my life

Runner’s Low


I should start over… Hello dear, sweet, steadfast blog. Oh how I have neglected you these years. Let’s do a quick recap of my life the past couple years, shall we? Some life shit happened. Phew ok I feel better now.

Where was I? Oh right. Fuck. I have spent this summer training for my first ever half marathon which is now only 2 1/2 weeks away. Yikes! I was totally on track for this race up until about 2 weeks ago when my back started to spasm while I was out on a run. I’ve had back issues since I was a teenager and I’m no stranger to random back pains so naturally I cut the run short and figured I need to stretch and rest and tomorrow would be better. Well tomorrow wasn’t better and neither was the next day or the day after that. I went to my chiropractor who fixed me up but I still wasn’t feeling 100%. I went for a slow and painful run two days ago and I’ve been too scared to run again even though my back does feel mostly better now. So yeah, fuck.

It’s not even the $100 non-refundable entry fee that’s pissing me off. It’s the fact that I’ve been running all damn summer to prepare for this race. It’s the fact that I’ve been doing this thing completely on my own. I’m embarrassed to admit that this is honestly the first thing I’ve gone for that I’ve followed through on, on my own. I’ve done stuff like this with a friend or on a team. But this was different. I got myself up at 5:30 am to run before work. I’ve improved my diet. I’ve lost 25 pounds. I did all this without a motivational partner, without a coach, without outside encouragement (I mean of course my boyfriend and sisters and friends have encouraged me but really only when the subject comes up). I’ve been so proud of myself this summer but now I feel like it’s slipping away. I’m still going to try but frankly, I may have to drop down to the 10k race option instead. I am just not confident that I’ll be ready to run a 13.2 mile race in a little over 2 weeks. I am so fucking discouraged and disappointed. I’m really just feeling sorry for myself. This isn’t the end of the world and there will be other races. I know this. But man, life sure is a fickle lover, isn’t it?

Categories: back injury, half marathon, my life, running | Tags: , , , | 2 Comments

Grandpa Craig

Sooo, I learned a few things this past weekend when I went to visit my grandpa in the hospital. He’s in very poor health and moved back home yesterday to have hospice care until he passes. This is what I learned:

1. When you have to say your final goodbyes, there’s no right thing to say other than “I love you.”
2. Being a christian and believing in god/heaven doesn’t mean you’ll be at peace with your life ending.
3. Dying is confusing.
4. “Comfort care” means letting someone starve or dehydrate to death without pain because there’s nothing else that can be done to fix their many ailments.
5. A person in the process of dying doesn’t look or act like themselves.
6. Watching someone in the process of dying is physically painful.
7. My grandpa is dying.
8. He knows he’s dying.
9. He’s not ready to go.
10. I saw him for the last time Sunday morning.
11. I’m not handling any of this very well.

To say that I don’t deal well with grief is very much an understatement. I know that about myself. It takes very little to make me cry or feel the urge to cry. I get that from my mom. My dad and both my sisters hold themselves together much better than I do. So, seeing my dad cry was almost too much for me.

My grandpa is an interesting fella. My grandparents met in 1955, grandpa was 28 and grandma, 29. They married about 6 months later. I love love love how unconventional and progressive they were back then. Grandpa is a WWII vet and he’s the oldest of 12 kids so you can imagine the stories we’ve heard growing up. When we were kids and he was in good health, he used to dance all around with us and drive us around on his bike. He had a little jig and a song for absolutely everything, especially our birthdays, which would rhyme whenever possible. He was also a stubborn old bastard. He refused to get a hearing aid even though we all have had to repeat ourselves about 11 times in every conversation for years. He always had to win at cards, even when he wasn’t really winning. Even still, he’s surprising his doctors by holding on and not giving up until his body absolutely has to. His body is falling apart, but his mind is not, which I think is why he’s not ready. It’s heartbreaking.

My dad grew up in a small town, a black hole kind of town where everyone stays and even when they leave, almost everyone comes back quickly after. My dad was the one exception. My parents moved across the country when my older sister was just a baby and we didn’t come back to Colorado until I was in high school. No one in my dad’s family was thrilled about how far away we lived. I spent so much time being happy that I didn’t grow up in that small town. Happy I’ve gotten to live in bigger cities and meet more people and not hear news about my family from my neighbors. Now I find myself wishing I’d spent more time there. My cousins all got to see our grandparents almost every day. I don’t have as many memories and it’s hard not to feel sad about that, especially now.

The last time I saw my grandpa before this hospital visit was my cousin’s wedding. I’m the oldest unmarried cousin so apparently that means I’m next in line. He asked if I was seeing anyone and when I’d be getting married. Feeling snarky (and maybe I little tipsy) I was joking about how I didn’t need to get married and how I’d be perfectly fine being single for the rest of my life because I don’t need a man to be happy, blah blah. Anyway, so he said, “Oh don’t say that! I sure hope you get married before I die.” And I sighed and said, “Me too.”

And now here we are. I feel so sad that he won’t get to see me get married and have kids someday. That my boyfriend will never get to meet him. That I didn’t spend more time going to visit. That he won’t live forever like I’d always hoped all of my family would because this is just too hard.

Categories: death, family, my life | 3 Comments

What’s your number?

I’ve heard a lot of talk lately about people’s “number.” It’s all over the place. It’s in this article. It’s in this movie. It’s in this survey and this one and this one.  There is no shortage of places to find this topic. Recent CDC data shows that men between the ages of 25 and 44 reported having slept with a median of six women, while women in the same age range said they had slept with a median of four men. First of all, those numbers seem really low to me. Second of all, who fucking cares?? Why do we keep having this conversation? What are we even counting to get to that number? Hand stuff? Mouth stuff? Or just PVI? A person’s number is just that, a number. It ultimately doesn’t matter, like age (of consenting adults) or the actual number of servings in a package of Top Ramen. You’re gonna eat the whole fucking thing anyway so what does it matter if it’s two servings?

[EDIT: after receiving a comment from the author of that article, I realized this entire paragraph was irrelavent.Thanks, mrscallmecrazy!] The first article I linked to called, Breaking Down the S-Word, brings up some interesting points, some without even meaning to. The author does a great job of trying to undo the way we think about female sexuality. However, then she admitted to not being honest with her then-boyfriend about her number, but in the beginning of the article, she also mentions not wanting her mom to read her article because she says “slut” so much, essentially, she’s still not being honest with the people who should love her more than anyone else does. I think she was trying to say that she has grown and can now be honest with her now-husband, but without intending to, she is subtly reinforcing the culture that if a woman has had sex with more than [insert arbitrary number here] men, she is a slut, or at the very least should be ashamed. The author’s words say that we shouldn’t put value to our number and that we shouldn’t be made to feel shame no matter how high that number is. My issue is that I’m not convinced the author believes that herself since she says, “Do I wish Shaun was my first? Um… well… um… is my mom reading this today? Then, yes.  If she’s not reading this… probably not.” I could be reading more into that than what is there. Maybe she’s joking. But when we make light of not being honest (like she is about not wanting her mom to know), we aren’t truly sending the message that it doesn’t and shouldn’t matter how sexually active we are. The undertone is still there, and a lot of people still think that way.

I have had pretty candid conversations about myself. My friends and family probably don’t know my “number,” but if I’m being totally honest, I’m not sure I know my own number for absolute sure. I could probably go through my memory and figure it out, but I will say that it’s somewhere north of 15 and south of 20. Even that could be higher if I hadn’t been in a relationship throughout college. I can say that over half of my partners were one night stands and over half of those left were flings with little to no emotional attachment. I guess that makes me a slut. I’ve only been serious with and about two men. One was my first, who I dated for four and a half years. The other is my current boyfriend who means more to me than I could ever express. Do I consider every sexual experience I’ve had a win? Absolutely not. In hindsight, there are some nights I should have gone home alone, some men I should not have gotten involved with, but I don’t regret my decisions. I learned who I am and what I enjoy. Every choice I’ve made has brought me here, to this place of happiness. I really believe that you can never truly be happy with another person until you can be happy with yourself, alone. Every choice I’ve made brought me to a place where I was totally and completely content within myself. Only then was I in a place to meet someone who would become really important to me.

I actually really love the movie, What’s Your Number?. I think it brings these issues to light. I like that Chris Evans’ character tells Anna Faris’ character that her number and the crazy stories that come along with it are his favorite thing about her. That’s what we should all be like. In some ways this movie does reinforce the idea that a woman’s number should only be so high – just about every character except for Chris Evans’ holds that opinion. But the main character does come to a place of acceptance with herself and that is the message that’s important.

I’m tired of this conversation, not because I think we should all be out there having sex with everyone else. But because I think we all need to respect each other’s decisions whether that be to wait until you’re married to have sex or to try to have sex with as many people as you can like Barney Stinson and everywhere in between. At the end of the day, your decisions in no way impact my life nor do mine affect yours. So why are we still calling each other sluts?!

Categories: my life, sluts, What's Your Number? | 2 Comments

San Diego, which of course is German for a whale’s vagina.

I was lucky enough to be able to go to San Diego last weekend for a dear friend’s wedding. San Diego is amazing! Such a beautiful city. I, however, made the dumbass decision only to go for a day and a half because I “had to work.” Lame.

My already short vacation was made even shorter because my flight there was delayed over an hour so they could fix a window, which I think is an odd thing to be wrong with an airplane. That wouldn’t have been so bad if chatty Kathy hadn’t been sitting two seats away updating whoever was on the other end of her cell phone every 2 1/2 minutes and if there hadn’t been a monster child kicking the back of my seat the entire time. And like every other air travel related inconvenience we had already boarded the plane, the flight was already supposed to leave late at 9:15 pm and they didn’t really tell us what was going on or how long it would talk until I don’t know, 10 minutes before they were finished. This is how I felt:

You’d have to have seen this episode of 30 Rock. Liz Lemon and her pilot boyfriend get in a fight on the plane because he keeps delaying the flight for “about half an hour” for nonsense reasons. Hilarious!

So I finally got there, took a $36 cab ride seven miles to my friend’s hotel and had some beers on the beach. So, overall I’d call the end of night one a success.

Then we had hangover breakfast (I had a soy-chorizo breakfast burrito which was delicious! And spent the day helping the bride primp. The wedding was small, just 14 of us there total which I think was wonderful. It was intimate and beautiful and I loved it! The ceremony was on Coronado beach, which was incredible, and we hung out there for a little while after the ceremony.

Let me tell you, I could have stayed right there on the beach for days, maybe weeks! I love living in Colorado but there’s just something so peaceful and wonderful about the beach.

All of that was great but I think my favorite part of the trip was that I shared a hotel room with one of the other bridesmaids and it was next door to a strip club, because we’re just that classy. Unfortunately we didn’t have time to check it out… bummer.

I was shocked at how humid the air felt to me. I grew up in Chicago so I’m no stranger to humidity, but I think living in Colorado for the past 10 years has spoiled me. Now the smallest percent of humidity feels just miserable to me and I was constantly sweating. I mean I’m already kind of a sweaty person when it’s just hot, but hot plus humid, I could have taken a dozen showers and still felt gross.

Then unfortunately my flight back home was at an ungodly early hour for a Saturday, and by that I mean 8:45 am. I got back and realized that I didn’t have a back from the airport. I’m really good at planning ahead, I always have been just ask my parents. My plane landed at 12:03 and the bus back to Boulder was at 12:20 and not again for another hour which was a problem because I had the brilliant idea of telling my employer that I could work that day and I had to be there at 3:00. So I had about 15 minutes to sprint across DIA, which if you’ve been there before is no easy task. So I’m running and finally get outside and a cop stopped me to ask if he could help. So I said “I’m looking for the AB bus” and he said, “You mean the one pulling up right now?” That’s right, I literally made it JUST in time. Phew.

Categories: Coronado Beach, delayed flight, happy things, my life, San Diego, weddings | Leave a comment

Happier Things

My life used to be seem a lot more exciting… For a while, I was going out every weekend. Meeting guys. Partying. I barely had a job but I didn’t mind. I was couch surfing between my dad’s house, my sister’s place, and various friends’ homes. It was just me, my puppy and whoever struck my fancy that week. I was literally living out of my car–I kept a suitcase of a few outfits and all my shoes in my trunk. That sounds so exhausting now and I really only lived like that for about a year and a half? Two years? I don’t know, that time period kinda all blurs together. My friends used to tell me that they were living vicariously through me because I had just absolutely ridiculous stories. The kind of stories that you wouldn’t think happen in real life. Like that one New Years when a stranger told me that he’d do anything in the world to marry me because I was the perfect girl. He kept telling me I looked like the girl from “Scarlet A.” I had red hair then so I think he meant Emma Stone, and I was wearing a really low cut dress which is, apparently, his idea of marriage material. Or that time a guy I was dating invited me to a party he was already at with another girl. He was the biggest douchebag I’ve ever met and he was an idiot. I guess he didn’t think that she and I would actually talk and realize he’d been dating both of us. I’m still not sure how he was planning on getting out of that one.

Because I could definitely afford a $200 New Years dress when I was only working part time…

While those stories are probably funnier than one about my boyfriend and I playing cribbage (“Baby, you don’t have 10 points you have 16! Haha! I can’t believe you missed that!” Hilarious) and I had a lot of fun, I can say, unequivocally, that I am much, much happier now. I’m the kind of happy that’s deep in your bones. Content might be a better word. I was happy being wild before but this is a much better kind of happy. That’s not to say that having a boyfriend equals happiness, that’s certainly not the case for everyone and I really didn’t think I wanted or needed a boyfriend until this one settled himself into my life. I just think that for me, being a crazy, party animal was more of a phase than who I really am. I can’t go balls to the wall every weekend forever, and it’s tiring just thinking about it.

When I first met Boyfriend several months ago, I was actually being set up with someone else (because that’s how classy I am). A friend of mine had a friend whose work required a lot of travel, which makes for a great fling because nobody gets attached when you know one of you will be leaving before too long. So I went with my friend on a group outing with her boyfriend, his brother and a couple other of their mutual friends (including the one who travels for work). So we’re all hanging out, drinking and nothing happened. For a few days after that my friend kept asking me if her friend had called me, which he hadn’t. I really thought nothing of it because while I did think he was cute, I thought my friend’s boyfriend’s brother was a lot cuter. (Still with me?) A week or two later, my friend and her boyfriend were “having people over” for Taco Tuesday. “Having people over” turned out to be them, the brother and me. Well, long story short, the brother and I totally hit it off, and I can comfortably say that he’ll be around for a long time.

I found this fortune in my car yesterday. I got it a month or two before I met Boyfriend and I don’t remember why I saved it, but now I’m keeping it on my desk at work. I’ve only ever saved one other fortune cookie fortune before and it said, “You will have more money than you can spend.” I still have it… and I’m still waiting for that one to come true.

Categories: Boyfriend, happy things, my life | Leave a comment

Good news… everyone’s screwed, not just me.

I read an article yesterday called Are the Millennials the Screwed Generation?. Now I’m sad. Because I already knew everything written in it besides the specific numbers. I already knew it all because I feel it. I’m buried in student loan debt because I went to a D1 school whose tuition went up 6-9% every year so that the football players could take Photography for non-Art majors and go home and do lines of coke off the bare stomachs of new freshmen girls. I earn an hourly wage doing something I could have done fresh out of high school with a little bit of training. I’d like to send my loan bills to my parents, my mother especially, who would not hear of my not going to college. She didn’t go to college and it held her back. I did go to college but I’m not much better off for it.

I gotta say I’m tired of having this conversation:

Whoever I just met: Oh so are you in school now? — (because I look and sound like I’m 16)

Me: No, I actually graduated from CU two years ago.

Oh really? Well that’s great congratulations! What did you study?

Oh I studied journalism.

Wow that’s great! So are you working as a journalist now?

No I’m working in real estate right now.

Oh. Well, good for you. How’s the market these days?

It’s picking up.

I hate this conversation because it’s filled with insincere interest in my life, pity and my own softening what I’m really feeling. No one is acknowledging how bad it really is. I had exactly ONE interview for a job in the field I studied. It was super entry level and while I was in the top three candidates, I didn’t get it. I was so incredibly disappointed because of all the dozens of resumes I sent out, I felt like that was my one shot to work in journalism. My parents wanted my to go to college because for them, a college degree was everything. Without it, they stood no chance of finding a decent job. Now college degrees are so common that the driving force in the working world has become experience. If you have no experience, you can’t get a job. Period. How are you supposed to get experience if you can’t get a job? Fuck if I know. I hate real estate, but it’s a field I have experience in because I’ve been working in it in many capacities for six years. I found myself in this niche and I honestly don’t know how to get myself out of it. Shit. I mean… if you know anyone that wants to buy or sell a house, I welcome your referrals… ah fuck it.

Categories: my life, Uncategorized, we're screwed., work | Tags: | 1 Comment


My sisters and I do silly things to stay connected to each other when we can’t hang out all the time. One day, my younger sister and I were watching an episode of Modern Family where Manny and Gloria had been collecting pennies for years and they finally found their hundredth penny. So my sister and I were just chatting away and one of us must have said something about trying to find 100 pennies.

Challenge Accepted.

Here are the rules:
-Pennies must be heads up (flip over tails up pennies to pass good luck to whoever finds it next)
-Pennies must be in a public location (i.e. no finding pennies in your car, friends’ homes, grandpa’s change jar, etc.)
-No taking pennies out of a wishing fountain (I mean you could get 100 just there and that’s dumb)
-Gloating is allowed (like texting a pic of the newly acquired penny saying something like “Suck it I’m winning!” Ya know sister things.)
-Keep pennies separate from your other change… obviously.
-Whoever finds 100 pennies first wins. Wins what, you ask? We don’t know, you just win, which I imagine will include a significant amount of trash talk.
-EDIT: Pennies can’t be found by someone else and given to you… Nice try, Jaime!

And that’s pretty much it. We even went to Hobby Lobby to get special penny jars… I still need to decorate mine!

So I took the lead today and found my 7th penny! I’ve recently started doing things to increase my odds at winning. Things like staring intently at the ground whenever I’m walking anywhere (which is super awkward, by the way), leaving my own pennies heads up in random places, flipping over tails up pennies for the next guy, and going through drive-throughs more and opening my door to see if anyone dropped change (mostly Starbucks & the bank but also did you you that Burger King has veggie burgers?! Love it)

If I’m being honest, we pretty much already know it’s a race between my older sister and me. My younger sister didn’t even buy a big enough jar to fit 100 pennies… good luck sis!

Categories: my life, Penny War!, sisterly love | Tags: , | Leave a comment

Why didn’t you tell me?!

Probably about a year or so ago I asked my dad why he never told me how hard it sucks being an adult. He said, “You would never have believed me.” Such a copout answer, albeit, true.

I’m the person that did the right things and made the right choices (most of the time) throughout college. First of all I went to college which is what young adults are supposed to do. I worked nearly full time to pay my own way through school. AND I worked in an office to gain professional experience instead of being like everyone else and working a shit job in a restaurant, coffee shop, retail store, etc. I took 15 credit hour semesters and graduated only a summer semester late (because of an internship required for my major). I hope that sounded as boring as it felt to write.

Truthfully, I regret some of my decisions in college but in a different way than I think most people do. I never went on spring break. How sad is that? I was always working through my holidays which means I don’t have stories about coming back from a trip with stories a tattoo I got while drunk or having sex with a stranger in some exotic place. I had a boyfriend throughout college too so I never dated around. I never really learned who I was until later on. I feel like I missed out on what should have been some of the most fun times of my life being too boring and too responsible.

The point of all that is that making bad decisions in college is what should happen, because you learn from them and become who you are. Making equally bad decisions as an adult has gotten me into several thousand dollars of credit card debt (not to mention many, many, many thousands of dollars of student loan debt which is especially awesome since I’m not actually using my degree), a shitty car I can’t afford to replace, a puppy when I can, frankly, barely take care of myself, almost zero career aspirations and did I mention that I don’t actually live anywhere specifically? That last part is true.

Since college I have started and quit several jobs which have all been in the same field of work as one of my current jobs. I’ve put a significant amount of money into that job but it turns out I actually really do not enjoy real estate. Who knew? The job I’ve had that I’ve enjoyed the most is catering. My boyfriend works for a catering company in Boulder called A Spice of Life, which you should totally hire for your next event. Anywho, like any other menial serving job, the pay isn’t great but I really like working here. I like the people I’ve gotten to know and one of the higher-ups recently told me that my hard work is appreciated and they’ve been getting good feedback about me. That was the first work-related thing that has made me truly happy in a really long time — maybe ever to be honest.

Maybe I didn’t miss out. Maybe I won’t be one of those people that looks back at life and says “Man, those were the days!” Maybe this is just a rough couple years. Maybe I’ll get to enjoy the rest of my life without wishing I was somewhere in the past. Maybe someday I’ll get to travel and do all the things I wish I could have done already but with a greater appreciate of what I’m experiencing. Maybe I’m not meant to do things the way that I’m supposed to but rather the way that makes me me.

Maybe I can still look forward to better things.

Categories: my life | Leave a comment

I Survived

Today is Father’s Day. Being that my sisters and I all live at my dad’s house we wanted to do a bunch of fun things to show him how thankful we are for always being there for us. We went out for a delicious breakfast at my dad’s favorite little joint, The Breakfast Club. Then we came home to take our doggies on a bike ride through some parks around here. It was such a nice morning until my dog tried to murder me. Don’t be fooled by this adorable little puppy face…

…this dog is a trained assassin. While on our way home from this leisurely bike ride, Keiko thought it would be fun to cut in front of me to play with another passing dog. Since I had his leash in my right hand I had to slam on my brake with my left hand which just happened to be the front brake of the bike… yes I did have to slam on the brake, it didn’t matter that I wasn’t going very fast and could probably have lightly braked and put my foot on the ground to stop, the slamming was necessary. The problem is that if you know anything about the physics of a bicycle (which I’m pretty sure Keiko does) you know that by stopping abruptly with the front brake it causes the back tire to come off the ground and flip forward, along with the person sitting on said bike.

So now I have this nasty scratch on my inner thigh which will inevitably turn into an even nastier bruise along with some scrapes and bruises in various other places. The best part was that I was wearing this cute, short little dress so everyone on the bike path got a nice view of my lady-business today… cool.

Don’t worry, we’re still pals even though I thwarted his plans to murder me… for now…

Categories: dog, my life, near death experience | Leave a comment

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