Contact Paper and Adventures in Graduation

I have this vague memory when I was smaller of adults cooing over how old I was getting, how tiny I used to be, and how they just remember me as a certain age.

I always found that annoying. Like, how? Do you not see me standing here now, clearly older? I was especially weirded out by people who exclaimed  how big I’d grown from when they used to babysit me, because I had no memory of any of that. Then they’d all wonder aloud where the time went and everyone else would nod in unison and agreement. I’d run away and play the first chance I had, wondering why all adults were so strange.

Then I watched my sister walk across the stage at her college graduation, the proud new owner of a Bachelor’s degree holder (they send it in the mail later which I’ve always thought was strange. Congratulations on your brand new degree….holder!) , and wondered to myself where the time went.

Confession: that’s not the first time that thought had crossed my mind.

And I already know I’m strange, so don’t bother telling me.

To backtrack a bit, I boarded a plane on Thursday headed for the mediocre  great and boring exciting state of Ohio. After a small freak out on Wednesday night about the fact that I wouldn’t be able to carry on my hairspray or mousse (see fear: pouf hair) and a perhaps-a-bit-too-frantic text to my mom and sister about the existence of said items at the house, I boarded the plane confident that I’d be able to keep my hair under control for the weekend.

If you had my hair, you’d understand.

Natalie had three main goals for the weekend:

1. Graduate

2. Move from apartment A to apartment B

3. Hang out with cool sister

Ok, I may have made that last one up.

Day One of “Operation Move Apartment” went fairly smoothly. No one broke any bones or threw any items across the room, which to me counts as a victory. I almost threw a do-it-yourself bench across the room when I couldn’t get the pieces to fit into the pre- measured holes, and found myself repeatedly sitting on them in my attempts to get the legs all the way into the seat. I was especially annoyed (albeit appreciative) after one of her guy friends managed to get them to fit in about 2 minutes.(Apparently all 128 pounds of my body just wasn’t good enough.) What was supposed to be a half day task naturally ended up taking all day, because the apartment hadn’t been cleaned very well after the previous person had moved out. Seriously, the dirt on the shelves? Gross. And in desperate need of a good scrub and some contact paper.

Contact paper and I have a love-hate relationship after spending several hours in a tiny kitchen (standing on the previously mentioned stool) covering shelves. Measure, cut, peel, unstick paper that stuck to itself or myself, press. Unpeel, repress. Flatten out bubbles. Unpeel, fix corner, repress. Flatten out bubbles. Cut excess with razor blade. Flatten. Rinse, repeat. I did it so many times that each time I peeled the paper from the backing I sang a two word song to myself titled simply “Contact Paper”,  which naturally became the joke of the weekend and was something I started singing at random times to amuse myself. I declared to anyone who would listen that I was 29 going on 18. Until that evening anyway when Natalie and her friend decided they wanted to go out to the bars….at midnight. It was already, like, 2 hours past my bedtime.

Is it bedtime yet?

At 2am, I pulled the “old” card and declared it was time to head back  because I wanted to go to bed.

I am so lame.

Also, on a totally unrelated note, double fudge cookie dough blizzards with peanut butter cups? Fabulous.

Saturday I got my happy butt out of bed and dragged it and Natalie’s butt running. We showered, ran a couple errands, grabbed breakfast and then I attacked contact paper: part 2. (Measure, cut, peel, unstick paper that stuck to itself or myself, press. Unpeel, repress. Flatten out bubbles. Unpeel, fix corner, repress. Flatten out bubbles. Cut excess with razor blade. Flatten. Rinse, repeat.)

After that, it was off to graduation:

Hi, we are with the graduate

I look nice now….

but I’ll totally steal your dollar when you aren’t looking

21 and 29 respectively, going on 5. We ranged many ages this weekend

Congratulations, Natalie.

FINALLY after all of that it was time for operation contact paper: part 3. (Measure, cut, peel, unstick paper that stuck to itself or myself, press. Unpeel, repress. Flatten out bubbles. Unpeel, fix corner, repress. Flatten out bubbles. Cut excess with razor blade. Flatten. Rinse, repeat.)

And you thought I was going to say dinner.

After another late night the whole family went to church the next morning. My aunt, who suffers from arthritis, asked me if I wouldn’t mind rubbing a couple of knots out of her shoulders. Afterwards, she told me she caught herself starting to ask me if, and I quote “did han.d jobs”. (i.e. would I massage her hands?)

For the record, the answer is yes, I do massage hands. Get your mind out of the gutter.

We took a trip in my mom’s convertible, where my mom and sister shared their incredible “cool-ness”

Suddenly, I had blinked and the weekend was over. And I found myself asking the question that I found so strange before: where did the time go? In fact, even with this incredibly long drawn out fertility journey, I ask myself that. It was nice to spend a weekend not worried, focused or even caring about fertility.

It’s time for more weekends like that. Ones that involve living and enjoying life.

Thanks for the awesome weekend, family.

Adventures in Gym Rattery

With the exception of race training, I’ve been a gym rat for years. I’ve been a member of college gyms, military base gyms and local gyms. In the fall we canceled our gym membership in an effort to save money, and because neither of us were going – I had started training for my 2nd marathon and was mainly running, and Bryan, well, he just wasn’t going.

In an effort to keep my exercising more low impact, we recently began talking about joining again. I came home after work a few weeks ago to Bryan’s announcement that he had signed a contract for the 2 of us at the brand new gym up the street. I was pis.sed at first because I knew that it was going to be more expensive, and because part of the reason I go to the gym is to take group classes, and new gyms are usually lacking in that front.

After a completely pointless and useless argument about the above and about how I totally don’t get the point of 24 hour gyms (seriously, who goes to the gym at 2am?), I acquiesced, traded in my running shoes for my gym shoes, and re-started my adventures in gym rattery.

I had forgotten one of the advantages of running is that I can get up, put on my shoes, run, come home, shower and go. Taking into account travel time, I realized I had to start getting up at the not-even-close-to-the-crack-of-dawn-time of 530am.

530 am is not my friend. I don’t like to get up before it’s light outside. The way I see it, if the sun is still sleeping, *I* should still be sleeping. Not only that, but it appears that the employees of the gym agree, because it isn’t staffed until 8am. Little did I know that even as I was arguing about the uselessness of a 24 hour gym, I would be consistently using it during its un-staffed period. That’s a first. You’d be surprised at the number of crazies who line up to take spin at 530 am. (that is, if it was available). They do apparently have an early morning Boot Camp class….that you have to pay extra for. Now, why on earth would I want to do that?

The facility itself is nice enough. I have to admit I like all the nice new, mostly non sweaty equipment except for the lack of stair machines and 3 tiny 20 inch televisions that there is no way you could see unless you were standing right under them. Why bother? Even my freakishly early morning experiences have been quite pleasant, as there are very few people crazy enough to go to the gym at the-not-even-close-to-the-crack-of dawn.

Until yesterday.

I’m minding my own business, walking on an incline on the treadmill while reading my e-book on the Left Behind series. I’m calmly increasing my heart rate while reading about the end of the world when I hear: “UUUUUUGGGGHHHH!!”

WTF?

Thinking that perhaps someone dropped a weight on their foot and might need medical assistance, I reluctantly stop reading about the end of the world and turn to figure out what happened.

I see nothing.

Weird.

I continue.

UUUUUUUGGGGHHHHH!!!

Perplexed, and now somewhat annoyed, I turn again. There are like, 4 other people there so this issue shouldn’t be hard to find. All I see to my left is a guy lifting weights…..and suddenly it dawns on me.

The man is doing his bicep curl, and uttering “UUUUUUGGGGHHH!”

Why? Why is that necessary? Do you need to feel super macho? Are you lifting a weight that is too heavy? I’ve done some weights. I get that sometimes when you’re holding your breath and exhale suddenly you might voice a little, but really is THAT necessary? Is there something about it that I don’t get?

Luckily, I brought my Ipod.

Yesterday morning I went and was relieved to find a list asking for votes on exercise classes. I requested a night/weekend  power yoga class and step class. Upon telling Bryan of this, he announced that at his next visit he was going to request “the one with all the se.x positions…?”

“The Kama Sutra?” I asked.

“Yes, that’s it!”

I shook my head.

It’s definitely going to be an adventure.

Let’s Get Motivated!

Everyone is familiar with these:

Image Credit

Yes, I was one of those people who found the actual motivation posters to be, well, lame. But that? Is hysterical.

Recently I came across an Iphone app called “Motivational Poster” (which is free for a limited time!), which allows you to make your OWN motivational, or de-motivational posters on your phone, using your very own pictures.

At first I thought, eh, I might find this funny at some point so I’ll download it. I don’t take that many funny pictures anyway. But, while waiting between kids at work today, I started to scroll through  my photos, and I couldn’t resist.

I also kinda liked: SUPERMAN – his post retirement job was really shitty (HAHAHAHAHAHA!)

Also considered: PORTION CONTROL. Because I will EAT.THEM.ALL

Bryan has tried a juice diet several times. Truthfully, it doesn’t taste all that horrible, but to LOOK at it? It makes me think of drinking algae:

By now I’ve developed a bit of an obsession, scrolling through my photos searching for potential.

Last summer my parents and sister came to visit. We don’t have many family pictures together and its kinda difficult to get 5 people all smiling at the same time. Plus, when you have a total stranger taking the picture, it always feels rude to ask to re-take it 10 times. In all honesty, I like this picture, and think my mom looks fine, but every time she looks at it she says she hates it because she looks like a dork. So mom, this one is for you:

No explanation needed:

I haven’t gotten quite creative enough to figure out how to work infertility into this, but trust me, it’s coming.

(That’s what she said.)

On Heeling

Yes, I spelled that right.

I apparently tend to use “a lot” incorrectly, but that is the correct version of heeling/healing I was going for.

Just for all you grammar crazies out there.

Anyway, Yesterday was the Flowertown Festival 5k/10k race. I’ve run this one 4 or 5 times, and sadly still have no idea what the money goes for (good going, me). The name comes from the fact that the city I live in is nicknamed “The Flowertown in the Pines” – particularly ( I think ) because of all the pretty azaelas that bloom in the springtime. Man I really need to read up on my info before I blog about it.

Thanks to early Springtime allergies,I woke up a kazillion (may or may not be an exaggeration) times the night before because my nose was either stuffed up or turned into Faucet Nose, so I went to bed contemplating skipping it altogether. But, because I had already paid for it and was hoping the exercise would clear my sinuses a bit, I went anyway. (Who am I kidding? The only time I missed a race or a run, sick or not, was when I was coughing so much it made my abs hurt)

I was alone for this one and so didn’t really get to take many pictures. I didn’t feel like carrying the phone for 6 miles. In the end, I’m really glad I went, because I’m gonna have to hang my racing shoes up for a bit after this. With an IVF in the near future, its getting too expensive. And my more nonchalant, not-so-competitive attitude helped too, because I was able to enjoy the race more vs. worrying about how fast I was going.

Plus, after the race I got a ticket for free chick-fil a. And a free doughnut. And coffee.

Free doughnut? yes please!

I meant to look happier in that picture, but the sun was in my eyes…..and I kinda stink at taking pictures of myself. Plus I felt odd asking a complete stranger to take a picture of me holding a doughnut in one hand while giving a thumps up with the other. I don’t mind humiliating myself in front of my friends, but I do have SOME dignity. But I digress.

Running has been a big healing thing for me through infertillity. And I’ve found over the last few weeks that racing does, too. It’s nice to feel a sense of accomplishment when you’re facing something stressful. At least it makes me feel like I have something to look forward to while I’m waiting. My brain is clearest when running. I can think things through. And pushing my body in races makes it impossible to worry about babies, at least for the duration of the race. I was sad while picking up my packet and leafing through upcoming races that I was going to have to forego registering for one in a couple weeks, wondering if I should pick up another hobby, like knitting. (not sarcastic….people knit some cool stuff)

I actually ended up finishing faster than I had expected at 47 minutes 41 seconds, and excitedly posted about my new personal record, until I went to add the time to my race page here and realized I had forgotten I ran it faster in 2009. Oh well, I still got a medal.

After the race I stood and talked one of the guys at the booths selling shoes, who informed me that I am apparently running incorrectly. As someone who didn’t really know you could run incorrectly, this came as kind of a shock to me. I knew I probably needed a new brand of shoe as the outsides are completely worn down, but apparently the heel toe running method is no longer considered the way to go. You’re actually supposed to hit the front of your foot first, and then the heal. This new method will supposedly be easier on my joints….and make me faster. hmmm

Now, I’m a little more excited. Although I’m still a bit sad to not race and cut down on the distance, I have a new goal – learn to run the better way. I’m told it takes a lot of conscious effort, which could be better for both my healing and my heels. Meaning I can take the lower milage and concentrate on how to do it right, so that when I DO race again, I’ll be even faster. And maybe I can come close to the female winner of the race, who at 37 finished in an astounding 39 minutes and some change.

Dang.

And I leave you with one of the more attractive moments of my life, a finish line picture:

Isn’t it beautiful?

An Ode to Spri(achoo!)ng

(on a random side note – somehow some of you who I have been following disappeared off of my list. So if I haven’t commented at all recently – thats why…its fixed now.)

Fall is actually my favorite time of year. I love the leaves changing and the cool weather – even though the leaves don’t change much here. Halloween is my favorite holiday. And it means I won’t have to mow my lawn for the next few months

I love spring too. The azaleas are beautiful in full bloom. People spend more time outside, and softball season starts again.

But spring also means

ALLERGIES

The one time of year where I almost kinda sorta consider moving back to Ohio. I didn’t have issues with allergies until I moved to South Carolina, and it seems like it gets slightly worse every year.

pinterest, naturally

I think that describes it pretty well.

I used to watch those commercials for the allergy meds where people describe feeling like they are in a “fog” and wonder exactly what that meant. I totally get it now. On allergy days I long to feel the way the commercial people feel after taking their magic pill and are released from their fog.

Sometimes, on a particularly bad day, I just sneeze.

A lot.

No, seriously.

One day, I started to sneeze so many times that I counted them. Not including the sneezes prior to starting to count, I counted over 80.

My abs got a good workout that day.

I feel bad for Bryan mostly when I sneeze. While I know that the polite and least disgusting thing to do is to reach for a tissue, use your elbow or cover your mouth, my sneezes  come about with very little warning. Usually I spend the precious milliseconds searching for a tissue and ACHOO! When I do cover my mouth with my hand, it typically still sprays because I do what I like to call “projectile sneeze”.

Once, I sneezed straight up in the air…..and then it rained back down on my face.

When  I’m not sneezing constantly, I’m typically dealing with a runny nose. From one nostril. Just one. Not that I am complaining about being able to breathe out of one nostril, I just find it odd. I’m sitting on the couch minding my own business when suddenly my body turns on a mini water faucet, forcing me to relax and watch TV like this:

What? I get tired of constantly wiping my nose raw. And only about 2 more attacks away from walking around like that in public.

Just kidding.

Maybe.

The weather’s getting warmer

The flowers start to bloom

My car’s covered in pollen

It is the time of doom

I breathe out of one nostril

Because that’s just how it goes

Nothings more fun than relaxing

With a tissue up my nose

I hope I’ll wake up in the morning

And be out of this fog, please

Can you get me a tissue?

I think I have to

ACHOO

Sneeze…..

An Ode to Mush Brain

Today, while working with one of my kiddo’s, I asked him to name as many animals as he could think of.

Kid: tiger……elephant…….worm…..

Me: A worm is not an elephant

And 5…4…3…2….

I mean, a worm is not an animal.

Yeah.

I’m thankful for the Speech Conference next week. Usually after a few weeks with no long weekends, I start to feel kinda restless and burnt out and feel like I need a refresher so to speak, but since I’m saving my PTO for the IVF, I don’t really have any extra days to take. Unfortunately, the stress surrounding this whole IVF mess isn’t helping, thus leading me to what I am affectionately calling “mush brain”.

After I had finished working with above kiddo, I took him out to talk to his mom and discuss his progress for the day. I started with “he did well today, we worked on…..”

And I drew a complete blank.

pinterest, you are my favorite

Luckily this child was not a first-timer, because I probably would have scared them away to a Speech Therapist with a better functioning memory.

On the way home, I may or may not have driven a couple miles with my left turn signal on. (What? I was going to turn left eventually). I honestly am not sure at what point in the drive it was switched on, I just noticed it at a stop light. Where I was waiting to go straight. Also, I have totally made fun of my mother for that exact same thing, commenting that the car needed a “hey you left your signal on, stupid” buzzing noise.
Thank goodness there are no plans in the near future to leave me home alone where I might leave the oven on. (I don’t iron, so that won’t happen either)

You know how computers or MP3 players will display “memory full”? when you try to add that one extra file or song and there isn’t enough room? That is how my brain feels right now.

This is your brain.

This is your brain on mush.

as always, thank you pinterest

An Ode to Mush Brain

I’m staring into space

For an insane amount of time

Because I just can’t seem to think

Of any words that rhyme

I’ll turn my signal on right now

While my hand is free

I’m not gonna turn for awhile

But I’ll do it eventually

Having pizza tonight for dinner

In its circular baking tin

Yay! The timer’s beeping

But I forgot to put it IN (that’s what she said)

(yes, that actually just happened….and no, I did NOT do it on purpose)

I’m not Infertile, I’m Reproductively Challenged

A couple of weeks ago, I had to have a conversation I never thought I would have to have.

I had to tell my (male) boss about our infertility and plans to pursue IVF.

I realize that it’s really none of his business, and that legally I don’t have to say anything. That if I have enough PTO there is no reason I NEED to share this particular piece of information. But, in the same respect, I also know that I could have to take an hour or two, a whole day or a couple of days without much prior notice, and that losing my job because of recent weird absenteeism would not help our financial situation.

The one bonus I had is that he is a lone male in 2 offices full of women. Physical, Occupational and Speech Therapists tend to be women more often than men. But, as a male with two kids that I’m pretty sure they didn’t have issues conceiving, he probably had no idea what an IVF even was. (he didn’t)

I racked my brain for a couple of days after sending the message requesting to meet with him for a few minutes later that week on how I was going to introduce the topic.

• Hey boss – despite all of the rabbit sex my husband and I are having, we can’t seem to get pregnant, so I’m going to need an IVF
• Um, so you know when two people love each other very much? And they decide they want children? And then they do this thing so they can have children? That isn’t working for us
• So while we have the outer parts working effectively, we can’t seem to get the sperm to meet the egg and therefore, need to do an IVF
• Bryan and I can’t have kids naturally because I have PCOS and he doesn’t have enough sperm so we need an IVF

All of those options screamed TMI!. And truthfully, I went into the meeting having no idea how I was going to start the conversation about our sex life and ability to procreate. Talk about awkward.

Oddly, I sat down with him and blurted out, without thinking (which for me is usually a bad thing): Bryan and I are what I call “reproductively challenged”, and went on to explain that we were unable to have kids naturally and therefore would need to have the aid of science in order to be able to get pregnant. And that I’d need to take a few days of PTO. And that I wouldn’t be able to give much notice before taking the PTO. I even whipped out a handy calendar visual to explain how long it would take and when approximately I would need said days off.

Luckily, he was understanding, but as expected had no idea what an IVF was. Or how much one cost. When I told him, his jaw dropped.

Yeah, my thoughts exactly. And that’s for a 65% chance.

Since that conversation, I’ve decided I kinda like the term “reproductively challenged”. Infertile, literally meaning not fertile, does have a bit of a negative connotation. Not so negative that I’m going to contact my congressman and demand the term be changed to reproductively challenged in order to fight the discrimination of infertile people everywhere, but you know what I mean.  The “challenge” part in particular fits for me because of my competitive nature, and so I picture my PCOS ovaries with their multiple follicles attempting to produce one healthy egg, fighting over which one is going to grow its egg faster. The winner becomes the dominant queen follicle, reigning over all of ovary land, and the left side gets so angry at losing that it spits out a bunch of eggs and causes a tube blockage, rendering itself useless.

The right ovary and tube, celebrating its victory, merely laughs at the left side. Bryan’s sperm, thanks to too much testosterone (go figure), fight each other to the death on their way out, and so there are only a few healthy ones left at the end. Thus, making procreation challenging. And leaving a lonely queen egg.

Whoops, wrong Queen (pinterest.com)

In all seriousness though, most of the time a diagnosis of infertility doesn’t mean we CAN’T reproduce, obtain or sustain a pregnancy, just that we need help doing so. So the next person stuck in the weird awkward situation of explaining to a male boss why you’re going to need several days off of work with little notice you can stick your chest out a little and proudly say “I’m not infertile, I’m reproductively challenged!” Make sure to stomp your foot for good measure.

The competitive nature in me accepts that challenge. And plans to WIN.

Life’s Little Annoyances (Sun Visor and Sock Monster)

I love the sun. Really.

Getting up when its dark outside makes me grumpy. Running in the dark makes me nervous. Walking around in the dark makes me stub my toe. And sometimes run into walls. Unless I have my trusty cell-phone-screen flashlight.

I start work at a slightly different time every day. And especially at this time of year, I tend to leave my house around the time the sun is still rising.  Because I wear glasses more than half the time and was too cheap to pay for transitions lenses, and because I lose and break sunglasses like its my hobby, I depend on my sun visor for glare protection.

It is absolutely useless.

Many mornings, I get into my car, back out of my driveway, drive through the neighborhood and onto the main road. After that I make a couple turns and BAM

Good morning! Your sun visor sucks! Love, the sun

See that black shadow up there? That’s my sun visor. And that super bright blinding ball? The sun. Clearly not being blocked by the visor. Sadly, I almost always drive around with it down, perhaps hoping that one day it will simply extend on its own or I’ll magically grow several inches overnight. Squinting all the way.

To the tune of Jingle Bells

Morning drive, morning drive

Squinting all the way

Oh how bright the sun is

In the first part of the day, hey!

A couple of nights ago, Bryan and I watched a particularly gruesome episode of Taboo. A Russian girl willingly underwent a a $26,000 surgery that broke both legs rendering her bedridden for 4 months, so they could slowly lengthen the bones and allow her to be slightly more than an inch taller.

That extra inch could possibly allow me to me tall enough to make the visor effective. (or maybe someone has invented an extender?) But while I hate the sun glare, I think I’ll sit on a phone book instead. I’d rather keep my leg bones intact. Plus I’d be horrible on bed rest, staring at my socks.

Mismatched ones…….

Every week I do a load or two of laundry. It’s neither my favorite nor least favorite chore. And, inevitably, with every load, are a few lonely, matchless, pairless socks.

Where do the socks go? They were there when I put them in the laundry basket. No matter how tired I am when throwing dirty laundry in the basket, I’m pretty sure I don’t forget to throw in both the socks I take off my feet. And yet somehow, inevitably, when I reach the point of my laundry-doing that I’m folding, I’m missing socks. I get that sometimes socks get separated in loads, or one gets left in the dryer when I’m pulling clothes out and gets an extra round in the dryer before finding its long lost match. Even then, though, when all the stray socks are paired, I am STILL.MISSING. SOCKS.

Missing our other half

Seriously? I’d start washing them paired in a ball if it didn’t result in half washed, still-soaked-even-out-of-the-dryer-so-I’d-have-to -separate-them-to-dry-them-anyway socks.

When I’m feeling particularly OCD, I scour places for my missing socks. Under the bed. Behind the dryer. Around the basket. Mixed in the drawer. Sometimes, when I’m successful, I squeal a little with glee.

But I’m still missing socks.

That can only mean one thing.

A sock monster. The sock monster is stealing and eating my stray socks. Laughing while I search high and low for sock pairs. Beaming when I swear I just saw the matching sock right here.

I want to eat your socks

I think he lives in my dryer. Just beware, sock monster. One day I’m gonna get sneaky, powder my floor with baking soda, and wake up looking for footprints. Then, when I find them, I’ll be a sock monster ninja. Or maybe I’ll just pretend to wash my socks, and the next sock you eat will be a stinky, dirty, filthy sock. One day, you’ll be eating your last sock.

Or – I guess I could just buy some new ones.

An Ode to TV

I don’t normally like to watch alot of television.

Its not the staring at screens that’s the problem, because I’ll usually then switch to either my phone screen or my computer screen. One would think I’d have a constant headache. (the husband screen does periodically get attention). Part of it has to do with my horrible attention span (I can’t sit through a whole movie without wanting to get up) and my weird need to constantly keep moving. I’m not sure if I’ve always been like that or if it has just recently occurred as a result of adulthood, but I know I drive my husband nuts because he likes to watch movies, and usually after one I’m done (if I can make it through that one in the first place)

I did watch quite a bit of TV as a kid. Specifically I remember watching episode after episode of Doug and The Rugrats on Nickelodeon. I also loved Salute Your Shorts, Legends of the Hidden Temple, Clarissa Explains it All and sometimes The Secret World of Alex Mack. I remember Saturday morning Looney Tunes and watching The Price Is Right at 11am every weekday in the summer. I also had a weird addiction to Rescue 911 (and would then be scared to death of the possibility of an electrical fire). And lets not forget TGIF every Friday, my personal favorites being Boy Meets World, Step by Step and Family Matters.

I’m pretty sure I was too busy in high school to watch much TV.

In college I religiously watched Dr Phil. And Gilmore Girls. In fact, I own all 7 seasons on DVD and may or may not have played through them all once twice three or more times since then. I also may or may not still be annoyed with the way they ended the show. I may or may not have at one time considered naming a child Loreli and nickaming her Rory. In fact, if the show were still airing, I would still be watching.

Now, I have a few shows I follow. I watched Dexter religiously until we no longer had Showtime (but I’ll find a way to catch up somehow), The Office and Modern Family. My guilty pleasures include Dr Phil (yeah I still watch it) and Sister Wives.

Reality television was typically never my cup of tea. Survivor? Dumb. The Bachelor? Dumber. Dancing with the Stars? No thanks. America’s Next Top Model? Barf. I did like The Apprentice at first but quit watching it after a couple seasons.

THEN, I discovered Hoarders. Long Island Medium. Gold Rush Alaska. Wipeout. (I would so rock Wipeout). Sister Wives. Intervention. Obsessed. Taboo. And don’t even get me started on Storage Wars.

Admittedly, I don’t watch every episode. But when a few pop up on my DVR, which I now do not know how to live without, I am glued.

Rewind to this past weekend.

As I mentioned before, usually after a couple hours of TV, I’ve had enough. I don’t know if it was stress lately or pure laziness, but I turned on the TV on Sunday morning, planning to watch a couple of shows and relax and then tackle my To Do list (steam clean rugs, paint second coat on hallway walls that I did first coat on 6 months ago), i.e. be productive.

I chuckled at a couple episodes of Wipeout…..and then I started to watch Locked Up Abroad.

And it was all over. I didnt see the outside of my house, or even the upstairs for that matter, all day. No I take that back – I did finally shower at 5pm. I did see the bathroom a couple of times. I literally watched a full work days’ worth of television. I’m pretty sure my brain rotted and my IQ dropped a few points. The rugs? Still dirty. The walls? Unpainted. The couch? Nicely dented from my bottom. My motivation? BAHAHAHAHA! On the plus side, I did learn about what NOT to do when attempting to smuggle drugs across the border (like, DON’T DO IT!). I honestly can’t remember the last time (with the exception of illness) that I spent that much time on the couch staring at the TV screen.

Sadly, though I didn’t spend all day Monday watching TV, I didn’t get anything done that day either. Have you ever noticed that the less you do, the less you feel like doing? The only productive things I accomplished over the 3 day weekend were running, two loads of laundry (only one folded), and grocery shopping. We were out of everything.

So to you, brain rotting, IQ sucking Television (or maybe I should blame cable?), an Ode:

I made a list of things to do

A few items to work through

But I can’t do my best

Until I’ve watched Obsessed

And one more episode of Taboo

To use the paintbrush on my wall

And clean the carpets in the hall

But I can’t pick up the brush

Until I’ve watched Gold Rush

Not just one show, but them all

To overcome the TV’s power

From sucking me in one more hour

But I want to see the lives

Of the four Sister Wives

Its 5pm, guess I should shower

But I’ll turn on The Office instead

To hear a few “that’s what she said”

Ok I’ve had my find

I’m finally going to be done

Because now its time for bed

Don’t Let Me Write a Love Song

I’ve always been an avid music lover.

I started taking piano lessons at a young age, and violin lessons in 5th grade. In high school, I was in choir, marching band, and orchestra. I played in the pit orchestra for music theatre (also in high school). I still sing in a community choir and play Fur Elise when I can get my hands on a piano.

I love music because it can represent and express a wide range of emotions. From sadness and depression to joy, to confusion, to anger to laughter. It’s comforted me during hard times in my life and I’ve belted out the best of the love ballads, rock songs and Top 40 hits in my car and while cleaning the house. It helps me get through runs and organize my thoughts while writing the more difficult blogs.

Music rocks. (pun intended)

There isn’t much else to do in your car while driving 11 hours through the night but listen to music. Bryan was in the drivers seat and so had the controls of the radio. Luckily, we have similar taste in music so I wasn’t forced to listen to Country Music Radio (sorry Country lovers) when I was actually awake. For awhile, he was tuned to a R &B station.

Rap, while not my least favorite, is not my favorite either. Mostly because I can’t understand a darn word the guys are saying. This one particular song I remember had this weird background sound that reminded me of a squeaky shoe or dog toy. The sad part was, I could see where it could be a decent running song, but since I couldn’t understand a word and am pretty sure I’m not going to turn up a result using a search: “rap song squeaky shoe sound”, I guess I’ll have to leave that one to memory.

Then Bryan starts to laugh. What is so funny? Apparently either the song said or he interpreted the following line: “She’s so cool she gives head with her shades on”

I guess we are measuring cool differently these days. Or we are totally misinterpreting the lyrics. Like that commercial where the guy is singing “Pour Some Sugar On Me” but actually sings “Shook up Ramen” so he calls the librarian to look up the lyrics. (Thankfully we have Google for that now)

I personally enjoy an interesting mix of music. I tend to listen to alot of Top 40 type songs because they tend to have fast paces for running. Once I decide I like a song, I can play it over and over again. Oddly, most of my favorite songs I picked out because of the background music. Adele’s “Set Fire to the Rain” is a good example. I decided I liked the lyrics after the background music. I enjoy Adele  because her lyrics have meaning beyond giving head with shades on.

Some songs just crack me up. Take “I’m Sexy and I Know It” for instance. I actually thought it was serious for awhile until someone told me about the music video. Then it just became funny. Another thing I like to do is take song lyrics and mess with them. Last night in the wee hours of the morning in the car, I made my own version.

Girl look at that body

Girl look at that body

Girl look at that body

I eat out

When I walk in McDonalds

This is what I see

Everybody stops and stares at me

I got a fat roll in my pants and I aint afraid to show it (show it, show it)

I’m a fatty and I know it

Eat your heart out, Weird Al.

Then there are the love songs. If you really listen to the lyrics of some of them it tends to point to an unhealthy relationship. I really like Bruno Mars’ new song “It Will Rain”, (which by the way, we heard 6 times on the trip) and Ill totally blast it out along to the radio, but the idea of sunlight and blue sky being dependent on the presence of another person is  bit scary. (I say this knowing that losing someone can feel akin to that….I’m just reading it more literally for comedic value). Don’t get me wrong, I love the song, and I’m betting that my version won’t hit the Top 40 charts anytime soon:

If you ever leave me baby

I’ll wave goodbye from my front door

Cuz even though I want you I don’t need you

Even though I’ll be sad I don’t have you anymore

I guess his lyrics are a bit more heartfelt and effective.

No, I won’t be quitting my day job anytime soon.