The Ending of an Era

Well, this week was not great.
                                                   

On Monday I found out that my favorite laundry detergent was discontinued…a long time ago.  Since I’m always the last one to know everything (for example, Mothers Day dinner was moved from 4:30pm to 4pm and I guess they just “forgot” to tell me), I wasn't completely shocked at the response I got from Tide.  However, I was completely disappointed to find out that my long time love affair with that lilac scented wonderfulness was officially over.  Strike one.

On Wednesday I was given the devastating news that my favorite radio personalities (Drew & Mike on WRIF) would soon be going off the air.  I've started my mornings with these guys since high school!!  It’s like a part of my childhood is being taken away from me.  Fart jokes and all, they will be missed.  Strike two.

On Thursday I was notified that apparently I haven’t paid my cable bill in two months.  Whoopsie.  There’s $300.00 I wasn't ready to part with.  Strike three!!!

At this point I was feeling pretty down and out.  What I didn't know yet was that my luck was about to turn around.

Friday was a day just like any other.  I woke up, took a shower, fed the cats, and went to work.  At lunch time, I went to Costco with a couple of coworkers…and there it was.  Folded neatly on a table among hundreds of other unadvertised articles of clothing, the ever elusive “perfect” pair of pants! *mind blown* 

        

Now, what is truly spectacular about this story is that any Costco shopper knows that there are ZERO dressing rooms there.  That’s right ladies; I bought dress pants, without trying them on, for $30…AND THEY FIT AMAZING!!!!  In my 33 years of existence, this has never happened.  Until now.

This kind of occurrence is an anomaly, so of course I went back the very next day and bought the same pair of pants in the other two colors.

The moral of the story, no matter how bad things get, sometimes true love really can be found inside a pair of pants.   

Inspired by Some Fatties (not the kind you smoke)

A few years ago, I found myself accidently watching an episode of The Biggest Loser.  I’m thinking it was one of the final episodes of the season because there were only like five contestants remaining.  Anyway, I was shocked when I found out they were going to make these fat asses run a marathon…yes, a whole marathon (26.2 miles for those who are not aware).

Granted, at this point in the season the contestants were already well on their way to becoming their healthier selves, by working out all day every day and eating whatever those fitness Nazis told them to.  However, even for really healthy people, running a marathon takes weeks of training.  I know, I looked it up. 

While I chowed down on my Whopper with cheese and Onion Rings, I found that I was inspired by this idea of running a marathon.  And as an added bonus it would give me an excuse to buy some new athletic gear.  

Count me in.

 

Even more surprisingly, as I watched in amazement, each contestant completed the race (I don’t think they actually ran/jogged the whole thing but I suppose that’s not really the point).  I knew what I had to do.

At the time of this revelation, I had been an ex smoker for about six months, so I was feeling pretty healthy.  However, I've never been a runner and i'm not from Kenya, so I knew this was going to be a challenge.  Oh yeah, and I have Asthma.  Yes, stop yelling… I’m aware that smoking and Asthma don’t go together.

The very next day, I strapped on a pair of running shoes, turned up the tunes…and ran for TWO MILES…without stopping or walking at all!  Every minute of it sucked!

This may not seem like an impressive feat to most, but let me reassure you that I've NEVER excelled at running distances.  Even when I was in middle school I remember feeling like I was going to die when they made us run a mile in The President’s Challenge (a dumb fitness test they made everyone do back in the day).

I started running two miles a day, four times a week, and I kept doing it until running two miles started not to feel awful.  Then I upped it to three miles, and so on, and so on.  After awhile, I actually started to look forward to my self-inflicted torture tests.

After about five months of this, I had worked up to a long run of about 7.5 miles and was feeling really great about my new found ability.  I even had plans to run the Detroit marathon later that year!  But like some good stories, sometimes they crash and burn. 

One thing led to another and I was forced to put running on hold.  Life became chaotic; I started smoking again, and lost sight of this particular goal.    

Alas, I have regained my senses!  As of this past Friday, I've recommitted to quitting smoking…again.  I can’t wait to get back into torture, I mean running.  Maybe this time I can reach my goal.  I just know something like this will happen to me.....

To Baby, or not to Baby, that is the Question:

Over the course of the last couple of years I've really been struggling with this theory of a biological clock.  I call it a theory because I don’t seem to have one.  I keep expecting to wake up one day and hear it ticking.  So far….nada. 

  

In all honesty, I can’t stand most kids.  My favorite is when they cry on planes or in a restaurant.  However, everyone assures me that I’ll love my own - I think I’d like that in writing please.

While all of my friends seem to be on a mission these days to pop out a couple of screaming, vomiting, needy bundles of joy, I can’t help but wonder if motherhood is something I’m destined for?

Most of the time I’m not even sure I can take care of myself let alone another person.  Is there anything at Taco Bell babies can eat?  I already don’t have time to cook, clean, or do laundry, and I can’t even tell you the last time I went grocery shopping.

 

The thought of breast feeding has always grossed me out.  The thought of using a breast pump doesn't sound much more appealing.  There’s nothing even remotely sexy about being hooked up to a machine like a cow.

   

I recently learned from an episode of Grey’s Anatomy that you poop on the table during child birth…ha ha this just keeps getting better.

Episiotomy…nuf said.

I like the idea of having someone that’s obligated to take care of me when I can no longer feed myself or start forgetting my own name, but let’s face it; sometimes kids can be ass holes.  As I've already assured my parents, “Nick (my brother) will be rich and will put you in a good home when you get too old.” 

In all fairness, my brother and I did give my parents an option.  We told them it would be a lot cheaper to send them off on an iceberg like the Eskimos.  I don’t think they liked our idea.  (Shhhh, we haven’t told them that’s still plan B).  

    

In any event, as my 33^rd birthday closes in, the reality of the situation becomes clearer…time is running out and I’m not getting any younger.  Pretty soon I’mgoing to have to decide if this baby thing is for me or not.

    

The way I see it, I’m already a few steps ahead of those idiots on 16 & Pregnant or Teen Mom.  How bad could I really screw it up?