Ok, maybe he is, maybe he isn’t. But, just like his career and marriage, Nick Lachey did freeze my computer. And after all these years of being Team Nick, envisioning myself as the Doritos girl in that video and not mocking the full on winter white ribbed turtleneck. The nerve.
Per usual, cleaning out the office became 7 hours of sitting Indian style on the floor looking through photo albums, reading through diaries from the most dramatic four years of high school EVER (at least to the author, who shall remain nameless) and dusting off now-obsolete electronics, e.g. the compact disc. I was so excited to slip Nicky L. and all 98 of his degrees into the ol’ laptop and begin my morning sobbing through the sweet melodies of “Because of You.” But itunes is a music snob, and it refused to play anything beyond the first eight seconds.
But it’s ok because check out the other gems I found:
R. Kelly’s “I Believe I Can Fly” single, so appropriately timed with crazy NBA Finals plus a creepsy sex scandal.
The Armageddon soundtrack, which was actually a present for my 13thbirthday. I think it was the second CD I ever owned (the first being Boyz II Men’s “II” album, of course) and I felt way cooler than I should have, especially considering that was the pre-braces era. Yowza.
I’m getting organized for something I’m not really supposed to be talking about, but I couldn’t resist after being serenaded by the heavy chops of Steven Tyler.
To make sure I stop talking about what I’m not supposed to be talking about, how about I talk about some other stuff I didn’t really want to talk about.
The running situation. Believe it or not, this Saturday marked exactly two months since I started running consistently. I know this for a fact because, sometimes, that one ounce of Type-A-ness pokes its little head out in the form of painfully formatted Excel spreadsheets*. And the first entry in my fancy schmancy Run Tracker (that apparently exists in all kinds of awesomeness FOR FREE on the world wide web) was April 4. To honor the occasion–not really, I only just now discovered the coincidence—I ran an 8k last Saturday, June 4.
Not that it totally devalued and overshadowed my eight weeks of intense, injury-riddled, mentally draining training or anything, but one week before the race, my husband also decided to show up and run it. Way faster than me. No worries, though, because I didn’t collapse, I finished faster than my “If I do not finish before this time, I will rip my DriFit tank into shreds, flick off the photographers and push over the porta-potties with rage-filled Domino precision” time, AND we got two free beers just for showing up. Bam.
(I’ve learned that reflective clothing helps discourage the golf cart bringing up the tail end of the race from repeatedly running into my heels. I’m assuming it’s an accident, not a hint, race crew.)
I have no clever way to wrap up a post about a vat of nothing, but let’s take it out on a high note.
*Other instances include refolding the towels after Clayton has attempted to, reloading the dishwasher after Clayton has attempted to and organizing my bookshelf by color of book. I am of the strong opinion that my seven months working at Bed Bath & Beyond reduce the Nagging Wife Factor implied by these behaviors.