Post 64 - Hooray, My Blog Is Back!!

Maybe you already knew this... maybe you didn't.  I thought my blog was gone forever! Luckily, I was wrong - it turns out there was some "suspicious activity" (pfff) on my account so everything got locked up by the blogger powers that be for safekeeping until I figured out how to convince them that I'm me and I want my blog back!

So! A gazillion verification text messages and security code checks later, guess what? I'm BACK!

Happy Thanksgiving, everyone! ♥

Post 63 - I'm Finally "Just Doing It"

July 1, 1988.  "Just Do It" was introduced to the world by Nike. Well.  Twenty-three years later, I'm finally getting around to just doing it.  Sort of.  In case you haven't heard, the thing I'm "just doing" is running.  Sort of.  Well, I'm trying, anyway.  Today was Day One.  I knew I needed to prepare for this so I've been eating more healthy foods, getting more sleep at night, walking a lot, talking to the boyfriend (who is a former professional athlete), etc.

Before I ventured out for My First Run Ever In My Life tonight, I went to Fleet Feet and bought my first pair of "real" running shoes.  After measuring my feet while sitting and then again while standing, after asking me to put on a tester pair of shoes and then watching me run up and down a hallway ("Dear God, please don't let me fall... and please please please don't let my ass be jiggling while I'm doing this"), my sales guy (who was wearing those feet shoe things... you know.. the shoes that look like toe socks?) came back with three pair of shoes for me to try.  I am now the proud owner of a lovely pair of Asics.

Anyway!  I stopped by McDonald's (don't judge me) for my "farewell to fast food" meal then headed home to try out my new running shoes.  My boyfriend told me that Jilly would run just fine if I took her out - that it's the walking that makes her go slowly - so I decided to test his theory.  He was right!!!  She ran great!  I, on the other hand, thought I was going to die.  Well, okay, it was kind of a progressive thing:

Me during the first 1 minute run:  Hey, this kinda feels good!
90 seconds of walking...

Me during the second 1 minute run:  Alright!  I'm doing it!
90 seconds of walking...

Me during the third 1 minute run:  Not feeling so excited... just do it.
90 seconds of walking...

Me during the fourth 1 minute run:  This sucks! What was I thinking???
110 seconds of walking...

By my 8th 1 minute run, I was wheezing and saying things like:  WHO am I kidding?  I'm terrible at this! I can't even run for one minute without feeling like I'm going to die!  Crap, crap, crap, crap, craaaaaaaaaaaap!

I came home.  I sat on my sofa and I thought about this.  The con:  I really am BAD at this.  I tend to be naturally good at things so being really awful at something I want so much... well, it feels weird and I don't like it.  BUT.  Why should I quit?  I think this should be even more motivation to do it.  Why not really try something that I'm NOT naturally good at - now that's a real challenge!! - and see just how far I can go?  So that's the plan.  One day at a time.  My first goal:  to learn how to run 30 minutes without stopping.  Which leads me to the pro:  I'm determined.  And, as usual, I've got an amazing support system.  Including a sweet, kind, encouraging boyfriend.  Who just happens to have legs that look like they belong on a super hero because he runs and bicycles three hours a day. 

Post 62 - On Potty Training Little Hipster

So last weekend, Little Hipster's parents decided it's time for some serious potty training time.

The plan was to wait until a long weekend, then just stick her in big girl undies and see what happens.  Here's the report from her parents (they handled everything from Friday through Monday):  Friday... lots of accidents.. like pretty much all day.  Saturday...significant improvement.  A few accidents but nothing too terrible.  Sunday and Monday... practically no accidents.  #1 was a breeze.  #2? Not so much.  Every day produced a "near miss" but the "#2 In The Potty" victory dance eluded everyone.  As you do when using the big potty is a new thing.

Yesterday I arrived on the scene and was instantly apprised of the effort's progress, then given the locale of the 30 pairs of new, big girl pants, info on where to put the "didn't quite make it" undies in the event of an accident, and instructions for how to proceed in the event of successful potty time.  Check.  For the most part, it was a great day.....with several (and I mean sev-er-al) trips to the bathroom.  But alas, failure at #2.  I blame myself.  Okay, really, I blame her - she's the one who pooped in her pants, not me - but she knows I love her so meh! No big deal!

Anyway, here we are, Day 2 of me leading the potty training ops and I am happy to report we have successfully completed our mission!  #2 Victory!  Yes!  As I shouted, "Go, Little Hipster, you are amazing!  OOT-OOT!" I swear she said back to me, "Yay!  oontz-oontz-oontz!"

Post 61 - Sometimes It's About The Message...

...and not the "level of talent."  Alright, I'll admit it.  When it comes to music, I can be a bit of a snob.  I'm not particularly proud of that fact, but there it is.  And with all of the talent shows that have cropped up on television... sometimes I roll my eyes at what is deemed "talent" by the audiences or over the networks' blatant whoring of contestants' sob stories.  And then I saw this guy on The X Factor.  Emmanuel Kelly.  He sang the song, "Imagine."  Now, to just listen to his voice, you think, "Okay.  Not bad.  Not great but he can carry a tune and he's got decent tone quality." But then you hear his story.

Emmanuel and his brother were born in Iraq.  Limbs blown off when they were just tiny little guys, they were left for dead until someone took them to a nearby orphanage.  His beginnings in life were more horrific than any of us can possibly imagine.  So I will gladly take my heaping helping of STFU and remember that everyone has a song in his or her heart and being a winner isn't about who's got the most controlled vibrato or who can hold a note the longest.  It's about sharing what's in your heart with the world and making a difference. And here he is, Emmanuel Kelly, singing John Lennon's song about world peace, "Imagine":

Post 60 - The Little Hipster's Nickname

I watch this ultra-cool little girl, Little Hipster, and her tiny brother, Baby Preppy, every day.  They both crack me up but Little Hipster is hysterical.  We chat.  Often.  Like, all day.  A while back, she gave herself the nickname, "Honey."  Her parents and I were all confused about this for a few days until it suddenly dawned on us:  I call her, "Honey," all the time.  So there you go.

Anyways!  A few weeks ago, she gave me a nickname.  We didn't know she was actually referring to me because the name she gave me was, "Me."  So she would say things like, "Let Me do it," and we would wait for her to do whatever it was that needed to be done.  We'd look at her.  She'd look at us (especially me) utterly annoyed.  And she would say, "ME do it!!" And we'd all wait.  Eventually, she would cry in frustration and we would all rush to help her do whatever it was that needed doing.  Which, I suppose, in her two year old mind, translated to "Mission Accomplished."  Finally, one day, she asked each adult in the room to make an elephant noise (if you look back to old posts of mine, this involves putting your arm in front of your nose, simulating an elephant's trunk and saying "toodle-oo!").  So.  "Daddy do it!" and her father complied enthusiastically.  "Mommy do it!" and off Mommy went, toodle-oo-ing.  Next, she pointed at me and said, "Me, you do it now!" and a collective light bulb went off in the heads of each adult.  Ahhhhh.  Kelley is "Me."  Not one to disappoint, I toodle-ooed like a pro.

I thought about this nickname and, really, it makes sense!  I'm constantly telling her, "Come give me a hug," or "Come with me," and so on... what a cool, clever little kid.  And let's face it.  You only have to read Post 59 to see that I've certainly been called much worse than "Me," in my life.  If she ever starts calling me "fat ass," though, we could have a problem...

Post 59 - I'm BACK!

Right.  So, first things first:  obviously, I've been gone a while.  Ugh, yes it was end-of-engagement related.  Oh.  Also, I locked myself out of my own blog.  I didn't even know that was possible!  Well, now I know.  Yes, it's possible to set your privacy settings so that you can't read your own blog.  Whoops.  But I digress.  Mostly I've been gone due to the demise of my relationship.  If you've been reading this blog/been a facebook friend/known me at all, then you know I needed to just curl up and die for a few months when my (now ex) fiance dumped me just weeks before we were to be married.  The breakup itself was bad.  But, for reasons I cannot fathom, my ex thought we could continue being best friends after he (as he often called it) "dropped an anvil" on my head.  Let me be clear about something:  dropping an anvil on my head would have been more humane.  Instead, he would do this "but we're best friends!" thing... and then get mad at me for something, call me names, and delete me from his contact lists.  Then a month later, "I miss my best friend!" and I'd be re-added to everything, blah blah blah.  WHY I let him do this I will never fully understand - I swear I'm not a masochist!  Anyway, whenever it happened, an old saying my dad often said would ring in my head, "with friends like you, who needs enemies?"

Finally, two months ago, after another one of his silly hissy fits (I'd had the audacity to say, "I see," instead of "Congratulations!" when he told me about his new girlfriend), I reached my limit and struck back.  Suffice it to say that the pen IS mightier than the sword and it's really not a good idea to piss off your extremely tolerant ex-fiance who happens to be a writer too many times because, if you verbally hit her below the belt enough times, eventually, she's gonna slap you back.  Which I did.  And now he thinks I'm evil incarnate.  With a fat ass.  (Really?  "Fat Ass" is the best he could come up with? Pfff!)

Good.  Finally, I've been able to move on!  And no, mother fucker, I do NOT want to be friends.

Post 58 - Thoughts

This has been a terrible week.  You know, the break up hurt, sure.  But the past seven days.  Damn.

Last... I don't know.  Thursday?  Rose IMs me just to tell me that she's been spending time with you.  That she's talking to you and that she's not going to tell me what you're talking about.  I was a little taken aback by that.  I said, "so... why are you even telling me at all?  what do you hope to achieve?  this doesn't seem like the sort of thing one friend would say to another so enlighten me, please."  She gave a few excuses and then finally said, "I'm sorry.  I was competing with you for his attention and, I don't know why, but you're right.  I was rubbing it in your face.  I'm sorry."  Fine.  Forgotten (mostly).  Then on Tuesday, she does it again.  Out of the blue, "Full disclosure - I spent three hours with Marc today."  And I'm thinking, "wtf?  why do I need to be told this?" And she goes on to tell me how you two were fishing and having a wonderful time together.  So I said, "you know... I have to tell you that Marc just ended our relationship in a surprise sucker punch just a week ago.  I'm still hurting pretty badly and I'm not sure why you're telling me these things."  We talked more about it and she wasn't hearing my pain so I finally blurted out, "haven't you heard of the girl code?  God, I thought every female knew this!"  And then I explained to her - friends (especially best friends!) look out for each other and take care to nurture each other - they don't say things to hurt each other like she kept doing.  Her reply:  "So you want me to treat him like shit?"  Me:  "No, of course not!  We have lots of mutual friends and I'd never ask anyone to do something like that!  Just... don't be so buddy-buddy about it and then run over to rub it in my face, okay?"

Silence.

And then I received your IM that crushed me.  I never got a chance to even talk to you about it.  You know what really broke my heart?  Well, several things.  But first, that you never even gave me the benefit of the doubt.  You know me, heart and soul.  Not even two weeks ago, you told me I was the best friend you'd ever had.  Would a true best friend do something like that?  When have you ever heard me, in the four years that we've known each other, say "if so and so is friends with so and so, they're no friend of mine?"  Never.  Because that is just not who I am.