When You Hear the Call, You've Got to Get it Underway

I was in marching band in college, and we used to play a lot of older songs from the 70s and 80s at the football and basketball games. We used to play this song, and I really enjoyed marching band, and that is basically the only explanation I can come up with for why I nearly cried today when it came on the radio.



Don't worry, it was a happy almost-cry. Maybe someday, when I finally have my nervous breakdown, we'll look back and recognize this as the first sign that I was losing it.

Your Guess is as Good as Mine

Among the variety of things that have put a lump in my throat over the past several days (Hello there, Special Lady Time!) is this guitarist and cellist playing Malaguena.



I have no idea what my problem is. I have a sensitive and artistic soul, I suppose.

On a fairly unrelated note, have you seen this? It almost made me cry, too, but this time from laughter!

Things That Make Me Cry Vol. 58

You know how on live albums there's always the part where the band cuts out and you can hear the voices of hundreds of audience members lifted in chorus together? And the sound is infused with the sheer joy of being able to share a beloved song and a magical moment with so many other people? And you just know that they're thinking that FINALLY this is the pay-off for all the hours and days and months of enjoying this song in isolation and memorizing all the lyrics?

Well, I can't talk about it right now, because I have something in my eye.

And Four Months Ago, I Thought It Was Impossible

Considering it's been a week since I ran the half marathon (and 17 years since I last posted), I reckon it's about time I debriefed the troops.

(Which is you guys. You're my troops, didn't I tell you?)

Alright! So. This is going to be a long one, better settle in. The half I ran was the Rock 'n' Roll Virginia Beach half marathon, which took place on September 5th. I, my co-runner H, and our Official Spectator E all made a weekend of it, going down on Friday afternoon and returning on Monday. When we got there Friday night we took a trip down to the beachfront (our hotel was actually about 20 min inland) to get dinner and drinks and check out the sights. Virgina Beach has an awesome boardwalk that I greatly enjoyed, and which makes up the last mile of the race. Friday night there was a concert near the boardwalk and some booths nearby where people were selling things. We had a delightful conversation with some young men who were selling hot dogs and pickles "that will change your life." Unfortunately (?), no part of that last sentence was a euphemism. We also found a tent where some people were selling air-brushed tattoos. My friend E wanted one, so I took the opportunity to get something intimidating air-brushed on me for good luck.


The hirsute arm to the left is mine, and my tat is (naturally) a hot pink T-Rex. I'm not sure if you can tell, but there's also glitter on it. One of the girls gave it a name, but I can't remember what it was, so let's just assume it was Clancy. Clancy graciously stuck around through Sunday, and I did indeed look to him for inspiration at some point late in the race.

Saturday morning we got up and went to the Health & Fitness Expo. Apparently, most big races have Expos beforehand where the runners can go pick up their bibs, timing chips, and free t-shirts. There's also, of course, a bunch of booths set up selling running paraphernalia. I didn't end up buying anything, but that's really only because I wanted one of EVERYTHING and I couldn't decide what to spend my money on. (This is how most shopping trips go for me, actually.) Walking into the Expo, I had to fight back tears, and I still can't really explain why. Maybe it's because of the cheerleaders they had lined up to cheer for everyone as they walked in (!!), or because it was the first time the whole thing felt really real to me, or maybe it's just because I was walking around with this gigantic, diverse group of people and they were all Runners and I was a Runner too, as far as they were all concerned. Whatever the reason, I got a little emotional, like I do. But once the tears dried, I could more clearly see all the sweet perks. Free granola bars! A card for 10% off at P.F. Chang's, good for a year! Temporary tattoos from Dodge, for some reason! (They were a race sponsor, not that that really explains the tattoos.) My favorite piece of (not free) merchandise at the Expo was a car magnet that said, "In my dreams, I am a Kenyan." That pretty much sums it up, right there.

Sometime Saturday night was when I started panicking about the race. I wasn't ready, I didn't have my stuff together, I couldn't remember how to run. We were going to get lost on our way there, or be late, and miss the start. It all seemed very serious. I picked a fight with my race partner and everyone went to bed in an uneasy mood.

When race day dawned, however, we were all so excited (and punch-drunk from lack of sleep) that we forgot our anxiety in favor of stumbling around in the dark and laughing at things that weren't particularly funny. We got up at about 4:45 and suited up, and then there were bananas and bagels to eat and coffee to drink and who knows what else. Because our hotel was so far away from the beachfront, we had to drive to the amphitheater to park and catch shuttles to the start line. The shuttle ride itself was 20 minutes, and we were (I was) worried about getting to the start line by the time the gun went off at 7. Everything seemed to be going smoothly, until we got within a mile of the amphitheater, at which point it became apparent that everyone in Virgina Beach was there, as well as some people from neighboring counties who came out JUST TO GET IN MY WAY. Even once we had finally parked, there was a long line for the shuttles, where we had to wait for about 15 minutes while I vibrated with anxiety.

When we finally arrived at the start line, we still had to use the porta-potties, which of course had lines of their own. The first waves of people were already taking off as H and I sprinted to get in line to pee. Luckily, however, there were about 20,000 people running the race that day and they were arranged in corrals in order of their projected finish time. Which is to say that even though the race "started" at 7am, H's and my corral didn't cross the start line til more like 7:30. Here's some of those 20,000 people:

And here's the start line!!:

When we first started, I honestly wondered if I'd be able to remember how to run. I hadn't run since Thursday (3 days before), and I was so anxiously hyper-aware of my body that everything felt weird. Did my ankle always bend in that way? Did my foot always hit the ground at that funny angle? And what is it I'm supposed to do with my hands, again? After about a mile, though, everything sort of evened out. The Rock 'n' Roll races have bands and cheer squads set up every few miles, and right before the first turn there was a band playing Flight of the Conchords' "Business Time," except they had changed it to "Running Time." It was definitely one of the highlights of the race, and it was stuck in my head for days.

Going into the race, my friend H and I had tried to figure out a strategy that would balance my misguided NEED FOR SPEED with her bum hip which had been bothering her for the past month. We decided that we'd try to confine our walk breaks to the water stations (which were set up about every 1.5 miles). In training, I had usually only walked a minute a two for each mile, so I thought it was do-able. For the first few miles we were zooming along at a pace a little faster than our goal pace, but we had to run up a hill early on that apparently made H's hips flare up, and after that things got rough for awhile. We had a goal of finishing in less than 3 hours, but H started stopping for walk breaks more and more often, and sometime during the 6th mile I realized that there was no way we were going to make our goal at the rate we were going. I explained the situation to H and she tried to rally, but it wasn't going to happen. She kept telling me to go on without her, but I didn't want to because I was afraid she was going to give up. Finally, I made her promise to at least run some if she could, and then we hugged and high-fived and I took off to try to make up some time.

During miles 7 and 8, I was running at a pace much faster than I had planned, trying to get back on track. I felt OK though, so I didn't let up until I had 8 miles behind me and I was sure that I could finish on time. After that, I took a break to walk and eat the free packet of Gu some volunteers had handed me about half a mile back. During the race I carried a little bottle of water to drink from between water stations, so at each station I would drink a small cup or two of water and then take another cup or two to refill my bottle. Apparently at some point during my snack break, juggling the water bottle and the Gu packet and keeping my feet moving became too much for me, because about 10 min later I looked down and there was sticky blackberry-flavored gel dripped all across the front of my running shorts. Sexy! Something about running by myself, covered in Gu, while my friend struggled along somewhere behind me struck me as both hilarious and sad, all at once.

Of course the bright side is that when you're running for hours on end, the scenery is always changing, so I didn't have a lot of time to dwell on my berry-scented shorts. Overall, the route was really pleasant, as were the bands and the cheering crowds. The only part that dragged a little was the few miles in the middle that went through the naval base. At that point, there weren't a lot of trees for shade, and there weren't a lot of spectators either, so you were sort of on your own for motivation. As the race went on and I started to get tired, though, everything sort of faded into the background. After 10 miles, every step I took was officially The Farthest I Had Ever Run. From mile 10 to mile 11.5 or so, all I could think about was making it to the water station that was supposedly set up around mile 11.3. I say supposedly because it was definitely about a quarter-mile farther down the road than that, and at that point in the race a quarter mile was about 2 miles too far. I finally gave up and started walking early, only to see it in the distance about 30 seconds later. I ran again to mile 12, where I walked for a minute or two and gave myself a pep talk. It went something along the lines of, "You have to run now, and you have to run for a mile, and you can't stop until you're on the other side of the finish line. Don't be a loser, OK ready set go!" And then I ran.


The last mile is along the boardwalk, which you turn onto just past the 12-mile marker. As soon as I was by the beach there was a nice strong breeze in my face, which I think really helped sustain me through the end. My feet were so beaten up at that point that they were just kind of numb, and it felt like they were coated with concrete. I had that all-over tingly feeling that I get when I've pushed myself to the limits of my endurance, and even though my stomach wasn't exactly growling I had the distinct impression that food would be necessary soon. I was running as hard as I thought I could (and still maintain it for another mile), but I felt so worn out I was sure I must be going incredibly slowly. And yet... I looked at my watch and I was going a full minute per mile faster than my goal pace! All of the myths about race day adrenaline were true! After I got done being excited about how quickly I was going, I realized I was going to have to maintain that pace until the end and I became a little alarmed. Although it felt like the loooooongest mile of my life, I persevered, mostly because I started mentally listing people I was running "for." When I ran out of people to dedicate the last mile to, I moved on to abstract concepts, like social justice and H's hips. THEN I started listing things I wouldn't stop running for, as a way to convince myself that I was more dedicated to finishing the race than I was to money and happiness. Things that wouldn't have made me stop running included: a free PhD, a billion dollars, a brand-new dream home, a bear covered in razor wire, a threat on my family's life, and who knows what else. Finally, 8 years later, I crossed the finish line, arms over my head, a determined look welded to my face.

Time: 2:52:30ish. Under my goal by 8 minutes. And I'm confident I would have been faster if it weren't for the rocky start.

After that, it's all kind of a blur. There was free beer on the beach, and cooling our feet in the ocean, and naps and showers and dinner at P.F. Chang's (10% off!). And of course, celebratory booze. And then the next morning, we got up and returned to the scene of our recent glory for bike riding along boardwalk and a little lounging by the ocean. It was the best Labor Day weekend ever.


Postscript about my running buddy: She finished about 15 min after me, sprinting across the finish line like a champ, and then we dragged her to the medical tent to ice her hip. She went to the doctor today and they told her she might have a stress fracture, so now she has to be on crutches until they can take a picture of her bones. Basically, if you haven't run 13 miles on a broken hip lately, you can't touch my girl H. ;)

Happy Father's Day

When I was 15 and my heart got broken, I climbed onto my Dad's lap and cried on his shoulder while he rubbed my back and offered to kill my ex-boyfriend. Even though I was way too big to be sitting in his lap, I'll never be too big for him to tell me everything's OK.

Thanks to my Dad, and all the other Dads out there whose love is unchanged, even as their kids grow up.

Damn Ladies, You Awesome

Although it would make a much better story, I didn't throw up or cry or drop dead at the race this morning. As a matter of fact, I think it went quite well. I didn't get a lot of sleep last night because I stayed with my running buddy H (who is also running the half marathon with me) and at least two of her neighbors decided to have loud, outdoor parties to mark the occasion. I would have been tired this morning anyway because we had to get up at 6am, but I don't think the less than 4 hours of sleep I got helped the situation any.

Once we got out to race site, though, excitement took over and I perked up. If you're not aware, the Susan G. Komen races raise money for breast cancer research and prevention. There were women everywhere wearing fancy pink shirts that said things like "The Cureinators: Hasta la Vista, Cancer!" and women who had written "ta" on the back of each calf so that when they ran it flashed "ta-ta" over and over again. Breast cancer survivors got to wear special hot pink shirts, and whenever one crossed the finish line her name would be announced. It was fantastic.

There were three separate 5k runs this morning, and we ran in the women's-only recreational race, thinking it would be empowering to our inner Wonder Women. It totally was, and I got choked up countless times. From the personalized shirts, to the "In memory of" and "In celebration of" placards that people were wearing, to the volunteers on the sidelines holding signs saying things like "Fight like a girl" and "You're almost, almost there." One lady who lived along the route was on her porch with a stereo blaring "Girls Just Wanna Have Fun" and dancing along. There were several churches along the route, too, and outside one of them was a whole damn ladies' choir singing "We Are Family." Every time we passed people cheering for us I would pick up the pace (even if it was just briefly), so that they'd know they weren't cheering in vain. I didn't stop running once, even though coming up the hill toward the end I seriously wanted to. I highly recommend the experience to any one, even if you just walk. It was the best thing I've done with a Saturday morning in months.

Once we were all done (and had a nap), we went out to lunch and window-shopped around town a little bit. We visited the running store because we were high on our accomplishment and we wanted to show people what real champions look like. To celebrate my new life as someone who does nothing but run and spend money, I bought this:


That, in case you can't tell, is a hot pink, skull-and-crossbones-themed headband. It symbolizes that I am both fashionable and the finest slow-motion runner on the high seas.

So, to wrap up: Remember your breast health, ladies! Monthly self-exams, yearly exams by your doctor, and regular mammograms starting when you're 40 years old. Engage in these preventative measures, and I promise that tomorrow I'll do my best to talk about something other than running.

Today's Post Sponsored By My Inner 12-Year-Old Schoolgirl

It's been awhile since I updated everyone on the latest embarrassing thing to make me (almost) cry, so here's a new one for you:



(Sorry for the janky video, it was the best embeddable one I could find.)

Today on "What's New In Humiliating Tears" we have a classic by young country artist Taylor Swift. I had all but forgotten about this particular sob-inducer until it came on the radio a couple days ago. Based on past evidence, Miss Swift appears to have a direct line to my Hormonal Cry Center, and I'm just about sick of her shit. I'm 95% sure that all of her sappy, nonsensical love songs are specifically intended to neutralize my powers of skeptical cynicism but I'M NOT FALLING FOR IT. Know this, Taylor Swift: every time one of your cotton candy songs gives me a lump in my throat, I redouble my efforts to block out every weak-ass feminine cliche you represent. SO THERE.

Now then. If anyone needs me, I'll be on the couch, watching Pretty Woman.

This Just In

To be added to 'Things That Make Me Cry (Subheading: Joy)' -




A few nights ago I had to make a run to the grocery store down the street. As I was coming back to the apartment, this song came on the radio, and I was so happy I couldn't help myself. The sky was clear and dark, the air was cool, and the music was good, so I put my windows down and just kept driving. Anytime I drove past people running or walking on the sidewalk, I turned the radio up so they wouldn't miss out.

Hot damn, if moments like that aren't what life is all about, then I just don't understand the world.

My Fairy Godmother Is Trying To Protect Me From Skin Cancer

Over the weekend, Lee and I spent a few days at the beach. It was my birthday present to myself, because I love the beach, and it didn't look like I was going to get to visit it this summer unless I took matters into my own hands. (Not counting the trip I took with Kellie to Florida, but that was more of a shrimp-focused trip than a beach-focused trip.)

Because I am not yet at the point in my life where I go to sleep each night in a big pile of money, I booked 2 nights at a pretty affordable hotel about 20 minutes inland. My basic plan was to get there Friday night, spend Saturday at the beach, check out Sunday morning and then visit the aquarium before heading back home. When I made this plan, it didn't really occur to me that I had given myself only one day in which to complete all of my beach-related sunbathing and frolicking.

Friday night we arrived in the midst of the most intense storm I'd seen in some time. At one point, there was even hail. Welcome to the beach! the hail said as it bounced off the hood of the car. After I went inside the hotel and checked in, we sat in the car and tried to wait out the worst of the storm before we carried our bags in. I called my brother and asked him to check weather.com and tell me what the forecast was for Saturday, my One Shot at lying on the beach. He said that the chance of rain was only 20%, so I was hopeful. I hung up the phone and explained to Lee that we had to get out to the beach as early as possible the next day, so that we could maximize whatever sunshine the day might have to offer.

The next day, we rolled out of bed at around 10am. I looked out the window at a gorgeous day. The sky was clear blue, and the sun smiled kindly down at me. Don't worry! I have many hours of searing, beach-friendly UV rays planned for today! I felt comforted. I didn't even mind that we were going to have to go to Target to buy Lee a new bathing suit before we could go to the beach. While he took a shower, I pulled my hair back into a braid to keep it out of my face during all the great times I was going to be having on the beach. About an hour later, we left the hotel to get some food.

About an hour after that, we had finished eating. It was already noon and we still had to go to Target and get dressed before we could head to the beach. I glanced anxiously out the window. Still here! the sun shined down. I'll be here as long as you need me! Lee and I headed out into the sweltering (yet glorious!) heat to get him a bathing suit. After another 45 minutes, we were back in the hotel, and I began the arduous process of suiting up and thoroughly sunscreening myself.

Around 1:30 I was finished. I looked adorable, and sun-resistant. Meanwhile, Lee had turned on Animal Cops Philadelphia, which I sat down to watch while he finished getting dressed. Around 2pm, he was also ready, but at that point the Animal Cops had found a neglected husky with a big open wound around his neck from a makeshift rope collar, and I was sobbing. Obviously, we had to wait and see if he was going to make it. I was getting nervous about the time rapidly slipping away, but the sun was still peeking around the curtain, so what was there to worry about? Not a thing! answered the sun. Well done on all that sunscreen, by the way!

We finally left the hotel at around 2:30 (I think the husky turned out to be ok) and drove out to the beach. I had never been to this particular beach before, but I assumed it would be like most of the other NC beaches I had been to - pretty low-key, not too crowded, mostly just houses and ice cream shops, and plenty of parking and beach access. I hadn't really considered the fact that a small beach in close proximity to a city might be a little more intense than that. The island was really only wide enough to accommodate about 2 streets and 3 rows of houses, and every inch of it was covered in people and cars. When we stopped at a stop sign, overtanned bikini-ed young ladies with tramp stamps clambered over the hood of our car in order to reach similarly overtanned and drunken young men with tribal tattoos. Also, there was no parking.

After driving around in circles for a little while, we managed to find a parking space that someone was about to vacate. Unfortunately, it was a metered spot and we only had 2 quarters between the two of us. This situation called for an embarrassingly heated conversation with me on the side of "I'll just use my debit card to get a parking pass from that machine over there" and Lee on the side of "That machine probably doesn't apply to the metered spots, therefore my car will be towed and we'll be arrested and live the rest of our lives in jail." (By the way, that little bit of neurotic pessimism is proof positive that he and I are meant to be together forever and always.)

Once we finished arguing, the sun shined down on us with benevolent approval. We trudged out onto the (similarly crowded) beach and settled down. I took off my shorts and tank top and layed down with my book, while Lee looked out over the hazy sea. Twenty minutes later, when I looked up to watch some toddlers splashing around in the waves, their water-logged diapers expanding in their adorable little swimsuits, I realized that my faithful friend the sun was trying to slide inconspicuously behind some clouds. Huh. Where was he going? Peace out, sucka! was the last thing I heard from him that day. I think his farewell may also have been accompanied by an obscene gesture, but it was hard to tell, what with the glare.

Not long after that, I felt a water droplet land on my shoulder. I looked around, curious. "Did you feel that?" I asked Lee. "No, what?" he said. "I think I felt a raindrop." Another one hit my arm. "Seriously, you don't feel any rain?" "No, I don't feel anything." Two more trickled down my back. "Ok, it's definitely starting to rain, Lee." "What are you talking about?? ... oh, I feel it now."

Five minutes later, an hour after we had arrived, it was pouring on the beach.

For a few minutes I looked around, thinking about all we'd been through to try to get to the beach that day - the shopping trip, the sunscreen process, the bickering over parking - and wondering if we could just wait out the rain. Then suddenly I felt something snap inside me, and I burst out laughing. "What?" Lee said, looking at me anxiously. I think he'd been waiting for some sort of outburst on my part, but this wasn't exactly what he'd been expecting. I laughed even harder, looking and feeling like a damn nutjob, sitting in a bathing suit, on a beach towel, in the pouring rain.

"We... we...." I tried to speak. "What?? I can't understand what you're saying!" He looked incredulous. "We... took forever getting here..." I was gasping now, and I could barely see through my watering eyes and the raindrops collecting on my eyelashes. "We took forever to get here... and now... it's raining!" I couldn't stop laughing, and now I was crying, too, rocking back and forth on my beach towel in hysterics. At this, Lee started laughing too, and I wiped the salt and rainwater from my eyes and looked around the beach. People were huddled on their towels and blankets, under boogie boards or umbrellas, trying to avoid getting rain in their faces. A few yards down the beach a large group of beachgoers had sought refuge under the fishing pier.

I looked out to sea and started to calm down. The horizon was blurred where the ocean blended with the stormy sky into a uniform steel gray, not the view I'd looked forward to all day, but beautiful in its own right. After we'd both stopped laughing, and I'd stopped crying as well, we decided to just gather up our things and head back. We squished into Lee's car (which hadn't been towed after all), trailing sand behind us and sliding on the seats, lubricated by water and sunscreen. As we turned the car back toward the hotel and I watched the windshield wipers struggle to keep up with the downpour, I felt more relaxed than I had all week.

It's a Totally Underrated Talent

I'm officially back from the beach and I have a few riveting stories to tell you and 3,000 blurry pictures of fish in the aquarium, but that will have to wait until later. What I want to tell you right now is that I have the ability to make myself cry just by singing. There are a variety of songs that I can't sing without getting choked up, chief among them "Amazing Grace." And you'd think that there would be some kind of touching story behind that, like maybe it was sung at the funeral of someone dear to me, but it's not that, it's just that I'm a sentimental idiot. So there you go. Happy Tuesday!

If You Guessed "Almost Cried, Like an Idiot," You're a Winner!

Over the weekend, while watching my brother channel-surf through the holiday weekend TV options, I was treated to a few minutes of the story of 2005 American Idol winner Carrie Underwood. I don't watch American Idol, so all of this was news to me:

1) She grew up in a small town in Oklahoma, on a farm or something.
2) Her house in Oklahoma has this giant old console TV and wood paneling, which I think qualifies as 'humble beginnings.' Plus, we used to have a TV like that.
3) For her audition, she wore her hair in that classic small town dyed-blonde-and-scrunched-curly-with-mousse hairstyle that I remember so fondly from my high school days.*
4) Also for her audition, she sang "I Can't Make You Love Me," and it was adorable.
5) Now she's famous and she cried like a fool (I know, they showed video evidence) when she won her first Award for High Quality Country Music, because OMG she's just a sweet small town girl with nothing but a big heart and a dream and now she's famous and they smoothed out her hair and dreams DO come true, it could happen to any of us!!!

I'll give you one guess as to how I reacted to this news. Thank God my brother changed the channel when he did.


*I never wore my hair that way, but I was surrounded by it, and now seeing it makes me feel sort of nostalgic, just like strong Southern accents and the phrase "mud boggin".

What Next? The Jonas Brothers?

I have a couple of confessions to make. One of these, I've been carrying around for quite some time, and I think I'll feel better if I just get it out.

The following two songs have almost (almost, dammit!) made me cry, on numerous occasions:

1. '1, 2, 3, 4' by Plain White T's
2. 'Love Story' by Taylor Swift

Let that sink in for a moment. TAYLOR SWIFT. What is she, 12 years old? I confessed this to Kellie months ago and she still loves me, so I thought I'd go ahead and share it with the internet. I'm posting videos of the songs below in case you're unfamiliar with them, or if you just want to listen to them and imagine me crying in real time.

Plain White T's:


Taylor (ack!) Swift:


I'm usually fine listening to 'Love Story' until the tempo picks up and the key changes and she sings this verse:

"He knelt to the ground and pulled out a ring
and said, 'Marry me Juliet,
you'll never have to be alone.
I love you and that's all I really know.
I talked to your dad, go pick out a white dress,
it's a love story baby just say yes.' "

Sigh.

SWEET LORD I'm a tool.

In an attempt to gain back at least a modicum of my previously prodigious street cred, let me just point this out: the shittiness of Taylor Swift's lyrics is not lost on me. The entire song is, as far as I can tell, based on a comparison between her relationship (with some guy in her gym class, no doubt) and the relationship between Romeo and Juliet. It even includes this brilliant lyric:

"You were Romeo, I was a Scarlet Letter, and my Daddy said, 'Stay away from Juliet' "

What does that even mean?? Every time I hear that line I think, Taylor, you've never read either of these literary masterpieces, have you? So alright. Maybe sometimes I am moved by essentially meritless pop music. And perhaps there's nothing more than a few curse words and a truckload of sarcasm preventing me from turning into a character on a Disney Channel sitcom (like Hannah Montana, except they'd call me Weepy Willow). But at least I still know a nonsensical literary reference when I hear it, so don't you DARE say I've gone soft.

Consider This Fair Warning, Friends and Family

I'm sure that what I'm about to share goes without saying, but that's never stopped me before, so here you are:

I'm pretty sure that if/when I get married, I will cry the ENTIRE TIME. I used to think that I was stronger than that, but the more I reflect on my personality and the nature of weddings in general (due to wedding-themed programming on Style and We), the more convinced I become that it's inevitable. I'll cry all the way down the aisle, throughout the vows, and the whole way out of the church. I'll sob through toasts, weep while dancing, and blow my nose all over the cake. Instead of wearing a veil, I'll have a splash guard installed around my head. My bouquet will be made of Kleenex. Rather than getting my makeup done, I'll just have my face sprayed down in some sort of waterproof coating. What do you call that stuff they use to protect decks and porches?

I'm sure that these will seem like unorthodox choices to some, but if I've learned anything from multiple viewings of Bridezillas, it's that my wedding day will be MY DAY!!, which means that EVERYTHING MUST BE THE WAY I WANT IT!!

(Was that scary enough? I figure it's never too soon to start practicing for my Mandatory Wedding-Related Mental Unhinging.)

Further Adventures in Sentimentality

Today's thing that almost made me cry is this post from Black Hockey Jesus. It's short, so you should definitely check it out.

Posts like that really clarify the difference between a 'blogger' and a 'writer.'

At Least This Time It Makes Me Seem Patriotic

Added to the things that get me choked up...

While reading online the history of NC A&T State University, I came across this paragraph:

"During the 1960s, when the crucial social issue facing the nation was race relations, Greensboro and NCA&TSU were front‐page news. On February 1, 1960, four students—David Richmond, Franklin McCain, Ezell Blair, Jr., and Joseph McNeil—sat down at the "whites only" lunch counter at the downtown Woolworth’s store and asked for service. Their peaceful protest ushered in the sit‐in movement, which was emulated in other towns across the South and led to recognition of civil rights (NCA&TSU, 2006). "

Keep in mind that these are the only 3 sentences that even mention civil rights, and yet I had to take a moment before continuing to read.

Pull It Together, You Fool

Added to the list of things that will get me choked up for no good reason:

I was just watching Food Network's coverage of the World Steak Championship, or somesuch nonsense, and then they announced the winners, and wouldn't you know it, the winners were a trio of brothers who had never even won anything! They were just amateurs! They were only there to enjoy themselves and bond as a family! And they won!

*Sob*

Once Again, Copping Out And Relying On Youtube

Ok, so today has been another hectic day, and you can see that I've just about missed my posting deadline. But don't fear! I do have something to share with you. First, I want you to know that this song (featured below in video form) keeps popping up on my Pandora station, and every time it does, I get choked up.



I've chosen this particular video in order to emphasize the fact that, yes, it's this specific version that I've been listening to over and over again, the cover done by Rufus Wainwright, especially for the Shrek soundtrack. And I get choked up every time.

On a weirder note, I happened upon a country station today and heard "The Devil Went Down To Georgia"... and got choked up. There's no story behind that, no special significance that The Charlie Daniels Band has in my life. So apparently it's just music, any music, that gets me all emotional. It's only a matter of time until Lindsay Lohan's little sister's Christmas album turns me into a sobbing, inconsolable mess.

Also, to make up for the fact that this post has pretty much no substance whatsoever, I'm including this video of squirrels dancing to Michael Jackson's 'Don't Stop Til You Get Enough.' You can thank Lee for this one.