Most of my people know I like to do strange and horrific things to my body (like drinking an entire bottle of tequila or 3/4 bottle of Jack in one night, or stay up for 3 days straight because I just can’t freaking sleep, then write silly insomniac blogs to pass the time). Then, I scramble to fix said things via yoga, meditating, working out, and chiropractic. I eat healthy, delicious foods about 80% of the time… the rest of the time I spend enjoying Mexican, cheeseburgers, Beelzebun’s chili dogs and mom’s home cooking.
So, my poor chiropractor, in an effort to repair all the damage I’ve done over the past 10 years, recommended… nay, strongly suggested… that I embark on a 21-day cleanse to purify my system and rid my body of toxins. The entire cleanse system consists of a pretty decent complete protein/green food powder that I mix into smoothies 2-3 times a day, plus an arsenal of supplements that total 23 pills/day. During the 21-day period, I’m supposed to cut out meat, legumes and nuts, processed foods, anything I’m “allergic” to (peanuts, soy and yeast), dried/canned/prepackaged foods, dairy, breads and pastas. So, basically, I get fruits, veggies, lentils, quinoa and rice. Which wouldn’t be so bad… except my particular plan also encourages me to minimize the fruit I consume. WTF. I can’t live without my 6-9 servings of fresh fruit each day. Eff.
So, today was Day 1 of my 21-day adventure into food hell. My grade for the day: FAIL.
The day started off fine. A breakfast smoothie with 2 scoops of wonder powder and various fruits, 7 of my 23 pills, and 24 oz of water. A little light yoga before my first morning meeting. Another smoothie – this one with the powder plus broccoli, carrots, radishes, and cilantro. I got about 1/4 of this one down before I decided it needed salt. Spices. Something. Took 7 more pills. Ugh. Hate pills. Not happy.
By the time I finished up with my morning meetings, it was time for my chiropractic appointment. Spent about an hour there, between the actual entrainment, the SRI session, and chatting (which always takes the most time), and was starving by the time I left there at 2:30. Stopped at Whole Foods to check out the Raw Bar, and devised a delightful little lunch combo of Roasted Pepper Quinoa (A++ for this pick); Mashed Sweet Potatoes with Orange (pretty good here, too); African Green Beans (yep, fail… no beans allowed); Sauteed Summer Squash (yay me!) and a fresh coconut, from which I drank the milk like it was the nectar of the gods. Drank about 24 oz of water, too. All in all, good lunch at Whole Foods, no major snafus, and felt great afterward. Spent the rest of the afternoon working, and feeling fine.
Getting ready for Krav Maga this evening, I realized I was about to face a pretty intense workout, and should probably have some carbs. I chose a banana, remembered I should be cutting back on fruit, decided I didn’t care, and ate it anyways. Had another 24 oz of water from my trusty Camelbak bottle, and downed 5 more pills. Gross. Still hate this.
Krav Maga kicked my ass. Aside from the fact that I probably only consumed about 60% of my recommended caloric intake prior to my class, I had very little protein/carbs in my system, and frankly, was craving a damn filet mignon the entire time I was working out. I don’t know about you guys, but in Michelle World, extreme anger or exertion = need for meat. And here I was, being taught to funnel every angry thought I’ve ever had into beating the hell out of my partner, then having her do the same to me. I deserved a friggin’ steak after that.
But I was good. Sort of. I got home, and was still so amped that I took a run/jog/walk to stretch out my leg muscles and wind down a bit before my shower. Ate a bowl of whole-grain cereal to refuel. Didn’t taste anything like a filet, BTW.
Showered, threw my damp hair back into a messy bun and walked over to Nuno’s to listen to Blue Blood play some good live music, and relax a bit. I was doing fine, just chillin’ with my “water + lemon” combo until an ice cube ricocheted off my left shoulder. I looked up to see Nuno at the bar, with 2 shots. One for him. One for me. I tried saying no. I really did. It went something like this:
Me: “No, I can’t.”
Nuno: “Yes, you can.”
Me: “No, really, I can’t.”
Nuno: “Yes, you can.”
Me: “Okay, fine.”
A few minutes went by, and I suddenly recalled that I told Paul I would introduce him to the Chocolate Cake shot. Requested a round of 5 from Nuno, and participated in the drinking of the most delectable Chocolate Cake shot to every pass my lips. I then saw a Beelzebun’s hot dog being delivered to Nuno behind the bar. Eff my life. I decided I must have a Beelzebun’s chili cheese dog with jalapenos. Five minutes later, I’m back at Nuno’s, enjoying the world’s best chili dog while thinking about how badly I just ruined my cleanse. I drank water the rest of the night, but that did little to assuage my guilt.
Positive-Spin Recap: Ate a mostly raw foods, fruit and veggie diet until 9 p.m. Worked out hardcore at Krav class + running for 2 hours straight tonight. Refrained from taking painkillers for the pounding headache I developed. Drank *mostly* water at Nuno’s. I did really well until I set foot inside my favorite bar. So, you may blame me for having a total lack of willpower, but I blame Nuno and his shenanigans for tonight’s indiscretions.
Filed under: Uncategorized — Wit & Whimsy @ 11:25 am
6:30 a.m.: Okay, so Day 1 of SXSW kicked my ass. Despite having worn my Reefs, which are undoubtedly some of the most comfy shoes I own, my feet are killing me. I planned to get up to go for a run, partially to stay in my routine, and partially to work off all of the delicious, yet calorie-ridden street food and adult beverages I’ve been consuming. I stumble into the bathroom, half-awake, and manage to brush my teeth and wash my face before saying, “Eff this.” I go back to bed for another 3 hours.
9:30 a.m.: Wake up attempt #2. This one is more successful. Shower, check work emails and voicemails. No emergencies. Get dressed and head downtown to meet Paul (who has driven up from San Antonio – again – for an appointment).
12:00 p.m.: Not only do I find a parking space in the same lot that I parked in the night before, but the parking attendant has placed a cone in my previous parking space. He saved the spot for me! (See, ladies and gentleman… overtipping is never a bad thing. A little cash, a little appreciation and a kind word go a long way in this town. Those of you who continuously refuse to tip generously deserve whatever crappy service you get.) My new parking BFF tells me that if I need to go anywhere for any reason, to just let him know, and he will save my spot for me. Yay!
12:15 p.m.: I’m craving a pecan crusted chicken salad from Z Tejas like whoa. So I take a long, leisurely walk down 6th Street and satisfy my salad craving. I also drink about 15 glasses of water. The waitress is so disturbed by my hydration habits that she leaves a pitcher of H20 on the table for me because, try as she might, she just can’t keep up. I think she’s brilliant, and I decide I need an entire pitcher of water at every meal.
1:30 p.m.: While walking back towards the festivities, I’m compelled to drop in to Lululemon and check out some new Bikram shorts. Omigoodness. Too much good stuff. Staying out all night. Can’t carry it all. Eff. I leave empty-handed.
2:00 p.m.: I had a great walk back up 6th Street, and I’ve got my iPhone out, trying to figure out who I planned to see today. None of my pre-planned acts start before 5:00 p.m., so I touch base with Rob and Camron. Decide I don’t want to fight crazy lines for free beer and mediocre bands, and would rather pay for my drinks and listen to good music. So, of course, I duck into Nuno’s to see who’s playing for the Red Gorilla Music Festival. Oh my goodness, I’m glad I did. I’m always happy to be at Nuno’s, but today is especially awesome. After giving Tank and Christopher their first hugs of the day (there will be more, because as we all know, I love the hugs!), I step inside, grab my new day drink (Malibu & pineapple: hydration + a taste of the tropics) and take a seat near the door. An artist named Justin Black has just started playing, and I swear, I experience an emotional rollercoaster during his set. ‘Devil Tree’ leaves me feeling a bit remorseful for things long forgotten; ‘Land of the Sun’ leaves me feeling reminicent for my days in San Diego and at the same time, happy to be back home in Texas; and ‘Shine’ is pretty much just inspirational as all hell. I almost cry during the set. I’m so amazed that I text Joyce from Fearless Records in the middle of the 2nd song and tell her to get her ass over to Nuno’s. But, she’s in a music conference, so I settle for handing her card to the band after the show. In doing so, I make friends with the whole band, abscond with some CDs, and become very excited to hear they’re playing again on Saturday. I promise to go see them, and then hang back in Nuno’s a little while longer to listen to a few more artists.
4:00 p.m.: I love being at Nuno’s, but I can’t escape the feeling that I need to be enjoying the gorgeous day outside, and I also really like talking to Tank, Chris and Nuno II, so I spend about half of my time outside on the street, and half of it inside, drinking or relaxing. I meet Jo, who’s down from the Mopac location to help out for the night, and decide she’s a pretty cool chick. Right about the time I think I might head over to the Convention Center for Third Eye Blind, I get a text from Lindsay asking if I know of any way to get Daniel into the Metallica show. I think for a moment, consider how much Daniel loves Metallica, acknowledge the fact that I’ve already been to at least one show for every band I wanted to see tonight, and tell Daniel to get his ass over to Nuno’s so I can give him my wristband for the night. (I know, cardinal sin of SXSW: thou shalt not share wristbands. But I paid for it, and I wanted my friend to have it, so… there.) Besides, staying at Nuno’s for the night is never a bad deal.
6:30 p.m.: Daniel arrives to get my wristband. I originally attached it fairly loosely so I could slip it off and on, but Daniel has HUGE hands. He can’t get them through the band. So I devise a plan to cut the band with nail clippers, and tape it back together. Only the scotch tape won’t hold the band. Eff. This isn’t looking good. I have an idea, and send Daniel to the convenience store across the street to ask to borrow a stapler. He does even better: he comes back with a mini-stapler and staples. Score! We manage to attach the wristband securely and he’s off to Metallica.
7:30 p.m.: My Canadian band boys finally make it back out, and they stop by Nuno’s to hang with me for a while. I somehow end up with an entourage of about 15 people that I’ve never met before yesterday. We’re having a blast. Angie (Nuno’s amazing wife) comes by with the tip bucket, and I go to throw some cash in. She tries to stop me, saying that I’ve already tipped a lot tonight. I disagree, and say that a few tips are well worth it to keep such great bands coming back to entertain me. Angie then insists on buying me a shot, so we knock back some Patron, then chat for a bit. She introduces me to her daughter, Nina, and Nina’s fiance Travis. I can tell how proud Angie is of her family, because she keeps pointing to Nuno II as he’s dancing behind the bar, and her eyes light up when she talks about her kids or her husband. Love it. The whole family is pretty amazing… they remind me of me family in a weird way… but with cooler parents.
12:00 a.m.: Daniel returns from Metallica and he had a blast. I’m pretty freakin’ drunk. I doze off on the comfy cushioned bench in the back.
1:30 a.m.: Lame. I can’t make it. I duck out silently and walk back to my car. Drive home. Crash. So tired.
7:30 p.m.: No line for wristband holders @ Stubb’s. I grab my first Lone Star of the night and head over to the stage, where I land front and center in a sparse crowd. Not for long. By the time 3Oh!3 comes on, I am swimming in a sea of teenagers and very low 20-somethings, rocking out to what could possibly be the most energetic, infectious show I’ve seen in a LONG time. I literally could not stop dancing for 45 minutes straight, and rocked out to every single song. Fantastic show. On my way to the ladies’ room, I meet a security guard who informs me that my green Artist wristband is fundamentally no different than a badge, at least when it comes to concerts, but that didn’t stop me from finding my way into the Green Room to meet 3Oh!3. Apparently, when people think you’re in a band, you get a lot more perks. 😉
9:00 p.m.: On my way out of the Green Room, I meet a Canadian band called Lloydminster, and they become my BFF’s for the night. These guys were so effing hilarious that I could hardly stand it. We drink, dance, sing along to Meat Puppets, and drink some more. I become an honorary band member. I now play the finger cymbals.
10:00 p.m.: Gomez plays Stubb’s. Fantastic show. Again, I duck into the Green Room, but the band members are kind of occupied and I need food. I grab a sausage wrap (yum!), my 10th beer of the night, and make my way back to my new band.
11:00 p.m.: There is an absolutely hypnotic violinist on stage. I discover this band is called Andrew Bird. I love them. The boys and I have a few more beers, then go up to the VIP lounge to watch Ben Harper from an elevated perspective. On the way, my new security guard friend informs me that Metallica will be playing at Stubb’s tomorrow night, but it hasn’t yet been announced.
12:15 a.m.: Ben Harper is way late coming on, so I go to the Green Room yet again, and manage to catch him in a moment where he has time to chat. He’s cut his hair since the last time I saw him. It looks great. He kisses my hand. I melt. I see his wife. I go away. Back to the VIP lounge. OMG. Ben Harper. LOVE. While dancing lustfully to that sexy guitar and crooning voice, I meet Joyce, an agent from Fearless Records in Orange County, and she is just effing fabulous. We hug a lot. I get her card and promise to call her with my whereabouts tomorrow.
1:00 a.m.: Leave Stubb’s slightly early to try to catch Kid Cudi @ Aces Lounge. With the boys in tow (and very drunk), I make my way back to 6th Street. Drunken Todd is hard to contain, and we don’t make it to 6th Street until 1:30. Chris and I make an executive decision to go to Nuno’s instead, so I can make good on my promise to Tank. Glad we did. Nuno’s is packed, with great blues as always, and the whole family seems to be around tonight. Angie, sweet and precious as ever, is collecting tips for the band. Chris and I dance for a while, then Nuno Sr. stops to talk to us. I love his philosophy on finding talent: “Everyone is local. Fuck everyone else. We’re here for the locals.” Time for more drinks, and Nuno II leaves the bar to dance. I suddenly realize how effing hot Nuno II is. I immediately develop a temporary SXSW crush on the guy I’ve seen almost every weekend since New Year’s Eve Eve. More dancing, more drinks, and we leave well past 2:00.
2:30 a.m.: I can’t believe this happened. The boys and I have walked all the way to I-35, completely the opposite direction of my car. We walk halfway back and my feet really start to hurt. Chris offers to carry me. I seriously consider. We find a pedicab that fits 3 of us, and Chris sits with me, while the other 3 remaining band members take turns running beside the pedicab and sitting with me and Chris. Todd finds it amusing to yell at our pedicab driver and smack him on the ass as he drives. FML.
3:30 a.m.: Breakfast @ Kerbey Lane. So hungry. We finish up, and I drop the guys off to sleep it off at their hotel with a promise to call them tomorrow.
4:00 a.m.: Home in Round Rock. SO EFFING TIRED. Can’t wait to go back tomorrow.
Headed to downtown Austin yesterday for my first official all-day venture into the SXSW 2009 Music Festival. Had to stop off for a few work errands off of Barton Springs Road, and by the time I finished up around 1:00 p.m., the vehicular chaos was already in full swing. Spent an entire hour driving up and down the nearby streets, checking out my usual parking spots near 8th & Red River, 4th & Congress, etc. Finally realized there was no way I was getting a parking space down there. So I then began examining all of the lesser-known (and more distant) lots for parking. About another 30 minutes of that before I found a diamond in the rough: a half-empty LEZ lot off of 5th & Nueces across from Little Woodrow’s (near Key Bar). Parking was $10 until 7:00 p.m., or $20 until 2:00 a.m. Beggars can’t be choosers. I tipped the man $10 for saving my life, and won his heart in the meantime. He offered to place a cone in my parking spot if I had any need to leave and return throughout the day, and to save me a spot all weekend. Score one for overtipping.
2:30 p.m.: Peckerhead’s on 6th for free Red Stripe. At this point, I’m operating sans wristband, so day parties with free stuff are the way to go. Met up with Rob and some cool chicks he knows upstairs, and enjoyed the vocal stylings of Reverend Payton’s Big Damn Band and Port O’Brien. Good stuff. And the free beer rumor was true. Hooray Beer! I Tweet and Facebook my (Rob’s) find, but am sad to see I have a low battery on my iPhone.
3:30 p.m.: Stop in at Nuno’s to say hello to Tank and check the band list for the night. (Who am I kidding? It’s always great music.) Tank gives me a big hug and tells me I look even better in the daytime. Rob decides I come here way too often. Promise Tank I will return between shows later in the evening. My dying iPhone makes me sad. I want to Tweet my whereabouts and cool discoveries, but AT&T’s poor planning for SXSW combined with my low battery = Michelle sucking at social networking.
3:45 p.m.: Rob and I duck out of Nuno’s and head back over to Mohawk for the Rhapsody VIP party, featuring free Trudy’s tacos, and open bar, and some really cool bands (namely, Vivian Girls and Trail of the Dead). I missed out on Vivian Girls by showing up later in the day, but Trail of the Dead was awesome. Tacos were delicious, and the liquor did in fact flow freely. Met John, a friend of Rob’s who works for a federal judge in Atlanta (small world!), and Rob’s official SXSW girlfriend, a married woman with lots of energy who informed Rob that it’s alright if they make out, but they can’t go to third base. Duly noted, married chick. Duly noted. Crystal, a friend of married chick, introduced herself to me by burning my arm with her lit cigarette, then apologizing profusely. We became great friends. Very cool girl. Quite a bit of sun on the upstairs deck, so Rob supplied us all with margarita-scented SPF 30 from his backpack full o’goodies, and saved us all from an untimely skin-cancer-induced death. Thanks, Rob. And another very special thanks to Rob for sliding not one, but three additional people, into the Rhapsody party on his VIP invite. We bow down to your popularity and generosity.
4:45 p.m.: Rob, John and I leave Mohawk to make our way to HiLo for the Soy Bombs show. Stop on the way to take a photo of me (in a very short skirt) on the Jackalope. Rob entertains the masses by waving his arms wildly above his head and screaming “Soy Bombs @ HiLo! Freeeee!” as he runs down 6th Street. I briefly consider slapping some random woman on the back of the head after she calls my friend a douchbag. I decide it’s SXSW, and I refuse to perpetuate the hatred. Soy Bombs, as always, are a blast. Bought a cool new Soy Bombs tee for the bargain price of $6. I run into Cheryl and Holly there, and Cheryl leaves with me to go pick up my wristband and grab some food. My iPhone is really dying now, and I don’t have enough battery to waste my time waiting for Twitter to load.
6:45 p.m.: Dinner @ Hut’s Hamburgers hit the spot. My iPhone is totally and completely dead… like, won’t even show me a red battery indicator. Thankfully, we’re near my car, so I stop to charge the phone for a bit, and we part ways. After allowing a miniscule charge to my phone, I call my buddy Connor and we decided to meet up at Mother Egan’s so he can provide me with the hallowed “Artist Wristband.” Wristband on my arm, I set out for Stubb’s.
7:15 p.m.: iPhone still dying. I stop in at the Emo’s Annex to use the phone charging station. It’s gone for the day. FML. I use one last text to tell Rob I’m going to Stubb’s.
Dan & Lindsay have this enormous container of organic Winnie the Pooh animal crackers from Costco, and for some reason, it always sits on the lower shelf of the coffee table in their living room. Normally, when I’m sitting down on the chaise, I’m positioned in such a way that I don’t really ever see the massive mound of cookie goodness, so I’m rarely tempted to eat them.
But today, it seems that the animal crackers are sitting slightly to the left of their usual resting place, putting the container directly in my line of sight. For 2 hours now, the gleeful little faces of Tigger, Pooh, Piglet, Eeyore and Roo have been taunting me.
“Eat us! We’re so tasty!” shouts Piglet.
Then Pooh tempts me… “We are so delightfully crisp and airy, with a hint of honey!”
“The wonderful, wonderful thing about crackers is I’m a part of ’em!” Tigger cries.
“Organic? I guess that’s a good thing…” Eeyore mumbles.
FINE. Just a few animal crackers, I think, and then I can get back to my work, and Pooh and his crew can go back to the Hundred Acre Woods… er, animal cracker box.
Only… that plan doesn’t work out so well. I finish the first handful, then sigh as I realize I want… no, need… more. I stand up and get another handful. Must… have… more. One more handful. I’ve probably eaten about 30 cookies by now. Still.. it’s not enough… I need… I need… I need… sigh.
Anyone have the number for the Animal Cracker Addicts Anonymous meeting?
Alright, folks… it’s that time again. The annual SXSW Music Festival. And since I’ve missed it for the last, let’s say… decade… I thought it important to show my support for all of those fabulotastic artists that make my heart soar.
I’m not 100% certain of my plans for the week, but SXSW has a terrific calendar function that assists in sorting through the artists you’re most interested in seeing. So, without further ado… here are my picks.
Being cooped up inside after just two days of rain and cold was becoming more than I could handle. I wanted to go for a run, but my natural clumsiness + slick, wet pavement = impending disaster. Always. And the thought of running on a treadmill just made me even more antsy to be outside. So even though I probably had no business doing it, I decided to go for a trail run anyways.
Now, those who know me are aware that I occasionally lack a sense of direction. I often forget where I parked my car, and it’s not unusual for me to drive around in circles looking for a store that is literally right in front of me. However, I seem to do a bit better when hiking, camping and trail running. In fact, I manage to do quite well at underwater navigation (while SCUBA diving, using a compass to navigate), so I sometimes get a little cocky about my ability to find my way around in the woods. Sometimes I do alright. Sometimes not so much.
Today… not so much.
I start off at the trailhead and jog along a Level 1 paved path. The kind of path that is fairly accessible to wheelchairs and strollers. This is nice and relaxing, but the reason I enjoy trail running so much is that it allows me to disappear from the world for a while, and immerse myself in nature. So, at the first opportunity, I drop onto a Level 2 gravel path, which is part gravel, mixed with a lot of dirt. I start winding my way into the trees, and see a tiny, almost indiscernable muddy trail cutting through the mesquite trees. YES! The Level 4 trail. This is what I was looking for. I pause, adjust my Camelbak, and take off running down the path.
The run is perfect. With all the rain we’ve had over the last few days, the thin muddy line that designates the trail is just slick enough to keep me on my toes without overwhelming the tread on my trail shoes. I frequently have the opportunity to dodge tree limbs, hop over cacti and slide down gravel embankments. I nearly fall about 4 times. My brain is totally absorbed by the obstacles before me, and I never have a chance to slip back into worrying about real-world drama and problems.
About 2 miles into the run, the trail splits off into two sections: another Level 2 gravel path, or a continuance of the Level 4 trail I am already on. The Level 4 trail turns into a set of steep rock/root stairs that leads into a ravine below, and I can see where the trail picks back up in the ravine. A sign next to the trail opening warns, “DO NOT ENTER.” Pssssshhhh. Warning signs are just suggestions, right?
“OOOH. Rock stairs and dangerous ledges. SHINY. I must follow.” I pause to take a photo with my iPhone, turn off my iPod, edge down the steps, switch my iPod back on, and take off running down the muddy trail again. I run mindlessly, passing countless forks and alternate paths. I’m in the middle of singing the chorus to Supermassive Black Hole when it occurs to me that the trail has disappeared. I turn around, and realize that I must have gone off trail some time ago, because I don’t see the trail at all from where I’m standing. Eff.
I walk around in a circle a few times, doing exactly the opposite of what I should be doing to regain my original path. I then start walking back in the direction I think I came from. I go about 3/4 mile before I get the feeling that this is wrong. Very, very wrong. Eff.
I have the TrailGuru app on my iPhone, and I’m pretty sure I’ve mapped this park’s trails on it once before. So I pull it out, and attempt to locate myself on the map. WTF. I am SO far away from where I thought I was going. Damn you, shiny little Level 4 trail. Damn you to hell.
This entire park is surrounded by neighborhoods, so I’m not panicking at all. But I would like to find my bearings before some park pervert catches me alone. Using my nifty little TrailGuru app, start recording my trail. I walk through the woods for about 10 minutes until I find what appears to be a Level 3 path. All dirt (or mud), but well-defined. I head back on this trail, tracking my progress on my phone, and stumble across a bridge. It’s half mud, half rock, so that means I’ve found my way back to a Level 2 path. Yay me! I start jogging again, quite pleased with myself, when my delightful Level 2 path dead-ends at a fence. WTF.
I go back to TrailGuru and decide to dart through the trees in a straight line back to my original starting point, trail or no trail. This proves to be more difficult than it sounds, because, well… it’s really freaking muddy. My favorite shoes are now caked in mud, and my feet are heavy. Swiping my treads against tree trunks and roots is no help at all. There’s just too much mud. So I revert back to walking, looking very much like a cat with tape on its paws as I attempt to shake off the mud every few steps.
About an hour and 40 minutes has elapsed (total) when I see a break int he trees. PAVEMENT! YAY! I found a Level 1 path. This is good news. I pause to observe some sidewalk graffiti reminding hikers/runners not to litter, and just beyond that, nestled against a prickly pear… an arrowhead. A real, perfectly carved arrowhead. Sweet. I pick it up and roll it between my fingers, wondering when the last Native American happened to be hunting off of Loop 1604. Lost in my thoughts, I look up, and see it… the parking lot. And beyond it… MY CAR!!
Sigh of relief. I’m saved! It’s been a long, stressful… 2 hours… and I haven’t eaten in… 3 hours. Yet despite the hardships, here I am… alive, free of injury, and with small improvements to my sense of direction. Just call me Survivorwoman.
(Posting pics from the entire trail in my Photos… stats from the last 2K of the trail available here: http://www.trailguru.com/wiki/index.php/Track:4RYU) But don’t ask me why my average speed is lower than my minimum speed. I didn’t write the math code. I just work here.
wow….some adventure you had! def not running with you now! haha just kidding!
so glad you found your way back…i would have been scared shitless had i not had a phone to guide my path (might have been a wrong path) but a path to get you back to point A……
So, I just stumbled across my little cousin Amanda’s blog, and saw this tidbit she wrote to/about me. (I say “little” cousin, but she’s 20 years old. She’s still little to me.) Since it brought tears to my eyes, I decided it was worthy of reposting here, where I can always go back to it if I ever need a morale boost.
“Michelle- I know that we haven’t seen each other since Christmas, but I still think about you all the time, as weird as that may sound. It’s amazing how much you have taught me in just a few months, I feel that I’ve grown as a person since becoming better aquainted with you. It makes me sad that we didn’t really know each other as kids, we could have had some AWESOME times, but that’s neither here nor there. You are an inspiring person, don’t let anyone tell you differently. I don’t think I’ve ever met someone that can make you feel better about yourself the second they open their mouth, but you can. See why I always say I miss you so much??? Hahaha. I love reading your blogs, they are such a great representation of you. I feel like I’m in your apartment listening to you telling me the story you’ve written about when I read them. Anyways, I love you. I can’t wait to (hopefully) hang out with you tomorrow.“
I really love going out with my friends. There’s nothing like a night of heavy drinking, random conversation, dancing and bonding to erase the stress of a chaotic week or level out an emotional rollercoaster.
But what I love even more are those lazy Saturdays that sometimes follow our Friday nights out. The ones where a whole crew of people wake up in the same house, enjoy a leisurely breakfast, and lounge around watching TV and chatting all morning into the early afternoon. The ones where you finally manage to shower and dress by about 3:00 p.m., then venture out of the house for a fantastic late lunch/early dinner from somewhere like Madam Mam’s and share several plates of exceptional food. The ones where you take a trip all the way down to Barton Creek Mall to check out a sale at one particular store, and spend hours shopping, browsing around until your feet hurt and you’re dying of thirst. The ones where a quiet night in with a few bottles of wine, a tasty cheese selection, and a shared container of dark chocolate gelato accentuate a few hours of small-screen drama and a slow exploration of every new beauty product you bought that day.
I do love the nightlife. I revel in live music and/or skillful DJs, meeting new people, the energy of a crowd, dancing all night, and hitting up an all-night breakfast spot to wind down at the end of the evening. But there’s something to be said for being so comfortable with a specific group of people that you don’t mind stumbling out into a living room in your pajamas, bleary-eyed with messy hair, and talking about everything from religion and politics to sex and sports. There’s something to be said for being able to spend a significant amount of time with someone and consistently enjoying yourself whenever you’re around them. And there’s something to be said for just being able to sit in silence, and not worry about what you’re doing for entertainment, because you know you’ll need nothing more than each other’s company to have a great time. I’m a pretty lucky girl.
The lazy days where you watch cheesy tv/sleep until 5pm then grab greasy food in order to make you feel better from all the alcohol the night before (which does work, until the grease gets through you). Then realizing it is time to go out again. Ah I love it.
As promised, I’m delivering some Valentine’s Day Wake-Up Calls. God knows I’ve needed a few in the past few weeks. So, my friends… here we are…
‘He’s Just Not That Into You’
By Greg Behrendt and Liz Tuccillo
Chapter One: He’s just not that into you if he’s not asking you out.
Because if he likes you, trust me, he will ask you out
Many women have said to me, “Greg, men run the
world.” Wow. That makes us sound pretty capable. So tell me, why would
you think we could be incapable of something as simple as picking up
the phone and asking you out? You seem to think at times that we’re
“too shy” or we “just got out of something.” Let me remind you: Men
find it very satisfying to get what they want. (Particularly after a
difficult day of running the world.) If we want you, we will find you.
If you don’t think you gave him enough time to notice you, take the
time it took you to notice him and divide it by half.
Now you begin the life-changing experience of
reading our book. We have put the stories we have heard and questions
we’ve been asked in a simple question-and-answer format. If you’re
lucky, you’ll read the following questions and know what they are:
Excuses that women have made for their unsatisfying situations. If
you’re not so lucky, we’ve also included handy titles to clue you in.
The “Maybe He Doesn’t Want to Ruin the Friendship” Excuse
Dear Greg,
I’m so disappointed. I have this friend that
I’ve known platonically for about ten years. He lives in a different
city and recently he was in town for work, so we met for dinner. All of
a sudden it felt like we were on a date. He was completely flirting
with me. He even said to me, as he was checking me out, “So, what,
you’re working the whole ‘model thing’ now?” (That’s flirting, right?)
We both agreed that we should get together again soon. Well, Greg, I’m
disappointed because it’s been two weeks and he hasn’t called me. Can I
call him? He might be nervous about turning the friendship into
romance. Can’t I give him a nudge now? Isn’t that what friends are for?
Jodi
Dear Friendly Girl,
Two weeks is two weeks, except when it’s ten
years and two weeks. That’s how long ago he decided whether or not he
could date a model or a girl who looks like one. Can you be a pal and
give him a nudge? Nudge away, friendster — but watch how fast that
nudge doesn’t get a return phone call. And if your dinner/date did feel
different to him, it’s been two weeks and he’s had time to think about
it and decide he’s just not that into you. Here’s the truth: Guys don’t
mind messing up a friendship if it could lead to sex, whether it be a
“(expletive) buddy” situation or a meaningful romance. Go find someone
that lives in your zip code who will be rocked to the core by your deep
conversation and model looks.
I hate to tell you, but that whole “I don’t want
to ruin the friendship” excuse is a racket. It works so well because it
seems so wise. Sex could mess up a friendship. Unfortunately, in the
entire history of mankind, that excuse has never ever been used by
someone who actually means it. If we’re really excited about someone,
we can’t stop ourselves — we want more. If we’re friends with someone
and attracted to them, we’re going to want to take it further. And
please, don’t tell me he’s just “scared.” The only thing he’s scared of
— and I say this with a lot of love — is how not attracted to you he
is.
The “Maybe He’s Intimidated by Me” Excuse
Dear Greg,
I have a crush on my gardener. He’s been potting
the plants on my patio. It was hot, I saw him without his shirt on, he
was hot, and now I’m hot for him. I brought out some beers and we
talked. I think he wants to ask me out but is afraid, because he is my
hired man. In this situation, can’t I ask him out?
Cherie
Dear My Secret Garden,
He’s capable of asking you out. Haven’t you ever
seen a porno? Hope he gets there before the pizza guy. But seriously,
if he didn’t pick up the vibe after the beer garden, it has nothing to
do with you being his big boss lady. Time to stop and smell the bad
news: He’s just not that into you.
Let me say it again, sexual harassment rules and
workplace memos notwithstanding, a guy will ask out a woman of higher
status if he’s into her. He might need a little more encouragement than
normal, I’ll give you that. You might have to lead Johnny the Office
Boy or Phillipe the Exterminator to water, but you better not help him
ask you out. Once again, ladies, a wink and a smile will do it.
By the way, why are you dating the exterminator?
Just kidding, he’s a good guy.
The “Maybe He Wants to Take It Slow” Excuse
Dear Greg,
There’s this guy who calls me all the time. He’s
recently divorced, and in AA. We got back in touch recently, had lots
of phone calls, and then hung out twice in one week and it was real
cool. No flirting or making out or anything, but fun. Since then, he
calls me all the time but doesn’t ever suggest we see each other in
person again. It’s like he got scared or something. I would understand
if because of the divorce/alcoholic/starting-a-whole-new-life stuff he
wanted to take things slow. But he still calls me all the time to have
long heart-to-heart talks. What the hell should I do with this guy?
Jen
Dear Pillow Talk,
Sadly, not wanting to see you in person is
massive as far as dating obstacles go. And as far as the recently
divorced/newly sober/starting-a-new-life parts, blah blah blah, I’m
getting sleepy, it’s hot, I’m going down for a nap. When I wake up from
that nap I’ll probably thrill to the news that your friend is taking
control of his life. You, however, will still not be going on a date,
because despite all your excuses for him, he’s still not asking you
out. Now, if you’re a person who enjoys a slightly satisfying phone
relationship, talk on! But at this point it seems like he’s just not
that into you. Be his friend if you’re at all interested on that level,
but move your romantic inclinations onto a more suitable future husband.
If a guy truly likes you, but for personal
reasons he needs to take things slow, he will let you know that
immediately. He won’t keep you guessing, because he’ll want to make
sure you don’t get frustrated and go away.
The “But He Gave Me His Number” Excuse
Dear Greg,
I met a really cute guy at a bar this week. He
gave me his number and told me to give him a call sometime. I thought
that was kind of cool, that he gave me control of the situation like
that. I can call him, right?
Lauren
Dear Control Freak,
Did he give you control, or did he just get you
to do the heavy lifting? What he just did was a magic trick: It seems
like he gave you control, but really he now gets to decide if he wants
to go out with you — or even return your call. Why don’t you take
Copperfield’s number, roll it in a newspaper, pour milk in it, and make
it disappear.
“Give me a call.” “E-mail me.” “Tell Joey we
should all hang out sometime.” Don’t let him trick you into asking him
out. When men want you, they do the work. I know it sounds old school,
but when men like women, they ask them out.
The “Maybe He Forgot to Remember Me” Excuse
Dear Greg,
Okay, Greg. Listen to this one: I was at a
conference for work and met a guy from another branch of my company. We
hit it off immediately. He was just about to ask for my number, I
swear, when the Big Blackout of 2003 happened. In the mayhem, I didn’t
get to give him my number. I think the Big Blackout of 2003 is a good
enough excuse to call him, don’t you think? It’s only common courtesy
for me to check up on him, right? If I don’t call, he’s probably going
to be all sad thinking that I’m just not that into him.
Judy
Dear Judy Blackout,
The city blacked out. He didn’t. You said you
work for different branches of the same company. Certainly he wouldn’t
have to break a sweat to scroll through the company staff roster or
interoffice e-mail listing to find you. And should he not be as
resourceful as you are…I imagine that he has a mother, sister, or
female friend that could show him how, if he was really interested.
P.S.: Shame on you for using an eastern seaboard disaster as an excuse to call a guy up.
Have faith. You made an impression. Leave it at
that. If he likes you, he’ll still remember you after the tsunami,
flood, or Red Sox loss. If he doesn’t, he’s not worth your time. Know
why? You are great. (Now, don’t get cocky.)
The “Maybe I Don’t Want to Play Games” Excuse
Dear Greg,
This is dumb. I know you’re not supposed to call
guys, but I call guys all the time because I don’t care! I don’t want
to play games. I do whatever I want! I’ve called guys tons of times.
You’re such a square, Greg. Why do you think we can’t call guys and ask
them out?
Nikki
Dear Nikki,
Because we don’t like it. Okay, some guys might
like it, but they’re just lazy. And who wants to go out with Lazy Guy?
It’s that simple. I didn’t make the rules and I might not even agree
with them. Please don’t be mad at me, Nikki. I’m not advocating that
women go back to the Stone Age. I just think you might want to be
realistic in how capable you are of changing the primordial impulses
that drive all of human nature.
Or maybe you’re the chosen one.
Men, for the most part, like to pursue women. We
like not knowing if we can catch you. We feel rewarded when we do.
Especially when the chase is a long one. We know there was a sexual
revolution. (We loved it.) We know women are capable of running
governments, heading multinational corporations, and raising loving
children — sometimes all at the same time. That, however, doesn’t make
men different.
IT’S SO SIMPLE
Imagine right now that I’m leaping up and down
and shaking my fist at the sky. I’m on my knees pleading with you. I’m
saying this in a loud voice: “Please, if you can trust one thing I say
in this book, let it be this: When it comes to men, deal with us as we
are, not how you’d like us to be.” I know it’s an infuriating concept —
that men like to chase and you have to let us chase you. I know. It’s
insulting. It’s frustrating. It’s unfortunately the truth. My belief is
that if you have to be the aggressor, if you have to pursue, if you
have to do the asking out, nine times out of ten, he’s just not that
into you. (And we want you to believe you’re one of the nine, ladies!)
I can’t say it loud enough: You, the superfox reading this book, are
worth asking out.
HERE’S WHY THIS ONE IS HARD, by Liz
Well, it’s obvious. Are you telling us that we
have to just sit around and wait? I don’t know about you, but I find
that infuriating. I was brought up to believe that hard work and good
planning are the keys to making your dreams come true. I spent my life
making things happen for myself. I worked hard for my career, and was
quite aggressive about it. I called people, made appointments, asked
for favors. I took action. But now Greg is telling us that in this
situation, we are supposed to do absolutely nothing. The guys get to
pick. We’re just supposed to put on our little dresses and do our hair
and bat our eyes and hope they choose us. Why don’t you just tie my
corset too tight so I can faint in front of some man who’ll scoop me
out of the way just before the horse-drawn carriage runs over me?
That’ll get his attention.
Really, in this day and age, the hardest thing
to do for many women, particularly me, is nothing. We like to scheme,
make phone calls, have a plan. And I’m talking about more than just
making sure our hair doesn’t frizz. Most women who date, I would guess,
don’t have men throwing themselves at them every night of the week.
Sometimes there’s a long stretch during which nobody’s asking us out.
So when we see a guy that we feel might be a romantic possibility, it’s
even harder for us to take a backseat. That opportunity might not come
back again for a long time.
But guess what: My way? Has sucked. Hasn’t
worked at all. I’ve never had a successful relationship with a guy that
I’ve pursued. I’m sure there are many stories out there to the
contrary. But for me, those guys end up getting back together with
their ex-girlfriend, needing to take some time for themselves, or going
out of town for business. Usually it doesn’t even get that far. They
usually just don’t ever return my phone call. And let me tell you, that
didn’t make me feel very in control of anything.
Since I’ve been implementing Greg’s handy-dandy
“he’s just not that into you” philosophy, I’ve been feeling
surprisingly more powerful. Because if the men are asking you out, if
the men have to get your attention, then you, in fact, are the one in
control. There’s no scheming and plotting. And there is something great
about knowing that my only job is to be as happy as I can be about my
life, and feel as good as I can about myself, and to lead as full and
eventful a life as I can, so that it doesn’t ever feel like I’m just
waiting around for some guy to ask me out. And most importantly, it’s
good for us all to remember that we don’t need to scheme and plot and
beg to get someone to ask us out. We’re fantastic.
THIS IS WHAT IT SHOULD LOOK LIKE, by Greg
One night I was drinking in a bar and flirting
with the bartender. I asked for her number. She said, “I don’t give out
my phone number because guys rarely call me when they say they’re going
to. My name is Lindsey Adams, and if you want to call me, find my phone
number.” Which I did — the very next day. Do you know how many Lindsey
Adams there are in the phone book of a major city? Let’s just say I
talked to about eight or nine before I found mine.
An actor we work with met a girl while he was
making a public appearance on an aircraft carrier. He lost track of her
in about ten minutes. And yet, because he was so smitten, he somehow
managed to track her down in the army, and they are now married.
GREG, I GET IT! By Leslie, age 29
Greg! I get it. I went to this party and I met
this guy. We started talking immediately by ourselves, off in a corner.
He asked if I was single and seemed pleased when I said I was. Whenever
we split up to talk to other people, or to get drinks or whatever, he
always kept his eye on me. It was really cool. I was all excited and
fluttery with that “Oh my God, I think I just met someone!” feeling. He
didn’t ask for my number, but we know lots of people in common, so I
thought he was just playing it cool. He never called me! And you know
what? Normally I would call our mutual friends and start fishing and
trying to figure out what happened and maybe try to find another way to
see him again. But instead, I’m just going to move on! Who cares what
his deal is. He’s not asking me out, so why should I start obsessing
over him? I’m just going to go out tonight and try to meet someone else.
IF YOU DON’T BELIEVE GREG
We did an incredibly unscientific poll where we
polled twenty of our male friends (ranging from ages twenty-six to
forty-five), who are in serious long-term relationships. Not one of
their relationships started with the woman asking them out first. One
guy even said that if she had, “It would have spoiled all the fun.”
What You Should Have Learned in This Chapter
• An excuse is a polite rejection. Men are not afraid of “ruining the friendship.”
• Don’t get tricked into asking him out. If he likes you, he’ll do the asking.
• If you can find him, then he can find you. If he wants to find you, he will.
• Just because you like to lead doesn’t mean he
wants to dance. Some traditions are born of nature and last through
time for a reason.
• “Hey, let’s meet at so-and-so’s party/any bar/friend’s house” is not a date. Even if you live in New York.
• Men don’t forget how much they like you. So put down the phone.
• You are good enough to be asked out.
Our Super-Good Really Helpful Workbook
Hey, what’s a self-help tome without a workbook?
Our chapters will all be so brave and wise that we want to make sure
you retain as much of the brilliance as you can. So for all of you who
feel the need to get out of your problems and into your crayon box,
have at it.
Love,
Greg and Liz
Remember in grade school how they told you not
to write in your textbooks? Screw that! Grab a pen and list five
reasons why you think you have every right or good reason to call him.
1.
2.
3.
4.
5.
Put the book aside and wait an hour. Or at least
ten minutes. Then ask yourself: Do I seem pathetic? Do I sound like
someone who doesn’t trust my own innate hotness? Yes,you do! Now put
your dialing finger away, get out of the house, and go find some fun.
P.S.: You just did a workbook exercise about a
guy who hasn’t even extended to you the energy of a phone call. Why
would you want to chase that down?
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Oh, Jeebus, Kevin. This wasn’t meant for anyone with a Y chromosome. Men inherently lack the ability to super-overanalyze what’s going on in a relationship, and therefore, would find this blog boring. This was more for my female companions… or my gay male companions. But if you’re really worried that maybe he’s just not that into you… read on.
I’ve forgotten how wise this book is. I need to re-read it just to remind myself of a thing or two that deep down, I already know. I f-ing hate Valentine’s Day, but even more, I f-ing hate lazy daters. This reminds me not to waste my time on them! Thanks Michy!
This book should seriously come with the word “BIBLE” written across it. As much as I cherish the advice Greg gives in this text, I recently found myself not listening to his words.
First, I got all strung out on a guy when I really wasn’t interested in dating anyone at all. Tried to keep my thoughts to myself while I figured them out, but evidently I wear my feelings all over my face. (Who, me? Yeah, I know.) Then, he started acting kind of shifty. I started making internal excuses for him blowing me off, tried to give the guy the benefit of the doubt, tried to rationalize his behavior. Eff that. Picked up “He’s Just Not That Into You” and read it again. Then went and saw the movie, which was *awesome*! Realized he’s really just not that into me. Didn’t like it, but I accepted it. Moving on now.
Peace, Love & Michelle 