R.I.C.E.R.

Fancy-schmancy new running shoes, socks that used to be white and are now gray, cankles, and my ever present Ace bandage. You wish you were me.

(Bet you thought, after a prolonged absence of months and months and months, that’d I’d have a much wittier title than that. You’d be wrong.)

Today is a milestone. Six weeks ago, on account of receiving a piece of paper that cost tens of thousands of dollars and claimed I was now a master of teaching (a joke I have yet to recover from), I decided I needed to begin Bringing AnorSEXYa Back™. Again. Since all my shiny new degree did was give me a leg up on my friends if we’re lining up to get into heaven based on the sheer number of degrees we’ve accumulated*, and since it most certainly wasn’t getting me any employment (or even employment prospects), I decided I would make it mean something by letting it be the starting point for yet another war against The Fatness. This time, though, it was serious. I was going to mean business. I was going to take The Fatness™ out back and give it a couple punches to the throat before kneeing it in the groin and leaving it for dead.

So I started running.

Most of my earlier attempts at fighting The Fatness™ and Bringing AnorSEXYa Back™ were unhealthy marathons of starving myself and weighing myself every single day, usually writing the ugly numbers on the bathroom mirror in black dry erase marker, so I could be reminded of how much I sucked on a pretty consistent basis. While I enjoy both of those things (constant self-deprecation and starvation), that don’t really yeild results. Not Bringing AnorSEXYa Back™ results. I wanted people to tell me to eat something because I was looking a little skinny, not because I was passed out on the floor after skipping two days worth of protein. But I’m not entirely anti-masochism, so I began this regimen of walking, tossing in a half mile of running every once in a while. The OCD got hold of it and made it into training, and pretty soon I was putting in some good, solid mileage, most of which didn’t involve me hanging onto the treadmill and wheezing while my feet tried to keep up with the belt.

I came down with shin splints. I didn’t lose any weight. I began Wii Fit-ing it after my runs, in an attempt to add some toning and strength work. I still didn’t lose any weight. I stopped wearing my baggy cut off sweatpants to run, because not only were they unhelpful in the chaffing department**, I was sweating something unbelievable in my crotch region, and I was embarrassed to walk back to my apartment afterwards looking like I wet my pants***. I started running in spandex (very sexy) and Ace bandaging my shins so I looked like some weird mummy. I spent the good part of moving from 1.5 miles to 2.5 miles reading Catch-22. I broke down and created a playlist of music I could run to so I didn’t have to fiddle with my Not an iPod. I went out and bought fancy-schmancy running shoes to wear to help with my shin splints, and got a lecture from the guy at the shoe store about how important iceing my shin splints is.

Maybe it’s worth it. I have trouble saying it is, because I feel like I’ve accomplished a lot. The Goat tells me how much healthier all this is making me, and I have to admit he’s right. When I moved from interspersing my miles with running them straight I was sure I’d end up curled into the fetal position at the end of the treadmill, but I was fine. I have more energy. I’m more successful at getting up and being a human most mornings (though there are days, like Tuesday, that I don’t really ever get into that human groove). I’d love to have something to show for it, though, like be down a pant size or have kicked off at least one freakin’ pound of The Fatness™. Instead I’m busy with the R.I.C.E.R. to treat my shin splints, and I’m looking into running a 5k before summer is out. Seeting achievable goals is good, since my primary Bringing AnorSEXYa Back™ goal is far from being accomplished.

But today, the six week day, is a milestone, because I did a straight 5k for the first time. I shouldn’t have, because I was really only scheduled to move up to 3 miles today, but I felt okay, my shin splints weren’t hurting, the fitness center actually had cool air in it (for a while there the fitness center had no cool air in it, which is why I accidentally ran 3 miles last week when I got so overheated and confused I read the treadmill screen wrong), and I figured I might as well tell The Fatness™ where it can shove it.

Soon I’ll have to move off the treadmill to do roadwork, so I can prepare for a real like 5k. I’m also planning on selling my virginity on Ebay to pay for some much needed liposuction. Eventually The Fatness™ has to be told to go fuck itself, and I’m not too proud to have it done under general anesthesia. Too poor, but not too proud.

*This is only a likely scenario if all my friends and I die on the same day, which, unless there’s some weird cataclismic event like a meteor destroying the planet or someone committing arson on a hotel holding a conference we’ve all been accepted and are presenting at (which is probably much more unlikely than the meteor), probably won’t happen. So the extra master’s degree will most likely be for naught.

**Those who don’t suffer from The Fatness™ may not understand this, but on some unfortunate souls The Fatness™ makes your thighs touch together constantly, creating unpleasantness when running or walking briskly. It also wears out the crotch area of your pants faster than is financially helpful.

***It really did look like that. Honest. I have considered actually wetting my pants to see how closely the sweating resembles an actual accident, but I have enough laundry as it is.

Redemption, renewal, and my love of the “Q” word.

There is a milk crate under my table at “work,” and Sha’Ron has filled it with goodies for us to snack on. There’s popcorn and applesauce and little bags of chips and a package of cookies, but what catches my eye whenever I glance down (as I am wont to do for inspiration) is the bag of Hershey’s Miniatures. I think there might be one or two of the Special Dark chocolates left, and I’m pretty sure I decimated the Krackle chocolates last week, but every time I glance in that general direction I have an incredibly strong desire to root around and the bag and eat something chocolate. It’s barely eight in the morning right now, but I’m still being sucked into the bag of chocolate doom. Yummy chocolate doom, but chocolate doom nonetheless. Obviously I need to eat breakfast more regularly. Or move the milk crate of goodies. Or just polish off the rest of the chocolates and be done with it.

Mondays are always hard.

Breaking News That’s Not So Breaking And Is In Reality Quite Old: The News Goat redeemed himself. Sort of. I’m adding the caveat because I can’t just toss out redemptions willy-nilly. I also have trust issues. But in the past few weeks he has proven himself as being genuinely sorry for what happened and genuinely happy to spend time with me. I thrive on both apologies and attention, so this has been working out well. I’m not going to lie, I do have a bit of the nerves over the possible return of the assholishness behavior. While this is due partly to my self-deprecating ways (I have this firm belief everyone is destined to hate me or move to Kansas), it is a legitimate concern. The News Goat was never a horrible person before he had a bout of the assholishness, which means that him not being a horrible person now doesn’t guarantee anything for the future. So, you see, I have to add a caveat or two to my decree of redemption. I’m in the business of self-preservation, especially since I’m always one heart beat away from being sent off to the funny farm.

“How does one redeem themselves to you?” my (five) readers might ask. Well, there’s a little thing close to my heart known as Comedy Jokes. The News Goat’s first attempt to weasel his way back into my heart was offering to take me to Second City (coming to Charlotte next Month!!!). Ah. The Second City. I love them even though I’ve never actually seen them. And this weekend, I was treated to a improv show at one of those wonderful coffeeshops that also sells beer (I love those places). I’m such a big fan of all things Comedy Jokes, especially Comedy Jokes that are improvisational. Of course I’m saddened by the fact I’m living in The Thrill and can’t lie, cheat, and steal my way into some improv amazingness that’s going on in the queen city, but we’ll just add this to the list of things I’m saddened by not being able to do (e.g. take kayak). Another important factor to redeemption is having interesting and entertaining friends. After Saturday’s improv-viewing, I got to go out and have a Guinness at a pub-like establishment (obviously this is another way to my heart) with the News Goat’s news-y friends, who are smart and funny and all around enjoyable human beings.

Example of smart and funny and enjoyable-ness: It became a challenge to name a dictator for every letter of the alphabet, and it was mostly accomplished, as long as you overlook some of the less dictator-ly dictators we included (i.e. George W. Bush for “W” and Xenu (the intergalatic dictator of Scientology fame) for “X”). Most impressive was that these smart news-y kids actually knew of a dictator whose name starts with “Q.” I am ridiculously humbled by people who know a lot about the real world, as I know mostly stuff that’s fictional, has to do with whores, The Wonderful Wizard of Oz, Scientology, the Amish, or bad reality TV. Obviously I didn’t contribute much to the dictator game, except for throwing out Xenu, but I enjoyed being a part of it. If only we had thought to write the list down, we could have written one of those learn the alphabet children’s books.

My week last week was full of The Suck, and it even spilled into the weekend a little bit. The Suck has gotten to be so ridiculously overwhelming I’m completely ready to call it quits. Last week I was done with school more than once, done with “work” more than once, and even got done with dance at one point (which I didn’t think could happen). I feel a bit bad that The News Goat got caught listening to me expound upon my doneness with all the things I’m currently involved in, as well as my ranting about how I need to quit and get a job as a secretary somewhere. Luckily he isn’t the type of person who’s all “Chin up! You had a bad week, but you need to stick it out! You’re fine!” Instead he encouraged my quitting fantasy by helping me look for jobs in Charlotte (including the Craigslist personals, because I’m at the point where being someone’s sex slave doesn’t sound that undesirable) and apartments in Charlotte (unfortunately it’s much easier to find a really great apartment than a really great job, damn economy). Because I had such a good weekend, I’m currently not as devastated and ready to up and quit as I was, but since I have coach’s class tonight I’m pretty sure all this positiveness I’m exuding will be dead by 5:15 PM. I will have to discuss my complete aversion to all things in my life that are school related, but not now. I have to “teach” a class in a few minutes.

And by “‘teach’ a class” I mean “give them a list of questions to answer in small groups while I sit there and play on the internet.”

A good way to start Thursday.

If I ever start a business where I’ll need to have a public restroom, I’m definitely going to follow this design scheme:

Why I want to go into cake decorating.

This is the number one reason to go into cake decorating:

I can’t imagine how amazing it would be to have the bride come in and say, “I want you to make a cake that captures my essence. I want a cake that says, ‘This wedding is all about me.’ I want a cake that captures my inner beauty and my outer beauty, all at the same time. In fact, why don’t you just make the cake look exactly like me?”

I think it’s worth it to give up on school and go into cake-making, just so I might someday get the chance to create a cake like this.

Love, love, and more love.

Dr. Horrible’s Sing-Along Blog

“A lot of guys ignore the laugh, and that’s about standards. I mean, if you’re going to get into the Evil League of Evil, you have to have a memorable laugh.”

One of my favorite things.