Saturday, February 28, 2009

Endorphins To The End

February 28, 2009

If you don't believe that exercise remodels the brain chemistry, try exercising habitually for say, uh... I don't know... 12 years, then stop suddenly... because you have... oh, I don't know... a strain in the obliques maximus (pronounced oh-bleek-ess max-i-mus).

There's no such thing as the obliques maximus. But when I've got an injury, however paltry it might be, it always occurs in the maximus. Tendinitis in the ankle? Tendinitis in the ankelous maximus. Metatarsal stress fracture? Stress fracture of the metatarsal maximus. Blister? Blisterious maximus. Plantar Fasciitis? Fasciitis in the plantar maximus. Iliotibial band syndrome? Syndrome of the Iliotibial band maximus.

Injuries are funny creatures with nagging personalities. Not only do injuries inflict physical pain, they creep into the cerebellum with doomsday logic. What if I can't run again?! Is it permanent?! What if I lose the conditioning?! What if I can't wear my cute outfits?! What will I do with alll of those extra sharpies?!

With this particular strain of the side abdominal maximus, a distinctly haunting theory wagered its way into my thought process.... Can I still be the rabidrunner if I don't run?

I say yes.

If the legs ain't racing, my mind will surely compensate. There's also that whole foamy mouth thing. That'll never go away.

Friday, February 27, 2009


February 27, 2009

I cleaned the shower today. Big news, I know. Hold onto your horse named Harriet.

As I cleaned this shower, I discovered many splatters of nostril discharge - all in various forms of density, color and crystallization. That's right, I discovered boogers. Lots of them. They were here - there - EVERYWHERE!

The first thing I did was blame spouse. 'Cause that's what you do when you're married.

Then I decided to take ownership. Taking ownership is my new thing.

After careful and scrutinizing inspection of all the boogers, one (me being the "one") can conclude that a booger doesn't reveal it's owner. A booger doesn't have a name or imprint or even a color that symbolizes who it belongs to.

The only time a booger exposes its owner is when it's dripping down a face after an explosive sneeze or smeared on a shirt sleeve. If I wanted to point a nose-pickin' finger at the creator of those boogers in my shower, I needed DNA sampling.

We all know DNA won't distinguish who's boogers are who's 'cause Spouse and I are married. Naturally we have the same DNA.


(Just between you and me... the shower is my favorite place to blow my nose. It's magically liberating to just blow and let it flow.)

Friday, February 20, 2009

Consumer Cleanse Confession

February 20, 2009

I have purchased. Due to the cold and whatnot (my being a wimp is the whatnot), I was stuck on a treadmill the other day. Treadmill mileage is treacherous. I had a great playlist going so it wasn't so bad. Until.... until... UNTIL... the left ear bud went kapoot. Couldn't do it.

Got off the treacherous treadmill, drove to the Randy Radio Shack and purchased. Got back in the car, drove back to the gym and climbed aboard the treadmill.

(These are they, by the way).

Why didn't I just RUN over to the Randy Shack? Great question.

Prolly wasn't thinking straight - having no tunes 'n all.

Lead me, guide me...

February 20, 2009

I believe I've messed up at work. It's given me anxiety now for over a week. I'm trying very hard to take ownership. But the truth is... I thought I was giving an above par performance for my capabilities. Now I've been informed that I've done it all wrong. As I look back over the last few months it has occurred to me that I have received only "corrections" not "guidance".

So how do I balance my ownership of this mess without justifying or blaming someone else? Or even worse, without allowing tears to surface because of it. (Now I'm crying because I don't know if I should end that last sentence with a question mark or a period.)

Help. I need closure.

(On a positive note. There were no mispellings in this post.)

Thursday, February 19, 2009


February 19, 2009

I'm feeling really.... um... blah.

Not sad. Not happy. Nothing. So what do I do when this happens? I start typing. Let it all out. Then come back to ixnay on the cuss words. That last step is crucial. I don't want my posterity or heaven forbid, the in-laws, to know about my trash talkin' mush mouth.

It's quite magical, really. To sit down, type and type and type, and think and stew without hesitation. You should try it. Sit down and just type. Type every last word that comes into the head, every last image. And don't hesitate. If you hesitate you'll ruin the experience and you might miss something important.

For example... I have just now discovered that I was wrong about feeling blah. The real feeling here is....

I'm not hungry. And it's good to be hungry.

Hunger intensifies. Hunger motivates. Hunger is the process. Hunger brightens. Hunger challenges. Hunger makes you want more.

It is the hunger that makes you who you are. Not the acquisition.

Tuesday, February 17, 2009


February 17, 2009

In the which the rabidrunner documents the suprisingly necessary running accoutrements.


The Garmin Forerunner 305.
To ensure the distance. Or better yet - to ensure you don't exceed the necessary distance. Measures pace, distance, altitude, heart rate. Fun to sleep with too. See what your resting heart rate is when you wake up! Doesn't vibrate though...


The Amphipod.
Hydrate or die dude. The pouch is good for storing toilet paper, snacks and double-caffeinated excedrine.


Shot Blocks.
Fuel. With Caffeine... aaahh!


The Sharpie.
Great for keeping track of mileage on shoes. One dot equals 8 miles (approximately). Shoes are toast after 45 - 50 dots. Huffing it gives a decent kick when out of caffeine.





Somewhat new.


Close to retirement.



Sunday, February 15, 2009

Listen Pal - I Have Feelings!

February 15, 2009

WARNING - there's some language in this one. It's not my language. It's some joker I've never met. I have censored where possible but it's just like an episode of Cops. Consider yourself warn-ned.

This is what I get to put up with:

"um it shouldn't matter, so in order to get my returns i got to wait for all of my returns to come in? F*** OFF PEOPLE NEED THEIR MONEY I WASN'T GOING ABOUT WHAT I NEED MY MONEY NOW! And I can't change my return it was already accepted and money put in my bank, I need to send ANOTHER TOTALLY DIFFERANT SET OF W-2's IN IT SHOULDN'T MATTER WHEN THE F*** THEY ARE SENT ASLONG AS BOTH ARE BEFORE THE DEADLINE! YOU ALL NEED TO BE F***ING SHOT YOUR ALL A BUNCH OF MONEY SCAMMING BITCHES!"

... And then I got more. Because obviously IT wasn't finished (It's an IT because only people without balls yell at nice Mormon girls answering tax questions on the Sabbath).

"After I finished my forms on the other site it wouldn't let me add another w-2! F*** ALL OF YOU! You only care about getting your f***ing money the IRS could give to sh*** if they owe you and they won't go to jail if they take forever to get their money back to you but you owe them money and they'll toss your ass in prison!"

... Note that as of today, said joker hasn't paid us a dime. Here's my response:

"I apologize for the inconvenience this has caused you. Unfortunately, we are bound by the rules made by congress and the IRS. I would give you a refund, but you didn't pay us anything. Once again, I apologize and best of luck to you."

Stay tuned. IT might not be done.

Friday, February 13, 2009

Tax Tip

February 13, 2009

Today is Friday the 13th.
Prolly shouldn't do your taxes today.
Jason might come after you with an abacus.


Thursday, February 12, 2009

Happy Valentimes Day!

February 12, 2009

Here's a picture of the girls in their Valentime's outfits.
I know it isn't the 14th, but the girls will be working that day.


Wednesday, February 11, 2009

You do it...

February 11, 2009

You do it in cars. You do it in bedrooms. You do it on the front lawn. You sneak it in on elevators. You do it where we eat. You do it during important conversations, movies, and concerts. You do it during your first born's theatrical debut.

What is it that you're doing? You're Texting.

Not only is it annoying, fragmenting, and invasive... it's slaughtering the English language! It's taking the Commune out of Cate. It's taking the Inter out of Act. It's taking the Ac out of Quaint. It's taking the Corres out of Pond. And most painstakingly... it might remove the rabid from the runner.

How exactly is it slaughtering the English language? The first clue is that "Text" has become a verb. The second clue? You can spell a word with a number in the middle of it - which I thought was reserved for license plates. The third clue? You're limited to 160 characters (give or take a few). A measly hundred-sixty will never house any of my diatribes.

Do you know how hard it is to teach your 5 year old Yahoo how to read in this environment?


WTC (the Mormon way to say WTF - LOL).

*Go on... let me have it. I've finished five hours of tax complaints. I can surely take your criticism over my opinion on this one...

Tuesday, February 10, 2009

Powder Alert!

February 10, 2009


Came in the e-mail today. 13" of new.
Which means I'll mope around all day feeling sorry for myself.
Then I'll remind the Yahoos that their school schedules
and need for babysitting ruined the powder days of my 30's.

Yes. I'm that kind of mom.

Monday, February 09, 2009

The Stem

February 9, 2009

When Yahoo #1 was just shy of two, he decided his unit, or thing down there, or if I must... penis needed a new name. He chose and still chooses to call it his "stem". Yahoo #2 has followed suit.

At our house it's still the "stem". This is great because that whole birds-and-the-bees conversation will be a breeze:

Son, you put the stem in the flower and KAPOW! Fireworks.

Friday, February 06, 2009

Embryo Extortion

February 6, 2009

What the Hell?!

Thursday, February 05, 2009

Dashle-ing All The Way

February 5, 2009

(To the tune of Jingle Bells...)

Daschle-ing thru the snow
In a tax-cheat open sleigh
O'er the rules we go
Laughing all the way

Daschle made the laws
For all of you and me
We would go to jail
If we did act as he


Tax escape
Tax escape
We are not exempt

IRS - the powers that be
Condemn lest we forget

Tuesday, February 03, 2009

We're Pleased To Announce...

February 3, 2009
TWIN Girls! Jill and Jezebel.


Mom and babies are doing well!

Monday, February 02, 2009

Happy Groundhog Day!

February 2, 2009

The little rascal saw his shadow... 6 more weeks of winter. Think snow!
(Do we really know whether or not that little Phil really saw his shadow? I mean, does Phil even care about his shadow? Does Phil know what a shadow is? I could go on and on.)

Behold the annual cupcakes:


Sunday, February 01, 2009

Amish Chain Letter

February 1, 2009

I guess the Amish feel it necessary to pass sourdough starts with their chain letters. This is alright because the finished product is pretty good. If you don't know what I mean, I'll give you a brief sin-opsis.

You get a plastic bag full of rotten milk, flour and sugar. You fondle the bag a few times a day for 5 days. On the 5th day you add milk, flour and sugar. Continue the fondling for 5 more days. After those 10 days are up, you add more milk, flour and sugar and split it up. You give half of the rotten concoction to 3-4 friends and they repeat the 10-day fondle-fest. Think of the perpetual possibilities of this one. It could make it to Mongolia, Bill Gates might send you a dollar and we'll have World Peace!

(By the way, did you notice the artistic alliteration in that paragraph? Oh how I have ardor for alliterations.)

With the remaining 1/2 of the start you make bread. Actually it's more like cake. But for some reason those Anti-Automation Pennsylvania-People want to call it bread.

I have a bone to pick with this whole "Amish" theory however. The clue is in the recipe. See if you can find it:

Amish Friendship Bread
Amish Friendship Fondle-Fest Rotten Starter
1 cup oil
1 cup sugar
2 cups flour
1/2 cup milk
3 eggs
1 tsp vanilla
1/2 tsp baking soda
1 1/2 tsp baking powdah
1/2 tsp salt
2 tsp cinnamon
1 large box (5 oz) instant vanilla pudding

I believe I've made it easy for you to guess why my undies are in an uproar over this one.