Repentant

You know how I was whining pretty shamelessly in my last entry? About sleep, or lack thereof?

I now take full responsibility for my heavy eyelids post Thursday 7am wake up call. Because when I am out til the wee hours of the morning to see the midnight premiere of Terminator Salvation, I only have myself to blame.

And/or Grant.

But it. was. AWESOME!

I will need to see it again to prove I wasn't suffering from 1am delirium, when you think even Twilight should win an Oscar. Oh wait....

With a back to back, double header, Star Trek to Terminator, I definitely got my much needed flick fix.

And oh yeah, Angels and Demons is a great pick, too.

Hot Hot Heat

So I just nearly blogged about the nude dream I had Monday. As a matter of fact, I had written an entire paragraph... and then used my better judgement. And no, it was not that kind of nude dream.


So then I looked around at my desk. Lemonade 10cal Vitamin Water bottle sitting within reach. A couple patient charts needing post-op phone calls. A somewhat gloomy sky outside. Already went for a run this morning beneath that gloomy sky. And Fleetwood Mac-"Landslide", keeping me company via Pandora.


I lead a simple life.


but if I have to censor my blog because of exciting birthday suit REM, then that simple life certainly has it's fire.


And boy, do I love those moments of fire....


{PS. This is my 111th post. Make a wish everybody.}

Highest Form of Democracy

I have often wondered about the thought processes behind God's creation of our biological workings.

Take the knee for example. Being one of the most major joints in the body, does it really seem solid enough to hold it together by pretty much nonvascular ligaments and tendons? Guess the logic behind that sculpting was to humble and prepare tall brunette soccer players for life's greater lessons.

But still.

The brain gets its own bedroom of bone, why give the knee only a hospital gown of bone? Sorry King Brain, I meant no offense when categorizing knees in the same social class as human lifelines.

But still.

And another one of the puzzling seven wonders of God's homosapien creations? Sleep.

Why must we sleep? And why must we sleep for 1/3 of the day for adequate rest?

Because as of late, all I know is that I have been soooo sleeeeeepy. And it is such a drag. Pun intended.

Despite nutritious yogurt and Raisin Bran crunch breakfasts, hoards of caffeinated Diet Dr. Pepper, and sufficient amounts of exercise... At certain times of the day, I can barely keep my eyes open. They feel so heavy that it nearly becomes physically impossible to hold them open.

I know my God-given body requires at least eight hours of sleep a night, preferably nine..

but, still.

It's kind of annoying.

No offense, God. I love my body and the incomprehensible ability to simply survive, day to day. Brain, heart, lungs all working in unison harmoniously; the puzzle pieces of man and woman; the kidneys and liver constantly purifying my insides. I never forget what an incredible, and sacred, thing I possess, until my days have expired.

But after the Second Coming, and you go for round two... just think about these suggestions and evaluate where improvements can be made.

May I suggest Titanium joints and only an hour of shut eye, right after lunch?

Revelation

Holy smokes. I really am a liar. Or at least an obvious hypocrite; but liars and hypocrites are one in the same, yeah?

My proclaimed bedtimes may be fulfilled truthfully, and so is my admittance to having a shoe obsession, or a Panda Express addiction.

But when I am sitting at my desk, chatting with a patient on the phone, and I have to make it EXPLICITLY clear they are not to drink any soda, little do they know.... that when I hang up the telephone, I take a big, refreshing gulp of Diet Coke.

Shoot.

So usually, the next thing to appropriately say {write} would be a commitment to never do it again; leave the crime behind; sin no more.

Well, Caffeine Gods, continue rejoicing. You have an unrepentant consumer at your service.

Be Kind...Rewind

I like to think my lack of blogging stems from being so occupied in single girl fun. And the thing is, I can't think of any other reason... than just that.

Single girl fun.

Took the day off for a good friend's wedding and mixed in a little shopping with my mother (because it is so fun to have a stylish mom who digs the cardigan/t-shirt combo just as much as I do).

Devoured sushi with the guy I met at the Jazz game, who got my number by way of reading how many fingers I was holding up. Yeah, apparently I am really open to meeting new people. I'm not ashamed.

Sunshine galore in the beautiful motherland. And a consequential tanning of my winter white hide. And an even further consequential 5 pound weight loss illusion. Just. like. THAT! (Isn't it amazing how extra cushy body parts, when tan, suddenly look okay?)

Coffee dates and philosophical discussions.

My best friend's wedding. It was a hot pink bridesmaid dress, bouquet catching, rug cutting, raspberry cake devouring all day party. And oh yeah, plenty of tears, too. Jessica Kruger Bergstrom was the most fun, kind, calm, and glowing bride I have ever known.

The Sandbar. on Friday. on Saturday. on Tuesday. And on Friday again. You would think I liked that place or something. My feet certainly hate me from all the dancing in 4 inch heels (but who can pass up bright green Jessica Simpson pumps, on SALE?)

K2 Christian Church. 2100 South, West Temple. Good place to be on Sundays at 11:30am.

Nursing the mentally incompetent woman who wandered over to my house with bleeding dog bites on her arm, back to health. Quickly. It was Tuesday night; and you know where I was headed!

Running, chowing down, and watching X-Men: Wolverine with my old Orem pal, Julie, but now current New Jersey gal. Hugh Jackman definitely surpassed Clive Owen in my hot actor list.

Listening to my ever changing favorite song of the day on repeat, all day at work. And probably driving my coworkers absolutely nutso.

Rob Thomas - Her Diamonds
Shiny Toy Guns - Major Tom
O.A.R. - The Stranger
Mat Kearney - Closer to Love

And, of course, per yesterday's last night post,

The All American Rejects -The Wind Blows

PHEW! I need to blog more often. Hard to stop me once I get talking (typing?).

BUT, I made my 00:00 curfew! Good to know all this single girl fun can still provide for a decent night's rest.

Truth or Dare

I had full intentions of blogging tonight. I am well overdue. I have so much to say; but when do I not....?

After a phone call with my sweet mother this evening, she dutifully asked if I was getting enough sleep. I reported my usual 7 or 8 hours of shut eye, with a final head-to-pillow rendezvous around midnight.

And here I am, eleven minutes beyond my bewitching hour, and I refuse to make a liar out of myself.

I certainly stayed true to my word about my brain having so many jumbled thoughts needing venting, as my mother had to politely tell me to sum it up. She was missing the Biggest Loser finale.

So if she hung up the phone to witness losers...

That must make me the Biggest Winner?

Now that may be stretching the truth...

But if you want one honest to goodness, cold hard fact?

My favorite current tune: The All American Rejects - The Wind Blows

More tomorrow.

Maybe.

Yellow + Blue

Tropical Starbursts are my latest candy flame. Even the little squares of goodness wrapped in orange paper have my 100% devotion. If I'm not careful, a handful of four (one of each color...) suddenly becomes eight, then twelve, then...

They come in a green bag. Look for them; buy them; your taste buds will not regret it.

I saw the green bag while perusing Smith's Marketplace on 33rd South; bought them; took them to work to share; shared not out of kindness, but out of a need to pay up for the last bag... of which I ate half.

My hands were dipping into green today; and after work, my feet were soaking in it, too.

With the help of my pal, Jeremy, I was able to take my soccer bootin' up regimen (see previous post) to the next level. The feel of a soccer ball at my feet is something I had forgotten, but quickly came back to me. Like riding a bike. Only if my lungs could pick up the intuition as easily. Apparently 13 miles is managable, but sprinting after long, air-born ball passes is a very different story.

And when I brought Jeremy's pass down on my thigh, I was reminded of that cold-air/hard ball slap against bare skin. But as I slipped back into my car to go home after pure exhaustion, seeing the visible ball marks on that bare thigh made it all worth it.

I sped off onto Sunnyside avenue, with both ACL's still intact, and my fingers tracing the palpable ball indentations under my right shorts line.

Moral of the Story?

Consuming Starbursts (including orange) --> Energy, albeit short-lived --> Ball mark on right thigh --> Pure satisfied exhaustion --> Lounging on couch to gleefully watch the Lakers trail Houston.

(Anyone else find Artest's haircut rather... nostalgic? I remember when my older brother got his initials, PM, buzzed into his head, just in time for summer swimteam. But.... he was eleven. That was so 90's!)

Ignition

Disclaimer: Dad, if you have a moment to read this, don't. Use that moment for a quick power nap, or wrestling Abigail off of Build-a-Bear.com

It's a Thursday, which means it's my early a.m. clinic day. Post carbo-filled lunch, a late night previous, and despite hoards of diet caffeinated soda, my daily 2pm sleepiness has set in full force.

And yet,

I was so excited to go running after work. I was craving to be in the sunshine. And I wasn't talking just a fun run. I wanted to challenge myself, work out to my limits, and as I said to my coworkers,

"I want to kill myself." Figuratively, of course.

I put on my hip-hop adrenaline rushing beats, threw my hair into a ponytail and took off for an unknown running route from Sugarhouse Park. Sure, 21st east sounds like a good starting point... 4 south looks reasonable... yeah, 13th east sounds interesting... and back to my patiently waiting car 8 miles later.

But I wasn't done yet.

The best was yet to come. And that wasn't the ten 100-yard sprints I nostalgically relived from years prior, stopwatch and all.

The best part was sliding my feet inside my old Adidas' Copa soccer boots, lacing them up as tight as they could manage, and feeling like my old self again.

I stepped onto the green, but sparsely grass filled soccer field, and ran my little heart out. I had forgotten what it felt like. My unfortunate left knee has instilled such a fear in me, I have not wanted to vulnerably set it up for a third punishment. And a consequential total knee replacement by age 40, I'm sure.

But..

does anyone know of a co-ed city soccer league in Salt Lake?

'Cuz this once retired soccer player wants to pull a Michael Jordan, and refuel my desire for futbol competition.

mmm hmmmm, I've got the itch again.

Disclaimer follow up: See, Dad. I told you not to read it. My hands are washed clean. I love you! :)