tobermory's Diaryland Diary


Yes! Yes! PMS!

Geez. What have I done? I joined Marnís Road to Nowhere 2004 challenge and I have just pledged to go 400 miles by running, biking, spinning, and orienteering. Gah. If I look at it bit by bit it doesnít seem so bad Ė Iíve already put away 15 miles since Sunday Ė but taken as one big number it looks a bit intimidating. Perhaps this will help me get rid of some of the Junque in my Trunque. If Megan and I could quit picking 5K races based on the post-race snacks Iíd probably even lose a little weight. Letís seeÖ There was the Tour de Donut 30 mile bike race where at the two rest stops for every donut consumed 5 minutes were taken off your total time(Free! Donuts! I was powerless in the face of their glazed goodness). Out of fear of pukage I only ate one donut, but there were plenty of racers who finished with negative times. The Flashlight 5K where post race snacks included hot dogs and símores. Pumpkins in the Park 5K which was sponsored not only by a number of food places, but also a beer company. The list could go on and on. Only I could be so boneheaded as to trudge along for 5K, swearing a blue streak the whole way about how much I hate running, and then ruin all the healthful benefits by stuffing my face with pumpkin bread and washing it down with a beer. Go me. Go stupid me.

Iím over the cold that I had last week. I have disembarked the Dayquil/Nyquil rollercoaster and I am no longer twitchy by day, drooling and zombified at night. Last Friday I played Typhoid Paula and probably infected everyone around me at spin class and then again when I went to the movies to see Hidalgo. I do love me a good horsie movie. Viggo Mortensen isnít too hard on the eyes either, although inexplicably he looks much better when heís all dirty and scruffy. Clean him up and dress him nicely and, eh, heís ok, but have him roll around in the dirt and wear his clothes for a few weeks and hubba hubba.

I made a hair appointment to get my highlights touched up (what? You thought I was a natural blonde?) and a trim, but they canít fit me in before the 10th of April, by which time I will look like kaka. Iím already approaching kaka levels now, but by the 10th Iíll be the Czarina of Kakaland. Itís my own fault for not planning ahead. A few months ago my highlight guy was mentioned in Allure magazine and now not only have his already exorbitant prices gone up but getting an appointment is only slightly less difficult than having the Pope squeeze you in for a beatification. If my natural color werenít akin to Dead Field Mouse Brown Iíd just let it go au natural, but Iím just too vain. I hate having to hand over three hours of my life every 6-8 weeks to look Ďgoodí. But I have seen the alternative and itís not pretty. Neither is having to listen to my mom mention every time she sees me that my hair looks crappy without highlights. So to the salon I go. And go. And go.

I am so PMS-y right now. I watched My Dog Skip with Steve the other night and I was wracked with sobs Ė the big huge kind where you have snot bubbles and you turn all red. Steve made fun of me because he says I never cry when people die Ė just animals. Iíd probably cry a river if I watched Old Yeller or The Yearling. Iím also retaining the better part of Lake Michigan and Iíve reached the Crabby Appleton stage where I have a really short temper and tend to throw things in frustration. I should really just be locked away from society, somewhere that I canít hurt myself or others, for about one week a month. I know Steve would support that measure as he has borne the brunt of plenty of PMS bitchitude. If it werenít for the pesky osteoporosis than Iíd happily lobby for early menopause.

Gotta run now Ė off to the archery range. Itís always good to handle lethal weapons when you have a bad attitude and are a Little Miss Crankypants.

4:52 p.m. - 2004-03-30


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