BLOG: 6's & 7'S
The last time I attempted to run, one of my sons asked, "What the hell do you call that?"
"That's rude," I replied. "I have physical abnormalities that make running very difficult."
"Boobs and feet."
I guess the best way to describe it is to say I run like an injured Tyrannosaurus Rex. My elbows, tucked close to my side, while my itty bitty hands flap over my chest, fighting my gifted bosom down to avoid bruising my chin. One of my feet insists on hitting the ground flat like a bear, while the other likes to tiptoe, like a ballerina, making it appear that I am about to topple over, one side or the other, with each stride.
A floundering Tyrannosaurus Bearlerina. That's me.
However, in November of this year, I have challenged some of my runner friends to come to Vegas for a 5K run that involves a lot of paint and a lot of partying, and I have promised to run with them, if they decide to take the challenge. For me, I get to hang out with some friends. For them, they get to witness the T-Bear in action.
So I started training today. Afterall, it's only 5K, what is that, like 10 blocks? No problem. I ran almost a block today, and figure I can now recover for the next three weeks before I add another block to my workout. It was difficult trying to ash my cigarette while my arms flopped around like headless chickens over my bosom, but I figured it out. The carb loading before my run was much more fun than the running part, and I'm sure I'll be in pain tomorrow. I may have to have a massage. Hmmm. Maybe this running thing isn't so bad after all. AND, it's for charity, right? And paint. And partying.
So who's with me? November. Las Vegas. 5K (maybe that's more like 12 blocks?). Paint. Party.
We'll make history. Or at least America's Funniest Home Videos.
The glasses I wear when reading Facebook posts
In the past week, things have been way too serious on social media sites. Apparently, there was some big election that has everyone's panties in a wad, and that's obviously where some people keep their sense of humor. But amidst the ranting, I was trolling the comments making a list of some of the ridiculously overused sayings that make no sense and the responses I would have liked to have made (I was on my best behavior).
'I'm not getting older, I'm getting better.' Actually, no, you're getting older. Get over it.
'It takes one to know one.' Let's see, I know that I'm not one, but I've seen the pictures you post online, and I'm pretty sure you are one. And everyone knows it.
'The pot calling the kettle black.' I'd just like to thank the pot for not using any racial slurs. People could learn from the pot. We could call it Pot Etiquette. However, in Colorado that would take on an entirely new meaning.
'Boys never grow up, their toys just get bigger.' A boy came up with this one. Guaranteed.
'Toot your own horn.' Being able to toot your own horn is impressive. But, I'd kind of like to know how that discovery came about. One day, you and your friends were just sitting around with your horns out and someone said, "Hey, watch this!"
'Well color me Christmas.' What? What does that even mean?
'Tickled pink.' Being tickled until you turn pink is not a good thing. It is torture. If you tickle me pink, I will cut you.
'Bacon makes everything better.' Well, that one is true.
'Period.' This is of course following some profound (not) statement in sentence form that actually has a period at the end of it. Like the first period is not enough, you need to spell it out and add another period.
'Don't make me take my belt off.' Hmmm.
'Boys will be boys.' Does anyone else see this and start singing Lola? I thought so.
'I've got your number.' Lose it. Period.
'I'm not touching that with a ten foot pole.' As if you have a ten foot pole to be touching things with.
Got any more?
You know who they are. Those online friends that live for the day when they catch a grammar error or, heaven forbid, a misspelled word on your Facebook status. They troll the boards, looking for 'to' instead of 'too', 'perhaps' instead of 'maybe' or that missing comma that inadvertently makes your sentence about having a lovely dinner with Grandma a cannibalistic reference to actually eating Grandma. We all have them---those friends that act as the grammar police---and I like to antagonize them.
I don't correct my Facebook statuses. I think it is far more important for my friends to know about the local weather than to worry about whether it is going to rain or rein. And besides, it gives the grammar police something to do. When I make an error, whether in haste or just being me, I sit back, and wait. Who will be the first? I can picture at least twenty of my friends, reading it, tapping their fingers beside the keyboard, debating with their inner voices whether to say anything or leave it alone. They can't leave it alone.
GP: You mean 'rain' not 'rein'. Rein is a leather strap. Rain is a weather related term.
ME: Okay. Its going to rain today.
GP: You mean 'it's'.
ME: Okay. It's going too rain today.
GP: You mean 'to'.
ME: I did say 'to'. 'To-day'
GP: No, that's not what I meant.
ME: You mean thats.
GP: No, I mean that's! That-apostrophe-s! That is! That is what I meant!
ME: Oh. Sorry. Gotta go find my embrella.
Of course, they have grammatically correct Facebook statuses, and I'm sure they read it, edited it, reworded it at least six times before proudly hitting the 'post comment'. Each word has gone through spellchecker, every period and comma is perfectly placed, citations are in the correct bibliographical format. I wait for them to post a really long one.
ME: You missed a comma.
GP: Where? No, I didn't. Where?
ME: Second sentence. I looked in Strunk and White. Should be a comma. Just thought you'd like to know. (Like I would actually bother looking up the correct usage of anything from a Facebook status in S&W)
As if an alert has sounded, the other grammar police will converge on the page and a major discussion will begin about the worthiness of the post and whether or not any sins of syntax have been committed.
After all, there is nothing better than catching one of their own.
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