22 May 2016

Oddz N Endz #983,102,344.6/2(4.66*9.1)+([mathishard]

♦ Max and I are coming into the home stretch with his first piece of fiction. He's been like the little angel on one shoulder and the little devil on the other, reminding me that this piece is targeted for young adults so we can't say that, but then taunting me with other inappropriate material because kids today.

♦ I believe he is also upset because I nixed using the word "dood" in favor of its more traditional spelling. Proof of this was the tail thwacked at my face as he lounged on the back of my chair, when I informed him that "dood" is technically not a word. Ok, not proof, you'll just have to take my word for it. But I did get a face-full of Max tail.

♦ Speaking of the furry monster, his late night concertos have turned into a raging bitch-fest held less than 6 inches from my face. It's one thing for him to sit in the hallway, singing; it's a whole other thing for him to be right there, yowling his head off as he tries to get me out of bed. Yes, the answer is to close the door, and I do that once he wakes me up, but there have been nights when he's been genuinely distressed, so I leave it open just in case.

♦ I have high hopes that sooner rather than later he'll learn that being a little bitch at night gets him removed from the room and the door gets closed. I also understand that I am seriously deluded.

♦ This morning the little shit was fed by the Spouse Thingy when he got home from work; an hour later both cats were banging on the bedroom door. I got up, because hey, maybe the Spouse Thingy was late and they hadn't yet eaten, but no...they had. They just wanted me up so that they could have the bed, and they wanted it RIGHT NOW so they could steal my warms.

♦ This is the current look I'm getting from him. It's past snack o'clock, and I am clearly failing him.

♦ Fine. Crunchy treats, and then back to work...though I may go over to Starbucks just so I can have some task-master free thinking time.


13 May 2016

I was thrilled when I went into Starbucks today; it was nearly empty, save for a few people sitting on the far side of the room, their faces bathed in the glow from their MacBooks screens. My favorite table on the close side of the room was available, and no one else was near. So after I got my tea I sat down, cracked open my notebook, and began scribbling furiously.

There was a metric ton of crap I wanted to get out of my head and onto paper, notes for the Max's current work-in-progress, and the solitude of my little corner of Starbucks was perfect for dislodging all of that from my brain. I worked in near-quiet, save the music playing and the sounds of the baristas working, for half an hour. It was the perfect ratio of noise to quiet that I like, and I was getting copious notes written.

And then came John and Jane Doe, who picked--from all those empty ones--the table right next to me, and they began a very not-so-quiet conversation. Granted, they had every right to sit there and do what they wanted to do, but dammit, I was on a roll. Eavesdropping was not on my list of things I wanted to get done today.

I kept trying to work, but everything came to a screeching halt. Their conversation went from admiring their drinks to the weather to what to do about "the bathroom issue."

People...the older I get, the less I care about social convention. I know I need to keep my mouth shut, but I'm rapidly nearing the point where I don't give a shit, and I am going to say something that gets me into trouble. Today was close to being that day.

Jane was sympathetic, a little bit. "I sort of get where they're coming from, but I don't want to share a bathroom with a man."

No, Jane, you do not sort of get where they're coming from. Not even a little. Because if you did, you would understand something very fundamental: that transwoman in the restroom is not a man. That transwoman is a woman, in every way that matters. The junk between someone's legs? That doesn't matter. She is a woman, and deserves to pee in peace, the same as anyone else.

I think that's what's missing from the national conversation. It's not about men using women's restrooms, or women using men's; it's understanding that regardless of biology, some peoples' parts don't match who they really are. Yes, she might have a penis, but she's still a woman. She doesn't exactly have much in the way of testosterone anymore, so she really isn't a threat to you. And yes, that muscle-bound, gorgeous gentleman might still have a vagina, but he's still a he, and is not some goofy chick trying to sneak a peak at your inadequacies.

You've been using restrooms with trans people for years and had absolutely no idea.

And wrap your brain around this: that woman in the restroom who looks like a man but is still obviously a female may be gay, may be not; she may be gender fluid or gender queer, or may be not. She may be on the precipice of transitioning, or might be perfectly happy where she is: completely hetero but still gender fluid.

You may be confused, but your confusion doesn't give you the right to make her uncomfortable.

It certainly doesn't give you the right to eject her from the restroom.

But maybe, if we stop talking about men using the women's restroom and start grasping the fact that the person making you a little uncomfortable is a woman regardless of genitalia, we can get past the idea that it's all right to shove someone out of the restroom in the first place, and it's all right for someone else to be different than yourself and to pursuit their own identity.

You don't have to like it. Just accept it.

And before the Bible-thumpers weigh in with "God doesn't make mistakes and if He wanted that person to be a woman He'd have made him one to begin with" consider this: we interfere with the way people are all the freaking time. We "fix" mistakes of biology as a matter of routine when we think we understand them, and we do it because fixing things makes their lives easier (or we hope it will.)

Consider the kid born with a cleft lip. Are you going to tell him he has to stay that way because God wanted him to have it? How about the kid born with her heart on the outside? Does she have to live with that until she dies? Doctors can fix it, but why bother if that's what God intended?

And you...someone who has undergone mastectomy to rid yourself of breast cancer. God fully intended you to have both breasts, did He not? Or is that all right because it's you and you want to live? What about you, dude? You lost a testicle to cancer, had it removed so it wouldn't kill you. You were clearly born with two, apparently because that's what God intended. Hey, keep both of those disease-riddled kidneys. God wants that.

Ah, but that's different, no? That's life and death.

So is someone's transition. Not being able to, not having access to the health care that makes it possible, drives people to suicide every day. It is most definitely a matter of life and death, and deserves the same intervention that any other hiccup in the process of biology gets.

We play God all the time. We interfere with the seeming order of things because sometimes biology screws up. We do it because to do anything else is unkind. We fix mistakes of biology, because the person affected is not a mistake, but someone living with one, and to refuse is to be on the wrong side of morality.

God doesn't screw up. But the clear fact is that He allows processes to, for whatever Giant Cosmic Reasons we're not yet able to comprehend. He also gives us the intelligence to do something about it all, to reason our way through it, to study and develop ways to cope and repair. He allows the kid to be born with a cleft lip for His own reasons, but he also gave us the smarts to fix it.

This is no different. You don't have to understand why someone needs to correct the gender of their birth any more than you need to understand why the narwhal bacons at midnight.

(That probably doesn't make sense to you, but it does make sense to thousands of people online right this moment. And I'm willing to bet you accept that.)

So maybe just accept, too, that the transwoman in the stall next to your wife is a woman, and nothing else. And truthfully, if you're worried about who's in the restroom with your kid, maybe think about not letting your kid go in there alone.

Frankly, I would be more worried about the men in the restroom with my son if he was still little... statistics and all that.

And if you're that concerned, instead of tossing people out of a restroom and making them feel less than human, direct your energy into something that makes more sense: advocate for unisex, single stall restrooms. Then everyone gets to pee in peace.

And me?

Next person to whack me with a purse in the ladies room because they have a knee jerk reaction to the short hair and tattoos is not getting off as lightly as before. I will defend myself, even if it means breaking that little old Asian lady in half, because people? I am tired. I'm done with the crap.

I shouldn't have to worry about it, but I do. And I have it far, far easier than my trans friends, and I know that.


30 April 2016

...and we have a winner...

Drawing for the first prize in this years' 3 Day Walk Prize Pool is #137, Leslie Smith.

I'll contact you tonight and arrange for delivery!

Thank you!

Next drawing is on June 15 for a 14 MP Kodak digital camera, a Roju Stick, and Kindle Fire 6--3 people are going to win something!


29 April 2016

It could have been uncomfortable...

I was standing in the cat food aisle at the pet store, poking through everything to find the varieties that Max will (and can) eat, and behind me heard an almost-adult male voice very near me, chanting can I touch you, can I touch you, can I touch you?

The hairs on the back of my neck did not stand up; I didn't have any sort "oh, hell, I'm in trouble here" feeling. I stood up and turned around, and there was a teenage boy, apparently a bit developmentally disabled, and a woman was rushing to get to him, apologizing profusely with, "He saw your tattoos, I am so sorry."

I held out my arms and told him he could touch, but only from my wrists to my elbows (because really, some limits seemed to be in order), and then thanked him for asking first.

Some people? They don't ask. It's rare, but every now and then someone reaches out without thinking about it, because they're drawn to the ink and not the person. This kid asked, and I appreciated it.

That's Thumper and that's Chip and that's Dale and that's Mickey and I don't know who that is but one's a tiger, and you have a kitty and oh! Grumpy with Thumper! 

He carefully traced one finger over each arm, fascinated by the pictures, and then asked, sincerely, "Does your mom know someone drew on you?"

I assured him she had, and she was okay with it...and asked him to not draw on himself unless his mom said it was all right.

His eyes lit up; I could hear the sigh she didn't exhale.

"We'll talk about it when we get home. I'm not promising but IF I say yes, we have to use a washable marker, okay?"

She thanked me for letting him look so closely, but I'm not entirely sure she was really happy about it, because I guarantee, when that kid gets home, he's drawing on himself no matter what anyone else says.

My day...totally made.


27 April 2016

You know the old adage, "It doesn't matter who you vote for, just that you vote?"

I believe that. If you're an adult, get your sorry ass registered to vote if you haven't, and on election day take that sorry ass to your assigned polling place and cast your vote.

All the whining about "my vote won't count" or "my candidate isn't going to win so why bother?" is bullshit. Just vote. It's not that hard.

California's primaries are so late that a lot of the time it feels like it doesn't matter. I'll still go vote, because CIVIC RESPONSIBILITY.

And no, I am not voting Republican. I probably won't vote Republican again until the party returns to a sense of sanity over Tea-Party hysterics. And make no mistake, I see a very sharp divide between Republicans and the Republican Party. Most of the former that I know are perfectly nice, thoughtful, reasonable people; I'm seeing none of that in the former. Republicans are mostly sane; the party is broken.

Still...if you are a registered Republican and haven't voted yet, it might surprise the hell out of you to know that if you're voting for Trump, it doesn't bother me. In fact, were I a registered Republican I would vote for him over Cruz, ten times over (if voting ten times were legal.)

Here's the thing...I initially wondered (out loud, on social media) if Trump was mentally ill. It would explain a lot. Then I wondered if he was perhaps trolling the entire political process; face it, the Trump who is running for the Republican nomination is not the Trump people who know him personally say that he is. He has the money to stage a whim, and the entire political process is so fractured, so why not?

I don't like the things he says or the way he says them--the racist, misogynistic, homophobic, Muslim-hating rhetoric is just plain wrong--but I also don't think he truly means them. He's tapping into the underlying anger of the masses and playing on it, and while he's at it has exposed the really ugly underbelly of our culture. If he's somehow elected, there's no way--and he knows it--he can carry out most of the things he's claiming he can do (while also never stating HOW he'll do any of it.)

Trump comes off as crazy, and it's by intent. He knows what he's doing, he knows the room he's playing to.

I actually get the appeal of Trump. He's the anti-politician playing the politician's game, and beating them. He's not the establishment, while also being very much a part of the establishment. But I hate that so many of his most vocal supporters are swallowing whole the fear he's whipping up and calling for that wall to be built and for Muslims to be deported. Trump knows those things won't happen, but I'm not so sure about his supporters.

Cruz, on the other hand...this guy is the real deal: Tea Party, backasswards, vile, evil (IMNSHO, of course.) I've had the chance lately to talk to a couple of people who actually have met him and worked with him, and the consensus: you want real evil, vote for him. He's loathsome, tiresome, and eats giant bowls of Jerk Flakes for breakfast.

(Ok, so maybe not that last one...but the labels I've heard are "jerk," "asshole," "mean," and "possible Anti-Christ.")

((I do not for one moment believe he is actually the Anti-Christ.))

I have no desire to turn the clocks back so far we wind up back in the 50s. I suspect Cruz would be happy to take us there. And I'm sorry (really, I am,) because this is so freaking childish, but I really do want to punch the TV every time I see him on it. He evokes in me a visceral response that is not reasonable at all, but it's real enough to make me trust my gut.

So who am I voting for?

Haven't decided.

But I WILL vote.


25 April 2016

Random Stuffs

♦ In just 5 days, someone is going to win a Garmin Vivosmart HR and a Garmin Index Smart Scale. All it takes to be in the running is a donation to either my 3 Day walk fund, or to the Spouse Thingy's fund. Every $5 donated gets you an entry...and it's for all the prizes we have this year, all through the summer.

♦ I keep seeing this posted on Facebook (literally, over 20 times yesterday):

Come on, people. Stop sharing this. If you made it past 6th grade history class, you SHOULD already know that two of those men were never President, and one who is would probably be pissed off that he's on money. If you're aware of this, I can only think that what you really mean is that you only want old white men on your money. Because it's never been just Presidents (and I truly want to see your head explode if Obama makes it on our cash at some point. Hey, he's a President.)

I have to admit, the first couple of times I saw it I thought it was a joke, being passed around with a sense of irony, but then...cripes...there are a whole lot of people who took it seriously and shared it with genuine intent.

♦ I'm getting real tired of 2016 being the year of celebrities dying. Maybe in the grand scheme of things, compared to the thousands who lead quiet lives but die everyday, it seems worthless to be upset over the death of someone I would never have known personally, never have spoken to, and might not have even liked, but... the truth is that the nice, upstanding guy who lives 5 streets over who drops dead from a heart attack probably had no impact on my day to day life; to hear he died would make me a touch sad, and I would send genuine warm wishes for his family, but that's it. A momentary wish for better for his family.

On the other hand, the musician I never met, never would meet, wrote and sang part of the soundtrack to my life. They invoked emotions in me, defined moments for me, and helped me get to know myself just a little bit more. That writer? They drew me into new and different worlds, taught me that the picture doesn't have to be in front of my face but can instead be created inside my head. When that ends, it's like a tiny piece of soul goes with them.

♦ New Doctor Who companion has been announced...and with the excitement of that comes the bummer of the remembering that we don't get the next season until 2017. We get the Christmas special, and that's it. If I croak before then, I'm going to be super pissed.

♦ Next week...we were supposed to be on our way to Disneyland to run in the 10K and half marathon. Instead, we're going to the Monterrey Aquarium, because we had to pull out of the races, owing to the expectation that the Spouse Thingy was going to be off his feet for a month because of some (minor, don't worry) surgery, but the paperwork chase to get all the before-surgery things done, the date was pushed back a month.

♦ Yes, I realize that's a clusterfark of a sentence, but this is stream-of-consciousness blogging today, so I'm leaving it.

♦ Don't forget...I got toys you can win.


7 April 2016

A couple of years ago, maybe three, I took a motorcycle ride and partway through stopped at a McDonald's/gas station to get a drink and use the restroom. I was decked out in protective riding gear--blinding-his viz jacket, silver mesh armored pants, helmet in hand--and as I came out of the stall in the restroom, there was an older Asian woman who had just come in.

She freaked out. She stammered, "Not for men, not for men," and started hitting me with her purse.

She literally hit me. More than once.

I did not hit her back, though I threatened to if she did it just one more time...she then hid in the handicapped stall until I left, probably because she 1) realized her mistake or 2) did not and assumed I was there to rape and pillage in the gas station ladies' room.

All I wanted to do was pee.

I had every right to be in there.

But what if instead of assaulting me, she had gone for help? What if, because of the gear and the super short hair making me look a hell of a lot more male than I felt, I'd been held there until the police came, and forced to prove my gender? What if I HAD hit her back--and given the difference in our sizes, I probably would have really hurt her--and then had to prove I wasn't an M2F transgender, ripe with muscle mass still, using a restroom that made sense to me, but perhaps not to anyone else?

The gist...if she hadn't decided to hit me and then hide, if she had instead gone for help, at some point there's a chance I would have had to let someone else see for themselves that I have the "correct" parts that allow me access to the ladies' room.

Make no mistake: I was assaulted in that rest room. I was physically hit, emotionally punched, and deeply humiliated. If she'd screamed for help, those who would have come to her aid probably would have been men milling about in the gas station or McD's...and there's that real possibility that they would have taken me down first, before asking questions.

People who are awash with cortisol, trying to defend those they perceive as weaker? They can go a bit overboard, and do more damage than that likely intended. I could have wound up as a bloody mess on the restroom floor, all for the horrible crime of not looking like someone else wanted me to, and because I had to pee.

Let's suppose I was transgender. Someone in transition, at that point where I still looked a bit masculine, but on HRT, facial hair gone, and had significantly reduced muscle mass.

Would that have made the assault okay?

Would that make it all right for some gas station manager, or perhaps a police officer, demand I prove I have the "right" genitals to be in that rest room?

Who gets to decide, people?

I have been yelled at, made fun of, sneered at, followed and mocked, and literally assaulted because I don't present the typical, expected notion of what a female looks like. I have been afraid, I have been angry, and I have felt overwhelming humiliation--not because I am who I am, but because of the way other people have treated me.

I shouldn't have to prove my gender.

No one should.

31 March 2016

I may have mentioned once or twice, that the Spouse Thingy is joining me in walking the SGK 3 Day Walk in San Diego this year. We have until November to raise a total of $4600 ($2300 each), and like always, I am willing to do things to raise the money.

To start… In gearing up for fundraising this year, a couple of pretty freaking generous people (who wish to remain anonymous) coughed up some freaking fantastic prizes. I am blown away by their generosity, and haven’t been able to thank them enough…because, damn, these are super spiffy with sprinkles on top. In total, the prizes exceed $1000 in value.

As in previous years, for every $5 you donate to either my or the Spouse Thingy’s walk fund, you’re entered to win.

In no particular order, we have:

A Garmin Vivosmart HR* and a Garmin Index Smart Scale
Kodak 14MP digital camera
Roku Streaming Stick
Kindle Fire 6
Samsung Galaxy Tab E
11" Dell laptop
13” Dell laptop

*The Garmin Vivosmart HR is an open-box, used for 5 days during a merchandise test. The scale was not opened.

Because it’s the most valuable—at $500, or priceless in terms of health, and the sooner you get healthy the better—the first up will be the Vivosmart HR and Index Smart Scale. Winner will be drawn on April 30th after 6 pm Pacific, so don’t wait!

Other prize dates:
June 15: Kodak camera, Roju Stick, and Kindle Fire 6
August 1: Samsung Galaxy Tab E and 11.6” Dell laptop
September 15: 13” Dell laptop

The earlier you enter, the more prizes you have a shot at; enter now and you’re still in the running for the past prize in July, even if you’ve already won something.

Here’s the kicker: if we both meet our fundraising goals by the end of September, we’ll have one more, hopefully really big, prize…details are still being worked out, but one donor has offered to get something really spiffy.


To make it easy…Donate directly to my SGK fundraising page [click here] and be sure to use your correct email address, so that I can contact you for shipping when you when. Once I hit the $2300 minimum, we’ll change the URL and you can donate to the Spouse Thingy’s page.


Other than you might win something? Because 80% of the money raised from these walks goes directly to the research that will eventually find a cure for breast cancer.

You’ll help save the boobies.

You like boobies. I know you do.


Sure. You can make more than one donation, or if you prefer you can split a larger donation and Komen will charge your credit card in equal installments every month for 4 months.


Suggest something. I've overplayed the hair dye thing and I like it, so that's not really a perk...but hey, I will do things.

And's your generosity that makes these events happen, and because of that progress is being made. And for that, I thank you.


27 March 2016

I'm sitting in Starbucks at a table where I can see the bar; this guy comes in with his kid, who practically drools on the bakery display case while Dad orders drinks.

After a minute, the kid shouts out, "Hey, Dad, if you get me a cake pop I'll be good all the way home."

Dad. "Do you mean to tell me that if I don't get you one, you won't be good?"

The kid hesitates a beat, then, "Pretty much."

Random dad, I'm sorry I LOLd.

(No, the kid did not get the cake pop.)


24 March 2016

Oddz n Endz #3,945,012v2

 ♦ Every time I plop down here and start to blog, my brain engages and every freaking thing I've been working on lately comes rushing at me. On one hand, it's good because I then take lots of notes and am making some pretty serious headway in Max's newest literary venture (and trust me, a cat writing fiction? I have to pay close attention) but am also getting seriously distracted by other ideas that are clamoring for equal time.

♦ Max's book was, originally, supposed to be a one-off. The potential is there for so much  more, though, that it will be at least 2 books, and could go on as long as people want to read the stories. Hell, the volume of notes and ideas is long enough to outlast us both. I may need to teach Buddah to write.

♦ Getting back to the gym has been going swimmingly. =snort= see what I did there?

♦ Now that the convertible is gone, and the weather is awesome, I'll probably ride the scooter to the gym more often than not. The only downside to that is all the protective gear. It's enough to make me wish I was like 90% of the other riders I see around here, in just jeans and a t-shirt.I hit the ground once, though, and even at just 35 mph I'm not willing to do that again without gear.

♦ Not really willing to with gear,, either, but, ya know...

♦ Ice cream for dinner may have been a mistake.

♦ I am so ready for this election cycle to be over.

♦ I want donuts.

♦ Seriously. Someone bring me donuts.

17 March 2016

Last year, I was swimming. A lot. In fact, I did so much swimming—about 1.5-2 miles 4x a week—that I killed my shoulder. It got to where I could barely move it, so I backed off on it (the timing was good because it was getting cold out, and the pool is outdoors) and decided to ramp up the walking, specifically trying to trim time off my pace, shooting for under 16 minutes per mile.

Here’s the thing when you’re kinda fat and in phfft shape…you really do need to approach things at a slower pace until you’re not as fat and in slightly better than =meh= shape.

I did not do that, and wound up with significant hip and lower back pain.

Now, did I go to the doctor about any of this?

Hell, no. With my shoulder, there was that little voice that said my doc would send me to another doc, who would declare my rotator cuff shredded and it must be reamed out. Clearly I know better than the medical professionals, so I decided to rest it.

My hip and back…well, I have arthritis in both, and a narrow lower spine, and have been told before to just back off and rest it. So that’s what I did. I rested and gained back 5 unhappy pounds.

In the bigger picture, I just wanted to be able to get back to walk-jogging soon enough to get my time fast enough to survive the Pixie Dust Challenge. And I was getting there, I really was.

But then the Spouse Thingy had something come up, something that’s not really mine to tell (but it’s not horrible, so don’t worry) but that, if it comes to pass, will mean I should stay home and we would both miss the races we registered for. I was seriously looking forward to this (because it’s at Disneyland) but honestly, I am not disappointed.

And I’m not disappointed because for once MISSING SOMETHING IS NOT MY FAULT!

Insert Snoopy Dance.

Since I don’t have to focus on cutting my walk pace, I can get back into the pool. I swam for the first time since October the other day, making sure I didn’t push too hard, and it felt great. It was half an hour of oh yesssss, and I wanted to keep going but forced myself out of the pool. I’m going back tomorrow and will swim for 40 minutes, and see how that feels (though this time, if at 40 minutes I still feel great, I’m staying in the water and will just work on kicks.)

I’ve also managed to drag myself out of bed most mornings between 7-7:30, which gives me the cooler part of the day to get out and walk…with my eye on the Yosemite Half in October, and the 60 miles of the 3 Day in November.

Max’s book is also coming along…so this will be a busy spring and summer, and as long as it doesn’t get too horribly hot, don’t count on me for much of anything else.

I got some sweating to do.

And some writing.

Sometimes, both at the same time.


8 March 2016

With one charity event down, we’re looking far forward to November, when both the Spouse Thingy and I are walking the San Diego 3 Day. He’s crewed before, but this will be his first time walking…so no horror stories, y’all. We don’t want him crying before Mile 12 on Day 1 ;)

The fundraising won’t begin in earnest for a while—and there are fun prizes planned!—but I’ve already got the ball rolling on one thing, The Pink Belt Project. The idea behind it: you commit to walk 500 miles in 365 days, and you earn a pink belt—it’s the breast cancer fight equivalent of a black belt—because by joining the fight and walking the miles, you become a pink warrior. It’s only $20 to play, and it’s on the honor system. Keep track of your miles, from day one to day 365, and you’ve earned your belt.

If you don’t want to walk, you can gift a belt to someone else, or buy one of the really cool t-shirts we’re selling. Those are $25, and there are 7 colors to choose from.

All of the profits—100%—are being donated to a breast cancer charity. After we’ve raised our minimums, anything else will be given to other walkers who are still short.

The shirts are really spiffy, guys.

And hey, if you don’t want to earn a belt or buy a shirt, you can still donate directly to my 3 Day fund or the Spouse Thingy’s…and like always, every $5 will count toward the prize pool. The first prizes will probably be announced at the end of March (and one has already been donated and shipped to me, and for anyone looking to get in shape, it’s really cool!)(and worth $500!)

So go check it out… The Pink Belt Project (or jump right to the order page here.)

We also have a Facebook page that’s just barely gotten started—no purchase necessary, you can join and just hang out!.

1 March 2016


Should of. Would of. Could of. NO. Stop it. It makes my eyes bleed. Should’ve or should have. Would’ve or would have. Could’ve or could have. YES. Farking contractions, people. It’s not that difficult.

Bitching at me over and over and over will not get you fed any sooner, cat, and I’m starting to get mentally twitchy at the sound of your voice tonight. YOU WILL NOT STARVE TO DEATH IN THE NEXT 40 MINUTES.

Any article (or talking heads on TV) saying “the male penis.” As opposed to what? WHO ELSE HAS ONE?

This election cycle. It’s disheartening to realize how many people I know are racist and xenophobic, and they have no clue.

No, it’s more than disheartening. It’s making me sad.

Seriously, cat, I will not let you starve.

Pizza rolls. They should be low cal. So that I can eat 20 at a time. Yes, I know I’m complaining about the cat wanting to eat while contemplating junk food.

I want to reach through the TV and punch Donald Trump. I want to punch his supporters even more. I realize this is a horrible thought. The difference between them and me is, I think, the fact I am willing to admit it’s a horrible thought upon which I would never act nor expect anyone else to condone.

Matthew Gray Gubler’s hair. Dude, you’re a fine actor and I like you on Criminal Minds, but freaking wash and comb your hair more than twice a year.

OMG cat.


I’ll feed you.

Holy hell.

I totally get to have ice cream once you're fed...


22 February 2016

Okay. So.

If you donated to my St. Baldrick's event...there's a 90% chance I am not shaving my head this year. Nothing came up, it's not that I don't want to--I do--but I had an offer I don't think I can refuse.

Basically, if after 4 pm on the 27th I can prove I still have my hair, one of my weird little friends says they will donate $3500 to St. Baldrick's.

The dilemma I am faced with is getting a donation bigger than what I can actually raise versus pissing off the people who donated thinking I would end up bald and living with it until my hair grows back.

The only thing I think I can fairly do is offer a refund to those who donated to see me shave. So if you donated and I can dig your info from the St. Baldrick's website, expect an email from me. You'll still get to keep the receipt for your tax deduction for donating to this charity, but will get your money back.

'Tis only fair.


17 February 2016

In 10 days, I'mma gonna be bald again.

That's 10 more days to raise a few bucks for St. Baldrick's.

Ten more days to be the one to make me wind up like this post-shave:

As it stands now, I'll be going au natural, but with the longest hair I've had in years. Granted, it's still short by most standards, but I haven't let it get this long in a good ten years.

 Look...I practically have a damned mullet. It's getting CURLY back there. If I let it grow, I could wind up looking like an actual adult female. cancer. By shaving it all off, I can raise a few bucks that goes towards research and treatment of and for kids whose lives have hit the pause button because of cancer.

Last year, the first person to donate $150 got to pick green as the color I'd show up with. And I did it so close to the event that when the hair came off, I had a stained scalp. You know what doesn't just come off in the shower?

Neon hair dye, that's what.

Because it was a layer of extra discomfort on top of how hard it actually is to wander around as a 54 year old bald woman, I'm upping that a bit this time. First person to go to $200 gets to choose whatever neon color makes their heart beat happy beats.

And if anyone goes to $1000 (other than the Murfs and they know why they're excluded)...I will not only show up with my hair dyed, I will show up wearing metallic pink mermaid tights.

So here we, asking for donations to one of the only 2 events I'll bug y'all about this year. Send me off in style, y'all!


13 February 2016

I rarely eat out on the weekends; it was a bad habit a long time ago, when I would run errands and stop for whatever fast food struck me as being edible, just because I could and eating out alone doesn't bother me. Yet today I found myself at Wendy's, scarfing down a burger, and halfway through I wondered why.

Not like, why was I hungry and eating a burger instead of something better, but why was I having fast food on a weekend at all? For most of last year, I was doing pretty good at losing weight (slowly) until I hit a wall in September...but I've done really good at maintaining that loss. Part of the losing weight was not eating out on the weekends when I'm out running around by myself (the Spouse Thingy and I during the week? Uh, yeah, we eat out too often...I track the calories, but still...) and I have been super frustrated lately for having lost that traction I had.

Now, the burger was good, no denying that. I wasn't going to stop eating it and throw it out. For a fast food burger, it was freaking tasty.

But why now? Why break my own don't-eat-out-alone not-really-a-rule-but-a rule? I'd been at Starbucks, went to the grocery store to pick up something to make for dinner (because I do cook on weekends, even if I suck at it) and without really thinking about it...there I was at Wendy's.

Then I realized I was kind of ticked off. Not at myself, because burgers happen, but had that deep-down, simmering, bitch-I-will-cut-you anger going on.

Then I was annoyed with myself, because in one giant thunderclap of a you're an idiot moment, I realized I was doing the whole cliched eating-my-feelings thing. I didn't even think about it, I just did it. Instead of lashing out at the person who had upset me, I went about my business, and while doing that I wandered straight into Oprah territory.

While I was at Starbucks, I posted a picture of my spiffy Doctor Who backpack that the Boy and his Significantly Better Half gave me for Christmas. I don't carry a purse, but I carry this, because it's awesome and I :heart: :heart: it.

I posted the picture because of this overly-enthusiastic woman sitting next to me who coveted it and was several degrees of OMG IT'S ADORABLE and OMG I HAVE TO HAVE ONE, and this little nagging voice in the back of my head thought she just might be the sort of person to grab and run. So I sat on part of it to make it harder to grab, and then took the picture.

No, she didn't take it. If she had, I would be asking y'all for bail money, not whining on a blog.

After I posted the picture, mostly amused, I went back to what I was writing. While I was lost in a scene in San Francisco, where Wick the cat watched as one of his companions walked right into a lamp post, a woman came in with her adult special-needs son, and I only noticed they'd come in because he was loud, making a singular sound over and over, and not noticing was (honestly) impossible.

Mom headed to the restroom with him, and we could all still hear him.

I went back to my writing. Tapping away at the keyboard, Wick was hiding his face in the Emperor's sweatshirt, because he did not want to see the aftermath of his friend stepping out into the street in front of a car. Just as Wick was about to look up again--because no one was screaming and the Emperor was only muttering things from the Bad Word List--the woman next to me leaned closer to me and said, "God, I hope those people leave. I don't know how I can stand it if they stay."

I didn't even look up, but she went on. "Really, what if they sit right here?"

I admitted, I did not care if they did.

"But you're working on something. He'll distract you."

I refrained from pointing out the obvious. "That's my problem, not his. He has every right to be here."

And that's when she went from just annoying me to me wanting to punch her square in the face. "Those people need to be kept at home so that normal people don't have to be bothered."

I have a temper, I know that.

I have the ability to inflict injury, I know that.

I have far less patience for idiots than I did even five years ago, I know that.

I wanted to punch her, and punch her hard, I know that.

What I did was close my laptop, and while I shoved it into my bag I said, "You know what? Fuck you."

And I left.

Then I went grocery shopping, and found myself at Wendy's, trying to smother that anger with a burger I didn't need, and trying to figure out what I was most angry about. That she was a raging farktard? Or that I lowered myself to her level with my parting words?

I don't know.

But I do know that heading into Wendy's was something I did subconsciously; I wasn't all that hungry, and there was food at home had I been. I wasn't eating a burger, I was eating my anger, and that, frankly, bothers me.

30 January 2016

When it comes to people online, I can be fairly easy going. If I find, after knowing you for a while, that you made up a background story for yourself just to make online life more fun—and you don’t do it to for emotional or financial manipulation—I can shrug it off. I’ve known a few people over the years who have changed the details of their lives to make themselves more comfortable in chat rooms and interest forums, but they didn’t do it for any gain other than to have someone else to talk to. The person that stands out the most in my head is someone I met on Prodigy a billion years ago; “he” was actually a woman, but inverted the details of her life because she frankly did not want to deal with the way some men online behave toward women. She never asked for anything, never made up any horrific stories garnered to reap sympathy, never used personal tragedy for money.

She simply wanted to play online without being hassled. I get that. It didn’t bother me when I found out, because I understood it.

What I have a more difficult time shrugging off are the people who exist online to get something: attention, money, or both. Half the time I can’t figure out what it is they really want, but what they’re doing is several levels of wrong, and it’s hard to shrug off.

There’s a cat blogger who has created quite the life for herself online, even going to the extreme of sucking up pictures from random of other peoples’ kids and someone else’s husband, and presenting them to the world as her own. I’m guessing about 80% of the people involved in the Cat Blogosphere know that most of what she posts is complete bullshit (other than a couple of cats, we’re not even sure she’s had most of the cats she’s claimed to have) and I don’t think anyone would care…except that she’s taken money from us under the guise of some hard times (that some shrewd CBers have proven to be false) and she’s claimed to have had breast cancer (which I seriously doubt, given the details she provided.) If she’d just created this fantasy life, I would have uttered =meh= out loud, and moved on. But she didn’t: she took money and she played the cancer card.


Poke around online long enough, and you’ll find a plethora of similar stories, people who have this horrible disease and get others to host fundraisers so they can meet their rent, buy food, put clothes on their kids’ backs…and then they’re outed as being liars.

It’s a crime, you know. Some have been prosecuted, most have not.

The whole crapfest came to mind again today when presented with evidence that a 3 Day rock star—someone who has, through cultivation of a very large team of walkers and crew members—raised over $300,000 for the 3 Day. She’s done an incredible amount of good work by claiming to have had breast cancer multiple times and using that platform as the basis for her fundraising.

But…she apparently never had cancer at all.

And, you know, I could almost shrug that off. This is a cause that becomes so personal to a lot of people that it becomes a mission. There are, within the 3 Day community, a few people that I honestly feel have a calling to do this. They walk multiple events each year (some walk all of them, raising a minimum of $2300 for each walk) and they do it because they NEED to be a part of the process that eventually finds a cure.

I thought she was one of them.

But…but…but…other people, online and in real life, have held fundraisers for her, and she took the money. All the bits and pieces of fine details are not yet clear, but the big picture is this: she manipulated literally thousands of people into honestly giving a damn about what she was supposedly going through, she had people in emotional turmoil and agony over it, crying real tears, and more than once. She was fine with other people hurting for her, and she was fine with their efforts to raise money on her behalf, and fine with taking it.

And that’s where I draw the line.

Play the cancer card, take the money, and you’re quite the wretched person in my book.

I don’t know how she started down that path; maybe in the beginning it really seemed like a good way to fundraise for a decent cause. Maybe she never intended for it to go that far. Maybe all she ever really wanted was to cure a disease, and this was the only way she could think of. Maybe. Lots of maybes.

I’m annoyed by it all; I have no personal stake in her charade other than being a part of the same community, and being a face in the crowd that cheered her on as she created this amazing team of people and as she became a motivational speaker for the cause. I’m not broken by it, but I know others who are clearly gutted because they developed a real and personal connection to her.

There are a whole lot of totally gobsmacked people in the 3 Day community right now. They want answers, and those may never come. I have no idea what will become of the team she created, but I hope they stick together, change their name, and soldier on. I hope that their spirit isn’t broken.

For everyone else who takes up a cause—any cause—people who do this make it that much harder. Fundraising is already difficult, and when news like this surfaces it can make wallets snap shut with a loud pop, because potential donors can’t trust the information being given to them.

If you do this, if you lie about being sick for the sake of attention and money, you not only put yourself at risk for the repercussions, you make life that much more difficult for those caught up in your web and the people around them. You destroy trust; it’s the bridge that you not only burn behind you, but incinerate everything within a 5 mile radius.

Not everyone is outed (the cat blogger in question has never been publicly outed, but has been privately…if she was unaware, she’s probably figuring it out right about…now) and that’s where several levels of wrong exist: when people come to understand that there are more liars out there than they realize, their support ends. In the case of the 3 Day, this will probably cause a few participants to walk away.

I can’t blame them. It’s hard to walk 60 miles in 3 days when your soul is bleeding.

I will walk this year; the Spouse Thingy will walk this year. And I promise you this: I will not engage in emotional manipulation to raise the money for that. I may beg, I may offer to do weird and humiliating things, I will have prizes, but I will not lie about something so important just to call attention to myself and reap whatever benefits that might bring.

If you got caught up in any of it, I am truly sorry. But know this: whatever you donated, whatever tears you shed, however deeply you cared and how hard you worked to help her, it came from a very good place, and you deserve the karma that brings.

And people do actually do things like this: karma’s gonna bite you in the ass.

Karma always wins.


21 January 2016


♦ The treadmill. Why does the treadmill have to be so freaking boring? Even with the TV on…boringboringboring. Today’s 5-7 miles will be done one at a time. On for a mile, off for distraction, on for a mile, off for lunch…until I get the damned miles in.

♦No, cat, I am not making a lap right now. I am using the computer on it while I muster up enough maturity to get back on the treadmill.

♦ Having to wait for the delivery dude. He’s the reason I’m stuck inside. I could be outside, plodding through town while I pretend to jog but am really just walking. But no…they won’t just leave beer by the door without a signature. Sheesh.

♦Seriously, furball. Stop practically humping my head while you lounge on the back of the chair, trying to get me to make a lap.

♦ Politicians. Holy hell. Stop saying you’ll fix something, and freaking tell us HOW you’ll fix it. Stop blathering on about everything you think your opponent is doing wrong and start telling us what you’ll do right. Right side, left side, I don’t care…the campaigning sucks.

♦ STOP MEOWING, CAT! I swear to Bast, you talk more than an 8 year old girl.

♦ Memes offering up “less desirable” celebrities in lieu of popular ones dying. I hate that Alan Rickman, David Bowie, and Glenn Frey have died, too, but come on…these memes saying “take the Kardashians” instead are just mean.

♦ Jesus, cat…

♦ That I have no idea if I spelled “Kardashians” correctly. I either spelled out the Hollywood family, or the Star Trek Deep Space Nine bad guys.

♦Licking my hair is not going to make me cater to your whims, cat.

♦ We are out of tomato soup.

♦ Really, furball? You’re going to beat me to death with your tail? At the rate you’re going, it will take another 24.8 years of popping it against my neck for that to work.

♦ Ok, great, the delivery dude has come and gone and I am free to go about my business. But I just ate lunch and I know better than to try to do anything for an hour, and then after that I need to go grocery shopping and I’ll buy more than I can carry while on foot, so… blah.

♦ Seriously cat, I am trading you in on a new model. Get your damned nose out of my ear.


15 January 2016

A few months back, after declaring defeat in the 14-year long battle of Max in The Morning, I started going to bed at a normal-people time and getting up at Food O’Clock, which happens to be right around 7 a.m. My natural body clock wants to stay up until 3 a.m. and get up at 10, but I’m starting to get used to the change. Morning still burns, but I can deal with it, at least on the days when Max hasn’t spent the night wandering the house yowling at the top of his lungs.

Sometimes I think I should worry about that, but then I realize he’s always been a pain in the ass during the night, and has always coughed up a song or two, and does it loud enough to wake me up.

It’s like having a baby that wakes you up 2-3 times a night…for 14 years.

Anyway. I’ve been getting up in the actual morning, when normal people are awake doing normal people things. It really didn’t surprise me to discover I can get more done during the day, since my errand running and the like is no longer blocked by the frustrations of being night blind (oh, I’m still night blind…I just get things done before dark now.) It also didn’t surprise me to find a little extra energy, because I’m actually getting more sleep now than before.

But what has surprised me?

The hunger. I’m hungry all the time now. I was losing weight before; now it’s just stopped because I am so much hungrier than I was.

I used to have breakfast at 10:30-11:00, an hour after getting up and taking my meds. Now I’m struggling to get past 8 before having breakfast, which means I want lunch far earlier, and making it to dinner without a snack?

Not happening. Or if it does, when dinner rolls around I want to eat everything in sight, and then want dessert…which I used to eat, like, never.

These days, I think I would eat the soul of crying toddler if it was sweet or satiating enough.

The easy answer would be to follow my hunger cues and go back to my old schedule…but come summer I want to be up and outside while it’s still cool, and when you sleep until 10 a.m., outside is not all that cool around here. I have lots of training coming up, and it would be nice to get it done when it’s not 90 degrees of ohhellno.

So clearly, I need to go back to school, get a degree in biochemistry or agricultural medicine or whatever, and develop a line of tasty, filling, calorie-free foods so that I can still get up in the morning and eat my way through the day.


Because honestly, I think that would be a whole lot easier than developing some self-discipline and embracing the idea that being hungry for an extra hour is truly not going to kill me.

It might, you know.

It really might.


10 January 2016

My goals for the Hot Chocolate 15K were to have fun with it, and to not die. I did not count on developing the sinus infection from Hell and the dizziness it would bring. I did not count on the complete lack of training in the week and a half leading up to it, because of said sinus crap. I can't even roll over in bed without the world spinning around me (and while I have to admit, it's kind of a fun feeling) which is not conducive to walk/jog/crawling 9 miles. When you run, your nose does, too...only mine isn't running, all that gook is just flowing into my ears.

So between the lack of preparedness in being able to meet the pace, and the real chance I would face-plant right there on the Great Ocean Highway, we bagged the race today and opted to go shopping yesterday instead (hey, we each saved over $200 on the hotel rooms. So we spent it.) But...BUT...I am making up the mileage today, but in chunks that my spinning head can manage.

I hit the outlet mall this morning while it was still mostly deserted, and pounded out 5 miles, with a short break in there somewhere to get some tea (tip: don't try to powerwalk with hot tea in hand, even with a lid on the cup. It still comes out of the little hole) and after my lunch has settled, I'll do the rest, probably on the treadmill but maybe not. It's only 2:10 right now, so I'll have enough light if I want to head out in the next half hour.

The only thing I'm disappointed about is not showing up for the race. I wanted to be there, because it's freaking San Francisco, and walking there is always amazing. But that's it...not worried about upsetting anyone else, the lost entry fee, not getting a medal. I'm doing the miles anyway (even though I told DKM yesterday that I wouldn't. I got up this morning and it was like, hell yes, I'm doing 9 today) and I'm doing it at a pace I can handle, though quicker than I'd like, and in chunks that don't have me pushing through the dizziness.

What I truly do not what to do is risk an injury that will keep me from making it to the Pixie Dust Challenge in May. I honestly felt like going to the Hot Chocolate today was setting myself up for something stupid, and I really, really want to nail the PDC and make Tinkerbell my little bitch.

In fact, I'm looking at the events I've signed up for already, and pondering thinning the list, just so I don't push too hard and miss the two things I most want to do: the Pixie Dust Challenge (10K Saturday, Half Marathon Sunday) and then the San Diego 3 Day. I may (probably will) dump the Avon walk. I haven't made it to one yet, so why break that streak? It's what I do...register, plan, and then not participate. I might as well plan on not participating, and saving those training miles (not to mention the fundraising. I really don't want to bug people to raise that much, especially since The Spouse Thingy is walking this year, too.)

I think my charity events this year will be St. Baldrick's and the 3 Day...anything else I do will be for fun.

St. Baldrick's is at the end of next month...first person to donate $300 gets to pick the color I dye my hair for it.

Remember, this happened last year.

Splotchy green scalp.

It could be even weirder this year...


6 January 2016

Even though the Avon Walk is 7 months away and the 3 Day is 11 months away, my brain is already engaged trying to come up with some creative and fun ways to fundraise. There are a few decent (I think) things percolating in my head, but I won't get around to really working on those until next week.

To start though...I'm doing a t-shirt fundraiser; I set a goal of 50 shirts, but only 16 need to be sold in order for it to print, and as of right now, only 6 more sales are needed.


This is also the jump point for the couple of other things I have planned...stay tuned, you can earn a pink belt. Or be in a book.


(ok, *I* want a shirt so I need 16 to sell. 50 would be super spiffy, but I'll be happy with 16.)

Clicky here.

It runs for 15 more days. That's it.


31 December 2015

I'm not much of a resolution-type person; absolutes set me up for failure, and a year from now I don't want to sit here beating myself up because I had this list written down, and a bunch of the things on it are unchecked. However, I do like to make some generalized plans, goals for the the year, and I like the idea of the new year being a new slate to write on.

2015 was the year I wanted to focus on getting my krap together--eat better, move more, get control of some of the physical things that vex me--and I pretty much did what I set out to do. I paid better attention to the things I was eating, and while I ended the year with a tasty 2 week food fest, for the most part I got a good handle on it. I hit the gym and re-discovered a fondness for swimming, working up to a fairly easy 1.5-2 miles at a time. I worked with my doc to pin down my blood sugar issues, and the things she suggested are working, for the most part. I still have the odd moments here and there when it crashes, but I can now at least get through a workout with a lot of worrying.

I didn't participate in any charity walks; part of the getting-my-krap-together thing was taking a break from those. I wanted to focus on a more rounded approach to fitness, and just walking wasn't going to do it.

Onward and upward
But 2016...I will walk again. Better yet, the Spouse Thingy is going to walk with me. We're registered to walk in the San Diego 3 Day for next November. The rest of the Pink Slips are going to Atlanta and crewing there, and a big part of me wants to go, too, but I won't know what my doc thinks about me flying until May, and by then the crew slots will be gone.

Plus...I am totally digging the idea of the Spouse Thingy walking with DKM and me. He's crewed before (and if he can't get in the training time, he may wind up crewing after all...but I think we'll get it done) but this would be his first walk, and maybe he'll get an idea of why it matters so much to me.

That will probably be the capstone for 2016, which I'm starting to think of as the Year of Doing. Other plans:

♦ Hot Chocolate 15K on January 10th, the previously mentioned race that I am in no way ready for. I'm still determined to have fun with it, finish or not. I have only two hopes for it: to have fun and to not die.

Might want to get rid of this mop, eh?
♦ The St. Baldrick's Shave-a-thon to raise money for kids' cancer is in February, and I'm registered for that. I've been seriously flip-flopping over doing it again; while I enjoy dyeing my hair odd colors and rocking the faux-hawk every now and then, I truly do not enjoy the shaved-head look for myself. And right now my hair is the longest it's been in 2 years (which isn't long, really) and part of me wants to have normal hair for a while...but. I can't do much for kids who have cancer, but I can do this.

♦ Donna virtual marathon for breast cancer; I'm registering at the beginning of the year and just have to get it done before March 31st.

♦ The Pixie Dust Challenge at Disneyland in May. Two races back to back, a 10K on Saturday and a half marathon on Sunday. I'm not worried about the distance, just meeting the pace. It's a required 16 minute mile pace, which is slow for most people, but pretty freaking speedy for me. I'd worry if it was in February or March, but being May I think I'll have it down by then.

♦ The Avon Walk in San Francisco late July. I know I haven't actually walked in the 3 I registered for, but this is the year. I registered already, and am determined to be healthy enough to do it this time around.

♦ Yosemite Half Marathon in October. This should be a good warmup for the 3 Day.

Let's not do this again...
♦ And then there's the 3 Day in November. That should be a good way to end the Year of Doing. After that we spring into the holidays and take the time to enjoy just Being.

So no real resolutions, but lots of plans and things to look forward to. Less of working on me and more of doing things that this year's working on me has allowed.

Now, I would like to lose about 50 more pounds in 2016, but I'm not resolving to do it. If I keep eating well and working, the weight will take care of itself, or not.

As my doc told me this year: you are not a number of the scale; keep doing what you're doing, and you'll be fine.

And I will be.

I am.


27 December 2015

I think I bit off more than I can chew.

Right after the Beat the Blerch run in November I registered for the Hot Chocolate 15k in San Francisco on January 10th. It was like, sure, why not? It's more than double the 10k distance and it has a 15 minute mile pace requirement, where the Blerch had none and I finished with a 17:14 pace.

Surely training would change that.

Now, I'm not an idiot. I honestly didn't sign up for it thinking I would finish--I knew I could do the distance but not the pace--but the idea was that in having a goal, I would train, and get as close to that 15m/m as I could.

I haven't trained nearly as much as I should, and because I am a weenie and it's been cold and rainy or cold and windy, what I've done has been on the treadmill.

I loathe the treadmill. (ok, I loathe our treadmill. It's a cheap one, the belt is starting to slip, and it's like running on concrete that's inexplicably harder than running on concrete. I don't enjoy it, not one bit.) I'll pop something up on the TV and do it, but it's torture, and I just don't stay on it as long as I should.

I also haven't been able to consistently break a 16:30 pace, especially not over distance. A mile, sure, I can gut that out if I've warmed up. Two miles, body just isn't there yet. My back is screaming at me and I can feel a pulling in my lower back, right where I slipped a disk a few years ago.

Most of the time, I think that's a mental thing. I mean, I feel the pain, I feel the twinge and keep begging my back to not give out, but every time I get out of a chair and grimace, I'm half certain it's my brain screwing with me, already making excuses.

I should have registered for the 5K and not the 15, I know that. I could push myself through a 5K and at least come close to finishing in the time required. I keep telling myself that I wanted the 15k in order to really push myself, to go the distance even if don't make the pace, but the truth is that it was probably more ego than anything else.

The run is in 2 weeks; I'm nowhere near the pace I need to be. I also know that near the end is the horrible climb up the hill near the Cliff House, and I know how badly that hurt during the 3 Day.  Where I was pretty sure I wouldn't finish before, now I am certain.

It'll be my own damn fault.

I'll still show up, I'll still try my best and go until I can't go any longer, but I'm not as stupid as I am lazy: I did not train well enough and I am not fast enough. I am not prepared for the crush of the crowd of other runners, and I am not prepared for the hills.

I'm okay with it.

Well...other than by the time I'm done all the hot chocolate at the end will be gone. I'm not okay with that. I want my hot chocolate, dammit.


19 December 2015

Now I know what to do with all my old shoes...

In the Converse store, downtown San Francisco
'Course, now I am sad because of all the shoes I've gotten rid of in the last few years...I could already have this if I'd kept them.