The One Before a Race

So this week! It’s been only semi-productive and really unexciting. It turns out that applying for jobs is boring, and I mean, how many times can I rephrase a cover letter?

I’m remembering to choose things that make me happy – like running and baking from scratch (and running because of all the baking from scratch). I also remembered how much I love salmon cakes. We took a break, me and salmon cakes, because I had them too often for a while, and that’s no fun. But I’m ready to commit again.

And I’m running my very first race this Saturday! What? I’m excited and nervous and mostly ready to get it over with and have a finish line under my belt. My dad, brother and I are running the 6K Brew Dash at the US Whitewater Center as a Father’s Day/ family bonding thing. So if you want to watch them cross the finish line half an hour before me, come on down! Okay, okay, not an entire half an hour. But still. They’ve made it quite clear that it’s every man for himself. And well, the entire second mile being uphill, too darn bad for those beginner-level runners like yours truly.

And some iPhone pictures, because this week, man, it’s a weird one.

PSA – Hagen Daas makes gelato. And by “Hagen Daas makes gelato” I mean get your behind to the nearest Harris Teeter and buy yourself a pint of stracciatella and thank me later.

And another thing – if you buy the passion tea at the store and mix it with lemonade (I prefer the low-cal kind from Trader Joe’s, because I’m a suburban housewife like that) it is the exact replica of the passion tea lemonade from Starbucks. Only it costs a lot less than four dollars per glass and there’s no one to judge you if you drink an unreasonable amount of it in one sitting.

And I’ve done it again – I’ve killed another succulent. This little guy started some new shoots and I got so excited I overwatered. He’s crossed to the other side. There’s no coming back, little buddy. At least you’re with your friend that I offed two months ago.

It may not look like much, but this pile of shoes by the front door is a sign of a growing marriage. The shoes were like this one day when I got home, and I didn’t say a word. Joe apologized about the shoes anytime he walked out the door for a day, maybe two, and I just shrugged. It wasn’t a huge deal. Later, they were magically gone. Boom. No nagging on my part (they didn’t even offend me that much) and he noticed the mess and cleaned it up on his own. Progress, people!


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