Two things need to go:

1. Karl Wolf? Really? Two words:

Dou.Che.

2. I'm not a fan of mattress commercials. Nothing says "crack house" to me quite like a mattress without sheets, and yet every mattress commercial I see there's some Chiquita Banana sprawled out or faux-sleeping on a sheet-less mattress! Ew. A child's bed is one thing, but even in my darkest days as a student I managed to track down a bottom sheet to save me from the Whiskey Tango. Sheets come and go, but a mattress is an investment--for heaven's sake, dress it up and treat it to a nice steak dinner.

Tomorrow is Father's Day.

About a week ago I was routing through my storage cupboard at work where I store all the discarded books I've bought from the book sale tables, my Mrs. Potato Head (don't ask...), and various gift bags and wrapping for the prizes I occasionally give out. I came across a "Happy Father's Day, Grandpa" card I'd picked up at from the staff 'give and take table' sometime before last September. It's blue, it has a fish on the front, and is no doubt from one of those card bundles people buy so they always have a card on hand if/when a birthday, sick day, and/or anniversary strikes. I guess that makes two of us with no reason for a Father`s Day card.

Unlike a lot of holidays, I've never thought of Mother`s Day and Father`s Day as "Hallmark holidays" per se, regardless of my jump-the-gun card. I like letting people know how much they mean to me. Subconsciously I think I've been celebrating him for awhile. Yaris' stereo has been set to the Rolling Stones on repeat, I recorded Harry Potter on PVR, reserved a tee time for this past afternoon, and tomorrow we've already decided to go to Port Dover for fried clams and chocolate milk shakes.

He really is still so very much apart of my life. I hear his voice, ask him questions, consult him on tough decisions, and often find myself laughing at the joke he would have made had he been here in person. He was right about so many things, beyond the importance of basic math skills, not the least of which is 'there is always a reason to pun'. Teeing up today I could hear him saying:

"Keep your head down... Don't try and kill it... Keep your head down... Choke up... I told you to keep your head down... Nice swing, kid. Now if only we could see you drive like that on the road..."

Har dee har har, dad. Happy Father's Day, old man.

[insert joke about hip replacements, dentures, and old age homes...]

*blows into microphone*

*ahem*

Attention please!

I have an important announcement to make:

Pants is coming to visit, July 23-25th.

*jumpy, clappy hands*

ING Ottawa Marathon

A totally amazing weekend!

Friday night after work, Free Samples and I made our to Ottawa--me for the ING 1/2 marathon and she to party, party, party. Six and a half hours of frustrating traffic and even more frustrating radio music later ("Cal-i-forn-ia girls are undeniable, daisy dukes, bikinis on top...") we pulled into chez destination.

So good to see Cousin Toque and his sidekick (Toque, the original)! After pleasantries and some chit-chat we hit the hay. CT has the cutest little house with hands down the most comfortable guest room... I literally slept like a baby, minus the bed wetting and onesie. Although I secretly wish I had a onesie...

Saturday morning, the nerves were seriously starting to set in. What seemed like a good idea three months ago had quickly become a scary reality. CT snapped me out of it, taking me to the health expo where we picked up our race bibs and digs, mapped out the course in the car, and combined drank approximately 400L of Gatorade and water. CT made us a kick-butters dinner of stuffed pasta and salad... Washed down with Gatorade, of course.

That night we went to cheer on CT's friends in the 5 and 10km races. Although he'd warned me the city was very into this race weekend, I had no idea what to expect. The Bay was my first major event, and  we had our fair share of spectators (more so on the swish side, and less so on the "don't get shived" side...)

Overwhelming, is the only word to describe it. People lined the treed streets, cheering and clapping and encouraging runners as they zoomed by. The elite runners were amazing to watch... Their feet barely touch the ground. With the sun shining we screamed and yelled encouragements. It was amazing to be part of it, and overwhelming to think that in 12 hours I would be one of the racers...

Cousin Toque planned to run the marathon (like a crazy person) and his race was due to begin at 7:00am. Needless to say, I took the extra couple of hours sleep, with my half-marathon start time set for 9:00. After the usual pre-race routine (water, coffee, oatmeal, banana, water, Lara bar, water) I got myself did up, and called my cab for the start line. By 8:15am I was in my corral, fiddling with my water belt, worrying I'd pinned my race bib too high. I got worked up to my "heck yes" music (Imma Be, Carry Out, Jump...), and waited for the gun.

Bang! And we're off, 9,000 runners funnelling past the Parliament Buildings and the National War Memorial. The race course is amazing, rolling hills into Hull, zooming back into Ottawa past the University and through the downtown core, with the last 10km along the canal. The chute back into Ottawa at the 10km mark was unreal--people 5-6 deep lining the streets cheering and encouraging, holding signs that say things like "you're feet hurt because you're kicking @ss" and "toe nails are for sissies".

By this time I'm well ahead of the two hour pace bunny and feeling fantastic. At 12 km or so I can hear Free Samples chanting my name from the sidelines, hung over as sh*t and out on the streets cheering me on all the same. Her "go LL's" pump me up even more, and I sail on through with a big smile on my face. I'm feeling great!

Ehn.

At 16km, I'm done. The two hour pace bunny waltzes by and I'm sad as a little black raincloud. I should have listened to CT who warned me never to pace myself with one of these dudes because it's the most depressing thing in the world to see them blow by. And it was. Plod, plod, plodding along. I'd give my life for a cheeseburger. I'd give my life for a bathroom not made out of florescent green plastic...

Like a light at the end of the tunnel I see the marker for 750 meters... 500 meters... 200 meters... People hanging over the guard rails like I'm an Olympian, cheering and clapping, and yelling at me to "keep going!" Free Samples has wound her way to the finish line and is yelling along with the crowd!

Finally, I'm done! Even though I would have sworn a strip the 2-hour pace bunny is long past me, I cross the finish line in (*drum roll*) 2:00:12 seconds! Not to get too puff puff on y'all, but that's near top 30%. Say wha?!

• I was runner 3884 out of 9208 registered half marathon runners
• I placed 1432 out of 5329 women
• I placed 275 out of the 868 in my age bracket

I get one of those metallic warming blankets, my banana and yogurt and bottle of water, and some little kid puts a medal around my neck. A couple of hours later, CT pulls through his 42km race (again, 42km... wtf?), fit as a fiddle, preening like a superstar (that's me in the red and white bandanna up front... And for the record, the clock states 2:05 by that's gun time, not actual running time...)

An amazing day. And some amazing lessons:

1. A water belt isn't necessary in a well organized race. While I lugged 2 bottles of hydration all 21.2km, there was plenty of water and Gatorade at every 3km mark, and relatively disgusting gels at the 8km mark. I barely touched my belt with the exception of the pocket I kept my Kleenex in... Damn you, seasonal allergies!
2. READ about marathons and half marathons before you do them... Some seriously helpful tidbits I could have used pre-race, like avoiding ibuprofen, keeping fibrous foods out of my diet at least three days before the race, taken 'er ease on the Gatorade because the sugar can mess you up... *shifty eyes*
3. If it's your first one, stick close to home. In retrospect, a six hour car ride post race was perhaps not the best of ideas. Thank Shiloh for dearest Free Samples, who patiently drove my butters back to the Hammer.
4. And finally, don't be scared! It's really not that far to go! Whether you walk it or run it or do some combination of the two, you're accomplishing something unreal. And if you choose a pretty course, at the very least you've spent a beautiful day (fingers crossed) outdoors.

This picture makes my life...

... And ya'll know this face is followed by some serious "meh".

Two sweet treats

It's been an exciting but vair busy week.

The trip to Ottawa and my first, competitive half marathon was beyond exciting. I'm waiting for the photos to arrive in my in-box from the organization, and to get five minutes on my own computer to sort through my own thoughts before I post on it. But have no fear... The details are coming!

Until then, in a word, the race was: amazing.

More on that later.

Since the weekend I've been fending off the repercussions of running 21km, getting to work early and staying late, playing 2 and 1/2 hour Ultimate Frisbee games, masticating fruit, and running around like a mad-woman trying to sort through last minute details before yet another road trip to Collingwood for a weekend wedding (Orange is in the wedding party...) Mon Dieu! But yesterday brought two vair sweet treats:

1. My Plan B deliveries began yesterday!

Plan B is a local organic farm organization delivering fresh, locally grown and/or organic fruit and vegetables to your workplace based on orders. Fingers took part in Plan B at a former workplace, and based on her success I suggested the organization to our Green Team who in turn organized our drop-off. I ordered a half-share of fruit which means once every two weeks I receive a shipment of locally grown fruit delivered to the library--enough to keep me satiated until my next shipment! And to keep it interesting, if it can't be locally grown they pull from international organic, fair trade suppliers.

This week I got blackberries, bananas, apples, peaches, and rhubarb (which I quickly gave away because I'll never use it...)

I'm so excited about this! Not only will it mean I'll never run out of breakfast, but it also means that for 20 weeks I'll be doing the world a little bit of good. It's like a fruit hug.

2. Just the other day I talked about my favourite running trail being made that much better by the birth and migration of mama and papa duck and their family of babes.

Well, yesterday a mother duck popped her head out of the island in the middle of our staff parking lot and smartly marched her 11 ducklings (11!!!) across the parking lot, past the library compound, through the Central park rose garden, and across a major intersection to the lake. And I just happened to be on my break (and then some...) so I got to watch the entire ridiculous parade.

The best part? No joke, two staff members from Bibliographic Services held traffic for her while she marched her troops across the road. We were so worried after all her efforts one of them would get smooshed! But they made it safe and sound.

Tra la.

*nervous*

21km is a long bloody way...

B*lls

Bad news.
...
...

I didn't win the lottery.

A busy three-day weekend!

Beef, Mama LL, and I celebrated Victoria Day weekend across the border in our fine neighbor to the south. And with the $$$ almost at par, the deals could not be beat. Beef drop her load at the galleria, I started a relationship with Target and DSW (a store, I'm convinced, was sent by the Baby Jesus himself to put a smile on my face), and Mama LL kept a couple of small Ellicottville businesses afloat for the summer. Bravo, ladies. Bravo. Between the relaxed, yummy meals; three glorious guilt-free hours of doing nothing; Celebrity Apprentice commentaries; and sausage snuggles, I couldn't have asked for a better long weekend. Thank you.

The perfect end? I added impatients and a couple of flowering annuals to the pile of perennials I bought at our staff Green Team fundraiser, and spent a glorious afternoon in Orange's garden honing my green thumb. There was a time I watched with admiration as friends planted the sh*t out of their awe-inspiring yard, but I never saw myself as a gardener, per se. I kill most of the plants I bring into the house (or attract Spider Mites...) But their dedication to dead-heading was overwhelming, to say the least. Orange himself is very dedicated to his indoor growing ventures (a couple of Norfolk Pines and a planter from dad's day that is still thriving due to his care and patience.)

But I'll admit: the immediate satisfaction of a few hours hard work in some glorious weather has me hooked. It's like art. But art that grows and blooms and spreads and blossoms. The rich dark browns of the top soil and the bright greens of the foliage. From almost every room of Orange's house there's now a view of a fine piece of garden--Lilly of the Valley, Woodruff, Ostrich Ferns, Chinese Lanterns, Hostas, Black Eyed Susan, etc. etc. etc

While I aspire to MMM's yard, for now I'm proud of what a little elbow grease created in a couple of newly edged beds, and happy to watch the bumble bees bzzz bzzz bzzz from one bloom to another.

F*ck, mom!

Now that you're reading this sh*t, am I gonna start getting notes like this, too? You should know as a librarian I am morally opposed to censorship.

p.s. I heart kix cereal...

Click HERE.

"Mr. and Mrs. Mallard were looking for a place to live. But everytime Mr. Mallard found what looked like a nice place, Mrs. Mallard said it was no good."

I'm (still) in training for my half at the end of May = lots of running = sore muscles. To combat the overall "no feeling" screaming from every inch of my body (which inconveniently settles in my bones as soon as I spot the couch), I try and choose pretty places to run. As of late, that's been the waterfront.

Now, there are those who would argue my city is a hole. But I disagree. There are definitely hole-type parts to the place. But then, there are holes in every city. It's really a matter of enjoying what's in front of you and making the most of the green spaces you have.

It's not Stanley Park, but Orange lives conveniently down the road from the foot path that wraps our waterfront. Yes, the tang of Asian Carp can and will hit you with the breeze is blowing just so. And yes, someone did try and set aflame one of the path's portable washrooms the other night. But there are certain other attributes that make this footpath my current running circuit of choice.

Like Mr. and Mrs. Mallared, for example! Make Way for Ducklings? Anyone?

The Canadian geese have laid their eggs and the baby's have just been borned (yea, I said borned.) And between 6:00-7:00 pm when I'm huffing and puffing my giggle down the trail, dozens of geese families are making their way across the path from their nests to the waterfront for a late night snack. Yellow puffs of downy feathers waddling their waddle and smacking their gums together in a chorus of the most pitiful tiny quacks. Jack, Kack, Lack, Mack, Nack, Ouack, Pack, and Quack--I've met them. And they are every bit as cool as you think they would be.

 Still, I'd rather be on my couch with a hot fudge sundae...

My first decision will be to change my name. You can call me "Sir Roderigo".

So, I'm pretty sure I'm going to win the Lotto Max. Yup. It's sitting at $30,000,000 b*tches. So take a good look around because this might be the last free post I write. I figure when I'm a millionaire I'll be a pretty big deal, see, with lots of exciting things going on, so you can pay to read my gibberish. Your pennies will help fund my new lavish lifestyle.

Yup. That show on TLC pretty much explained it all. I'm not sure where I'm going to find the time to shop for bronze statues, build my infinity pool, collect weird things like antique guns, park lots of expensive cars in my driveway and stare at them but never drive them, make my way through $1000 worth of scratchy tickets a day (on the off chance lightning might strike twice), put lots of elastics in my hair like this guy, and still find time for my other obsessive compulsive behaviors. It's going to be tough.

But don't feel sorry for me. I'll definitely be looking down on you from my pedestal. And hey! Maybe I'll have a pizza party or something, and y'all can come to one of my houses for free food? One of the small ones. That way I won't worry about the furniture or scold you for touching the statues.

And free humpback whales for everyone.

So get out there and by your tickets so you can pad my winnings.

p.s. THIS picture makes my life. I want to be friends with these dudes.

It's Friday, and I'm feeling silly...

... And I appreciate the creativity that can (sometimes) go into television commercials.

Three packages in the mail in three days!

1. The glorious people over at SL decided to reimburse me for the redonkulously expensive dental procedures incurred last Wednesday. And they were so kind as to send the announcement in a big manila envelope! Money I was only quasi-expecting to receive? Check! Getting a package in the mail? Double check!

2. A dress I ordered on Victoria Secret arrived in a big, white, plastic envelope. This one came to mom's house, so I also got the exciting "your package arrived!" phone call to go with. Unfortunately, the dress did not live up to expectations and was promptly repackaged and returned. I wonder if Victoria Secret gets excited by mail?

3. And perhaps best of all, dearest Valerah sent me a book! And not just any book... my kind of book. The Summer I Turned Pretty by Jenny Han (who also, coincidentally, wrote Shug... a favorite of mine from back in my EPL days.) And with the best presentation, too! Brown paper and black Sharpie marker. Bert loved the wrapping as much as I loved the thought. Thanks for thinking of me, Valerah... *scuffs toe*

Three cheers for mail!

Some people...

Some people get more than their share. You know?

Like leaking furnaces, and bats in the spare bedroom, and tax man drama, and car recalls, and ants, and beloved office partners who up and decide they'll take another job elsewhere (really, Jim...? *tsk tsk*), and a knee the size of a cantelope, and answering machines that keep resetting themselves, and computers that won't cooperate, and periodontal surgery, and the dreaded threat of knob and tube wiring, and meat loaf for mother's day...

Like I said, some people get more than their share.

Some people remind me daily of how easy it is to love them, and how easy it is to be proud of their strength and faith. Some people don't even know how impressive they are. And some people probably don't hear that enough...

More words I don't like:

Hamburgs (in place of "hamburgers")... Just lazy, s'all it is.

This one's for all ya'll...

Excuse the quality. But you get the message...

I still love you, Georgia Carmen!

Last night was the Fingers and BSB third annual Cinco de Mayo party (ole!)

Being that I live a five-minute walk from dearest Fingers' house, I find it hard to justify driving and searching out parking on her notoriously overstuffed street. I make the trek en pied even when it's pouring litters, and such was the case last night. Being efficient, I cut through the local park (this is where Beef yells at me for walking alone through a park at night, and this is where I say "but it was light out and the street lamps were on and there were other people in the park besides the pervs who lurk behind the trees!" [although really, there weren't other people in the park, what with all the rain, and it was actually kind of dark, what with all the rain clouds... but we don't need to tell Beef that... damn... she's reading this...])

Anywho. On my way, I came across the saddest sight. A little stuffed bunny face down in the gravel under the swings. It was like something out of the Velveteen Rabbit, only this rabbit was made of pink fun fur. He was wearing a hand made yellow felt jacket with pink ribbons tied to it, and he was so loved one side of his face was less fun fur and more silk baldness (the other side was stained green with what looked like Crayola ink, but whatever... perhaps he's an artiste?)

I was at a cross roads! Devastated for both the little dude and the child who was no doubt at home wracked with guilt over leaving his/her beloved smooshums AWOL in the rain, I was torn between:

A) Picking bunny up and sitting him under the shelter of a tree to avoid complete water sog
B) Leaving bunny right where he was, thinking owner-person would find him if they retraced their steps

What to do?

I opted to stand him upright on the side of the walkway, close to the swings. As a child who once lost her beloved "piece" in a garbage pile at Camp KIDACA, the idea of leaving bunny face down in a gravel pile was beyond reproach. I'm tempted to go back tonight to see if he's still there...

Honestly, this scene from Toy Story still kills me:



I couldn't even finish watching it today... Makes me want to go home and dig out Georgia Carmen and Heart to Heart Bear, safely packed away in (the one box) I've got stored in the basement...

A bad, bad day. Pray Shiloh the Annuale kicks in...

So much for being two hours early!

Today was the Forest City Road Race!

It started out, as dad would have said, as a "terribly nasty day," looking gray and chill with a 95% chance of rain. Orange, his orangey siblings and I were all up at dawn's crack to make the 90 minute drive to the start line. Our plan was to get an early start because none of us really had any idea where we were headed, what the parking situation was, etc. Being Sunday, it was hard to clear the cobwebs and get going in time to complete my usual pre-race check list (shower, coffee in a housecoat, dress, water, oatmeal, water, max and relax, banana, etc.) so after a lightning round in the tub and some terrible 2-minute oatmeal I made the responsible decision to buy Timbits for breakfast.

One cup of terrible coffee, two sour cream glaze, and a raging tummy ache later we arrived at the registration desk to pick up our bibs, timing chips, and free duffel bag swag. Being 2-hours early, Race Lady had very little information for us beyond "exit through the left side of the tent" so we dropped our goodies back at the car, strapped on our chips and waited patiently at the presumed starting gate for our race time. While cheering on the 1/2 marathoners and giggling at the sweet fun-runners we heard the commentator on the load speaker finally announce "five minutes to the 10km gun-time." So we readied our ear buds and double checked our laces...

...

...

But where were the other runners? Race Lady hadn't said there was another starting gate, and we were standing in front of the big blow-up arch with the words "start/finish" painted on it... For Pete's sake, even the 1km fun runners had started/finished here! Where were the other 500 some odd runners?

It was the mass-exodus of spectators congregating at the far end of the park that tipped us off. We hauled cheek but the gun blasted well before we could eek our way into the crowd so it was an awkward kick-ball-chain into the dashing pack. So much for being 2 hours early!

And for the record, Race Lady's toolkit of "important" tidbits should include not only the location of the elusive start-gate but the topography of the course--the entire thing was uphill! And not just slight lumps and bumps, we're talking entire mountainous kilometers. A little forewarning, please!

p.s. PB, folks, PB--56:04 (gun time)! And our wee Orange, new to the running world, was a super kid at 1:04!