I am in such a weird funk right now, you guys. I keep sitting down to blog, and then … nothing. I think it’s because the weather is so beautiful right now that all I want to do is run around outside without my coat on and pretend it’s not going to go back to being cold in a day or two. Seriously, this is what the inside of my head looks like right now:
I’m pretty sure this is what the MRI results at our local hospital look like. Much benign!
It was 65 degrees outside on Sunday, so decided to go for a walk around the neighborhood … between the fresh air and mountain views I started to feel pretty smug about living in the country. And then I walked by a guy skinning a small, furry animal on his front porch. Good one, universe.
The view from our deck on Sunday. Not pictured: Two guys drinking beer on their tailgate in the field behind our house.
The rain and cold is supposed to roll back in tomorrow. I’m really hoping my motivation reappears along with it.
For a four-day workweek, it sure seemed to take forever to get to Friday. If I was the kind of person who danced in public, I totally would be right now.
In lieu of dancing, here are five things that made the week drag a little less:
1. Getting a Valentine in the mail from my nephew:
2. With a Harry Potter stamp featuring some stellar smell-the-fart-acting from Ron:
3. My weekend forecast looks like this (sorry, every other state besides California):
4. Dave joined an indoor soccer league, and I get to see him play tonight (he’s a goalie, and he’s really good). Hopefully watching his games will increase my knowledge of soccer, since right now it’s limited to things I learned while watching “Ladybugs” over and over in 5th grade because I had a crush on Jonathan Brandis.
Example: It’s totally healthy to let your step dad dress you in drag as long as he has a really good reason, like wanting to win a few U-14 soccer games to impress his boss.
5. I discovered a delicious new vodka on Wednesday night: Effen Dutch Raspberry.
I mixed it with Coke Zero (it tasted just like a Cherry Vanilla Coke but with the added bonus of BOOZE), and Dave mixed it with juice. So good.
Have a great weekend! I’ll be over here, enjoying my vodka in the 60-degree weather.
So I mentioned a few weeks ago on Instagram that I’m trying to get back into half marathon shape, and things were going pretty well until I broke my toe last week. Since running wasn’t happening, I decided to do an arm/back workout one day. It did not go well.
I tend to ignore my upper body when I’m training for a race. I’m already running at least three times a week and doing lower body strength training, so adding one more gym session would cut into the “sit on the couch and watch bad TV” time that I cherish so hard. I think that’s about to change, though — yesterday I saw a picture of myself from a recent work event, and I was rocking some serious ham hock arms. I wont post the picture here because PRIDE, I HAVE IT, but here is a close approximation:
Not pictured: The plate of bacon-wrapped water chestnuts I was hoovering in said photo. #muchprofeshunal
However, until the Olympics conclude this weekend my arm workouts will consist of fist pumping every time Crazy Mary appears on screen and praying to Jesus that I miraculously wake up the next day to world peace and figure skater arms. And speaking of Crazy Mary and figure skaters, I am SO EXCITED about this.
(Also, if you have suggestions for arm workouts besides “immaculate bicep conception,” feel free to leave them in the comments.)
In keeping with my current life theme of “EVERYTHING IS BROKEN,” I’m pretty sure I broke one of my toes last week. I didn’t mention it here because I was already doing so much whining about our stove breaking. Also I figured if I wrote about it people might ask how it happened, and then I would have to admit that I drank too many Skinny Girl margaritas and then ran full-speed into the coffee table while sprinting to the kitchen to make a hot dog during an Olympics commercial break.
So yeah, my toe swelled up and turned all sorts of fun shades and it hurt pretty bad just to walk all week, which meant that running was out of the question. Then on top of not running all week, I ate a ton of microwave food and take out on account of OUR STOVE. IT WAS BROKEN, HAVE YOU HEARD? And then even though my toe felt better by Saturday, I spent all weekend like this because Desperate Housewives wasn’t going to binge watch itself:
I had yesterday off work and figured it was finally time to get my ass back in gear. I laced up my running shoes and was fully prepared to feel like crap the entire time, but instead I felt great and beat my current 5K record by over a minute. Running is so weird.
Also, here is the latest installment in our broken stove saga: Our new range was delivered on Saturday, so I decided to finally bake the red velvet brownies I had planned to make for Valentine’s Day. When I went to open the oven door to check on them, the door handle was scalding hot. Like, I had to use an oven mitt to open the door. That didn’t seem normal, so I called the Sears manager yesterday who confirmed that no, our oven door handle should not be giving us second degree burns. Now we’re waiting on a call from the service department.
I foresee more hot dogs in our future.
1. We bought a shiny new stove!
It’s being delivered tomorrow. They didn’t even give us a time frame — they just said they’ll call when they’re on the stop before to let us know they’re coming. At first I was annoyed, but now I see it for what it is: A perfect excuse to do absolutely nothing tomorrow.
2. My new shirt:
I ordered this shirt from J. Crew Factory last week, and I love it. I have a stupidly short waist, and I like that the longer length hides the fact that I have the torso of a three-year-old. Also, HOT PINK.
3. My Valentine’s Day nails:
This was my project while boring speed skating was on the other night.
4. I get to eat Indian food tonight:
That up there is the garlic naan and chicken korma, my favorite things on the menu. Besides the biryani. And butter chicken. And lamb vindaloo. Basically I have to hold myself back from ordering one of everything and I usually come dangerously close to re-creating the fat man scene from that Monty Python movie. (I hate Monty Phyton so hard, and that is literally the only scene I remember from any of the movies.)
5. Monday is President’s Day, which means THREE DAY WEEKEND. This is how I feel right now:
I got bored while watching cross country skiing the other night, so I hopped on Pinterest, where I was bombarded with some really questionable ideas for celebrating Valentine’s Day. First up is the “Choose Your Valentine Destiny” date:
This involves creating and cutting out pictures that represent possible activities/meals and making your significant other choose from them to create their own all-day date. I’m pretty sure if Dave could choose his Valentine Destiny, it would involve pants-optional hockey watching and not plucking clip art out of a hat to determine which romantic comedy he has to suffer through. Also, doesn’t this essentially force you to plan for, like, six different dates since you won’t know what he’s going to pick? This sounds like a lot of work that will most likely result in your man spending the day hoping the next picture he chooses is of him watching TV in his underwear.
“The dress you bought me doesn’t fit over my thighs, but I still feel sexy,” said no woman ever. Unless you have seen her try the exact dress on and love it, I wouldn’t risk it.
Nothing says, “Stage 5 Clinger,” like receiving a card bearing the exact number of days she has loved you. Especially if you’re not even dating her.
Likewise, nothing says, “I have zero self esteem issues,” like buying him gym shorts with your name on them. Also, seriously? 325 pins? HAVE SOME PRIDE, PEOPLE OF PINTEREST.
Related: I posted this on Facebook a few days ago, but just in case you didn’t see it — 10 Valentine Cards That Will Get You Dumped
Surprise! Our broken stove wasn’t under warranty, a fact I already knew in my heart but had to stand in an appliance shop blasting the Flaccid Rock Sirius channel for 20 minutes to confirm. Turns out, bad news is so much worse when it is delivered to the soundtrack of Meat Loaf’s greatest hit.
Will do anything for love, except cut his hair and stop making that face.
We did a little stove shopping after work and then I softened the blow with some Skinny Girl margaritas while watching the Olympics. LIFE TIP: Don’t buy these. I’ve had other Skinny Girl flavors and enjoyed them- the white peach is delish – but the original margarita flavor was so sour and jarring that I almost pulled a Michael Scott and added some sweetener.
Also, a four-pack of mini bottles was 18 DOLLARS. Apparently I wasn’t paying attention when I picked them up, and I didn’t realize they were so expensive until the price flashed on the cashier’s screen. I thought about going back and getting something else, but the only thing more depressing than buying booze marketed toward women with poor body image is returning that booze because it cuts into your Taco Bell budget.
For those of you who saw the title of this post and skimmed to the end to avoid my whining, here is a summary: 1) Always buy the extended warranty on major appliances, 2) Skinny Girl Margaritas taste like evil, and 3) Mmm, Taco Bell.