opazazzyzenClumsy and Comical

I’m a big fan of reading other people’s blogs. This might be because they suffice my need to know about others’ lives, or it might be because I’m truly interested in what people have to say and how they reflect upon everyday events. Instead of picking though, I’m just going to assume the entertainment I receive from blogs is a mixture of the two reasons.

Although I don’t think it’s a coincidence that people enjoy reality TV shows, blogs, etc. It’s human nature to be nosey.

Hi. I’m Lindsay and I have a burning need to learn about peoples’ lives.

“That doesn’t count; you have to say the word.”

Fine. Hi. I’m Lindsay and I’m nosey.

One of my favorite blogs is http://yearofgiving.wordpress.com/. The Year of Giving began after the blogger lost his job. As a result, he was inspired to donate $10 each day for a year to a different person. He explains that it is “exactly these times (the harsh economic climate) that we must focus on helping others.”

In his daily entry he explains why he chose that day’s recipient and gives a quick rundown about the conversation he had with them. (I’m always interested to see how the recipients plan on spending the $10.)

Day 111 (Katy S.’ story) has one of the most interesting/unique/insane responses about what the recipient would do with the money. Katy S. decided it would be a good idea to rip the $10 into tiny pieces and then mix it into her coffee; she then did this on camera (http://bit.ly/atSdnI). She gave some crazy explanation about how ripping up the money would ensure her experience with the blogger wasn’t diluted by actually spending the $10. (I think the “wtf mate” comments following the blog entry were well deserved.)

I love his blog because it reminds me that everyone has a story. There have been many times, while my mind wanders during a long run, that I think about how everyone I pass on the street has their own complicated and intricate life.

Blogs like the Year of Giving make me wonder what people get out of reading my blog. I’m hoping I offer up a bit of entertainment and suffice your need to be nosey!

Everyday I get an e-mail from “thesqueal@flyingpigmarathon.com” reminding me how many days I have until I run in the Flying Pig Half-Marathon. Today there are 18 days.

Whenever I see those reminder e-mails, I get a pang of nerves in my stomach. It makes me nervous seeing a countdown until the big day because I am reminded that in 18 days and counting I will be running 13.1 miles.

Compared to last year though, I’m not nearly as nervous as I was for my first half-marathon. Last year I was running long distances the week leading up to the race just to prove to myself that I hadn’t lost my ability to run (pushing yourself close to the race is not good).

Regardless of my n00b moves, the race was great; I had a runner’s high for a week! The boyfriend, Ryan, was even at the finish line with donuts (he knows the way to my heart!). Unfortunately this year he won’t be able to make it to my second half-marathon but that doesn’t lessen my excitement.

I just love so many things about the Flying Pig:

1. The feeling of finally accomplishing what I’ve trained so hard for
2. Running alongside people who are as passionate about the sport as I am
3. Seeing 13.1 miles worth of downtown Cincinnati
4. Feeling support from people who came to cheer on us flying piggies
5. Free Gatorade at every mile (score for not having to carry a water bottle for once!)
6. Listening to the entertainment set up along the course
7. Marveling at the runners who wear pig costumes to run in
8. Knowing I can eat whatever I want after the race
9. Celebrating with my mom that we both just completed 13.1 miles

10. And finally, the medal (which I pair up with all of the next week’s outfits)

(Last year after the Flying Pig)

Doctors do amazing things for people, (just watch the TV show “House” to see how all doctors have epiphanies that solve any wacked-out crises). I haven’t actually witnessed any of my doctors have an epiphany but they have been able to help me in several areas of my health. Unfortunately the methods of helping usually mean I’ll have to be in agony at some point of the process.

Take the dentist for example: when I was three I had to get surgery on my mouth. Of course this surgery would help in the long run but the agony would have to come first. This agony came in the form of laughing gas.

I was told laughing gas would taste like chocolate chip cookies (lie). I was also told that the laughing gas would put me at ease for the surgery (truth). The laughing gas may have made my three-year-old self high, but it did not taste like chocolate chip cookies.

I’ve been told that I ripped off the gas mask with all my might and yelled, “This does NOT taste like chocolate chip cookies!” I’m guessing I zoned out soon after that event. For a three-year-old, the fact that the laughing gas didn’t taste like chocolate chip cookies was agony, (especially since I was a kid who thought dessert was their own personal heaven).

I was reminded of this story today because I spent the afternoon at the dentist’s office. I was due for my annual checkup and thought it would be a quick 30 minutes appointment.

Wrong!

After some quick scraping, poking and prodding by the technician, I was ready for the dentist to see me. What usually takes five minutes, turned into 40 because there was something on my x-ray the dentist didn’t like. He pointed out some dark shading underneath one of my teeth and sent me to another room to get more photos.

Now I always thought I had a big mouth, (that is until I was asked to stick a large metal rectangle in my mouth). I practically had to detach my jaw in order to get this rectangle in just right. It took three pictures (and three painful times adjusting) to get the piece in correctly for the x-ray.

Luckily the picture showed that the growth is benign and known as a cementosis. Note to whoever named this growth: you should have used a less scary word for something that is not harmful.

Anyways to wrap up this story, the doctor was helpful in checking out my abnormal growth but he sure picked a painful way to confirm it, (I still have deep gashes from the metal rectangle); it was agony.

Meeting the parents of your significant other is always a stressful situation. You want them to like you, and you want to like them. You also stress about the fact that the parents realize you hold hands with their son/daughter or worse…kiss! But what happens when it’s time for your significant other’s parents to meet your parents?

When you’re young and unable to drive, this process happens naturally; the parents usually meet dropping off and picking up their kid. They stop to chat, get to know each other and make sure their kid is dating a standup chap. (Yes, I turned British overnight.)

Once the teen is in possession of a driver’s license, it’s a little harder for the pair of parents to swap stories about your young relationship. However the parents are in luck with school dances; pre-dance photos are always a must and bring them together once again.

When you finally hit college age though, parents are out of luck. It is rare that they’ll ever meet the significant other’s parents until your graduation or the wedding. My parents are in luck however; my boyfriend’s parents live in my hometown! I have never dreaded the fact it would be easy for my parents to meet Ryan’s parents but he might have had a different view:

“But they are going to talk about us!”

Today he got over his fear! (Well he didn’t really have a choice since he lives in California and I live in Ohio, where both our parents happen to reside.) In order to get rid of any uncomfortableness surrounding our parents meeting the first time at my graduation, I invited the parents to meet today. We headed to Panera to talk over soup, salad and sandwiches (for those who don’t have a hate/hate relationship with gluten that is).

I am happy to announce that both parties, well I’m assuming both parties, got along great! We had a wonderful time dissecting every part of Ryan and my relationship, gossiping about all the things Ryan never wanted us to gossip about and planning Ryan’s future for him- (hello future politician!).

I kid, I kid! He really had nothing to worry about because everyone was on his/her best behavior. Only one divulging story was told about a roommate that had no arms or legs…

You know you’re old when you find yourself saying:

“Why are the lilacs only growing on the right side of the path?”

-and-

“Wood! Speaking of wood, my neighbor is selling wood.”

-and-

“Look at the bird through your binoculars. It has a white chest.”

To get the full effect of these “old person conversations,” you would probably have to hear them in context. Take my word for it though, these people had obviously run out of things to talk about 20 years ago. Now the most in-depth conversation they have consists of what they could observe and what is obvious.

After hearing these old women having this “in-depth” discussion, my mom turns to me and says, “If I ever start acting old, tell me. I want to know!” I can’t hold it against my mom though if she starts talking about flowers because she’s been talking about flowers since I was born.

When I was eleven she would take me outside and try to get me to memorize the names of the flowers she planted. Her actions were lost however. To this day I still call flowers by their color; for example, “Look at that purple, weed-like flower.”

Not only can I not remember the names of flowers, but I also didn’t get the “green thumb” gene. I’ve tried to grow several things without much success. Finally my mom decided that I needed to try something simpler than the hyacinth and bought me a Shrek Chai Pet. I couldn’t even get the seeds to sprout. I thought Chai Pets were Lindsay proof- made doable for a three year old.

My latest goal (thanks to encouragement from my mama) is to grow chives! They are practically weeds so I’m hoping to be successful with this one. I’ve had them for one week and so far they are nice and perky!

…and I just remembered I forgot to water my chives before I left for the weekend (Lindsay FAIL!). Maybe my lack o’ green thumb is hopeless.