This is week #10 of my Friday "Run ~ Girl ~ Go" series where I agonizingly expound on my obsession with running, and my obsession with talking about myself. Proceed with caution.
Today marks the end of week one.
Of starting all over again.
Yeah, I know, right?
But instead of concentrating on all the shit I cannot do (because my body is SHIT and it fucking HATES ME), I am going to instead talk about the things I CAN do.
I can do a lot of stuff. Did you know that? I actually can.
If you've ever clicked over to Goddess In The Machine, you will know that I am a half-decent wordslinger. At least, that is what I like to tell myself. Well. Apparently, I am decent enough to galvanize a fucking congressional inquiry in a week's time. Yeah. It was the ONE thing I said I would never do as a military wife. And now, with less than a year and a half left with that title, I used what little influence it affords to ..... ahem..... get involved. I know. I KNOW. It's so stupid. Getting involved, that is. But the Army just pushed the wrong goddamned buttons this time. Trying to fuck with Sarge's career and his retirement and acting like a bunch of nutsucking idiots. Well. I won't republish my letter here, but let's just say it was.... pretty brilliant.
Who else but me can love the Army and shame it all in the same sentence while maintaining my "I'm just a lowly wife" humility while asking our congressmen to act lest they taint my children's pride in their own government? Oh, right. That would be me. A week and a half, folks. From the time I put that letter in the mailbox to the time there was a big folder with the word "CONGRESSIONAL" in big, capital letters sitting on some fat cat's desk. Well. I did mail two copies of it, one to each senator. I figured I'd let them duke it out to see which one jumps first. A week and a half.
In all seriousness, though. Setting aside my disturbing lack of hubris, the point I made in my letter was real. The issues I raised were real. I was not simply whining because no one saw how awesome my husband was or because I thought something wasn't fair. And I am sure the fact that I had a legitimate complaint must have played a small part in why it was handled so quickly. But of course, just between me and you, it's obviously because of my brilliantly hypnotic verbiage and my sheer awesomeness. Of course.
Let's see. What else can I do?
I can take goofy ass pictures of myself working out.
Disturbing lack of hubris, remember?
I can make a pretty badass homemade salsa. Matter of fact, it's the only kind I will eat. Because once you've had fresh, homemade salsa, everything else tastes like a salt lick. Mine is super chunky, heavy on the cilantro and lime juice. Jake likes my dad's salsa though. Which basically looks like gritty tomato soup. Yuck.
Oh, and according to Sarge, I am also pretty good at "walkin' around the house lookin' all hot and shit." I know, right? My talents never end!
Oh! I'm also apparently good at quitting smoking. Today, I have been a nonsmoker for 114 days, 22 hours, and 36 minutes. Cold turkey and not a single cheat. I figure it's probably because I'm not human. That's the only thing that makes sense.
I was really hoping to be able to tell you that I'm also good at performing home surgery on myself. But alas, no. It has, so far, not yet come to pass. That is not to say I haven't tried, though!. See, I have this thing. That has really gotten kinda.... annoying. Okay, I'm lying. It hurts like shit. It's called a "sialolith." A salivary gland stone. More specifically, a stone in my sublingual caruncle. That funky part of your lingual frenulum that attaches your tongue to the floor of your mouth. Same kind of stones you get in your bladder or kidneys. Oh, what's that? You wanna see? Of course! In the spirit of holding nothing back (please refer to this for more information), here's a little TMI pic for your enjoyment.
You see that? Yeah. It hurts like shit. I've even watched Youtube videos of people who have popped a stone out by themselves. I tried. I really did. I was even gonna do the whole thing on video so I could show you. It shouldn't be a big deal because it's so tiny! I even used Orajel, but no dice.
If I can't get it out, I'm gonna have to go to the doctor. Which I HATE. Dude, seriously. I'd rather sterilize a fucking needle and dig it out than go to the doctor. You know what a doctor means to me? Doctors mean, "You are too fucking weak and incapable of fixing yourself, so now you must beg for help." Yeah. I have NEVER claimed to have a single rational bone in my body. Just remember that before all you haterz be hatin' on me.
Anyway. I ran 75 miles this week. Okay, okay. FINE! They were elliptical miles. Jeez with the fucking details, man! I've been doing lots of gun-pumping, though. It makes me feel useful when my legs are diggin' and twistin' that knife deeper in my back.
My kids are kinda pulling me over to the dark side with some of their musical interests of late. I've been listening to some of Jake's bands like Motionless In White and Asking Alexandria. I'm not totally in love with all of it, but some of it really is kick-ass workout tunage. I shall leave you with a perfect little "home surgery" nugget.
'Til next time, numbskulls.