Don't Mess With Little Sister

Thank goodness the whininess seems to have passed! Feeling much better today after a good night's sleep. Plus, I was chatting with people yesterday who recited the IMMENSE litany of events and activities they had to choreograph with their kids and it gave me that much needed realization that childless, do-whatever-I-please with my schedule and my life little 'ol me needs to shut up.

I've got to give a shout-out to my sister today for bringing down the hammer with a would-be criminal.

On Monday, my mom left her purse in a shopping cart and when she realized it and went back for it, it was gone. As any of us who have left our purse somewhere know, there is no deeper pit of despair brought on then realizing you've lost your purse. It's your life - credit cards, checking account, driver's license, ATM card. Plus, my mom had BOTH pairs of her glasses in there, receipts, notes, and who knows what all. She was understandably distraught.

Her cell phone was also in the purse so my sister called it and the second time she called, a man picked up. Nicole was very cheerful. "Hi!" she said. "Uh, I don't know if you're aware of this, but the cell phone you're talking on right now has been reported stolen to the police."

The guy spoke minimal English. He said something about the phone or purse being left on his car seat. Nicole was relentless. "Whether it was left or you found it, it's stolen." she said. "And the POLICE are looking for it. The purse is reported stolen to the POLICE and the cell phone is reported stolen to the POLICE and the POLICE know the area where your call is coming from."

She said police about 12 times and the guy finally hung up on her. However, an hour later the store called my mom to say her purse--with everything in it including the cell phone and $1.32 in cash--had been found in a cart at the far end of the parking lot.

There's no chance the purse had been there all along. Mom, the police, and store employees had scoured the lot earlier. So it was my sister's bad-ass attitude that brought justice home.

You go, girl.

Exhausted

Please bear with me if I indulge today in a bit of a whine. (I know... it's so out of character for me.)

I'm tired. Mentally and physically. Especially physically. The humidity here has been relentless and that combined with an increase in running mileage is taking its toll. I came home last night from a 7-mile hill run and pretty much collapsed into bed. Thank heavens I didn't have to do any work last night as I just don't think I would have been capable of it.

I read months ago in a runner's magazine that once your Sunday long runs move past 12 miles, you can pretty much plan on running that day and doing little else. I'm finding that true. I ran 14 miles on Sunday (and a big shout-out to me for that) but did little the rest of the day. Just too damn tired. 

Aside from being tired, I'm finding the running is taking up a big chunk of time.  For me, drive time is more the issue than time spent running. It's 40 minutes to and from wherever it is my group usually runs and that eats into the schedule. Sunday mornings used to the time Blair and I enjoyed some couple time together, relaxing and reading the Sunday paper, but I'm gone now from about 6:30 AM to close to noon.

All that aside, I'm still really enjoying the runs. The hills last night were brutal and I was sweating and tired and my thighs were shaking and I was wondering why on earth I put myself through this. But finishing the workout is such a feeling of accomplishment. Yes, going through the motions suck and that's why so many people don't do it. That's also why I enjoy doing it. It's pure ego--the knowledge that I can make myself do this when others can't.

I'm also tired mentally. Big projects all with tight deadlines. However, I'm enjoying every assignment I have and find the work interesting so I can't really complain. I will say I'm looking forward to late September when my schedule--somewhat--clears out.

Until then, I'm grateful for family that doesn't mind not hearing from me for weeks at a time, friends that encourage me and listen to me whine with (real or faked, it doesn't matter) looks of sympathy on their faces, and a husband who simply must at some point in his life be awarded the "Most Tolerant & Supportive Man EVER" lifetime achievement trophy.

I'd write more, but I'm just too tired.

Dena

Murder On Hunter Street

Oh God, I'm going to hell. For most who know me I realize this isn't news, but I have new drama to add to the list. This afternoon I cruelly tortured then killed a spider. May he/she rest in peace (or, heaven help me, piece).

It began with good intentions. I took in the mail then headed to the bathroom for a fresh coat of face paint before leaving the house. I looked down at my black sweater and saw an orange/red blob which on closer inspection revealed itself to be a spider. I flicked it off into the sink with a warning: "You have four hours to disappear from my sight if you want to live."

But something hardened inside of me as I looked at it, sitting there motionless in the sink except for the front two legs which raised and lowered and raised and lowered. If not large, it still wasn't a spider of inconsequential size. Big enough to give one a small cardiac if, say, it chose to crawl into her makeup bin or clothes hamper and reveal itself at a later date. The more I thought about where the spider might go, the quicker it sealed his fate.

"I'm so sorry," I said, turning on the faucet. "But you must die now."'

But with water rushing around him, he clung to the edge of the drain. Let go! I mentally willed him. But no, he wouldn't, and his persistence won me over. I shut off the water. He paused for a moment, probably catching his breath, then heaved himself up to flop on top of the drain.

God, what have I done? Poor little spider. What if his internal organs have collapsed or he's half suffocated from the water? No, best to finish the job versus let him suffer. I pick up a sturdy shoe and aim. BAM! Dead on. His half-squished body lay mangled at the bottom of the sink.

I look at the bottom of my shoe, now wet. "Yuck," I say, grabbing a tissue and blotting it dry. I turn to the sink to pick up the remnants of the spider and--AAAAAIIIIEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!!!!!

GONE!  Devil Spider! GONE! But how? I drop the tissue and shoe. Maybe he's stuck to one of them. But no, I left him smooshed in the sink. Where the hell did the body go? I gingerly nose the tissue and shoe. Nothing. Then I see it. Two small orange legs emerge once again from beneath the drain as the spider pulls himself up.

Agh! Agh! Agh! What the hell kind of super-spider is this? Peter Parker my ass. If this thing bit someone they'd have superpowers that would send the stupid newspaper photographer fly-boy reeling.

Frankly, I'm afraid at this point. Either this spider is super-powerful or God does not want him to die. But now I know the spider really IS suffering, because I did half-squoosh him. So I chose the cowards way out. I turned the water on full force and ran it for a full 30 seconds, flushing him down the drain. Then I ran it another 10 seconds, just to be safe. And once more for good  measure in case he was still clinging to life somewhere down there in the pipes.

Am I not a total schmuck? I can not BELIEVE how I tortured this small creature. I should have just grown some balls and scooped him up in a cup and released him back outside. Now I'm haunted by his death. And I do mean haunted. This evening I saw a small spider on the ceiling in my closet and a spider/bug thing was crawling on my neck and I had to fling it away.

I don't suppose apologizing to the insect and animal kingdom at large will do me much good at this point. I'll have to accept my fate, whatever they decide for me.

I don't suppose any of us will be be surprised if it involves a good squooshing.

The Day Blair Couldn't Lose or, "How We Should Have Won The Lottery"

Saturday was a good day for Blair.

It started off with a trip to the Lexus dealership. The display light in our '94 model had been burnt out, making it impossible to see the time. This was a continual source of small irritation to me, like a pimple that never grows but never goes away, just sticking around to stare you in the face every time you go to the mirror.

Blair didn't want to take the car in on the basis that he's never once dropped the car off for any form of repair and had it come in less than $1000. Fine, point taken. But give me break--it's a burnt out bulb. How bad could it be?

It reminded me of when we first bought our house and used our side door for the first 18 months because we had no idea how much it might cost to have the locks changed on the front and we didn't have a key that worked. When we finally had money saved, we called a guy out who fiddled at the front door for 5 minutes then turned to us and said, "That'll be eight dollars."

"Remember the locks?" I said to Blair. "Remember how stupid we felt? This is the same thing. We're going to laugh that we waited 6 months to change a $3 bulb."

So we drove up to the dealership and I went inside for coffee while Blair waited in line to drop the car off. Five minutes later, he was at my side.

"One thousand dollars," he said. "Can we go now?"

I stared at him. "You're joking."

But he wasn't. Turns out Lexus' don't have little $3 bulbs. Instead, they have $1000 crystal LCD displays or something like that, and they'd have to remove and replace the whole unit in order to repair the clock light.

My favorite part of this is how a sales guy came out and--with nothing but pure sincerity in his tone and body language--asked if since we weren't going to do the repair, we might like to consider trading in the car and looking at something new?

I couldn't help it. I laughed at him. "Uh, I think we'll just use our cell phones for the time and call it even," I said.

To his credit, he laughed and thanked us for coming in. You've just got to love a place where there's a chance of something like that happening. "Yes, hello. A bird craped on my windshield yesterday so I'm here for an upgrade. No, don't bother wiping it off. It's ruined for me now..."

As we're leaving the dealership I look at Blair. "You win," I said. "You were right. A thousand dollars."

"That's right, baby," he said. "I was RIGHT because I am the MAN."

He was right about everything that day--the location of a candle store we were hunting for (I was convinced it couldn't be in the shopping center we were circling and was berating him when we came upon it. I hate when that happens.), some obscure radio quiz question, and that the movie theatre wouldn't be crowded. It was a bunch of little things, but he didn't miss all day. To top it off, when we got home we found the results of our perk test for the cabin property waiting for us, all approved.

That settled it. I oppose the NC lotto but my husband was on fire and the pot was 300 million. He bought a ticket. Given the flow of the day, I would not have been surprised if we had won something - like $5000 for three correct numbers. But alas, we had only one number match so apparently the mojo had left the room.

And on the bright side, at least he was wrong about something =)