Car Wash Meltdown

I don't clean my car. There, I said it. While I'm borderline anal-retentive about cleaning toilets, kitchen cabinets, my purse, or the junk drawer, I ignore my car to the point of abuse.

It's not that I never clean it. I periodically run it through the $5 (no wax, no air dry) service at the local BP gas station when I fill up. But vacuuming the insides or polishing the dash? Not gonna happen. 

This causes best friend Trisha--a clean car fiend--untold levels of anxiety. Whenever I visit her she literally forces me to a "grown-up" (her words) car wash where I'm forced to pay the price of a nice dinner out WITH WINE for some teenage kid to buff my tire rims. 

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Smug Marrieds: Blair At The Beach

Sometimes--often--okay, pretty much every day, I'm estatic at our decision to remain childless. I'm pretty sure having small people around that depend on me for food, shelter and spiritual guidance would disrupt that whole, "Me, Universe, Center" thing I've got going on. 

But I can't help but sometimes think what a great dad Blair would have been. Here are just a couple classic Blair-isms from our time at the beach: 

  • We're walking on the beach, looking for shells, examining washed up horseshoe crabs, when we come to this big brown blob, about the size of football helmet. It looks like a cross between a circle of wood and a fossilized horseshoe crab shell. "What is that?" I ask Blair. "Whale poop," he says confidently. 
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Running Diaries: Missing My Stride

No one ever said running was easy. I not only get that, I embrace it. It's one of the many things I love about running--that dig-deep-gut-it-out-get-it-done feeling that comes with pushing myself through a really hard workout. 

But something's wrong. I've been struggling with my runs lately, even the easy recovery runs. Where normally I loosen up and hit my stride within the first mile, lately my legs stay weighted throughout the entire run. My lungs are fine but my ankles, of all odd things, are killing me. Both of them. They're stiff and inflexible and ache with each step. 

There are a few different things that could be affecting my running: 

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More Beach Time Fantasy vs. Reality

In my last post I wrote about how I dreamed my life at the beach would unfold versus what usually happens. I've been at the beach condo for not quite two days now... how are things measuring up? 

DAY 1

As expected, life--and me--are perfect. I wake up early Sunday morning, brew some (decaf) coffee and do a brief meditation before breakfast. I eat a light breakfast of cottage cheese and berries then head out to the beach for a 2-hour walk. (Confession: It would have been closer to a 90-minute walk except I pulled a Dena and walked past my condo, not realizing it until I was another 15 minutes down the beach.) 

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