And So I'm Trying

(I feel the need to warn you that this is a weird post. In fact, you should probably just go read about shoes and true love and procrastination instead.)

So... What do you want to do with your life?

I hate this question.

It makes me panicky, and queasy, and

I DON'T WANT TO PLAY THIS GAME.

Because really,

truly,

I'm not sure.

I don't know.

And don't tell me that "nobody knows".

I've spent the past two years asking people about

what they want,

observing people when they

speak to me about their lives,

listening

to what people say when they talk about

what they love and

where they want to

go.

And the vast majority of them know. Or at least have an idea.

They have a clue.

They may not know how to get there, or have all of the specifics figured out, but the majority have a direction to go.

(I'm aware that, sadly, many of them will never get where they want to go.)

I have no direction.

I have no clue.

I am blank.

Yes, I know that I'm not

completely alone.

But this isn't about everybody else. Saying "but Ally, nobody knows" doesn't make me feel any better. That's like telling somebody who's just had a really painful root canal, "tons of people have horrifying dental surgery at some point", and expecting that to make it ok.

A few weeks ago, my mom said:

At some point, you have to move forward.

You have to make a decision.

You have to be an adult...

(Moms, right?)

I've spent the past two years

stuck.

Lost.

I've been stuck

because

I'm stuck.

[And probably because I'm scared. Of what? Not sure.]

Not because I'm lazy. Not because I don't care. Not because I want to stay a reckless, irresponsible kid.

(I've never been a reckless, irresponsible kid.)

Now, finally, I'm starting to move forward. I'm starting to push outside of my

very

comfortable

comfort zone.

And I'm trying to answer those scary questions. The WHATs and WHENs and WHEREs and WHYs that make my tummy hurt.

I'm trying not to run away from them.

I'm trying to let those scary questions, those

GROWN UP BIG GIRL decisions,

sit on my plate for awhile.

I'm not throwing them away and ignoring them as soon as they come up.

I'm trying.

Call it a quarter-life crisis if you want.

My priorities - and the people I love - are still the same.

[Those things aren't changing.]

But I suppose it's time to move forward.

To do

something.

I'm trying.

I Shouldn't Be Allowed to Talk to Children

Last week I went to a summit put on by Girls in Tech. It was all about mentoring and my mentor, the fabulous Tara Anderson, spoke. She talked about the qualities that make a good mentor, and though she left out the most important part of our mentoring relationship (booze), it was really interesting.

Part of her presentation involved an activity where each of us took a note card that had a picture of a character from a movie. Each of these characters was either a mentor or a mentee (?). So there was Harry Potter and Dumbledore, Yoda and whatshisname from Star Wars (I think the one with daddy issues), and others.

Including Hannibal Lecter and Clarice Starling.

Guess who I got?

So I walked around looking for who had Jodi Foster and what do ya know but my counterpart is one of the three 14 year-old girls that was there. And she had no idea who the fuck Hannibal Lecter was or what The Silence of the Lambs was about. So it fell to me to teach, or mentor, if you will, this poor soul.

This is what we were here for. To impart wisdom on bright young girls who need our guidance.

So I explained: "Silence of the Lambs is an award-winning film about this chick, Clarice Starling, who's in the FBI and she's trying to find this creepy guy who takes women and puts them in this hole and makes them put lotion on themselves so he can make a giant suit made out of their skin so he can dance around in front of mirrors and so Clarice goes to this other creepy guy named Hannibal Lecter who's in prison because he's kind of screwed up and really likes to eat people, which isn't really good, ya know? So anyway he has to help Clarice because really? What else is he gonna do with his time? And he's really smart, plus I think he kinda gets off on watching her struggle."

I paused to let the girl take it all in. She just looked at me like I was the weird one (even though she's the one who hasn't seen it), and then she decided to share what she thought a good mentor should be like.

She said that a mentor shouldn't just give their mentee (seriously, is that a real word?) the answers, but should support them and let them figure things out on their own.

Which is EXACTLY what Hannibal Lecter did for Clarice Starling, so I nodded my head and said, "You know what? You're just like Hannibal Lecter".

Looking back, maybe I shouldn't have compared her to a serial killer, but really? The resemblance in their mentoring philosophy was uncanny. It was like she was meant to be told about this shit by me, which is pretty powerful.

Basically, I'm the best mentor ever. Just think how good I'd be if there was alcohol involved.

Maybe next time...

If her mother ever lets me talk to her again.

PS: BUT REALLY? Isn't it better that she learns about this from someone like ME, in a safe environment, rather than some freak on the streets? Her mother should be thanking me.

Sq-worm

The other day I spent some time pulling weeds. It had been raining, so it was easy to get the little buggers out of the ground. But with the soft, wet ground, came gross, slimy worms.

I just don't like them. They're all creepy and crawly and they come out of nowhere. Like when I pulled a large clump of dandelions from the ground and a herd? gaggle? pod? family? of worms came pouring out of the dirt. There were billions bunches 5 of them, and I was not pleased.

So I ran to the door and calmly asked Mike how he felt about worms, because I care about his emotions and all. He informed me that he didn't like them, which really fucked up my plan to pretend to care about his emotions when really I just wanted him to come outside and pull the weeds from the worm infested area. So I told him there were millions of worms crawling out of the ground and I needed his help and he asked what I needed help with and I said picking the weeds from the danger zone... and helping to save the worms.

Mike: Wait... save them from what?

Me: The concrete. They're all displaced in the sun and they're all going to burn up and die so get out here and help me save them.

Mike: But you don't like them!

Me: True, but I'M NOT A MONSTER!!! I may not be fond of them but I respect their purpose on this planet, and I don't want to be responsible for a worm massacre. WHO DO YOU THINK I AM?

Mike: So let me get this straight: You want me to go outside and re-bury them?

Me: Well, just get them back onto the grass and they can... burrow?

Mike: Yeah, no.

Me: Miiiiiiiiiikkkkkkkkeeeeee.

*Mike put his headphones on which I'm pretty sure means he wants to listen to music while talking to me, which is sort of rude but also kind of understandable, so I screamed.*

Me: MIIIIIIIIIIIIIIKKKKKKKKKKEEEEEEEEEE. YOU DON'T WANT THIS ON YOUR CONSCIENCE!!

*Shockingly, that didn't work.*

So I did what needed to be done and got a stick and proceeded to pick up the squiggly bastards with the end of the stick and placed them in some dirt and covered them up so the sun wouldn't dry their slimy little bodies out because I'm a wonderful person.

And I've made my peace with the cluster of weeds sitting in that part of the yard.

It's decorative.

Free Falling

The Scene: the bus station in Denver, on our way to the bars to celebrate Mike and Mark's birthday.

I think to myself: if I continue to button up my coat while we climb these stairs I'm going to fall.

Then I fall.

Hard.

On my knee.

In front of a large group of people waiting to get on the bus for Boulder.

And, because the physical pain and the humiliation is causing me to get dizzy and nauseous, I PANIC, because I'm awesome like that.

When we finally get me off of the damn death stairs and get up to street level we notice that our connecting bus is waiting on the street. Mike tells me to run and I sweetly say "are you fucking kidding me?" so he tells me to hobble instead and starts to drag me to the bus. I take a seat and realize that I'm shaking uncontrollably. I take out my trail mix (which I have in my bag because I'm a child and require snacks when I leave my house), and begin to eat.

Me: Shit, there's bus station floor all over my hands!

Mike: Wipe them on your pants.

Me: There's bus station floor all over my pants!

Mike: I can't take you anywhere.

So I have a busted knee AND I probably have some sort of horrible bacterial infection from eating contaminated trail mix.

Jump to 5 days later:

The Scene: walking the dogs down my street.

I think to myself: there's a guy pushing a little girl on a Big Wheel across the street, so I have to stay on this side, because Hannah hates Big Wheel bikes. I'll just walk up half a block and then cut across the street, then home! Thank god because I have to pee.

So I rush up half a block, check over my right shoulder to make sure the Evil Big Wheel with the Evil Child with Evil Pigtails isn't near us... and I catch a glimpse of a guy walking behind us.

So I whip my head around because the last thing I need is for Bonnie somebody to go ape shit on some Evil Man walking near us and I then proceed to miss that all important step over the uneven concrete and as I begin to fall I say "You have GOT to be kidding me..."

So I jump up as fast as I can (because when you fall in public you get up super fast and act like nothing happened EVEN THOUGH YOU'RE BLEEDING FROM YOUR ELBOW) and I limped across the street and home.

So, if you're keeping track, that's me falling in public and hurting myself TWICE in less than a week. I have so many bruises and scabs that Mike says I look like a fifth grader. My mom says that I'm making up for the fact that I never fell or injured myself when I was a kid, and Mike thinks that I just need more agility training.

Thank You Notes: Blissful Edition

(This post is sappy, personal, and ridiculously lovey. Not your thing? Read my first Blissdom post instead.)

********************

Dear Esther,

Thank you for being my friend, not just online, but in person.

Thank you for making me think, for sharing your stories, for sharing your insight,

for being you.

Thank you for checking on me when I got locked out of my hotel room, and thank you for *not* making me feel like a total idiot when I pocket dialed you (twice) and left you messages of me discussing the best cookie choice with the sales girl in the hotel lobby.

(It was white chocolate cherry, in case that wasn't clear from my message.)

(Sorry 'bout that.)

********************

Dear Casey,

Thank you for hugging me when I shared one of my biggest fears with you,

for getting it,

for getting me.

Thank you for telling me to "do it" when I said I might cry. (Not in a mean way (DO IT), but in an encouraging way... I thought I should clear that up.)

Thank you for stopping me when I was leaving the party the first night, for talking to me instead of allowing me to wander around by myself.

Thank you for telling me I'm awesome, for being awesome yourself, for being my new found lobster.

********************

Dear Mary Anne,

I hereby dub you my Fairy Blog Mother.

Thank you for hugging me, telling me you were proud of me,

being my safety net.

Thank you for telling me which side of the stage to stand on to get my picture taken with Harry Connick, Jr. You're basically the best Fairy Blog Mother ever.

********************

Dear Steph,

Oh Steph. Thank you thank you thank you for hanging out with me.

For letting me essentially stalk you.

You are stuck with me now, my dear,

because I adore you so.

Thank you for saying hello, for dancing with me, for letting me hold that beautiful tiny dancer of yours.

Thank you for inspiring me.

(Seriously, Ivy is so freaking cute she makes my uterus hurt).

******************

Dear Alli,

You throw one hell of a party.

I am forever in awe of you.

Thank you for letting me be a part of it,

for including me,

for stopping to hug me whenever you saw me,

for being amazing.

Thank you for saying "Ally B Speakin'" with the best southern accent ever... it makes me smile every time.

******************

I met more women than I can thank here. They all deserve it, though, and I thank them too.

Seriously, ladies, if we talked, hung out, danced, hugged, or even rode an elevator together,

thank you.

Best of 09: Car Ride

December 19th: Car ride. What did you see? How did it smell? Did you eat anything as you drove there? Who were you with?

After my grandmother's memorial my family went to a gorgeous town in Southwest Colorado, Ridgway, to spread my grandparent's ashes.

I rode down with Mike and my dad in my dad's Prius, and the rest of the family piled into my mom's (totally kick-ass) RV.

(There were too many of us to all fit in the RV and I get carsick sitting in it while it's driving on a straightaway, let alone while it's driving over mountains.)

At one point we needed to call the RV.

My dad decided that rather than allowing me to call my brother, who was trapped in enjoying the RV with our whole, entire, extended family, he would use his trusty voice-activated hands-free phone thingy.

Dad: Phone (waiting)... Phone... PHONE!!

Condescending lady who talks from the voice-activated hands-free phone thingy (seriously, listen to the robot lady's voice next time you're in a car that talks to you... she is totally judging you): Phone. Please choose how you would like to place a call.

Dad: Name... Name... NAME!!

Lady from the voice-activated hands-free phone thingy who thinks she's better than us: Name. Please say the name of the person you would like to call.

Dad: AJ... AJ...

Me: Dad, why don't I just dial?

Dad: No, this is way more convenient. AYYYYY JAYYYYY.

Lady who has lost all respect for us (I don't really blame her) from the voice-activated hands-free phone thingy: Calling Annie.

Dad: Shit.

I am? Crafty.

Yesterday I was at the drugstore and I saw Advent Calendars.

I was immediately flooded with images of my childhood: anxiously waiting for dinner to end so that my brother and I could open the little cardboard door for that date and find the little, delicious chocolate treat.

Me: AJ!! I found Advent Calendars! Do you remember those? When did Mom and Dad stop giving us those?

AJ: Probably at the appropriate age to stop being so excited about Advent Calendars.

Me: Asshole.

Last night I was so excited to open the little door labeled "1".

I opened it up, removed the little piece of chocolate shaped like a little present, and...

...it tasted like crap.

Seriously... it crumpled in my mouth, tasted like glue, and burned going down my throat.

Stupid childhood memories bought for $1.50.

BUT, instead of being sad and throwing away my dreams about having an advent calendar this year, I got my creativity on.

Ally B Speakin' Presents:

ALLY B'S AWESOME SOLUTION TO HER CRAPPY ADVENT CALENDAR

Step 1: Get crappy advent calendars for 2 for $3.

Mine:

Mike's:

Step 2: Gather your supplies. You'll need some new, edible candy to replace the crappy shit. You'll also need some tape.

All I have on hand are generic semi-sweet chocolate chips... so be it.

Step 3: Remove crappy candy.

Dispose of the crappy candy responsibly, like in your leftover breakfast.

Step 4: Put good candy (or generic semi-sweet chocolate chips) in the empty spaces.

It's important to keep a sense of excitement and surprise, so mix up how many chocolate chips you put in each space.

But make it more that one chocolate chip, because if you open it up and see only one lonely chocolate chip... well, that's a sad day for everyone.

Step 5: Close them back up. It's preferable to use clear tape because duct tape is just stupid looking... and super glue probably isn't the best idea.

There, I just saved your holiday memories.

You're welcome.

It Must be the Shoes...

(I don't know why I'm still writing about Lady Gaga... apparently my life now revolves around the woman...)

Lady Gaga |MTV Music

Me: I have been working all day to learn the dance from the "Bad Romance" video, and I just can't do it!! You know, the dance she does during the chorus? In 5 inch heals? Maybe that's my problem: flat feet.

Mike: I'm so sorry.

Me: I know, right? I wouldn't think that it would be so hard, but I guess I'm just not cut out to be a Lady Gaga dancer...

Mike: Ally, stop it. You can be anything you want to be. You are amazing. Keep at it, and your dreams will come true.

Me: That's quite possibly the nicest thing you've ever said to me.

Mike: Well, I mean it. And once you learn the dance... you can teach it to me.

So THIS is a goal that he's behind 100 percent, but the whole Mariska Hargitay (MARISKA HARGITAY!!!) crime fighting turtle thing was just too "out there".

Sometimes, I just don't understand him.

Birthday Wishes?

Time: 1:15 PM MST

Call to: Ally's Father

Conversation as follows:

Dad: Hello?

Me: I HAVE BEEN WAITING ALL DAY FOR MY HAPPY BIRTHDAY CALL AND HAVEN'T GOTTEN ANY!!

Dad: OK, hang on. *hangs up*

Time: 1:16 PM MST

Call from: Ally's Father

Conversation as follows:

Dad: *The Happy Birthday Song*

Me: WOW! Thanks... that was completely unexpected.

Time: 1:18 PM MST

Call to: Ally's Mother

Conversation as follows:

Mom: Hello?

Me: I HAVE BEEN WAITING ALL DAY FOR MY HAPPY BIRTHDAY CALL AND HAVEN'T GOTTEN ANY!!

Mom: Well, I was being respectful.

Me: Respectful of what?

Mom: I wanted to let you sleep in on your birthday morning.

Me: MOM!? It's one o'clock in the freakin afternoon... how late do you think I sleep?!

Mom: Well, then I got busy. Retirement makes me a very busy woman. Plus, I'll see you in a couple hours. I'll call you soon.

Time: 1:21 PM MST

Call from: Ally's Mother

Conversation as follows:

Me: Hello crazy woman.

Mom: HAPPY BIRTHDAY SUNSHINE!

Me: You saw my tweet, didn't you? You're just trying to make up for it so that I retract my tweet, aren't you?

Mom: Oh, let me guess, you wrote about how unloved you are?

Me: No... that's what my blog is for.

Then she went on to tell me about what an adorable outfit she's wearing today.

Awesome.

My brother didn't even pick up the phone... he is probably hiding. BECAUSE HE KNOWS HE MESSED UP.

PS: I did get a call from my Grandma... she said she forgot the words to Happy Birthday...

PPS: If you sent me a note or email or text or sky writing message: thank you. I appreciate it. You are awesome. My parents and brother should be ASHAMED.

PPPS: Not really... I forgive them... because I am now a GROWN UP, people.

PPPPS: Mike said that my birthday presents are on the bed and that I am NOT allowed to go in there. So I threw some cereal in there so that Hannah would go after it and then maybe retrieve the presents "by accident"... it didn't work. *Golden Retriever FAIL*.

PPPPPS: And now we're out of cereal. Damn.

ATTACK

My mom and I went camping with a whole gaggle of girls this past weekend.

And by "camping" I mean we took two amazing RVs up to a lake less than an hour away where we ate cheese and crackers and had root beer floats and an amazing variety of alcoholic beverages... and I got to sleep in a feather bed.

(VERY important when it comes to sleeping in the great outdoors.)

Then, on the first night, while I was brushing my teeth, my mom decided to set up the coffee pot for the next morning.

Mom: Um, that's weird... wait... what?... OH MY GOD!!!

Me: What are you whining about?

Mom: ANTS! In the coffee pot!!

Me: Ants? *Walks over and expects a few ants* HOLY SHIT! *Sees a SWARM of ants pour from a large coffee pot in a flood of moving back GROSSNESS*

Mom: KILL THEM!

What followed was several minutes of my mother and me smashing insects and trying to drown them in the sink (with a very small supply of RV water).

Then, just to be sure, my mother decided to send an array of cleaning chemicals down the drain... a concoction of 409, Windex, and Easy Off Foaming Oven Cleaner seemed to do the trick.

(And caused my eyes to water and my throat to swell shut... but DIE ANTS DIE!!)

Then we cleared off the entire counter, my mom pointing at anything that moved and me spraying the offending creature with my pistol of 409 spray.

(All while screaming KILL THE FUCKERS and OhmygodOhmygod-we're-going-to-die.)

This is why we don't camp.

PS: At one point one of the little dogs went into another room (yes, this RV has ROOMS), and my mother promptly screamed that the ants had taken the dog away... THAT'S HOW MANY ANTS THERE WERE... (and how freaked out my mother was by this event). (Logic has never been her strong suit in a traumatic event.)

PPS: If you're part of some Ant-Loving organization and find the mass murder of these ants offensive... screw you.

PPPS: I am currently in Florida with my grandmother, mother, cousins and great aunts... the sentence "We're not dysfunctional, just funny" has been spoken... It's going to be a LOOOOONG, very humid week.

Best. Night. Ever.

My personal goal for BlogHer 2009 was to meet Jenny the Bloggess and confess my undying love for her.

(I also had work goals... and goals to not panic... all accomplished!)

(But THIS is the important one.)

(And the most entertaining.)

If you don't know who The Bloggess is... you and I really shouldn't be friends. But I'll fill you in...

Jenny is the most HILARIOUS woman out there. Seriously. And, I can now say, one of the sweetest women too.

When I found out that I was going to this conference, I was thrilled for a lot of reasons. Yes, it would be great to be able to go for my job, and yes, it would be great to meet all of these awesome people, and I got to see some old family friends in Chicago.

But, let's face it, the fact that Jenny was there was at the top of my list of "GREATEST THINGS ABOUT GOING TO BLOGHER!!"

So, the first night I went to a party that she would be at. And I knew that she'd be in the bathroom...

(I should probably explain that Jenny has a major panic disorder, so she doesn't like big crowds (I can relate), so she hides out in the bathroom...)

I went to the party, started talking to a girl (also named Ali, and she is awesome), and I soon found out that she actually KNOWS JENNY. Holy shit, y'all... it was fate.

So we decided to hunt her down, and we checked the bathrooms.

And there she was!

In the bathroom! Talking to some people! Looking hot as hell in her confidence wig!

Her sticker has a picture of her and says, "It's only offensive to assholes."

I was so excited. She is a blogging celebrity, and a personal hero of mine, so I was VERY happy to have found her in the 5th floor bathroom outside of ballroom B at the Sheraton in Chicago.

Then... This woman walked in.

Yes, those are empty prescription bottles that she's using as hair rollers. According to her, it's "really fucking hard to get those fucking labels off of these fucking bottles".

And she screamed "WHAT'S UP MY BITCHES?"

And then she offered me her water bottle... which was filled with straight vodka. (I politely declined.) She had the water bottle filled with straight vodka because she "wasn't gonna pay 9 fucking dollars for a fucking drink".

(I have to agree with that.)

THEN, she pulled out her "Judy Garland Trail Mix":

That is totally real, people. There is a warning label saying that there is an alarm on there and if you take anything the bottle will "fuck you up".

THEN she pulled out a file half an inch thick that had all of her prescriptions in it, to show that it was ALL LEGAL...

THEN she made her way over towards Jenny and said "It's my Bloggess!" I have to admit, all of us were a little worried. I mean... Jenny has anxiety and she hangs out in the bathroom so that she can stay away from people who will make her nervous...

But then this woman kissed Jenny on the cheek, and Jenny said, "Have you met my friend, Nancy W. Kappes, Paralegal."

Jenny's hat says "Raised by Wolverines". Nancy's says "Jesus Christ".

Now, if you don't read The Bloggess, that means nothing to you. (You should read this to understand the HUGENESS OF THIS SCENARIO!) But if you do follow her, you would have joined me and Ali in our wash of understanding over what had just happened...

"OOOOOOOHHHHH!! That's Nancy W. Kappes, Paralegal!"

Nancy sends these OUTRAGEOUS emails to Jenny and Jenny posts (edited versions) of them on her site. They're hilarious, and many people are convinced that Nancy is actually NOT REAL because WHO WOULD BE THAT CRAZY?

Well, I am here as a witness. Nancy IS that CRAZY. But she is also that AWESOME.

(Seriously, Nancy was so freaking sweet, and gave me the biggest hug ever.)

Me and Nancy...

(She also said that I was hot and she would fuck me (her words), which is always nice to hear.)

So, I spent the whole first night with Jenny and Nancy. And it was awesome. Seriously, best night ever.

I love that Jenny included me and let me follow her around... and she called me awesome... which is also always nice to hear.

ME AND JENNY!! YAYAYAY!

(To see different sizes of these pictures (you know, so you can inspect exactly which pills are in the "Judy Garland Trail Mix"), go here.)

Nicknames

The following conversation occurred completely randomly:

Mike: What do you think would be a good nickname for me?

Me: Thunder.

Mike: No... I'm thinking something cooler... like "Pickles".

Me: How is THAT cooler than "Thunder"?

Mike: Or another vegetable... like "Onion" or "Shallot".

Me: Nope... you're "Pickles", Pickles.

Mike: No, I changed my mind.

Me: Now, Pickles, I tried to give you a cool name like "Thunder" -

Mike: But I'm trying to find a serious name...

Me: So you picked "Pickles"?

Mike: It sounded better in my head.

Me: Fine, Pickles.

Mike: Stop calling me that.

I continued to call him Pickles and he almost left me... so yeah... don't try it on him... Pickles be pissed.

Fit or Fail: Open Letter Edition

Dear Muscles,

What did I ever do to you?

Yes, I've let you go soft over the years. No, I haven't used you to your fullest abilities. And maybe I haven't done my best to give you the nutrients that you need.

But, seriously.

WTF??

I decided to get you all strong and stuff, so I asked an expert what to do and he told me to get this book. And because he's an expert, I went out and got it. And read it. And did the first two workouts.

And now? I can't walk... or bend... or lift anything.

Although it would be easy to blame said expert, or said book, I am going to say that it's not their fault.

It's YOUR fault, muscles.

You have conspired against me. You hate me. You have decided that I am some evil dictator in a world war and so you are going to take me down from the inside out (sort of like that Nazi Tom Cruise played... with the eye patch...).

You are trying to kill me.

(I'm ESPECIALLY talking to you, quads!)

But, I'm not stopping. That's just what you want, and I'm not going to give in.

I'm going to keep working on you so that you get bigger, stronger, and rue the day that you tried to take me down.

So, buck up, because I could really use your help.

In extreme pain,

Ally B

**********************************************************************

Dear Book,

Might I suggest packaging this book with a heating pad, and possibly a prescription for Vicodin?

In Serious Need of Hard-Core Pain Medication,

Ally B

**********************************************************************

Dear Expert,

Thanks for the suggestion and help, but I can't help but wonder if you're actually not only a fitness expert writer, but also trained in torturing people.

If you don't watch LOST, then you won't understand why, but I think I'm going to call you Sayid.

(He's a super nice guy that just happens to be an expert in torturing enemies for information... and he's a trained killer... but otherwise, he's a real stand-up sorta dude.)

I'm just saying that I don't think you would recommend these workouts if you didn't have some other agenda...

I just don't know what you want from me.

Thankful and in Pain,

Ally B

I May be "Wrong" but my Logic is Decent...

Yesterday Mike and I dug a tree stump out of my dad's front yard.

(Okay... Mike dug the hole and got the huge tree stump out.

(I helped by reading to him... and then I helped fill the hole back up.)

(Because I am strong.)

(And because Mike was about to throw up from digging a hole for five hours.)

While I was shoveling the dirt back into the big hole I asked my dad what an ermine was.

He said it was a stoat.

I then asked what a stoat was.

He said it's a weasel.

Then I said that that must mean that the worm that I just saw wasn't an ermine because I was totally going to say "look at that gross ermine" and then I would have been wrong.

But I think that an ermine sounds more like it should be an insect or bug or something creepy-crawly and not this:
I would name THAT Richard. Not Ermine.

Then we started talking about building traps by digging holes and covering them up with hay so that someone falls into it.

Apparently my dad did this to his dad and even though my grandfather almost broke his neck my dad says that it was hilarious.

So I said that dad should have been a musketeer.

And dad asked why he would be a Mouseketeer.

And I said like Davy Crockett.

And Mike said "Frontiersman".

And I said that's what I meant.

(Except not really. Musketeer totally made sense in my head.)

And then Dad started singing the Davy Crockett song so I joined in and started screaming "Fe-fi-fidily-i-oh, fe-fi-fidily-i-ohohohoh" and Dad said that that's not the Davy Crockett song.

And I said I was pretty sure that good ol' Davy was in the kitchen with Dinah.

And Dad said no.

And then I asked if Davy at least played the banjo.

And Dad said no.

And then I decided that maybe Davy Crockett should have played the banjo in that kitchen with Dinah because if he had a hobby like playing the banjo then maybe he wouldn't have killed all of those animals for hats and instead joined a band.

So, overall... I was wrong a lot yesterday.

Fit or Fail: Inspiration Edition

My friend Jeannie is totally making me look bad.

(She just can't help it...)

And it's not just because of the usual reasons (she's smart, pretty, and ALWAYS happy)...

First, you need some background.

Jeannie has two arthritic knees and a blood clot in her leg. These problems have lead to a lot of physical and emotional pain.

But she still manages to be positive and happy.

And you know what she did on Friday?

Ran six miles.

Me: Wait a second... SIX miles... non-stop?

Jeannie: Well, I walk for about 5 minutes in the middle, you know, to try and get the feeling back in my foot... but yeah... six miles.

Me: What the fuck, Jeannie? How is that even possible?

(I'm not a complete asshole. Seriously. I have just been a witness to many painful breakdowns because of her myriad of leg related health problems.)

Jeannie: I don't know... but I'm fine doing it. I go really slow, though.

Me: Jeannie, I just made it to 30 minutes on the elliptical, and I can't run for more than 3 minutes at a time... and I have FAKE arthritis in my knees!

(I told the doctor that I think that I have arthritis because my knees hurt. She told me I was just lazy... awesome.)

So Jeannie is officially AMAZING and I am... well... not.

Seriously, the girl never gives up. And she's never let some stupid blood clot keep her from participating in life.

(Sure, that 5K we did made her bed-ridden for 48 hours, but she still kicked ass at it.)

Later we were talking about The Biggest Loser.

Me: I don't like it because instead of being inspirational it just makes me sad because all of those 300 pound people can do more than me.

Jeannie: NO! When I'm on the treadmill I think, "If that 400 pound guy can run for HOURS, then I can go another mile..."

Me: Fine... so when I'm on the treadmill I should just think, "If Jeannie can run six miles, SO CAN I!"

Jeannie: EXACTLY!

Me: Great. You are officially my 400 pound dude.

Jeannie: YES!

So I tried it...

(Despite my feelings about running...)

I went to the gym the next morning and got on that treadmill.

(I asked Jeannie how she started this whole super routine and she said she started by running a mile...)

(Seemed a little ambitious to me... but oh well.)

So I started the treadmill (after warming up on the trusty elliptical) and ran... for three minutes.

Then I walked for three minutes.

Then I ran for three minutes.

And I continued until I reached a mile.

And the whole time I just kept reminding myself that I could do it. I could be like my awesome, wonderful friend Jeannie.

(I might have also cursed her name a few times... but that's the lack of oxygen talking...)

I'm not there... but someday we're both going to be going for the same "I love Edward Cullen" t-shirt and I will have be faster than her.

So I'll keep trying.

And I am VERY proud of you, Jeannie.

(I'm also proud of myself because I was going to make a bunch of jokes about how Jeannie is from Kansas and people from Kansas only run when the cows get out of the corral... but I didn't... because I'm respectful.)

(Wait a sec...)

(I know this wasn't a normal Fit or Fail post... but I'm hoping it will lead to some more FITs for my future lists...)

Fit or Fail: Non-Denominational Edition

I posted a status update on Facebook about me having to stay away from Cadbury Creme Eggs (because me being around those little ovals of amazingness could only result in a FAIL), and someone reminded me that it's still Passover, and I had to remind him that I'm pretty sure Cadbury Creme Eggs are non-denominational...

ANYWAY... Fit or Fail?

No huge FAILs this week (I could have drank more water and eaten less food on some days... but nothing too exciting or horrible...)

But I did do a couple of FIT things (on top of my regular workout schedule).

FIT: I walked to campus (almost) everyday for the Conference on World Affairs.

It brought back so many memories... me as a student... waking up early... to take the bus up to campus... because walking there SUCKS.

It's all up-hill.

And up-hill + 5400 feet above sea level + my very serious tiny-lung syndrome = lots of sweat and wheezing... but I did it!

FIT: I rode my bike up to campus! Actually, that's not really true. I tried to ride my bike up to campus but the tires were flat... so I had to walk my bike up to campus (still FIT).

I still wore my helmet though (safety first!) because me around bikes pretty much means danger.

(I would actually prefer to wear a helmet for most activities... but the people at the gym said I was "making a scene" when I insisted on wearing my helmet on the stationary bike... and the elliptical... and the "vagina destroyer"...)

Anyway, it's a FIT because I could have just driven it up there, but I didn't!

FIT: We moved all of our living room furniture. And even though Mike supported more of the weight on the big items, I still get a FIT for participating.

(By the way, when you say "lift with your legs", I have no clue what you're saying to me. I mean, I'm no expert, but I'm pretty sure my ARMS are lifting the television... NOT my legs. I would guess that lying on the ground to use my legs to lift the couch would be a bad idea... This is probably why I was told to carry the couch cushions instead of the actual couch...)

Otherwise, I just continued to eat as well as possible and work out a few days a week. Overall it was a FIT week...

(In fact, there are VERY few red FAILs here... it's a little bland... where are my damn Cadbury Creme Eggs?)

Coming Out

This week is the awesome Conference on World Affairs at CU Boulder.

It's pretty much just a gathering of hundreds of experts in all sorts of subjects from all over the world who sit on panels about all sorts of topics.

(It also draws an amazing amount of senior citizens... who stop in the middle of the sidewalk to yell about those "damn skateboarding college punks"... which just isn't safe... seriously, I almost walked into about a dozen of them... and these people are not very stable... they would go down like a bag of... old person... anyway...)

It's free and open to the public (enter dangerous senior citizens...), and because nobody wants to hire me I'm taking some time off, I finally have the time to go to some of the panels.

I've been to panels about literature, journalism, and writing.

Some were good, others were so-so.

(Meaning some kept my attention for over an hour... and I politely ducked out of others.)

But today I went to a WONDERFUL panel called "Geek Culture: Sci-Fi, Superhero Movies and Comic Books". The panel included Jim Emerson, Robert George, and Andy Ihnatko.

(Self-admitted SUPER-GEEKS from the film, journalism, and technology worlds.)

I went on a whim because I heard Andy speak in an earlier panel and really enjoyed what he had to say...

(Aka: he made me laugh.)

I also went because I was curious.

I've previously written about how I love superhero movies and how I encountered an identity crises after reading and loving The Watchmen.

So the title spoke to my inner-geek.

Well... I loved it. The panel was engaging, fun, and informative. I found it pretty crazy just HOW much I enjoyed it. I started to ask myself just how much of Ally B is considered to be "geek".

So I got up (in front of about 100 people) and asked the following question:

"I read The Watchmen and I loved it. But I sort of had an identity crises. I was like, 'Oh shit! Does this mean I'm a geek?' So, what defines someone as a geek? And is that definition expanding with technology and the internet because I get called a 'geek' for blogging and twittering... do you have to reach some level before your admitted to 'The Club'?"

During my question Robert George said that he loved "geek coming out stories" and Andy Ihnatko started a round of applause to "welcome me to the club".

(I felt like a superstar...)

Andy then said that being a "geek" is about being passionate about something - anything - and NOT CARING if people think your odd or "geeky" for that passion.

He then said, "You're in, babe."

(SUPERSTAR!!)

So I started thinking that maybe I truly am a "geek".

I love superhero movies and the graphic novels I've read have been extremely entertaining...

I get giddy talking about social media (Twitter, Facebook)...

I'm in love with a literary vampire...

I am a participant/host of a weekly screening of LOST...

I created my own superhero with a super STICK as my super weapon... (although that's not geeky... it's just logical...)

AND... I ran home to blog about this...

Yeah... I think I'm a geek.

So... I'm out of the closet. I'm free! I am a geek...

And I'm honored.

PS: When I got home I found that someone had Twittered this: "Girl read watchmen and liked it, and thought, oh shit now I'm a geek." Awesome...

PPS: Dad - When I mentioned the senior citizens I was NOT talking about you... you're not dangerous... you're cool...

Happy Birthday, Mike! (My Directing Debut)

Dear Mike!

Happy 24th Birthday!

I was going to write you another letter... but everything I write is really bland and boring. And it really can't compare to the eloquence of Scott's post about your birthday...

So, to make it less bland and boring, I made a video of you and me talking about your birthday!

PS: You can't understand it that well... just pretend we're drunk... but trust me... it's awesome.

PPS: That's a lie. It's actually REALLY lame... And not funny at all... and kinda creepy... but I can't think of anything else to do...

PPPS: Happy birthday. I love you.



PPPPS: Apparently April fourth is a very popular baby birthing day. Happy birthday, Mark! And Robert Downy, Jr!

PPPPPS: You can make your own text-to-movie video here. But why you would try to top my AMAZING job at video making is BEYOND me...

PPPPPPS: Thanks to The Bloggess for the link... her video is hilarious (of course)...

In the Waiting Room...

Mike's dad is getting his knees replaced right now, so we're all at the hospital in Denver waiting.

I had this whole plan to ask him these life altering questions before he went into surgery, you know, to make him think about what's really important in his life, but it took TWO HOURS to get here.

(We didn't get lost... we just weren't going to right way...)

(I kept having to call my dad to ask him to be my IPhone and tell me where I was.)

(I want an IPhone.)

ANYWAY... I was not able to practice my amazing interview skillz, so I will ask Mike the questions that I wrote down, instead.

Question: Would you prefer to be a zombie or a werewolf?
Mike: A vampire because then you'd actually pay attention to me.

Question: What flavor of Jell-O would you be?
Mike: Lemon-Lime because I'm a little sour and a little sweet... even though those are both sour.

Question: A train is traveling at 60 miles per hour going west and another train is going 67 miles per hour east... what do you order for dinner?
Mike: Insufficient information is provided.
Me: Sorry, we were looking for Chicken Cordon Bleu as your answer. You fail.

Yeah... so it's a real shame that I wasn't able to ask his dad... maybe I'll ask him later... while he's on drugs.

In other news... I really don't like hospitals. They smell weird. And feel weird. And you have to be quiet. And they're boring.

Like, I really want to go find the "On-Call Room" because I watch Grey's Anatomy and Scrubs so I know that all of the hot doctors "play doctor" with each other in there... but every time I try to sneak around and find said room the old ladies who volunteer at the information desk give me dirty looks.

So I tried to army crawl past them and was hit by a wheel chair and the old ladies were like "what are you doing, young lady?" and I was like "looking for the hot doctors who are gettin' it on" and they said "where are your parents, young lady" and I was like "you sickos, I'm not going to see hot doctor sex with my PARENTS!"

Some people are SO rude...

So they asked me to leave and so I'm wandering around listening at all of the doors that look particularly romantic...

The doctor just came out and said that Mike's dad is doing great and has two new knees...

I wanted to ask him if he is now considered a cyborg or robot... but I'm already on thin ice with these people.

But I'm going to assume that yes, he is a robot now...

(Did I mention hospitals bore me?)

And They Say Romance is Dead...

Last night The Bloggess wrote about this guy who proposed to his lady friend through a blog.

(Cute? Romantic? Impersonal? Creepy? You decide...)

But part of the whole hoopla is that people are supposed to link to their blog with a story about their marriage/love/wedding.

Since I have never been married or had a wedding, I can't really participate in that.

But I do have love.

(Cue the vomit soundtrack...)

Seriously, though, Mike and I have been together for almost seven years... and to those who say that the romance has died, well...

A few weeks ago I was having a bad day and I was crying all morning for no particular reason.

Mike had been very sweet all morning. He hugged me, told me it was okay... tried to make me laugh.

It didn't work, because I kept crying.

(FAIL)

Seeing that this wasn't working, he tried a different approach.

Me: *starting to cry again*

Mike: NO! If you start crying I will slap the tears right off of your face!

Now that, my friends, is L-O-V-E.

(He didn't really slap me... it actually did work because I burst out laughing (you know, that awkward crying-snot-infested-laughing/choking), and the day got better after that...)

So... there is my love story... congrats to the happy couple...

(She said yes, btw.)

(PS: I was going to write this last night but Mike decided that we should get drunk and I said we should watch TWILIGHT and so we compromised and drank while watching TWILIGHT...)

(Now THAT is romantic...)