After my "wah wah stop posting your mileage" entry yesterday, I feel I owe my ever-so-diligent running pals an apology.
(Deep breath.) Here goes.
I'm sorry. I shouldn't let my jealousy get in the way of my awe at anyone's ability to run more than three miles. Perhaps one day I will run far enough that it warrants posting my mileage. Because, let's face it, your grandma can probably run as far as I usually do. It's not entirely my fault: when I put my mileage into my running log, it laughs at me. I feel shamed. However, I realize that it is not an excuse.
Yeah. I'm a jerk.
But I am sorry. So keep on doing how you do. You guys really do kick ass, and I will allow that to inspire me, rather than throw a brat fit.
Monday, July 26, 2010
Sunday, July 25, 2010
It's a beautiful day...
...don't let it get...away? Thanks, U2, for that little diddy.
After what seems like many days of very oppressive heat and some thunderous storms, today is a glorious day in Chicago. The sun is shining. There are puffy white clouds in the sky. And the sky is that color of blue that seems to never end. It's amazing.
So I decided to get outside and run. And I ruined the beautiful day for myself.
Just kidding. I'm at the point in my life where I realize I need to take better care of myself. That means eating better and working out. You know, the least fun things in the world, especially for a girl who loves her food and her downtime equally. Oh, and my efforts at eating more healthfully, I am pretending that I did not consume an item last night called a crispy pig face. In no world is that ever a healthy thing. But it IS delicious. Trust me. (Excuse my carnivorous appreciation, vegetarian readers. I love my meat.) On the whole, I have been eating better. You know, I eat egg whites instead of whole eggs, I use skim milk instead of half and half (usually) and I don't eat french fries as much as I crave them. Basically, it sucks.
And sometimes, I get out there and run. I'm not fast, and I'm not particularly good at it. However, it makes it nearly impossible for me to walk up the three flights in my apartment building afterwards. I figure that means that it's doing something, right? Much of the time, I have an irrational anger at those people who boast their mileage and their running frequency via social media. That irrational anger is based on my own jealousy and my own brand of laziness that expects change with minimal effort. Boo to me. I always feel like I have my own personal victory each and every time I complete a run. I guess that's all that really matters.
So, today is beautiful, truly. And, honestly, what's a beautiful day if you can't kill it with some veggies and exercise. (I don't think this is what Bono had anticipated when he wrote that song.)
After what seems like many days of very oppressive heat and some thunderous storms, today is a glorious day in Chicago. The sun is shining. There are puffy white clouds in the sky. And the sky is that color of blue that seems to never end. It's amazing.
So I decided to get outside and run. And I ruined the beautiful day for myself.
Just kidding. I'm at the point in my life where I realize I need to take better care of myself. That means eating better and working out. You know, the least fun things in the world, especially for a girl who loves her food and her downtime equally. Oh, and my efforts at eating more healthfully, I am pretending that I did not consume an item last night called a crispy pig face. In no world is that ever a healthy thing. But it IS delicious. Trust me. (Excuse my carnivorous appreciation, vegetarian readers. I love my meat.) On the whole, I have been eating better. You know, I eat egg whites instead of whole eggs, I use skim milk instead of half and half (usually) and I don't eat french fries as much as I crave them. Basically, it sucks.
And sometimes, I get out there and run. I'm not fast, and I'm not particularly good at it. However, it makes it nearly impossible for me to walk up the three flights in my apartment building afterwards. I figure that means that it's doing something, right? Much of the time, I have an irrational anger at those people who boast their mileage and their running frequency via social media. That irrational anger is based on my own jealousy and my own brand of laziness that expects change with minimal effort. Boo to me. I always feel like I have my own personal victory each and every time I complete a run. I guess that's all that really matters.
So, today is beautiful, truly. And, honestly, what's a beautiful day if you can't kill it with some veggies and exercise. (I don't think this is what Bono had anticipated when he wrote that song.)
Friday, July 23, 2010
Learning to do things on the internet
While I am a bit old for the millenial generation, I do have a blog. (Duh.) I am also learning how to play around on twitter which has been good times for me lately. However, because I'm not hip to all the functions of this social networking, much of the time when someone references an internet thing, I have to google it. Seriously.
The other day, I was writing a yelp review and posted it. I themed it to a Rick Astley song, because who doesn't love that, right? Well. Turns out, there's a thing with respect to Rick Astley and the internet. It's called "Rick Rolling" someone. For those of you who haven't heard, here's a handy how-to guide on how to rick roll someone:
http://tinyurl.com/y8ufsnp
Get it?
Oh, wait. You didn't WANT to be rick rolled. You wanted to learn how to do it. My bad. Here you go:
http://tinyurl.com/6xdhcy
Sound stupid? Perhaps. But it's undeniably fun. In fact, I attempted to rick roll P.I.C. this afternoon.
His response?
"I'm refusing to open this, in case I'm being rick rolled."
Well. That's no fun, now is it? I feel like the little girl who cried wolf. No one will open my tinyurl links anymore.
The other day, I was writing a yelp review and posted it. I themed it to a Rick Astley song, because who doesn't love that, right? Well. Turns out, there's a thing with respect to Rick Astley and the internet. It's called "Rick Rolling" someone. For those of you who haven't heard, here's a handy how-to guide on how to rick roll someone:
http://tinyurl.com/y8ufsnp
Get it?
Oh, wait. You didn't WANT to be rick rolled. You wanted to learn how to do it. My bad. Here you go:
http://tinyurl.com/6xdhcy
Sound stupid? Perhaps. But it's undeniably fun. In fact, I attempted to rick roll P.I.C. this afternoon.
His response?
"I'm refusing to open this, in case I'm being rick rolled."
Well. That's no fun, now is it? I feel like the little girl who cried wolf. No one will open my tinyurl links anymore.
Thursday, July 22, 2010
Ups and Downs.
Do you ever have those days where something happens that lifts your spirits so very much, then something happens to crash you back down to reality. And then it happens over and over again?
Well, this morning was one of those days. I had to wear a suit, so the morning was a little rough starting out. Everyone knows that for the most part, lawyers have to wear suits. But most of us don't fully love the constant suit wearing, particularly in Chicago summers when it's quite steamy. It's hot. We don't like that. However, I was going to court on one of my favorite cases with one of my favorite opponents. Suffice it to say, my day is always very interesting when I appear on his case.
So, I step out of my office building, semi-excited to find out what would happen today. Sadly, there was some sort of fair going on so there was a greater number of people asking me to sign up for things than usual. I hate that. But then I crossed the street and my ears and eyes were delighted with one of my favorite characters. I call him "Sun Times, Sun Times" man. He sells the paper outside of the courthouse and has the raspiest, "smoked more cigarettes in his life than any other person"-est voice you have ever heard. He just says "Sun Times, Sun Times" over and over again. Sometimes he will throw you for a loop and say something absolutely crazy like "Buy a Sun Times, I'll have your baby." Well, that doesn't even make sense, now does it? Don't care, it delights me to no end. He has been missing for awhile, so the sight of him hocking his paper put a giant smile on my face. There's my up.
Then I walked into the courthouse, flashed my badge and walked over to the elevators. Oh, the elevators in the courthouse. Truly this is the place where civilized people turn mad. Suited people as far as the eye can see are tossing elbows at the crowd, fighting for an elevator. Catching an elevator during rush hour is very serious business. Trust me. I had to wait a good ten minutes for an elevator due to short men in suits edging past me. Truth be told, I attempt to be civilized and let them go. I prefer to stew inside my overly passive-aggressive brain. Naturally. There's a serious down. (Couple the lack of civility with a multitude of hot and sweaty suit-wearers and unpleasantness is all around.)
Ten minutes later, I was able to squeeze myself onto the elevator. At last I got to my floor and was able to attend my hearing. It did not disappoint. Life was good again.
I only had to wait a few minutes to catch a down elevator.
(By the way, no lawyers or court personnel were harmed in the writing of the blog. And as for the Sun Times guy? Perhaps I will see what he does when I buy a paper when he offers up such a proposition as having my baby, yes? Stay tuned.)
Well, this morning was one of those days. I had to wear a suit, so the morning was a little rough starting out. Everyone knows that for the most part, lawyers have to wear suits. But most of us don't fully love the constant suit wearing, particularly in Chicago summers when it's quite steamy. It's hot. We don't like that. However, I was going to court on one of my favorite cases with one of my favorite opponents. Suffice it to say, my day is always very interesting when I appear on his case.
So, I step out of my office building, semi-excited to find out what would happen today. Sadly, there was some sort of fair going on so there was a greater number of people asking me to sign up for things than usual. I hate that. But then I crossed the street and my ears and eyes were delighted with one of my favorite characters. I call him "Sun Times, Sun Times" man. He sells the paper outside of the courthouse and has the raspiest, "smoked more cigarettes in his life than any other person"-est voice you have ever heard. He just says "Sun Times, Sun Times" over and over again. Sometimes he will throw you for a loop and say something absolutely crazy like "Buy a Sun Times, I'll have your baby." Well, that doesn't even make sense, now does it? Don't care, it delights me to no end. He has been missing for awhile, so the sight of him hocking his paper put a giant smile on my face. There's my up.
Then I walked into the courthouse, flashed my badge and walked over to the elevators. Oh, the elevators in the courthouse. Truly this is the place where civilized people turn mad. Suited people as far as the eye can see are tossing elbows at the crowd, fighting for an elevator. Catching an elevator during rush hour is very serious business. Trust me. I had to wait a good ten minutes for an elevator due to short men in suits edging past me. Truth be told, I attempt to be civilized and let them go. I prefer to stew inside my overly passive-aggressive brain. Naturally. There's a serious down. (Couple the lack of civility with a multitude of hot and sweaty suit-wearers and unpleasantness is all around.)
Ten minutes later, I was able to squeeze myself onto the elevator. At last I got to my floor and was able to attend my hearing. It did not disappoint. Life was good again.
I only had to wait a few minutes to catch a down elevator.
(By the way, no lawyers or court personnel were harmed in the writing of the blog. And as for the Sun Times guy? Perhaps I will see what he does when I buy a paper when he offers up such a proposition as having my baby, yes? Stay tuned.)
Wednesday, July 21, 2010
I'm a Barbie girl...
I realize that I run the risk of being labeled a ditsy girl or the like by writing two blog entries about how girly I am, or how blond I might be. That being said, this is my blog, and I am who I am: A blond girl. Oh yeah, and I like pink too.
The other day, I was talking about my accessories with P.I.C. I told him I feel like I am a Barbie lawyer because I have a pink protective thing on my phone and carry my work I.D. card in a pink holder. Honestly, the real reason behind having everything in pink is because I am prone to losing things. Don't believe me? Well, let's see. Before I had my pink I.D. card holder, I lost my work I.D. Since I got the pink holder, I am always able to find it. Same with the phone. Pink case? I haven't lost it! (Yeah, so I've lost a phone or two in my day. What of it?)
Sadly, there is one thing in pink that has gone missing: my water bottle. It is the one thing that disproves my "make it pink so I don't lose it." I was discussing its disappearance with P.I.C. and trying to figure out where I may have left it. We decided I should ask at the front desk of the gym to see if I had left it behind one day.
P.I.C. says, "Just ask him if anyone left a pink water bottle there." He was quite for a minute, then looked at me slyly and added, "Barbie."
It's a good thing that when you slap someone across the face, it leaves a pink imprint.
(I'm JOKING. I didn't slap P.I.C. I swear.)
The other day, I was talking about my accessories with P.I.C. I told him I feel like I am a Barbie lawyer because I have a pink protective thing on my phone and carry my work I.D. card in a pink holder. Honestly, the real reason behind having everything in pink is because I am prone to losing things. Don't believe me? Well, let's see. Before I had my pink I.D. card holder, I lost my work I.D. Since I got the pink holder, I am always able to find it. Same with the phone. Pink case? I haven't lost it! (Yeah, so I've lost a phone or two in my day. What of it?)
Sadly, there is one thing in pink that has gone missing: my water bottle. It is the one thing that disproves my "make it pink so I don't lose it." I was discussing its disappearance with P.I.C. and trying to figure out where I may have left it. We decided I should ask at the front desk of the gym to see if I had left it behind one day.
P.I.C. says, "Just ask him if anyone left a pink water bottle there." He was quite for a minute, then looked at me slyly and added, "Barbie."
It's a good thing that when you slap someone across the face, it leaves a pink imprint.
(I'm JOKING. I didn't slap P.I.C. I swear.)
Tuesday, July 20, 2010
Not as dumb as I look.
I like to fancy myself as an intelligent woman. For one, I know how to use "fancy" as both a verb and an adjective. Two, I understand the difference in those forms of speech. I'm sure it's mostly because I went to a fancy college and law school. (See, there you have it. Used 'em both.)
Sadly, however, because I am a young, blond woman, people underestimate my intelligence. Whether it was my very first boss making comments such as, "You're not as dumb as you look" or my clients at that same job asking if I was a secretary (despite the fact we were clearly in my office and my diplomas were hanging on the wall), I have had to deal with people treating me as if I am the village idiot. At these times, I really want to shake the individual treating me so and yell, "Hellllooo, I went to college, graduated magna cum laude and then went to law school. I was on the freakin' law review. Seriously!" (How's that for your braggy blog bit?)
Of course, all the education in the world does not necessarily make a person smart. And I am the first to admit, I have my moments. For example, despite the fact that I am capable of conducting a jury trial entirely on my own, I still have trouble with figuring out my left and right.
Sigh. The other weekend, Bro and his girlfriend were driving out to visit me. He got a bit turned around with directions, so he called me to finish them off. I very definitely told him: "Drive two blocks, then take a LEFT at the light." I think I told him that twice without even thinking about it. He gets to that intersection and says "F.A., there is a car blocking the street!"
Then it dawns on me. I meant to tell him to turn RIGHT. I admit my mistake and he exclaims in laughter (and I'm sure a little bit of exasperation), "YOU STILL DON'T KNOW YOUR LEFT AND RIGHT? Oh my GAWD."
Yeah. So I said I fancy myself as intelligent. I never claimed to be good at directions.
Sadly, however, because I am a young, blond woman, people underestimate my intelligence. Whether it was my very first boss making comments such as, "You're not as dumb as you look" or my clients at that same job asking if I was a secretary (despite the fact we were clearly in my office and my diplomas were hanging on the wall), I have had to deal with people treating me as if I am the village idiot. At these times, I really want to shake the individual treating me so and yell, "Hellllooo, I went to college, graduated magna cum laude and then went to law school. I was on the freakin' law review. Seriously!" (How's that for your braggy blog bit?)
Of course, all the education in the world does not necessarily make a person smart. And I am the first to admit, I have my moments. For example, despite the fact that I am capable of conducting a jury trial entirely on my own, I still have trouble with figuring out my left and right.
Sigh. The other weekend, Bro and his girlfriend were driving out to visit me. He got a bit turned around with directions, so he called me to finish them off. I very definitely told him: "Drive two blocks, then take a LEFT at the light." I think I told him that twice without even thinking about it. He gets to that intersection and says "F.A., there is a car blocking the street!"
Then it dawns on me. I meant to tell him to turn RIGHT. I admit my mistake and he exclaims in laughter (and I'm sure a little bit of exasperation), "YOU STILL DON'T KNOW YOUR LEFT AND RIGHT? Oh my GAWD."
Yeah. So I said I fancy myself as intelligent. I never claimed to be good at directions.
Monday, July 19, 2010
Thoughts on a new blog
My life is full of little moments. Obviously. But what makes these moments in my life special to me is the way I twist and turn them into little stories that hopefully make my readers laugh. Well, they make ME laugh. So, in turn, they should make my readers laugh. Right?
I know you are all nodding your head in agreement. Excellent. Well, it's because of those funny little moments about which I treasure writing that I named my blog "Life of the Fabulously Awkward." However, my head is always churning out other ideas.
For example, I have my rarely used blog mishapsandmasterpieces.blogspot.com about which I intended to chronicle my cooking adventures. Sadly for me, my cooking club disbanded and I have been supremely lazy this summer. Stay tuned to see if I pick that up anytime soon. (Please?)
A couple of weeks ago, I had a brilliant (to me) idea to create a blog about a certain someone in my life that was causing me a considerable amount of stress. To protect the anonymity of the parties, I shall use a fake name. I intended to entitle it "Life with Larry." However, I've decided that it probably wouldn't be very nice of me to consistently make fun of someone especially when I am sure that I get irritating to certain people in my life. However, if I was to create a new blog entitled "Living with Larry," this would be my first entry.
A little back-story: Larry and I had taken a road trip together to interview some people. We aren't friends, so I imagine he had just used my phone number written on the post-it I'd handed him to call me when he picked me up that morning. Shortly after he dropped me off, I received a call from Larry. Thinking it was important, I answered the call.
Larry: "Yeah....uhhhhh....yeah....is this....uhhh....Orlando's Orthopedic....uhhh..."
F.A.: "No, Larry, this is Fabulously Awkward."
Larry: "Wait...uhhhh....who am I speaking with?"
F.A.: "Larry, this is Fabulously Awkward, remember, you just dropped me off."
Larry: "Uuuuh......ooooh.....yeah, F.A. Uhhh....sorry, was trying to call my chiropractor. OK, sorry, see you tomorrow. Bye!"
And this, my friends, is Classic Larry.
Perhaps one day there will be a blog dedicated to Larry. Not today, though. I'm not about to share my awkward moments with anyone for longer than a day. I might be awkward, but the fabulous part of me won't share. Or wait. Is that me being narcissistic?
I know you are all nodding your head in agreement. Excellent. Well, it's because of those funny little moments about which I treasure writing that I named my blog "Life of the Fabulously Awkward." However, my head is always churning out other ideas.
For example, I have my rarely used blog mishapsandmasterpieces.blogspot.com about which I intended to chronicle my cooking adventures. Sadly for me, my cooking club disbanded and I have been supremely lazy this summer. Stay tuned to see if I pick that up anytime soon. (Please?)
A couple of weeks ago, I had a brilliant (to me) idea to create a blog about a certain someone in my life that was causing me a considerable amount of stress. To protect the anonymity of the parties, I shall use a fake name. I intended to entitle it "Life with Larry." However, I've decided that it probably wouldn't be very nice of me to consistently make fun of someone especially when I am sure that I get irritating to certain people in my life. However, if I was to create a new blog entitled "Living with Larry," this would be my first entry.
A little back-story: Larry and I had taken a road trip together to interview some people. We aren't friends, so I imagine he had just used my phone number written on the post-it I'd handed him to call me when he picked me up that morning. Shortly after he dropped me off, I received a call from Larry. Thinking it was important, I answered the call.
Larry: "Yeah....uhhhhh....yeah....is this....uhhh....Orlando's Orthopedic....uhhh..."
F.A.: "No, Larry, this is Fabulously Awkward."
Larry: "Wait...uhhhh....who am I speaking with?"
F.A.: "Larry, this is Fabulously Awkward, remember, you just dropped me off."
Larry: "Uuuuh......ooooh.....yeah, F.A. Uhhh....sorry, was trying to call my chiropractor. OK, sorry, see you tomorrow. Bye!"
And this, my friends, is Classic Larry.
Perhaps one day there will be a blog dedicated to Larry. Not today, though. I'm not about to share my awkward moments with anyone for longer than a day. I might be awkward, but the fabulous part of me won't share. Or wait. Is that me being narcissistic?
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