In Which I Pretend I am a “Single Lady”

The title here might lead one to to believe that I am doing some sort of dance, in heels, possibly in a black unitard, tossing my hair about and looking smolderingly at a camera. I will now reassure you that nothing of the kind is happening over here, save the hair being tossed around issue (I really should just go get a damn hairband.) No, what I’m really talking about is that I WENT OUT THIS WEEKEND. Not once, mind you, but TWICE. On both Friday AND Saturday nights. And yes, the caps are necessary. Because not only do I not usually go out, I really, really don’t go out two nights in one weekend. And I went out AGAIN! For brunch on Sunday! Which was amazing! And after going out so very, very much,  I lived to tell the tale. So… uh, here’s the tale.

On Friday night I went to a birthday party for the boyfriend of one of my best friends. He turned thirty, and so she threw him one of the most fun parties I have ever had the good fortune to attend. Not only was it a bowling party, but it was a costume party. A themed costume party. A 70’s, disco-era, polyester themed party. And it was fantastic. However, I realized sometime on Friday morning that I did not have any appropriately themed clothing for said shindig, so I posed a question to Twitter.

Would it be weird if, instead of dressing for a party tonight like it’s the 70’s, I dressed like I was IN my 70’s?

Sarah gave me the go-ahead and asked for pictures, and I am nothing if not responsive, so…

There. I am the one directly next to the birthday boy, wearing the red muumuu and throwing gang signs, apparently. And though they aren’t visible, I’m wearing ankle socks and running shoes over those black tights. I am a party animal. The end. And on to the next!

I met a friend for drinks on Saturday night at the Hotel San Jose on South Congress. I would live there if I could. Really. However, we each ordered one drink and shared a chocolate plate (that’s right. A chocolate plate.) Then we went home. Hey, I just said I went out! I didn’t say I went out and drank myself under the table! And in our defense, we both have children at home so one drink is pretty much where we have to stop in order to drive home safely. On another note, I had a Champassion. You should go there and get one. You’re welcome.

And then on Sunday (uh, today), I met Jennie for brunch at South Congress Cafe. I was so, so excited to meet her, and she was every bit as smart and cute and funny and warm as I knew she would be. And she had run her first 5K that morning! Badass. We talked and talked and talked (and managed to eat migas and crab cake eggs Benedict in between talking… come visit me in Austin and I’ll take you there!) and had a wonderful time, and then finished eating and walked back down South Congress to the Hotel San Jose so Jennie could see it (no, really, come to Austin and go there… it won’t disappoint.)

All in all, I barely recognized myself this weekend. Who do I think I am? Some young fool of a girl who has no kids and no husband and who gallivants all over town? At least now I’m home in pajamas eating ice cream. Which is a much more normal version of me, in case anyone was wondering.


Too Much to Say

This “four blogs” thing is starting to wear me down… I post to my Hazeled blog every day (yep, EVERY DAY) because I said I would, dammit, and I make myself take and post that photo every day, weather or exhaustion or screamy baby getting six teeth notwithstanding (hey! see what I did there? how I worked that in? SIX TEETH. Or should it be SIXXX because she is indeed acting like the devil?). There’s also our little family blog which I’ve kept since G was born in 2006, which the grandparents check and the friends check and the aunts and uncles check, and if you look at the sidebar there it will tell you that I’ve steadily increased posting each year until this January, when things came to a screeching halt because I started Hazeled, I started this here blog, and I started contributing over at Style Lush, which I adore. So I really wouldn’t give up any of them, but lately I feel the need to concentrate my efforts. (Though I don’t think I can really combine any of them since they’re all so different.) How do all of you people who have five plus writing gigs get it all done? I tip my hat to you.

So! In a different vein, we had Georgia’s birthday party last weekend! It was… crowded. One word for you: MONSOON. And anyone who follows me on Twitter is sick of hearing about the birthday party/monsoon issues, so I won’t mention them again but, hey, pictures! On the family blog! Check them out… they involve sparkly shoes, you know, and who doesn’t like that? And also, my new favorite thing… balloons. I want to own my own helium tank, people. I absolutely loved having balloons floating all over the house. Not so much the next day when they all started sadly floating down, down, down to rustle forlornly about the house, but on the day of, they were fantastic.

I really can’t believe my baby is four years old, but I’ll save that drama for tomorrow, which is her actual birthday. But really, she used to be tiny! And now she’s all FOUR and stuff! I can’t get over it.

flying away


Internet Detox

Sometimes after I spend way too much time reading online (and looking and perusing and bookmarking and coveting and comparing and everything else that happens when observing others’ lives is so accessible), I have to shut the computer. I have to take a deep breath. I have to back away slowly, and I have to find something to do in real life. It’s easy to get overwhelmed. It’s easy to think “My gosh, that person has it so together.” But what I have to remind myself of is that a blog is a tiny, tiny slice of anyone’s life. It’s not always rosy, but most people aren’t going to put just negativity out there because, honestly, how much fun is that to read? I choose to read people who I find entertaining but who really put themselves out there, who choose to present multiple facets of themselves on their blogs. I admire it because I think I’m too scared to do it. I’ve never been a “hold things inside” kind of person, but the idea of putting my feelings and ideas really out there scares the pants off me. We’re all a little afraid of being judged, aren’t we? I know I am, especially by those who love and know me well. So what about putting things out there for a bunch of strangers to read? Is that cathartic or is it just TMI? Is it setting myself up for a smackdown, and am I thick-skinned enough to not care if people judge me, especially if they don’t know me in real life? I used to be pretty overly sensitive, I think, but as I’ve gotten older, I’ve realized more and more that each person is the major player in his or her life, and most people don’t spend excessive amounts of time worrying about others and what others think of them. That being said, I’m going to try to make myself be a little more honest on here… with myself especially.

And also, I’ll remember to walk away from the computer. That can be more cathartic than anything.


Scenes from our Weekend

This weekend was sunny and bright… we went on a picnic, went to the Austin kite festival, demolished part of the back porch (in preparation for the new one… yeah!), and had friends over for dinner on Sunday. It’s sometimes really great to have a weekend that reminds you of how much you love where you live, you know?


a running fool

When Georgia was seven months old, I started training for my first half marathon. I gained a lot of weight with both pregnancies; I’m not one of those people who just has a belly. I’m one of those “my hair looks pregnant” kind of people. And this isn’t something that especially bothers me, even though looking at photos from my baby shower kind of makes me cringe. (My ELBOWS looked pregnant, seriously.) I had never been a runner before, but my husband is and has been since high school. He runs to let off steam, to exercise and to have fun, and he always comes back from a run in such a great mood. I was a competitive swimmer for a long time, but that just wasn’t in the exercise cards (lack of pool being a primary reason) and so I started running. I didn’t really enjoy it, per se, and so I needed a goal… a tangible, attainable goal that would make me lace up my shoes and get out the door every day. I signed up for Austin’s 3M Half, which, in addition to being an entirely downhill course (woot!), has the reputation of having one of the awesomest swag bags ever. Just to give you an indication of what is in said bag, let’s remember that this is the 3M Half Marathon. I will never need to buy tape, post-it notes or paper clips ever again. But I do anyway, because I love office products. I know. Weird.

I trained really hard for that race, and it was due to my husband and his support and his training diligence that I finished, and finished well. I was so happy with my time and I had such a great time during the race. That was in January of 2007. So in June, I committed to run the New York Marathon that November. Casey trained me for that too; every day, we got home from work and school, loaded G into the jogger, and ran. Every single day. (Except Mondays. Mondays are hard enough as it is.) We did our long runs on the weekend, and as the distances progressed we started getting babysitters, because G was getting really bored on runs that lasted more than an hour and a half (SO DID I but that’s not what this is about.)

We ran and ran and ran and I felt so ready for the race. However, October was always my busiest work month, and I came off our Longest Work Weekend (think: no sleep, demanding people, unhealthy food) exactly one week before my flight to NYC. And I got sick. as. a dog. So, so sick. No breathing through my nose, achy joints, stuffy head sick. And I made a decision that horrified my parents and surprised even me… I ran that race anyway. And it was awesome. It took me longer than I had hoped, but while I was on that course, I felt like nothing could stop me.

I felt like hell the next day and it basically took me about seven weeks to get well again, but I’m still not sorry I did it. And that’s why I’m so anxiously awaiting the middle of this month… because I’ll find out if I got in to this year’s NYC marathon lottery. And if I do? I’m going to train like hell and be WELL this time.


just an average evening

SO. You’re sitting at home one night, on your couch, having a nice chewy brownie and listening to your best childhood friend catch you up on what’s been happening in her life (such get-togethers happen way too infrequently when one of you has two kids under four and the other is a late-night drag performer… schedules don’t really mesh. True story, by the way… probably a post for another day.) Anyway, we were enjoying our treats when suddenly there was a knock on the door. Let’s keep in mind that it was about 9:30 at night, so, therefore, not prime visiting hours. It was even too late for those alarm system companies that sometimes stop by to ask about “just putting a sign in (our) yard and you’ll get a free alarm system! aftermailinrebate/payingoutthewazoo/sellusyoursoul/totallynocommitmenttreally!”
Completely confused, I answered the door, only to be met by the sight of an extremely jumpy little guy who looked kind of like DJ Qualls. He proceeded (as his truck idled in front of my house) to try to sell me some seafood! Or steaks! Whatever I wanted! Out of the back of his truck!

Do people seriously do this? And do people actually BUY said truck-food? I was so confused that I just mumbled something unintelligible and closed the front door. Normally I’m the kind of person who hears out a spiel in its entirety; I will listen to anything anyone has to say because I’m too afraid of hurting people’s feelings.  I’ve even gone so far as to say to one of those alarm installers, “Sure! Sounds wonderful! Let me take a card and I’ll talk with my husband about it when he gets home!” (Then I make Casey be the bad guy. We’re a good team.)

So after I closed the door, I started feeling guilty, of course. How sad is it that this man’s job is to drive around and try to get people to buy food out of the back of his truck?

Still. I think I made the right decision.