How to Run in the Rain: My Top Tips

1)  Start off when it’s just sprinkling.

Or sparkling, as my son calls it.  This will ensure that you begin your jog full of optimism that you will only be mildly damp for the duration of the outing.

2)  Be sure to bring the dog.

Running is always better with your best companion by your side.  And dogs love to run in the rain.  It reminds them of getting a bath, which is a favorite past-time.

If he is acting bad, bringing you every “toy” he isn’t supposed to have, that’s his way of saying, “Hey, it’s sprinkling outside.  Let’s take a jog.“

3)  Pick up your pace.

When you are just over half-way through your circuit, it should start really pouring down.  That’s when it is time to speed things up a bit.  That burning sensation is your heart and lungs saying “Thank you“.

4)  Lightning is pretty.

If there is no lightning when you leave your house, don’t worry, it will most likely appear at some point along the route.  It is rather lovely and makes things brighter.

Don’t stop under trees though.

5)  Don’t go out unless it is 50 degrees or less (10° C).

At this temperature, the rain feels like a nice cool shower.  Invigorating.

6)  Obey all laws.

If you live in an area with a pooper-scooper law, you must abide by that law.  Even if said poop is teeny tiny.  Your dog is your responsibility.

7)  Don’t bother with water-proof clothing.

That would spoil the fun of what running in the rain is all about.  Wear long pants and sleeves.  As they get heavier, tell yourself, “I’m burning more calories this way.”

8)  Enjoy the peace.

Running in the rain means running alone.  This is a good time to enjoy the tranquility of the empty streets.  Silly people in their houses.  They are missing all the quiet.

9)  Hang on to that dog.

Dogs often want to pull away from you when running in the rain.  Don’t be fooled.  They aren’t trying to duck under the nearest tree to escape the water.  No, I believe they want to frolic free.

This is especially true when they spot your house.  They might just take off at a dead run to race you home.  Dogs are so happy.

10)  Time for your shower.

Now that you are home and dripping nicely, you should shower.  While you are at it, the dog needs a bath too.  Who better to scrub him down than you, the one who took him on his wonderful run.

What a great day of bonding for you and your canine friend.

now where is that sarcasm font?

Bring Your Blah Blah to Work

I used to work at a very large corporation.  So when Bring Your Blah Blah to Work day came around, I felt obligated to find someone who didn’t have a mom who could bring her to a job and expose some young developing mind to the realities of the high-paying, high-stress, low-reward world of corporate life.

I have this sweet cousin who was a single mom supporting 2 kids by doing daycare.  So, while her kids had an amazing example of what it means to work hard, buckle down and make a miracle by rubbing 2 pennies together, they didn’t get to see what the “real” work world was like.

So I brought my cousin, my cousin’s daughter, to Bring Your You-Know-Who to Work day.

I thought it would be educational.  I thought it would be exciting.  I thought it would be fun.

I was wrong.

It was torture.

I’ll just explain to her what I do all day.

Her eyes weren’t the only ones glazing over.  I felt mine taking on a similar glassy sheen.

I will find “fun” things for her to do.

I realized that nothing of that sort actually existed in my beige cubicled world.

I began to give explanation to why I chose to sit here for hours on end pecking away at computers and shuffling papers.

No words materialized.

The sad result of bringing someone to my job was that I realized how much I didn’t want to bring myself to that job anymore.

I suddenly saw myself and my position with fresh, young, fifth-grade eyes and thought, Why would anyone want to do this for the rest of their working life?

***

There are two happy results to this story:

1)  I do not work for a corporation.
2)  My beautiful cousin became a teacher.

Now, I won’t take any credit for her amazing choice in career – that credit goes to her, her mom and the Lord.  But secretly, I think that the trauma of experiencing cubicle life at such a young age must have scarred her just enough to make her run in a better direction.

If you are bringing your blah blah to work today, I hope you fare better than I did.

I Spy…

I Spy With My Little Eye….

This is supposed to be a simple and fun game to play with your children.  It’s the kind of game that can make an 8 hour car ride only feel like 7 1/2 hours.

Our 11 and 5-year-old boys really believe they know how to play this game.

They are wrong.

*****

Rule 1:  What you spy you actually have to be able to see.

The 5-year-old says, “I Spy with my little eye, something green.”  We start guessing and guessing, only to learn that he’s thinking of something at the zoo.

OH, he says. (so I think he’s got it)

Son, we have to be able to see it, that’s why you say ‘with my little eye.’

Next thing I know, he’s describing something at the zoo again.

Son!  We have to be able to see it.

That’s why I didn’t say ‘with my little eye.’

{sigh}

Rule 2:  It has to be an actual color

Sounds like a simple rule*, right?  I mean, you’d think.  But clearly, my 11-year-old believes he can describe what he is spying in any way he chooses.

I spy something blinking.

NO, JB, it needs to be a color.

I spy something rectangle.

Seriously, an actual color.

I spy something black and white.

Oh, good, you got it.

Uh, mom, I think I accidentally tricked you all.

What did you spy.

My eyeball.

Yeah, you’re supposed to see it, not see with it.

{sigh}

Rule 3:  When someone asks a question, you answer with a Yes or a No.

…Or if you are my kids, with any other bit of information you choose to throw out there.

Is it big?

No, it’s really small.

Is it near?

No, it’s at the zoo.  (see rule 1)

Is it the car?

No, it’s the light pole.

{sigh}

In fairness to my children, we teach them to communicate fully and then play a game that requires them to give one-word non helpful answers.

NOTE:  I do want all of my readers to know that I am not complaining about how my children play this game.  It is actually a great deal of fun and we laugh a lot.

I just wanted to share.

Have a great weekend!

 * I know there are other ways to play, but with a youngin’, we do colors only.  The kids are aware that this is our mode of play.

Ageing … um Gracefully

Puberty.  We all remember how awful it really was.

I, of course, am reminded on a daily basis because I have a son who is entering his…. awkward phase.

You know, where the face hasn’t quite grown into the front teeth.

Where the body doesn’t quite match the arms and legs.

Feet the size of barges.

And pimples abound.

My son recently got glasses, which, frankly make him look very handsome (and adorable).  Which probably means he’ll be gorgeous through his awkward phase – unlike his poor mama.

That’s right, back to me.

So, while I’m growing up with parts that don’t fit other parts and awkward things I don’t know what to do with, pimples abound.  I hated them.  They were embarrassing, ugly and abundant.

I couldn’t wait to get out of my awkward phase and actually feel like I fit my body.  Fast forward a few years.  I’m 35 and I finally start to be ok with myself.

That was 3 years ago.  Now I’m getting old(er).  I’m starting to see gray hairs (try stark white).

Age Spo… uhhh Dark Freckles.

I’m even needing to use creams and moisturizer to try to stave off the wrinkles that multiply daily.

But no more pimples!

right?

You’d think so, wouldn’t you.

But no.  On this ageing, wrinkly, freckly face, I still have to deal with pimples.

Only now, my son gets to point them out saying, “Wow, mom. You have a big pimple there.”

Thanks son.

But that’s ok, my other son tells me, “Mama, you’re not skinny.”  I don’t know what he thinks that means, but he seems to believe it’s a compliment.

The moral of this story:

In life, you get to feel good about yourself for approximately three years before it all starts going to heck.  If you try to feel good longer than your allotted 3 years, your children (or someone else’s) will be sure to set you straight.  Don’t fight it.  That’s just how it goes.

I Wish My Mom Would Build Me One

It’s the Formula 1 off-season, and what’s a girl to do? (Aside from watching re-runs of the 2011 F1 season on Speed TV or reading/listening to my favorite F1 website http://www.formula1blog.com/).

Apparently, if I had one tenth of the creativity of this mom, I would have already known the answer to that question.

http://autos.yahoo.com/blogs/motoramic/mom-builds-4-old-spot-replica-red-bull-175055702.html

Here are the things I find amazing about this car:

1) It’s made of cardboard.

2) It actually can fold up for storage.

3) Super mom who built it wants to re-do the front wing because it just isn’t perfect enough.

So, I am slightly jealous of how completely cool this mom is.  Though I do choose to believe that she is not more passionate about Formula 1 and Red Bull than I am, she is clearly the winner in the “How I Express My Undying Loyalty As a Fan” category.

I only have one thing left to say,

I sure wish my mom would make me one.

Top 10 Reasons I Love (and should probably stop) Watching Detective Shows

This is a long one.  And might need to be categorized as a random rant.  Nevertheless, here are my:

Top 10 Reasons I Love (and should probably stop) Watching Detective Shows:

10:  Convenient Characters

Let’s face it, sometimes the plot would die if the show didn’t have that one character who was over-the-top angry, opinionated or unlikable.

I remember an episode of my favorite crime and punishment series where the judge was so grossly prejudiced toward the defense that he not only should have recused himself from the case, but should have never been a judge.  Frankly, the whole story behind his appointment to the bench would have been highly suspect.

And yet, I had bought into the story so much, I hated him like I was supposed to.

Great TV drama right there.

9:  New Terms that make me feel smart

Did you see up there?  I used the word recused.  And apparently, I used it correctly. (see proof here)

That didn’t come from my years of education at Harvard Law.  NOPE.  It came from my years of training at TV Law.  Sadly, there is no degree program or accreditation to account for the vast knowledge I have gained for my time.

I am, however, fairly certain that all real detectives and attorneys are hugely grateful to the TV writing community for exposing so many untrained minds to words they can only partially use correctly.  Surely it makes their jobs so much easier.

8:  Hijinks

No matter what level of professionalism real life police require (or are expected to show), there is usually one person on these shows (detective or detective consultant) who plays around, ‘messes’ with people’s heads and is generally an embarrassment to any officer – real or pretend.

But, they are so much smarter than everyone else that the world (and the boss) will put up with their unrelenting crap because they are probably right.

7:  Lots of lying

On many crime shows, you can be sure that most of the witnesses will be questioned two or even three times in a single episode.

The pragmatic reason, presumably, is that the main actors are paid so grossly that the budget only allows for a certain number of small roles.  It must be easier (not to mention cheaper) to fill those with the same couple of folks and film all of their spots in one day.

The result is that you can be sure a number of people are lying or withholding during their first interview(s), leaving me to wonder which one “really done it“.

6:  No one likes the cops

This one sort of goes along with the previous issue.  But along with all of the lying, many of the characters in red shirts* are just plain-ol’ uncooperative.  They see a badge and become defensive, angry and accusatory.

The rich lady doesn’t want her social status tarnished by stooping to deal with a horrid situation;
The drug dealer’s next door neighbor has nothing to do with anything, but just hates cops in general;
The victim’s father refuses to believe the police are competently searching for the killer.

The only people on these shows who are cooperative are the simpletons or those with nothing of value to add.

*For you non-nerdy folk, red shirts signify a disposable character on Star Trek – surely the one doomed to die; I therefore use the term to relate to any character who only appears in one episode of a show.

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5:  Huh?  What?  I’m being followed?

Thankfully nothing really bad has happened to me, but I have been followed before.  And after only 3 1/2 blocks, I was aware that someone was back there.

It’s called using your rear-view mirrors.

But if you are on a police drama, chances are, you – the trained detective whose job it is to notice things – will probably be oblivious to that car which has been directly behind you for the last mile and a half and isn’t even trying to disguise the pursuit.

4:  Evidence-Schmevidence

I love the way the police muck up evidence by putting their hands all over it; picking things up and waving them around long before the forensics unit comes (Hawaii Five-uh oh).

How about planting a playing card on a dead body – like that wouldn’t destroy any case they have against any suspect.

What?  Of course no one else could have committed the murder.  There was a playing card was found in the pocket of the victim?  Oh, that playing card.  It has nothing to do with the case.  You see, it was put onto the body by our handsome, yet obnoxious consultant.
Reasonable doubt?  Never heard of it.

3:  Freakishly Strong Females

Vest / Vest / Vest / Bullet-proof cop

Female officers on TV are just like most other females in Hollywood.  They weigh about 12 1/2 pounds.  But you can be sure that she can take down any AK-wielding, Glock-waving, knife brandishing, 200 pound suspect on her own.  And he’ll probably have some bruised ribs and a shiner to remind him never to mess with her again.

Never fear, no one would press charges against her.  After all, she is a girl.

2:  That one guy is never wrong

While this is not the case with all crime shows, there have been a large number of detective series that include one character that is magically never, ever wrong.

Oh, of course there was that one crime he could never solve that caused him to go rogue or be unfulfilled or need serious therapy – for which he has substituted the consolation of getting all the other bad guys.  Of course this is never enough and he remains obsessed with the one bad guy in the history of his life who alluded capture; thus making him a tragic hero.

Rest assured, however, that in this series, he will never be wrong.  In fact, he will never be wrong again.  At some point, he will even be able to resolve his long-held angst by catching that last criminal and therefore making the rest of his life dull and meaningless with nothing else to strive for because now he really is perfect.

And my number 1 reason I love (and should probably stop) watching detective shows:

1:  Back-up is for sissies

Enough Said.

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But, as long as I get to look at my husband and say, “I would totally make a better cop than that guy;” whether or not I should, I will go on watching detective shows.

And I will love every minute of it.

Underwear Envy

Contrary to the deeply held beliefs of Certain Psychiatrists, I do not envy any part of the male anatomy – either literally or metaphorically.  They can keep their junk.

I DO, however, have some serious issues with men’s versus women’s fashion.

In short:

I have underwear envy.

Men, it seems, have approximately 4 choices for skivvies.  Briefs, boxers, boxer-briefs and for the really adventuresome, thongs (eew).  Oh yes, and sizes are based on real measurements like inches.

Women, on the other hand, have to practically visit a personal stylist to cover our derrieres.

I will grant that, considering the enormous (sometimes literally) variety of shapes and sizes of the woman buttocks, accommodation for everyone must be a logistical nightmare.  Add to that fact that we actually want to feel “pretty” all the way to our nethers.  Let’s just say I am glad I’m not a designer.

Nevertheless, I feel slightly justified in my little rant as I find it nearly impossible to find (or shall I say find again) a style I actually like.

Note to my male readers:  I sincerely apologize for the amount of personal girly stuff you are about to read.  Hopefully this will make you appreciate what we go through just to be the gorgeous creatures you so love.

Here is what underwear shopping is like:

After meditating on whether I want high waist, medium waist, bikini or low rise (which should require a weight test to see if you are more than 68 pounds – if so, by law you should not be allowed to purchase these.  Trust me, it is for your own protection);

Then I am forced to choose between:

•  French leg – which properly translated should be ‘it’s-going-in-your-crack-the-second-you-move leg’
• Bikini leg — Girls, seriously, if you don’t wear a bikini to the beach, why do designers think that you want to wear one under your clothes? Trust me, it won’t look better in semi-stretchy cotton than it does in super mega-stretchy acrylic swim suit material.
• Dental floss leg – also known as ‘thong’; when it comes to these; just get the right size or you could be in trouble, or at least a good deal of pain.
• Granny leg — this one is often cleverly disguised with phrases like “no panty line” or just the old fashioned moniker “brief”.

Oh yes, don’t forget my choices in elastic.  You can buy anything from stretchy lace — which guarantees no panty-line but plenty of rise as you walk, bend, sit or well, move — to a quarter-inch thick roll of elastic worthy of a 3 year-old toddler — guaranteed panty-line.

And don’t get me started on their sizing charts; if you’re a 10 then you wear a 6… what?!

Once I have finally chosen the best undies for me, I gamble – I mean pay - for them.  If all the stars are aligned and the sun is shining just so, everything fits beautifully (I should just say comfortably).  But then I decide to go back for another package of the Exact. Same. Kind.

Clearly I’m not the only one who looks to the simplicity of men’s coverings as we can now choose to buy “boy shorts”.

It might sound slightly old-fashioned, but I’m beginning to think bloomers might have been a good idea after all.

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Oh dear, maybe not.