Round Two...Down for the count.

Round One.

I'm just going to take you back for a second or two to July 3, 2011. This was the day I learned to dive. So it was kind of a big deal. It was also the night I had my first ER visit. Let's debrief on exactly what happened that night. Casey, Kate, Sal, and I went to a Zac Brown Band concert. It was also probably one of the funniest-but-most-frustrating nights. Ever. All I did at the concert was innocently try to go to the port-a-potty, and what happens? Yeah, the slippery asphalt hill totally takes me out. I like to blame the company who created the asphalt, my slippery gold shoes (Who doesn't put tread on shoes these days? I'm not in ballet class.), Verizon Wireless Amphitheater (I'm going to lobby for danger alert signs to be posted), and our makeshift strawberry dacquiris. The recipe MAY have been a bad idea.


My foot slipped out front, and my back knee went down. It all happened so fast. A blur really. All I remember is Casey yelling for medics and blood gushing down my leg. My shoe was in shambles too. I just started crying cause I knew deep down it meant no running for me. This stuff just always happens to me! It wasn't even doing something cool like a knife fight or shark encounter or anything. Sigh. So, we missed all but the first hour of the concert, but we did get to ride in the security car...no, "police" was not written on the side, and no, there were no sirens in the windows. At the time, I think Katie and I thought it was cool to get a ride back to the apartment in a fake squad car. Casey and Sal had to walk. Like men.

So we made our way to the ER, mind you only 1 other person was waiting besides me. Apparently, that still doesn't mean you get in right away; we still definitely waited in the lobby for thirty minutes...we thought we were making great time. Almost felt kind of special. Then we were defeated by the 3+ hour wait in our assigned room. I wasn't even waiting on an actual doctor. What could this PA possibly be doing out there with no else to take care of? Luckily, Kate, Sal, and Casey all got to join me and we proceeded to make the best video documentary ever. Kate was allowed back because she's my sister and an athletic trainer, Sal got to come back because he's getting his PhD in Biology, and Casey because he's my husband (talk about privileged, right?). Oddly enough, the nurse questioned whether all that was real...seriously? Who lies about that stuff? And to be able to come up with those details on the spot...impressive. And even if I had made that up, they should have let them come back anyhow. For the effort.

When we weren't all falling asleep and paying exorbitant doctor's bills, they kept me beyond entertained. Best friends. Ever.

In the days that followed, I got my new license on Vicodin (and the picture shows it), closed a house on Vicodin, and operated heavy machinery on Vicodin (treadmill...this can be dangerous if you can't stay on straight). It was a rough few weeks of fighting infection and trying to run and just coaxing my little right knee to get better. Even today it's still not better. You don't realize how much you bend your knee until it's important that you don't do it.

Here are some pictures of that event (Parental Advisory due to blood):

They are slightly out of order. And I tried and tried, but I'm new at this so please forgive me. (I was planning on pictures in future blogs, but I have received a special request from Annie and just HAD to deliver asap)




















































Several things to note in the pictures: Katie is applying Lidocaine to my already patched up knee, Sal is cleaning the blood off my leg and heel with hand sanitizer, he is also eating a cinnamon roll with his veggie and steak kabob (what??), and our makeshift strawberry dacquiris are actually not that all. But they do have delicious pineapple in them.

Then: Round Two.

Now I'm going to take you back to August 28, 2011. Yes, this was just yesterday.
Sigh. We did the Warrior Dash which was so fun. Me, Katie, Casey, Mom and Dad. Lots of fun. So we line up on day 2 of the race weekend...there were like 20 waves of this race. They announced that the fastest girl ran in 26 min up until now. And there were only 2 more waves to run after us. I thought, "Self, you can totally beat that" and gave myself a little pep talk. So the fire flared, and we scampered off. I showed those obstacles who's boss and trampled all over the uneven ground like a champ. Then we get to some trail running. My absolute fav. Flying on the downs, and about to catch the ONE girl in front of me to win the race and definitely on track to beat the fastest time...that was my plan anyways. She was obviously losing steam and it was just a matter of minutes. Super Pam takes a dive on one of the fifty billion roots sticking up out of the ground (Who in their right mind puts a root sticking straight up out of the ground on a trail?). Classy. Major fail. I like to think I'm hardcore and what not (cause I am I'm sure and my pain tolerance is through the roof I feel like), but after the July 3 escapade, I crumbled. Completely. "THIS CAN'T BE HAPPENING TO ME AGAIN" I complained to Casey. Left knee. Down and out, gushing blood, another deep cut, and close to hyperventilating trying not to cry while running.

I stopped at the next obstacle to find out from the fire department guys if I needed stitches. This is ALL I need to know. I just got my new Blue Cross Blue Shield card in the mail and the ER co-pay went up AGAIN. What does the State Health Plan think I'm made of? Money? Well, I've got news for you, NC. I'm not. No stitches expected, so they wrapped me up so snail-slow. Didn't even do a very good job, cause when I started running again it started sliding right down my leg. Because I was afraid of infection, I couldn't trudge through the slime water or the mud pit...I would not be getting sepsis or MRSA or losing my left leg. That's for sure. The girl I was about to catch was far ahead because of my delay, but Casey and I went right on through the rest of the obstacles and finished together. So then we got to the end and the dude on the bullhorn at the end of the race totally calls me out to EVERYONE in the audience for not diving head first into the mudpit. If he wants to pay my doctor bill when my leg gets amputated, I will surely go back and jump in the mud. I love mud. I hated (technically) not finishing race.

Whatev. Figured I'd go get cleaned up at the Medic tent, and they had this humongous Medical bus there. Score. They have to be able to help a girl out. But, no. Who knew that buses labeled "Mass Trauma" aren't permitted to clean up knees? I had to get my own gloves, my own alcohol pads, and my own water to try and clean under the hanging flap of skin on my knee. Really? What kind of EMT business is this? No peroxide, no iodine, no help? So I promptly pulled my doctor from the finish line (Katie), and she cleaned me up.

Pam-0, Mother Nature- 2.





Here is a photo of my post-race wound experience (it's a sad look...pulling the sympathy card now). Later that night, we had mom and dad over to grill out. I hit my originally wounded knee (The right one...confusing, I know. I've confused myself) on a sharp corner. It broke open. Again. Mom and Kate were all like, "Oh it's bleeding!" And my natural instinct was, "Oh no, which one!" They laughed at me. Who else can actually say that? Casey's the best; ran and got me more bandaids; he takes care of me. Safe to say I have both knees bandaged up again. I guess at least now I'll have matching scars on both knees...The funny thing is, I saw a girl before our wave started yesterday, she had volleyball kneepads on. I laughed inside cause who wears knee pads to a race??...which was so mean of me, by the way. I'm not laughing anymore. I will probably be the girl with knee pads at the next race.



Shout out to Casey, Mom, Dad, and Katie for scurrying over and busting through every obstacle! Also to my ankle for holding up for me. RIP: dad's shoe lost in the mud. Next obstacle race up: Tough Mudder. It's on.

It's the little things (and some big things too)

So, I know I'm a slacker. All week, I've been thinking, "I need to blog today"...but every day I'm just too flat-out tired. My brain just hurts. This happens to me when research season starts (much like football season except it lasts longer and isn't as fun). Coordinating, smiling, directing, solving problems, talking to a billion people when I don't even really like talking to strangers and small talk, entering data, strategy, recruiting, subject shuffling, and it goes on and on. When research season starts, this is my life. Then we have the rest of my job on top of data collection duties and all it entails. This includes equally painful financial matters and in general, running the show. Being awesome. It's not easy, but someone has got to do it. I graciously accept.

I love my job, but I do get exhausted sometimes. Who doesn't? I get to work early early to check email and possibly blog, but there's just too much work to do. Then it piles up so that after data collection is over, I can't blog, and never mind the fact that by then my head is so far away in la la land that I don't even have the slightest idea what I even want to talk about. Or how to spell correctly.

Then I get home from the gym and eat, and even dinner doesn't give me the strength to type out my thoughts. By this point, I have no thoughts. They says males have a one-track mind, but it seems to me that during research season, I have a one-track mind. It's only driven towards sleep...with some mindless TV shows thrown in for good measure.

Scratch that...I take that back actually. I not only think about bed, but I think about coffee. I wake up thinking about coffee, coffee on the mind during the day and as soon as my cup is empty in the morning (it's time for someone to invent a true bottomless cup of coffee in my opinion...), trudge through my afternoon runs with coffee-on-the-brain, and I probably dream about it too. Can I get an IV of this stuff?

So I have decided that because research season (data collection, specifically) is so mentally tiring, I have to think about the little things that make me happy. You know, when something exciting happens, and you just break into a smile and sparkly eyes and uncontrollably let out a little gasp. It really is the little things in life that make it so sweet. I mean, don't get me wrong, big exciting stuff is off-the-charts-awesome...but I'm talking about those little everyday things.

I made a list of the little things this week that have pulled me through:

1. when I make my PB&J (with Peter Pan Honey Roasted Creamy no less) and my strawberry jam spread has a chunk of strawberry...I love this. It makes me so happy. I love the strawberry chunk.

2. snuggling with Casey every night before we fall asleep

3. when the coffee pot (which has decided to work properly now) gives me a truly perfect cup of coffee

4. getting random pictures of my (new) sweet, little nephew Renn

5. when the treadmill is open directly in front of a tv. And I get the controller. And 'Say Yes to the Dress' is on.

6. when we scoop out our cookies 'n cream fro yo and it's got a big cookie chunk (or 2 or 3 chunks) in my scoop...the chunks are my fav

7. when I get in the car and turn it on to find that the first song is one I've reallllllly been wanting to hear lately


Until next time (and who honestly knows when that will be?)...

The Devil Wears Prada

If you have not read this book or seen the movie (The Devil Wears Prada by Lauren Weisberger), then drop what you are doing and go read or watch right now. Then you can come back and finish reading the blog, otherwise you'll have no background for this post. I guess you can cheat and read the summary IMDB or wiki or something, but it's just not the same. And don't say I didn't warn you.

So I do not know the devil (Thank you, Jesus) nor claim to think anyone I work with or for or near resembles. I do not wear Prada. For a number of reasons, with the first being that I can't afford it. The second is that it's totally impractical for me and my job. The third is that I couldn't tell the difference between Prada and Prado if someone held a gun to my head.

I do, however, feel as if my job is sometimes likened to that of a personal assistant rather than a Research Manager. I mean, honestly. Below is a list of the number of things I've had to do, which is completely fine because lets be honest, who wants to do the same thing day in and day out? But I also feel like I need to draw the line somewhere, right? Because some days it's just so frustrating and makes me want to absolutely pull my hair out...and it's finally long-ish. So that's shocking that I would ever want to pull it out. And its not like I think I'm above of any of these things (who could possibly not want to go buy underwear? For someone else?), but it always happens at the very end of my day when I'm trying to go or home or inevitably, when I have about 57 other very pressing things I'm trying to get done.

1. Make PB&J sandwiches measuring out the sandwich in grams and PB and J in tablespoons and teaspoons.

2. Buy underwear for our subjects (for the BodPod, but underwear nonetheless).

3. Drop everything I'm doing for 12 spontaneous meetings.

4. Drop everything I'm doing to coordinate an entire lunch for the staff and people coming to see the campus...in 12 hours.

5. Drop everything I'm doing and go buy bins (color coded rubbermaid containers) to separate our three different types of Q-chews (they look like Starbursts but, unfortunately, are not) to put them on display because the company who funds a number of our studies is coming to our lab in 15 minutes...and make the display look pretty...and whip up a couple artsy, attractive signs denoting which bin is what...and throughout the 5 hours on campus, the CEO never even enters our lab.

6. Towel off sweaty athletes (which is why Prada is impractical).

7. Hand-feed granola bars to athletes who pass out.

8. Answer questions I do not know the answers to.

9. Make folders with copies of all kinds of research proposals and journal articles (in color when our color printer does not communicate with my computer) 1 hour before a meeting with the company big-wigs.

10. Send out emails to subjects outlining and answering in a very detailed manner every question they could possibly have and receive a million emails back asking questions that I've already answered. Makes me feel so neglected and unimportant! Why do I even send these emails in the first place?

11. Track down every dollar and cent spent, and if it's unaccounted for, find out where it is and why it has been spent. This particularly stresses me out. I hate money. I hate worrying about money. It stresses me out to the max, and to have to worry about my own bills and then worry some more about Appalachian's bills is beyond my realm of comfort and desire. Especially when they are supplies for a number of complex assays that require products of names I can't even say...I just order what I'm told.

12. Or hey, I have this box of samples that need to get to Texas by tomorrow morning, and I know its 5 pm, but they're on dry ice and they have to go. Now.

13. And finally, I know it's Friday afternoon, but I have an order for supplies I need by next week for this assay that HAS to be done, and it's only 22 things from 5 different companies. That's okay, right? Oh and the product numbers I gave you aren't correct...you can still find them right?

No really, my boss is fantastic and the people I work with are wonderful, but sometimes, I feel like Andrea going to get perfect lattes from Starbucks every morning that are never perfect enough, tying white Hermes scarves, and locating people and things with no direction. No direction is key. I love instruction and direction because then I know exactly what I'm supposed to do and what is expected of me...everything is just too broad. And I'm pretty amazing, but I'm not that amazing...some days I just feel like I can't do anything right, let alone everything. Especially at the last minute.

Sigh. Is it really only Monday? Sometimes, I wish my job was just reading books. All kinds, but sometimes mindless, intriguing, entertaining stuff like The Devil Wears Prada or James Patterson or Nicholas Sparks...anywhere I can get lost in a world that's not my own. A world with no Mondays.

My Hit List

So, I have a hit list (among other lists of course...you sense a recurring "list" theme in my blogs, huh? I thought so...).

On my hit list are a number of things, but first and foremost are spiders. I. HATE. THEM. They scare the living daylights out of me. This blog stems from my experience on the way to the grocery store on Tuesday night (approximately, 7 pm on August 16...it was not raining...in the movies it always rains when a killing is about to go down). All I wanted was to innocently drive my car to the store to re-stock our fridge. Is that really, honestly too much to ask? I didn't think so.

So here's what happened...my side of the story.

I was pulling into the Teet (Harris Teeter) parking lot, and all of a sudden, out of nowhere, I get attacked by this creepy white spider. White. Who has every had a run-in with a WHITE spider? I was totally taken aback...do albino spiders exist??

He was just swinging precariously from his little web which had wound itself around the little stick-up think on my flip phone from 1982. So he was just dangling himself in front of me. Meanwhile, I'm trying to dodge cars, pull into a parking space, not run over people, unbuckle my seatbelt, and avoid the swinging spider in front of me, all the while hyperventilating and planning my next move. So. Scared. This makes it so hard to think clearly...I feel like my brain was mush and my thoughts one big cloud of dust. So I finally pull into a space and can't even manage to put the car in park as my eyes are glued to this gross-out white spider who is now running up my passenger side front seat. So now my attention is focused on 1) making sure he doesn't jump his way over to me 2) making sure he doesn't run away because then every time I got in the car I would think he was on me somewhere or he would jump in my bags to hitch a ride inside our house.

Holy bananas. I think I freaked out. So now I'm eying him, trying to keep my distance and remain as still as possible, and inch my hand over to a magazine (that I thankfully had in my car to give Katie...sorry, Kate, there was minimal damage though) so that I could beat him to death. I know it might sound morbid, but he was totally messing with the wrong person.

So I did it. I got the magazine--SUCCESS. I started beating him, and that little sucker was relentless. I mean, he had like 9 lives or something. I would beat him to what I thought was a pulp, and then try to use one of those magazine insert-flyers no one ever uses except to scoop up dead bugs, and he'd jump around again. Oh my word. Most terrifying experience of my day. Maybe even my week. Finally I beat him so hard, I got him. I'm sure people walking by were absolutely wondering what exactly was going on in my car, but I was oblivious. As least I didn't run anyone over while all this happened.

And actually as it turns out, I'm still scared and still paranoid, yet proud of myself. Usually I scream like a little girl and beg for someone else to take care of business...unfortunately I was all alone and had to grow a pair (excuse my French) and man-up.

Safe to say, Pam-1, spider-0. And I don't feel the least bit guilty. That'll teach his kind to dangle in my face again.

Secretly though, I think the spider won...all of last night I was creeped out by the thought and the paranoia of another one coming after me. Sigh. I will always be afraid of spiders, no matter how small. Especially when they're in my territory. When you're hiking and camping, it's really no problem at all. I mean, I'm invading their home in that case and also, in the vast beauty of the great outdoors they have no reason to make an appearance and taunt me. It's like a truce zone or something. Unfortunately, it's when they toe the line and try to come over for dinner or a free ride in the car that I get angry with them.

So, a couple things on my hit list (if you don't see your name, then consider yourself safe):

1. spiders
2. orange juice with pulp
3. doctors
4. technology
5. directions (specifically, trying to understand them or not having them)
6. when people tie me down and threaten to make me run outside in 130% humidity and 90+ degree heat (I treadmill it those days...no questions asked)

A Bad Apple

I think one of the worst things ever is bad fruit. I mean, for something so delicious and delectable to automatically, and without any ability to stop it, put a funny look on your face. I had a bad apple at work the other day, and I just cannot stop thinking about it. I'm sure to you it may not seem like a big deal, but it is. I mean, it probably cost a whole dollar! Actually it cost more than that...it cost me my enjoyment (unbelievable) and my lunch.

Not only does this happen at work, but at the beach too...vacation of all places. Mind you, I was only there for 3 days, and I had TWO apples that I took one bite and had to spit them out. They were even two different kinds of apples from two different stores. Isn't this apple season? What is going on! It's a fruit conspiracy. Actually, I feel like apple season is year round depending on what kind of apple you're hunting for. So, technically, you should not go wrong in apple shopping.

I mean, you cut open a peach, and the pit falls out and is all gross. You put a piece of watermelon in your mouth, and it's slimy. You peel a banana and it's bruised all over like it got in a fight. You take your apple you bought earlier in the week to work, and go to eat it and the peel is wrinkly. Or you bite into it and it's not crisp and firm and juicy and flavorful...no, it's mushy. Or you buy some grapes at the store, and you get home and there's a spider web in the middles of the them (this is one of the most gross-out things ever to me...I can't even fathom how this happens...maybe it's not even a spider web, but it's how the grapes are telling you not to eat them cause they're old). Or you get to the middle of your carton of strawberries, and you find a mold-infested strawberry hiding in there. Or you pick out a perfect mango and wait a little too long to cut it, so it's not so perfect anymore (guilty--right here...this girl). I could go on and on, clearly. It's so beyond disappointing and disturbing to me cause fruit has this reputation of being refreshing and healthy. Its moments like these that give fruit a bad rap.

I know, I know. When I first mentioned each fruit--YUM. But then when I spoke about the potentially disgusting fate of each one, you probably get a funny look on your face too.

I hate when this happens. It's so disappointing. It is.

I don't want to be a bad apple either. I want to be as refreshing and invigorating as the first thought or taste of fresh fruit, not have the disgusting-factor of bad fruit. So I hope I'm uplifting to each of you. I don't want to be disappointing either. John 15:5 "I am the vine; you are the branches. If you remain in me and I in you, you will bear much fruit; apart from me you can do nothing."

On a final note, I was grocery shopping last night and visited each type of apple, examined the stock, even picked one up and put it in my cart, but by the end of my visit, it was back in its designated section. I just couldn't do it. Not after the last couple days at the beach. Maybe next time on the apples...and here's to hoping those strawberries I bought instead are good.

On The 6

Not J.Lo's album from the late 90's, but literally on the six (stay with me here). Although now "if you had my love and i gave you all my trust, would you comfort me and call me bay-bay..." is running through my head. and if I did my job, it's repeating itself in yours too. You're welcome from the 90's.
Please go here if you need a refresher: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lYfkl-HXfuU&ob=av2e

So I feel like everyone has their "thing." And typically if someone has a thing, it's not to be messed with. Well, I've got a couple "things."

One is that I HAVE to wake up on a 6. 5:46, 6:26, 7:16. You get the idea. But seriously, HAVE TO. If I need a few extra minutes or need to get up a little earlier but not a whole 10 minutes earlier, I'll allow myself (on rare occasion) to get up on a 2. This is extremely rare. Even people I'm bunking with, if I know that their alarm is not set for a 6, I really don't like it. I might even call it disturbing. Casey, for example, has jumped on board. He sets his alarm on a 6 now too.

If he doesn't, I legitimately, and in all seriousness, ask him to change it. And if mine isn't set for a 6 (or occasionally a 2), I cannot go to sleep. I don't know why. Maybe in my head my alarm will never go off if that happens or I'll sleep through 3 days or my feather bed will explode and feathers will be everywhere. All I know is this started in high school, and I've been doing it every since. I know it's strange (I really do) but it does no harm to anyone so why should I try to change?

But why does this happen to people? Everyone has something I'm sure.

Probably my biggest "thing" besides my alarm set on a 6 is double knots. I HAVE to have double knots in my running shoes. Always. It's pretty much automatic as this point. It's like when I put my Brooks on, I turn into a robot. Even if I'm not wearing them to actually go running right then--double knots. I think probably its because I run so fast and gazelle-like that my shoe laces come untied all by themselves without a double knot. And sometimes, even my double knots work themselves loose...those are the days I run really fast. I get scared when my shoe laces come untied and fly about like rag dolls while I'm running because I'm terrified of tripping on them. And frankly, the biggest disturbance to me is having to stop and re-tie it. Who has time for that? Sometimes the mini-break is welcome, but often it just totally interrupts my rhythm. Not okay. Double knots are a must.

I mean, I also go for the folded over tortilla chips or pita chips. I don't like the flat ones. If we're at a Mexican restaurant for example and you get chips and salsa, I will dive right in for the folded ones...and I pick around looking for them (without any qualms over touching every chip in the basket to find them...but I do so gently. My friends and family totally understand). They just taste so much better. And I really don't like the flat ones, unless I'm in a pinch. I don't know...it's got this like double crunch (from the fold), and it all fits in your mouth without getting crumbs everywhere. They're just so unique and way more fun. People I'm with, if they come across a folded one, just automatically hand them to me because they know I actually get excited about a good folded chip. Katie, however, likes to pretend like she's going to eat it because she knows I'll protest...so rude! Likewise, I only truly like orphan crackers. Like Triscuits or Wheat Thins. Orphans are the broken ones. I think this is because not many people really like a broken cracker. They want the whole kit n kaboodle for that full piece of cheese or whole dip of hummus. But I like to rescue the broken ones merely because no one else wants them. I don't know when I started the whole folded chip/orphaned cracker business either. But they're my things.

I have another thing...tiny bowls and small forks. If I have anything, everyone in my life knows I will try to use a small bowl for it. I love small bowls. If you look in the lower cabinet on the left (next to the fridge) in our house, you will find an enormity of small bowls...you'd think we have elves living in our house. But we don't. They're for me. They're my thing. I also don't like regular people size dinner plates. I always eat off of a salad plate at home.

I have no explanation for any of my things.

My last thing is lists. I have to have them. For everything. But I already wrote all about them. So you get it.

A few of my other "things" that are my favorites:
Bulldogs
Brooks Running Shoes
My fam
My friends
Cruises
Taking strings off bananas

Butterfingers

Not the candy bar. I wish. Cause I do like peanut butter. And I do like chocolate, but who doesn't? (Sal Blair, you can't answer that cause I know you don't do chocolate.) Butterfingers in the sense that I can't hold on to anything!

And the phrase, no use crying over spilled milk--I hate this phrase! I mean, to me, there is absolutely a use. But if I can't cry over spilled milk, then I'll boohoo over everything else I spill, drip, drop, throw on myself or floor or car or anywhere really. I don't drink milk anyways, so the saying doesn't actually apply.

I feel like it's inevitable that if I have something white on, I WILL spill or drop something on it or get it dirty in some way, shape, or form. How does that always happen? It does, doesn't it? If you're wearing white, look down. I bet you have a spot on your somewhere.

Actually, scratch that. I really don't even have to be wearing white. It's just more obvious to viewing audience when I'm wearing white.

But I promise that everytime I eat my zone bar breakfast on the way to work, I drop some of the "chocolate" (is it really chocolate? I don't know, but it's good) coating on my clothes. And cause it's summer it immediately, within 3 milliseconds, melts into whatever I'm wearing. I feel like I should just be used to it by now. Or try to get used to it anyways. Either that or bring a change of clothes for when I actually get to work so I don't look like I spent the morning rummaging through a dumpster.

Or we were in Atlanta the other week, and I was drinking some DRB (diet root beer...I'm not sure why I have to spell out these abbreviations for you) and of course it spills on my WHITE shirt. I think I've proven my point.

I was painting the other day, and got paint all over me. Even when I do the touch up painting, I find remnant splatters in random places later. Whether it's my clothes or myself, it ends up somewhere. It's like I should start doing projects in my birthday suit. Or was I born without any hand-eye coordination? I feel like I'm very coordinated, but for the times that I'm not, THIS is why I run.

And then I don't even want to get into dinner. I think I drop a piece of lettuce with vinaigrette dressing (so the olive oil gets into your clothes or the carpet real good) on myself everytime Casey and I have salad with dinner. And if we aren't having salad with dinner, then I drop whatever it is I'm eating. Like last night. Somehow the piece of broccoli, at some point in the transition from my plate to my fork to my mouth, managed to splat to the floor. Casey just gave me a sideways glance and said "I saw that." I don't really try to hide it anymore...You would think I need a giant fork or to position myself directly over my plate or a reminder of where my mouth is. It's really quite ridiculous and a little embarrassing. I might have to eat in the pantry next time we have people over.

I just don't get it, cause I'm not clumsy. For real, I'm not. But maybe this is the real reason we bought a house with hardwood floors...Katie always claims that the carpet near my side of the couch at the apartment we had last year had more spots on it cause I could never keep stuff on the plate (we ate dinner on the couch...who eats at a dinner table these days? Honestly, raise your hand if you do. I didn't think so.) I think all the spots on my side were from the time I when I tripped and spilled an entire plate of juicy grilled kabobs on the floor. It could not have possibly been from separate occasions. Scouts honor. See, I'm totally not clumsy.

I think maybe I get this from dad, cause it's obviously a genetic thing I'm sure. He usually finds a way to spill coffee or drip toothpaste on his shirt. Then he cleans it in the bathroom and walks out with a huge wet spot on his shirt...so not obvious right? Well, it's funny, cause sometimes I catch myself doing the exact same thing. (I love you daddy! I can only say something cause I'm the exact same way) It's funnier to me, cause in my head, I'm like "dad, why don't you just change your shirt", and sometimes it's cause you can't (maybe you're not at home) and sometimes maybe it's cause you know you'll spill again. I mean, I think coffee leaked out of my cup every single day on the way to work last week. Why does this stuff always happen to me is the bigger and way more important question.

And sometimes it does happen to other people. A couple weeks ago Casey dropped HIS dressing covered lettuce on the floor. This time, I laughed.

Until this morning when I spilled my coffee all over the floor at work...I guess in all reality, it doesn't have anything to do with what I'm wearing, but more that apparently I'm a butterfingers. Unfortunately, I prefer mini Reeses cups.

(Please note: Today's blog was going to be about a number of observations from last night's concert...but when my coffee ended up all over the floor, I just knew I had to incorporate my constant misfortune. Stay tuned for tomorrow.)

New Neighbors!

So, we got an email from Jennifer the other day (she was the new home consultant who sold us our home) asking about our choice for TV. Time Warner Cable or Direct TV satellite because Leigh Ann is moving into the house down the street. (I don't even want to get into the 2 week long fiasco with TWC...we are now with Direct TV which was a good choice minus the fact that we lose satellite during thunderstorms...it's still waaaay more reliable than TWC. But that's a whole other can of worms.)

Who is Leigh Ann, number 1? Should we know her? And where are Stacie and Dave, number 2? Stacie and Dave Anderson that is.

I'm kind of upset, we don't have new next door neighbors. Not just any next door neighbors, but ones we like. First, I tried to get Ashley to move in next door, but that was a no go (ahem) and then Stacie promised me her and Dave bought the town house next door to us.

Of course, I hired a Demo crew to come in and take out the dividing wall so we could have one big house, and July 29 has come and gone (Stacie and Dave's supposed move-in date) and we still have no neighbors. Come to find out they actually moved in to a townhouse in Pennsylvania. SO not-next-door. That's like 8 hours away not-next-door.

So this morning Casey and I walk to our cars to leave for work, and what do we see on the for sale sign in the yard right next to us?? "Purchased." Seriously? WHO could possibly be moving in next door? I mean, I for one, just assumed we'd have vacant lots on both sides of us forever...more space for us. Is that really too much to ask?

Jennifer did not tell us about this purchase, and if I'm not wrong, this is way more important (an actual next-door neighbor) than Leigh Anne moving in down the street. By the way, we still have no idea who Leigh Anne is or if I'm even spelling her name correctly.

Now we really are getting neighbors, but I'm a little scared. What if we don't like them? Jk. I'm sure we'll get along just fine. We may not be besties, but Casey and I are very nice people. How could they not want to be friends with us? The down side is now we have one less parking spot out front to fight for and we can't walk through the yard next door anymore.

So I guess it's kinda fun (neighbors!), but I'm kinda bummed at the same time. I have so many questions. Do they have a puppy I can play with? Are they old or young? Are they loud? Are they crazy? Are they mysterious (like mom and dad's creepy next door neighbors)? Are we going to be friends? Are they going to be mad if one of our cars accidentally ends up a smidge in front of their house or would they just say whatev? Are we going to be able to have dance parties together? Are we going to be able to invite them to our Christmas party? Can we watch a movie together or grill out? Are "they" even a they, or a he or a she?

Let me explain...any apartment I've ever lived in, I've never really known my neighbors. They were either way older or way younger or spoke a different language or kept to themselves cause they worked alot or SOMEthing. So now I have to figure out how to be neighborly. Do I bake them cookies and say welcome? Do we invite them over for dinner? What in the world! What if I mess up? Clearly I've never done this whole neighbor-business before. It seems so much more important now that we actually live here. I mean we PURCHASED. We have a mortgage. There's a sort of permanence to that, and I feel so much more neighbor-pressure!

For this reason, if anyone feels the desire to give any good-neighbor advice, it would be much appreciated and considered in planning the first interaction with them (what don't you get about the fact that I'm a planner? even when I'm fully aware you can't plan alot of things...it makes me feel better, like in this specific scenario that I've mapped out I know exactly what I would do because I've thought about it).

(On a side note: Stacie, if you and Dave had just moved to Charlotte, I wouldn't be flipping out so much cause I know we like you and you like us and you're nice. I miss you.)

(On another side note: I exaggerate my "need" to plan...I can totally roll with the punches...my exaggeration portrays how much I like to plan. Trust me. I'm a fun person.)

Painty McPainterson

That's my new name. Partly because I'm so proud of the fact that I painted two (fairly tiny but complex) spaces yesterday. How long did it take me you ask? Well, actually it took me 12 hours. With a break in the middle for a protein shake (long-lasting fuel) and a run (sanity) and some jelly beans (quick fuel and frustration relief).

So that's 2 coats of primer, 2 first coats, and 2 second coats...along with running ladders and brushes and trays and paint tape and protective floor coverings up and down the stairs everytime I switched bathrooms. I mean, I feel like I had a pretty good system. You're probably going to want to hire me to paint your next room, except I won't take the job or will charge an exorbitant amount of money because despite my new name, I do not like that job. It's not bad except when you're on a time crunch and your fingers cramp up like the claw from holding the paint brush so tightly so you don't drop it from 14 feet up on the ladder (Exaggeration? possibly but not likely).

And then there's all the compromising positions. Painting is SO DANGEROUS. I mean, when you're in a small or oddly constructed space (characteristic of bathrooms because of all the typical fixtures...sinks, toilets, you know the uje) it's so difficult to fit a ladder in there. I tried 3 different step stools only to realize that the ladder was my only option to reach the top trim on the far wall and the two far corners behind the potty. Sigh. So I start limbering up and have a quick stretch sesh so I can do yoga up on the ladder to reach what needs to be reached. It's a little thing I like to call committment.

I had three options:
A) Open the ladder and stretch as far as my arm would possibly reach and then some, which would result in a very unsteady hand and strained oblique (seriously about the strained oblique).

B) Don't use the ladder and stand on top of the toilet (covered in fabric mind you to protect it from wild painting) so it was slippery beyond slippery. I felt like I was rock climbing the way I was trying to balance and hug the wall as to not fall to my death.

C) Or don't open the ladder and just stand it up in the corner and pray it doesn't fall over.

I tried all these options and settled on the latter (haha, no pun intended). So I braced myself and prayed I didn't slip or fall. The only thoughts running through my head were what if I fall? Hitting the toilet and bouncing to the sink would not feel good. Would I have to quick running? I'd probably knock myself out and then who would call 911? I don't have a puppy yet and Casey isn't home. If I break my back, will I be able to crawl towards my phone? Suffice it to say, if you don't have life insurance policy before taking on this endeavor, I strongly recommend purchasing.

So once I got it all figured out--the best way to do the edging with a steady, swift swipe of the hand (and trying NOT to get it all over the trim and the adjoining wall...who needs paint tape?) and the most efficient way to paint corners and roll, I was cruisin with my top down (that means cool, I didn't really have my top down, but like a convertible...top down).

Despite the fact that I broke my knee open AGAIN, backed my butt into a freshly painted wall (I know have offical painting clothes), and didn't get enough paint off my roller the first time (it rained "magician's cloak" purple all over me...and the rest of the bathroom), and bent over to get my cleaning rag and my hair brushed a freshly painted wall, I finally got the hang of it by the time my second coat of my second bathroom came around. By then I got my second wind and really felt like an expert. After 10.5 hours. Bring. It. On.

I discovered that head lamps are good for more than hiking and camping and spalunking, they are excellent for painting a small space eggplant-wine-purple when the sun has gone down. Who says you can't paint in the dark now?

It was quite the experience. I don't know how people do this for a living or have the patience to do it for a living. But I'll tell you, It was like a mini workout before and after my run. Trouncing up and down the stairs so many times, holding a squat position to get just the right angle, holding my abs tight so I don't move an inch and fall off whatever I was teetering on, and all that rolling, I tell you what...I actually woke up sore today (this is a little embarrassing).

So just when I thought I could handle being a painter, I go to close my last can of paint for the night, and somehow whatever paint was on the edge of the lid, decides to give me one last spray...magician's cloak all over the door trim and a white wall. I think my project for tonight is a little touching up.

Until we decide to paint again...(Katie, if you hate the color in your bathroom so much you have to close your eyes to walk in, we'll change it. Pronto.)

Oh, and I'd like to give a shout out to my babe for making dinner. If he hadn't, we would've probably had dinner at 11 pm or even this morning instead of the already-late-9 pm dinner time we had ("I HAVE to finish"...that's what I told him all dramatic like). Sorry, honey!

Sally Sells Seashells By the Seashore

Go ahead. Try it. 10 x fast. GO.

I know, you probably haven't tried that since you were a kid! You're welcome.

Anyways, there's just something about the beach isn't there? It's calming, it's peaceful.

I love falling asleep to the crashing of the waves, waking up to the sound of seagulls, the smell of salt, finding sand in unknown places still a month after you get home from the beach, running into the ocean breeze, rocking on the porch with a book, the open water, walking on the beach in the night bundled in a sweatshirt, and even building sandcastles. We're going to Hiltonhead next weekend, and it got me thinking about why exactly I'm so excited. It's not just because of the couple days off work (YAY), it's not just because everyone loves the beach and why wouldn't I too!, or because I get to be there with Casey (double YAY). All those things are wonderful, but it's because of all the memories that the beach--any beach--stirs up.

I love the beach. I think I love the beach so much because it reminds of all the summer memories of Groton from when I was a kid that I love. I love 20 Central Avenue Eastern Point.

The freezing water temperatures of the northeastern shore, the fireworks show on the 4th of July and coating ourselves with bug spray before hand, the sailboat tour every summer, soft serve ice cream from the big house near the rocks, the seaweed infested waters, the hermit crab races, hunting for mussels to go crabbing, carefully selecting only the most beautiful and most perfect pieces of seaglass, the walks around the point, the runs with dad around the streets of Groton, and taking trips into town to go to the library and blockbuster. Trips to Mystic, trips to Fort Griswold, just trips to see grandma and grandpa. The 781 mile drive and smelling the Pfizer plant as we approached town. That's how we knew we were close. I always used to hate that smell, and longed for the actual seaweed-salty-air and fresh-ocean-air smell that immediately followed the Pfizer smell...that made getting through the thick of Pfizer worth it.

I love the movies in the big van on the way up snuggled with Katie and Dawn, and mom and dad just driving and driving. The crossing of the Tappan Zee bridge, the traffic in New York, the fingers-crossed for no huge, car-stopping traffic jams, the tolls, and the seeing who can guess the time to the minute of when we will arrive in the black asphalt driveway. That's a game we always always played. Who would win the time game this year? Mom and dad always had the upper hand...after all they were driving. Dad would playfully drive slower into town--or faster--to get his time closest, and we just giggled cause we were on to his antics.

The big bushes that lined their driveway were the biggest hassle getting in and out of the car every time we went to go somewhere. Those leaves, huge leaves, would always brush your leg and your arm and your clothes, and be all itchy in the summertime. I always hated those bushes. Until now. Now that the house is no longer in the family, now that Grandma Grace isn't with us, now that Grandpa John lives in Hartford. Those peony bushes that were Grandma's favorite and that I have come to absolutely adore and long for.

I miss sitting in the breeze on their front porch, watching the Young and the Restless and Price is Right and Wheel of Fortune with grandma and grandpa, the secret back staircase in the house, and running into the house upon arrival to get the best bed (in room number 6) before the other two sisters could choose first. Making grandpa peanut butter-anything and pouring him ginger ale. Grandma's Franzia...wine in a box and is it 5 o clock yet? Not in a bad way AT ALL, but in a my-grandma-is-so-funny way. Baking cookies and cutting fresh fruit and raisin bread and cutting chives from the garden and picking up plums from the plum tree out back. Spending one week or two weeks choreographing a dance show with Katie and Dawn culminating in a production on the front porch for everyone at the end of our stay.

There isn't a memory I have of the shore in Groton that I don't love. I cherish the time knowing that our little family would be able to spend that one week or two weeks together every summer. I miss that house, I miss those memories, I miss that Casey never saw it or spent a summer there, I miss that our kids will never experience it. But I do have the memories of my 20 or so years there, and some of the best memories they are.

Mexican Madness

I love girl friends. I like Mexican. I kinda like birthdays. And margaritas are delicious.

Last night Kate and Ash and I went to Pure Taquiera (John St., Matthews, NC). It's probably the cutest little mexican restaurant I've ever been to--even if the margaritas simply CANNOT top the margis at Zapatas (multiple locations, namely the one at University Place, Charlotte, NC). Zapatas has best ones, hands down.

http://puretaqueria.com/matthews
http://www.zapatasrestaurant.com/

It was delicious though. I've known Katie for just over 28 years (probably attributed to the fact that she's my sister), and Ashley for almost 14 I believe. I love old friends. They know you inside and out, and know what's good for you and what you're thinking even when you don't say a thing. I love laughing with them at nothing and everything and making memories. This blog is a tribute to my Katie and my Ashley, two of my favorite ladies ever. It's also a restaurant review. Cause I can. I'm the blog administrator. For today, it's a food blog.

Katie and I split the Pescado a la parilla
3 grilled citrus mahi mahi tacos, charred pico de gallo, avocado.

And minus the guac for me. I haven't grown accustomed to avocadoes yet. It's like this mushy vegetable without much flavor. I don't get all the hype.

Our other option was the Quesadillas de pollo y queso
Corn-masa turnovers stuffed with chicken,three cheeses & sweet onions. Finished with salsa verde, sour cream, lettuce & guacamole.

Look at the names on those dishes. The menu puts mine and Katie's Spanish to shame...I'm impressed, Pure Taquiera.

But we stuck with the fish tacos for 3 reasons. 1) As much as I love fish, I've still never had fish tacos...until last night that is. 2) They are the healthier option. 3) And fish just sounds so refreshing in the midst of summer.

The only negative about the fish tacos was that the dish did not come with cheese. No melted cheese. But that's okay cause I'm not so sure I could've even handles mahi mahi with cheese...I'm pretty sure fish was never meant to be paired with cheese. The mahi mahi was perfectly grilled with a citrus splash. The wheat tortillas were hot, and the tiny little container of black beans were seasoned wonderfully. Ordinarily, I don't like beans, but I tried them because of the tiny little container they came in. Surprise--they were good! (Possibly because of the tiny bowl) It came with verde salsa for a splash of color and a change from the red tomato salsa that came with the chips, and was accompanied by some cooked pico de gallo and rice with a little spice for a make-your-own-taco.

Then I ordered the Peach Margarita for a birthday treat. If I'm going to be older, then I'm going to use it (and secretly I wanted to get carded...I didn't. Major disappointment). I was going to get the mango margarita, but Kate, Ashley, and I shared it, and Ashley thinks she's allergic to mangoes which is incredibly saddening. Cause mangoes are delish. Surprised? Shouldn't be...if you didn't know before, you do now--I love mangoes.

This margi was definitely not slacking in the tequila area. Wow. I'm not going to even sugar-coat it (really, the rim had sugar on it, no salt...hahaha). But it was a nice blend with the peach nectar and accessorized with a lime slice. We got it frozen, but it was also offered on the rocks. It could've had slightly more of a peach-punch and a little less tequila (talk about authentic mexican). In my opinion anyways. I'm sure a good number of people would be fist-pumping at the cocktail, but I prefer a slightly milder concoction myself. That and the fact that the three of us had to drive home and go to work today...although that didn't seem to stop anyone else in the restaurant...Pure also offered the skinny girl margarita (all you Bethenny fans! Woot woot!) but it cost $4 more. And frankly, my checkbook wasn't ready for that.

But the ambience (in Ashley's words) was lovely. It's like an old warehouse/garage with lots of windows, mood lighting, and an open-air patio. Simple, fun decor and casual, fun wait staff. Two thumbs up for atmosphere. The service was good, our waitress was knowledgeable, attentive, and nice...minus her two black eyes that looked like she'd gotten in a cat fight at the club last night. The margarita could've come out a little bit quicker, but the bartender was slammed, understandably so. The food came out in two shakes, but before that while we were making our meal selections and while the food was being prepped we were given complimentary, freshly-baked tortilla chips (warm) and fresh salsa with a little kick and full, flavorful blend of tomatoes, cilantro, and whatever pepper put the hop in our step. Of course I only picked the folded chips. I have a thing. Folded chips are better than flat ones. Don't ask questions. And they had some in the basket, so I was happy.

And, again, talk about authentic Mexican. If that's what you're looking for, then this is the place for you. And you don't even have to go to Alpharetta (GA) for it! That's where Pure Taquiera originated (for a brief history lesson), and it just moved to Matthews probably less than a year ago. Apparently it's a hit because I could NOT find a parking spot, so I made my own. And thankfully my car was still there when we were done.

The three of us decided that from now on whenever we go out to dinner on a Thursday, it has to be Mexican. When we went out before the wedding, it was on a Thursday, and we went to Zapatas, also Mexican. And now this. Thursdays are officially Mexican Madness. Makes it sound like we got a little crazy, but of course we all parted ways at 9 pm. All you need to have fun is a girls night, the margarita just added a little sweetness to another memory.

London- 1, Stac/Kate/Pam- 0...Creepy noises win

Do you ever hear noises that literally make you stop in your tracks? Cause where could that possibly be coming from?

That happens to me all the time. It's like the world is playing a big joke on me or something.

So yesterday it happened a billion times. Casey and I were in the kitchen and the refrigerator started making funny noises. I'm talking noises that made it sound like there was a little elf in our freezer with an ice pick chipping at a big block of ice to make our ice cubes.

Then last night we were watching a show, and the car door on the show was open so it made that characteristic your-car-door-is-ajar-annoying-beep. I could've sworn it sounded like it was coming from downstairs. And that it was my phone (which was right beside me by the way, so it could not have possibly been my phone). Casey just looked at me and informed me that it was the tv.

Then the air conditioner outside (HVAC system? Is that what it's called? I'm trying to learn the homeowner-lingo so I fit in, but I'm probably way off) came on while we were lying in bed. It sounded like a lion was basically roaring in our ears, or like Patch was having a sleepover and snoring her precious little self to sleep. No, it was the air compressor (is that the right term? I'm just going to start saying different names that really might not have anything to even do with a house until I get it right). Totally normal.

The list could go on for miles. I know you all know exactly what I'm talking about. It's annoying-slash-creepy, and really makes the wheels in your head start turning, and then it's crazy cause other random noises start popping up and you hear them ALL.

My all time favorite was London, 2008, Katie, Stacie, and Pam in a hotel room. So we were sleeping like most people do at night, and all of a sudden this blaring noise wakes us (us being Katie and Pam because apparently Stacie gets out of bed for no one and nothing). I'd like to preface the story with the fact that European fire alarms are waayyyyyyyyy different than US ones. That has to be the only explanation for this story.

So Katie and I jump out of bed all wide-eyed but strangely still half-asleep, literally running around our 12'x12' room tossing things and lifting things and looking under furniture and in corners and in the hallway to find where this noise could possibly be coming from. Now this Europe trip has about 8 hours of video of our different adventures (including a bike ride in Finland where the videographer falls off her bike and the camera bounces a couple feet and the next thing you see is a bunch of bicycle wheels going by the camera screen sideways...the rest of the group...still ON their bikes), but nothing to document this night. What I wouldn't give to have a video of this experience. I was willing to pay this hotel my life savings and then some just to be able to watch us over and over again. Totally reasonable trade. They always say you should bargain before you settle when you're traveling. We think the hotel has a secret video camera in each room (Illegal? it was kind of a sketch hotel) and so they all watch this video whenever they get bored and need to laugh at Americans. We wouldn't even care that they had video in our room, wouldn't even press charges (Privacy, what?) cause we'd just be so ecstatic to have a copy and be able to laugh at us too.

Anyhow, I just want to list a couple of the (not-outlandish) suggestions that were thrown out as Katie and I were ransacking our own room to find the source of this noise. In the meantime, Stacie has now buried her head under her pillow and yelling "go back to sleeeeeeeeeeeep", and probably just laughing at us in her little dream world.

"It's coming from the hotel!" (Katie looks under the picture on the wall. Seriously, Kate? )
"Is it my camera? Katie does YOUR camera make that noise?" (We have the same camera, legit question. No?)
"Maybe it's my watch alarm" (Pam shuffles through her suitcase frantically to look for the watch...cause this is much more reasonable than looking at wall art.)
"It sounds like it's coming from the floor" (Pam looks at the ceiling, Katie looks under the bed, we both run to the hallway and pull the look-both-ways-rapidly)
"Stac get up! Where is it coming from? Should we go get Mom and Dad? There's no one at the front desk" (please note Red and Mike were on the 5th floor or something of this tiny little hotel...like 2-3 rooms per floor...and we were worried about them. And how could they possibly not hear this?)

So all this is going on, and the next morning, we ask mom and dad why they didn't come running downstairs, and they say they heard nothing. NOTHING. That blaring noise and they heard nothing (so I don't know why we looked at cameras, watches, wall art, etc. when the noise was that loud), but apparently no one else was at all concerned because Katie and I were the only occupants running around during the incident. We didn't even see anyone else in the hotel. Then as we check out we discover that noise was actually a fire alarm. The clerk said it so nonchalantly, and in our heads we're thinking, so a fire alarm doesn't concern anyone in the middle of the night? Should people not be vacating the hotel in this instance? No, it went off because someone was smoking in their room I believe. Is this also not something to be alerted about? I think we were in disbelief...the kind where your jaw drops and you just can't seem to close your mouth. Anyhow, that's beyond me. So the re-telling of this story does not do it any justice whatsoever, but everytime the three of us think of it, we can't stop laughing. Now that it's over anyways. The noises always seem so trivial when you look back. How does that happen? It's so not fair. The joke's on us I guess. And creepy noises win again.

Fast. Food. (whaaaaaaaaaaaaat!)

I HATE fast food. I really think it's disgusting and don't even notice the signs on the highway or as I'm driving through town. But that's old-school kinda fast food, and it doesn't always have to mean roller-skating burger joints or grease pits. There's a new fast food in town

So, I've decided to list my top 5 fast food choices, because props to more health-nut options popping up. I'm highly impressed. And for any fast food place to impress me is a pretty big deal. Not gonna lie.

So, the list (take note--another list) should be pretty important-o considering I'm a VERY picky eater. If I'm in a group of people and no one truly cares what they eat, all eyes fall to me. I have no idea why. I mean, it's not like I'll sit at a restaurant with people and just not eat cause I can't pick one thing out of an entire, fully-stocked menu. I would never...

Here we go:

1. McDonald's, I've been strangely impressed by your efforts lately. The other morning, on the way to Atlanta, this is where we stopped. I mean, I've been seeing these ads everywhere for the new fruit smoothie. Oooh. Aaah. And it's like 122 degrees outside, and I was sick, so naturally yes, this is the pick of the day. Mango-pineapple. Oh. My. Gracious. Not only do I adore mangoes like they're B Spears, but I love smoothies. This delish treat is excellent option 1 if you're on the road and need a pick-me-up or a meal-to-go. And less than $3.

2. McDonald's (I honestly, in my whole life, never would've dreamed that McD's would show up TWICE--or even once--on my top 5 list, but like I said, impressed), you have the most delicous oatmeal! This time we were on the way back from Atlanta and needed breakfast. And I still didn't feel well, so we're shooting for bland here. Bland but delicous. I have to say, if I can't have Quaker, I will definitely go to McDonald's for some oatmeal. It wasn't sticky, or clumpy, or too sweet, or too plain. It was just right. El perfecto. I feel like Goldilocks. Except I got it right on the first try. And I didn't have two other options.

So under 300 cals with real, live, fresh, juicy apple chunks (LOVE), a few craisins, and a few raisins. AND less than $2. Practically giving it away. Sold yet? Try it and you will be. PROMISE. I don't make promises I can't keep. No one wants to be caught with their pants around their ankles.

3. Starbucks- your toasted turkey, egg white, english muffin thing is yummy. A tad on the pricey side (But who are we kidding, it is Starbucks...franchise my foot. Does not mean lower prices here.), but healthy! And good! You have your protein, you have a slice of cheese, you have toasted thin english muffin with all the nooks and crannies for the cheese to melt into...talk about hitting multiple food groups and indulging my love for melted cheese. Seriously. I love melted cheese. The neat little breakfast sandwich would only be better if it had a farmer's or grandpa's fresh tomato slice on it. Pat on the back, Starbucks.

4. So the first three listed, I've only had each of those once, but you bet your puppy I would have them all again. Not even gonna pretend I wouldn't. So the next thing is Smoothie King. Naturally. So refreshing and perfectly blended. Just can't go wrong. This one really doesn't even need any explanation. Favs are Island Impact, Carribean Way, and Pineapple Pleasure. If you're feeling a little on the risque side, have them throw some strawberries into the Island Impact. Instense goodness. No words. No. Words.

5. And finally, Panera. In the winter, their soups are sooooooo good. And the perfect amount. I really don't feel like you could go wrong with any of their soups, although I have not tried them all. I could be wrong. But it's not likely.
And any other time my never-fail go-to order is the Fuji Apple Chicken Salad with an apple or multi-grain bread on the side. Now I understand that the salad is nearly $8 whole dollars, but it's like a mountain of lettuce. I need hiking poles to get to the other side. But really, split between two meals easily (the bread too!), and then it's cheap. And still so wonderful! It's got the most amaze combo of toppings. Not too much, not too little. Just the way I like it.

Now, I'd like to note that I'm a huge fan of making food at home and saving money, but sometimes you're low on time or haven't been to the grocery store or you're on the road or hangin out with some peeps, and you find yourself looking for a place to eat. So for good fast food, I welcome you to try options 1-5. They have passed the pam test, and that says alot.

A List-Making Machine

So, we've just planned our next cruise. Not only do I love planning, I love organization, and I especially love love love lists. I make packing lists like nobody's business.

I think I drew the layout of each room in our house and drew little tiny pieces of furniture at least 5 times. This was before we even closed on the house.

I drew the layout of our wedding reception on a giant piece of posterboard with a list of each thing that went on each table and where it should be placed.

I make spreadsheets like its my job. Finances, present ideas for people, grocery lists, packing lists, to do lists, dinner ideas. When I don't have a computer, I use post-its. I think I might even makes lists of lists I have to make.

It's kinda to the point where some people think I'm obsessed and other people just laugh at me and shake their heads. But, if you ask me, there's no feeling like that of crossing something off a list. Talk about accomplishment! I mean it rivals crossing the finish line of a race with a PR. Well, probably not even close, but it's high on the LIST. hahaha. That was totally unintentional.

I have lists of things I want to do in life. A list of things to fix in the house right now. And when I make packing lists, they are serious. It's not the typical tshirts, shorts, shoes, blah, blah, blah. That's for amateurs. And a little embarrassing to even call yourself a list-maker. Wow...I'm talking specifics. What shirt, what shorts, what shoes, what jewelry. Jeans? No. Which kind of jeans? It changes the whole ensemble. Even my running clothes. Purple shorts, black nike tank, white socks, black sports bra, running shoes. You get the picture. It's kind of a big deal to me. And it's really quite contagious. Even people close to me, who shall go nameless, have started making packing lists. Now you might think it's just easier to pack and be done rather than make a list. This is not the case when you start packing a month out...or 6 months out. Get with the program.

Organization, planning, and lists are a small addiction of mine. And that's okay with me. It's whatever keeps stress at bay and makes me feel on top of things. I like control and perfection, so if I have a list I'm less likely to make mistakes or forget things (right? Just agree or I'll stress out), meaning I'm happy and I like to think I can keep other people happy that way.

So because we've planned our next cruise, I better go so I can start my packing list and pull my suitcase out when I get home today. December will be here before you know it.

TAXIIIIII

I give up on driving. In my ideal world, there would be no cars. It would involve travel by horse, bicycles, boat, legs, or even a little Jetson's bubble in the sky. That's just how it should be. I hate driving. Not only is it frustrating, it's so expensive (you know, insurance, gas, oil changes, tires, car washes, stuff that needs repair, Yankee Candle car jars)...and I get lost way too often. Or maybe I'll just take a taxi everywhere. That's cheap, right? I feel like people only do that in New York. Maybe it's time to move to New York. What, is that not a good reason?

But honestly who really does that? Take taxis everywhere. I think it's just the movies, I really don't see how people ride miles and miles in a taxi, from state to state or even down the block. What kind of salary do these people have? It seems to always be people who work at Starbucks or something too; totally not realistic.

Taxis and New York and movies aside, if you read the article below, you'll get even more why I hate driving. No seriously, you need to read the article to reference what I'm going to talk about. It's not long and will devastatingly capture your attention.

http://www.independentmail.com/news/2011/jul/30/authorities-responding-fatal-accident-interstate-8/

I witnessed this on my way to Atlanta on Saturday. I didn't actually see it happen, or I think I might've peed my pants or have been having nightmares the past couple nights. We were in the aftermath of being completely stopped on the highway. Talk about a traffic jam. Although, after we saw the accident, we really had no room to complain anymore. While we were impatient (Are we there yet?) and tired and annoyed, we only lost an hour and a half of our day. Some of the people lost 7 hours, 12 hours, of their days...ran out of gas on the side of the road, had no food, cars got overheated, people got over heated, you name it, it happened. I-85 is not the best interstate for this to happen on. I mean it's a pretty big deal. Like one of the most ballin interstates in the SE, right?? Obviously I don't know much about navigating...95 is a big deal I'm sure, but to me 85 is also. For traffic to be completely stopped on one side for a couple hours, and 7 hours on the other side, only to then move at a snails pace for 5 hours, I would've probably flipped my lid. I mean, put on your seatbelts, I think we maxed out at 10 mph one time.

It was a very interesting time...people parked their cars and were running down the highway in khakis and flip flops (jogging, shirts tied around heads, and what not...probably just to do SOMETHING besides sit still), we saw a car driving backwards on the wrong side of the road, we saw a policeman standing in the middle of 4 lanes of interstate traffic (I'm not so sure this is smart). You get the idea...


And while our 4 hour drive quickly (or not so quickly) turned into a 6 hour drive, we still only lost an hour and a half. Some people lost their lives.

Not only do I hate the expenses and frustration of driving, it's flat out scary. I mean holy bananas (reference the news story here) not only do you have to pay attention to cars, trucks, motorcycles on your own side of the road, now you have to operate on automatic defensive driving for the cars, trucks, and motorcycles on the OTHER side of the median. Situational Awareness. It really kind of hit us (no pun intended) because it could have been any of us, it could have been so much worse, and it could've been someone we know. It's sad because they have families, because they didn't know their lives would end on Saturday, and the one man with the boat was 5 miles from his day of fishing. FIVE MILES. I just can't imagine.

Personally, I think tractor trailors should have their own road system. I've thought this for years and years and years. And I think tax payers would totally go for paying for this. No?

Now I'm much more aware, and maybe now I'm not so frustrated getting stuck behind a semi driving a little slower than I want him to, and now I also find myself speeding up just a little bit to get past them if I find one right beside me. This morning I actually considered walking the 30 miles to work...well, not really, but I definitely noticed EVERY truck I drove by, in front of, or behind. Even the ones on the other side of the road.