tobermory's Diaryland Diary

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La, la, la...I can't hear you.....

I have not exactly been an updatiní machine on this here journal lately, but thatís not for slackerly behaviour. No, no, itís just that of late I have been living an incredibly boring life. There has been a lack of amusing anecdotes, no major irritations or rant about, nada. Even the cats have been acting normal recently. Itís making me think Iím too boring to have a journal. I could bore all .2 of you with tedious archery stories, but thatís probably a bad idea. Itís not like Iím Paula! Olympic Archer Extrodinaire! Able to Hit Bullseyes With Amazing Ease! Quite the contrary. Iím Paula! The One Who Has More Money Than Sense. You know, The One With Fancy Equipment Who Canít Hit The Broad Side Of A Barn! That would be me. Sad but true, Iíve been sucking as of late and folks, outdoor season is just around the corner. If you thought I was having difficulties at 20 yards, come see the excitement as I have to try to shoot at 30, 50 and even 70 yards. See the expensive arrows get lost in the wooded berm, see me get really pissed off and throw my bow and snap my stabilizer over my knee. Fun for the whole family. And itís free! Just look at the site for the Lincoln Park Archery Club (sorry - too lazy still to do the html for a linkie) for the schedule for the outdoor season and bring the whole family to see me mentally disintegrate at an outdoor meet.

We are in the midst of a sucky cold snap here in Chicagoland. I need it to warm up so Megan and I can begin our running program in earnest. No more of this namby-pamby 5 minutes of running and 3 of walking. No wonder I was The Weakest Link last year for the running section of the Scallion. I want to work up to where I can run for an hour straight. It may be with crapola form, it may be slow, but I want to be able to run for an hour. That would be great - it would make the 5Kís I do for training seem like nothing. I know Iíll never be one of the gazelles that I see warming up by doing wind sprints before the race, but I also donít want to be one of the people who collapses red-faced and wheezy immediately after crossing the finish line. Thatís my goal for this summer - run for an hour - Iíve said it and now I canít go back on it.

Iíve made reservations for Little Sugar River Farm (again, lazyness = lack of linkie) for early this fall and even though itís about five months away, I canít wait. I realize that Iím probably in the minority of vacation-goers in that I think spending a week on an organic farm in a small town in Wisconsin is just about the height of vacation bliss, but you have to trust me on this one. Maybe you have to live in a big city to really want to get away from a city. I just relish the idea of a whole week where I donít have to listen to tires squealing, cars honking, Bongo-Boy next door noodling away on the drums, or heated arguments in foreign languages. A whole week where all I hear is crickets and a dog barking now and then. A beautiful 40 mile bike path is right down the street, a conservation area for hiking is right next to the farm, and all the veggies I can eat are right outside my door. Plus the house is an architectural marvel Ė it has won awards and everything. Last year Steve and I spent a long weekend there with Megan and Clark and it was just lovely, but with a whole week weíll have more time to just relax and not feel pressured to do everything at once. I guess thereís an organic beef guy nearby and we can get some grill fixinís from him, and this year weíll have time to visit the New Glarus brewery and the organic cheese people and maybe take a day trip to see Taliesin the Frank Lloyd Wright house nearby. Here I go filling up our time again when all I really want to do is ride my bike, jog some and sit out on the porch at night after a simple dinner listening to the crickets while drinking a nice glass of wine or a beer out of a cold frosty mug.

I guess Iíll post an update on Operation Eyebrow Reforestation. So far so good, but only by sheer willpower. I slop on the fancy eyebrow lipocils (what does that mean anyway?) every night and morning like a good girl, but I donít really know if theyíre doing anything more than giving me a twice daily reminder to ĎNOT PLUCK if only because you paid about $40 for this stupid lipocil gunk and if you pluck you might as well just have flushed the $40 down the toilet.í Itís killing me though, the not plucking. Iím getting some regrowth at the end near the nose and underneath too, but I think from years of plucking the hairs now grow funny. By which I mean that instead of laying flat like the normal eyebrow hairs, they stick up at funny angles and it drives me mental. If I rub my finger over them I can feel their unrulyness and itís all I can do to restrain myself from grabbing my Tweezermanís and do a major pluckage. Now from my description you might think I was suddenly becoming an extra in Revenge of the Eyebrows: The Eyebrows That Ate Alaska or something but thatís only to me because like an idiot, several times a day I get about 2Ē away from a mirror to closely inspect every pore on my face and every hair on my brow. Most women will understand this phenomenon but guys will be totally mystified. Guys hardly even look in mirrors, let alone getting up close and personal like that. Luckily for me though, at a normal distance, like say, the one that most people would stand from you to have a conversation, the brows look totally normal. Iím a freak Ė thatís all there is to it. An eyebrow pluckiní freak.

Itís Friday, and for that I am eternally grateful. It should be a fairly relaxing weekend. Tonight Iím taking Bobís spin class and then heading home to put together the info for my taxes and rip a few CDís for friends. Steve has his last indoor soccer game (thank yaí jeezus) but he should be home relatively early so I can have an uninterrupted night of slumber. Tomorrow weíre going to some sort of Modernism show in Chicago where we will probably fall in love with some object that we canít live without and then we have the fixinís for a good dinner at home and then perhaps some more Homicide: Life on the Streets from Netflix or perhaps weíll venture out to see a current movie. Sunday I have an archery meet, so I can have some public humiliation to keep me grounded and then dinner at the out-laws where we will do everything in our power to not discuss the big stinking turd that the elephant under the table has left. By this I mean discussion of the house that Steve and I live in and is supposed to be sold to us sometime when all the stars align and the lawyers agree. Iím sure that conversation will center on polite topics like the weather and what weíve been doing with our time. I swear to god though Ė one time Iím going to lose it and Iím going to go on some sort of psychotic rampage where I denounce the Catholic Church and all itís beliefs, the namby-pambyness of the house situation, and who knows what else. I will become the daughter-in-law from hell and the freakoutedness that this will cause will know no bounds. So, actually it looks like the weekend will be relax, relax, relax, get tense about public humiliation, get wound up about the house situation, and will likely end up with me screaming and crying in the car on the way home from Sunday dinner. Fun, fun, fun. Iíll be sure to let yíall know.

11:57 a.m. - 2004-04-02

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