smokey robinson

Today marks the first day of "lose weight - 2010 edition." Mike and I are on a plan (that he made and is enforcing) to lose 5 pounds a month for the next 6 months while concurrently training for a half marathon. He made me weight myself in front of him and then proceeded to write said weight down in a chart and hang it on the fridge. As you can tell, I'm super jazzed about it. I am hoping that writing this lofty goal aka saying it out loud, will make it come true.

So, cut to 8:47 a.m. and I'm sweating it out on the treadmill. Enter giant blond lady wearing an equally giant white sweatsuit. She starts her walk and as she goes faster, her "I just smoked a whole pack of cigarettes" smell hits me smack in the face with brute force. I had to fight the urge to vomit all over her giant white sweatsuit. There is no worse smell when trying to excersize than smoke. I would rather she be ripping ass the whole time.

Now, don't get me wrong, I fully support anyone's right to smoke. But the smokers I know somehow manage not to smell terrible. Isn't there a conscious effort amongst smokers to freshen up before they walk into a packed work out facility and begin to sweat? Don't you like, keep a bottle of Febreeze in your car or something for emergencies such as these? Help me out, Marlboro lovers - what are the secrets to not smelling like smoke so that I might share them with smoky cloud lady at the gym tomorrow (see how I'm pretending I'm going to work out two days in a row? nice, huh.)

You've had two pair of gloves this whole time?

YEP! We're off to the Rockies tomorrow!!!! I am so excited that I'm not even mad about my 3:15 wake up call to get to the airport in time.

We are skiing Breckenridge this year and I can wait to see how many spills Mike takes in the first 5 minutes. Last year it was 8. Here's hoping it's a little better this year!

Meggy, Balls, Diddy, James, Al, Sarah, Kate, Jason - see your arses in CO!

cheers!

don't tell me secrets...

because it's hard for me to keep them. i will keep them, but i won't be happy about it. you know who you are. i hope the plan is still in tact for the end of the secret. then i will not have to think about not telling it anymore!

thanks,
Chelsey

okay, fine.

One more blog, you buggerfaces.

I just saw this picture and it made me happy and not because I particularly care about Fergie or the fact that she has a crazy bufont hairdo while on a JOG. Check out Josh Duhamel's hat! Way to stay true to your roots, Minot!

bon voyage

I think...this is my last blog.

Blogteam, disassemble!

To the 3 of you who read this, Da Svidaniya.

worth reading, I think.

Sunday I returned from a most enjoyable visit to Minnesota. I had gone up for the week to help my sister and brother-in-law ready their house to be sold. The previous week, my sister casually asked if we would be willing to house their husky, but loveable cat, Boris (aka The Russian Spy Cat), while they transitioned. Mike and I agreed, and from that ill-fated decision, the following events occurred:

Saturday

7 p.m. – Over dinner on the eve of my departure, my sister informs me that Boris often has bouts of kitty IBS in the car. A fact she negated to mention when asking me to be a foster parent. Tears of laughter ensued as she recounted past disaster tales. I temporarily considered leaving him in Mankato thus ensuring a poo-free ride home. Let this be a lesson to you – always go with your first instinct.

11:58 p.m. – I go to sleep, praying for dear life that God will not allow Boris to diarrhea in my car.

Sunday

8:30 a.m. – I inform my sister that I will, indeed, be taking Boris with me. We devise a master plan to place newspaper on the bottom of his cat-kennel in case of the dreaded poo explosion.

9:02 a.m. – I have my car jammed full of Black Friday purchases and Boris in tow and I depart Mankato.

9:45 a.m. – I marvel at how calm and content Boris is in the car and remind myself that Courtney has a tendency to be overly dramatic. I turn the radio up for that sweet sound and ease on down the road.

10:02 a.m. – I enter the freeway at Owatanna and notice some strange noises are coming from Boris. I look to find my prayers have been answered, there is no poo party – instead, Boris has had a vomit explosion that smelled to high heaven. I roll my windows down and enjoy the brisk 38 degree Minnesota air while frantically looking for a suitable gas station, wherein I will be able to clean up Boris’ cage AND get a delicious cup of coffee.

10:27 a.m. – Said gas station presents itself in Kasson, MN. I pull off, only to wait in line for a spot at a pump. Apparently the Kwik Trip in Kasson is a mecca on a Sunday morn. I take Boris out of the car, still in his cage and carefully open the door to the cage. He has sat in the puke a little bit, and I carefully place him on the floor of my front seat so as not to get vomit on my white fleece. I go to shut the door when…

10:28 a.m. – Boris SPRINTS from the floor of the car and streaks across the gas station. He is no spry kitten and to see his 20 + pounds moving like a gazelle in the Serengeti is a site to behold. However, instead of enjoying the majesty, my flight reflex kicks in and I run, screaming and flailing my arms across the gas station after Boris, leaving my car door wide open with no regard for my purse and many Black Friday purchases.

10:29 a.m. – Boris rounds the corner of the gas station out of site. I run after him screaming, “Boris, BORIS!” Many gas station patrons inquire if he is my cat and join me in the hunt. I round the corner to find a number of cars, a view of a marsh and the dreaded overpass, but no Boris.

10:30-10:32 a.m. – I wildly look for Boris, screaming his name, heading into the grass, looking under cars. A feeling of dread seeps in that I have lost my sister’s cat and the tears well up in my eyes.

10:33 a.m. – I spot Boris under a car and my heart falls out of my throat, back into my chest. I get down on my hands and knees and try to coax him from underneath the car. He is meowing loudly in a tom-cat sort of way, and will not budge.

10:35 a.m. – He finally peaks his head out of the car and I quickly snatch him up. I then carry him back to car as he – Pinky the Cat style – tries to escape.

10:37 a.m. – I return to my car, where one of the helpful gas station patrons is waiting, holding Boris’ kennel for me. I regretfully inform him that I cannot put Boris back in his cage because it is filled with vomit. He drops the cage like it was made of liquid hot magma.

10:38 a.m. – I ask the fellow if he wouldn’t mind shutting the door for me quickly as I put Boris on the floor of my backseat. He wouldn’t mind – and we successfully trap Boris.

10:42 – 10:38 a.m. – I cleaned up the cage with haste and patted myself on the back for the brilliant newspaper idea. I then very carefully opened my door and held on to Boris. He clung to the floor mat and my atlas with the Jaws of Life. Boris and I are in a full on struggle, I am nearly falling over with laughter at the ridiculousness of the situation and Boris’ super-kitty strength. I finally pry him from the floor, only to reengage the pinky the cat situation while trying to wrestle him into the cage. Tears stream from my eyes and meows bellow from Boris’ lips as we fight the age old battle of good v spy kitty.

10:39 a.m. – Another helpful patron holds the kennel for me and finally, Boris is safe and puke-free. I profusely thank the lady and go in to buy the most wonderful cup of coffee in the world.

3:48 a.m. – We arrive home with no further incident. Boris greets his new brother, Sven, and gets acclimated to his new (temporary) home. I collapse on my coach and silently plot to give Sven some Colon-Blow the first time we visit the Millard’s new residence. (insert evil plan laugh here).

The End.

...

Musings on a Friday morning:

• I am dangerously low on coffee right now - good thing I have nothing to do at work and will have nothing to do for the remainder of the day.
• One of my very favorite songs is playing right now - What's been going on by Amos Lee. I have it at a decently high decibel, so I just closed the door to the cave.
• I am so SO sick of Twilight. I do not read the books, I have not seen the movies and I do not think Robert Pattinson is attractive. Is this craze over yet? This is worse than when a new Harry Potter movie comes out.
• Mike and I are having an extended test drive of the Cube today. I am hoping it convinces him that this is, indeed, the car for us and I won't have to test drive a bunch of grandma cars to appease him. He actually said the word 'Buick' to me and meant it!
• I am headed up to Minn this Sunday and will spend the week helping my sister and brother-in-law get their house ready to be sold. I'm excited to spend some time in the motherland, though Rock said she had to scrape her windshield today, and I am not so excited for that. Turns out I've acclimated to the slightly warmer temperatures IL has to offer and have subsequently turned into a pansy.
  
• We had a "Friendship Thanksgiving" hosted by Jon and Janet this week and it was fantastic! I can't wait for Jon to prepare many more turkeys, because as he put it, "turkeys are dirt cheap."
  
• If you do not already, you should be watching MadMen. It is fantastic. I have watched it out of sequential order and I still enjoy it. It is amazing (for better and for worse) how far we've come in the last 50 years. I suppose 50 years is a significant amount of time, and yet, seems not so long ago considering the way women were treated. Joan, the head secretary, said this when training one of the new secretaries, "And here is your typewriter. The men who designed it made it so easy, even a woman can use it." Sitting in my own office, typing this on my own computer, it is not lost on me the sacrifices and accomplishments of generations of women.
  

and now that all the men reading this have rolled their eyes a couple times, I will end my thoughts and bid you all a Happy Thanksgiving.

cheers!