Thursday, October 18, 2012

?

"The world needs talkers too, honey."  That's what Liv's Dad told her once, about a year or so ago, when she and I were going at it in typical Mom vs. teenage daughter style.

I got it.  That's all I needed to be explained to me in order to understand.  Sometimes honestly, I just don't.  I don't understand why asking questions of someone like What'd you have for lunch? or How was your day? or Did you do have a good time? is so offensive.  But apparently it is for the non-talkers.  You know, for the people who just process differently than those of us who are right. 

Ok, fine.  I now realize, through that example and countless others, that just because I do something one way, it does not make it the right way.  That just because I operate, function, think, or feel in a certain manner does not make all those who don't freaks.  Asking questions is my way of showing love. I never really understood that either, but it makes sense, especially given the multitude of people who would believe I have given up question marks like they're gluten. 

So once I began to understand this perceived "flaw" of mine, I calmly explained it to Liv.  Why yes, I stupidly and methodically began to point out the rationale behind my (constant) question-asking to my daughter.  The one who does it her way, the right way, the only way, all the time. 

She totally got it.

Friday, October 12, 2012

The Ride.

I am not buying a Mercedes Benz even though in less than a year I'll be car shopping. 

No, this Mercedes is something much more important.  Something much more valuable.  Something I cannot just buy for if that were the case, I may have done so by now.  Clearly it would have saved more than money; it would have saved me from 4:15am wake-up calls, blisters, high-heel restrictions, pain, swearing, and other unladylike conduct.  It would have saved me from the constant carrot dangling right in front of my face... this self-imposed goal which has eluded me for some inexplicable reason. 

But what's the fun in that? 

We all know money can't buy happiness.  Or qualification to Boston.

February 17, 2013.  The Mercedes Marathon.

Sunday, October 7, 2012

Pick Me Up

Coffee and I did not fall in love until just recently.  Recently as in we are approaching our two year anniversary which in the scheme of things, renders us in the newlywed-we-still-respect-each-other-stage.  I just never drank it other than at my Grandma Mar's house while eating an entire package of dunkers, otherwise known as Stella D'oro Anisette Sponge Coffee Treats.  I'd eat those suckers like I was in my cell on death row.  I have enough energy that adding any sort of caffeine to that inherent indefatigable mix would just make me seem abnormal.

Since I've embraced my abnormalities in all their glory along with my entire "abnormal" life based on societal standards, I drink coffee daily.  Couldn't be happier that Pumpkin Spice Coffee-Mate has hit the dairy case.  The other day as I sleepily poured fresh water into the coffee maker reservoir, I realized something not all that profound.  There are two kinds of coffee-drinking:  the necessary kind and the relaxing kind.

How I made it over 37 years with enough energy to sustain my life is now in question.  It's like when the Opthamologist tells you that once you start wearing glasses or contacts your eyes will get used to the new strength and just naturally become the worse strength.  They will, in a sense, become so attached to seeing life through their new lenses that they cannot see without them.  Long gone will be the innocent misconception of having eyes which are completely fine, of days where everything which needs to be conducted is conducted and your irises are none the wiser.

Coffee is now necessary for me to function.  As my Mom says, "I can't understand what you're saying, I haven't had enough coffee yet."  I used to think she was just disagreeing with whatever was coming out of my mouth early in the morning in a feeble attempt at maintaining her usual peace through obvious mismatched kinesics.  Now I know better.  That crap about caffeine and becoming more like your mother with age is totally true.

But on Saturday mornings, after a stress-relieving long run in crisp (or not) air, after the steaming hot shower where run reflections and muscle loosening occur, after walking into my kitchen with a newfound perspective on life - I make coffee.  And even though it's the exact same kind, prepared in the exact same manner, poured into the exact same mug, it tastes completely different.  It is hotter, fresher, and infinitely more comforting.  That coffee is a reward, a harmonious extension awaiting me like an old friend.

And that's when it hits me:  there are also two kinds of people in this life.  The necessary kind and the relaxing kind.  Who knows which comes first.  But in either case it doesn't even matter.  For in the end, they go hand-in-hand.











 

Thursday, October 4, 2012

Hello...BRUT(al)US...

I know.  I know I said several posts ago that it was my "One and Only Political Rant," but call me Obama-like with my promise.

This won't take long.  That, I promise.  I simply want to say the following, in Romney-like fashion:

NUMBER ONE:  I loved it.
NUMBER TWO:  Who knew Mitt had that in him other than not Michelle?
NUMBER THREE:  I loved it.

Favorite line of the night?
"I've been in business 25 years and have no idea what you're talking about."

Neither do we.

Favorite one of many things Mr. President said which he knows nothing about?:
 "...when people go to The Cleveland Clinic for preventative visits..." 

Unless they've opened a RediMed in The Clinic's lobby that I've not yet heard about, um...no, Barack.  They don't go there for that.

Don't pretend you know and love our swinging Buckeyes unless you actually do.  Jack ass.

And for the record sir, it's too late to run there complaining of a (Simpson) Bowle issue.

This diagnosis just may be curable after all.