It's Not My Fault

Two of the coaches at our gym have this little game they play. There are large cut-outs of each of them that are near the whiteboard and they will put word bubbles up randomly with "conversations" that they think are funny.

The other day, one of the coaches was saying, "It's not my fault if you don't hate yourself enough to change."

I laughed a little to myself. 

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Recently I read the following quote from Emma Stone. When asked about beauty she responded: 

Confidence is the only key. I know a lot of people who aren't traditionally 'beautiful' - not symmetrical or perfect-bodied or perfect-skinned. But none of that matters because all that shines through is their confidence, humor and comfort with themselves. I can't think of any better representation of beauty than someone who is unafraid to be herself.

If I didn't love Emma Stone before I read that, I would certainly love her after. (But really, who could not love her after Easy A? That shit was brilliant!)

In the past two months I have had a number of conversations with people in which they tell me that I am intimidating to others (both men and women.)

Apparently it is my confidence that other people find intimidating. To which I respond, I'm not arrogant. It's not like I'm walking into a room and telling people that I'm better than they are. I walk into a room with an "I'm awesome" attitude. I'm not saying that you aren't awesome, please feel free to exhibit your awesomeness and I will celebrate it with you.

I am unwilling to change from that perspective.

Certainly if I was walking around all sad and lamenting all of the things I disliked about myself, no one would want to be my friend. So why is it bad to be the other way?

Plus, now Emma Stone thinks I'm beautiful. That freaking rocks!

Everything You Didn't Know You Needed

Last week I was meeting a friend for dinner and I was a little early so I thought I would stop by IKEA. 

Recently on Instagram, I saw someone post a picture of their jewelry displayed and they said that they had purchased the hooks and bars at IKEA. 

I was not prepared for what was to come. 

When I walked in, it seemed that my only option was to go upstairs to the "showroom." I wasn't really sure what that meant, but I figured it was where I would find what I wanted. 

It was not. And furthermore, I just kept walking in what felt like circles. Thank the TTBJ that there were arrows on the floor because I'm honestly not sure where I would have ended up. And what if there was a fire? I didn't ever see a fire exit.

Finally I asked someone who worked there about the jewelry displays, and he looked at me like I was crazy. Then he said, "Oh, I think you're talking about our belt rack. That is downstairs in our home organization department." 

Uhh - where is that? 

Just go downstairs and it is department number 7.

Wizzah-wuh? Department number 7? How many departments are down there?

The answer is a lot. A lot of departments full of all of the things that I didn't even realize I needed. But all of the sudden they were there in front of me. At such a reasonable price. I started putting random things in the giant yellow bag.

Picture frames. Bath mats. Curtain hanging kits.

Finally I made it to department number 7 - but what I was looking for was not there. I was devastated. 

I put the yellow bag full of randomness down and went to find the exit.

Not as easy as it sounds. 

I texted my friend, "I'm stuck in IKEA and I don't know how to get out. If I don't make it to dinner go on without me."

Guess Who's Back. Back Again...

Crown and water at Nick's Cove on Tomales Bay

Sorry for the lack of posts last week, I was visiting BigSurprise. I think I may have mentioned at some point that she was pregnant with twins, but I don't think that I ever told you that she had them. 

On July 30, she gave birth to two precious baby boys. I feel in love with them with the first picture she sent, so when she mentioned that she needed a little help with the nursery and getting settled, it was a no brainer for me to head up there for a week of fun.

Lots of things happened and I hope that my visit helped her get organized enough that she is feeling better about it. We cooked a lot of food to put in the freezer. I fed her most meals while I was there. And I fell even deeper in love with the sweetest baby boys in Northern California!

The two-month photo shoot was more difficult than you would imagine. Baby E on the left. Baby K on the right.

Baby E and I fell in love immediately.

Enjoying bonus snuggle time with Baby K during the flight delay

I was set to leave on Friday. My plane was scheduled to depart at 2:30 pm, so we left the babies with the nanny and headed to Oakland. We got to the airport right around 1pm, said goodbye, and I headed inside to check my bag. As I was in line, a man came over and said that due to a maintenance issue, the flight would not depart until 8:00pm. 

Yes, you read that right - a 5.5 hour flight delay.

So I texted BigSurprise and we decided that she would come back and get me and we would head home for the delay.

Little did we know, it would take us forever to get home! The traffic was ridiculous!

Finally we made it, fed the boys, and basically got back in the truck and headed back to the airport.

I had already checked my bag earlier, so all I needed to do was go through security when I got back to the airport. 

Even so, we gave ourselves upwards of two and a half ours to get back to the airport.

As we got started, the traffic started to get bad. Like really bad. Like literally a full stop for multiple minutes bad.

BigSurprise is starting to get a little freaked out and I'm trying to calm her down. She keeps  saying, "You're going to miss your flight. What are we going to do if you miss your flight?"

In one of my strongest moments yet, I remained calm and told her that we couldn't worry about that. All we could do was keep driving and hope we made it on time. 

I plugged the airport address into the GPS and it said that we would arrive at the airport at 7:27pm. As we are sitting in dead stopped traffic, one of the babies starts crying hysterically. Then BigSurprise tells me to look at her gas gauge. It says "82 miles to empty." I tell her that we are only 31 miles from the airport. She says that once it hits 5o it goes to zero right away. 

Baby is still screaming and I'm starting to get a little stressed out myself. I ask her if I climb into the backseat if I can feed the baby. She says yes.

At this point I should tell you that she has an extended cab Ford F-150. And the baby seats are in the middle and behind the passenger seat. So when I get in the back, I'm going to have to be behind the driver seat.

I have no idea how I managed to get back there without hurting myself, but I did. And I begin feeding Baby K. And texting Match. (Isn't that what everyone does when they are freaking out?) Then I put my head down and say a quick prayer that we make it to the airport on time, and safely. And that we don't run out of gas on the way.

About two minutes later, BigSurprise says, "Oh my God, Airplane! Look at the gas gauge now!" I look around her headrest and see, "132 miles to empty." I start to breathe a little easier. Then Match texts me, "Every time you and BigSurprise are together it seems to be a 'debunkle'" I relay this message to BigSurprise and she asks, "Is debacle a synonym for clusterf*ck?"

As we cross over the bridge, the traffic starts to thin out and we begin making up time. About every 5 minutes, BigSurprise gives me an update, "Now it says we will arrive at the airport at 7:25 and we have 80 miles to empty." And so on and so forth. 

As we get closer, BigSurprise comes up with a plan. When we get near the airport she is going to unbuckle her seatbelt so that when we get there I can jump out, grab my stuff, and run to security. She will then go to the gas station and fill up and wait to hear from me that I am on the plane before she heads back home.

We pull up to the airport at 7:23 - I run to security. I am literally the only person there. The guy taking boarding passes says, "What time does your flight leave?" I tell him 8:00pm - he says, "You have plenty of time. No need to run."

I get to the gate, and they aren't even boarding my flight.

With Cheer and Goodwill...

Today after lunch, I was heading back to my office and decided I would stop at Goodwill. I wasn't necessarily looking for something specific, though I am in the market for a dresser for my guest room. 

However, I'm not in a hurry to get the dresser so I was just browsing to see if I could find anything exciting. As I was walking through the housewares section, I saw this:

So, I wondered, who donates an already burnt candle to charity?

Seriously, wouldn't you just throw this away?

And furthermore, why did Goodwill put this out for sale. 

At the next Goodwill store, I saw a young boy taking things from one section and seemingly hiding them in another section and it made me think of another time that allegedly happened.

Like six or so years ago, Freckles and I were going to a Halloween party and we needed costumes. We did what a lot of people our age do when faced with this dilemma - we hit the thrift shop. (What, what, what, what.)

On that shopping trip we decided pretty quickly that we would dress up like 80s ladies. We found most of what we needed for our outfits, but I needed some shoes.

Luckily I found a bright blue pump that would be perfect with the leg warmers I was going to wear.

Yes, you read that right, I found A pump. Just one.

So Freckles and I searched the rest of the shoe section, to no avail. Then we asked a girl who worked there if they keep shoes in the back. She didn't think so, but she went back there to check.

When she came out to tell us that the matching shoe was not in the back, another girl who worked there informed us that sometimes customers will hide things that they want to buy until 50% off day comes. 

Not willing to give up this integral part of my costume, Freckles and I searched high and low in that store! We looked under every rack of clothes, in every washing machine and dryer, opened suitcases and purses. There was no shoe!

The girl at the front told me that she would hold the one shoe that I had and hopefully they would find its match when they were cleaning up the store after closing. I agreed to that.

The next day, Freckles and I went back to the store and they hadn't found the shoe.

Me: Can I buy that shoe?

Cashier: The one shoe? 

Me: Yes, please.

Cashier: Um, you'll have to pay for the pair.

Me: That's fine.

Cashier: But you're going to only get one shoe.

Me: Yes, I understand.

Cashier: I'm not sure I understand.

Me: Ring me up for the pair of shoes and I'll take the one home. I will not let someone else win this battle. This is about principle now.

I still have that shoe.

It is a decoration in my house...

In Hindsight, I May Have Overcommitted Myself

I feel like overcommitment is the story of my life. Seriously, I start every week thinking, I'm going to get so much done this weekend. Then things start creeping up.

At the end of a busy weekend, I rarely regret the events I go to or the friends I hang out with, but when it comes to be Sunday evening and I have no food prepared for the week, I start hyperventilating.

Okay, that may be a little dramatic.

 Either way, this weekend, though crazy busy, was excellent!

Something you  may not know about me is that I don't like to do things unless I know that I am going to be the best at them.

I know, it sounds irrational because VERY rarely is anyone the best at something the first time that they try it, but it is my irrational.

I think CrossFit has been good for me in this respect. Almost never am I the best at anything at CrossFit (except maybe lifting), and very often, I am the worst at things. But I keep going back and learning and improving and building and growing.

(Sidenote: did you see the Friends episode when Joey is going to marry Chandler and Monica and he keeps talking about giving and receiving? That is totally what I just thought about when I was typing that.)

So, last weekend I took a golf lesson that we "won" by coming in last at a charity tournament, and the instructor told me, "You have a great swing - you just need to play more."

Randomly, on Monday, Trainer texted that he still wanted to play golf with me again, so I took him up on it, and we made a tee time for Sunday morning.

On Tuesday, he texted that he had a friend he wanted to invite - a guy who works for PING. It is safe to say that I freaked out a little.

I mean, a guy who works for PING is probably a really good golfer, right? And me? I'm not.

I verbalized this to Trainer - he told me I was crazy - I didn't deny it - we went golfing anyway - PING joined us - I had a freaking blast!

I may need you all to remind me of that the next time I shy away from doing something because I'm afraid of failure. 

Ringing In the Year of Fitness

Remember back on my birthday, when I stated that this would be the year of fitness for me? And that I was signing up for a triathlon?

Well, I had to postpone the triathlon, though I haven't ruled one out in the beginning of November - does anyone have a bike I can borrow?

Either way, it was shaping up to not be the year of fitness for me.

And then, little things kept happening. I kept reading articles about people setting goals and reaching them. Or seeing examples of life being too short. Or watching videos of my favorite CrossFit athletes talking about pushing yourself outside of your comfort zone.

Then, one of the guys at the gym told me about a competition that he had signed up for in November. There is a scaled category. I went back and forth, and finally decided that at some point, I was going to have to push myself outside of my comfort zone. And now seemed like that time.

Well, Nov. 16. The Saturday after I come back from a week of vacation.

Clearly, I've taken leave of my senses.

In an effort to not make a total ass of myself, I have stepped it up a little at the gym. I'm going in on Wednesday evenings for extra help with rope climbs, and to work on some other weaknesses (like rowing and pull-ups). 

Traditionally, on Tuesdays, we work on gymnastics skills and then do a WOD with either rowing or running - sometimes both. This past Tuesday, we were supposed to work on muscle ups, atlas stones, and max height box jumps - rotating through the stations as we progressed.

I am HORRIBLE on the rings. Literally, the only thing I can do on them is hang. People are getting upside down and doing dips and all kinds of crazy, and I'm like, "la, la, la, I'm a monkey..."

So, the coach had me working on the short rings, and just doing static holds with a band. I do that and he says, "That's too easy. Try a dip." So I go down in a dip and as I'm pressing back up out of it, my muscles start to fail. Rather than step out of the band and onto the floor, I just start falling. Nearly face planting on the floor of the gym. 

I honestly have no idea, how I managed to land without hurting myself, but I did. And I looked up at the coach and he said, "Are you ok?" I answered that I was, in fact, fine. And he said, "Next time, when you are approaching that redline - go ahead and just step out of the band."

Advice he probably never thought he'd have to give.

Here To Pump. You Up.

Disclaimer: I sat down to write this post last week and then quit. I have had lots of thoughts since Sept. 3 about posting, but by the time I get to the computer, it's like writer's block has creeped in and I stare at a blank page. I am honestly trying to work out an evening routine that includes sitting at my computer to write for at least a half hour a night. Bear with me as I transition.

I went to get a pedicure a couple of weeks ago, it had been months since my last full pedicure and I was very excited about the relaxation that was about to commence. I brought the book that I was reading, I had a bottle of water, life was going to be great! It probably wasn't the worst pedicure I've ever had, but it certainly wasn't great. I felt like the woman was in a rush to complete it and she was not real gentle. She was moving into the reduced tip category in a hurry.

Then it came time to put lotion on my legs, one of my favorite parts of the pedicure. As she started to rub the lotion in, she made an ugly face and said, "Muscles..." I nearly kicked her and said, "How do you like them now?"

Needless to say, she didn't get a tip.