Just how many blog entries can I milk from running a marathon?
I promise a recap, then onto other fun things, including but not limited to belly-dancing classes and making my own sourdough starter.
Today, though, the photos are up, and they are so great that I'm entirely tempted to spend $95 for the CD of all of them!
A few faves:
A full recap of my experience running the NYC Marathon is in the works - for now you'll have to settle for this small victory (image compliments of LaFarlow):
(As I crossed the finish line I heard someone say, "Hey, Tom Cruise is over there!" and I literally thought, "F*ck Tom Cruise.")
I finished the NYC Marathon yesterday in 4:47:51. Yay! Then I walked backwards down some stairs.
Complete race recap coming soon! Thanks for all your support!
Back in 26.2 miles.
[You can find out where I am with the Marathon's race tracker - you'll have to click around a little on that site to find it. My number is 33488.]
Do you think eating copious amounts of candy corn counts for pre-marathon carb loading?
Last weekend in SF I couldn't login to Blogger using IE 6 (which, wtf?) so I had to install Firefox to keep you all apprised of my life events. It didn't even occur to me that I could blog by email until someone brought it up at work today, so I thought I'd try it out. If you can read this, it worked!
^ This space intentionally left blank.
Hallowe'en is upon us.
I don't know if I can fully express my love for this holiday (which I would argue should actually BE a national holiday, but then I wouldn't get to draw a spiderweb around my eye - see last year, at right - for work. It's kind of like birthdays - I mean, I understand not wanting to work on one's birthday, but what about all the desky birthday happiness? But I digress). This afternoon I purchased orange lights to deck out the bar of BP:LE (yeah it has a bar, sweet eh?) and my costume is SO AWESOME I can't even believe it - AND it's one of those packaged ones from a Hallowe'en Superstore! I cannot reveal the details yet, but I'm going to an '80s party (at which I was Cyndi Lauper last year - that link is for you, Farlow!), and I'm dressing up as someone who has been my nickname since I worked at Corel.
Also, my favourite cousin is visiting this weekend! Many pictures to follow. In the meantime, get carving those pumpkins!
The NYC Marathon is only 11 days away. I'm officially tapering, which means more sleeping, slightly less running, and ideally paying more attention to what I'm eating. Starting tomorrow.
Following a kickass weekend in California, a red-eye home (sans Bliss Shut-Eye kit - so sad) and (most of) a day at the office, I'm unwinding with my pals Ben & Jerry and back-to-back episodes of ANTM (thank you, CW, for putting the full episodes on your Web site).
On the most recent episode, Tyra advised one of the girls: "Never dull your shine for somebody else." I'm sure that some combination of sleep deprivation, consumption of 1,200 delicious calories and PMS are contributing to my sentiment that that's wise cousel. And, of course, fierce.
In other news, earlier today I decided that I would use the word "nonsense" more, and then flummery popped up on my Google home page as a word of the day. Not only is it fun to say (try it: flummery!), it means "empty compliment; unsubstantial talk or writing; mumbo jumbo; nonsense."
UFF: Adding flummery to the internets since 2006.
The speaker at last night's Team in Training pasta party was Amy Bartlett, a cancer survivor. She was funny, charming, and inspirational, and she has a blog: I Choose Hope. Check it out. And if you're feeling generous, head on over to my fundraising page.
I PR'd this morning! (For all you non-runners, PR == personal record. Hardcore, eh?) That means I won. For me. The course was *hard*, and while I remembered the suck hill at mile 6, I forgot about the one at mile 8. It was tough, but I worked it, and I really wanted that PR. I pushed through and finished one minute faster than my previous best-time for a half.
My final time was 2:12:01, which is 10:04 minute miles. W00t! Afterwards, I spent 2+ hours cheering for TNT marathoners, and this afternoon got drunk from a single glass of white wine. Good times.
Splits:
Mile 1: 10:45 [crowded start - probably good for my pacing]
Mile 2: 10:16
Mile 3: 10:04
Mile 4: 10:36
Mile 5: 9:53
Mile 6: 9:34
Mile 7: 11:20 [GIANT uphill]
Mile 8: 9:04
Mile 9: 10:43 [another big hill]
Mile 10: 10:20
Mile 11: 9:24
Mile 12: 10:19 [gradual uphill in Golden Gate Park]
Mile 13: 9:40
Aw Yeah
Originally uploaded by Kitty LaRoux.
I'm back in SF for the Nike Women's Marathon (this year just the half, since NYC is only 2 weeks away). I arrived last night, the weather is perfect, and I have the most luxurious of accomodations. A bunch of incredible women with whom I've been training and fundraising for the past 5 months are going to kick 26.2 miles' worth of ass tomorrow, and I couldn't be more proud and inspired.
Go Team!
Running may counter the calories in ice cream, but ice cream offsets the mental anguish* caused by a 20 mile run.
*OK, maybe I'm exaggerating - but only a little.
Dear Ben & Jerry,
Perhaps I was hasty in my earlier assessments that we've been spending too much time together. It's true that we saw each other pretty regularly - at least once a week, sometimes twice - but who's to say that's too much? Every relationship is different. We get along so well - why should we put unnecessary or artificial restrictions on time that is obviously beneficial for both of us?
And so, fellas, I'm hoping we can get together real soon. I miss you.
Love,
Gillian
When I first moved to NY in February 2000, I didn't know a single person except for the guy who would be heading up my company's soon-to-be-opened office here, and I'd only met him once. Let's call him "Hal." Hal was a real-life Michael Scott. I'm totally serious. In fact, go read the Wikipedia Overview, because it describes Hal EXACTLY. He was sweet and insecure and well-intentioned and frequently said painfully awkward things that were meant to be funny.
Hal was also very neurotic. He had a label maker that I swear he'd have had sex with if he could have found a way. The guy labeled EVERYTHING, including, I kid you not, the shelves in our office fridge as to WHICH CANS OF SODA WENT ON WHICH SHELF:
Hilare, right? And totally without irony. Of course, my co-workers and I found the label-obsession hilarious, and on occasion, messed with it a little:
Hee. (Our sales people once labeled all of their office supplies, including STAPLER, MONITOR, CPU, etc. Good times.)
One day, my officemate came over to my desk and conspiratorially said, "Gillian. You have to come see this." He signaled me into the kitchen and pointed me to his lunch leftovers:
Office pranks? Don't get any better than that.
While we're reminiscing, I must also share with you a photo of the worst sunburn I've ever had, in the Summer of 2000:
Ouch.
Sparkly D is in NY and just forcibly pushed me off the wagon. The conversation went something like this:
D: Gilly, do you like prosecco?
G: Totally. But D, I'm doing this thing where I'm not drinking for a week.
D: OK. I'm only going to ask you this once, but why does it have to be the weekend I'm visiting? Start tomorrow.
G: ...
D: Let's have an adventure.
G: OK. Let's have an adventure.
I ran a half-marathon this morning in Central Park and finished in 2:13, exactly the same time I ran the NYC Half in last year. How... consistent. Turns out training notes are useful - last year I had one Gu one hour in, and today I had two (one at 1h, the second at 1:40). I probably could have run it slightly faster, had I not overindulged on Thursday night (see: margaritas, beer, hookah) (see also: this week's resolution).
Speaking of which, I desperately want to snuggle up with my pals Ben & Jerry tonight but I'm so resisting their delicious siren calls. SUCKAS! But boys, save it up for November 4 because that night, you and I are going to party.
After a mere 30 more sleeps I will wake up and run the NYC Marathon. Good times.
Despite my earlier vows, I haven't been so nice to my body this past month. I've kept up with training (ran 20 miles last Saturday!) and have managed to throw in some hiking and yoga, but I've also kept up with the drinking.
In the immortal words of H.I. McDunnough: "That ain't me no more." Starting tomorrow, until after I run the Staten Island Half-Marathon (+ an additional 7 miles) next Sunday, I'm going eliminate alcohol AND refined sugars from my diet.
The latter is going to be a real bitch. I can go without a drink, but I may need a twelve-step program for the chocolate. If I seem crabby, be nice to me. And please don't offer to buy me a drink (or a Ritter Sport), at least until after I finish my second 20-mile run next weekend (at which time you may hand me a martini and a cupcake).
Mike just posted a link to Blogger Play. According to the FAQ, it's "a real-time slideshow of photos Blogger users have recently uploaded to their blogs." I'm pretty sure I could watch it for hours.
I love the internets.
Remember The Amazing Race back in April, and the amazingly cute baby who started the whole thing?
He's now 5 months old:
Full disclosure: I have PMS and I was in a suck mood when I wrote that last post, but I thought you, my loyal reader(s), deserved a little somethin'. You know what they say, suck-mood Gillian is better than no Gillian at all!
Anyway, I went for a (sucky) run and followed it up with a nice phone call and a delicious cheddar & avocado sandwich (even though there are about 8 servings of veggie moussaka in the fridge - sometimes a girl needs cheese). I'm now self-medicating with Nutella and the internets.
The Other Gillian's comment on my last post and my gluttonous enjoyment of Timbits last weekend have inspired me to write tonight's post.
I'm not kidding when I say that I ate a lot of Timbits last weekend. In a 3 1/2 hour drive, two of us consumed almost an entire box of 40 Timbits. When we were down to about a dozen, we started a Timbit "drinking" game, wherein we would only eat a Timbit when we passed a Tim Horton's (which, at least in Ontario, is about as frequent as you pass a Starbucks in New York City, that is to say, A LOT).
I am happy, then, to present:
The Official Ultra Fine Flair Guide to Timbits
1. This dude used to be the Timbits, uh, dude. I don't know what happened to him (and I'd forgotten he even existed until I started googling images of Timbits). I'd forgotten about him, actually, but I used to have a stuffed one. I know. Weird.
2. The best Timbit variety: Chocolate. That's one there on the right, behind those two honey dip Timbits. Chocolate Timbits are perfectly chocolatey and cakey, but not too sweet. When I open a restaurant, chocolate Timbits are going to be on the dessert menu. I'll serve up maybe 3, in a little box that looks like a full-sized Timbits box. It'll be awesome. So will the profit margin.
3. Speaking of honey dip - they used to be my second favourite, until I discovered the French Cruller. It has just the right ratio of icing-y outside to creamy, puffy inside, and I'm kind of amazed that Tim Horton's gets the texture exactly right.
4. After chocolate, French Cruller and honey dip, my next favourites are: Sour cream glazed, apple fritter, old-fashioned sugared and old-fashioned plain. I'm kind of medium on the jelly-filled varieties, although I like them better than filled doughnuts (again with the better ratio, kind of like Hallowe'en-size chocolate bars - yum).
5. Down with Dutchies. Raisins don't belong in stuffing, and they certainly don't belong in doughnuts. Nature's candy, my ass.
6. If you want to smugg^H^H^H^H^Hbring Timbits across the border, stop at a Tim Horton's BEFORE you enter Terminal 3 at Pearson International, or you will be very, very sad. There is a Tim's on the Canadian side, which you can see through the glass once you're at your gate. It's heartbreaking.
Did you miss me?
Once again I'm grateful for the magic that is RSS.
Anyway, here's what's up:
Last weekend was spent in The Bruce, hiking and eating lots of delicious meat (and don't even talk to me about the number of Timbits I consumed. Also, any good intentions I had of running remained just that - good intentions. I did hike, though, and took some pictures with Sirrah! & Gregoire's camera, which I won't see again until I upload them somewhere myself at Christmas.
Memphis is the feline queen of BP:LE, and has on multiple occasions put Grapple in his place.
I still have a bunch of unpacked, unstored boxes. I tolerate them for a few days at a time, but today they are seriously adversely affecting my feng shui, and I got on a bent this afternoon to find them a home. According to a nice gentleman at American Self-Storage, a 4x4x4 space should do it and will only run me $31/month. Now I just have to get off my ass and move them.
That's all you get for now. I'm going running.
:-)
Originally uploaded by Kitty LaRoux.
Today be the Smiley's 25th birthday! Arr!* I was lucky enough to visit its birthplace yesterday.
The eternal question: Nose or no nose?
You Are Orange |
 Bright and intense, you embrace the world and all its opportunities. Change does not intimidate you, even if it's a complete life overhaul. You're a very real person. You aren't scared to show the world who you are. |
Last Thursday DC Dave was in town and invited me out for dinner with a bunch of Sales people. We were at a relatively swank restaurant in my 'hood and were waiting for a table, so I ordered a martini (Grey Goose, straight up, olives, very cold). I have fond memories of my first martini - it was on my 28th birthday at Daniel, also waiting for a table, and I decided I could be Grown Up and order a martini, and that at a place like Daniel it'd probably be as good as I would get anywhere. For better or worse, it was delicious. Anyway, while I can remember the first time I had a martini, on Thursday I couldn't remember the LAST time I'd had one, so I decided to splurge.
It should be noted here that a martini is not a slippery slope to drunk. As Bob put it, it's a big hole. And I stepped right into it, voluntarily. My martini was followed by a glass of Zinfandel, which was followed by the dessert cocktail (which was SUPPOSED to be shared with the other three people at my table, but by the time it arrived one person had left, another was on her way out, and DC Dave is, apparently, a lightweight). I made the sacrifice and drank 'er down, because I am just that generous.
Those drinks were followed by a shared bottle of wine at BP:LE, which was followed by a late bedtime (1:30 a.m.) and an early morning. By 4 p.m. on Friday I was considering freebasing coffee to get the caffeine into my bloodstream faster, and I was asleep by 9:30 on Friday night.
Despite that tale of woe, Saturday morning I managed to haul myself up to Central Park at 7 a.m. to run - GET READY - 18 miles! The last two of those were particularly tough, and I did think about the martini (and the subsequent fermented beverages) and figure that with 47 (yikes!) days left, I'd better stick to that promise I made back when there were 60 days to go and lay off the tasty beverages.
But I'll tell you right now that November is going to be a fun month.
1. Seeing Cameron Diaz filming a scene for a new movie right outside the door to my new apartment!
2. That my routine training run takes me across the Brooklyn Bridge and back.
3. Seeing the Empire State Building every morning when I step outside.
Last night I decided to trek to Central Park to join the TNT group there. I am SO GLAD that I did. For one, I didn't have to run the same loop around Prospect Park for the upteenth time. I also found a running partner who was slightly faster than me, and managed to stay with her for the 6 mile loop, which resulted in my fastest 6 miles EVER with a pace of 9:25/mile! (Since the first mile was a warm-up and took me 10 minutes, I averaged 9:19 for the 5 mile tempo run!) I went to practice feeling tired and a bit under the weather and came home feeling like I could have run another 6 miles. Good times indeed.
The NYC Marathon is just 60 days away. This last 2 months is where all the training will really count. In addition to my weekly TNT group runs, my training schedule includes:
The NYC Marathon Long Training Run (18-20 Miles)
The NYC Marathon Tune-Up (18 Miles)
2 Half-Marathons (Grete's Great Gallop and the Nike Women's Half-Marathon) (I love that half-marathons are part of my training schedule for something else!)
+ Some other 20 mile run (hopefully a trail run with TNT)
It's time for me to buckle down with eating properly and drinking less. The acquisition of a new kitchen was well-timed!
Where's The Door?
Originally uploaded by Kitty LaRoux.
Just as boxes are irresistible to cats, a cat at the end of a lamp box is irresistible to me. She crawled in, and I set the box upright. I know I'm going straight to hell for this, and the hilarity was totally worth it.
So far BP:LE is working out just fine. I have unpacked many, many boxes. One stack has been designated for storage, and there's still more stuff to cart to Goodwill. (I know, makes a lot of sense to move that stuff in the first place, right? Shut up.) Yesterday I did laundry WITHOUT LEAVING THE APARTMENT and this evening I baked cookies and made dinner ALL AT ONCE with stuff on the counters (did I mention there are counters? More than one, even! Good times). Memphis is quite content (when she is not trapped in a box).
More pictures soon.
New Digs
Originally uploaded by Kitty LaRoux.
We moved into BP:LE today. Memphis has already hissed at our new roommate (one of the humans; she hasn't met the other feline yet). She seems content, if a little suspicious.
I interviewed Lisa in Fall '06 as a co-op student for the team I manage. I hired her because during the interview, she didn't know an answer to a question I asked and said as much, and when I explained what the answer was, she said, "Oh, cool, yeah, I didn't think of that," so incredibly sincerely that I kind of loved her.
That first semester I didn't spend a lot of time with her, but she always showed up for events (even dressed up as a Happy Camper [at left, with Giselle aka Joan] for our Hallowe'en party - although I admit it hurt a little when I told Lisa that I was going to an 80s party as Cyndi Lauper and she asked, "Who's that?") and had just wonderful spirit. I saw her once during Winter term when I was in Waterloo to do interviews - she and her sister Laura came out for drinks with Sirrah!'s husband and me, and when Greg and I returned to the very pregnant Sirrah! Greg announced that he was sorry but he was in love with someone else. That's how charming this girl is.
Lisa came back to NY to work for a different team this summer, and ended up in a sublet about 6 doors down from the BP. We had regular Monday night movies (including "Josie and the Pussycats," "Charlie's Angels," and most recently, "Adventures in Babysitting") and shared countless pints of i.c.e.c.r.e.a.m. (she spells it every time she says it, and now I do too). I beat her once at Settlers of Catan (it was totally an upset - even MY money was on her). She taught me about improv and biters and Teen Girl Squad and reminded me that persistence works. And even though she's an athlete and an engineer and a writer and a sister, she is totally uncategorizable.
Lisa, if I could write and cast the role of Gillian's Little Sister (GLS), it would be all you. Thanks for being an amazing friend this summer. I love you (metric) tonnes.
P.S. This post is totally biting Lisa's People I Like series.
1. Poke people on Facebook
2. Go to the deli
3. Pet Memphis
4. Call Sara
5. Rip CDs (seriously. SERIOUSLY)
6. Eat ice cream
7. Send text messages (LATHE'D!)
8. Reminisce
9. Look at the intarweb
10. Hope someone calls to invite me out for a beer
11. Drink the last beer in the BP fridge
12. Listen to Gwen Stefani (OK, there is singing and dancing involved here too)
13. Miss Lisa
14. Read Get Naked
15. Blog
Saturday I move into BP:LE. A few weeks ago, with the help of about half a dozen kickass girlfriends, I packed up loads of crap from my old apartment in preparation for the move. Sadly, the BP (v1) remains intact. I've looked around a few times to approximate how many boxes I'll need, and mostly thought, hey, it'll be fine. How long can it take to pack this place up? I've only lived here for a few months!
And so, in the week leading up to the big move, I have cleverly overbooked myself so that my packing follows the law of all packing (and software development and wedding planning): It will take as much time as is available to do it.
Last night, La Farlow came over to watch a movie. Then I baked banana bread, which I took out of the oven at approx. 12:30 a.m. Tonight, we had game night at work! I got home from that at 10:30, and now I'm blogging, but it's ABOUT packing so that kind of counts, right? I actually canceled my plans for tomorrow night (a leftover birthday mani-pedi) just so I'd have an evening to pack, which I'm SURE will be long enough, right?
Guys?
Dig my mad toddler skillz, yo.
And while we're on the topic of kiddos, you totally have to check out my godson Griffin hip-hop dancing:
(Via Accidental Ocelot)
For those of you just joining us, this is the "kitchen" in the BP.
OK. It's a bit better now. I painted and fanagled a bigger fridge, and put up shelves. But that sink is useless.
I haven't cooked a lot this summer. See above. This past weekend, already feeling nostalgic about leaving Park Slope, I hit up the Green Market at Grand Army Plaza. Sans plan, I picked up a few delicious items, including heirloom tomatoes, beets, scallops, goat cheese, a French baguette, and New Jersey white peaches. A quick surf of Epicurious and a call to Candace inspired a menu of Spinach and Beet Salad with Walnut-Crusted Goat Cheese (based on this recipe for Hazelnut-Crusted Goat Cheese Salad), Bacon-Wrapped Scallops with Port Reduction served with heirloom tomatoes, and Peaches & Cream (freshly whipped, sweetened with a bit of maple syrup) for dessert. If your mouth isn't watering by now, you should really have that looked at.
The best part about the menu was that I had almost everything in my tiny pantry (I even had bacon in the freezer). My trip to the grocery store was quick and painless, and a bottle of ruby port only costs $10.99 - who knew? Also: I got to light stuff on fire (that's the port reducing over there on the right). Good times.
I'm psyched about cooking this Fall, and to take full advantage of the delightfully large kitchen in BP:LE, I might even trek back to Park Slope for the market. You never know.
My friend D started blogging again after a 2 month hiatus. Check out her latest post, replete with pictures of Sunny's garden which is at its most perfect this time of year. I'm sad to be missing it.
Also: Read about her Fluevogs, which cracked me up (and I have those same shoes!).
GILLIAN is walking along the Brooklyn-bound platform of the Metropolitan Ave. G Train stop. She hears someone singing on the Queens-bound side and looks up.
BILL: Duh du duh du du du-du duh duh
GILLIAN: Hey! Tee hee! Where do you live?
BILL: Greenpoint.
GILLIAN: Sucka!
BILL: Uh, you have further to go.
GILLIAN: Good point.
BILL: So, when are you going to give me a project?
GILLIAN: Next week - I'm off tomorrow and Friday. I'm baking Aaron's wedding cake.
BILL: Aaron's getting married? I didn't know that. When?
GILLIAN: Saturday.
BILL: Will you bake my wedding cake?
GILLIAN: Of course! I told you last year that I would.
BILL: For free?
GILLIAN: Duh, yes. When are you doing that?
BILL: I don't know if I'm ever getting married.
GILLIAN: But I thought you guys... This year? Or next year?
BILL: I don't know what we're doing. I am so afraid of commitment. I don't know what I'm doing next Tuesday.
GILLIAN: I hear you. [pause] I'm getting divorced.
BILL: WHAT? You're joking.
GILLIAN: No, for real.
BILL: Whatever, you're not serious.
GILLIAN: No, I am. [holds up ringless left hand]
BILL: Oh my God! That makes me so sad!
GILLIAN: No, really, I'm OK. It's for the best.
BILL: [looks around, realizes they're yelling to hear each other and there are other passengers on both platforms who can hear the entire conversation] [clasps hands in front of heart] Aw, that sucks! Come over here! I want to hug you!
GILLIAN: [looks at the train tracks and rolls eyes] For real, Bill, I'm OK.
BILL: What? But... But, you just celebrated your one-year anniversary!
GILLIAN: Yeah, but we weren't living together at the time. I moved out earlier this Spring.
BILL: Oh my God! This breaks my heart! How long were you together?
GILLIAN: Almost 6 years.
BILL: [hands still clasped in front of chest, bows dramatically]
GILLIAN: Really, Bill, it's for the best. Trust me. [pause] Also, it's kind of surreal that we're having this conversation across two sets of subway tracks.
BILL: [titters] Yeah, I know! [pause] But, I read your blog! You guys seem so together!
GILLIAN: OK. You know on the right side, the Favourite Posts section? Go read Late Night Blogging Gets Serious.
BILL: I read that!
GILLIAN: Well, read it again. Use your mad reading skillz this time.
BILL: OK OK. So...
GILLIAN: So, I moved out, and in September I'm moving to DUMBO.
BILL: I love DUMBO! It's so different from anywhere I've lived or know. [crosses arms in front of chest]
GILLIAN: Yeah, it's a 3,000 sq. ft. loft shared with 3 other people. I'm psyched.
BILL: Who are you living with?
GILLIAN: Strangers. I met them briefly last week.
BILL: I can't believe you're moving in with people you don't know. What if one of them is crazy?
GILLIAN: Then I'll move out. It's month-to-month.
BILL: Huh. [crosses arms in front of chest]
GILLIAN: [Glances at other passengers on platform] I feel like this is some kind of performance art and we're reading from scripts.
BILL: Totally.
The Queens-bound train pulls into the station at that moment, and Gillian and Bill wave goodbye across the platform. Gillian watches Bill through the moving windows of the train, then watches the train pull out of the station.
This morning I went for a run, and after Tuesday's cross-training extravaganza I felt cricky and sore and, well, not awesome. It was overcast and humid, and I ended up walking the last mile. As I approached the park exit, I noticed the light was just lovely, and the trees were that perfect August green, full and layered. The sun squeaked through the clouds in places and dappled the trees and in that moment everything felt perfectly beautiful.
An hour later I was waiting for the subway, listening to Cyndi Lauper on my iPod and a line in the book I'm reading made me laugh out loud:
When somebody tells you that a certain boy isn't good enough for you, that person has usually not just moved all alone into a crap apartment in a city known for being south of a city that people have heard of.If you pay attention, the Universe comes through.
The other morning my iPod shuffled over to one of my favourite Ani DiFranco songs, "The Arrivals Gate." I have listened to this song countless times and have the lyrics memorized, but for some reason that morning when I heard it, I *got* it, and it seemed so applicable and wonderful. For a moment I wished I'd understood it a few months ago -- but months ago I wasn't where I am now, so that would have been impossible, anyway.
Gonna go outI'd always taken this song literally, and really, it does reinforce my appreciation of airports (I already like them a lot because: traveling and buying trashy magazines and hunting for outlets). But when I heard it the other day the song had entirely new meaning.
To the arrivals gate at the airport
And sit there all day
Watch people reuniting
Public affection so exciting
It even makes airports ok
Watching children run
With their arms outstretched
Just to throw those arms
Around their grandpa’s neck
Watching lovers plant kisses
Old men to their misses
At their arrivals gate
Watching a mother
With a mother’s smile
Don’t tell me to move
I just wanna sit here for a while
I have determined
It’s a sure cure for cancer
Watching excitement turn family dogs
Into dancers
At the arrivals gate
I got me a white bread sandwich
With some shredded lettuce
And I got me a ringside view
For my quaint little fetish
I just wanna drain my pink little heart
Of all it’s malice
And kick back for the afternoon
In this fluorescent palace
Everybody’s in a hurry
Here in purgatory
Except for me
I’m where I need to be
At the arrivals gate
Tonight as I was leaving work, my friend Chad, who's staying Chez BP for a week or so before he embarks on a 2 month trip to Europe, called me to tell me he'd forgotten to bring with him the address of where he was meeting someone for dinner. I couldn't recall the address myself, and asked him if he had GOOG-411, the Google Voice Local Search.
I don't know where I heard about GOOG-411, but I've had it in my phone for a while and have used it a handful of times. It's free (yay Google!) and the times I've used it, it's worked about as well as any other company's voice directories that I've used.
Chad didn't have The Goog, so I told him I'd call and get back to him.
When I was prompted for the name of the business, I said, "Otto." The first option was for Otto's Shrunkenhead (who knew?) on East 14th St. The second option: Otto Restaurant Enoteca Pizza on 5th Ave. Bingo! My choices were then to wait to be connected, or say "Details" for more info. Since I needed the address, I chose the latter and was THEN presented with the option - get ready! - to receive a text message! My brain barely managed to process the awesomeness of that option but I managed to yell "Text message!" into the phone. While I was STILL CONNECTED I received the following text:
Otto Restaurant Enoteca Pizza
212-995-9559
1 5th Ave
New York, NY 10003
http://m.google.com/u/B2hK5I
Not only did I get exactly the information that I needed, I then proceeded to forward the message to Chad so that he would have all the details right on his phone! That? Rocks.
Gentle reader, please, for me, store this number in your phone: 1-800-GOOG-411 (1-800-466-4411). I promise you that it will come in handy. You can thank me when it does.
P.S. According to the GOOG-411 Web site, the service is still only available in the US. Sorry, loyal Canadian readers. But you guys still have exclusive access to ketchup chips.
Tonight's dinner: A slice of toast* with Nutella, half a pint of Ben & Jerry's Half-Baked Frozen Yogurt and a glass of red wine.
I really can't wait to move into Bachelorette Pad: Loft Edition, now with more kitchen! Coming September 1. Stay tuned.
*Toasted, sadly, in the oven. I hope that BP:LE is also equipped with a toaster.
A few days ago Dog sent me a link to these fruity-scented USB drives and was surprised when I picked strawberry over orange as my top choice. Later that same week, Lisa told me that I could add her innovative Facebook profile mod that, in addition to Likes and Dislikes, lists Indifferent Tos. She was surprised (or perhaps just disagreed with my opinion) when I listed "orange popsicles" on the third list. (She also said that if I stole her idea she wouldn't even write biter on my wall, and if you have no idea what you just read, don't worry, that just means that you're over 25. Note: I was perplexed at the term "biter" but just this morning realized that I've heard it before and didn't even get it at all. And, that reference was from Dog and apparently now we've come full circle.)
Anyway. This post is supposed to be about things that are orange, and why orange-flavoured things usually don't make my top 10 lists.
When we were kids, my mom used to take my brother & I grocery shopping and let us each pick a flavour of Kool-Aid or Jell-O. Garth ALWAYS picked orange. Like, every single time. And every single time I picked a different non-orange flavour, so our cupboard was half orange-flavoured stuff and half misc. I kind of separated orange from the other flavours in my mind at that point. Since there was always an abundance of it, I seldom choose it even now when there are other options. I'm sure there's a PhD (or at least Master's) psychology thesis in here somewhere about the lasting effects of familial eccentricities.
[The main exception to the orange-flavoured things rule is Creamsicles, which are perfect just as they are.]
1. That in NY, $2 will get you a PBR or a delicious falafel.
2. Concerts on boats. Whoever thought of that should get a raise and a vacation.
3. The Statue of Liberty.
I have agreed not to call Lisa "young and impressionable," however, sometimes the fact that I'm, uh, older than her is inescapable.
For example, the other night at a party, she was describing "lockdown" in Ontario high schools (something like this). Someone turned to me and asked if I'd had lockdowns when I was in high school, and Lisa started to say, "Oh no, she's too..." and then caught herself and trailed off.
This afternoon I did use the phrase "young and impressionable," and she reminded me that I'm not allowed to use it, and continued, "And I won't call you old and... out of style!"
Ouch. That? Cuts deep.
American or Canadian?
Originally uploaded by Kitty LaRoux.
A few days ago, someone arrived at UFF by Googling hot redhead wrapped in american flag.
We at UFF listen to our readers and incorporate your suggestions whenever possible.
Enjoy.
1. When you're thirsty and you drink really cold water and you can feel it going down your throat to your stomach.
2. Fresh lemonade (I just discovered this last summer and I can't believe how much I love it) - bonus points if it has some fun herb in it like lavender or mint.
3. Clif Bar's new Maple Nut flavour.
Here's a list of the sh*t I'm supposed to get done tonight:
1. Make a logo/signage for Dos' business.
2. Design the CD label/packaging for Jillian's upcoming show (that's August 1 at the Hope Lounge in Williamsburg).
3. Bake a delicious cake for Gigi's birthday.
4. Learn PHP.
Instead, I'm blogging (lucky you!) - oh, and as I was leaving the office this afternoon, a certain book that I'd pre-ordered was blocking the door. So maybe I'll get all that other stuff done later tomorrow.
I leave you with the lovely Miss Memphis, who seems to be feeling much better these days:
This afternoon K-Dog and I met at the office to GTD our desks. I threw out boxes of old paperwork and already feel lighter. In the purge, I found a bunch of stuff from the triathlon I did 3 years ago, including a sheet of paper entitled WETSUIT INSTRUCTIONS which includes this gem:
TAKING THE WETSUIT OFF
- The more wet you are the better.
Heh.
Summer in NYC is magical, really. There are approx. 900,000 fun things to do, and every year when Time Out arrives with its listing of summer events, I load up my calendar with everything I could possibly want to go to and then at the beginning of the week make some tough decisions. Recent juggling to accomodate many top priority events included buying Manu Chao tickets for Tuesday's show even though I already had them for Wednesday's show because Jillian with a J was playing her first show on Wednesday, and I just couldn't miss that. (Tuesday night training was lost in that shuffle, and Mander happily purchased Wednesday night's Manu Chao tix.)
Tonight I had the pleasure of seeing Ani DiFranco play in Prospect Park. In addition to her music being wonderful, as usual, I am always struck by how much she seems to be enjoying herself on stage. It's almost like she still can't believe that she gets to do this for a living. It makes me giggle to see someone doing something she so clearly loves and feels lucky to be doing.
Watching Ani tonight inspired me. How great would it be to have so much awesome in your life that that sometimes, maybe even often, the happiness bubbles up and makes you laugh out loud? And that the happy makes you grateful and the grateful makes you happy and it's just one big circle of creativity and contentment and, well, awesome?
Everyone clicked through and read the lulu manifesto the other day, right? And you saw this part?
Nature wants us to be mediocre because we have a greater chance to survive and reproduce. Mediocre is as close to the bottom as it is to the top. Be creative. Do one thing a day that scares you.Let yourself be inspired. Inspire others. Choose the awesome.
Me, Aaron and Lisa after Saturday's race
More pics here, thanks to Melissa!
Yesterday morning Lisa and I, along with our co-worker Aaron (who, incidentally totally cracks me up and who is LEAVING in 2 weeks to go get married and then roam around South America and then move to Oregon after which I will never see him again and this fact is causing me a tremendous amount of stress lately), along with our cheerleaders Melissa & Jo, subwayed it up to Central Park for the Naples Park-to-Park 10k. You might have noticed that UFF has been rather devoid of training updates recently, and that's pretty much because training hasn't been going awesomely. I haven't run 10M yet this season, and I've been whining about the heat and making excuses for not sucking it up and getting out there more. After yesterday, that's all going to change.
The race consisted of one counter-clockwise loop of Central Park, starting and ending at 102nd St. Aaron & Lisa & I started out running together. Aaron and I were running beside each other and as we approached Harlem Hill, a guy in a blue shirt asked us how we know each other. The conversation was headed toward being a race-day pickup (no, I'm not flattering myself, Lisa can confirm) with such genius lines as, "You look like a runner." Really? Wow! You mean wearing these running clothes, and running, and surrounded by 10,000 other runners? How flattering!
Aaron pulled ahead at that point and Lisa & I managed to lose Blue Shirt Guy to continue on our merry way. It was a very warm morning, and while I ran the first mile in decent time (considering it included Harlem Hill), I slowed down a bit after that, and when I checked my time at the Mile 4 marker I was not on track to meet my <1 hour (or at least, <10 minute mile) goal.
Something really good happened to me at that point, which is that I relaxed into it. This concept is kind of tough to describe. Last summer when I first did runs longer than 9 or 10M - that is, when I'd be running for longer than 1 1/2 hours, I learned that I needed to settle into the run, and just be present in that moment. In a shorter run, it's OK to get distracted thinking about the next rest station or hill or what's for breakfast afterwards, but in a longer run, more focus needs to be on what's happening right now - taking stock of how I feel in my body and my breath, how strong I feel mentally, etc. When I'm able to find that spot, my body relaxes and I'm much more comfortable running. I found it yesterday, and I'm sure that's what gave me the ability to push myself in the last third of the race, and finish strong in 1:02:39.
Last night when a friend asked me how I was doing vis-à-vis the stuff that's going on in my life, I happily realized that I might finally have found some of that relaxing into my life, the way I find it in running. Here's where I am, right now, and being aware of what's going on in this moment will allow me to make appropriate adjustments to my pace and posture so that I can keep going strong.
At my first job, there were a few women in the office who discussed their hairstyles excessively. It really pissed me off, because I took my job Very Seriously, and didn't want my cred to be undermined by members of my gender discussing their follicular stylings.
Later, when I moved to California, I worked with a woman (for whom I had the utmost professional respect) who had a seriously great haircut. I was new to the area and needed a hairdresser, and fretted for a while about whether, and how, to ask her about her stylist. Finally I said, "Hey, Jen, I have something kind of girly to ask you." She replied, "That's OK, we're girls!"
Good point, Jen.
I've had an ongoing struggle with my own feminity (read: girliness), which has only recently - i.e., in the past two years - come more naturally. I used to fight it tooth and nail - any gender-specific definition or role or stereotype. My friends would crack up at this, and ask me such questions as, "Between you and DLang, who does the cooking?" to which I'd answer, "Well, I do, but that's because I LIKE cooking, not because I'm a girl." Which is true, but it does also happen to fit a certain gender stereotype.
This morning, Lisa told me about a friend who's visiting for the weekend who had already seen fit to make judgy comments about things she deemed girly, in particular, Lisa's application of mascara and quantity of shoes.
L: gillian i have 10 pairs of shoes and all are pivotal
L: 2 running, 1 cleat, 1 your bike shoes
G: I have no judgments if you have 100 pairs of shoes
G: and wear so much makeup that people think you're a whore.
L: birks, those new wanna be birk clogs, brown flip flops, black flip flops
L: thats why I love you most!
L: i was like - well I love flip flips- but I need them in brown and black to match
G: Plus, $2!
L: and she's like "wow, you're such a girl"- in an offensive way! meant to offend!
G: You should have said, yeah, you should see my vagina!
G: It's TOTALLY girly!
L: hahahahahahaha YCMU
In all honesty, mascara is one of my favourite things (and as DLang can confirm, I even listed it as one of the top three things that I can't live without on my online dating profile) and while being a boy certainly wouldn't prevent me from breaking out the Great Lash, it's a plus that it's something that was socially acceptable for my mom to show me how to apply. And having lots of shoes is actually really fun, especially the impractical ones (like these excellent Converse I bought a couple of months ago). 
It's already July (how did that happen?), and in less than 4 months, I'll run the NYC Marathon. A few weeks before that, I'll be in SF to run the half at the Nike Women's Marathon (the very race at which I popped my 26.2 cherry last year).
And now, as I mentioned back in April, it's time for me to raise some fundage for the Leukemia and Lymphoma Society. Loyal UFF readers, I implore you: Surely if I can run a combined total of 39.3 miles in two races for this excellent organization, you can throw a little money at the cause? Just think, the more generously you give, the less guilty you will have to feel when you think of me running around Brooklyn on Saturday mornings.
Give here. Or here. Give early and often. Maybe, just maybe, I'll post sweaty post-workout pictures.
Only if you ask nicely, though.
I read about Bookswim this morning on DailyCandy and I was all gung ho to try it out until I noted the monthly fees. I'm lucky if I can get through a book or two every month, and I usually spend around $10/book (used) on Amazon.com, including shipping. Bookswim is charging $23.99 per month to have 3 books at a time at home, so say I read 6 books every 3 months, that's around $12 more than I'd spend to actually buy the books (used). Details here. I'll be curious to see how well they do.
Once every few months, when I find myself even more in love with the world than usual, I have a little exercise that I do when I ride the subway. I choose a person at random and imagine that I'm someone who just adores that person, and I list all the reasons that I love him or her. I think of it as a love letter to that person. Sometimes the reasons are things that I can observe, like particularly delicate wrists, or a quickness with the crossword puzzle, or a gentleness with an old person or a child. Sometimes I make things up completely, like how sweet she looks first thing in the morning, or how kind he is to my kids. It's easy once I get started, and I find myself noticing (and creating) wonderful things about complete strangers - not a bad way to start (or end) one's day!
I recently started to think about what I'd want someone to think or say if I were the subject of this exercise. That struck me as kind of a neat thing to wonder about, and I'm kind of surprised that I haven't wondered about it before - that is, for what reasons do I want to be loved? And, how do I want to be loved?
Every so often a friend will do something or even tell me something about him- or herself and I'll think, wow, I love you for that. I love you because you can't stand having your hands get wet when you run. I love you because you smell your shampoo every morning, even though it's the same shampoo you've been using for months and months. I love you because you use the same expressions my parents used when I was growing up. I love you because you act out stories as you tell them. I love you because you use regular expressions in IM.
I haven't come up with definitive answers for the questions of why and how I want to be loved, but I think that the more I can love the people around me, the clearer those will become. For now, I'll just keep practicing.
P.S. I would lose a LOT of Patriot Points (TM Lisa) if I didn't wish you a Happy Canada Day!
Trivia: What are a Canadian's two favourite colours?
Post your answer in the comments. First correct response wins a box of Kraft Dinner!
DLang and I just returned from a roadtrip to Montréal, where we attended his friend Isaac's wedding. I'm not sure how it is that spending 18+ hours in a car inspires the heck out of me, but for all the cramped-legs traffic-jammed gas-guzzling environmental unfriendliness, I'll take it. I have so much to share and create that I might burst! Sadly however, I also have a sore throat (maybe from all that singing along to songs on the radio?) which mandates bedtime at a reasonable hour. Just wanted to give you guys something to look forward to, 'cause I know it's been slow around here.
Check back early and often for updates this week. I promise them to you. Absolutely.
I did a lot of fun stuff this past weekend:
1. I went on a concert cruise with Brianna & Lisa. We saw a Canadian band call The Weakerthans who have a song called "I Hate Winnipeg," which is hilare. Good times were had by all.
2. I went to Coney Island's annual Mermaid Parade (crazily enough, if you Google "mermaid parade" the second image result is my beautiful friend Monica, when she attended the parade in 2004). I saw some nice boobies!
3. We had a rooftop BBQ Chez DLang to celebrate my birthday. Living as long as Christ is apparently the last major birthday milestone until I start getting seniors' discounts at Kmart. The weather was perfect and the delicious chocolate cake (from the Bakery Formerly Known As Two Little Red Hens) had a big orange G on it!
4. I went to Kari's birthday brunch at Miriam and enjoyed my first Shakshuka (Marc, I'm expecting a comment for that link).
5. I baked a wedding cake redux/anniversary cake, and delivered it to my old 'hood, where I then enjoyed a delicious dosa.
6. I decided that Keith Mars is catching up with Sandy Cohen as my fantasy dad.
After all that, this is still all I can muster as a blog post. Thank god for RSS, or you guys would be outta here.
Suckers.
When I was a boy of 14, my father was so ignorant I could hardly stand to have the old man around. But when I got to be 21, I was astonished at how much the old man had learned in seven years.
-Mark Twain
Turns out Mike's request for an ode to strip bacon was a contest of sorts. Mike has chosen a winner, and it wasn't me. The newly-crowned bacon poet laureate is Mike's friend Jeh, who isn't yet my friend but should be because the man can write, and he truly loves the pig.
Behold this stanza of genius:
O strip of bacon,You can read the whole brilliant composition here.
you the king of the snacka.
A condiment and a meal,
a sidekick and a hero, like the mighty Chewbacca.
Not ONLY does today mark the start of my 34th year on this remarkable planet, it's also the first day of Summer (officially at 18:06 GMT) AND Recess At Work Day! (via the Freakonomics blog/DC Dave)
Conveniently, I'd been celebrating Recess At Work Day all morning, before I even knew it was today.
In case you're behind in your blogroll, please take note of Miss Brianna's recent intarweb fame. A couple of sites linked to her rant about United Airlines (with whom, incidentally, I flew last Friday night without incident). Linking to her blog is all the rage. Everyone's doing it!
Well, friends, Bri isn't the only celebrity around here! In a shining example of the power of the internets, after my recent brush with death a dude who writes a firefighting blog Flickr-mailed me to find out if he could use one of my awesome pictures on his site. And recently, Mike had nothing better to do and threw me a link.
The hits just keep on coming.
I love you guys, really I do. I've spent my whole life with you, and I think your brains are hot. Here's the thing, though. When I don't work with you, I can't see how clean your code is, or how fast you fix bugs, or watch you brainstorm algorithms on a whiteboard, so you have to give me something else to go on in a social setting. Wear a cool t-shirt that I can comment on (maybe one that you didn't get on Think Geek), smile when I walk by, if I say "hi" say something back, anything. [Side note to WWDC organizers: How about you help us out here and put conference attendees' company locations on our badges? I can show genuine interest in almost anywhere in the world, but the whole "So, where are you from?" lead-in sounds so contrived and also a lot like "Come here often?" which, no.]
Guys, I'm not trying to pick you up, and odds are I don't want to sleep with you. I'm a friendly girl and I like you, really I do. Even you, guy who when I offered to move so that all of your friends could sit at the same table, said "OK, yeah, get out of here," (but I might like you a little less). I like you guys who got really excited when you found a redraw bug in Leopard (and insisted on reproducing it several times and showing me). In fact, when I later attended a session in which The Curt did a demo, I felt a little like Wanda in "A Fish Called Wanda" when Otto speaks Italian to her. Can you feel the love?
I made a big effort last night at the bash to talk to you. I smiled at you! I even tried to play a fun party game (Would you rather only eat eggs--prepared any way you like, but with only salt & pepper as seasonings--with no adverse health effects, and live for the next 50 years, or only live for 15 more years and eat whatever you want?) and got very little in return. I will laugh at your jokes. Try me. I'm interested in your work, especially if *you're* interested in it - a little enthusiasm goes a long way. You can keep the sarcasm, thanks - I just want to have a friendly conversation. Just give me an in.
Love,
Gillian
Some of the blogs I read have had particularly excellent posts this week. Here are some of the reads that had me giggling:
I've been digging the HSBC "Your Point of View" ad campaign for a while, especially the print ads which are in airports everywhere. An exceptionally thought-provoking exercise in a recent therapy session inspired me to create my own series of these ads, for me, based on my own often conflicting points-of-view about the same idea.
Here's the first in the series; let me know what you think!
The last two weekends I've shown complete disregard for my Saturday morning training schedule by staying out all hours on Friday night. Last night, however, I vowed to get serious about training and go to bed at a reasonable hour. My social activities were limited to dinner with Jillian with a J and going to a play that ended at the very reasonable hour of 10 p.m. I was home by 10:30, and tucked in by about 11:15, not to mention mentally prepared to run the prescribed 8.4 miles on Saturday morning.
I fed Memphis right before bed, and vaguely recall her starting to pester me again when I heard sirens and saw red emergency vehicle lights outside my window. The BP* is located on the side of the building, so I don't have a view onto the street - I could just see the glow of the lights, and hear some action outside. I kind of ignored it for a while, then thought it sounded pretty close to home, so I threw on shorts and a t-shirt, and made the executive decision to phone DLang (2:30 a.m. logic: If my run is going to be wrecked tomorrow, his can be too!). I started to tell him that I thought something was going on, and gave him the play-by-play of my observations (flashlights in the backyard, someone thumping around on the roof). When I heard someone outside my apartment, I told him I'd call him back.
Seconds later there was a knock on the door, and I opened it to find a member of FDNY's finest! Now, I've had my fair share of fantasies involving a firefighter on my doorstep, however, none of them ACTUALLY involved fire. The hallway was quite smoky and I wondered, if I passed out, would he have to carry me downstairs? Because that would be awesome. Unfortunately my flirting capabilities were constrained by the thought that my apartment building might really be on fire, so instead of asking him if he'd like to come in for a glass of wine, I only managed to ask if I needed to leave the apartment. He said the CO levels were high and that that would be a good idea.
Moment of self-discovery: When my apartment is on fire my hands are really shaky, which means you shouldn't ask me to hold your martini.
I called DLang back to tell him we were coming over, then herded Memphis into her carry case, grabbed her litter box, my computer (I'm going to WWDC in SF next week, and my Mac is my only cred, yo), clothes for running, and headed out. On the way downstairs I passed about a dozen other firemen (note to self: try for more specific visualization in fantasies - i.e., firemen but NO FIRE), one of whom asked me if I have a CO detector in the apartment. Truth is, I don't know. There's definitely a smoke detector, but I don't know if it's dual-purpose, so I said no. He said, "Oh, you get a spanking for that." Well, hello Mr. Fireman! Now you're talking!
Once outside, I stopped to take a couple of pictures - unfortunately the best one just looks like there are a bunch of ghosts outside the apartment. (Next time I'm going to take some selfies with the men in uniform - I'm sure they'd be flattered, right?)
The moral of this story? I should continue party it up on Friday nights, because if I go to bed early there will just be a fire and I'll end up sleep-deprived and sucking at my run, anyway.
*Bachelorette Pad
This morning I received email from my friend Mike, who is currently on a big sailing trip somewhere between here and Tahiti.
Gill -I replied:
Quick. "An Ode to Strip Bacon".
Help an addict out during his last week at sea.
Hope you are well,
xo
Mike
Streaks of red and white
Salty, crispy, slightly sweet:
Pigs are delicious.
According to the vet, Memphis' tests were "beautiful" - in other words, there is nothing wrong with her. Except that she lost 28% of her body weight in a few months.
Next steps: Check for GI problems, including - get ready! - parasites.
Grody.
I was at a party on Friday night at which I stayed until the wee hours of the morning. I must confess: While I am a relatively social person, and often enjoy hosting parties, there are party situations in which I feel somewhat uncomfortable (and uncool). I kind of expected that to happen on Friday, and was pleasantly surprised when it didn't -- in fact, when LL (with whom I'd come to the party) leaned over at one point and said, "Hey G, it's quarter to 4, just so you know," I actually wanted to stay longer.
As the crowd waned, we ended up as 5 or 6 people in different stages of inebriation sitting out on the roof pondering the mysteries of life. A few interesting topics surfaced, one of which was fear of heights. A few people were, in fact, afraid of heights, and the general speculation was that it's because when they get to an edge, they think about how easy it would be to (voluntarily) step off. That led to a bigger conversation about altering your own reality, and the various ways in which you could drastically change the life that you've created over 20- or 30-some years, within, in some cases, a matter of seconds. And not even necessarily by doing something superextreme, but, for example, by saying something completely ridiculous in a meeting (for reasons beyond my comprehension, the example "I have a purple penis!" was used) - the idea that an impulse might pop into your head and that you don't do anything about it, but think, "oh my god I totally could do/say that and what if I did?" and probably even more, "what's actually keeping me from doing/saying it, and is that thing trustworthy?"
Like I do with practically everything these days, I spent some time thinking about how this relates to my current sitch with DLang, and how we got we got to the reality that is so different from the one we had last year at this time. I didn't come up with anything profound, except that maybe it wasn't one big outbursty impulse that led us where we are now, but maybe more about things that weren't said - which might have made the consequences less identifiable.
In this week's Get Naked, Jamie Bufalino advises, "The idea is to live authentically--that means having the balls to not gloss over your flaws. After all, you want someone to love you, and not just the facade you’ve cleverly cultivated over the years." Reread that, OK? Because it's awesome. That reminded me of a recent conversation about secrets and anxiety, and I think a lot of what happened in the past year has to do with me *not* talking about important things - behaviour which, it turns out, can be as reality-altering as the impulsive blurt.
Last year when I took Memphis for her yearly check-up she weighed 17.6 lbs. That is pretty close to her peak, and per the vet, unhealthily high. In an attempt to facilitate feline weight loss (no small feat - just ask Sars and "Little" Joe), we cut her portion sizes down from 1 5.5oz can of food/day to 2/3 of a can. It didn't seen to bother her too much, and a couple of months ago I thought, wow, this is finally working! She is one svelte kitty.
More recently, though, I thought she seemed a little too skinny, and last weekend I finally hopped on the scale with her. She weighed in at 12.6 lbs. YIKES. I already had an appointment scheduled for today for her regular visit (as well as to check out that thing on her nose), and on Tuesday I called to move it up a few days.
The vet took blood and urine samples (it is really hard to get a cat to pee in the little cup, let me tell you!) and we'll get the results on Monday. In all likelihood, Miss Memphis has hyperthyroidism. The good news: It's common, and treatable. Our options will probably be either a drug regime (2 pills/day for the rest of her life), or radioactive iodine treatment. The former would cost ~$350/year, and since she's going to live FOREVER, that just isn't feasible, so I'm leaning toward the latter (which would entail her spending 7-10 days in the hospital and will cost ~$3k, but will be a permanent cure).
The good news in all of this is, it could explain a lot of her food anxiety, and might quell her 4 a.m. "I'm hungry and this is an emergency WAKE UP NOW MOM" urges. It's pretty sad that my BFF with her NEWBORN BABY is getting more sleep than I am with my cat.
P.S. She didn't really have to pee in a cup. CATURDAY TRIVIA: To take a urine sample from a cat, the vet inserts a needle directly into her bladder. And now you know.
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