joe the douchebag

Today, I punched Joe Lieberman in the face, except I didn't. But I sure wish I had.

reality bites with missing teeth

So I'm running with my running group through the parks in Van Nuys, when we get to a point in the trail where we have to jump across a series of jagged, pointy, marbly, slippery rocks that are scattered across a small rapid. Now I am a moderately adventurous person who will do exciting things once in awhile (Tarzan swing, ziplining, jumping off cliffs), but what most people don't know is how much will power it takes me to do those things, because on the inside, I am terrified of heights, rocks, falling, water, etc. Anyway, so I'm trying force myself to cross but I can't. Every time I manage to get safely to a rock, I have to sit down and ponder the rest of my life before getting the nerve to cross to another one.

Meanwhile, my running group, not noticing that I am frozen with terror on the rocks, crosses the stream and disappears. I start to get a little panicked because I'm going to get lost if I don't keep up. Then I see this guy come back and start crossing the rocks towards my side, and I'm thinking, oh maybe the trail crosses back this way, so I don't have to cross at all. No such luck. He was just coming back to help me across. I didn't recognize him, so I knew this was his first run with us. Anyway, this guy holds my hand as I cross the rocks, shaking like an idiot, and he is simultaneously making fun of me and reassuring me along the way. It takes us about fifteen minutes to cross what took everyone else about thirty seconds. I am too scared and grateful to be embarrassed. As we get to the last of the rocks, he turns back and holds his hand out one last time so I can step onto the bank. "What's your name?" he asks. Then he tells me his.

The set up was perfect. It was one of those accidentally romantic scenarios, one of those stories you could exaggerate to your kids, you know, and tell them, "When Daddy and I met, he carried me across these dangerous river rapids." And if there was any justice in the world, this guy would have said to me, "My name is Michal or Peter or John. I have a job, and I like to run. Would you like to go out to dinner sometime?" But no. This is my life. So what I got was, "I'm Bucky from Kentucky. You can just call me Bucky. Hey, do you have facebook?" Then he grinned at me to show me a large gap where his right front tooth should be. My savior was Bucky from Kentucky with his buckteeth bucktooth.

I don't mean to sound ungrateful, I was very happy he helped me across. I just think it's funny how nothing ever works out the exact way you think it should. I guess in reality, there are only two kinds of guys: the guys who help you across rivers, and the guys who have all their teeth.

mouth breathing

When I was a little kid, my mother insisted to me that "only white people have allergies." Since there were no Asian kids in the town I grew up in, I completely believed her. I also believed her when she acted like my constantly stuffy nose was my fault because I breathed through my mouth. Your nostril hairs filter out the dust, she said, but when you breathe through your mouth, there is no filtering, so the dust causes mucus to build up. Oddly, it never occurred to her or to me that maybe I was breathing with my mouth open because I had a stuffy nose, not the other way around. Sometimes, when my mother saw me breathing with my mouth open, she would put her hand on my mouth and tell me to practice breathing through my nostrils.

Since I've gotten older, I've learned to breath with my mouth shut, but every once in awhile, I go through phases where my nose is stuffed up all the time. You know, like in the spring or in the fall, when there is a lot of pollen in the air. I never cared before, but since I moved to California, it has severely affected my running. So today, for the first time ever, I took a Claritin before going on my run. Yes, Claritin, an allergy medication. And wouldn't you know it. I could breathe with my mouth closed again. All this time, I've just had allergies. I guess my mother's nightmare came true--I've finally become a white person.

announcement

I do not feel sorry for Roman Polanski. Why? BECAUSE HE DRUGGED AND RAPED A THIRTEEN-YEAR-OLD GIRL. Unbelievable.

roll over

Today I woke up, was screamed at by three people at work, came home to another collector's notice for something I do not owe, got a bill from a dentist I *do* owe but can't afford to pay, and somehow have managed to lose both my debit and credit cards. Meanwhile, God just stood by and laughed at me, like a divine asshat.

google-venting

I was sad today, so I Googled "puppies," and that made it much better.

oh yeah

I got traffic school!! Whoo!! My year-long sordid history with this ticket is finally over!

apt words

Some words just sound like what they mean. Such as:

- dread (as in, "I am dreading traffic court tomorrow to battle out the reason I started hating LA in the first place.")

- stink (as in, "It stinks to have to fight a traffic ticket you didn't deserve.")

- cop (sounds like "cock," which is totally appropriate)

- wash (not related to my ticket, just one of those words that sounds like what it means)

parent-stalked

My mother called me yesterday and exclaimed, "You're famous!" When I asked her what she was talking about, she told me that she had Googled my name and found various newspaper articles and work profiles about me.

"That's not a good thing, you know," I told her, and promptly explained to her the hazards of being searchable online. I also blamed her for giving me such a unique name, thereby making it certain that any future employer would be able to look me up.

By the end of the conversation, she was ordering me to change my name to "something more ordinary immediately!" It's sad when the woman who gave you your name suddenly wants you to change it. The power of the internet is infinite.

half-marathon

Finished the Long Beach Half Marathon today! The good news: it was along the beach with perfect running weather. The bad news: I was way slower than my first half marathon in New Bedford last year. Back then, I averaged 9:50 a mile. This time, I averaged 11 a mile. This could be for any of the following reasons:

- my awesome friends were not there to cheer for me this time
- last time, I was hungover
- I am now 1.5 years older
- I am now 7 pounds heavier
- my time last year was in fact a mistake
- I was distracted by the pretty views of the Long Beach shore

Either way, it was an awesome race! Gearing up for a full in March.

fyi

This blog is pointless and stupid.

lucky

For being a self-absorbed, cynical, guarded, oversensitive nutjob, I sure am blessed to have a lot of awesome people who put up with me.

aging

I miss the days when I could pull two all-nighters and still party on night three. Now, it's difficult to even drink water without feeling tired.

right of way

My accomplishment for today is that I caused a four car pile-up on the Pacific Coast Highway when I attempted to cross the street at a pedestrian crosswalk. Thankfully, no one died. But I learned that the expression "stopping traffic" is not a positive thing.

fall

Date: Oct 2
Temperature: 80s

I miss fall. I miss the seasons.

I miss New York.