Run. Dog. Cat. Cat. Me.

Everything you need to know about running and life and any other random crap I find bouncing through my mind like a ping pong ball. And always be sure your shoes are happy.

Archive for the tag “Zombies”

Important Self Test Which Will Reveal All You Need

I often see FB posts revealing someone’s Person Type, their Inner Spirit; shining examples of Hope, Love, or Eternal Peace Hippie Girl.  I am not necessarily against that, as it was once revealed that I am a rainbow farting unicorn.  Other than that one time, though – and this is just my personal opinion, even though I do the little tests – I think these links results are sh*t.

These links are sh*t because they don’t offer the options real people would actually choose if they could.

So I’m going to make a test for you that will actually work.  This test will reveal your true self, your true inner spirit, and the real reason you live and breathe, however well or poorly, on this earth.

Get a paper and pencil because I am not going to have a little button at the end of each question which will tally and do a reveal at the bottom of this post.  That sh*t costs money and I just bought groceries for dinner, so that’s not in the budget.  If you are unable to find a working pencil, a scrap of paper, cannot write the letters A, B, C, D or E, or cannot add, and/or any combination of these, your personal revelation is immediate:  You Rock.  You have a life and are too busy to screw with having usable writing utensils and stupid pads of paper, you have a phone to do all of that.  When the end of society as we know it comes, and we know it will, probably sooner than later –  the Demicans and Republicrats tell us so every night on CNBC/FOX/FML – your life will then suck because your phone will be useless.  Meanwhile, since I do have paper and a pencil nub, I can write notes on scraps of paper begging for rescue and throw them in rivers in all the pop bottles I keep meaning to recycle, but forget.  This will as useless as your phone but slightly more fun.

Today we will determine what type of personality you have.  The options will be Zen, OK Most of the Time, What’s It Matter It Will Never Work Anyway, Don’t Push My Buttons, and DANGER, Will Robinson.

1.  You arrive at work on Monday morning.  There is no coffee in the building.
a.  I’d probably spill it, anyway.
b.  ooooooooooooohhhhhmmmmm
c.  I should be … WTF??  Someone moved my monitor a 1/4 inch, stupid son of a …
d.  OK.  OK then, hey, it could be worse, right?
e.  Seriously?  This is the best question you could come up with?

2.  Your ideal weekend would include:
a.  My local ashram, a church picnic, time petting fluffy bunnies, holding small babies smelling of powder
b.  Coffee first.  Then, I dunno.  More coffee.
c.  I’m going to start edging my yard at 4am Saturday since that a$$ next door was blowing leaves at sunrise on Memorial Day.
d.  I have plans but I bet it’s gonna rain.
e.  Invisibility.

3.  If you could choose to be any fantasy animal, you’d be:
a.  Godzilla, only I’d be flying one of those human f*cker’s planes.  BWAAA HAHAHAHAHA take that you little minions!
b.  A fluffy bunny in a sunny field full of pretty flowers
c.  I went as Winnie the Pooh on Halloween once, but it rained.
d.  Oh, you know, whatever no one else wants to be.  It’ll be fine.
e.  The one that just got turned into a zombie and is chasing whoever wrote this idiot test.

4.  Your Gramma, the Pope, a kitten, and, um, Hitler are in a boat.    Who said what:
a.  “No, not Hitler, that’s so over done and, really, stereotyping.  Must you have a bad guy?”
b.  “Oh, yeah?? Who thinks it’s overdone?  I can use Hitler if I want, dammit.”
c.  “Now, everyone, let’s be nice and cooperate.”
d.  “OH!  I know!  I know!  The boat sinks!”
e.  “Look, I’m not putting up with this sh*t and this test is stupid.”

5.  You decide you need to start meditating.  You’ll be a better person for it, don’t you think?  Your meditation word is:
a.  I think it’s “maybe”
b.  I’ve been meditating for at least a minute and this is bull*&^!
c.  My spirit word is never to be revealed.
d.  I think I have one, it’s around here somewhere, hold tight.
e.  My word is STOOPID.  Why am I still taking this STUPID test??

6.  Go-to reward:
a.  Beer
b.  Ginseng tea
c.  Shooting range
d.  Well, whatever you think would be good
e.  Beer at the shooting range

7.  You’ve been thinking some type of regular exercise would be a good thing.  What do you decide to do?
a.  I have a personal yogini already
b.  Jogging sounds nice, that could work
c.  Shooting range
d.  I’ll probably get injured, maybe I’ll just stay home.
e.  Bludgeoning bloggers.

8.  You are lost, alone on a small island in the middle of the sea.  What book do you wish you had to read?
a.  First Aid
b.  The Bible
c.  How to build a boat
d.  How to swim
e.  How to grow coffee and machetes

9.  Ideal vacation.
a.  Zombieland
b.  Disneyland
c.  Well, I don’t want to fly anywhere.  They always lose my luggage.
d.  Anywhere I can be with my loved ones.
e.  Xanax.  Lots.

10.  You will recommend this extremely accurate and helpful test to how many of your friends?
a.  Are you sh*tting me?
b.  I’m not sure.  I like my friends.
c.  All of them!  We’ll all take it TOGETHER!  It will be so nice!  We’ll Bond in Harmony and Joy!
d.  I think I’ll wait and see how I do, first.
e.  Are you f*$%’ing sh*tting me?

RESULTS.  Give yourself the allotted points for each answer:

Question 1:
a = 3
b = 1
c = 4
d = 2
e = 5

Question 2:
a = 1
b = 2
c = 4
d = 3
e = 10

Question 3:
a = 4
b = 1
c = 3
d = 2
e = 15

Question 4:
a = 1
b = 4
c = 3
d = 2
e = 20

Question 5:
a = 3
b = 4
c = 1
d = 2
e = 25

Question 6:
a = 2
b = 1
c = 4
d = 3
e = 30

Question 7:
a = 1
b = 2
c = 4
d = 3
e = 35

Question 8:
a = 3
b = 1
c = 4
d = 2
e = 40

Question 9:
a = 4
b = 2
c = 3
d = 1
e = 45

Question 10:
a = 4
b = 2
c = 1
d = 3
e = 100

If you scored:
1-10 Points:  It doesn’t matter because you’re up in the clouds meditating.  This test and all it represents is a false reality.  You are:  ZEN
11-20 Points:  Ah, it’s fine.  Whatever, things usually work out, I’m fine with that.  You are:  OK Most of the Time.
21-30 Points:  Seriously, you knew this wasn’t going to work, didn’t you?  You almost quit halfway through. You are: What’s it Matter?  It Will Never Work Anyway
31-40 Points:  You have a lot of buttons.  Do you know that?  You do.  And people push them.  All the Damn Time.  You are:  Don’t Push My Buttons!!!
41-1,000 Points:  YOU WIN! YOU WIN!  YOU ARE AWESOME!!  You see through the falsities of humanity, the treacle, the drudgery, the aimless wandering of the soul.

Here’s your prize, which you can obtain at this link for $3.73 plus S&H.  Buy yourself a coffee cup too, I don’t care.  I don’t give a SH*T because I don’t like your attitude.


Just a little flesh wound.

You can make dinner while standing on one foot but I would not recommend you do so while stirring the popping spaghetti sauce, ouch.

But it’s OK, just a little flesh wound.

Seriously, just a little pop of boiling spaghetti sauce on my arm, I’d rate it point-zero-one on a 1-10 scale.  I had a conversation with a friend one time, discussing another friend with terminal cancer whose stated pain level was 9 or 10.  We considered for a while.  How bad can 10 feel?  We all know 11 is one louder, however the pain scale only goes to 10 so it took a while for us to develop a new pain scale:

1 – my head hurts

2 – my head hurts like a little man inside is pounding it with a little hammer

3 – I’d like to get that little man out of my head and kick his a$$

4 – the little man in my head is using a jackhammer

5 – the little man in my head has a friend helping him

6 – the little man in my head and his friend are close to breaking through

7 – the little man in my head and his friend have broken through my skull and are now dancing in my eyeballs in celebration

8 – the little man in my head and his friend who broke through and did the celebration dance are now stabbing my eyeballs

9 – the little man in my head and his friend who broke through, danced and then stabbed my eyeballs just set my hair on fire …

10. … and … now they just tore my arms off.

Lately I have had ample opportunity to answer the question “Please rate your pain on a scale of one to ten.”  It’s a conundrum.  My ten could be your 20.  Or it could be your 3.  Maybe pain scales should note that a 10 means someone just sliced off both your arms but if you consider it just a flesh wound please choose 2. I ponder what number to choose on my current pain level.

I had my first two children sans medication.  It was the thing to do for some reason.  Don’t take an aspirin, just breathe deeply, you can do this.  So, I did.  I was alone in a room, waiting for something to happen, four weeks early with my girl child.  The woman in the room next to me screamed.  OMGOD HELP  HELP ME SOMEONE HELP MAKE IT STOP.  I was fairly sure someone was actually in the room with her who could help and it appeared they were either refusing or she’d made them promise to do nothing no matter how she begged.

Let me out. Let me out of here. Get me the hell out of here. What’s the matter with you people? I was joking! Don’t you know a joke when you hear one? HA-HA-HA-HA. (*@#$$, get me out of here! Open this $%&%# door or I’ll kick your rotten heads in! Mommy!

Hour after hour I was there, alone, with a couple of Home & Garden magazines to peruse which, by the way and to this day, I hate.  As I repeatedly gazed at gardens that would never grace my home I promised myself – if there was one thing in my life I was going to make sure would happen it was this:  I was not going to make a sound whenever girl child decided to appear.  Tear my nails out, I don’t care, I am not going to make noises that can be heard through walls by unsuspecting, lonely and frightened people.

So – I’ve had levels of pain but pain is complicated by duration, exacerbated by sudden stabbings or electricity jolting through muscles and who knows how much pain it really was, it’s different for everyone.  I’m gratefully past all that, again, and want to remain that way.  I will continue to strive to finally, totally defeat the current issue. Which brings me to stirring boiling spaghetti sauce while balancing on one foot.

Dr. W, as you both know, has been fantastic help since the first of the year and will remain forever my hero since my back did not spasm for three months as it did a few years ago – even without Butt Falling Off Syndrome that alone is enough to put him on the top shelf with all the really big trophies.  Yesterday I tried something new –  Structural Integration – and … just … wow.  I hurt this morning, but it’s a good hurt, ach-y in my neck and shoulders and oddly (because I never do so) I find myself stretching as I walk to the Shrine Of Keurig or sit at my desk, rolling my shoulders and head, and it feels good, looser.

I suppose most people who show up bruised and battered at Lucia’s office are pretty dorked up, I know that she didn’t seem to see much of me that wasn’t torqued one direction or the other.  She started from the bottom up and the first thing she asked me was if I’d badly sprained my ankle at some time in my life.  Yes, indeed I did, 6 months pregnant with the twins I fell stepping into the garage, the Goodyear Blimp of motherhood, landing awkwardly.  The ER doctor said I’d have been better off if it had broken and indeed, it hurt for most of a year if I moved wrong.  Side note:  a fat pregnant woman hopping through the house and office on one foot is pathetic and frightens innocent bystanders who fear the hopping could jolt loose a child.  It didn’t.

She rotated my left foot, then my right and suddenly I realized that my left foot seems to be attached very loosely by about 2 worn out rubber bands, flopping slightly as I stride, the right foot landing firmly while the left foot rolls to the outside before deciding to embrace earth.  Who knew?  Apparently just because the brains and I live in this body does not mean anyone is actually taking charge at the helm, and also apparently my left foot has been flopping about for 25 years refusing to carry its load, thank you foot, I’ll remember that at Christmas, coal in the stocking for you.  In the meantime we will be spending a lot of time, you and me, standing on you without the assistance of right foot.  But no longer will we do so in front of a roiling saucepan.

When I see them Dr. W and Lucia give me instructions, which I then carry carefully to Killer, who assists me in planking and squatting and lunging and monster-walking because in addition to no one firmly at the helm I’m also irresponsible and do not self-motivate properly.  Yes, yes, I nod, slavering happily, yessir, Dr. W, yes ma’am Lucia I’ll plank, I will balance on the BOSU ball, yep yep I skip about in their offices like a puppy but already Brain has seen a chicken and run off after it.

So I thank you, Dr. W, and Lucia, and Killer, and all of you in service industries who help people who are hurting, sick, in need.  I only have aches and pains, I do not have terminal cancer but I did watch my father die day-by-day for a year and I know who the caregivers are – givers because they care.  You are all very special people and I thank you all for making this world a better place while I sit at the computer answering emails and hanging around my watercooler named Facebook, posting pictures of cute kittens, unicorns and zombies.  You rock.

I can’t brain today

It’s 3:30am and I’m chugging copious amounts of coffee from my beloved Grumpy Cat cup which questions, Do I look like I rise and shine?  which you both know I do not.

This is the coffee cup I should be using:


except it should read, I can’t brain today, I have the Brain.

It’s a beautiful morning.  You know, for being 3:30am, dark as a black hole and all that sh*t.  I let Murph T. Dog out and it occurs to me that I would not be interested in running around a dark back yard at 3:30 in the morning because evil lurks in back yards with a large shining utility light which is useless and only lights the leaves of the trees below it, never a ray filtering all the way through to light your path where zombies are roaming, occasionally gently knocking accidentally into one another and bouncing off in opposite directions while waiting to eat my brains.   Apparently the dog is not so concerned with Zombies.  Sometimes I question if he has a brain anyway, especially after he rolls in raccoon shit, so maybe he has a point.

Brains is plural, and they would be welcome to one of my brains.  I don’t need both of them and I seldom use either of them.

Brain 1:  “Sigh.  Comfy Mushy Pillow, I love you.  Sigh.  hmmm…mumble…sigh…sleeeepy…

Brain 2:  “OMG WHAT TIME IS IT?”

Brain 1:  “WHA??  WHA??  Baby Jesus in his CRIB, WHAT?  it’s effing 9:30pm you idiot”

Brain 2:  “oh, my bad, sorry.”

Brain 1:  “Gawd.  Just Shut Up.”

Brain 2:  “I’m just making sure.  What if the alarm doesn’t go off?  What if our leg hurts?  What if she has :poop: in the woods??!”

Brain 1:  “Holy shit.  We’ve talked about this about 10 thousand times.  She brought tissue.  SHUT UP.”

Brain 2:  “FINE.  Just fine.  Don’t yell at me if she runs out of Gatorade and we die.”

zzzzz Mushy Pillow zzzzzz WAIT WHAT TIME IS IT?


Brain 2:  “I just wanted to be sure what time it is.  Maybe we should wake her up a few minutes early.  What if she forgot something?  She should probably check.”

Brain 1:  “Are.  You.  Shitting.  Me?  You already made her check everything 13 times.”

Brain 2:  “Fail to plan, Plan to fail.  I’m just sayin’.”

Brain 1:  “Hail Mary, Full of grace, the Lord is with thee…”

Brain 2:  “zzzzzzz *sucking thumb*”


Terrilee:  “I’m gonna kill you both.”

Sigh.  I give up.  I turn off the alarm which has no need to ring since, once again, I’m up before it has a chance.  Alarm is currently undergoing therapy, feeling completely unappreciated in our relationship.

I am hopeful for this run.  Last weekend was the one we always aim for – it was a great day, a little rain storm came through about mile 5, we were running through the country side, rolling hills, trees branching and meeting overhead so it was shady and cooler.  It was a new course to run, I’ve biked it before but you know it looks different on the ground as opposed to speeding past at the back of pack of bikers, wheezing, peddling until you think both legs will spin off in opposite directions, panicked at every little bump and rock that you will go flying over the handlebars and end up on FB like Killer did that time last summer, lying there unconscious while her hubs looked on worriedly, just one broken bone, little surgery on that, 3-4th degree shoulder separation, hey.

Anyway, I’m hopeful for this run.  Last week was awesome – no falling off butt, no pain down the entire back of my leg, no heel pain, no burning metatarsal.  Since both brains are wide awake and may be reading this I could possibly have jinxed myself, especially with OCD Brain #2, which will probably start feeling twitches at .2 miles in.  I had 20 to do last weekend and again this weekend.   Last weekend Brains behaved themselves until mile 18 when they screamed in tandem, “OMG if this were the race we’d have EIGHT MORE MILES WE CAN’T RUN EIGHT MORE MILES TODAY!!”  Took a mile to convince myself I didn’t HAVE to do eight more today, I only had to do 2 more.  Plus I have an awesome running buddy who will pull me through if I need.

Next week we drop back, not sure what we do, then a 22 miler and then the taper.  If my brains are scrambled now just wait until the taper.  I begin to understand why Van Gogh sliced off an ear.  He may have been trying to listen to only one brain.

Never leave home without it

Tuesday was the one year anniversary of my dad’s passing (I like the word “passing'”.  Passages.  Life is a series of them.) so I was visiting with my mom for the past week.  She lives in the hills about 1-1/2 hours north/northwest of Phoenix.  The town is not that small but I was reduced to 2G on my iPad, which sucked since I’m attached at the hip to the internet and have no life to speak of.  I felt rather as though one of my arms had been torn off.  Probably by Zombies.  This was particularly irritating when area TV stations kept emailing MRTC to see if we had any runners in Boston and could I give them their personal contact info.  We have 3400 members, I don’t know and I’m not giving you their personal info if I did know, but thanks for asking.  That, however, took 12 minutes to type every time, apparently you can’t type too fast on an iPad with 2G or you crash it.  Repeatedly.

Hey, at least I didn’t have to call AT&T, right?

Mom lives in a bi-level house built on the side of a steep plot of land, the backyard about 1-1/2 stories above the street.  The guest room is downstairs and the window sill is level with the yard.  I look upward to watch chipmunks steal sunflower seeds from the bird feeder and see the lizards amble past.  It’s cool and dark and I’ve named it The Bat Cave.

Every evening we watched movies on AMC, which, as an aside, I’m kinda pissed at AMC.  Mom’s AMC is having a special this month with little notes popping up throughout the film about the actors, funny anecdotes, etc.  I was so excited.  I was going to watch AMC the rest of the month and learn all kinds of useless pieces of info.  For instance I learned, while watching Willie Wonka, that all the little Oompa Loompas liked to rent a limo every day after filming and bar hop.  This was particularly funny to me, and totally not PC, because I kept having a mental image of the little dudes hopping up so they could see over the bar:  HOP “Scotch” HOP “on the” HOP “rocks, please” (bar?  hopping?  right?)  So I apologize if either of you are an Oompa Loompa and also that I’m an insensitive un-PC bitch.

But, no.  No little notes on my AMC.  Dammit.

Oh, well, I’ve been distracted by the talking heads on CNN anyway.

Mom is of an unstated age that allows her to pick and choose what she feels like doing and I expect she’s earned that right.  Personally, however, I do think she should have felt like killing those large red ants with the big mound of ant mansion in her backyard sometime in the last few years.  I particularly think she should have killed them before one of the little bass turds bit my foot.  Dammit, that hurt.

I grabbed some rubbing alcohol and some cortisone cream and some anti-itch cream and sat with ice on it while we watched the Oompah Loopahs roll away the large blueberry girl (one of my favorite parts, although I’m sure it wasn’t fun for her as she apparently wore the Styrofoam ball all day long and couldn’t eat while the rest of the crew had lunch because her arms couldn’t reach her mouth.  Seriously?  No one could spoon a little soup in her mouth?)  Then I started worrying about her.  What if she needed to go to the bathroom?

Well, it’s too late now, isn’t it?

Sorry, I’m back now, I was gone for a while there ^^^ Chunk is on my desk hovering over my keyboard, trying to smack my hand every time I type.  Apparently the typing is keeping her awake or something.  So sorry, Princess, your constant jumping on me is the whole reason we’re all awake at 4am.  Think about that tomorrow.  Anyway, now she is distracted as the sun is coming up and she can see the birds outside so she’s at the window chirping, tail twitching, and no longer trying to kill the dreaded Fingers of Typing.  That’s some tail, I tell you.  I had to move my coffee cup.

After Charlie gave Mr. Wonka the Everlasting Gobstopper back (which, BTW, they do make Everlasting Gobstoppers in real life but they actually only last 16 minutes, thank you, AMC) and proved he was a great guy and got to own the whole candy factory I retired to the Bat Cave to read a while before bed.  Of course then that damn ant bite started itching like fire.  I didn’t want to go back upstairs to get all the anti-itch stuff because every step you take in that 40-year old house makes the cups rattle slightly in the cupboard and I would wake mom, so I sat there for a while trying to ignore it.  You know how that goes.  Pretty soon the ant bite was the size of a basketball and it was all I could think of, itch! itch! itch!, the way a mosquito in the night ends up the size of a 747 and the next morning the bedroom looks like a war zone because you’ve thrown everything you could find at the damn thing and now you have to buy a new lamp.  Not that I ever did that.

I kept thinking there had to be something I could put on it to sooth the itching, something in that bathroom had to have alcohol in it, right?  Dad’s old aftershave?  Something?  But, no.  Mousse, Ajax, extra lightbulbs, I dug everything out of the cupboard – nothing.  I started digging through my overnight bag, furiously rubbing my foot against my leg uselessly trying to stop the burning itch which was now half the size of Alaska.

And then, voilà:


It worked!  Or, maybe it was just mental, but either way, the itching finally stopped, I fell asleep in the cool darkness of the Bat Cave and slept not like a baby until the sun came up.

We had another fun day and went shopping and eating and shopping and eating.  I had a nice run in the hills – at 5,000 feet it takes a while to get acclimated to the thinner air so I had to do some stopping and starting but it was a beautiful day and I was so happy to be running my beautiful Arizona.  You can’t feel too sad when you have a view like this:

Valley and hills

And this:

Thumb Butte

Beautiful, huh?

That evening we watched Ground Hog Day and read all the little stories at the bottom of the screen which my AMC doesn’t have, not that I’m bitter or going to harp on that all month.  Then I went to the Bat Cave to read my second book since I’d finished the first book I’d brought.  This new book was one of those that Oprah’s kingdom has deemed worthy of her honor and they’d slapped a sticker on the front.  But the sticker was a little loose in one spot, which was irritating because I could feel it with my fingers while I held the book.  So I tried to pull it off but I think they use Gorilla Glue or something on those things so all it did was tear in half and then when I tried to read it was sticky.  This was even more irritating.  I tried scraping it off with my fingernail but that started to mess up the book cover, which was currently new and smooth.  If you’re going to read a book it either needs to be new and smooth or totally worn out, not sort of new and sort of worn out.  There had to be a way to get that sticky off the cover.  If only I had something with a little alcohol … or … something…


So now my book reeks of mouth wash.

But – it’s smooth and new and the sticky is gone.

I’m telling you:  do not leave home without it.

I haven’t been right here. Where were you?

I was abducted by Aliens!
I was sucked into a Black Hole!
I was transported to an alternate universe!
I fell deeply asleep for forty years!

Ok, maybe I just got busy and then went out-of-town.  Sorry, I know both of you have completely stopped breathing while waiting for a wonderful, life changing post.  You don’t look so good, not breathing and all that.  Maybe you should get a life?

Anyway, taking up where we left off two weeks ago on the last tantalizing and mesmerizing post about how hard my poor life is, AT&T was firm in its resolve that I was not getting anything fixed for five days.  Whether they have too much stuff that breaks or not enough people to fix the broken stuff, either way they were intractable.

I made up a song about the issue:
It’s my blog and I’ll rant if I want to rant if I want to rant if I want to.
You would rant too if it happened to you

Well, unless you were the Hubs who has the patience of Job, only not as many cows and wives.  “Ok, I’m accepting, I’m accepting,” he said when I told him.  Well, sure he was accepting.  His work still had internet, right?  What was to accept on his end?  Working and getting things done?  That’s tough.

I said something cranky.  Imagine that.

To continue with the comparison of Job:  this is why Hubs, with the patience of Job, if he were Job, would have lots of cows but would balk at more than one wife.  One is one too many most of the time, I suspect.  Also, you pronounce it JOBE.  Even though it’s spelled JOB like “I have a job”, it’s pronounced JOBE, like I said.  Like, “I have a JOBE.”  Of course, if you tell people you have a JOBE they will think you have a dog or a friend or something named Job pronounced JOBE and will think you are a ne’er-do-well who doesn’t work.  I think you should just shut up at that point, but that’s just my opinion.  Go ahead and try it.  Don’t come crying to me.

I felt irritated and cranky until it occurred to me that what we are dealing with, here, is a First World Problem.  Put on the Big Girl pants.  Which I did and then I went to BeckyB’s house and borrowed a cup of wireless for a couple of hours to be sure any work hot spots were stomped out.  AT&T showed up the following Tuesday (which was  about a year ago at this point, thankfully I have a good memory) – at my house – a live person – who immediately detected the location of the issue, found that in the box at the end of the street where my service arises out of the deep dark hole of underground life were two wires, a black one and an orange one.  When these two wires are dangling, loose and unconnected, voilà!  No Service!  When they are connected, voilà!  Service!  And then he stayed until I got everything hooked back up and working.  Nice guy.  I have his name and number.  Let me know if your internet quits.  Black connects to black, orange to orange.  Crazy sh*t, I know, it takes an expert.

So then, since I had nothing else to do that week before I had internet resurrected, my crazy friend and I worked out with Killer.  Then I went to my anonymous crazy friend’s house, where  BeckyB set Matilda up on the Cycleops and we did Suffer-O-Rama Spinnervals for 45 minutes (seriously?  Suffer-O-Rama?  How can this possibly be good??) and then quick like little bunnies we hopped off, put on our running shoes and did 1.7 around her neighborhood.  My first Brick.  With mixed emotions I have signed up for the Memphis in May Sprint Tri.  When I told hubs he started to smile and then he froze as though Big Foot just showed up on our front lawn.  Don’t move Don’t move Don’t move, you might scare it.  Carefully moving nothing but his lips he said, “oh, good.”  Pat Big Foot softly on the head.  Nice Big Foot, there you go.

I thought about that a lot – the triathlon, not Big Foot – the next day as I swam back and forth back and forth like a hamster running on its little wheel going nowhere.  I thought about how I have a few more weeks to learn to swim 400 yards without holding on the side of the pool every 25th yard.  I thought about being in a lake and looking down as I swim, seeing nothing. I considered closing my eyes while I swam in the pool, to practice not seeing, but I didn’t really feel like bumping into the side of the pool in front of everyone.  I wondered if maybe you see stuff but it’s kind of slimy and squishy, and some of it came out of a fish?  Or do you see fish?  I bet you don’t see fish.  They’re probably too smart to swim where crazy people are.  I hope so, anyway.

Finally I had internet and to spare.  The next morning I sat on the patio, Jamaica Me Crazy in my steaming mug, foggy and zero visibility.  I could see the trees, random black outlines twisting and curving against the grey fog, a cacophony of birds cheeping chirping tweeting and squawking and an awkward squirrel ran down the side of a tree, little shards of bark breaking loose and falling in front of him.

I was reminded of one of my favorites from Morning Prayer, the Canticle of Daniel:

Every shower and dew, bless the Lord.
All you winds, bless the Lord.
Fire and heat, bless the Lord.
Cold and chill, bless the Lord.
Dew and rain, bless the Lord.
Frost and chill, bless the Lord.
Ice and snow, bless the Lord.
Nights and days, bless the Lord.
Light and darkness, bless the Lord.
Lightnings and clouds, bless the Lord.

Let the earth bless the Lord.
Praise and exalt him above all forever.
Mountains and hills, bless the Lord.
Everything growing from the earth, bless the Lord.
You springs, bless the Lord.
Seas and rivers, bless the Lord.
You dolphins and all water creatures, bless the Lord.
All you birds of the air, bless the Lord.
All you beasts, wild and tame, bless the Lord.
You sons of men, bless the Lord.

Thankfully, although I forget to do this most of the time, the birds, squirrels and budding plants remembered.  I need to watch them more often.

Isn’t this better than internet?

foggy morning

Altho there could be some Zombies out there…

That really bugs me.

Growing up in Arizona we had cicadas all the time.  I never minded them.  I liked hearing them at night.  I’d crank open my window and let the warm, blanket soft air float in, listening to them while I drifted off to sleep to the sound of the insects and the feel of the night.

When I was young the boys in the neighborhood would pull the empty cicada shells off the trees and chase the girls with the now useless exoskeleton while we ran and squealed.  I think some of the girls ran and squealed in a girlish attempt to impress the boys with their fragile femininity:  “Oh no!  Help me!”  Then the boys would feel strong and masculine and quit chasing them and tease them instead.  I missed that gene, however, and truly did not want to be chased by boys with dead insect exoskeletons.  Like lions in the wild, sensing the weakness of their prey, the boys immediately understood on some instinctual level that I wasn’t playing the game and I wasn’t going to be any good to flirt with.  They were right, as I’ve never managed to eyelash my way out of a ticket or into a parking space or any other thing.  I’ve decided to feel proud that I don’t fall back onto feminine wiles rather than embarrassed I’m unable to.

Cicada exoskeleton, my house, 8.12.12

The weather has been unusually conducive to cicada reproduction in the mid-south this year.  We’ve had an explosion of vacationing cicada cacophony followed a few days later with their discarded RV’s left clinging to tree trunks and decks.

Now I’m an adult I have no problem with that.  There’s no actual insect inside the shell.  To help both of you understand how much creepy crawlies are a problem for me, I once had the hubs (forced the hubs with increasingly shrill insistence over the phone while he tried to convince me he has a job and NEEDS TO DO IT) to come home to remove a tick from one of the children.  Honestly.  I think if someone got fired because they went home to get a tick off their own kid they could probably sue someone.  Don’t you?

My attitude toward bugs is: You leave me alone, I’ll leave you alone.  What bugs me is they never do.  They throw themselves repeatedly against the light bulb or the ceiling or the screened window.  Look, you idiot, quit bugging me and I won’t squash you flat while screaming like a Castrato.

Yesterday morning was the first 5 miler in the Road Race Series.  While I’ve never liked this horribly hot, steamy, sunny, humid, hilly, soul-sucking run, it was FIFTY SEVEN DEGREES when I woke.  Let me repeat that, as I’m sure you are incredulous to learn that the weather in Memphis in August could be anything less than OMG I CAN’T BREATHE and are probably thinking I’ve gone off my meds again:  it was 57 DEGREES.

Miles run last week prior to Sunday:  3

I’m sure it’s just a coincidence.  I only ran three miles last week and during that time my butt did not try to fall off.  I see no connection.  Throwing caution to the wind I decided to do the course prior to the race with my friend “Becky” and her training partner “Anne” and then run the race for a total of ten miles.  I’m tired of sitting on my not-currently-falling-off-butt doing nothing but torturing myself with a miraculous raquet ball.  Probably it’s a good thing to fall completely off your training and then do 10 miles.  We were going to go slow and take it easy.  Certainly that counts for something?

So we were trotting along, minding our own business, not out to do any harm when suddenly and directly behind my foot a cicada in the last throes of its miserable life took revenge on the world by screaming shrilly and slamming itself against my foot.  I took air like Michael Jordan with wings and screamed.  “Becky and Anne” turned to see how close the zombie rapists were and saw the sad dying cicada skittering on the pavement while I jumped around hyperventilating, my heart pounding.  Proof:  you can still run while crying laughing.  We finished the warmup run despite being half-heartedly threatened again by several more; none of them had the energy or desire for revenge which the first had, but you can darn skippy bet I was dancing on that course avoiding them while “Becky and Anne” laughed each time they saw one in the road.  Laugh away, hahahaha, you idjits.  Just wait.  The cicadas are out there and they have your number.  I know because I gave it to them and the zombies.  bwaaaahahaha.

Cicada seeing me on the 5-miler course.  Again I say, laugh away hahaha “Becky and Anne”.

I don’t know if the shock to my heart and rapidly increased heart rate had anything to do with it, but despite not training for most of the past four weeks (and having firmly promised myself and many others that I wasn’t going to) the adrenaline kicked in when the race started and I took off trying to race it.  I’m out of shape (again), I’ve lost conditioning (again) and I’m going to start building back up (again) but I was pleased at the end of the race to find I’m still currently in fourth place.  We’ll see.  I want to place, but I want more to keep running.  For a long time.  I want to be that 80-year-old lady.

At Ihop after the race my hamstrings spasmed up so bad I couldn’t talk, just sat there bug-eyed trying to breathe while my legs shot out in front of me with a life of their own.  Everyone around encouraged me in my pain, sharing stories of their quads, hammies and calves all cramping up at the same time.  Bunch of nutjob runners, if we can’t outrun each other we can, by damn, out-cramp each other.

Where have you been??

I haven’t blogged in over two weeks and I know both of you are in serious withdrawal by now and I want to most sincerely apologize to you both for the pain and anguish you have suffered while I was gone.  I thought of you once for a minute but then I forgot.

What happened was I got a call from An Anonymous Person who is Highly Placed in the Government and involved in a  Covert Operation which was not going well and Who Desperately Needed My Help.  While I am sworn to secrecy about all the details of the past couple weeks, I can give you this hint:  Zombies.  Area 51.  Espionage.  End of the World.  Comets.

In other words:  I went out-of-town for a couple of days, then got to have the B’ster for his first sleepover at Moggie Poppa’s House for two nights after which I collapsed in a quivering heap of exhaustion, providing further support for the anti-75-year-old-women-having-babies-camp, woke the next morning with a cold, followed the next night by an asthma attack which then lead into a week of madcap adventures getting the Women Run/Walk Mfs Coaches Kick-Off Meeting planned and completed, and then stuffing 10 bajillion Road Race Series packets and mailing them because, for me, work right now is like being a tax accountant on April 1st.

Reflections on the past two weeks:

I didn’t run Monday last week, it was my off day.  I’m glad they were forecasting rain while I was at my friend’s lake house.  That the rain didn’t happen doesn’t matter; since we weren’t sure it if would rain we sat on the deck to wait and see, and drank some coffee.  Then we got up, warmed our coffee and went back out on the deck.  We repeated this until noon.  We ate lunch.  Then we sat on the deck and drank iced tea…repeat.  At 5pm it was time to switch from tea to a glass of wine.  I decided I need to do this kind of day at least once a month.  Didn’t even read my book.  Just sat and visited and looked at the world.

I didn’t run Tuesday morning as planned because the reluctant rain finally showed up in pouring sheets.

A little boy running toward you yelling MOGGIE with his arms outstretched is awesome.

I didn’t run Wednesday because I had a little guy in my kitchen.  I made myself a ham/pepper/onion/cheese/egg white omelet while he had juice and cheerios.  I sat down and he looked at my plate.  “What’s that?” he pointed.  “Eggs, do you want some?”  He nodded.  I gave him a bite.  Big eyes:  ‘Eggs are good!” so half my omelet went to his plate. He tried the salsa with them, too, while experimenting with all the little kid forks and spoons I remember my four using.

I didn’t run Thursday because I needed to make EGGS! for the little dude again so he could be fueled and ready for a trip to the zoo.  ELEPHANT!  ZEBBAH!!  MONKEY!  TUTLE!  LION!  LION!  LION!  TIGER! (the others all looked like lions to him).  We ate lunch in the cafeteria with large windows overlooking the Monkey Area.  Two monkeys came and sat at the ledge looking at the people in the People Area.  They thought the little person was fascinating and enjoyed watching him in his native habitat eating a hot dog.

And, yes:  Moggie let him wear his rainboots for two straight days.  Mommy can make him wear real shoes.  BWAhahahaha.

Friday I woke and realized every cell in my body had been emptied of energy.  I tried poking around on FB while drinking copious amounts of coffee but the energy refused to come out of hiding.  Sniffing, sneezing and snorting I texted Killer that I needed to bag training.  I spent the day sitting at my desk working which was good since I’d gotten nothing done the past four days.

Saturday morning I still felt like crap but did six anyway.  It was a pretty morning and I love running through the neighborhood next to ours, they wisely kept as many old growth trees as possible when they began building, it’s beautiful and shady, almost like running in the countryside.  Then I worked all day.  This time of year is when most of the memberships come due, and we have the Road Race Series and Women Run/Walk Memphis both starting up within a week of each other.  For whatever reason both events are trending about 60% increase in registrations over last year, right now.  WRWM will cap at 1,500 but we do not have a registration cap on the RRS.  Last year we had 1,367 full series registrants so a 50-60% increase in regs could mean a whole lot of people at the starting line, and a whole lot of bibs, chips, packets and data entry for me.  I’m just trying to keep my nose to the stone and not get behind.

While I was working Saturday I saw a pic pop up on FB.  It was Killer.  She was sitting in the middle of the road with her cycling group clustered around her.  Broken left thumb, needed surgery to insert a pin, stitches, Stage 2 or 3 AC separation of the right shoulder and whiplash, EMT’s transported her to their site so her hubs could ride 20 miles back to the car and then come get her.  They were really nice, they put her bike in the transport too.  I visited her Monday night and the poor little thing was pathetic.  She’s so tiny anyway that I’m practically looking at the top of her head; her left arm was in huge, thick cast  from fingertips to elbow, right arm in a sling for the shoulder separation and couldn’t move her head due to the whiplash.  I have no clue how she’s going to eat, her hubs will have to drop food in her mouth like a momma birdie.  It made me think having an asthma attack is kind of like a picnic.

Last week I got a new running shirt!  Love it!  The fabric is great – it feels like brushed cotton but it’s tech fiber.  And it didn’t stick to me when I got all sweaty.

Saturday night I had the aforementioned asthma attack; haven’t had a full-blown attack in years so that was frustrating.  And, of course, caused me to bag my Sunday run; I spent the day putzing in the house and working, shaking my head at all the crazy nutjob runners in Memphis, our 3,795 club members, the 1,500 hundred ladies who will participate in WRWM, the nearly 2,000 that will end up in the RRS; Memphis – the city tagged #48 in fitness in the 2010 list of the 50 largest cities.  Last year we moved up to #47.  I guess I need to email them and protest.  But first I’m going to have to stop Cat from eating the club’s bumper stickers – be right back.

By the way, it would probably be a lot easier to blog if I didn’t have the cat’s tail whipping back and forth on my mouse and keyboard. Now she’s looking out the window at the birds and appears to be feeling a bit irritated. Perhaps because she can see the birds, squirrels and a large buzzing insect of unknown heritage which is currently slamming itself repeatedly against the window screen, but she cannot reach them. Personally I don’t care how she feels because she’s been demoted to my B list for scaring the HOOEY out of me.  The Idiot Cat likes tape. I thought cats hated tape. I thought when it sticks to their paws they would get upset. In fact, I thought you could use tape as a deterrent – put it somewhere you don’t want them to go and they’ll quit when they keep stepping on the stickiness. But, no. She’s enamored. When I open the tape drawer she crawls in and tries to lick the dispenser.  The other day I was taping some stuff together with clear packing tape. I cut off the excess and before I could say oh, I don’t know, just any really short words very fast, she’d swallowed it. Or, not. Mostly she was choking. A Lot. I was trying to grab her and figure out how to Heimlich a cat while she was growling at me and hacking all over the kitchen, and I was chasing behind her trying to catch her and squeeze her stomach or anything else I could think of in my panic which I might think was a good thing to try while the dog got excited and started running in circles barking in a desperate attempt to be part of the action. Finally Damn Cat hacked it out in a ball of foamy spit and then I was all grossed out but relieved and I Windexed the counter. Because Windex can fix pretty much anything, as you probably know. Perhaps I should have sprayed it on her. So anyway now Sh*t Head is on my list.

In view of the cold and the asthma I’ve had a good week, running.  So good, in fact, that yesterday all the fast girls stayed home and I managed 2nd in my age group at the Incredibly Awesome and Fantastically Well Run Ultimate 10k/5k sponsored by St. Francis and benefiting Youth Villages (shameless plug since one of you two is the RD and I figured I’d better fix this post to properly reflect and give all due credit to a race run by a Fanatic Blog Follower who most likely hid in the bushes, jumping out and tripping all the fast runners in my age group so I could place and be forever indebted).

Ah, crap, gotta go – Dip Sh*t is trying to eat the Hydrangeas in the bathroom.  She thinks flowers are a salad bar.

Zombies and Voodoo and all that um, stuff.

You get lulled into a feeling of safety.  Slowly, unnoticed, that constant nagging worry in the back of your mind has receded to a barely audible whisper, a tiny gnat-sized flutter of distant memory.

After a busy week schmoozing at a convention with the hubs and arriving home late last night you sleep in.  The sun is eventually so high in the sky that it is glaring into your eyes despite the tightly closed windows, so you get up and shuffle down to the Shrine for a cuppa, taking it easy, playing with the dog and cat, who missed you.  Fire up the trusty old Dell, open FB and what has your “friend” posted??  A link to the Miami Herald headline: “Naked man killed by Police near MacArthur Causeway was ‘eating’ face off victim“, which I’ve conveniently hyperlinked for both of you in case you want details.  Personally the headline was more than enough for me and I’m glad I didn’t cause permanent damage to my sinus cavities when I choked at the mental visual and snorted really hot coffee.  Apparently my “friend”, a term used loosely in light of her recent share, and whom I shall call, ummm….”Elizabeth”, to maintain her anonymity, is deeply concerned the Apocalypse is firing up in Florida, what with Zombie dude running naked on the Causeway, eating people’s faces and everything.  I admit, she has some reason to worry.

One reason I believe she may have cause to worry is that another “friend” (I have got to find some new friends) whom I shall call, ummm…”Missy” (it’s hard thinking of fake names, it takes a minute – be patient) then posted information on this book:

which was written by an ethnobotanist – and I have no clue what that is but you can both just look it up yourself because I had enough trouble just trying to spell it write (that one’s for you, Elizabeth-Grammar-Police-Sumner).  Apparently this enthno entno whatever went to Haiti in the 80’s and researched TWO DOCUMENTED CASES of zombi (which he spells with no E, oddly).

Just in case you just spit coffee through your nose too, and now your eyes are watering profusely like mine did, blurring most of what you’re reading, I shall repeat myself: DOCUMENTED CASES.

That sounds pretty official to me.  Like, before he went down there to investigate the TWO DOCUMENTED CASES, someone had already documented them.  This leads me to believe that they found something to put into a document, and not just once, but twice.  Myself, I think that if what they put in the document was THESE PEOPLE ARE NUTJOBS then the Harvard scientist with the fancyschmancy botany name would probably not have bothered to travel to Haiti to investigate nutjobs.  Because if all he needs are nutjobs, he could come to Memphis for that, “Elizabeth” and “Missy”.  I’m just sayin’.

To review (and I’m typing very slowly now, so you can both be sure to comprehend):

1.  We have TWO DOCUMENTED CASES of Zombies in Haiti.

2.  We now have very suspicious Zombie activity on the MacArthur Causeway in Miami – which is closer to Memphis than Haiti is.

3.  Suspicious Zombie activity is thereby moving closer to Memphis.

4.  Sometimes I’d prefer to have Sandra Bullock’s face instead of mine, but still and all, I’d prefer my face over a half-eaten one.

5.  I really regret overeating and drinking wine all week, and I definitely wish I’d gotten in more than 8 miles in this week, because I think we need to

6.  RUN!!!!!!!!!!

Back in the saddle again

Sunday morning, it’s beautiful out – and I slept until 7:30 and did not run.  So now the world will end, we are all going to die and probably Chunk will chew my toes off in my sleep when she turns into a Zombie Cat.

Actually I do have my suspicions she already has (turned into a Zombie Cat, not that she chewed my toes off, because I can still see them all right now) but that she is currently able to maintain the facade of normalcy for good periods of time.

Along the lines of this digression, after which I will return to our regularly scheduled blogging, I submit for your review and input the picture I managed to get this morning when I accidentally came upon her trying to eat my table.  Note the glowing eyes which, the instant I snapped the picture, quit glowing and she looked at me ever so innocently, “Oh, hi.”  “Who, me?”  “Why, no, not eating the table legs, just um…stretching.  Yes, I was stretching.”  Below that, the “I’m so innocent” picture.  Which is the truth, and which is a lie?  Please submit all votes before midnight CST Monday, April 30, 2012.  I worry that votes received after that time might be counted by the Zombie(s); I fear I may not have much more than 24-36 hours left.  Also, I leave my favorite Smushy Pillow to the hubs who steals it all the time anyway, along with my half of the bed linens which he also always steals.  To the children, anything you can find that looks good, take it.  Since the fanciest thing we own is one flat screen TV and it’s 19″ and I got it at WalMart for $199.99 plus tax you’ll just have to take your chances on finding anything  in the house of great value.  I do love you all deeply and somewhere there are some cute baby pics of some of you.  Not all of you, I ran out of time.  But some.  Somewhere.  I did truly mean to get them in a photo album at some point in the past 3-1/2 decades.  General Hospital was quite good for a number of years, tho, and I got distracted.

Chunk:  The Truth or the Lie? V.1

And, Chunk:  The Truth or the Lie?  V.2

I want both of you to carefully review these photos and let me know which is the truth and which is the dare.

So that’s my story of how I’m worried about Chunker.

In the meantime while I was waiting for these pics to load and then I would get back to our regularly programmed blogging I wanted a snack so I got an orange.  A couple of weeks ago while I was out of town the hubs bought some navel oranges at the local unsupermarket (it’s not that great a store, but the salad bar is pretty awesome.)  I’ve tried repeatedly this spring to purchase oranges, all of which promised juicy drippy sweetness in the unsupermarket as I squeezed them in a lame attempt to look like I knew what I was doing, trying to ascertain if this was a good orange to purchase.  Arriving home, however, my hopes were constantly dashed as one after another was revealed to be dry, pithy and sour.  At last I gave up on my search for orange-y vitamin C goodness – until I returned from out of town and found the basket in the kitchen full of yet another load of oranges.  Being the innocent believer in goodness that I am, I tried one last time.  Peeling the orange revealed a fruit which was deeply, brilliantly orange, a shade of orange making the University of TN football team look pale, dripping with juicy goodness, sweeter than baby kisses.  I stood over the sink making involuntary nom nom nom noises while I shoved the orange in my face, juice running off my elbows into the sink below.  Hubs arrived home to the wreckage, orange peels everywhere, Murph the Wonder Dog stuck in one spot, his paws unfortunately glued to the floor in dried orange juice, and me in a stupor slavering over the last delectable section of the last orange.  “Fwhere didshu get fthese ornjuzz?” I managed to gasp, trying not to look guilty and shoving the last bit of orange behind my back.

“At the store,” he replied, looking vaguely confused.  No, that’s a lie, I’m sorry.  He looked completely confused.  Why was I asking him about oranges the minute he walked in the door?  Was it a trap?  Was I going to blame him for the juice all over the floor, even though he was pretty sure he knew it had not been there when he left for work?  Or was I going to ask him to pry the dog loose, despite the fact that it was obviously my fault Murph T. Dog was stuck and additionally I’m the only one who can find the mop, for, as Rosie O’Donnell pointed out once (when she used to be funny), apparently the uterus is a homing device.

“They’re so good!” I replied.  “Where did you get them??”

“At the local unsupermarket in a great big bag for a dollar.”

Oh, sure.  He waltzes in, grabs a big a$$ bag of oranges for a buck and they’re great.  I stand there sniffing and squeezing each individual orange at about $32 apiece and my oranges suck.

So anyway, that’s the story of my orange that I just ate.  It was really good.

I’ll get back to the regularly scheduled blogging in a minute but first I have to tell you what else happened when I was uploading the pics.  I need to tell you both that I am very afraid that Zombies have probably managed to annihilate the staff of Yahoo! News.  For days now every time I go to open one of my yahoo email accounts all the highlighted news is THE SAME.  It hasn’t changed for DAYS.  “Kate’s Princess Transformation” “Angelina and Brad are Engaged” “What Men Find Attractive About Women” (uh, duh – if they’re still breathing) and the one that has been catching my eye, “How Often Should You Change Your Sheets?” which then provides this sinister hint:  If you’re only washing them once a month, you could have some unwelcome visitors in your bed. 

I’m already having a lot of issues with the whole Zombie thing which is EVERYWHERE now – more on that in a minute – and suddenly I learn that if I don’t wash my sheets I could have Unwelcome Visitors In My Bed, and I don’t think they’re talking about the guys they interviewed about finding women attractive, none of whom, I’m sure, had an entire set of their original teeth and probably drive a ’74 greenyellowred pickup truck with a bumper sticker proudly announcing that you should definitely not pass on the driver’s side ‘cuz Ah Chew and Ah Spit.  So I am totally washing my sheets.  Right. Now.  Then I thought, well, I should probably wash the comforter too.  I grabbed that fluffy down-filled king-sized sucker, dragged it down two flights of stairs and crammed that baby into the unsuspecting washing machine.  Setting it on “Large Load” “Heavy Duty” I fired that little GE baby up and sat down to blog because first, now that I’ve newly committed to not working on the weekends I now have nothing to do, and second I thought you both may have been missing me.  I know that you know that I’m there for ya tho – I got your back.

Chunkermunker, however, doesn’t trust me to quite that degree.  While waiting for my pics to upload she decided once again to play the innocent and jumped up on my lap.  Looking precious and sweet she put her little nose to mine and closed her eyes, her little paw on my shoulder.  I can’t do anything with her like that, of course, particularly anything like reach the keyboard and reveal her Zombie Secret to the world but I’m sure that’s not what she was doing.  I’m sure she just loves me.  Not a whole bunch, but a little bit, I bet.  Because at that moment the washing machine went off load with the king-sized comforter full of probably 87 pounds of absorbed water and started trying to walk out of the laundry closet.  Which is right next to my office, so the walking thumping pounding washing machine was pretty loud and Chunker looked at me with her eyeballs as big as oranges (really good oranges) and she was under the bed in one half of a nanosecond, leaving me alone to deal with the attacking washer.  See how she has my back, how my safety and security are always uppermost in her mind?  Murphy would have saved me, I bet, but he was upstairs sound asleep on the newly washed bedding, letting all his little fleas have a picnic in the hills and valleys of the wrinkled sheets.

So that’s my story about that the Yahoo! News staff is probably already Zombies and also what might be in your sheets if you don’t wash them, so don’t blame me if you get eaten tonight by Zombies stuck in your sheets.

In just a minute I’ll get back to the regularly scheduled blogging about getting back in the saddle again, but first you both need to know something else about Zombies.  You know the part (above) where I mentioned that the Zombie thing is, like, EVERYWHERE NOW?  Wellllll…..I’m pretty sure I maybe be among The Chosen.  Maybe you don’t know about The Chosen since I’m sure neither of you are.  Chosen, I mean.  But when the Zombie Apocalypse comes there will be some of us who are prepared and we will be the ones who have to save the rest of you idiots who act all nice about everything – but I know you don’t really believe me about the Zombies.

This is what happened so that I know I’m one of The Chosen.  I was at my mom’s house and the neighbor invited us both to her house for dinner.  They’ve only lived there since last fall and my mom was pretty busy the past few months with my dad, so she never really got to meet them other than the times they see each other outside and shout HI! and the time the brother and his friend shoveled all the snow off mom’s driveway which was very nice of them.  So we sit down in the dining area and begin visiting with the neighbor and what do I see????  OMG.  The Zombie Survival Guide.  Right there on the shelf in front of my eyes.  Yes! it’s EVERYWHERE NOW.  So I know it’s a sign right away and I jump up and say, OH MY GOSH! and they all ducked because maybe they thought I was having a seizure or something and they looked pretty surprised and I shouted ‘I CAN’T BELIEVE IT!  YOU HAVE THE ZOMBIE SURVIVAL GUIDE!” and they nodded that they did, indeed, have The Zombie Survival Guide.  AND – they let me borrow it!  Can you believe that?  Something that valuable, and they let me take it out of their home and all the way to Memphis and they didn’t even charge me a deposit.

So that’s my story of how I learned I was one of The Chosen and that it’s all EVERYWHERE.  Also, I do have my own copy of the book, I do.  But I kinda lost it, maybe.

Now I guess I’ll talk about being back in the saddle some other day because all this worrying and all my efforts to try to make you understand about the Zombies and Chunk and Murph and oranges and being Chosen and washing your bedding has completely worn me out and I’m going to go take a nap.  On the couch.  Which the Yahoo! News Zombies did not indicate is inhabited by unwanted creatures.  Other than Murph and Chunk, of course, who, the minute I thought the word “nap” in a tiny corner of my mind immediately raced each other to the couch, leaving me half a cushion and part of a pillow.

Zombie Update

I’m sitting here in Prescott, another abfab beautiful morning with the mourning doves cooing and the spoiled brat of a scrub jay turning his rotten nose up at my offering of the watermelon rind but happily eating all of mom’s peanuts the little sh*t.  Not that I’m bitter.  Stupid bird.  (Interesting side note: watermelon left out in the Arizona sun with -12% humidity turns into a substance quite similar to dried gorilla glue.)

I haven’t run since Thursday – been a little busy this past week but more on that later when I’ve had time to ruminate – and I will head out soon for a jog.  It will be interesting to see if I’ve managed to finally acclimate to the altitude.  Hopefully so, I need to keep up my stamina and fitness because you never know when the zombies will show up and I for sure intend to be ahead of the rest of you all when we have to run from them.  Probably I need to start incorporating a bit of speed work too.  I bet the adrenaline will help once it kicks in, though.  Hopefully the rest of you have been pretty stressed lately and your adrenal systems are shot.  I mean that in the most helpful and positive way possible.

So anyway, the zombies, as you know:  you never know when they may show up.  This morning, however, I found a very helpful post on FB and I wanted to share it with both of you because I’m like that, generous, thoughtful, caring, selfless.

Apparently what you need to do is find a really cute innocent little kitty and offer it as a sacrifice to the zombies:









and if that doesn’t work, you might try renting a baby:

So…I’m there for ya, got your back, always ready to help a friend.

Ciao – gotta RUN!

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