Bus Exhaust and Homeless People

October 18, 2007

This morning, in preparation for my daily walk with Beth, I was routing around for something to wear. Our walks are certainly no red carpet affair--we generally walk with some alarming cases of bedhead, shirts featuring slogans like "Ovary Action," and three-year-old maternity shorts from K-Mart. Needless to say, I wasn't worried about style, but more about cleanliness.

In this household, clean laundry tends to be in short supply, because let's face it, that's the way God made me. But lately, clean laundry has evolved from a "recurring issue" to a "crisis of historically astronomical proportions."

In other words, everything is dirty.

So off I went, straight to the hamper, and began the process of selecting the most socially acceptable dirty shirt. We all know how this goes: fish out shirt, press nose into armpit, sniff, and decide--it's so remarkably simple.

After five or six t-shirts, I finally found a winner, and lucky for me, it was the yellow, polyester-blend Loop-for-Lupus-Charity-Walk shirt from 1991. I'm not sure why, but I always feel so pretty in that old thing--paint splotches and all. So, in my rare moment of hotness, I sort of strutted up to my husband, wrapped my arms around his waist, and gave him a long, slow kiss.

Well, it was supposed to be a long, slow kiss. But about half a second into it, Jared put one hand on each of my cheeks, and forcefully pushed my head away from his own. I opened my eyes to find his face all squished into itself and his tongue hanging out in an OH MY GOSH. WHY WOULD YOU MAKE ME EAT EAR WAX?! kind of way.

"AMY!" he demanded.

"What?" I asked, using both hands to point to my super sexy shirt. "I was just trying to come on to you!"

"Holy crap, Ames! Your nose...it smells so bad!"

"What?!"

"Oh, damn....your nose...it smells like, I don't know, garbage? And bus exhaust! And homeless people! Dude, why does your nose smell like that? You know, like pollution."

"Sorry Jared, I've been sniffing dirty shirts again."

I didn't want my husband to become permanently repulsed, so I immediately ran into the bathroom, scrubbed my nose with watermelon scented soap, and attempted the kiss again.

This time he was like, "Uhhhh! You smell like a bathroom...after someone took a dump...and then sprayed a mess load of air freshener! Oh....gosh Amy!"

I think I'll do some laundry today.

Yay! Pictures are up for yesterday's post! Look at sweet little baby James down there. It was so wonderful when he didn't know how to talk or form an opinion. I really, really miss those days.

The Love of the Game
October 17, 2007

My husband loves the Red Sox. And when I say he loves the Red Sox, I really, really mean it. For all of you brand new baseball fans out there (I'm talking to you, Colorado), there are 162 games in a regular baseball season. In this house, we listen to, watch, or attend 162 games a season.

It's a little much.

Take a look at those pictures up there. The first one is the three of us at a Red Sox game. Obviously, James was a baby. But I'm not quite sure you can tell how much of a baby he really was. James was thirteen days old. The second picture--James without the afro--is a close up of the outfit he was sporting in the sling. Red Sox onsie, socks, short, vest-type item, and pacifier.

Jared was so mad that the mini hat kept slipping off of James's head at the game. I, on the other hand, was mad that my uterus was held together by nothing but stitches and I was passing beer after beer to the drunk guys next to us.

They were like, "Uh, sorry lady. I spilled some Bud on your baby's head I think."

And just as I was about to lose my noodle, Jared was like, "No biggy! He's got to get used to these games! Beer spills happen!"

And I sat, silently thinking to myself, "Can't he get used to baseball games after the circumcision heals?"

NOPE! Not it this house--baseball comes first, and then we'll wipe the amniotic fluid off the baby and think about giving him a name.

Last night, during the game, I decided to try something new. It went like this:

Me: Jared, I'm glad we're married.

Jared: Uh huh.

Me: But it's getting a little old.

Jared: Oh?

Me: Yeah, I'm afraid I've found somebody new.

Jared: Uh huh.

Me: And I'm moving out tomorrow.

Jared: Sounds good.

He gets pretty wrapped up in the action.

Unfortunately, the Red Sox are stinking in the playoffs right now. Night after night, we've watched them get whooped by the Indians, and if we hear the song "Cleveland Rocks" one more time, my husband might just hurl himself from the balcony. Thank goodness we only live on the second floor...I think he'll pull through and be okay.

But seriously, C'MON RED SOX! Pull your shiz together! You're acting a big bunch of oversized, whiny babies who have no idea how to play baseball. C'MON...you good-for-nothing-stinkin' losers.

Wow, I guess I care, too.

Any other Sox fans out there?

This One's for You, Dan!
October 16, 2007

This morning, my brother-in-law Dan (the young stud pictured to the right who is wearing what appear to be Reebok Pumps) was kind enough to send me a facebook message. I love getting facebook messages, especially from Dan. You see, Dan is abnormally multifaceted for a senior in college--contemplative like Thoreau, musically talented like Clapton, and blessed with the fashion sense of Dwight Schrute from The Office. I love this kid, and I can never really predict what I'll come across when I open one of his messages. Today's went something like this:

Amy--
I had a very vivid dream last night that Jared was gay, and you didn't mind at all. Oh, and you haven't put up a new blog entry in two days. So get on it.
Dan

Well, many thanks for the tip on Jared, I'll be sure to look into that. And please accept my sincere apologies for the delay in blog entries, Dan. Truth is, I've been a bit under the weather these past few days. In case you're interested, here are two of my symptoms:
Frequent episodes of explosive diarrhea in the very lonely hours of the night.
And constant, intense, insatiable fear, because I fully understand that I might poop in my britches at any random moment.

But really Dan, thanks for the reminder. I hope to be up and posting again tomorrow. I love you, too.

Chronicles of a Trophy Ho
October 13, 2007


This morning, my alarm went off at 5, I was out the door by 5:30, and on my way to Madill, Oklahoma to run a half marathon. Yes, it's true--there was a perfectly good race one mile away from my apartment, but I didn't want to do that race. You see, the race in Oklahoma had trophies--big, tall, shining, plastic trophies. The race in Dallas on the other hand, had medals--and everybody knows that medals are for wieners. So off we went, Amy and Sarah, the two biggest trophy hos in the DFW Metroplex.

As we crossed the state line, we were greeted by a towering Choctaw casino, which naturally sparked a conversation about gambling. I was like, "You know, I think I could gamble and be fine. I wouldn't get addicted. I don't have an addictive personality."

Sarah kind of snickered and replied, "Dude, you got me out of bed at 5am so we could drive three hours to get a trophy. You might have an issue."

Ok fine. I like trophies more than the average joe. Trophies provide me with meaning, purpose, and endless portions of self-esteem. When I win a trophy, I feel loved--and that, my friends, is totally normal.

Unfortunately, I completely bonked the race. But luckily, everyone was running that race in Dallas, so I mananged to pull off an age-group victory and win fourth place overall.

Here's a recap:



Just in case you've never been to Oklahoma, I'd like to set the scene for you. This piece of history was hanging in the Madill Community Center, where all of the race related festivities were held. I'm not sure if Jack Handy over there is the mayor or the sheriff, but lots of Okie men look like that handsome devil to the left. Now close your eyes, and imagine what his wife would look like. Those are the Oklahoma ladies.











That's my friend Sarah looking all double-chinned, and me looking all open-mouthed. We were just hanging around, waiting to find out if we won some trophies, trying to look sexy.










This cutie lady won the 65-69 age group for the 5k. Yes, the race was unbelievably freaking intense. I won't even attempt to recap, as words can't do it justice. At first glance I was all, "Oh my word! She's just won a 5k wearing some business casual--what a funny lady. I love her!" Then I was like, "Hey, I'm the freakazoid wearing a running skirt--that lady and me?..we're a gosh darn match made in heaven." I wanted to invite her to eat some fried pie with me after the awards, but I kind of chickened out.











This is Chris. If it weren't for Chris I'd be wedged under a trailer in Madill right now. I had an absolutely miserable race, and Chris stayed with me the entire time. He talked me out of quitting, walking, and having a violent temper tantrum by the fire station. He missed his goal time by six minutes for my sake, and then insisted that I cross the line ahead of him. Apparently, he's very well known among the Oklahoma running community for doing these sorts of favors. Hats off to Chris!

**side note: from this point forward, every person I encounter will either be placed on the "Chris List" (good), or the "Shiz List" (bad)**







Ok, this girl is SO NOT ON THE CHRIS LIST.
Get this...my friend Sarah was running along, and all of the sudden she had to take a wicked whiz--a true emergency if you will. If there had been a port-a-potty handy, I'm quite sure that Sarah would have been thrilled to make it useful. However, unfortunately, there was not--so out of pure necessity, Sarah took a little tinkle behind some lady's award winning topiary. This girl looked at Sarah and was all, "Ewww, you just peed in someone's front lawn!" So Sarah was all, "Well, at least I didn't pee on you."
And now you can see why she's my pal.









Here is a tasteful pose. I displayed appropriate self control after I claimed my trophy.

















And then there was Sarah. The picture is all messed up because she was FREAKING OUT when they called her name. She couldn't stay still for the photo, even though she was like "TAKE MY PICTURE!!!! NOW AMY! NOW!!!!" Check out the lady in pink, she's came up to me after the awards and whispered, "Wow. It's so sweet of you to take your special friend to these events." I was like, "Yes, she loves day trips--and playing Nintendo with her housemates."












I would have been SO RIPPED if anything happened to my buffalo while I was running that race. Luckily he had no accidents, sustained no injuries, and his science fair exhibit was in good shape when I returned.

Well, my race was a complete crapper, but Madill was cute, the people were fantastic, and that trophy? TOTALLY worth the drive.