#12

We’re going to be at the Seahawks season opener vs. the 49ers in a month.

That is all.

PS.  I finally logged into my fantasy football league today… my team’s name?

That’s What She Said.

Snicker.

Now I can start wearing my sweatshirt!

mellow yellow

Hi kids!

Because I had nothing better to do and was taking a break from my latest photoshop binge, I created a GOOD BOOKS page you may notice up at the top.  Enjoy!

So… this has been a summer of tackling new things so far.  First, there’s been golf. 

Oh, the suckage.  It’s amazing how bad I am at this game.  A few trips to the driving range and another nine holes later, and I’m not quite as embarrassingly horrible as I was, but that’s not saying much.

Luckily Brandon and my brother came with us over the weekend, and I was in great company.  I wouldn’t want to mention any names, but SOMEONE threw his club a few times.

(Ok, you twisted my arm.  It was Brandon). 

Also, this guy may also have shown small signs of frustration:

It was awful fun to have them along with us, though.  And once we finished the 9th hole, we shot golf balls into the pond for a while  (It’s far more fun doing that on purpose).

Because golf hasn’t quite offered my out-of-shape body enough punishment, however, I’ve begun bicycling.

Not just on any old bike, but on this sweet Craigslist find!

(I heart Craigslist, btw.  I found my awesome job and now this bike there.  And I’ve heard of people’s roommates putting up Craigslist ads and getting them a girlfriend that way).

Mellow yellow!  I am still in awe of its girly perfection — all without committing the cardinal sin of being pink.  (Blech.)

All in all, between a ride with Kevo up to Western’s campus and through downtown on Saturday and riding back and forth to work all week, I’ve put in almost 30 miles.  Hey, I know it’s not exactly the Tour-de-France, but it’s a start, right?  My legs are sore, to say nothing of my poor hiney, but other than that I feel fantastic.  Plus I feel uber-ecoconscious to have driven my car a bare minimum on a week when gas hit $4.49 a gallon.  (Other than that 24-hour trip down to Poulsbo for Justin’s mom’s wedding.  I’m pretty sure that doesn’t count).

From now on, you can all call me LiveStrong.

Snicker. 

golf? really?

Julie: “Wait a minute, you’re telling me you have your own set of golf clubs?” she says, fighting disbelief.  I detect the slightest traces of a snicker in that sweet little voice of hers.

Me: “Yep.  They’re baby blue.”

Julie: “I have your permission to give you a hard time about this, right?”  What she good-naturedly means but does not say is, “I know you’re trying to be a supportive wife and all, but golf?  Now you’ve officially gone off the reservation.”

Yes, friends, I went golfing for the first time on Thursday night.  I was speaking with an acquaintance at work and told her that Justin was resuming golf now that the weather was finally starting to appear almost June-like, but that he kept on having a hard time scheduling with his buddy.  “Well, you should totally just head out there and play, too,” Pamela said. 

I mentioned this conversation to Justin when we were out to lunch later that day, and his eyes took on a shine the way they do when I say something like, “Man! When is it going to be football season again?” or, “Sure, grilled cheese and tomato soup sounds good for lunch.”  “Play another game of DOTA.  You’ve earned it.”

(Ok, so actually I don’t really say that last thing very often, or ever, but you get the idea.)

We stopped by Play It Again Sports on the way home from lunch, bought a beginner’s set of clubs (did I mention they’re baby blue?), and set a tee time for later in the evening.  How hard could it be? I reasoned.  You wear awful pants, bend over, stick your ass out, and hit the white ball.  Done and done.

Like this guy:

Justin took me over to a little side area with a net where folks can get warmed up and practice.  A few swings into this whole brouhaha, I realize: there may be a little more to this game than I’d previously believed.

Already feeling self-consciousness rising within me to approximately the level of my throat, I trek on over to the first hole.  My golf bag is fashioned to hang from my shoulders kind of like a backpack, but it keeps me a little off-balance and the way the clubs clink with every step feels noisy on the quiet course.  This is one of those moments I’m going to make a complete and utter fool of myself.

We’re just about to tee off when we hear a voice come over the loudspeaker.  To me it sounds just like the “Wah wah wah waaah wa wah” from Charlie Brown, but my husband determines we should wait — we have two people joining us.

“What?” I ask Justin, my voice rising a few octaves instantly.  Oh, crap.  Witnesses to this disaster?

Two gentlemen in their fifties join us on the green.  That awkward feeling rises approximately to the level of my eyeballs.  But we all shake hands and introduce ourselves, we explain this is my first time, and Stan and Beau smile to welcome me.

It could be that had we golfed with cold, rather snarky people, it could have ruined the experience for me forever.  (By the way, don’t you just love that word “snarky”?  I do).  But these guys were cool and laid back and extremely helpful.  For instance – Stan, after watching a rather impressive run of me swinging eight times without hitting the ball, decided to have mercy on my soul and take some action.  He had me line up my swing.  Then he stood in front of me and placed his hand on my head.  “Okay.  I’m going to hold your head down while you swing, alright?” 

It’s been a while since someone I’ve been acquainted with less than half an hour has grabbed me by the top of my head, but as Justin didn’t appear alarmed, I kept my cool.  Amazingly, I didn’t hit Stan’s shins, but the golf ball.  (I’m going to patent a product for beginning golfers that pretty much just involves a dude in his fifties who will stand in front of you and hold your head down while you swing.  You see, that’s what you have to do. You have to use your mind and come up with some really great idea like that and you never have to work again!).

It certainly was one of the worst rounds of golf Raspberry Ridge has ever seen, but I did hit the ball less-than-obscenely a couple times, and even managed a Tiger Woods fist pump a time or two, just for grins.  I’ve had muscles hurt the last few days that I wasn’t aware I had, but I’m sufficiently recovered enough to head out to the driving range this afternoon for some more punishment.

Ah, the things we do for love.  Like see The Incredible Hulk in the theater.

Side note: I really hate CGI characters other than Gollum.  It’s been completely downhill ever since then.

Next time: join me for a rousing tale of my forays into the exciting game that is Warcraft 3.

(Then again, maybe not.  A girl’s got to draw the line somewhere).

vindication

This morning, around 9:30 a.m., my husband was telling me that it was completely foolish for anyone to think that the Giants could possibly win this game (I picked the Giants to win, while he picked those other guys).

I would just like the record to show that around 9:32 a.m., I told my husband that in about eight or nine hours, he would be eating his words.

Go me.

end, round one

I am 27 for 32.

Go me.

Move over, Cleo!

I would just like to say that I am 7 for 7 so far on my brackets.

I who know nothing about basketball,

who picked Wichita State because an old boyfriend went there,

who picked UW-Milwaukee because my dad is from Wisconsin,

who picked Montana because Gracie’s hubby hails from there.

I RULE.  (And all the boys are slightly irritated).

Go Zags!

UPDATE: I was actually right 11 times today.  Every one of my pics has won so far… and Illinois is 59 seconds away from putting the good ole’ number at 12.  Ooh, the boys are mad.

WE SO TOUGH!

Tracie’s husband caught this photographic gem:

I would like to entitle this photo:

“Hating Life”

we did it!

The St. Patrick’s Day Dash was awesome (pretty much the best one I’ve ever done).  It was perfect weather, crystal-clear blue skies, chilly in the shade, perfect in the sun.

Elvis, Batman, and several leprechauns ran the race along with us, as well as 15,000 people in various shades of green and every Irish decoration you can think of.  The dude in front of me at the start was running in a kilt.  Sweet.

Jules and I ran the entire race with no walking, which is a first for me.  We ended up pretty close to our goal of 10-minute miles (we ran the 3.38-mile course in 34:22).  Running through simultaneous cramps in both shoulders and both sides of my ribcage was not so fun, but the feeling of accomplishment once we were done was well worth it.  This is why I love running… learning to work through the pain.  (Much to my relief, the torn-MCL knee from the summer caused me no grief!)

Great race, good times had by all.

Pics – the crew pre-race (Julie, Me, Tracie and Michael); me & Kevo post-race; me & Jules post-race:

Yes, I am wearing light-up shamrocks.  And the most obnoxious green shorts I could find.

super bowl!

It is 8:03 pm Pacific Time, and I am still at work (and will most likely be so for quite a while longer).  Ugh.  I needed a break, so what better thing to do than post pics?

We had a lovely pre-super-bowl-game-party with the fam on Sunday, complete with food-induced comas.  They play football; we get fat.

Yes, in case you were wondering, I attempted the Seahawks logo in frosting…

Great game, great outcome.  The Seahawks.  Playing in the Super Bowl.  Of all craziness.

I am still in awe.

 

beat the bridge

I started out 25 right by, among other fun activities, running an 8k with Kevo yesterday.  Yup.  That’s pretty much like five miles.

And ooh, boy I hurt today!  Fully worth it.

Thanks, brotherman.  Great memory.  Especially crossing the finish line, searching the crowd for you, and catching your big smile as you ran over to congratulate me.  Thanks for cheerin’ me on.

Love you.  It was awesome.  Hope to not-puke next year.