Think I'd Better Run, Run, Run

I'm here this afternoon in my black mesh bikini cut underwear, with my face sagging in sorrow. I will get through this thing with Chaz and I'll be fine ... but on a better note, in less than two days I'll be in beautiful, sunny Miami!

That's right, Asa, Mav, Bandi, and MeatMan are joining me in Florida for the ING Miami Marathon this weekend. I've been training for 5 months now and am ready to finally do it!

So Sunday at 6AM, if you're in South Beach Miami, look for the fabulous woman running 26.2 with the singlet on that reads "Sassy"! Drinks at Rose's condo to follow ...

What's Love Got To Do With It?

ATTENTION: RANT (Not for the faint of heart)
Here I am tonight, working late at the office in a blue and white polka dot g-string, contemplating love and control. Are they really autonomous of one another as so many people claim? How can you really love someone without wanting to have SOME iota of control over how they feel or what they do? You CAN'T! Anyone who can sit there and tell me that they have never wanted to change something about their partner gets my dowry ... which happens to consist of 7 figures and a goat. And don't lie and give me any of that "unconditional love" crap; that's a hoax that makes this bitter old woman want to spit nails. I'm not buying it.

For instance: last week I was at the bar at Zengo with Chaz and a stranger walked up to me and said "Is this a first date?" To which I replied "No." He then leaned in and whispered "Well unsolicited advice, lady ... you're way more into it than he is."

No matter how drunk he may have been, no matter how badly he reeked of cheap Calvin Klein cologne, that guy got me thinking.

I've thought a lot on the subject and have come to one conclusion ... who gives a shit? I may be way more into it, so sue me! God forbid I'm enjoying myself and just want some drama-free fun. I'm flirting with an ulcer over my relationship and sometimes I wish I could just walk out. But the fact is that I'm a glutton for punishment and I can't turn my back on love, no matter how stale it may have become.

I have done this to myself, I'm the first to admit it. I knocked down the Great Wall of Sassy and for what? For lonesome nights of wondering and doubt? For self-inflicted drinking spells that only leave me more questions? For this feeling in the pit of my stomach that I liken to swallowing cement?

You know, for someone who's always been able to stop the love train, life's getting awfully unrecognizable ...

How To Lose Your Woman (In 7 Steps Or Less)

God help me for what I've just done ... while wearing my blue anchor thong.

The situation is beyond explanation: at this point it is no longer necessary. Regardless, there is a certain gentleman caller who I have mentioned here who is no longer welcome to call because of a tender issue.

In a cheap attempt to self-medicate without liquor, here they are: Things to Keep In Mind If You Want To Lose Your Woman In 7 Steps Or Less:

1. Your "partner" is the enemy, ALWAYS be on your best defense no matter what she says
2. Keep in VERY close contact with your ex who continues to systematically destroy your life. When your "partner" brings this to your attention, do what any other normal man would do: deny, deny, deny!
3. When posed with a final ultimatum, choose to keep the ex in your life over your "partner." No questions asked.
4. Regardless of her feelings, keep your own hours and consistently forget plans or double-book. She'll get over it.
5. Never put her first before anyone else, you never want to get too attached.
6. Break down her walls, then break her down. She needs to open up to you eventually; if she's reluctant at first, KEEP AT HER! Once she lets you in, tell her she's smothering you and that you can't deal with her baggage.
7. Ask her how she could do "this" to you (whatever "this" may be) if she really loved you. Women come up with all kinds of creative responses when they're under pressure.

Regular programming will return tomorrow, self-medication complete.

Certifiably Certifiable

You may want to be seated before you read today's post: I sit here today at the office (complimented by my baby-pink thong) with CANKLES!

The urban dictionary defines Cankles as:
n. 1) An aesthetically unfortunate physiological condition which leaves its victims with no discernable narrowing of the ankle between the calf and the foot. 2) The area in affected female legs where the calf meets the foot in an abrupt, non tapering terminus; medical cause: adipose tissue surrounding the soleus tendon, probably congenital, worsened by weight gain and improved in appearance only by boots. 3) An ankle which has no discernable narrowing from the calf to the foot. History: The word is derived from a combination of the words calf and ankle. Victims of this condition are advised to avoid the following: ankle boots, ankle-strap shoes, anklets, ankle socks, ankle tattoos, high-top shoes, and any other footwear or legwear that might draw attention to the cankle region.

Who would have thought? ME? CANKLES? The horror! Thank god we've not yet reached Spring/Summer '06, as I could have kissed goodbye a whole season of cropped pants paired with suede Prada loafers!

I blame the running. I woke up on Saturday morning at 6:08 to prepare myself for 6 hours of pure, unadulterated insanity (read: 23 miles of running). I met my group in Southeast DC and we embarked on the stupidest journey of our lives: running down the mall, around the Kennedy Center, and up the Capital Crescent Trail to downtown Bethesda ... AND BACK!

Everything was going great until about mile 15 when I lost all feeling in my ankles for about 20 minutes. Had I not been running for about 3.5 hours already, I could have predicted what would come next: at about mile 16.5, the feeling returned to the lower region of my legs and I had to run the next 6.5 miles with my ankles on fire. I can honestly tell you that I would not have been surprised if I had looked down and noticed little blue flames shooting out from my inner ankle bones. At about mile 20, I was so mentally exhausted that I let out little lion cub whimpers about every 3/4 of a mile or so. As we finished, I let a couple small tears eek out in what I refer to as "Complete Mental Breakdown Mode."

I ended up having to catch a cab home to Dupont, as the Metro was not even a possibility at that point. I arrived home and crawled up my front stairs on all fours. I showered in a daze, and settled in for what I hoped would be a long nap ... but there's just something about throbbing, apple-sized ankles that doesn't let you get comfortable for more than 6 nanoseconds at a time.

To add insult to injury, I decided it would be a SMASHING idea to join Asa, Mav, and Sid at Halo that evening. I spent about an hour on my feet and then had to make a plea for a return back to Asa's house (where we spent the greater part of the evening with some therapeutic red wine and the Oprah 20th Anniversary DVD).

I iced what Asa so affectionately refers to as my "cankles" all day Sunday, and felt like I was ready for stairs and a full workday in heels by 7:30 this morning. Cut to my cankles swelling right out of my heels today by about 1:30PM.

So now I sit here in misery, chained to my desk because I'm bare in my stocking feet, calling my assistant every 2 hours or so to bring me some more Excedrin.

And poor Chaz, his first day back in the States and he's in for quite the evening of massaging the heck out of some cankles ... what he doesn't know can't hurt him, right?

100 Things About Being Sassy

As much as I know that I am wearing my bright pink boyshort underwear today, I also know that on first glance these lists are viewed as trite and sophomoric ... but I received a newsletter from an old friend last week detailing things she wants people to remember or know about her as she is losing a long and brave battle with a terminal illness. So as a testament to being a stranger in the internet void, here are 100 Things About Being Sassy:

1. I was born at precisely 11:43 AM on December 4th.
2. I live to know little pieces of useless trivia.
3. I could use dessert as sustainance for the rest of my life, but am not a fan of chocolate.
4. People who don't use correct grammar make me mad.
5. I am in love.
6. I'm a better speaker than writer.
7. Mexican is my favorite type of food.
8. My mother wanted to name me Michelle.
9. I go through sporadic bouts of interests.
10. I believe in reincarnation.
11. I love vocabulary.
12. I want to live in Australia.
13. I secretly love fur coats (the real ones).
14. My bookcase in my office looks like a graveyard: I have systematically killed every plant I've owned.
15. I wanted to grow up to be a Harvard-educated pediatrician.
16. I also wanted to be Judy Garland.
17. I aspire to be a successful marathon runner.
18. I want to learn how to dance the Argentine tango.
19. I secretly love to wear flip-flops.
20. I am NOT a morning person.
21. I know how to type properly.
22. I pay off a loan each month for an Acura that I don't drive.
23. My favorite alcoholic drink is the Dirty Martini.
24. Je parle français. Mais seulement un peu.
25. I like British slang.
26. I love accents.
27. I actively vote. And I campaign for my presidential candidate.
28. I'm right handed.
29. I have an acute astigmatism.
30. I love trivia, but I always hated History class.
31. I can't drive a stick.
32. I am a textbook Sagittarius; restless and ambitious.
33. I do not like The Who.
34. I consider myself a perfectionist at work.
35. I think Secret Service agents (or anyone with an earbud) are sexy.
36. I hate gold jewelry.
37. I love going to concerts.
38. I don't cry at movies.
39. BUT, hearing a live singing of The National Anthem or watching a parade gets me all choked up.
40. My favorite color is blue, but I look much better in red.
41. I am a middle child.
42. I do not have an appendix.
43. I am obsessed with show tunes.
44. I used to be a stage actress.
45. I have an incredibly accurate long term memory but my short term memory fails me quite often.
46. I am very bad at returning phone calls.
47. I have three tattoos.
48. I once had my nose pierced on a whim.
49. I tend to lose part of myself in each of my relationships, and therefore regret all of them to some extent.
50. I experience deja vu ... a lot.
51. I believe in ghosts.
52. I secretly say the rosary every day.
53. I'm intelligent.
54. My most comfortable piece of clothing is a long, purple hippie skirt (which I only wear to bed when I'm visiting my mother).
55. I (again, secretly) hate being confined in airplanes.
56. I can't fall asleep in any position other than lying down.
57. I hate wearing high heels.
58. I love wearing suits.
59. I hate shopping, but I love owning things.
60. I'm afraid I'm becoming boring.
61. I wish I could relax on vacations.
62. I sometimes forget how to "be free".
63. I can't live without coffee.
64. I used to write songs as a child.
65. I wish I could finish the sentence "If money were no object ..."
66. I hate khaki.
67. I wear sunglasses so people don't know I'm staring at them.
68. I've secretly never been completely grateful at Christmases or birthdays.
69. I'm a closeted Joni Mitchell fan.
70. I have an obsession with Sudoku.
71. I have an infatuation with Christmas Carols.
72. I hate any weather colder than 65 and any weather hotter than 83.
73. I only use MAC makeup.
74. I love underthings.
75. I love museums.
76. I love playing board games.
77. I still don't have a television in my bedroom.
78. I have read every Stephen King novel.
79. I secretly skip over all the photos in a pack until I get to ones that I am in. Then I critique myself too harshly.
80. My favorite poet is Emily Dickenson.
81. I believe I was French in a past life.
82. I have been on the Internet since 1994.
83. I want to speak fluent Italian.
84. Evangelical Christians scare me.
85. I believe in life on other planets.
86. I've been told that I don't know how to whisper, but in reality, I'm just afraid I'll spit in someone's ear.
87. I prefer to live alone.
88. I am an outgoing introvert.
89. My favorite author is Maeve Binchy.
90. I am a descendent of Polish royalty.
91. I love bathrobes.
92. I sleep under 4 blankets.
93. I hate clutter, but I can rarely find anything.
94. Instead of being at work, I would secretly love to get drunk right now.
95. I hate all slang for female body parts.
96. I fall in love too quickly (and likewise, I fall out very fast).
97. I wish I was in Aruba right now.
98. I've known my best friend since I was two weeks old.
99. Sometimes I don't believe in marriage.
100. This list took me over 4 hours to complete.

Baby, We Were Born To Run ...

Here it is already January 4th and I'm in the office wearing my white Body By Victoria thong, listening to the "Big in 05" station on Radio VH1 (nice choice, except for the repeated shuffle of "Pussycat Dolls" songs into the mix). I'm sporting my new lime green dress shirt with my most powerful black suit, as I'm taking Mooney to see "Wicked" tonight at the Kennedy Center for her birthday. But a dark cloud falls on the festivities, as I sit here thinking about Chaz soaking up the sun in Aruba with ANOTHER WOMAN (oh the horror!).

The plans for this trip were in effect before I ever reaquainted myself with Chaz, but regardless, it still doesn't make it any easier to quash the musings of that little green monster of jealousy. Aruba: sun, drinks, bikinis, missing American teenage girls, the threat of the lucrative sex-slave trade. What more could one ask for in a mid-winter getaway? What more could he want ... besides me, of course?

At least we had a good New Year weekend. Chaz had been in Boston visiting his old mates for Christmas, so I joined him up there on December 29th (if it was only that easy). I had awoken at 4:30 AM on the 29th, all packed and ready to go to National for my flight to Boston. I was beside myself with excitement, as I was going to land at 8:15AM and we would have the whole gorgeous day to enjoy Boston together. I hailed a taxi at 5:15 on the Circle and made a bee-line for National, arriving just after 5:30 with still an hour prior to departure, I'm such a consciencious traveler. I tried checking in at United and they directed me to US Airways. For the next hour, I was berated and treated like common trash as it was discovered that I was actually booked to leave from Washington-Dulles. To make a long story short, I didn't arrive in Boston until close to 4 that afternoon (nearly 8 hours after I was originally scheduled to land).

But we let that bother us not, as Chaz and I checked into our suite at the Boston Marriott Copley Place and had a wonderful afternoon exploring the area around our hotel. On Friday, we had wonderfully pleasant weather and decided to be extra-touristy and board an Old Town Trolley for a 2 hour tour around Boston and Cambridge. We had a great time laughing our way through Boston, thanks to our tourguides Mr. Wiley and "Peter" (whom, I may add, may have missed his calling as a Broadway star). Then we went shopping on Newbury Street and bought new pairs of designer jeans -- I mean, WHO DOESN'T need new jeans?

That evening, we had dinner at Troquet on Boylston Street ... a definite recommendation for any wine fans. The oxtail canneloni is to die for -- and the chef's tasting paired with (5) different wines is definitely a must. After Troquet, we went to the Wang Center and saw "White Christmas" and laughed our way through the $17 balsamic vinegar (read: red wine) we had at the theater. Later that evening, we found ourselves sitting in the lounge at the top of the Prudential Center, enjoying some drinks and hearing some great jazz with a breathtaking view of Boston.

Saturday, we woke up at 8 and went for an 8 mile run around the Charles River with a victory lap across the Harvard Bridge, of course. We napped that afternoon and then ventured back to Newbury Street for some more shopping and an afternoon stop at Tealuxe for some refreshments. It began to snow at about 5:30 as we enjoyed the New Years Eve parade down Boylston Street. We had some drinks in a bar and went back to the hotel to prepare for our festivities that night. We were all dressed and ready to go, but at the last minute, decided to stay in and enjoy each other's company.

We had a wonderful night, only to be marred by Chaz having to leave at 4:30 on New Years morning to be at the airport to go to Aruba. I can't say I don't miss him terribly, because I do. Can't wait for him to get back on Sunday ...