Last night I got home and immediately told Paco we were going up in the attic to find the cat pee. I even put on real shoes that hurt my feet. Now, our attic is not one of those nice attics you see in movies and on t.v. with dress mannequins and leather steamer chests from the Victorian era and everyone’s baby pictures from ever. Our attic is gross and hot as balls and full of insulation and boards.

The entrance to the attic is through Elliot’s closet, so we locked Kevin out and carefully headed over to the area above our office. There is no floor in our attic, only insulation and beams but Paco has placed some wider boards around the perimeter so one can walk around. Paco wouldn’t let me step off those boards because I’m apparently a klutz and I would like to point out that only one person in our house has ever fallen through the ceiling from the attic and it wasn’t me.

He clambered over to the corner where we thought the smell might be coming from and looked around and immediately saw cat shit, so he rolled up that piece of insulation so the ceiling was exposed and got all jacked up in a weird position and sniffed…

“GAH. Well, I found the problem.”

The cat had used that area of the ceiling as a litterbox. I HAD A LITTERBOX IN MY CEILING. I live in a barn.

I tell you what, when I came out of that attic and Kevin greeted me I was hard pressed not to kick him. Cats are fuckers.

Tim ripped out all insulation in the area and Holly and I went to Petco and bought a gallon of Nature’s Miracle. He put it down and as of this morning there is no cat pee smell and all is right in my world.

I will say, though. I went outside and sniffed all my bushes after one of you guys said certain shrubs smell like cat urine. Right as I was doing it, a car pulled into our driveway to drop off Holly from a pool party and I was all, “Hey, hi. I was just checking my shrubs for cat pee.” Also, I had on blue Isotoner house slippers with white socks because my feet sweat. Which I told her, because I’m an oversharer and frankly, I thought it might make her forget about the cat pee.

My foot feels better today too. You guys, I had no idea about this stretching thing. I mean, I would throw a can of Dr. Scholl’s stinky foot spray down on the floor and roll my foot over it and it felt okay, and I rubbed my heel with my hand a lot, but this business of, like, putting your toes on the wall and stretching your foot? I did not know how much that would help. See why I keep a journal well past when I should have retired with dignity?

I’m still struggling with shoes, though. I made Holly go with me to Shoe Carnival last night and I tried a bunch of super ugly sandals and YES, I’m sure they would serve, but goddamn. When did it happen that I got old? Plus it’s never good to try on shoes when your feet already hurt.

Oh, and the basement carpet is dry, thanks to a dehumidifier and a fan running 24/7 and Paco’s ingenuity – he put boards under the wet part to lift it off the floor. We have a lot of boards.

I have not forgotten all the writing prompts you guys gave me last week. Here’s one:

What the eff do you do with younger school aged kids during the summer when your household includes two working parents?

I know, right? It was such a financial and guilt relief when the kids went to elementary school, but oh my god, the summers. I wanted to quit my job every summer.

We established Holly early on at the Jewish Community Center summer camp and she loves it and looks forward to seeing her friends every year. The camp’s expensive and a pain in the ass sometimes, but we’re all used to it. With Elliot it was more difficult because we lived in a smaller town and had less money. One year he just went over to a neighbor’s house every day and I paid her and that sucked. She did things like drag the kids around while she did errands and once even took them to the tanning salon with her. No word on whether she put any of the kids IN the actual bed like that Oompa-Loompa from New Jersey.

One thing that pisses me off to no end about summer programs around here: they all seem to run from 9-4. Um. The reason one needs an all-day summer camp is because ONE HAS A JOB. Jobs don’t run from 9-4 and if you have one that does, may I submit my application? One year I signed up Elliot for a camp that let out at 4 and since the camp was in the same parking lot as the public library, I took a lesson from the hobos and made him go sit in the children’s area and pretend to read until I could get there at 4:45. I had a reasonably flexible job then, but what the hell do people do who have to work until 5 and then commute? I hate how this country can’t figure out child care. WE CAN’T ALL STAY HOME.

That was the last summer I had to find care for him – I think he was 11. Those are the most awkward summer years. They’re almost old enough to stay home alone, but even if you were comfortable with it, what are they going to do all day?

Luckily Holly’s camp has programs for the kids all  the way up until they are 14 and they get to be junior counselors. This year she is doing theater and art camps, which are better for older kids and then next year there’s a “camp” where they do  community service and she’s excited about that.

Scroll to the bottom of this page and you’ll see that she’s even in the ads.

1) My foot hurts. Oddly enough it doesn’t hurt when I run but the days between runs I am practically lame. I leapt out of bed in a tizzy last Thursday because I had forgotten Holly had an early morning skating lesson and I couldn’t walk! I almost fell down! BULLSHIT.  The problem is I have no appropriate shoes other than running shoes to wear. I used to wear flip flops almost all the time, but now they are wholly inappropriate because I need an arch support. I have one pair of shoes with an arch and they are heels and would look a TAD ridiculous with jeans, shorts and capris.  On Saturday I wore Chuck Taylors.  I went to the Chihuahua Parade and shopped for furniture and by the time I drove home I was so lame that I stopped at a giant shoe store to see if I could find something, anything to wear. There were some ugly Merrells that made me look 50 years old and also they were expensive. I tried some running shoes that were sort of more fashionable, but they felt…odd. They were Nikes which have never fit me right.  Also? Expensive. So I gave up and limped back to the car. I hate to be a baby, but I have finally found a form of exercise I love and MY FEET WON’T LET ME DO IT. HATE.

2) There is a terrible cat pee smell in one of our front rooms. The thing is? THERE’S NOTHING IN THERE. There is a brand new floor and nothing else. How can it smell like cat pee?? Paco and I went crazy with the black light the other night to see if there was anything on the walls. We found two places that may or may not have been cat pee, so I washed the walls with Greenworks and Nature’s Miracle and…it still smells. I went outside to see if something was coming through from out there (this room is on the front of the house), like maybe a tom cat had been spraying and the smell was coming through the window, but nay. I went into the basement right below the room and it smells fine.  So the only thing left to check is the attic above the room to see if somehow an animal has gotten in there and peed in the insulation.  Ask me how much I want to do that.  Also ask me how happy it makes me to spend thousands of dollars on remodeling so that the first smell that greets you upon entering is cat pee.

3) It rained like the apocalypse on Sunday. Normally our basement is dry, but due to a combination of uncleaned gutters and a broken window well cover, three inches of rain poured through a basement window and began running like a faucet  down the wall and across the floor. Oh, yeah, and all of our living room stuff is down there because we’re remodeling our house. That smells like cat pee. And you can’t catch water in a bucket or anything when it’s running down a wall. You can, however, go get every single towel in the house and hold them against the wall until they’re soaked and weigh approximately 50 pounds.  Did I mention we moved a piece of carpet down there so it would be more comfortable sitting in a dank basement for two months? Yeah. That carpet got wet. So we had to move some of the furniture off the carpet so it could dry and now there’s nowhere to sit down there and nowhere to sit on the main floor and so…I guess we’ll just live in our bedroom.

4) Everything is falling apart. Paco went to start his blower (he uses it for blowing the grass clippings after he mows) and the starter cord broke off in his hand. Holly finished her shower a couple of nights ago and hung up her towel and the towel bar fell off. I bought Paco a new clock for his bathroom because his old one broke and he hung up a goddamned cross stitch he did in 4H that says I HEART STRAWBERRIES NO I’M NOT KIDDING and this morning the Command strip failed and the clock flew off the wall and got all dented and scratched our baseboard. My brakes started shuddering when I slow down on the highway.

5) My daughter brings the guilt. I am so tired of her guilting me about not being able to do things because I WORK SO SHE CAN DO THINGS. Last night she had pictures for her dance studio. She is taking one class, hip hop. The fuckers at LE Dance (I hope they read this because I hate them) sent home elaborate instructions on make-up and hair. Along with these instructions was a separate slip of paper titled Hip Hop Costumes. It said on the slip of paper that hair should be in a low pony with a left part and a black hair tie. SO THAT’S WHAT I DID BECAUSE THAT’S WHAT IT SAID.  When I take Holly to dance I drop her off because I DON’T TAKE DANCE. I AM NOT A DANCE MOM.  In fact, there is no “watch” area at all. If you want to go in and watch (they don’t encourage it), you have to just lean up against a wall and try to look through the window in the door and that’s just dumb. She has a recital every year and there is a parent watch night. But last night she was all, “Are you coming in?” and I’m like, “Uh, NO? It’s picture night? Why would I come in?”  And she was like, “But…” and it became apparent she didn’t want to get out of the car because she was in costume. Well, goddamn I just spend a half-hour putting on whore’s makeup and the ponytail and Aqua Net and adjusting her midriff-baring bedazzled hoodie and ultra low baggy capri sweats so I was like, “Get out of the car! I’ll be at Dunkin Donuts!”

So I went and got a long john and drove back to the dance studio to wait because oftentimes on picture night they just take the pictures and have them leave.  I parked and got out my long john and my Kindle. A couple of minutes after I got settled, I got a picture text from Holly showing me her hair redone in a messy bun with a “bump” in front, saying “You did WRONG HAIRSTYLE. One of the moms who is always here fixed my hair for me since you weren’t here.”

Fine. Just…fine.  Then she had the nerve later to ask why I hadn’t gotten her a donut. Because that other mom should have gotten you a donut, that’s why.

She has given me shit all week about some b.s. that involves me not being free to leave work willy-nilly to facilitate five days of ice skating practice a week.

I like Elliot better this week. Next week when grades come out, Holly can retake the lead.

Pretty simple: Wendy Weetabix asked me if I wanted to come and I was in the mood to take a vacation. Look, I’m an extrovert. I like meeting people and making small talk.  I also love staying in hotels and eating meals at restaurants and drinking at bars. So…it was a no-brainer.  Green Bay is also a cheap vacation. We get sweet rooms at an Irish Inn for $89 or something ridiculous and Wendy and Committee arrange all the activities for a small registration fee and MY GOD the booze and food  in Green Bay is cheap. On karaoke night of the latest Weetacon, Poppy and Mike and I amused ourselves by running (staggering) (what?) to the bar to order three shots of Jager, a beer, a vodka tonic and a Scotch. We would wait with glee and then giggle madly when the bartender said, “That’ll be twenty dollars.”  I don’t understand Wisconsin, but in Kansas you’d be out fifty bucks for that.

To clarify, the first Green Bay event I went to was a smaller affair known as “Rehab.” It was like a mini-Weetacon. I enjoyed it so when the next Weetacon came up, I was in and I’ve been in ever since.

I think if you spend a significant amount of time and effort on your internet friends, you ought to go to a get-together.  Anyone who wants to go to Weetacon should go. I will be your bus buddy.  Don’t tell her, but I’m going to work on Robyn Anderson for next year. Fred can take care of the livestock.

Robyn donates her jams and jellies for our raffle and they are a big moneymaker, so it’s the least you can do, ROBYN, to show up.

I love my Weetacon people.  Every year I arrive late-ish because it’s hard to get to Green Bay from Kansas City for some reason (I have to fly to Milwaukee and rent a car and drive for two hours) and I walk in the Waterford Room and everyone says, “Jane!” and for the only time all year, I become a hugger.

Now go to Weetabix’s page and read about how to win $50 from Igigi, who provides gorgeous dresses for our gorgeous models at our fashion show:

http://thatsmybix.com/2012/04/27/wendy-bix-reviews-the-igigi-tatiana-dress-and-a-giveaway/

So since I’m talking about Weetacon, I’ll use the rest of Wendy’s writing prompts:

The craziest blogger you ever met! Or the craziest blogger you’d love to meet.

I have not met very many crazy bloggers! I’ve met a couple I thought were going to be crazy, but then they were kinda normal.  The craziest blogger I’d like to meet? I CAN’T ANSWER THIS because then I’d be calling someone crazy and someone might sue me for libel! I would like to meet some non-crazy bloggers, like everyone on my Google Reader list.  Oh yeah, I get to meet Miz Silverman next month when I go to Washington DC. She’s a little crazy. Does that count?

Why Robyn should get more cats.

Because at some point you just stop counting.

Why my mobile phone sucks.

I actually have an answer for this! Because Green Bay does something to cell phones! Every time I come there I run out of battery twice as fast as anywhere else in the world and my phone does bizarre things like turn itself off and back on.  It’s terribly annoying. So I submit your phone doesn’t suck, the system sucks. Power to the people.

Ice skating or marathon running: which takes more discipline.

Marathon running!  I am having a hate/hate relationship with ice skating right now because oh my god the money. But as far as discipline – Holly doesn’t really have any, but she’s still pretty good. You can’t be a “pretty good” marathon runner. You either work really hard and do a marathon or you don’t.

Why don’t women wear appropriate bras these days?

DUDE. DON’T GET ME STARTED. It is my greatest pet peeve of all time. Even I, of the Tiny Tempur-pedics, wear a bra so that my bustline has a neat and tidy appearance. I can’t tell you how many women ruin perfectly good clothing with poor bras.  I don’t care how big your boobs are, they look better hauled up.

Of course, every time I discuss this I get comments all,  you don’t even KNOW and bras are for suckers and I don’t care how I look and YOU try having 38 triple Zs and blah blah blah. All I know is people gonna stare at your chest if you have saggy boobs and you look sloppy. That’s all I’m saying.

Obviously, I care about appearances – that’s why I rebuilt my boobs from scratch without even thinking it over.  That’s why I had such a hissy fit when I was bald. It’s why I shave my legs the night before I go running, in the early morning, alone.  You never know when you might fall and Ryan Gosling might help you up. Or Patrick Dempsey. Or whatever.

From -R-:

Yes, I have lived in Kansas for the vast majority of my life. I was born in Texas and lived there for about two weeks before my parents moved to Kansas City, Missouri, my father’s hometown. We lived in Kansas City, Missouri until I was four and then moved across the border to Kansas where the houses cost more but the public schools are better (people still do this, by the way).  I lived in that house until I went to college, in Kansas.  I have never had the desire to live anywhere else. Paco is also from Kansas, but does have ancestors who were gasp FRENCH CANADIAN. I KNOW.

Paco and I will probably never move.  I mean, if someone offers him a job that pays a million dollars in some other state, okay.  I think my family would probably be supportive of that. Please note that I require two million for a move to California, because California’s so fucking expensive that a million is chump change.   I’m not living in a shack and commuting four hours a day, California, so Paco doesn’t even take your calls for less than two. Just no.

I love Kansas. It’s sometimes embarrassing to be from here, due to having a bunch of fascist, sexist ignorami in charge, but I’ve lived here all my life, and most of my ancestors have lived somewhere near here for over a hundred years, so yeah. I’m prairie folk.

The best vacation I’ve taken with or without kids was the cruise we went on with Paco’s huge family (it was with kids). It was a seven-day cruise, and I got so drunk in St. Thomas that I humiliated a potted plant and Holly got the norovirus and Elliot was so motion sick he couldn’t move until we borrowed a nausea patch, but still. So fun. There were 35 of us so the kids had plenty of other kids to play with and the adults had plenty of adults to play with. We dominated the karaoke lounge every night and all ate together and it was awesome.

The Zooey Deschanel commercial. FULL DISCLOSURE: I like Zooey Deschanel. I like “New Girl” and not just because of all the men. I like HER. I think she’s funny.  Yeah, I know it’s totally A Thing to hate Zooey Deschanel, but the commercial is dumb because of Apple, not her. That commercial TOTALLY fits Apple hipsters.  Of course they’d order soup and of course it would be tomato.  No crackers, though. That’s not cool.

The Trolley Run seemed like it was going to be a disaster. It was raining when we got up at 6:00 and Paco was like, “What’s your plan?” and I said, “My plan is that it’s going to stop raining.”

He looked at me kinda funny. But I mean, seriously.  It usually doesn’t rain consistently for hours, right?

When we left the house 45 minutes later it was still raining.

We drove a little ways and I said, “You know…I think I may need a hat. And a different shirt.”

So we turned around and went back. I wasn’t too worried about being late because this race has a zillion people (although only half of the registered runners showed up…a paltry 5500) and four waves of runners were slated to go before my wave (the Might Make It/Might Expire Wave).

I got my hat and changed into long sleeves and weirdly I happened to have four disposable rain ponchos in my trunk.

The Trolley Run is a one-way race that follows the old trolley rails leading from the Waldo area to the Country Club Plaza. The rails are still visible in a lot of places. The idea is you’re supposed to park on the Plaza and take a “trolley” (read: ugly bus) to the race start. But fuck that. I had Paco and Holly drop me off near the race start and then sent them down to the Plaza to wait. I say “drop me off” but really what happened was Paco pulled into the parking lot of Walgreen’s and I sat there saying, “Fuck. Do I really…it’s pouring. Fuck.”  Finally I decided I was running the damn race no matter what because I PAID $30 FOR IT. So I got out and proceeded to stand around for 45 minutes in the rain. I hid under some overhangs for a while and took two very disturbing visits to the porta-potties.  I do not know what is wrong with people, especially before runs. For god’s sake.

At one point I did just like Bill Murray in Groundhog Day and stepped directly into a pothole filled with water, soaking my entire right foot. Greeeeeat.

At any rate, it slowed to a drizzle right before my wave start so I took off the poncho and crammed it into a trash can and got in the back of the line. I was determined not to start too fast and made sure I had my music started and my Runkeeper kicked off way before we started. Thus, my Runkeeper reported my pace at five minutes as 439 minutes per mile, which confuses me since I was standing still.  Did I experience a physics breakthrough? Time travel?

I kept having to remind myself as I got updates that I was ten minutes behind what Runkeeper was telling me but at some point I forgot and was all, how can I have been running that long?  Then the finish line further confused me because it said 1:05 which was actually the time since the race started, like the very first person, but I was still all disappointed, like, This took me an HOUR? What am I, 80? Oh and also? The “red wave” runners, who are elite runners and have to submit proof they can run an 8 minute-mile or faster, like to get to the end and then turn around and run back to the start and they are fuckers. I’m slogging along, not even halfway, and these jackasses who look like beef jerky are happily loping back UP to the start. BAD KARMA, elite runners.

The race was a mile farther than I’ve ever run. I figured I could run three miles so surely I could run four. And I was right, only that last mile was a bit difficult. I don’t have any cardio problems running, but my old lady muscles and joints tend to tire out.  My right foot and ankle were killing me on Saturday night, for no apparent reason. I iced and used Aleve and was very discouraged, but on Sunday I was fine. I think we ladies of a certain age just have achy bones now and then. I did walk a lot on Saturday in crappy shoes. Maybe that was it. I am sort of in a quandary about shoes right now. You would think that flats would be the best for your feet and heels a no-no, but the most comfortable shoes I own are Naturalizer-type shoes with a two-inch heel. I’m getting so I wear them every day, because my boots hurt my feet, my flats hurt my feet, my clogs hurt my feet, even my old running shoes hurt my feet.  Maybe I need old lady insoles. I don’t know.

Anyway, thanks again for all the encouragement and congratulations on the race. I am going to take some time off doing races and work on my 5K time. I am running in the middle of the pack and my competitive nature makes me want to at least finish in the top third or something. I want more people below me than above me.

Oh hey hi look at my carefree smile I'M DYING INSIDE

Please note that there is a six-year-old girl mere seconds behind me.  I obscured her face and bib number since it’s douchey to put kids on the internet without a parent’s permission, but trust me, I checked her time and she ran close to the same pace as I. So… yeah. Gonna work on my speed. But I’m NOT running until Wednesday because goddamn.

Yesterday afternoon Holly appeared in running shorts and a tank top and announced she was going running, because she has to run a mile in gym next Tuesday and also she thought she might like to run a 5K sometime. So she went out and ran a half-mile in about five minutes and came back.  She said her training schedule is going to be Tuesdays, Thursdays and Saturdays, since she doesn’t have anything else to do. AH YOUTH.

She has cardio skills like none other because of ice skating, so I expect she could probably run a mile right now. I would love it if she got into running, because I wouldn’t have to drive her to that activity.

RE: the orthodontia. I think we need two opinions too, but it remains to be seen whether we will do so. Paco is very trusting of dentists and orthodontists and I think they are ALL CROOKS, so we probably ought to meet in the middle. I definitely want Holly to have straight teeth. Luckily she is careful about brushing morning and evening, because that story in the comments about the boy who had braces and didn’t brush his teeth, etc., gave me horror flashbacks to when Elliot was young and would go DAYS without brushing his teeth and just didn’t seem to care.   Boys are gross. However, they don’t tend to throw their hairbrushes and go sob in the bedroom.

You may remember that in order to get Holly to quit sucking her thumb, we took her to an orthodontist who put in a “crib” which is a metal thingie that jacked up the roof of her mouth so she couldn’t get suction. Let me know if I am getting too technical for you.  He also installed a palate expander and some spacers OR SOMETHING, I don’t remember too well. Apparently thumbsucking for eight years screws up your teeth and the roof of your mouth. It’s funny; I can’t even remember her doing it, but that’s a long damn time to suck your thumb.

I would like to point out that when Holly sucked her thumb she had no trouble sleeping whatsoever. Maybe that’s coincidence but even so, if it meant she’d quit this ridiculous bedtime nonsense I’d let her suck her thumb until she moved out.

Anyway, they took all that hardware out after a while and told us to bring her back in a couple of years to be evaluated for braces. Her teeth look pretty straight to me, but Paco is in charge of dentistry so he took her and OH MY GOD, the expense. They want four thousand dollars to straighten her straight teeth and correct her moderately-severe-but-completely-invisible-to-me overbite. Oh, and of course she’s got to have some weird thing called ankylosis, which is when a baby tooth won’t fall out and if not attended to, eventually FUSES TO THE JAWBONE BLEEEAAHH.

Elliot has perfectly straight teeth. I even asked the dentist if he thought he needed braces, and he said no, much to my surprise. I’m positive dentists have kickback deals with orthodontists, right? What the hell? He didn’t even think he needed to be evaluated! What up, older kid! Of course, I’ve wasted some money on him of late, DON’T CHA KNOW, so I guess I shouldn’t be glorifying the dental savings too much.

I think Elliot gets done with the semester in like two weeks and then of course Grade Watch 2012 will begin. Sigh.  He has voluntarily enrolled in a biology class at the Junior College for the summer, so he’ll be staying with us Monday through Thursday starting June 4. That makes me happy. I guess we’ll need to get the door put back on his room.  Also, get all the shoes off his bed.  We may have used his room for a bit of storage during the remodel.

I am not kidding when I say it is not my goal to run a 5K. My goal is to run one mile without stopping. And I can’t imagine a world where I could do that. No shit. I practically had to become a Christian to run for 60 seconds. There is no way I will ever move out of Week 1.

January 3rd Jane was a negative fucker, eh?

FYI, I ran my usual 3.1 miles on Monday morning and let me just say: completing a 5K does a lot for your mental state if you’re working on running. I mean, I run three miles all the time, but it’s easier to run three miles if you’ve done a 5K. You feel, as Texxie says, LEGIT.

So, in other news, our floors are finished and as of today we can walk on them with shoes! WOOOOHOOO. As you all may know, I am an uncivilized cretin who actually prefers to wear shoes inside my house, so it has been quite the hassle to go without them this past week.  We still have no furniture anywhere, but I think we’re not allowed to put in furniture for another week or something. These floors are divas.

The wait to put furniture on the floors is sort of irrelevant, since we have no furniture. We have an amount budgeted to get some, but a) I believe the amount will be too low and b) getting Paco to shop for furniture is nearly impossible.  I don’t know what his problem is, but he needs to get over it, because every time he balks long-term, I end up just pulling the trigger on some ugly shit from Nebraska Furniture Mart. I have execrable taste, as I’ve noted before in this blog. I have no idea how to put a room together, especially with a tight budget. If I had carte blanche, I’d just go to Crate and Barrel and buy the display, but I do not. I know what I like in other people’s houses but it feels weird to copy my sister-in-law’s house (each sister-in-law is now wondering which one I’m talking about).

Paco hates everything. Every single piece of furniture I gaze upon, he says, BLECH or BLEEHHARG or SERIOUSLY?  He has good taste but…it’s only good if you buy something!

I will put in a cowhide rug and plastic antlers if some furniture doesn’t show up in about two weeks! I swear it!

I was ridiculously nervous driving to the 5K. It wasn’t because I was afraid of running it, because I can easily run 5 kilometers; nay, it was all the logistics! Where would I park? What if I were late? Where is the start? How do I put the chip on my shoelaces? What if I have to pee?  Bib – over boobs or under boobs?  Water? No water? Eat? Don’t eat?

I learned many lessons. In the future I will pin on my damn bib at home. That way when I change my mind about where to put it seventeen times, I won’t look like a crazy person and I’ll be able to find the safety pin I will inevitably drop.  I will put the chip on my shoe at home as well – that way helpful older men won’t watch me struggle and then try to do it for me (creepy).  Also? I’ll ignore the instructions on how to put the chip on and do it the logical way, which is twisty tie on top, not tucked underneath.

I was doing all these tasks alone because Holly and Tim got caught in marathon road blocks and barely made it to the start. I left earlier than they did because I didn’t want them to have to stand around waiting, especially since it was thirty-eight degrees out, but neither did I want to be late.  I was so cold when we lined up that I was shivering and people were giving me concerned looks.  Whatever, people, once I start running my body is all, EXERTION! OH MY GOD, TURN ON THE HEATERS! There were so many overdressed runners.  There were a couple of people wearing full-on coats and stocking hats. I can’t even imagine.

The other thing I have to do is get my phone in order and tucked away in my fanny pack (Fine, Nance, it’s a FANNY PACK) well before the start.  I turned on my music and Runkeeper when I thought I had enough time and then all of a sudden people were moving and I was trying to tuck the thing in my pack and I hit the wrong button and it started calling Paco and then one of my earbuds fell out while I was trying to fix it. I was going to step out of line to get re-situated then I discovered I’d passed over the mat which starts your time and I was like hell no, so I was running along, fucking with my phone and my earbuds and my fanny pack and it was ridiculous. Swear to god, I ran about 500 yards before I got everything in order.

After that it was easy. I was surprised how many people overdid it in the beginning and had to walk after about a mile. We went up one little hill early on and I would say that 90% of the people in my grouping started walking.  And throughout the race, people were run/walking.  They’d pass me and I’d be all “Bastard!” and then a minute or so later I’d come up behind them and they’d be walking and I’d pass them.

I didn’t walk at all, since I consider that a personal failure. I didn’t even walk at the beginning like I do when I practice, and you know what? It was fine.

About halfway through volunteers were handing out Gatorade and water and I was like, what the fuck, who can’t run three miles without a drink? This guy literally shoved a cup of red Gatorade in my hand and I splashed the shit out of him and I tried to drink it but you can’t drink and run, FYI. But I wasn’t stopping so I sort of sloshed some toward my mouth and discovered it was artificially sweetened which pissed me off.

Dear World: Not everyone is neurotic about sugar. When did it become the norm to default to artificial sweetener? THAT SHIT’S BAD FOR YOU.

Anyway, when I headed into the last third of the race, I decided to speed up. Why not? I figured the worst thing that could happen was barfing at the end or, you know, slowing down. So I began hauling ass. I was within site of the finish line and running really fast when my phone went bananas and started calling Paco again and I had to reach back and pull it out and end the call and then put it back and it really broke my focus.

I don’t know why I didn’t just ignore the phone. So it called Paco, big deal.  I was highly irritated, however. I don’t suppose it would have made that big of a difference in my time, but still.

When it was over I got my results immediately because of the chip timing and I ran it in 35 minutes 36 seconds, at a pace of 11:30 per mile. This is not very fast and in my age category (females 45-49) I placed 22^nd out of 37 runners. So now of course I want to go faster.  But I gots to tell you, I can’t imagine doing a nine minute mile like some of these people. There was actually a 12-year-old girl who came in 9^th place OVERALL who ran a 7.55 mile. What the hell.

I would bitch about being among the oldest in my category, except the woman who won was 49 soooo.

After the Trolley Run this weekend I’m going to start a 5K Pace Improver through Run Double and see if I can get my time down to 10 minutes/mile. I was doing Bridge to 10K but I’m going to wait on that.

So that’s the story of my first 5K. I am so happy, as disgusting as that sounds. I never thought I could do something like this.  I realize I’m obnoxious.  I think the reason people get so obnoxious about running is that it’s hard on your body and on your mind. For me, running awakened a sense of endurance and persistence that less measurable exercise goals did.  I can actually prove my effort. I cover ground in a defined time period. When I extend the amount of ground or increase the speed at which I cover it, I’ve done something and I can check it off.  When I went to gym in the past, it was just vague. I “exercised.”   I had no idea how much effort I’d expended. This morning I ran 3.1 miles and I burned 357 calories. Total ripoff by the way – I run my ass off and I get like half a bagel with cream cheese out of it.

Thanks to all you guys for your nice comments on Twitter and Facebook!  xoxo

For me, it was never about exalting my choices by cutting down someone else’s choices. I was simply clarifying to Ann Romney (like she’s reading this on her golden iPad or something) that a stay-at-home mom’s “work” is completely different from a working mother’s “work.”  And I wanted to make the point that the super rich can’t really relate to me and my life and I resent it when they pretend to. It’s condescending. Of course, Ann Romney is damned if she does and damned if she doesn’t – it’s not like she can say, “I’ve been blessed by wealth and privilege, so I may not be the best person to comment on the demands on middle-income working mothers.” Wait. Yes, she could say that, and if she did I might hug her. I still wouldn’t vote for her husband because I could never ever in good conscience vote for an individual who doesn’t believe in equal rights for all people, but I wouldn’t dislike her so much.

Do I think working mothers get the short end of the stick in society? Sometimes.  I feel like in this new woman-hating era, working moms get portrayed as uncaring harridans who are responsible for the demise of The American Fambly and such shit.  But stay at home moms get screwed too.  My friends Jessica and Jill are full-on SAHMs. They don’t work at home, don’t sell  Scentsy or write for BlogHer or anything. They work as wives and mothers and neither one gives a shit what anyone thinks.  They get screwed all the time by me and other working moms because we ask her to help us out by driving our kids to all the GODDAMN activities that schools and dance studios and other assholes schedule during working hours. And let’s not forget the childfree by choice women. My workplace bends over backwards to accommodate me because I have kids. They don’t give a shit about the outside-of-work needs of the women without children.

Any way you slice it, being a woman kind of sucks right now. There are more of us than there are men, and we vote more than men do…so why aren’t we winning, Charlie Sheen style?

I have my own theories.  We allow ourselves to be deprioritized. We are afraid to be bitches and have arguments and do things that might make us look less than the gentler sex.   Hilary Rosen got roasted for being honest and Ann Romney got sainted for being motherly.  Bleh – there is more to being a woman than taking care of kids!  I’m a mother, but I’m a wife before that, and I’m a woman before THAT.

Sooooo anyway.

I spent most of the weekend trying to figure out ways to stay out of my house while my new floor was being stained, but in the spirit of radical feminism: My floors are stained! My floors are stained!  Today they are buffing and putting on another clear coat. Tomorrow they will do the same, collect the rest of the outrageous amount of money they are owed and go away forever or until we hire them to do our kitchen (noooooooooo). Friday we have the window guy coming to put in our new living room window and then no strangers should be in our house for a while. Then Paco has to do all the trim and we have to buy furniture and shit for the walls. Oh and build a stair rail. And paint the risers.  And do a whole bunch of other stuff.

Kevin is very upset with all this flooring nonsense. It’s a good thing they will be done by tomorrow or I honestly think he would develop thumbs by sheer force of will, open the front door and march out in a huff. We have to put him down in the basement when the floor guys are there because we can’t have cat prints for the love of god. After we let him out in the evenings he lies around looking wounded and beaten. Greeley is pissy too, because he comes inside in the mornings, gets himself all settled on the bed, and then about 20 minutes later, we pick him up and dump him outside.  Fuck the both of them. We wouldn’t need hardwood floor if it weren’t for these goddamned cats. Only a pet owner can truly know the joy of seeing a hardwood floor stretching out into infinity (or, you know, the other side of the living room). Cat barf? Wipe it up! Cat hair? Swiffer!

We’re putting new carpet in the bedrooms, so I’m sure the cats will designate those rooms for barfing. Assholes.

Running shit: I had to run at the track yesterday because the weather was so unpredictable. I hate running the track because a) the track is banked and it makes my ankle hurt and b) I get no stats and I am completely driven by stats.  I can’t get a GPS signal indoors, so I don’t know how far I’m going etc and that dissatisfies me. Oh sure, the track at The J (the insider way of referring to the Jewish Community Center-JV Jew over here-represent!) is 1/10^th of a mile so obviously I could count laps, but I am so obsessive about forgetting things that I would be saying “1, 1, 1, 1…” in my head during the whole lap and then “2, 2, 2, 2…” during the next lap and by the end my brain would hurt. So I just started my playlist and ran until I got to the song that I’m usually at when I stop.  The track encircles the exercise machine area, so I amused myself by judging the people using the treadmills and ellipticals.  I can’t use those machines because after I finish I have that feeling like I just got off a boat, but it seems to me that you may not be getting a true workout if you are basically lying on top of the elliptical and using gravity and the lever theory to push your legs up and down.  I mean, it’s better than nothing, I suppose.

There was no one on the track except me and this old man who was walking and he irritated my shit. He was following the rule that slower walkers stick to the inside lanes, but every time I lapped him, he would hear me coming and start walking faster , like I was coming up behind him to rob him or something. And this doesn’t sound like a big deal, except he was sort of unsteady and when he’d speed up, he’d start tottering into my lane and I couldn’t judge where he was going to be when I passed. So I finally got so I had to sprint past him and I resent sprinting.  A lot.

I have a 5K on Saturday! I drove the route on Saturday while we were homeless and it looks okay – no hills. And the stars aligned and Holly’s skating lesson got moved to 10:00 a.m. so she and Paco can go to the race with me.  Originally I thought I was going to do the whole thing alone, which is fine, but I was like, damn I have made such a big deal out of this running shit and I’m going to have to ask a stranger to take my picture.  My ego resents sprinting.