The Giving Spirit

Tis the season for giving. I have gotten a slow start on my holiday shopping. This is very good for me, as I usually sneak out during the family Christmas Eve party to grab a few last minute gifts.

I have two big problems with gift giving. The first being as I have trouble figuring out what I feel are good, thoughtful gifts for people. They do exist, but I feel they are few and far between. Most gifts are simply commercialized reasons to spend money. The second problem I have is that I, personally, am very easy to shop for. I like so much. So, while out shopping for others, it is inevitable that my selfish a$$ is going to find lots of stuff for myself. Therefore, I have set a rule for myself that I am allowed to by myself something for every two things I buy for others. I have found this strategy very effective because I am motivated to get through my list. 

I am way ahead on my shopping this year. I have bought two gifts for others, who shall remain unnamed. What did I buy for myself you ask? Something very coveted here in the Cleveland area:

That's right! Thursday, I will be up in the nosebleed section when Lebron James makes his highly anticipated return to Cleveland. Nosebleed or not, I will be there and that is more than enough for me!

Campus Running

Since I'm a big winner, I have two OCD-like qualities that stick out, even to myself. One being that I like to make lists. The second being that I like to set goals and easily become obsessed with achieving them.

Both of these issues fit nicely into what I have decided to pursue as an ongoing goal. I would like to run on as many college campuses as possible. With this goal, I naturally began compiling a list o the places I've already ran. Currently I have over 30 campuses ran. I came up with this goal today, as I took a short walk around the John Carroll University campus. Note: this is a campus I have run on.



 I have decided to count all variants of running. This encompasses races, basketball, or a regular jog. it is pretty open-ended.

As for achieving my goal, I think it is ridiculous to aim for running on every campus in America. Impossible. So, I am going to set number goals for each year. The joy of this goal is that it can be ongoing. I can continue to achieve until the day that I die. For example, by the end of 2011 I would like to have 100 campuses down. I mean, it took me 27 years to get to just over 30. I want to start small. Each year I can set a goal for myself.


Lucky for me, my husband is in college athletics. This means I have exposure to more college campuses than the average person.

Sit-Up Surprise

Being the freak that I am, I decided I needed to get a good ab workout in this evening. I started around 10:30 pm. Not my normal time for this, but better late than never I guess.

I do a number of different "moves," so to say. Some are done stand up while using weights, while others have me laying on the ground using weights. Before I go any further, I'd like to tell you about our little friend, Roxy, that is staying with us for a bit.

She is a mini wiener dog. In comparison to Shea, she eats minuscule amounts of food. However, due to the change in his living situation, or so I have diagnosed, Roxy didn't feel like eating today. Her bowl sit out all day unscathed. This evening, as a last resort, I gave Roxy a few different food helpings that I thought she would like. I fed her some corn, some noodles out of my soup, and some mini dog treats. Relieved that she had finally eaten something, I didn't quite think about the result that comes anytime any living, breathing thing ingests food. It's got to come out at some point.

I was reminded of this awful fact of life when I layed down to begin the floor part of my ab workout. As I was doing the sit-ups, I noticed a small black spot on the rug. It looked like plastic and I wondered what it could be. When I finished my set, I picked it up out of curiosity. As soon as I felt it in my fingers, I knew it wasn't plastic. It was a nice, black, little terd. Perfectly the size to come out of something about,  say, Roxy's size. With my little discovery, I took a break from my workout to clean up and sanitize the rug. Always a pleasurable activity.

Meanwhile, my angel boy, Shea, was resting peacefully in the glow of our newly acquired Christmas tree.

Roxy

Shea's world has been turned upside down.

We have a house guest, Roxy, for the next week or two. They are not getting along to say the least.

A Happy Thanksgiving

I have so much to be thankful for. Mostly though, this Thanksgiving, I am thankful to be here with Jeff. Don't get me wrong, I miss seeing both of our families on the holiday, but our little family is together today. Although that may seem the norm for couples, for Jeff and I, it is not.

In the past nine years, since I learned of the existence of the wonderful Jeffrey G, we have spent one Thanksgiving together. While at first, we were in the awkward, we are dating but not yet spending holidays with each others families, we have even spent our married Thanksgivings apart for one reason or another. Out of town basketball tournaments, or living half-way across the country from each other to name a few. So this year, I am thankful for nothing more than being in Jeff's presence.

We are also lucky enough to have such kind and welcoming friends here in our family-absent city of Cleveland. We were invited to a delicious Thanksgiving feast with good friends. I'd say that isn't too bad.

The only negative, Jeff and his vegetarianism didn't have any turkey. That means lots of stuffing and broccoli. With the powers of broccoli, I have a feeling I will be dutch-ovened tonight.

Happy Thanksgiving!

Stuffed

Jeff and I enjoyed a movie this evening. We went and saw that new movie Love and other drugs. Or something like that.

Throughout the movie I noshed on a big bag of popcorn while admiring Jake Gyllenhaal's body. With extra butter of course. By the time the movie was over, it was very good by the way, I came to two brash realizations. 1- I would love Jeff slightly more if he had a body like Jake G, and 2 - I was so stuffed with popcorn, I could barely move. .It provided a slightly uncomfortable feeling.

With the anger-filled overeating pangs my stomach was throwing at me, I can't believe that I walked into the house and immediately thought about trying to sneak a piece of the precious pumpkin cheesecake Jeff made for tomorrow's Thanksgiving dinner. But, I did. Due to the enormous amount of common sense I have, I decided it was not a good idea. Not for the sake of my stomach, but because I think it would be very difficult to hide a missing piece of this seasonal  masterpiece.

Cold Hand Remedy

Temperatures dropped drastically today. Yesterday, temps topped 70 degrees and today started out in that same manner. It was mid-sixties throughout the day, but I noticed the wind had picked up quite a bit on my drive home.

Taking the winds into account, I calculated in my head that I probably would need a long sleeved shirt topped by my fleece to take Shea for a nice run. This worked just fine at first. The strong gusts of wind sent chills through my body, but as we ran, my body heated itself. But, as the temp dropped lower and lower into the thirties, my body had a hard time reheating itself. I took every measure possible to stay warm. 

While Shea sniffed and peed on things, I jogged in place. When this didn't work, I would jump up and down. I shrunk my neck into collar of my jacket as far as I could. And, I held my poor little hands tightly inside my sleeves while still grasping Shea's leash. They were so cold I was near positive they were bleeding. This would be the second day in a row they were bleeding. For different reasons mind you, temps of 70 degrees don't make your hands bleed, but any time your hands bleed it is never a good thing! 

Then, it happened. My savior. Exactly what I needed came in the form of Shea's poop. If you have ever picked up a pile of poop before, you surely know that it is steaming hot. I never thought I'd be so happy to pick up Shea's poop. After my boy got busy, I let the steam inside the bag warm my hands as we happily ran home. If only it smelled better. Then I'd be selling it by the bagful as hand warmers. 

Muffin Lovin

A few nights ago I decided to try to be a good wife. I baked some muffins for Jeff. A nice batch of cranberry-orange muffins. Mmmmmm, mmmmmmm.

The muffins came out pretty good and Jeff enjoyed one as soon as he got home. As would be expected, Shea watched intently hoping Jeff would drop a little crumb for him to gobble up. Who can blame him? I am a darn good baker.

Anyways, it became very apparent just how badly Shea wanted a taste of these muffins this afternoon when I got home from work. I was greeted at the door by my tail-wagging pup. As he eagerly followed me into the living room, I was hit smack in the face with the reality of Shea's muffin loving. The tupperware container....

....laying on the living room floor. It hadn't actually been broken into, but certainly tampered with. The Big Guy got it off of the counter in the kitchen and wrestled it into the living room to no avail.

This evening, with forgiveness in the air, Jeff and Shea were able to put their muffin differences aside and cuddle up on the couch; one of my favorite sights!

No Credit

My hair has gotten pretty long. Long enough that I wondered if I could donate to Locks of Love, but not quite long enough to actually do it. Anyways, after spending an hour finding a place that was open and accepted my "hair-type," I finally found a nice little salon a good ways away from our house.

The stylist was really sweet. She did a great job and we held a conversation the entire 1 and a half hours she cut and styled my hair. She was a perfectionist. Took her time to say the least. But, the whole experience was pleasant and I really like the way my hair turned out.

As I went to pay, I opened my wallet and was awaited to hear what the damage would be. With a whopping three dollars cash, I knew I would be paying with my credit card. They hadn't yet told me the cost, but in anticipation I was pulling my card out since I didn't have any other option. As I did, the stylist stopped me and said, "We don't take credit cards."

Uh oh. I'm pretty sure my face turned bright red. What the heck was I supposed to do? It wasn't like I could take back the last hour and a half or glue my hair back on. With horror in my voice, I immediately offered to drive home, get my check book, and come right back. The stylist apparently grew a great trust in me over in the hour and a half we spent together and told me not to worry about it. She simply gave me a card with the address of the salon and wrote the cost on it, asking me to send the check out in the mail tomorrow.

Thank goodness I am a trustworthy seeming person or they would make me wash the combs or something. Now, I just need to make sure I don't forget to make out the check tomorrow. I am certainly a trustworthy person, but forgetful, so forgetful.

Blind Mowing

A guy I work with has friend who is blind. I know, sounds like the beginning of a bad joke, but hear me out. I really do work with a guy, Ron, who has a friend that is blind. I, in fact, know this man as well. We shall call him Greg.

When Ron learned that I knew Greg he got very excited. He wanted to share all he knew about Greg with me. I enjoyed hearing what a nice guy he is, how wonderful his son is, and how they drink coffee together on Sundays. What I did learn, was that Greg was not blind his whole life. It was progressive, but he now cannot see anything. This, I assume, would be a very difficult thing to handle and adapt to.

One thing Greg hates is that he used to be able to drive, and now he is stuck to be driven places by his wife, other family members, or friends. Being a great friend, Ron often takes him places. Ron even let me in on a little secret. Sometimes, when nobody is home, Ron lets Greg get on his riding mower and drive around his acre-plus yard. Really, can there be a better friend than Ron?

The only problem, Ron says, is that he is not very good at it. I'm not sure what he was expecting!

Indulge

Last night I got home from work late. Late and with a hankering for ice cream. As I pawed around in the kitchen for something, anything, with a hint of sweetness to it, Jeff asked what I was eating. The soup I had found didn't interest him, nor anything else we had to snack on, so I threw it out there.

"If you want ice cream, or something, I would go get it for you."

The look on his face told me he knew what I was up to. Being the loving husband that he is, he went along with my idea. The only problem was that at 10 p.m. on a weeknight, most ice cream shops are closed. All but the Baskin Robbins - Dunkin Donuts combo store down the street. I knew I liked this house for a reason other than the basketball hoop in the back!

Jeff knew exactly what he wanted. He had had it once before. The Reese's Peanut Butter Cup sundae. Sounds good, right? Now, I've had Reese's Peanut Butter Cup sundaes before, just not from Baskin Robbins. But, for some reason, I felt as if I knew something about their sundae. A few Google searches on my computer, and I was reminded what I've heard about this particular sundae. It is, in fact, the single worst thing you can eat in America. Even worse than the KFC Double Down sandwich where they use slabs of fried chicken in place of the bun.

Just to throw some numbers at you, this sundae has over 1,220 calories per serving. It's loaded with 80 grams of fat per serving. That's 125% of your daily allowance for fat intake. Jeff and I both found the statistics disgusting, but he argued that the taste outweighs it. To avoid ingesting the entire worst food in America, Jeff only ate about 75% of the sundae before handing it over to me. I vowed that I would try just one bite to see what the hoopla is all about and that would be it. I took that one bite right in front of Jeff and then exited to the kitchen to put it into the freezer for safe keeping. As I did, I took one more giant spoonful of the delicious death wish.

Jeff finished scooping the rest of this little treat into his mouth tonight. Currently, he is licking the cup clean. I guess if you are going to indulge, you might as well go all out! 

Street Sleeping

An arrest was made early this morning in Cleveland. A man arrested for sleeping in his car, parked on the side of the road, incredibly intoxicated. This apparently warrants arrest and DWI charges.

This makes me laugh as I think back to my high school days. A good friend of mine used to get himself a little too drunk. Since he always made irrational decisions, sober or drunk, I decided to take control at least of his drunken decisions. This was easy because he was not so secretly in love with me. I didn't have those return feelings, but I was going to take advantage of what I knew, only to keep him safe of course.

So, on especially bad nights for him, I would convince him it was best that I drive. Being as our homes were about 40 minutes apart from each other, I would drive to my house and take his keys inside with me. Being as I was brought up right, or so I believe, he was not allowed to come and sleep in the house, so I would park the car across the street and make him sleep in it. He loved me remember? He listened. In the morning I would sneak out and give him his keys.

I probably saved his life. I'm a hero. Throw me a party, please.

Porcelain God

As I was nice and snuggled in my bed last night, Jeff frantically threw the covers off of him. Before I had time to comprehend what was going on, he got up and sprinted out of the room. Out of the room, and straight to the bathroom. I didn't see it, but it sounded like projectile vomit.

I gave him a few minutes to get everything out (that's what I would want), before making sure he was ok. I wasn't quiet sure that he was when I got into the hallway and saw his feet hanging out of the bathroom door. He looked dead as he lay on the cool tile of the bathroom floor. When I asked, he said he was actually ok. So, I got him a glass of water and we headed back to bed.

When I woke up this morning, I realized this was the first time I had seen Jeff throw up. Well, that's not entirely true. Let me rephrase that. This is the first time I have seen Jeff throw up by something not alcohol induced. That too, I've only seen once. And what an unfortunate incident that was.

I was a junior in college and had a big-time water polo tournament the following day. Any time you have to play 3 to 4 grueling water polo games in one day, it's considered big-time. Well into my sleep, I woke as my then boyfriend, my now husband, came crashing through the door and banged into every wall on his way to my bedroom. Once he made it to the bedroom, he got in bed and nearly passed out as he hit the pillow.

Very similar to last night, he awoke abruptly in the middle of the night and crawled down to the foot of the bed. He bent over my desk chair, which had my clothes folded up on it, and began to puke all over them. Later, he admitted that he thought it was "the toilet." When he was done getting it all out, he proceeded to fall of the bed and land flat on his face, unresponsive. I was nearly positive he was dead, but when I noticed his body rising and falling, I quickly knew I was mistaken.

I had to strip the bed and basically sleep on a blanket that night. But, on the plus side, I did have the bed to myself, as Jeff was basically comatose on the floor. By the time I woke up in the morning, Jeff asked me why I had taken all the sheets off of the bed. When I explained that he puked all over them he wouldn't believe me. He called me everything under the sun, but mostly a liar. He only realized I was right when he got that awful after taste.

Last night, I had flashbacks to that lovely evening. An evening that helped me realize how much I must love him. I can only look back and smile now.

I Conquered The Q

As you know, today was my run. Really, my climb. The Conquer the Q race. A race up the stairs and through the concourses of the Quickens Loans Arena.

The first thing I noticed was that this race was very organized. Much more so than the only other of it's kind I had run at Yankee Stadium. This was evident as I walked into the arena and was greeted. From here, the greeters sent you to the next set of security guards, to the next, all within eye distance, before heading down to the court-level of the arena. Down on court level, at the VIP club, we were welcomed by a large spread of breakfast and snack items and blood pumping music.

As the race neared, I was excited. I felt pretty good walking around and was ready to climb some stairs. I mean, I have been practicing on my steps at home. Shea always gets excited and follows me up my first trip. After that though, he realizes what I am doing, plops down on the couch and rolls his eyes each time I return to the first floor. I wished he was there to watch, but I'd have to do it without him. 

I flew up the stairs and through the concourse, and up more stairs, through more concourse, and so on. I had a good feeling after I finished. My time was pretty good and the attendants throughout the course kept saying, "wow, you have a great stride going." I was the tenth person to start though, so they didn't have much to go by. This at least allowed me time to watch everyone else finish the race. 

After everyone completed the course they handed out awards. The top fundraiser raised $9,000. That made me feel pretty shotty for I had only raised the minimum $100. Thank to all those who donated to my collection of $100. All those being my mother and my Uncle Jon. When they got to top the overall winners, to my slight surprise, I was it for the female side. I collected my large winner's plaque and the "I conquered the Q" t-shirt.

Before leaving I was told of an upcoming race to be held in early February called Tackle the Tower. The race climbs up 40 some flights of stairs to the top of a tower that overlooks Lake Erie. They made me feel as though I must defend my stair climbing title. Looks like I've got a lot of steps to be practicing at home, and Shea's got a lot of eye rolling to do! 

An Unfit Wife

I try to be a good wife. Really, I try my darndest.

I try to have a warm meal cooked every night when Jeff gets home. It's not always tasty and sometimes my timing is off, leaving it cold, but I try. I just wasn't blessed with those culinary skills. Not surprising if you know my mother whose dream dinner is a sandwich from Panera, my father who can't even figure out how to use the microwave, and my aunt who doesn't know how to fry an egg. Apparently it's genetic and I got it from both sides!
I have gotten into the routine of doing laundry at least three nights a week. I keep a special eye on Jeff's so that I don't discolor or shrink anything, even if this means going up and down the stairs 900 times per load to check on things.

I try to keep the house clean. I do the dishes, most of the time, to the best of my ability (sometimes I get lazy), and I vacuum and sweep just a little less than I should. With a white tile kitchen floor and muddy puppy paws running around, I can't get away with much. But, I try to keep it clean.

So, all of these things, plus unconditional love should make me a good wife. But, I'm not. Speaking with my husband today, I ran my hand across his head and through his hair. Jeff keeps his hair very short at this point, to counteract the missing pieces. To me, for some reason, it seemed a little longer than normal, so I expressed his need for a haircut. Jeff was certainly shocked as he explained he had just gotten it cut yesterday. I tried to cover up and say I was joking, but I lie like a sack of potatoes. Plus, it usually takes me a while to notice a haircut on Jeff.

It is so unfair of me to let his haircuts go unnoticed. Here is a man who notices when I get my eyebrows waxed or have different earrings in. A bad wife I am, for not being more observant like my husband.

Cash Climb

Normally, I look forward to sleeping in on the weekend. Well, that's not happening this weekend. Tomorrow morning, don't worry the reason, I have to be up well before my normal working hours. Then Sunday I am running a race that begins at 9 am, registration starting at 8. That's what I want to talk about, the race!

First of all, why haven't you donated to my race yet? The cause is a good one, the donations benefiting cystic fibrosis.

My Race Page

The race is pretty cool, or at least it sounds it. It is at the Quickens Loans Arena, home of the Cleveland Cavaliers. You run to the upper level, the go up and down the steps going to each section, before going to the lower level and doing the same thing. In total, we will run over 600 steps. After the race there will be awards and a meet and greet with the Cavs. I've always wanted to meet Booby Gibson, really, I have.

Anyways, what this reminds me of is the race I ran last year at Yankee Stadium. The race was very unorganized as far as the course was concerned. You went from ground level to upper deck to lower level to upper deck, to wherever else. I don't really know. I don't know now, I didn't then. Now, while running the race a lot of people stopped to take photos of things, especially when we were doing our laps around the field. Me, I'm not into that. I was there to run, not to bask in the glory of the Yankees I hate.

Throughout the race I felt as though I was moving at a good clip. However, when I finished at about 18 minutes and 30 seconds I questioned if I had completed the correct 3.1 mile course. If I did, that was a record time for me. Impressive, especially considering we had to climb a number of steps during the race.

A few weeks later I had two interesting emails in my inbox. The first was the race results. I was interested to see these. And there it was, out of the 10,000 people that ran this race, my name rest atop of the women's section, fourth overall, with the 18:30 next to it. I got a little giggly as I enjoyed seeing myself way up there, but was pretty sure, at this point, that I must have missed a lap. The second email was also in regard to the race. This was from the race officials. They wanted me to verify my time before send me my overall winner prize. In past races I had won medals, sneakers, and gifts baskets of various items. I could only imagine what this race, a much larger than normal race, would offer as a top finisher prize. Maybe cash!

Speaking with my cousin, who also ran the race, I was advised to verify the time and accept the prize, as we were both extremely curious as to what it was. As I hit reply, convinced my big cousin would only give me sound advice, I had every intention of claiming "my" prize. In fact, I planned in my head, and with my cousin, to at least get the prize, see what it was, and then return it for the sake of my conscious. Too bad for us, my conscious hit while writing my response. I explained that I most likely missed a lap as I would have finished in an estimated 21 minutes. Maybe honesty would get me the prize anyways, right? Wrong. I didn't even get a reply.

Hopefully the course on Sunday is much more organized and easier to follow. I can't stand the thought of turning down another unknown prize!

The C-Land Response

Have you seen Lebron's new Nike commercial? You probably have. I mean, even my mother commented about it. Here it is if you haven't seen it. Check it out real quick:

Lebron's "What Should I Do" Commercial

I thought it was an interesting commercial. I had mixed feelings about it, priorly being a Lebron fan, yet both feeling and seeing the disappointment around Cleveland when the "Decision" was made. With that, I enjoyed seeing Cleveland's response to Lebron's commercial:

Cleveland's Response

Now, don't go calling Cleveland fans cry babies and tell them to get over it. It's not what you think. As Jeff says, Cleveland fans invest a lot into their fandom. The Browns, Indians, or Cavs win, the mood around the city changes. People are happier. It means that much to them. When they lose, it has the opposite effect. People aren't as happy. They feel the blow of the losses. They care that much about their teams. It's a good thing, especially when they are winning.

Gone Huntin'

It's no secret that here, around Cleveland, there is an extreme overpopulation of deer. Where Jeff and I are living, there are no real wooded areas. There aren't even really suburbs per-say. So when you see a deer, which happens quite often, they are basically walking down the middle of the street or through someones front lawn.

I've seen it often. Running along with Shea, no worries, only to end up nearly nose-to-nose with Bambi. I've been told it's mating season and to watch my precious puppy. He could be prime meat for horny deer.

If you look closely there is a deer in the driveway.
I know the picture sucks, give me a break, I was running.

So today, I was not surprised when I heard of a deer being hit in front of a home I work at. The deer survived the hit (probably because nobody in Cleveland drives faster than 25 miles per hour), but he was hurt pretty badly. The police were called to check on the scene, which was simply a mangled deer laying in the front yard of this particular home.

The police came and made an executive decision upon their arrival at the scene. This deer, mangled, but still alive, needed to be put out of it's misery. They took matters into their own hands, took out their guns, and shot the deer dead, right there in the front yard. 

With that, there was quite the mess. While the cops took part in cleaning up the mess, so did some housing staff. Therefore, we are pretty sure that the employees of the week are set are stone. 

The Brownies

If you asked me this morning I could tell you that "never have I ever" had a menage a trois or gone to an NFL game. Well, the truth is, I had never been to an NFL game. My buddy Dr. Kev changed that today!

I was excited, yet anticipated that I would be cold and feel as though the game was too long. I figured I could at least take the cold factor into my own hands. The game's longness, I would have to deal with. So, in preparing for the game, I layered, layered, and layered.

Layer #1:

Layer #2:

Layer #3

From here, I was sure to pack my credit card so if I needed any more layers I could just buy them there. The problem of the game being too long was surprisingly a non-issue. We arrived to Cleveland Browns Stadium an hour early, what I thought would be a painful hour. But, once I saw our amazing seats, which happen to be Dr. Kev's season ticket spot, and realized the sun was going to make an appearance I forgot about the no 56 minutes until kick-off. I was too busy taking in the scene and searching for Tom Brady's Gisele. 

Once the game got started, I quickly learned sitting in the end zone provides a great advantage. You can see running lanes open up that are otherwise undetectable. It put the game into a whole new perspective. I also didn't seem to mind the down time between plays and during TV timeouts. The time that bores me to death watching a game on TV, I was too busy passing high fives around the crowd and doing first down dances to notice. 

Being in constant motion also helped fend off the cold. That, and the brown furry dogs who were sitting behind me were radiating heat! 

I can go on and on talking about the fun and excitement this game brought, from Colt McCoy's rookie leadership and Peyton Hillis' running escapades, to Tom Brady being sacked basically into my lap. But, I think the best way for me to express the great experience I had today would be to declare myself the newest fan of the Cleveland Browns. 

A big thanks goes out to Dr. Kev for bringing me to my first NFL game. Here we go Brownies! 

An Early Snowfall

I was quite shocked to wake up this morning, November 6th, and find everything outside covered in a blanket of white snow. Not disappointed, because while this is awfully early for the first snowfall, I know it is going to be melting with temperatures projected in the high 50's this coming week. Also, anyone whose lived in the northern region, knows the excitement the first snowfall brings.

Today, this excitement was magnified as my little friend, Shea, remembered his past snow adventures. The sight of snow brought upon endless amounts of energy to his already endless amount of energy. It was such a glorious and heart warming sight that I forgot it was chilly out. I also felt the need to video tape the joys my boy was exuding. When I got home, I admit, I went a little overboard and made a movie. Follow this link to check out my creative work, starring Shea:

Snow, How We've Missed You!

I hope you enjoy! And, FYI, it is still snowing.

Kickboxing

I started a new fitness class today: cardio kickboxing. I've never actually taken a fitness class before. I am more of a run around and get physical kind of person than having a fitness routine to follow. But, I figured, hey, I'm here in Cleveland living a new life, I might as well throw in a new method of exercise.

Last night, with a tinge of excitement, I reminded Jeff that I was starting kickboxing today. Without a hint of sarcasm Jeff explained how he was so very excited for me. He continued to let me know that he thought it was not going to be what I thought. He predicted I would be winded and feel as though this was quite the workout. I hardly believe that, since I am in tip-top shape, although I am smart enough to know I would probably be using different muscles than my body is used to.

Once class started, I almost felt silly. It seemed a lot like jazzersize. I was wanting to throw punches and kicks that would knock people out. But, I went along with the side steps, toe points, and arm swinging. Maybe I went in with the wrong attitude, knowing it wouldn't be as much fun as Thursday night basketball was last year, but that is simply because it is not basketball. Midway through the class, I caught myself looking at the clock. At that point I decided I needed to focus and enjoy what I was doing, rather than wishing to be involved in a more physical activity. Kickboxing is supposed to give me a good cardio workout. It's not for body checking and bloody noses. I wouldn't mind actually kickboxing against an opponent, but the middle school cafeteria is not the place that is going to happen, but this could be a step towards that!

My inspiring thoughts were rudely interrupted by the announcement of a water break. As the other girls huffed and puffed red-faced over to their water bottles, I seriously contemplated running sprints across the cafeteria to help break into a sweat.

While breaking, the teacher gave encouraging words to those grunting in dismay. These words of encouragement sounded weird in my ears as I have had nothing but drill sergeant type coaches ever since I out-aged CYO basketball. I am not used to the kind tones that were coming out of her mouth. I mean, one coach could stomp her foot and send vibrations of anger through the gym floor and directly up my spine. And I loved it. I thrived on it. But this, this was like a different world.

Anyways, once we got back at it, I changed my mind, and enjoyed that class. I felt that the level of exercise was not as challenging as I would have liked it to be, but it is definitely something I will continue to do twice a week while Enrique Inglesia techno music blares through the cafeteria. The entire time I wondered if this was the type of exercise the typical woman does. Let's face it, I would not be considered her.

Then, to prove my point, the instructor asked that we all try to get in some sort of exercise before our next class on Tuesday, even if it is simply a brisk walk. As my eyes rolled, she asked if I could handle that. I think she is asking way too much!

Telepathetic

Cesar Milan calls himself the dog whisperer. I beg to differ. I'm certainly not claiming to be a dog whisperer, I can barely get Shea to sit when I hold a jar of peanut butter in front of his nose, but I do think that Shea is, in fact, a dog whisperer. And while Cesar does his dog whispering for good purposes, Shea has other intentions.

I notice that whenever we run by other dogs they go nuts. They try to get at Shea. But my boy just sticks his nose up in the air and keeps right on prancing. At first I thought it was because he was so well trained. Then, I realized he isn't really that well trained. My mind immediately jumped to the fact that Shea must be taunting the other dogs as we run by. Basically making fun of them because he is out for a nice run and going to get to play, while they are cooped up in either a fenced yard or a house. Please, don't think I'm crazy. Shea supposedly has a history of this!

Back when Shea was a mere seven months old, I met up with an old friend for a doggie play date. My friend brought two dogs, a male, Bonds, and a female, Alice. These other dogs loved the tennis ball too. They were merrily playing, chasing the ball. Since Bonds and Alice play together a lot, Shea seemed a little like a third wheel, but he was happy nonetheless. As he and Bonds bounded after a thrown tennis ball, my boy, quick as can be, snatched it up before Bonds could get there. The conversation we humans were engrossed in was interrupted abruptly by what sounded eerily like a human scream.

I turned around and there was no human there. Just my Shea-boy laying on the ground and Bonds with the tennis ball Shea had now in his mouth. As I neared Shea I noticed a little spot of red blood seeping through his beautiful white fur right above his eye. He was definitely in some pain.

To make a long story short, being as we only saw a small smidgen of blood, we did not think immediate medical attention was necessary. However, after sleeping through the night, Shea's eye was swollen shut and blood was soaked down his face. We brought him to the vet for immediate care. He most certainly should have had stitches, but after ten hours stitches are ineffective. The vet did a few procedures to help heal his wound and avoid infection, and slapped us with a $600 bill.

My friend called to check on how Shea was. When she found out the extent of Shea's injuries she felt awful. In hopes of this never happening again, she spoke with her vet about the incident and relayed me the supposed information.

Apparently, Shea must have been taunting Bonds. Most likely his taunting was over Alice. Like Shea maybe had a little puppy-crush on her and Bonds didn't like it. So, since Shea was teasing Bonds, he bit him.

No lie, this was the story I was told. Obviously, the whole thing was Shea's fault. Bonds felt he needed to teach Shea a lesson. You would think he would have learned to keep his mouth shut, or at least to keep his telepathic thoughts to himself, but he obviously hasn't. Hence, other dogs always barking at him.

A Bag of Sugar

I'm not sure why, but today I was reminicing about my good old middle school days. One of the highlights were Sabre City's. Friday night dances held in the school gym for hormonal preteens to dance arm lengths away.

I was in sixth grade, a mere eleven years old. Definitely in my shy, awkward stage that I'm not sure I have fully grown out of yet at 27. But, as my friends and I were hanging out, back and forth between the game room and the dance floor in the gym, we got wind of a crazy story. A story that knocked the socks off of my naive, sheltered world. One of the eighth graders attending the dance had taken cocaine in the bathroom. I wasn't even sure what cocaine was, but I knew it was bad.

Rumors started flying around the Sabre City. This girl, we will call her Farrah, needed to be taken to the hospital for she had O.D.ed. I couldn't believe how serious this was. The ambulance actually came, brought the stretcher right past the gym, and into the bathroom. They strapped Farrah on and took her away. As soon as she was out the door, my little group of nerds friends heard that she had overdosed so bad there was a fifty percent chance she was going to live! Fifty percent quickly turned into ten percent chance of living, and when you are eleven, you believe the buzz. I was pretty sure she was going to die. Isn't that what drugs do to you anyways?

As the night went on, the mood of this Sabre City was somewhat dampened. All anybody wanted to talk about was Farrah. Probably the last view any of us had of her was on that stretcher with the oxygen mask on. So sad. So young. Another victim of a cocaine overdose, like this sort of thing happened all the time.

As the night went on, Farrah died and came back from the dead. As it turns out, she essentially did not take cocaine at all. She bought what she thought was a bag of coke, brought it to the bathroom, and snorted it. Freaked out by the thought of what she had just done, she went into convulsions. Amazing the tricks your mind can play on you, because what she had really snorted was a bag of confectionary sugar. Apparently that really f's you up!