the 9%

The IRS is more popular than congress. Having a relative who works for the IRS (no, sadly there is no frill to that), I found that especially funny, because I love to tease my uncle about working for the grim collector.

However, after yesterday's stalemate of complete bullshit with this tea party driven congress of jokers and do-nothing-ers, I'm glad to see that the public is beginning to have some perspective on the relative evils in some of our government institutions, if nothing else.

You know what I say? Fine. Do nothing, jackasses. By doing nothing, the Bush tax cuts get repealed and taxes go back to those of the Clinton years when everything was going pretty well. Then - while you bitch about that and the gross injustice of your own ineptitude - maybe the rest of us could take a page from the WPA era and give some people jobs repairing our infrastructure, or something crazy like that. In wasting all this time trying to make the president look bad, they are going to accidentally repeal the tax protection for the most wealthy and get themselves all voted out. Here's hoping!

Carry on, morons, carry on.

yet another reason....

why I just heart Michelle Bachmann. She's too stupid to know when she's fucking up dates, facts and general sensical sorts of things and instead of, say, reading the news, or acknowledging that she just makes shit up. Instead, she will offer herself up as gaffe-free, while criticizing her fellow running mates. Awesome.

http://gawker.com/5860850/bachmann-i-havent-had-a-gaffe


I will be so sad when the clown show portion of the republican spectacle is over. No more ubeki-beki-beki-stan references, no more curing gays talk on the national podium, no more errrrs and uuuhhhhs and 'ah fergawt's and blank stares. What a sad day that will be. Then it will just be ol' Mittens and his waffling.

Syrup up!

true dat

I have long believed this, and now there is a clever sign out, saying it nicely.



My belief in this was cemented over the last several years and I think it's a good reminder to have around. This is true for us all, so others who make endless excuses TO us, should have their feet held to the fire - or be let go from our lives, as well.

This has been me reporting for a Bullshit Free Society. Join me.

breakdown

I always find it curious and funny (but not necessarily ha-ha funny) when the republican middle class volunteers to eliminate itself through our tax laws.

The conditions may be better in the streets, but economically, we, the United States, have the same breakdown as India. And look how well that's working.


Idiots.

muted

I've had no voice for several days now. Actually, I have a whisper of a voice right now, but for three days, I had none at all. Couldn't scream if I were being bludgeoned with a tire iron. I had a dream to that effect, where I had to save a good friend from a scary, knife-wielding dude - without screaming. In the dream, I had some sort of premonition that he was the stab-to-death type, so I hid all the knives, threw all her stuff off the balcony and pushed her out the door and down to the car, as we heard him thrashing around looking to kill us. Can't be louder? Be craftier, I guess.

Anyway, the loss of my primary vehicle for communicating showed me a couple of things as I sat at home, whiling away the time on my tempurpedic, trying to come up with shit to do. One: daytime television is extremely boring once you run out of NCIS reruns and dvr'd documentaries to watch. Two: it is extremely frustrating to try and get even one keyword out and still have that word misunderstood, and Three: I talk to my bff a lot and probably saved a ton of cell minutes over the last few days.

The most important side effect though, was an understanding of what my dad must be going through. My dad has a degenerative condition that is basically shutting down systems in his body ever so slowly, one by one. His voice was one of the first things to go. Talking to him is an exercise in frustration, because you end up saying 'what? what?' the whole time, and he gets pissed off and just stops talking. Having no ability to speak all of a sudden - for good - must have been completely horrifying for him. He said now it's like the driveway doesn't go all the way to the street. He has all of these thoughts, but can't relay them, because without getting cortisone shots in his vocal chords - a pain I cannot imagine - his voice will continue to deteriorate until he can barely whisper. Add to that the fact that his motor skills have been taken away and he's basically becoming a prisoner in his own body. My little bout with laryngitis is nothing, comparatively. I was bored for a couple of days and nearly hacked up a lung. Big deal.

I am trying to keep that in mind today as I get the cold shoulder from my boss and some of my coworkers. It's all about face time in this joint. Of course, it's totally my fault that after the marathon my boss got sick and passed it along to me. Totally my fault that my immune system was down a little and needed a re-boot. My bad that two boxes of lemon ginger tea and enough soup to take a bath in, didn't bring it back. Today, after two days of literally not speaking at all, to anyone, my voice is strained, at best. It's audible, people. The problem is audible, as in there is proof every time I say a word that this isn't a clever ruse to get out of work and enjoy the rainy weather.

These people suck. Study, study, study, I say. Looking forward to that move more and more everyday, now.

race report

It's been a long time since I had a 'first' in sports. I have now completed the ING New York City Marathon - my first marathon - and it was a completely different experience than I had anticipated. I always make up a race report after I finish a race of any kind (because I’m a nerd like that), so that I can look back over how it went and make adjustments for the next competition. This should be no different, I think, because this will definitely not be my last marathon.

I got nervous on Thursday and Friday of last week, because the time was nigh and I wasn't sure that my knees and right foot were going to get me across the line. After my 20 mile run, my training took a turn for the worse as I developed plantar fasciitis in my right foot, which just annoyed the hell out of me. I took care of it the best I could and it started to subside a little, but that meant that I had to do a lot of my volume the last few weeks on the bike or the eliptical, which while good for my lungs, was not good for my muscles and joints. The deal was getting done though, so I just shoved it out of the way and hoped for the best.

By Saturday afternoon I was on race auto-pilot and on Sunday as we got up to the start line, I was just itching to get going. I had forgotten my watch in the bag I was sending to the finish line and I started freaking out about not being able to take splits, until I came to a very important realization. I am in a completely different position athletically, than I have ever been in my life. Add to that, I was taking on a completely different endurance challenge than I had faced before. Literally, as we walked through the corral, I came to the conclusion that the only way for this first one to be a success would be to just have fun with it and take in the entire experience. I knew the pain was coming and I knew that this would in no way be my best, or only, marathon effort. Once I took that attitude, my outlook went from clinical to emotional and I started singing Sinatra with thousands of people, high-fiving little kids, congratulating fellow runners and making it a point to notice the signs and supporters along the way. My two favorite signs elicited completely different emotions. The first one said "pick up the pace, your ex is gaining ground", which I thought was pretty funny, and the second said "you are no longer a runner, you are now a marathoner", which got me a little choked up for a second there. One cannot be choked up and run successfully however, so that was the end of the choked-upedness.

The start was quite slow because a lot of the Livestrong entries were in the last wave, but it was a little ego boost to be blowing past people at the beginning, which is always nice. I took note of my basic splits at different points during the race but all in all, except for a brief stop when something was stabbing me in the instep, I cruised along the first 20 miles pretty well and I only stopped to take my gu and water every hour or so. Then I hit mile 21. And by hit I mean smashed into like a glass bottle dropped from a 10 story building. I had been feeling my knees, but was tuning it out because running was easier than walking, but at about mile 21, my knees began to protest loudly and the plantar fasciitis in my foot was fully awake as well. This, in retrospect was my favorite part of the race. Those last 5 miles were a fight.

It has been a long time since I had to truly fight and conquer in a sport. I have been unable to perform at all for so long, that it had slipped in my memory what it is like to really scrape and claw to finish something at any cost. Sounds a little dramatic, I'm sure, but despite the fact that my run to walk ratio had become inverted as I winced through most of those steps, I went inside and discovered that the reserve tank is still there and I can still tap it and still push through anything. I rediscovered that I am still pretty fucking strong (pardon the french). So, I battled all the way through the park and back out onto 59th street. When I got to the 800 meter mark, I had something I could quantify in rowing and pain terms, so the last 800 meters was pretty easy when I considered how many times I have felt like I was going to die with 800 meters to go and yet survived to win.

The whole ending on a hill thing is just the meanest possible way to finish a marathon, but I was in such a daze when I crossed the finish line, that I realized I was still running, but everyone around me was walking, so I should probably stop. I thought beforehand that when I finished I would get all emotional and be somewhat overcome, but really I just kept walking forward for about 40 minutes while I got the medal, the heat wrap, the bag of food and finally my bag with my sweats and personal items.

Reflecting on this whole process has made me thankful that I did my first marathon this way, when it means something substantial to me. Having been out of commission completely for four years and having had such a small window to train and get ready for this has made a difference in me. Before I had all of the physical tribulations with surgeries and recovery, doing a marathon was just something I had on my list for whenever. It wasn't a particularly big deal to me, because I knew without a doubt that I could do it and do a pretty good job. Running it now, in New York, after being counted out was an experience I shall not soon forget and I can actually say that I'm proud of myself for getting back in the game and for doing it by jumping in headfirst and then figuring it out.

To all of you who supported Livestrong on my behalf, I truly cannot thank you enough for the support. Many of those who donated have a loved one who has battled some form of cancer. Some have lost, some have won, some continue the fight. The money donated will go directly to help people engaged in their war on cancer. I looked at every name noted on the scroll on my page and I thought of them all at different times in the race, as I imagined the love and support they received during their respective fights. The analogy of a cancer battle being akin to a marathon is not lost on me. Thank you from the bottom of my heart for putting your money where my mouth is, because the pressure generated by the support pushed me every single step of the way.

mantra-ish

I'm of two minds right now. One is nervous as hell, overplanning, listing off the reasons behind the compulsion to keep going, and positive, but reserved.

The other is excited and focused, understanding of the limitations, but eager to claw the next three days away and get to the challenge; the launch pad to back.

I'm going with the latter, obviously, and while I was in the shower after my workout tonight, I remembered the slogan on the back of my favorite fall rowing shirt from college:

seek
find
catch
use
abuse
crush

YOU.


The future is a blank slate, so I'm starting here. Stoked.

struggle

Life gives you strange signs to keep pushing forward, keep moving toward your goals. They usually come for me at moments when I'm not looking, but could really use an extra nudge from the universe to remind me to not lose sight of my goals.

Funny thing is, when I was in college, I was running the stadiums and a local newspaperman happened to be in the stadium just taking photos of the empty seats. I interrupted his shot and ended up on the front page of that paper in a photo just like this. Makes me stoked to get to my next run. Knee insurrection or not, the challenge will be met.

door jam

I smacked a couple of people around today. With a door.

I don't feel badly about this at all and here's why. Tourists, especially those that loiter around various parts of Midtown are mentally vacant. They stand wherever, whenever and just sort of gape their mouths and block whatever is going on; foot traffic, doors, actual traffic....it's annoying, as has been previously discussed at length.

I understand this about the tourists, and don't really blame them too much for being mentally checked out; it is, after all, vacation for them. What I don't understand and had a problem with today, is the ignoring of many attempts to get their attention to move out of the way.

So there I was, standing inside an establishment, trying to get out through the only doorway, with three people blocking my exit. The door opened out toward the street, so I didn't have a lot of options, other than to somehow make them aware of my presence and desire to leave through said doorway. Despite standing pretty much against the door, I was unacknowledged. I waved, I waved some more, I knocked on the door. Nothing. Not even a head tilt in my direction, despite the fact that one of the three was practically looking right at me. My hands were clearly tied.

I started to open the door gently at first, attempting to brush them back so I could get out. Nothing. These bumps on a log were really just going to stand there as if I didn't exist and wiat for me to fly out the ceiling. Finally, I slammed the door open, causing two of the bumps to fly into the third. And how they flew - arms flailing out, tripping over their feet, catching one another in a mangled, bent-over heap.

I heard huffs and gasps and was shot the dirtiest looks they could all have mustered, given their catatonic states before. I turned, I smiled brightly and said "move, please." They're lucky.....I'm one of the patient ones.

pulling out

Yes, that kind is good, too.

Pulling troops out of Iraq has received quite a bit of criticism from the GOP, which I think is really funny. Let's examine, shall we?

So when we (stupidly) went INto Iraq, 'ol dubya made some deals and some promises. We had no business being there and the entire bajillion dollar war was entered into under false pretenses. But we went and then we were pretty much stuck there as the Bush family and their hangers on went about making the world a far more dangerous place - at least for Americans. However, there we were and since we were there and not leaving, we had to set up something that had a hope of sustaining itself and aligning to our interests. So the Iraqi's established a government and held elections and it was negotiated that we would get the fuck out at a certain point in time (*hint* - that's right about now).

Then Obama came to office and was elected, in part, because he promised to responsibly scale back our presence in Iraq and ultimately remove all troops altogether and let the Iraqi people get on with governing themselves and figuring it out. You have to take the training wheels off at some point.

Flash forward to now. I realize it is an election season, but this fight is just stoooopid. Seriously. We are on Bush's timetable - which is a republican timetable - but now those grumps don't want it, because it's not their guy making the drawdown. Regardless, it's time to go. The Iraqi's won't give US service members immunity from prosecution under their laws. If that's not dangerous, I don't know what is. Iraqis have also expressed - usually violently - that they don't want us there. They want us to get out.

M'kay. So they want us to get out and will not hesitate to prosecute us (we, who are supposed to be helping them) under their far, far more conservative and punitive laws. I'd say that's a pretty transparent case for leaving where you are not wanted. When the despot is gone and the whole "liberation" thing has worn off, what you are left with is an occupation, and no one wants to be occupied.

My favorite part of this is watching the Republican candidates and commentators say things like "they want us to leave, so we should stay and not back down". Uh....whut? So let me get this straight.....the people we "liberated" want us to leave now, so we should NOT leave, because that would be backing down. In their country. Which we are rolling through with tanks and guns, while getting shot at. Of course! That makes perfect sense. Stay where you are not wanted to show them. If that's not petulant and weird, I don't know what is.

You know what we could maybe do with that money and those returning war veterans, who have done so much for their country, in a completely pointless war? Hey, we could pour all of that money into manufacturing and emerging industries and give those people and a buncha others jobs! Yeah, you know, like maybe use our money on our own soil to better OUR people, who need OUR resources. Just a thought.

...your cause

This is probably going to come off sounding ungrateful, but I don't care, because:

a) it's the truth, and I tell it whether it makes me popular or not and
b) it's ridiculous in a totally fucked up, kind of funny way.

There are three people I wish had not donated to the NY marathon on my behalf. I know, it's kind of messed up to be wishing people had not donated to a very worthy charity. I'm not saying they shouldn't have donated at all, I just wish it wasn't associated with me, because I had to devote thought to the two of those three, who I have made a concerted effort to forget.

Of the three, two are related and one of the relatives is not a part of the "I'd like to forget knowing you" scenario. Caught up now? Because I'm totally and completely perplexed as to why they bothered to donate at all. The one, we'll call him DA, did it for purely selfish reasons, which is kind of funny. A little ego-masturbation session for him so he can say "see? see?" No. We don't see....or actually we do, just we see the truth and not what you want us to see. The deeper the layers go with DA, the more I uncover bits of truth behind so, so very much deception and shadiness. DA is no longer regarded as a 'good guy', nor should he be by me, anyway. I'm sure there are still suckers out there, though, and given his new-found success, I'm sure he'll come by one in short order and he'll two-second his way through that as well.

The other, we'll call her DAS, left me completely befuddled. Seriously. Totally confused, especially considering the response when I thanked her. The best line EVER though was "I support your cause and best of luck," a line which followed some attempt at chastising me. I laughed out loud, at my desk, in a quiet office when I read that. The unspoken "but not you" may as well have been highlighted in bold letters. That is the most subtly bitchy thing I have seen in a while and I actually found it quite stoic and artful in the simplicity of the delivery. But it begs the question, why the fuck did you send something in, then?

Actually, given what I know of DA and his family, this sort of thing probably shouldn't confuse me. They don't actually ever say anything nice, or loving, or supportive to the people they purport to love (something both personally demonstrated and anectodally relayed to me over a long period of time), so why start now with the pariah? No, seriously, why? So that the inevitable opportunity to criticize could be seized?

I'll take the money and run, literally. What I have gained in the last few years is the awareness that in certain situations - which are far fewer and further between for me than for some - I'm perfectly justified in being selfish. This is one of those cases. I'm also perfectly justified in not changing my mind over a measly hundred bucks which masqueraded as charitable, but was really a self-serving gesture. No, I will have a little chuckle to myself and give credit to DA for knowing I don't give a fuck what he thinks about anything in the world. Credit to him for not trying to douchefully get in touch. Next time though, keep your money. You and that other lady (the one not introduced into this story) can - still - go fuck yourselves.

The prologue to this is, after the perplexion - if that's even a word - I ran it out and thought about November 6th. I will be a few days into my next year on earth, am definitely far wiser, I will have raised nearly $4000 for charity, and my return to racing, athletics and my escape from shady fuckers will be cemented. So yeah, I'll take that confusing cash...this time.

Jeff

Happy Birthday to Jeff Trollinger, who was taken from my life 21 years ago, far too early.

Jeff was an incredibly kind, considerate, good looking and wonderful person and I still think of him today.

breaking news

However you spell his name, Gadhafi was captured and possibly killed today. Libya is about to experience some serious joy and some serious growing pains. I hope they don't replace one despot with another, because 42 years is enough time for multiple generations to be completely fucked up by repression.

Michelle Bachman doesn't understand that Libya is on the continent of Africa.

placeholder

I got nothin today. I'm sure I will enhance this post later with some sort of work-related anecdote, but at the moment I'm just tired, it's rainy, my leg is swollen, and I'm dreading bouncing around on the eliptical tonight.

small victories

I ran 20 miles today. I went through four of the five boroughs and over four bridges.

My knees feel like someone took a baseball bat to the outside of each one. My left knee hurt from the first step and I decided I would just run until it didn't hurt anymore. Turns out that's oxymoronic, but whatever. I suppose I was drawing on a quote that one of the run organizers had said.

"There will be a hundred reasons to slow down, stop, or give up. But you only need one to keep going, so find out what that is today."


My body hurts and tomorrow is going to hurt just as bad or worse, despite the yoga and epsom salt baths and steam room. But as I was falling asleep yesterday, a thought that occurred to me is, it is never going to hurt that bad again, because I will never be in this kind of bad shape again. I can move now.

pregunta

A question for the ages....

How the fuck can I be exhausted every single day, yet be perpetually unable to sleep?



In other news.....I read this quote in the news this morning, and I have to say, while there is pretty much a 0.0 chance of me voting for him, regarding the idea that god has any place in government or should be used as a political weapon, I completely agree with 'ol Mittens on this:

“The idea that we somehow as political candidates are going to encourage the American people to make our selection based upon religion that is an idea that is entirely foreign to a nation which was founded with religious tolerance, religious plurality, religious respect. I think that is just the wrong direction for the country and not within the spirit of our nation’s heritage,” he continued.
“I just don’t believe that that kind of divisiveness based on religion has a place in this country,” Romney told reporters.

nails

So there I was on the most beautiful. day. ever., which happened to have been Saturday. I had a crappy run, but was outside in the sunshine, so I didn't even care. I had a visitor I was ever so excited to see and got some errands done, all of which kept me outside for a good chunk of the day. Sunshine and warmth and no humidity and a street fair surrounded me. We should always be so lucky in New York, where the weather is nothing, if not unpredictable.

Toward the end of the day, I decided I should get a pedicure to cap off the beautiful day. Plus nobody likes jacked up feet with long, disgusting toenails. I marched myself around the corner, picked out a lovely shade of deep maroon and hopped in the spa chair. All seemed to be going well.

As per usual, the pedicurist tried to talk me into some $60 green tea, wax bootie, super massage pedi, but while I will spring for the pedicure, I am not interested in spending sixty of my hard-earned dollars for some lady to put lotion and paraffin wax on my feet, so I declined. She tried a few other "specials" and I finally relented at an extra ten minute leg massage, which it turns out, I actually really needed.

As things were wrapping up and the paint on my toes began to dry, I was directed over to the drying station, where the salon workers will give you a quick shoulder rub, while your toes are under the little blow dryer, finishing off. As I headed over, I was diverted to the massage chair. You know, those chairs you see at the mall or at road races, where you straddle the seat and rest with your stomach and head down so that a tiny person with really strong hands can massage your back without the full on table set up. I was tired by that point and wasn't paying attention, so I got in the chair and chilled out. I should point out that this chair was literally smack dab in the middle of the tiny salon, and was fully visible from outside the front door (which was wide open). She started on my shoulders and I was blown away by the tension and number of knots in my back and shoulders. The pedicurist-cum-massage therapist was actually doing a great job!

Until.

Suddenly, the bottom of my shirt was about halfway up my back and I felt the cool drip of a glob of lotion on my lower back. I started to sit up, but the pedi woman shushed me and said it was fine and to let her finish. That is, until she undid my bra and pushed my shirt completely up my back. Being in such a compromised and prone position, there wasn't a lot I could do but flail my arms as she told me to calm down and just let her continue, because my back was so full of knots and tension that she was compelled to smooth the situation out. I remarked that showing side-boob and an inordinate amount of back fat to a bunch of strangers wasn't really my gig and I heard some chuckles from the peanut gallery of women getting manicures nearby.

I sat, exposed, for a good twenty minutes before she was finished. People came and went and I could feel their stares as they passed by the massage chair on their way to less invasive experiences. Finally - mercifully - the exposure was over and I literally jumped out of the chair, credit card in hand. I noticed, as I paid and sprinted out the door, that every single eyeball in the place was firmly fixed on my beet red face. I have to find a new nail place now.

But my toes look great.

junior

So here's how progressive I am. I went to have a drink tonight with my ex-boyfriend's son. Yes, my ex-boyfriend had knocked someone up at a young age, married her, divorced her and many years later, I met his son.

We became kind of close while I was dating dude, the son and I, so when I broke up with dude, it was kind of sad because I wasn't going to see Son anymore. Then we became friends on facebook. That totally makes it real, right? Facebook? Well it may not mean anything, but it does allow a chance to reconnect or make plans, which we did.

So I met Son on the corner because for some bizarre reason there was a bar over by Penn Station that he said he liked. I generally avoid Penn Station and by way of that, interaction with hordes of Long Island people, but I showed up anyway. Turns out Son wanted to meet on a corner, so he could be sure he wasn't being set up by his dad. In fact, that was the first thing he told me - that he hasn't talked to his dad and thought that it may be some kind of set up to get them talking again. Having had virtually no contact with my mother for years on end, I totally understand and we squashed the whole set up scenario, since I was secretly kind of worried he would be doing the same thing to me.

So there I was with Son, on a roofdeck with a Blue Moon for four hours. Yes, for four hours we sat and just talked and he told me what he's up to and what he wants and what he's afraid of and what he's excited about. It was awesome and I totally remember why I liked this kid in the first place. Articulate, good head on his shoulders, good sense of responsibility. He's also not really a kid, at 27, but hey....when you are talking about your ex's son, it's logical to call him a kid. I also learned, over the course of those hours, that all of my hunches and suspicions and questions about dude were completely right on. All of the little things that didn't quite add up and ultimately led me to leave him, were, in fact, lies. I'm not hurt by this, because I kind of saw it in real time, but it's nice to have my sanity and intuition verified.

As a sidebar, upon hearing of my plans to have drinks with Son, a friend of mine said "is he hot?"

"I'm not even going down that path of thoughts," I said. "Can you even imagine that conversation?? So....uh....'member when I used to sleep with your dad?"

No way, I am not doubling down on one family. But I will have drinks with him and listen to his big plans and try and give him advice when he asks for it. Because I'm progressive and I don't throw the baby out with the bathwater. Neither of us talk to him anymore, anyway.

stars

At first glance this doesn't make much sense. Just think of all of the things this could imply however, and it starts to get really funny and kind of sad.

Too many dicks in the world. And I'm talking about the personality kind, not the physical appendage, of which I'm quite fond. Stop being dicks everyone, there is much to be done!

clown

Nothing surprises me anymore. Having lived in Manhattan for seven years now - and having lived in practically every neighborhood - when I see people screaming, or jumping, or beating each other up, or sitting in a pink speedo and an open, flowery shirt with gold chains highlighting the chest hair with painted-white sunglasses, it really doesn't faze me anymore. It's part of the fabric of the city.

However, tonight (last night when you're reading this), there I was, sauntering my neighborhood while I talked on the phone when all of a sudden, a man walked by in a pair of jeans and a random, regular jacket, with a red, plastic devil mask on. He started growling. Like, stopped as he intersected my path and with his hands up, stared at me and growled menacingly.

Of course I didn't give him a second glance and kept walking, but then he actually followed me a few steps and started to growl louder and as he did that, he stopped at a bus stop structure and started jumping up and down and beating on the glass.

What was he trying to accomplish?