Rain & Movies

I was so sore yesterday from my long continuous jog Monday. My thighs felt as if they had been injected with lead. They are still heavy today. Very heavy. I'm not too keen on having to put three to four days in between jogs here but my body needs time to recup. How embarassing. I went jogging.

It rained like hell when I got out of work yesterday. I arrived home sopping wet and cold, stripped of my heavy sloshy freezing work clothes and got in bed next to Mike who was napping. We slept until 8:00. Normally this would wreak havoc on me and cause extreme anxiety. My wasted time siren would alarm and I'd be miserable. I was so proud of myself. I told it to shut the hell up. It's rainy, I'm sore as hell, cold and it's effin Tuesday. Nap.

8:00 didn't seem like a good time to make spaghetti and sausage (the intended menu) so Mike and I heated up some soup and I whipped up a nice little salad and we watched the World's Fastest Indian with Anthony Hopkins. I highly recommend it. What an amazing tale!

I love any tale, movie, story based on true events. It makes it more fun to watch; almost educational. This happened. He did these things. Wow.

But the number on reason why this movie is so good and you should watch it asap is because of the main character. You can't help loving him and great characters like that are hard to come by. You just want him to succeed and win and you want to hug him when he's down. Awesome character and awesome acting by Anthony Hopkins. Thanks, Doug, for recommending it all those months ago. It was a very pleasant evening.

Where have I been?

It's been awhile. Things are great. Back on track so to speak. I went jogging yesterday. It was one hell of a jog too. I'm sore today and excited to get back into it. Jogging outside is so much more fun and intense than jogging on a treadmill. At least when you run outside you have a better sense of how far you went (I actually have no idea what the actual distance was but I saw different things) and you can't just stop because you still have to get home so your goal may as well be your own driveway. It was rad. And exhausting. But rad.

I made a shirt! Ohhhhh sheeeeeet! That was uncalled for but ya know what, that's what it felt like when I was all done and I washed the shirt and tried it on. I really need to get pictures up on this blog. I'll model my new shirt for ya'll.

Things are going good I guess. Mike's going on a diet, plan, WeightWatchers, whatever you wanna call it. I'm putting him on it and he's accepted. I cannot get over how big his belly got. It was like out of no where. And I thougth he'd drop weight like nothing when he moved in with me since he wouldn't be eating out anymore but nope. I don't get it. Yes, maybe at times I spoiled him and gave him the big man meals but no longer. And yesterday he ate the lunch I made him at work (a delicious roast beef sandwich) AND Taco Bell. I did not pack him Taco Bell. WTF.

So no more big man meals. Mike's going to learn his portion sizes. No more ice cream either. He can finally learn the that the lighter recipe Turkey Hill tastes just as good. I swear people see that "light" word on the packaging or "low fat" and no matter how good it may taste, their brain just sends signals to their taste buds saying it sucks. People really need to get over that. I'm not saying all lightened up stuff tastes just as good. That's ridiculous, but most of it does. Just not light puffed cheez doodles. Ick.

Anyhow, I plan to go get some sewing patterns this weekend. My sewing machine is all set up and I had a blast working on the shirt I made.

Things are good so far. Going North this weekend. I don't miss anyone or anything up there yet but I have a feeling I'll start to miss my mom soon so I'm due for a trip. It's been a few weeks. It's great not going up there all the time anymore. I never realized how much I disliked spending every weekend at Mike's parents house. Damn, his mom gets on my nerves. But there's some people to see and a bbq I "must" attend so whatever. I wasn't too keen on spending Labor Day alone anyway.

I'll actually say "something" later this week.

Shows

Growing up I was a show goer. VFW halls, rec halls, all ages shows in church basements, the ocassional Ozzfest or Warped Tour. Going to shows was fun with a car full of your stinkiest friends, running around, laughing and seeing the bands you and your friends listen to all too loudly with the windows down when you're 17 on a Saturday night. It was a blast.

Then I "outgrew" it. I wanted to have a drink at a show once I turned 21. I wanted to meet older men with a specific image. I grew tired of the congestion, the sweat, the stench, the long periods of waiting in line and standing around in between sets. The greats got expensive to see. The young kids started to get on my nerves something fierce.

There were a few I thought of seeing. Pearl Jam for one this past season. The thought of trying to obtain tickets and paying outrageous ticket prices and bullshit fees was exhusting just thinking about it.

Yet there remains one band that causes my heart to sink everytime I fnd out too late that they're playing nearby. One band I've never seen. One band that always sells out. One band that has been a constant influence in my life. The coolest band. Social Distortion.

This band causes envy in me. Their style, the sick girls with their tats and awesome clothes and beautiful burlesque bodies that flock to see them. The sick boys with their greased back hair and creeper sole shoes and levis and white t-shirts. It's so fake yet so beautiful.

Oh how I've wished to be a girl that Mike Ness has written a song about. I know I'm not the only one.

I was tipped off by an on again off again aquaintance that they may be touring this fall.

This morning I looked into it. Thankfully I finally have money in the bank for these spontaneous and unplanned costs.

I got two tickets to see Social Distortion 10/20 in Philly on South Street. Three days before Mike's birthday.

Mike once said when he proposed to me he would to do it at a Social D show during Footprints on my ceiling. Our song that we've sung together drunk on the way home from a car show. Our favorite line: I'm gonna marry you some day.

I think it will be a lot of fun to finally see the one band I've always wanted to see. And for Mike's birthday makes it even better. It'll be a fun night out for us.

Holy shit, I got tickets to see Social Distortion!!! Now if I can only hold off on telling him until the perfect moment......

P.S. Fuck Ticketmaster fees and surcharges costing nearly as much as the ticket

No more second chances

I just had lunch if you could even call it that. More suiting would be that I just had 1/4 of an overpriced pile of wilted lettuce with tooth breaking croutons. I hate SaladWorks. I hate it. I went about nine months ago and hated it and thought it was overpriced. I went today for two reasons:

1. I was forced to go out to lunch which I HATE. I ran out of bread and cold-cuts and peanut butter not that I had any bread to put it on and Mike requested I not go shopping until the weekend since he had to use a lot of fridge and freezer space for Beater's bachelor party this weekend.

2. While out to buy lunch, I stopped in Urban Outfitters and spent $100 and Urban Outfitters is not meant for anyone over 130 lbs and it makes me feel all jealous and fat and gross yet creative at the same time. Since the long and baggy look is kind of in on those low neck shirts and all that, I was able to find one that probably fits.
So I purchased:
A necklace for my mom that I have that she insisted she must have too
A long, loose fitting low v-neck gray t-shirt with skulls around the collar hem. Sweet
A book - 108 ways to transform a t-shirt (For all those pesky stained, old and not fitting t-shirts)
A weird low neck red with gray hearts 60's design looking shirt from the sale rack

So I was off for somehting 'light' since I must get back on track and lose more weight.

SaladWorks is gross. First of all, who chops and washes all that stuff? Secondly, where the HELL do they get off throwing a couple handfuls of lettuce in a bowl with some broccoli and carrot and croutons and charging $6.80 for it? It was so bad. I had to toss it.

I'll never go out to lunch again unless I'm going out to lunch with a person to a restaurant. In the city, there's just too many damn choices and I am so over spending money on breakfast and lunch. I feel robbed.

Tonight's the Collingswood car show again. We'll be there.

Hey Shit Talkers

Everyone talks shit. Yesterday there was a lot of talk about our freedom, or lack thereof now that we can't even bring water on a plane, and fear spreading like the plague. Last night I was relaying some of these conversations to Mike and I was sort of rambling off on tangents and then I realized, Wow, we're doing a pretty fine job at preventing terrorism. I did not hear one person yesterday compliment UK law enforcement except Georgie Bushy who complimented Tony Blair (as if he had loads to do with the "thwarting").

But now that I think of it, I think we're actually doing a good job of this along with the rest of the world. It seems everyone is more aware. Minnesota State reported all those Egyptian guys that never showed up for school. A lot of arrests have been made and wasn't a plot or two "thwarted" earlier in the year?

I'm not ready to put my life into the hands of others but damn, we're doing all right. It's so comforting to know that someone in the Muslim community tipped off UK authorities once again proving that no, not all Muslims are terrorists. Not all Egyptians, not all Islamics, not all of any culture are trying to murder us all.

There are still good people and we must remember this. This will help fight the war on terror along with some kick ass undercover UK terror ring infiltrator. I'd like to meet that man and shake his hand and say "Hey kick ass undercover UK terror ring infiltrator, you did a fine fine job back there and as a citizen of the United States of America, I thank you for your good work, Sir." That's what I would say.

So lets can the shit talking and be proud of ourselves and our overseas neighbors and have a little faith in us. The actual war aside, we may be winning this war afterall.

It always goes back to fear

Last night I slept beautifully with my windows cracked and ceiling fan a spinning. It was my first night in my new bedroom without it feeling like sleeping in a refrigerator. Yep, I had the A/C off twas a beautiful night. That humming white noise was replaced with the crickets and cicadas or locusts or that bug that makes that incessant hard to describe noise. It was peaceful.

What wasn't nice about it was how I got up shortly after turning out the lights to lower the windows to that point below the child safety locks and ram them back up again against said locks. This allowed for the window to remain only open about two inches forfeiting any hope my beautiful flowing curtains had of dancing that night. They lay flat bulging no more than an inch or two against the slight opening and remained that way.

Upon laying down the first time, I had images of burglars or rapists climbing onto the roof and breaking into my bedroom. I had visions of being startled awake and defenseless of the scary scarred white man in gloves who would no doubt bash my skull in with a baseball bat. Yes, this is why I lowered the windows. (Yep, I fear the white man. I said it.)

Fear. It's imbedded in me and most others. Kirk touched on this topic today when discussing the "thwarted" airplane attacks. I said I'm afraid. His advice. "Don't be."

I thought about that. Pretty shitty advice if you ask me. I mean, it's great advice, but easier said than done. This is coming from a girl who never even considered the fact that the scary noise and motion light trigger that scared her half to death could be a family of raccoons and who begged (near tears) her boyfriend not to go investigate because she had visions of him being shot in the chest by some early start burglar.

It was a family of raccoons and at least Mike investigated despite my crazy antics.

I can defend myself and say it's not so bad. I mean, afterall, I leave the living room windows open. There's a straight drop to the ground from those windows with nothing to grab onto. A thirty foot ladder would look suspicious leaning against the house.

It's bad. I know it's bad. I wanted to sleep with my windows all the way open last night but I won't even if Mike is home. Too many innocent and unsuspecting people get killed. I value my life too much now and I won't fall victim to some asshole rapist/murderer for the desire to sleep with my windows open.

I hate myself for what I'm saying but I just know it's true. I'd do it if the windows had alarms.

I think I may be worse off than some because my step dad was addicted to America's Most Wanted and A Current Affair and Unsolved Mysteries. I hated those shows but yet I couldn't turn away. I wish my mom wouldn't let me watch them. This was the age when a kid didn't have much else to do but sit and watch tv with their parents. Plus I may have wanted attention and maybe I even liked the shows. Who knows. But I watched them night after night and the effects were strong, immediate, and very long-lasting. The only part of that fear casted on me by those shows and the news that ever faded was my fear of being kidnapped. I almost gave mom a nervous breakdown with that one. That's a story for another day.

I'm sure it will resurface the day I become a momma.....and ten fold.

Thank you media, tv, government and fucking asshole chain mail sending mo'fos for my fear of leaving my windows open, flying, skyscrapers, rollercoasters (loved them when I was small), scary looking men in turbans and long robes, unmarked vans, unmarked police cars on deserted streets, people who ask me for help in parking lots, running at night, parks, woods, etc at night and MY OWN FUCKING SHADOW! Thank you, America!!!

"Don't be." hahahaha

Strange what we remember

I lived with some very bad people for a short while. In a way, they still live with me. In that place I drift to right before I fall asleep.

Last night I had a vivid recollection of a dog named Charlie. Trent and I, sick and depressed, were walking out of our apartment building into the subzero temperatures of what was the worst New Jersey winter in remembrance. It felt like dying. We were dying.

It doesn't matter where we were headed and I can't remember actually. That time is more blurry than anything else. A boy around my age was approaching the building and I felt what I felt everytime I saw a healthy lively looking person my age. I would do anything to be that way again. For a second I would stop and think that maybe this time I'd have the courage to whisper, 'Please help me' or 'Please call the police' or even 'Please call my mom'. But I never did.

A dog came bustling up behind this boy tromping through the snow appearing to have the time of his life. He ran in circles through snow piles formed by the monstrous plows around the circular drive. When called by his master in a pleasant most friendly voice, "Come on boy, come on Charlie, time to go in" Charlie stopped dead in his tracks outside the heavy glass doors as if to say, What are you? Nuts?

He turned his back to his master in a I'm turning a deaf ear to you, dad type way and scampered on over to me. He brushed his snow laden coat of hair across my knees and shins leaving white and shiny powder on my jeans. I bent down to pet his cold, wet fur. "Hello, Charlie. I like you."

I looked up at Trent at that moment and saw color in his usually gray sickly face. He was glowing. And smiling. He then came over and stooped down to be level with Charlie's face and began petting behind his ears and talking to him in a tone he had never directed at me unless he needed money or drugs or motherly comfort. He sounded nice.

Charlie's master came out and probably said something. We probably ignored him other than a quick flash of a smile. That was usually all we could muster those days. I don't know how and I don't know why but we got to talking. I imagine it had to do with something about his not knowing anyone in the building. He gave us his apartment number. I have no idea how I remembered it.

Later that evening Trent was sitting upright against the living room wall looking sad and suicidal and sick as usual.

"I miss Charlie."
"Me too," I responded. "I'm going to go for a walk."

About three minutes later I was standing one floor below mine staring at a door identical to mine except for the number wondering what I would say. It'll come to you, Mouse. I heard Charlie scampering about and then I knocked.

"May I borrow your dog?"

Charlie burst through my door like a dog would burst into a chicken coop. New new new new new new new new new new, he seemed to shout.

After two or three laps around the living room completed in about a second each, he tackled Trent who hadn't even found his feet yet and started lapping at his face. Alex came out to see the commotion and took a place near the other wall to observe and play along with Charlie.

The next twenty minutes with Charlie was the happiest we'd ever be in that apartment. The next twenty minutes with Charlie was the last time we'd ever all smile together again. Once that twenty minutes was all over, we'd all learn soon enough that bottom is much further down than we all thought.

Walking back in after returning Charlie, Trent was sitting in his previous position. Back against the blinding white wall, legs stretched out and crossed directly in front, arms crossed loosely over his lower stomach and waist. He was smiling. And crying.

"Thank you, Mouse. Thank you."
"You're welcome, Trent."

Hyperthermia

This morning I was on the train and caught a glimpse of a newsline on the Metro that a lot of people have passed due to the heatwaves.

How do you die from heat, I wondered rather ignorantly and my inner monologue even had that argumentative tone I get. I mean, really, if you're really hot, go inside or get some water or stop doing what you're doing and take a break.

So I've been seeing different headlines all day for the same thing. That 169 + people have died so far this week or summer. Then I thought of my Michael who I always pack big bottles of water and powerade for and tell him to stay cool. We even buy several boxes of 100 ice pops that the guys keep in the freezer. You know the ones you have to cut the tip off with a scissor that the poor kids ate when their friends had the cool frozen ice cream cone things. (They went through over 300 so far this summer)

Anyway, the garage Mike works in is 110 + degrees.....most of the time, sometimes even hotter. They have to wear dickies and work boots for safety. Mike either works in that sauna or he doesn't work, therefore doesn't get paid.

When I saw that a high school football player died yesterday I decided to look into this. I've suffered heat exhaustion before but then I drank some water and took a long nap and woke up with a killer headache and then felt better. How are all these people ignoring the signs? Will Mike ignore the signs if he's being rushed by his boss?

So here are some signs to let you know that you should CHILL OUT before you drop dead from heat prostration, heat exhaustion, or hyperthermia:

1. Mental confusion (I wouldn't go by this alone. I mean, don't we all suffer from this?)
2. Muscle cramps
3. Nausea and/or vomiting

If suffereing from heat prostration or heat exhaustion, you'll most likely be sweating profusely. Continue to suffer this and your body temperature will rise to about 104 degrees. That's bad.

At 106 degrees, brain death begins and 113 degrees death is NEARLY CERTAIN.

You must drink lots of water. You sweat it all out and that's how your body cools itself (no duh) but if you don't replenish then you can't sweat anymore and that's when your body temperature will rise drastically.

If someone is suffering from heat stroke or any form thereof, they must be moved to a cool area and clothing removed to allow the heat to pass through the skin. The person can be wrapped in a cool wet towel and cold compresses should be applied to the head neck and groin. Or the person should be immersed in a cool bath. Not too cold or you can put the person in shock.

I know most of you know this, but this is pretty serious so pay attention to how you're feeling and observe one another. I'm taking this very seriously as the man I love works in such awful conditions.

So keep it cool. Word.