Tri-Suit Up!

I've not talked about triathlons at all this season for the simple reason I wasn't sure I was going to do one this season. The plan all along had been to do the one I did last year and another one in later August. Except then I lost my drive, it was like I couldn't bear the thought of training; all those hours logged in the gym when I could be laying on my couch stuffing myself full of salt and vinegar potato chips mourning my sad, pathetic love life. Even before the love life meltdown I was struggling with the idea of more tri's, which is odd because I LOVED doing the one last year.

So really I can't explain why in my head I decided to not do any this summer.

But yet, here I am looking at Tri schedules and swimsuits and a new tri top.

This could end in total disaster because I've not biked in at least 2 months, nor have a run lately. Swimming though is never something I'm worried about even though the only time I've donned a swimsuit lately was to get into my friend's hot tub. Really, on the whole I'm going to have to work very fucking hard for the next two months to make this a go.

Oh, and fit that in with working 2 jobs, a move (not a single item packed yet), plus a trip to Texas for my brother's deployment (which I don't even like to think about).

I think I'm fucking insane.

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Do you need a receipt with that?

The last week or so my entire apartment has exploded with laundry and dishes and oh my holy jesus- the mail. It's OVERFLOWING all over everything. I hate mail. I rarely open it unless it's a bill that needs to be paid, I'm completely unbearably lazy like that. It's been piling up for quite some time and every time I look at it I just sigh and then shove some more on top. Effective, no?

I don't think I've ever let my place get to such horribly messy state as it is now. I'm blaming my schedule and exhaustion from the eye thing+a little stomach bug I can't seem to kick that is using up all my extra energy. Not that those excuses really make me feel any better about it.

Why so busy? Well, I took a part time job as a wine store worker. I figured if I was handing out random advice to strangers in liquor aisle I might as well get paid for it. It's actually pretty fun, not counting the endless hours I spend on my feet which aren't used to that much standing. My feet ache at the end of my shifts, so terrifically sore that all I want to do is have someone rub them. Oh, but I'm loveless and live alone- so I'm left to rub my own feet which somehow defeats the relaxing purpose of it.

Other things about my job: I sell endless amounts of Natural Light. That beer is the staple of every single party in this town due to it's cheapness and overabundence of college students. Seriously, Natty Light is the king of beers here. I'm impressed when college students come in a buy wine, decent wine-not party in a box- which does have it's place and time. Lord knows there were many nights in college that ended with my roommates and I squeezing the last drop of wine from that weird silver bladder that is in the Franza White Zinfindel box. We were firmly of the mindset that no alcohol ever get wasted- EVER.

I'm not impressed by the tool who spent the last 10 minutes before closing trying to choose from our selection of nicer beers and then asking me why they don't put sell by dates because he wanted fresh beer. He did not believe me when I said that our stock rotates quickly and had been in the case for less than a week. In the end he chose a beer with a dumb name and even dumber looking box, and really it isn't all that good.

And HELLO to the very cute guy who came in last Friday and bought a bunch of wine. He saw me coming out of the cooler carrying a box of alcoholic energy drinks and sweetly said "I feel like I should be helping you carry that!" Uh, thanks for the offer but what I'd really like is for you to kiss me. Please come back into the store and do so.



So sometime yesterday afternoon I noticed that might right eye was a bit swollen and red. I chalked it up to allergies since I had a wicked allergy-induced headache.

Yeah, not so much. Instead I woke up at 3am with it throbbing, luckily an ice pack allowed me to get at least a couple additional hours of fitful sleep.

Results: Random eye infection.
Cure: A million dollars worth of eye drops and pills.

Ok, not a million but still $80 dollars of medication. Damn expensive eye drops, those cost me $60 for 3ml. 3ml! A goddamn rip off.

But still I forked over the cash because I don't particularly feel like looking like I was punched in the eye and then spent 3 hours crying about it. Also I'd like it to stop hurting like a mother-fucker.


I used to carry around a little notebook in which to jot notes to myself, it was extremely helpful for remembering random bits of information that seem to escape from my sieve-like mind. Paying bills I occasionally forget, but if you want to discuss the particulars of certain episode of Saved By the Bell, well of course that information is completely at the ready.

Lately I've been puttering around doing my normal daily activities and find myself going "Oh, lovely- that would be fun to write about!" and then thinking 'must remember that' at which point it silently slips from my brain never to be seen again. So I'm re-instituting the notebook procedure, that way all those brilliant (at least to me) ideas/thoughts that I feel the need to share with the world at large don't go skulking off into the dark recesses of my head.

In the interest of wrapping things up since I've been so lax in my writing, here is what I've done for the last week... I made some absolutely awful cranberry muffins. It was my go-to recipe for years and this time around they were absolutely awful. They stuck to their papers and where generally taste-less, perhaps I cocked the recipe up (entirely possible) or maybe over the years my palate has advanced to the point that once considered glorious muffins are now sub-par.

Oh yes, and I spent the weekend at my sister's house. I cut my sister's hair, made homemade mac and cheese + brownies for the kids, did a ton of sidewalk chalk drawings with them (crime scene outlines included), blew enough bubbles to qualify me for employment at the Wonka Factory, gave one of the girls a bath and fell asleep in the recliner while watching game 3 of Cavs/Celtic playoffs.

Also I bought some ridiculously expensive shoes at the New Balance store. Ok, not ridiculously expensive but still on the upside of $150 dollars. $120 for the shoes and then $35-ish for the special insoles to help with my amazingly high arches. It is like walking (ahem, I've not had a chance to try them out running) on clouds. Fluffy little clouds made of deliciously sprong-y memory foam. I will not comment at all about the look of disbelief that clerk gave me when I told him I do triathlons. I guess he doesn't think I'm ripped enough to be a triathlete?

Then true to form I went next door to trader joe's and bought some more cheese. And red wine salami.


Last week I fucking tripped over my own feet while walking up the stairs at work. Full out splat pavement contact. Pisser. I bashed up my knee and fucked up the palms of my hands. Nice. Good to know that I don't need actual obstacles when it comes to making a total ass out of myself, just my own feet. Or air.

Tonight I was pulling the asparagus from the oven with one of those silicone hot pads. Oh, and the hot pad had a fucking hole in it so you could hang it from a hook. Except me, I put the pad of my thumb right there and proceed to burn the fuck out my thumb. Can I say FUCK again? Fuck. Fuckity fuck fuck fuck.

Oh, and I accidentally grabbed the wrong t-shirt this morning for my post-work gym session. That shirt? It was the one I'd already worn once to the gym already so it was a tiny bit funky (but not overly so). I feel embarrassed that I couldn't even grab the right shirt this morning.

If any of you make the red velvet cupcakes please make sure you let me know how they came out.