, other than the fact that it is ridiculous to feel the way I do about a vegetable, I've always been afraid that it's been a made-up memory, and yet it has seriously governed my feelings towards radishes. (And dreams, come to think of it.) That's when Katie chimed in with "--and her husband goes out to the garden to get them for her?"

Relief washed over me. The memory was real!

"Yes!! That's it!! And then something totally creepy happens in the garden and it's dark and then she can't eat the radishes for some reason and...and...I don't remember what else!"

Neither one of us could remember the movie's name or what it was even about, but we both had the same memories of the movie. I was convinced it was some horror/thriller movie that I had inadvertently walked in on my brothers watching. Anyway, the scene in the garden was so traumatizing that I have avoided radishes my whole life. I know. It's ridiculous.

Want to know what's even more ridiculous? I got up this morning, still thinking about how I felt like a missing piece of my life's puzzle had been found, and decided to google a few terms ("radish husband garden movie") to see if I couldn't locate the movie that scarred me so badly. Yeah. Not a horror film.

Rapunzel.

With Jeff Bridges.

What?!

I opened the synopsis and was horrified to relive this memory that was so traumatic at 3 or 4 or however old I was. Sure enough, there in the synopsis was the dream, the radishes, the garden, the WITCH, the baby-stealing, everything. I don't remember this movie having anything to do with Rapunzel. I just remember the dream. And the radishes. And the husband. And the garden. And the creepy thing that happened in the garden. And BAM! Just like that, at the tender age of toddler was born a fear of radishes. Not of witches, or baby-stealing, or gardens. Radishes .

Yeah. Not a kid's movie.

Love Versus Lust (a.k.a. Samoas v. Granny B's Pink Cookies of Death)

Oh, the composition of this blog post started off so differently than it's going to end up. That's one thing I really love about writing. Thinking you're going to write about one thing and then you get to the end and realize you have to rewrite the whole thing because you're last sentence was dynamite and the whole blog post should really be about that. Yeah, this is one of those.

This post is ultimately going to be about cookies and love.

And pink cookies and lust.

Let's start at the beginning.

There was an...incident in the kitchen the other night. It was Taco Tuesday and I thought as a nice treat to the group, I would purchase some Girl Scout cookies for dessert. I thought for sure I would be strong enough to bring the contraband into the house and not partake. [sigh]

I won't go into details of how we ended up here, only to say that around 10:30 that night, I found myself in the kitchen with three of my roommates and one honorary roommate. I had purposefully brushed my teeth to avoid consumption of the Samoas I knew were in the kitchen. We started chatting about the day, etc. when someone opened the cookies. They smelled really good, and I figured I could probably just eat one and be fine. Problem is, everyone knew about the cookie fast. I think Kim could sense my shifty eyes, because she moved them farther away. I finally decided I wanted one, and because I didn't want to have to justify my decision before I ate the cookie, I lunged across the counter and in one fell swoop swept up the cookie and popped it into my mouth, all before anyone could say anything. I don't know what I expected, maybe for the conversation to go on without interruption, but the reaction in the kitchen was...well...funny. First there was stunned silence. Then came the laughter and reenactments. Emily likened me to Buddy the Elf with the cotton balls. Reed said he'd never seen such a deft lunge. I did it to be funny (the lunge, not the consumption), but I think it was seen as an act of desperation. After all, I did break the cookie fast in one deft lunge; or, rather, it broke me.

Today I was listening to a segment of RadioLab (I will blog about my love for RadioLab another time) and laughed at its appropriate timing. This week's short podcast was on Mischel's Marshmallows, an experiment in which they were testing the ability of children to delay gratification.

This is the link to the podcast:

http://blogs.wnyc.org/radiolab/2009/03/09/mischel%e2%80%99s-marshmallows/

And below is the video associated with it. If you don't listen to the podcast (it's only 15 minutes) basically this is the video of 4- to 6-year-olds put in a room with three cookies. They are told they can either have one cookie now, or two cookies later...if they wait.



I love this video because of the tactics these kids use to stave off temptation. I especially love the kid who licks the insides of the cookies and then tries to rearrange them so that no one will notice. I know which kid I would probably be. I know what you're probably thinking, that I would either be the kid licking the cookies or the kid not shown leaping across the table to grab all three. Not so. I would be able to resist. I have lots of willpower.

I wrote as much in an email to those who witnessed the kitchen incident.

To my shock, these are the replies I received:

From Reed: "Yeah, in my mind Jules, there's no doubt about it. You'd have definitely failed. But you would have dominated the eat the cookie in one bite test!!"

From Kim: "Dominating that test while killing all others who may be in the path to said cookie..." (Just because there was almost an additional incident involving a "cup"...)

And my favorite, from Emily:



Now, here's the thing. Maybe I should be embarrassed. Along with all of this, recently a friend remarked to me that he had never met anyone who took so much joy in the making and/or consumption of cookies. And I was embarrassed at first (I mean, who wants to be known as the girl who eats cookies, let alone the one who lunges across counters for them?) but then I realized that my love for them really has become more...pronounced as I have spent more time away from my family.

My mom used to make her famous chocolate chip cookies every week. She would time them to come out of the oven for right when we got home from school. We were allowed to have one spoonful of cookie dough and one hot cookie with milk. We would stand around and eat them as we talked about our days. I can still feel the sunshine coming into the kitchen through our awesome 70's wavy-glass window as I tried to pick out the perfect cookie. So, I guess cookies = love. Could I resist them? Yes, of course. But that's like saying I can resist love. Sure, I can do it, but why would I want to? It's much more satisfying to give and receive than to eschew, even if it does require I run a few extra miles to accommodate.

But do all cookies = love? you ask. I say, nay. Some cookies = LUST. Specifically, Granny B's (a.k.a Granny B's Pink Cookies of Death). I can be funny and lunge across a counter for a Samoa because they are yummy and little and sold once a year. You can be funny about love like that. Granny B's Pink Cookies of Death...I don't know. The first time I ever had one was in Nauvoo. We had participated in Mississippi by Moonlight or something to that effect and done some reel dancing and our treat was these individually wrapped sugar cookies. I normally don't like sugar cookies, I told myself, but I'll go ahead and try it. [sigh] I had never tasted anything so wonderfully sinful. I mean, the cookie is not even that good, but something about it spoke to my guilty pleasure meter. Those are not cookies you lunge for. Those are the cookies you sit and stare at, walk by, walk around, and tell yourself in no uncertain terms should you eat one. And yet. And yet...

We have a box of them sitting on our kitchen counter.

I saw them last night and I think a wimper might have escaped. I have had imitation versions of these cookies over the years, but I have never since had a Granny B's. Not since that fateful night in Nauvoo, 8 years ago. It might be more than I can take, I thought. But this morning I saw them again and did not feel tempted. It's not worth the sugar jolt to my system, nor is it worth jeapordizing my run in the morning. I can tell the difference between love and lust...I will prevail.

Take that.

Free Tibet

While I may not love my job (even though today I was officially told I "consistently exceed expectations" and essentially that I am the best - thank goodness I decided against wearing my pink chucks to work today...I'm pretty sure that wouldn't have gone over too well during my evaluation), I do like the location of my office. A lot. I am right across the street from the White House, so when the weather warms up I usually head to LaFayette Park for my lunch break. I have missed my beloved park. Winter has been cruel, and pre-spring has been mostly kind...and by pre-spring I really mean just this weekend. I could have done without the snowstorm on Monday.

Today I ventured out to the park and was not disappointed. It is definitely windy, but the sun is shining relatively warmly. I laid out my blanket, took out my book and settled in for a peaceful hour in the sunshine. Wait, scratch that. I walked into the park, saw the "Free Tibet" protest, chose a corner of the park where I wouldn't be intruding on their space, and then laid out my blanket, took out my book and tried to have a peaceful lunch hour. Cue the demon squirrel who took my thrown shoe as an invitation to share my blanket. SICK! Once homeboy skedaddled (it took about four shoe shooings - I didn't want to actually hit him, just scare him away), I turned my attention to the speeches and rally cries of the protestors. As the rally cries grew in fervor, I found myself asking questions (silently, of course) about the conflict between China and Tibet. I realized I don't know much about it. I know it has something to do with the Chinese (and a possible invasion?) and independence and the Dalai Lama (I think), but I don't understand the nuances of the conflict. Lost in my thoughts, I suddenly realized that the chanting was growing louder. It sounded like they were right on top of me. That's when I saw the camera man.

He was right in my face, snapping photos of me reading my book in the park. I thought, "Boy, that is just weird," until I realized that the protestors had started their march, and they were right on top of me. I could just see the tagline on the photos he was taking, "Disinterested American reads in White House park as disenfranchised Tibetans march for independence." I felt like maybe I should act as interested as I felt so he would know I was not a "disinterested American" (does being uneducated about the conflict equal disinterest?), so I closed my book and looked at the long line of protestors making their way out of the park and onto the streets of DC. I wondered what brought them there today. Do they have family in Tibet? Are they from Tibet themselves? Do they have Tibetan friends? Or are they just friends to the Tibetan cause? I also wondered, as they left the park, what rally I would ever find myself at, or if I am even the rallying type. I have some ideas as to where I might end up, but I'm still not sure I'm the rallying type. I sort of feel like I'm more a "letter to the editor" type. But I don't know; I'm not sure. I'll have to think on it some more.

Are you the rallying type? What kind of a rally would you find yourself at?

All in all, another interesting day in D.C. I feel lucky that I get to live here and see things that make me think and ask questions on a regular basis.

New crimes, new culprits

Today is one of those glorious days where blog material after blog material comes screaming into my life. And it's only 10:00 in the morning.

Let's start with the fact that I was a touch late to work because I stood in the shower for far too long this morning. I keep looking at the weekend forecast, looking heavenward and kissing the sky for the forecasted 70 degrees we are going to be blessed with on Saturday, and thinking that my runs in the morning should feel like that balmy. Yeah, no. There's still snow on the trail. And ice. Not a ton, but enough to make my feet sore and me nervous about breaking or twisting something. Anyway, the shower was divine and it's going to be 70 degrees on Saturday. Gosh, okay, the weather = not interesting blog material. But all that was to get us to breakfast.

Everyone seemed to be running late today, not just me, which made me sad because preparing lunches and eating breakfast is sometimes my favorite part of the day with my roommates. It's where we talk about the previous night's activities, dreams we've had the night before (usually that's just me), plans for after work... There was no time for details this morning, only allusions to funny stories that must be shared. The suspense is killing me. I do love a good story.

Then, I got into work. On the high of story delight, I was called back down to "reality" upon the discovery of a new printer issue. Yeah, remember how this blog started? The confession involving the legal assistant who never filled the printer with paper and my daily routine of ream...opening? Read here if you're lost. The rest of this story won't make sense otherwise, and as this is the incident this post has been building up to, it's really in your best interest to read it. Ahem, anyway. As I was saying, we now have a new culprit and a new crime.

Lately, when the orange light blinks and I walk over to fill the printer with paper, I find that someone has already been there. Recently. How do I know? There is an almost complete ream of paper still inside a mangled wrapper sitting by the printer. Whomever is doing this is simply putting just enough paper in the printer to finish their print job. What?! I have two issues with this:

1. It seems incredibly self-centered to put in just enough paper for your own print job and no one else who might come after you. It is, after all, a shared printer. And what about the next print job you're going to send there? Huh? What are you going to do then? Just put the whole ream in. Then I won't have to look at the mangled shreds of your attempt. Which takes us to number two.

2. (And this probably should have been number one) Why are you mangling the wrapper?! It hurts my heart to see it opened so haphazardly. For several reasons. The first being my need for order and cleanliness. I don't know why it extends to the ream of paper, but it does. Second, it's like finding out that girl you don't really know but get the feeling that you don't really like has started dating your ex-boyfriend. She doesn't necessarily know that every time you see them together a little part of your heart aches, so she goes about her business, oblivious to everything but her own needs and happiness. Okay, so maybe that's a little dramatic. I mean, it's not like I anxiously await my opportunity to fill the printer with paper, but it does feel a little strange to know that someone else is doing it, and doing it without the thoughts that plague me. I sort of wish sometimes that I could live a more normal life with a less-active imagination and/or internal dialogue. But then, I wouldn't be me and this blog would be a lot more boring.

All of this, along with poorly-chosen g-chat statuses and subsequent chats have given me quite the entertaining morning.

I hope the afternoon passes a little more quietly. Wait, no I don't.

Random Twitching, Inspirational Articles, and New Nakies

I don't know what I've done, but the back of my neck is twitching rather uncomfortably. Maybe it's my overuse of the mouse (pathetic job). Maybe it has something to do with my swim this morning (doubtful, but maybe). Maybe it has something to do with the same thing that's making my heart do funny things, namely the depletion of electrolytes that I have failed to replenish (hmm, most likely, I think)... Whatever it is, I'd like it to stop. The sooner the better.

On another, completely unrelated note, Ch sent me a great article (in the mail!) the other day. It was one of those articles that had a similar effect as discovering Anne Fadiman's familiar essays. Discovering myself as a writer has taken considerably more time and effort than I anticipated and this was yet another piece of writing that unlocked a little bit more. More on that maybe tomorrow.

And one last note: I'm an aunt again! Evan James Bradshaw was born on Monday. It's times like these I wish I lived closer to home. Just look at this preciousness. I just want to pick him up and smell him and kiss him and call him Magnus...I mean Evan.

I will say, it's a little eerie how in this particular family resemblances have begun to repeat themselves. Jonathan is a mini-Paul. Evan is a mini-Matthew. I wonder if they had another (I know, Wendy, bite my tongue) if he would look like a mini-Josh. Or a mini-Megan.

Check out little Jonathan with Evan. I love this look of curiosity and excitement on his face. [sigh] I have two little nakies now and I miss them both.

Okay, I will now stop being schmoopy about my family. This is not that kind of blog (I'm not exactly sure what kind of blog this is, but it's not really the type where I parade pictures of family in a non-interesting way. I would be more entertaining about this whole thing if babies did anything remotely interesting, I mean besides being really really cute. The only story Evan can give me right now is the fact that we were all pulling for him to be named MAGNUS because it was mentioned once in jest about how it's a family name and they were going for a family name, or at least considering it, and how I told Wendy that I might just call him Magnus anyway, because I'd already gotten my hopes up for it and I wasn't sure if I could make the switch in my heart and how she responded that she was prepared to accept that. I mean, that's the only story I've got so far. He could be a Magnus, right?!)

I love babies. The end.

More on that interesting article tomorrow.

It's like real life Mad Gab

Have you guys played that game MadGab? It's the one with cards that have sentences that mean nothing on them. You read the sentence aloud with the hope that if you run the words together just right it will actually sound like a phrase with which you are familiar. Well, sometimes, my life is like MadGab.

I have real problems with hearing sometimes. It's not that I'm hard of hearing (when I want to I can actually hear lots of things that aren't intended for anyone to hear). It's just that sometimes I space out when someone is talking in a group or during periods of silence and I tune back in either very slowly or at the very wrong time. Or sometimes I'm friends with mumblers who provide me with a treasure trove of malaproprisms. :) Or sometimes I don't think too hard about what a song is really about and just assume the words are what I'm hearing.

Some recent examples:

What I heard: "By the grace of God"
What was actually said: "The grapes are gone"

What I heard: [said very mysteriously as we walked down the street] "Ooh, look. Duplex apartments. I wonder who's in them."
What was actually said: "Ooh, look. Two black suburbans. I wonder who's in them."

What I heard: [in the chorus of a hip hop song] "Birdseed"
What was actually said: "Mercy"

What I heard: [in the chorus of a good running song] "Candied Heels"
What was actually said: "Canned heat in my heels" (Yes, I know the name of the song is "Canned Heat" but I didn't make the connection until one day on my run after listening to the song for the umpteenth time.)

Sometimes I know I couldn't have heard correctly, but I also can't help but repeat what I thought I heard (lack of filter). Sometimes I'll realize what was actually said mid-question, but I can't put those words back in my mouth. Sometimes that's okay. Sometimes that's disastrous.

Most of these have happened in the last couple of weeks (the "Grace of God" one was quite a while ago -- my roommate reminded me about that one). I'm sure there have been more...many more. Do you remember any? Do you have any of your own?

[sigh]

Too bad Arlington County doesn't offer this kind of service (well, minus the breaking down part).



6+ inches of snow = stuck on the treadmill tonight. 10 miles have never loomed so...but we're three weeks out so there's no messing around. Attitude is everything, right? I should have just gotten out and run in the fluffy snow at 6 a.m. like I'd planned, but that howling wind...oh the wind...and the thought of wet feet with that wind...[sigh] Treadmill it is. Pray for warmer weather.