SNAKE!

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No, the cat did not drag a snake into the house--yet. But I fear it's coming. Here's why. 

Two days ago, my neighbor and I stepped outside our condo doors at the same time. She screamed. I jumped. The long black snake that caused her scream slithered away into the grass. 

I posted to Facebook. Snake in the area! Cat will probably find it! Oh no! Ha ha, very funny. People laughed. 

The next day I go home from lunch. Sunny. Beautiful. Back door wide open. Cat sunning himself on patio. I take large bite of tuna salad, look outside and almost choke. Freaking huge black snake slithering under my fence, up my patio walkway, toward my cat and my (cough-choke-gasp-gag) open door.

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Why Base Training Sucks (But Still Works)

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Back in January, I began my “quest” to slow down in order to speed up. In a nutshell, for two months I've kept my heart rate at or below 140 for all training.

To say it’s been a challenge is an understatement. The incessant beeping of my heart rate monitor watch as it climbs to 141 and above has been my constant companion. As has my liberal use of the F-bomb. (Note to self: Base training and vowing to curse less are incompatible goals.)

I’ve got a week or two of training left. Here are the highs and lows.

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The Dating Diaries: My First Stalker

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In today’s episode of The Dating Diaries, we explore the exciting world of mentally imbalanced and emotionally unstable individuals. Yippee!

There are a few truths that need to be put forth.

1. “Stalker” is probably too strong a word for what I’m about to describe, but it got you reading, so mission accomplished.
2. That being said, I was nervous enough about the situation to consider getting a gun, an updated alarm entry system or at least a more aggressive cat.
3. My stalker wasn’t a guy. It was a woman.

    Oh, BOOM on that last one. Didn’t see it coming did you?

    It’s true. While I have yet to rate my first male stalker (I’m biding my time—it’s coming), about three months into the dating scene I did have my very own female stalker.

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    The Dating Diaries: Gum Guy

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    When people ask me about my worst date (And they always want to hear about the bad ones. No one wants to hear, “We went to dinner and had a really nice time.”), “Gum Guy,” or GG as I call him, always comes to mind.

    We met online and he sent a couple of snarky texts that made me laugh. But alarm bells must have gone off somewhere because when he suggested we meet for dinner, I downgraded it to meeting for a drink.

    We met at one of my favorite upscale bar/restaurants. I arrived first. GG texted he was running late—uh, leave your house on time, buddy—so I went ahead and ordered my drink. Belvedere vodka martini, extra dry, three olives.

    When he arrived, I kinda sorta recognized him from his photo. Recognized in the way you can see glimpses in the paunchy man standing in front of you at your 20th class reunion of the boy who sat next to you in science lab in junior high school. Not a recent photo then. Okay.

    He swaggered (and yes, that is the correct word), into the bar...

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