June 27, 2008

Submitted for Your Perusal

I have a middle ear infection. I haven't had an ear infection since I was ten or something and I'd forgotten what it felt like so I couldn't figure out what was causing the searing pain. Then I picked up my work phone and there was a little spider moving around near the mouthpiece. HOLY CANNOLI! A SPIDER CRAWLED INTO MY EAR AND LAID EGGS ON MY EARDRUM.

The doctor at urgent care quelled my fears when he told me I had a middle ear infection. He gave me some antibiotics and painkillers and sent me home where I promptly ate a bunch of stuff I didn't need to. I can live with that. But I can't live with arachnids in my ear. That was a close call.

June 25, 2008

The Strongest Woman... In the WORLD!

Some friends of mine and I are participating the The One Hundred Push-up Challenge. It's a program I found on the internet- www.hundredpushups.com. You build up to 100 consecutive push-ups over a six-week period. I can do maybe two real push-ups at this point so getting to 100 seems a little far-fetched. But I won't let that stop me! At the very least after six weeks I will be able to do more than two. Anything will be a great improvement.

Here I am now:

(This is where I would post a "before" picture of me but my computer doesn't recognize my digital camera so I can't upload it at this stage in the game.)

I will be posting another picture in three weeks to keep everyone updated (I know you are waiting with baited breath) and then a final image of my guns after six weeks. Here's hoping we can all notice a difference. I would hate it if I had to return the tickets to my gun show. All the disappointed people.

June 23, 2008

The Siren Means I Have a Sweet Ass

The only physical education "unit" at which I excelled was stretching. There were other sports I played but I was aces at stretching. For instance, I played basketball. But if being picked last by your best friend in a game of pick-up is any indication- I wasn't very good.

Taking the natural high I got from putting my foot behind my head, I tried out for volleyball in the 9th grade. I didn't make the team because I couldn't run faster than the girl with asthma. Not one to take a hint, in the spring of that year I decided I was great at soccer. I didn't even make it to the second day of try-outs. The humiliation of facing my Geometry teacher, the soccer coach, the day after not showing up was enough for me to just accept my fate as a theatre nerd.

Then I got fat in college.

I lost weight from eating better and doing yoga and some light cardio but I gained again when I moved to Albany. I needed something to get myself back. Just as luck would have it I got an email from my YMCA about a Halloween 5k. I asked Mike if he thought I could go from not really running at all to a 5k in a month. He said absolutely! I got mad at him. Didn't he know I was slower than a girl with compromised lung capacity!? He told me I was being ridiculous, I got over it and I signed up and started to train.

The day of the race was disgusting- gloomy and wet. The only people who showed up were actual RUNNERS. I came in second to last with the trailing police car 30 feet behind me. My running has gotten better but let's just say I'm not winning races anytime soon.

So it is surprising to no one more than myself that I am training for a sprint triathlon. A 325 yard swim, a 11.5 mile bike and a 3.25 mile run. I love training and the challenge it brings me every day. It is shockingly satisfying to complete a workout and see that I am capable of something I never dreamed I could be. I am even looking at another with a longer swim and bike. Hey Ma- look at me!

Sometimes during training I think of my first 5k. No, not the fact that a guy in a full-on Spiderman costume beat me by 20 minutes, but the fact that Mike was waiting at the finish line. He was one of five people. In the driving rain. Cheering me on. He knew I could do it before I crossed the finsh line. This time, I've known all along. Even if a police car is 15 feet behind and I'm dead last, I will have accomplished something amazing. Besides, the best way to end a race is with a stretch.

June 21, 2008

He Will Be My President

I treated myself the other day. I donated money to Barack Obama's campaign.

I didn't donate because I hate George W. I didn't donate because I hate Republicans. And I certainly didn't donate to shock my mother. I donated because I believe in him. I believe in what he can do for me and my family. I believe in the future he can bring. And I believe that he is sincere.

Facebook, believe it or not, enabled me to participate to a degree I never thought I could. I became a supporter of Obama on Facebook, a sort of fan page, which enabled me to receive messages from his campaign. One day there was a message from his campaign telling me that I could send two super-delegates a Facebook message and let them know why they should cast their vote for him. I felt that I couldn't let that opportunity pass. One of them even wrote me back. I don't know who the delegates supported but just sending those simple messages made me feel so empowered.

Another message from Obama's campaign enabled me to sign up for invitations to nearby campaign stops. I doubt he'll stop in or around Albany but a girl can hope. After signing up, there was an option to donate. Before I knew it I put a piece of myself into the campaign of someone who inspires me. Sure it might pay for Starbucks for one staff member but it gave me a high I've never had before. And I want to feel it again.

A day later Mike and I were watching a BBC America newscast about campaign finances and how the vast majority of Obama's money is being donated from people under the age of 30 and in increments on average of $15 at a time. Obama had something like $327,434,277. That's a lot of people at $15 a pop. I don't know who they are but they can say he is their president. Just like I will say he is mine.

June 19, 2008

Call Me Old Fashioned

I am not particularly close with my extended family. My father was in the Air Force and we moved around while they all stayed put. We vacationed with my aunt and uncle who had children close to us in age and I share some wonderful memories with them. But at the same time, I don't feel a bond other than one of necessity. You know, the "I'm related to you therefore we must have a relationship and be involved with each other's lives." I'm working through my feelings about the current state of my relationships with them all. At the moment I don't know how to incorporate these people into my life. I don't know them very well and they don't know me very well. I'm not sure if I want to remedy that or leave it the way it is. But in the meantime, talking to them is laborious and uncomfortable.

The relationship I struggle with most is my mother's parents. I didn't know my father's parents very well and they both passed away when I was much too young to know the significance of their passing. All I have to connect me with my living heritage is Nana and Papa. I am going to spare you the self-absorbed details but I will tell you that they are old-school and really don't know how to communicate feelings in a constructive way. They find boys much more useful and precious than girls. I'll leave it at that.

I've struggled with feeling like their opinion of me is one of disappointment- I am not married nor have I bore them great-grandchildren. They have my cousin for that. Despite my "shortcomings" I have a stable relationship, I have a B.A., I am working towards a Master's, I am pursuing a career that drives me, and I think I have a lot to offer people; I'm funny and smart and gosh darn it- people like me! I just don't think my grandparents can see me that way. And you know, it's their loss.

This rambling brings me to the present. My birthday was earlier in the week. I wasn't looking for things in the mail because I've been really busy and my birthday snuck up on me. And I didn't notice that I hadn't gotten anything until I checked my email. My grandparents emailed me birthday wishes. Emailed. On one hand I'm glad they remembered and a little relieved they didn't call me so I can have the "you're getting old- what are you waiting for" talk. (For the record, I'm a spry 27.) On the other hand I'm all, "You can't spend a whopping $3.00 on me?" They used to send me a lovely card and a small monetary gift that shrunk with every year. I don't care- they're old and on a fixed income- whatever. But those ass-hats can't even send me a card?

I sounded my displeasure to my sister. She's great for some perspective. "We tried to tell him you love getting cards in the mail but he still thinks emails are a novelty and thought you'd find it really cool." Hmmmm..... Okay, Old Man. I'll give you this one. But I want a mother-fucking card next year even if writing my name causes your eyes to bleed.

At least he took the time out of his day. Thank you.

June 18, 2008

Wonky is a Real Word

I've been wanting to write a blog for a while now and I always knew that I wanted to incorporate "wonky" into the title. Mike told me the word didn't exist and that I just made it up. I am flattered he thinks I am that creative with the English language and I have been known to make words up but! "wonky" is not one of them.

won·ky /ˈwɒŋki/ [wong-kee]
–adjective, -ki·er, -ki·est.
1.British Slang.
a.shaky, groggy, or unsteady.
b.unreliable; not trustworthy.
2.Slang. stupid; boring; unattractive.

...

It seems I made up the meaning of "wonky." I am none of those things (therapy is paying off! I am so unshaky!), nor is this blog. I mean with naming this blog "Just a Little Wonky" that I can be a little outside of the box. And not in the "let's come up with a mind-blowing ad campaign that's never been done before" way. I mean in the "I sometimes follow the beat of my own drummer." A very bad drummer. Definitely not David Bowie's drummer.

And I like me that way.