Just like the news, not very funny.. But rather a catch-up of sorts on current events.

My mind has been in a indifferent place lately. A good man was laid to rest on the 23rd of October. He passed away unexpectedly in a pretty crazy accident. I bar tended for him on a pretty regular basis and got to know him pretty well. He also had me do some title work for him and from time to time he'd stop by my office just to steel a kiss or a hug. Death is such a weird thing. Grief is even weirder. Death seems to bring people closer. And I'm not sure there's any sort of normal grieving pattern out there. From time to time I get struck with left hooks of emotion. Last Wednesday I got socked in the face. The husband and I were at a party and all of a sudden I had the most overwhelming urge to visit my mothers grave. Like, it was a freaking emergency! I had to go then. As the most supportive, understanding and awesome husband Brad is, he loaded me into the car and drove me to the cemetery. At 11:00 at night. We meandered through the graveyard, and we made our way toward the back. It was then I realized I couldn't find where she was buried. I had no idea where the fuck to find my mothers dead body at. Talk about enhancing the grief induced breakdown. Brad was so patient and calmed me down. He got his phone flash light app out and we found her little headstone shortly after. I had a pretty embarrassingly awesome fit. I spewed out every single angry, resentful and sad thought I'd ever had about her. I yelled, I bawled and I punched the shit out of her headstone. And even though it was slightly embarrassing looking back, I wouldn't relive the night given the chance. I got a lot of little dark demons released from my mind and I feel like it gave Brad a fuck load little more insight as to why I may be the way I am sometimes. We're talking NO filter here people. Let's fast forward 10 days. I had just sent Brad a text to let him know, in case he didn't already, what big of assholes our cat's are and that we needed to find them new homes. His reply? "I just got T-boned in the canyon" * Disclaimer--Not due to texting. My text was the first thing he saw when he came to. Thank ali-godda-budaah-universe that he was OK. He got his bell rung pretty good and ended up with a pretty gnarly concussion. The car got totaled out a week after replacing a $200.00 backFREAKINGwindow, The insurance place didn't pay the damn loan off and we're into a salvaged title car $800.00 in parts alone for something that wasn't even our fault. SUPER. However, aside from being dumbed down to my level for a week or so, the husband is back to his smart-ass charming self and that is all that matters. I will totally miss our engaging conversation about shiny objects, unicorns and puppies though. Let's fast forward to this last Monday. I SLICED THE MOTHER PISS OUT OF THE BACK OF MY HAND WITH A RAZOR BLADE. I was cleaning up some liquor bottles for a few orders that had came in for Christmas. I soak them in hot, soapy water and then use a hand held razor scraper to remove the paper and plastic labels from the glass. I know to go away from my body....I'm not a flippin' retard, but this damn devil patron bottle label wasn't budging. I re-adjusted to get a better angle and so I could apply heavier pressure and then I slipped, punching the back of my hand holding the bottle with a razor blade. I gasped. Grabbed paper towels and next thing I knew Brad was right by my side. Frantically calling around to see if "THERE IS ANYONE AVAILABLE TO SEW MY WIFES HAND BACK TOGETHER" He was so cute and helpful. He sped to the hospital and watched me with worried, woozy eyes as the doctor watched my tendons move to make sure I hadn't sliced them. I got sewn up 2 1/2 hours later and was taken home by the most concerned, nurturing husband on this planet. He even finished cooking the dinner I was in the middle of before installing permanent track marks on the back of my hand, and he finished scraping all my bottles. He even reached into the blood water. Which brings me to today. I know I missed the bus on the whole "It's Thanksgiving, let's blab about all the shit we're thankful for once a year and then act like complete assholes the other 364 days" But over the course of the last 8 weeks I've had so many thoughts and memories running through my mind just bare with me. I'm so thankful for Brad. I am one seriously lucky gal to have him as my husband. He's thoughtful and caring. He's genuine and unique. He's brilliant and beautiful. He knows me like the back of his hand and isn't afraid to call me out on my bullshit from time to time. (which, i'll admit was strangely one of the things that attracted me to him) We've seen our share of ups and downs over the last 10 years but I couldn't be more grateful that we've both had enough fight in us to keep our shit together and today we stand stronger than ever. I look forward to the rest of life's ups and downs. I know they'll be great, As long as we're together.

There's not a day that goes by that I'm not thankful for my mother. Obviously for squishing me out of her vagina, but without her I wouldn't have half the sense of humor I have today. I wouldn't know as much pain, or grief, or feel as much passion in life. I wouldn't have such strong family values and have built impenetrable friendships. I wouldn't be me. I have a phenomenal father who has taught me hard work, determination and to not be an asshole. He's been dealt one shitty hand and he always seems to find the best in things and laugh at life. He puts everyone before himself and he's one of the funnest, best dudes I know. Speaking of family values I can't thank enough of my lucky stars to have married into the family I did. For the first time in a long time there's a sense of normal restored into my life. A mom AND a dad. Obnoxious brothers that walk by and mess up your hair and sometimes make you cry, but you know that they love you. A sisterinlaw that can't even be called a sisterinlaw because she's your friend. The most adorable and shockingly handsome nephew, that's full of energy and stories. A niece that is one hell of handful and super difficult but she's the prettiest little girl I've ever met and her cheesy grin gives my uterus warm little tingles. I can't wait for the day we can talk about boys and go shopping on a girls day out and make her be the DD. :) My mother and father in law, who also can't be considered "in-laws" because they're more like our best friends. Family time isn't what it probably is to most families. It's complete batshit crazy fun. I don't dread going to the in-laws. I actually look so forward to it that sometimes I bug them to hang out. We go to so many fun and new places together, we go out and get nuts, we stay in and get even nuttier. We experience life together. They've been the only normal family dynamic I've ever really known. They even include my dad. And just like I said with Brad, I look forward to the shit life throws at us and all the good and bad times to come because I know no matter what, in the end everything will be ok because we've all got each other. We have one bitchin family unit, And for someone who hasn't had that her whole life, it's a pretty fucking big deal. Here's to more Weekends in Wendover, Trips to Jackson to battle wicked whitewater, countless weekends together at Bear Lake floating our cares away and tearing up the water with wave runners, to nights around fire pits, old people music concerts, dinners, To life, to love, get togethers of all sorts and overall dysfunctional family fun. And with these peeps as your family, who can blame me? I wouldn't have it any other way. You'll never know what you are all to me. You'll never know how much you all have saved me. You all are my world and I wish I could put into words the amount of love I have for our crazy, funky, awesome family.

TWLOHA

I recently purchased a hoodie that says "Love is the movement" on the front of it. I didn't know what brand I had just bought, all I knew is I liked what it said and it was a hoodie. I have a weakness for anything comfy. I spotted the back of the neck where they put their label. "To write love on her arms" I became intriqued and googled it. Twloha is a brand that is dedicated to suicide awareness. Helping and encouraging people who suffer from depression to please get help, and to let them know they're not the only ones. They also help people who don't suffer from depression understand more clearly what their loved ones who do have depression are going through and how to help them the right way. They are very proactive and dedicated to their movement and it's a brand I'm totally jazzed up about supporting.

50

As promised, A POST! Actually I just figured out how to log back in to my blogger account and saw a draft that had been saved and never posted. Nibble on this while I try to find my sense of humor and writing skills back. I'm a little rusty. I had to hurry and wrap the end up since this post was started, oh, like FIVE MONTHS AGO. Don't judge. Enjoy. A couple weekends ago the annual family golf tournament extravaganza in Wendover was upon us. It was also the first year out of the last 3 that my Dad was able to join all of us heathens out in sinners land. Thursday night was fairly calm all things considered. We did our fair share of gambling and drinking but kept things geared down knowing Friday night all bets were off and everyone's balls go straight to the wall. Friday the guys went out to the course to finish up the last day of the tournament. I passed my morning with a killer workout, a hot shower and a few shots to start the day off right. Nothing says post workout recovery than a few hefty horns off a Whiskey bottle at noon. We made our way down to the bar where there's video blackjack and free drinks as far as the eye can see. As soon as our brains were good and numb we sat down at a real person black jack table where we actually all did quite well. It was getting later in the afternoon and it's our family tradition to be at the club house as the golfers are coming off the course. The club house also has a full bar. Is anyone seeing a pattern here? After our second double sauced bloody mary I noticed that there was a stranded golf cart just sitting there.... alllll by itseeeelf. It called to me. I slyly excused myself to go use the restroom and jetted outside to my awaiting chariot. My sister in law sensed my mischief and darted out behind me. After a short debate about what the repercussions might be if we were to actually get caught, it was pedal to the metal time. We headed out on to the course and the first group we came upon was my dads group. It was cold and they were shooting Goldschlager. We took a shot with them for "good luck" on their next hole. Besides we needed to get back on the road golf cart path. We had places to go and people to see. We drove around a few more holes and finally spotted some more familiar faces. My father in laws group. BINGO! We slurred our hello's and were then offered some Whiskey. In the spirit of all things Wendover and bad decisions we took full advantage. The ride back to the club house wasn't as cold. Mostly due to our whiskey glow. We put our cart in park and headed into the club house for a hot dog and a double Jack and coke. After all that driving around we were beginning to become parched. We sat and welcomed the golfers in one by one. From the sounds of it everyone had a really shitty round. Which is the perfect recipe for all men to contract PGM. For those of you who haven't had the pleasure of experiencing PGM first hand, it's an acronym for "Pissy Golf mood" It's a semi common condition among males ages 17-99. If you or someone you know suffers from PGM please consult a doctor and swap out their daily vitamin dose with Valium. If the condition continues please consult a doctor on their behalf. They'll thank you later. The evening flared a bit and everyone found their happy place. My dad and inlaws hung out together. There was dancing, laughing and shots as far as I can remember into the night. It was so nice to hear my dads familiar and highly recognizable laugh in armpit of the Utah border. Another trip to log in the book that none of us can quite remember but surely none of us will ever forget.

Ahem.... Is anyone out there? If anyone is, they surely are no longer following this blog. Does ANYONE blog anymore? I feel off the blog bandwagon. I think about posting quite often, but never make it around to it. I promise to try harder. I think I need a laptop. and more bourbon. Definitely more bourbon.

Over worked and under appreciated

For as long as I can remember I've always been very self conscious of my body. I remember being nine years old and having a plan to run around my block 10 times every day because I was sure it would be a whole mile and eat nothing but chicken breasts and tuna over the summer so that when I went back to school I'd be as skinny as all my other friends.

Middle school, Jr. High and High school I was always very careful as to what I ate. Once we all had our drivers licences we'd head to 7-11 for lunch and my girlfriends would get twix bars and Pepsi's. Me? A bottle of water.
I've never ever been able to eat carefree. I know the repercussions one plate of nachos has on my body. I work that one meal off for at least 3 days of intense training. Then I'm back to where I was pre-nacho-bad-decision night.

Lately I've stumbled upon a few weight related posts from some of my favorite bloggers. It's been very interesting to read all of the different aspects each woman faces when it comes to body issues. One self proclaimed plus sizer is embracing her curves and loving them. Another is super thin and stated she'd do anything to have a curvy body, or any kind of voluptuousness to yell I AM WOMAN!

Where do I stand? Teetering dangerously over the line of ungrateful and fucked up.
Nearly every morning I put my body through some fairly grueling workouts. I push myself to my limits and some mornings, even further. My mind is so determined to "Have the body I've always wanted" that I don't appreciate the one I have.

After a killer weight lifting session and a 5 Mile run, as I'm stripping down to get in the shower and catch a reflection of myself a look of disgust spreads over my face. Every morning.
But why?
Because I don't look how I feel like I should after working so hard?
Because legs that just ran 5 Miles shouldn't have dimples on them?
Or the stomach that can do crazy intense ab workouts shouldn't be rolly?

I need to learn respect for my body. I need to say "Thanks for the run, body. I really appreciate it. You did good work today. Please keep holding up"

I need to be at peace and appreciative of my body and not at war with it all the time.
My body is my number one enemy. Shouldn't it be the opposite?

From now on I'm going to try my hardest to stand proud that I'm physically able to do the things that I do. Weather I'm a size 10 or a size 6.
I'm tired of my body never being good enough for me. I'm not lowering my standards any, but I am changing my mind set.
As long as I can physically accomplish the tasks I set out for each and every day, I am good enough.
I don't know that a number 6 tag on the inside of my jeans would warrant happiness. Or anything different than a 10 would.

This morning I lifted on biceps. So was another guy in the gym. We were both on the same kind of bar, with the same exact weight on each end of our bars. I was intrigued with this so I started paying attention to how many reps he was doing. We were each doing 3 sets of 10. By the 3rd set he cranked out 6 and slammed his bar down. Me? I got all ten.

And THAT makes me feel more beautiful than a smaller size of jeans ever will.

Loving life too much to post often

I've been bar-free for two weeks and two days now.

AND IT FEELS AMAZING.

The first week off didn't really sink in. I was keeping busy and working on projects for an event the coming weekend.
I still found time to fit in normal people stuff like house cleaning, running and I even took my adorable and shockingly handsome nephew to the movie.
The weekend felt great, but I never really had any down time.

Last Friday I threw my sister-in-law a surprise birthday party for her big 25th.
I put a lot of time and effort into it and it went off without a hitch.

Saturday morning I woke up with zero projects left on my plate and a cleared off schedule.

My mother-in-law texted me to see if I wanted to stir up some trouble.
The answer was obvious.
Why? Because I had the time.

We spent the entire day together gallivanting around shopping for whatever struck our fancy and finding nourishment at a bar.
That night I spent with my husband and some of my besties sitting around a camp fire.
BECAUSE I DIDN'T HAVE ANYWHERE ELSE TO BE.
And it felt amazing.

Sunday I cleaned off my patio, went for a hike and played with the dogs in the back yard. Then we all met up and had family dinner. It was so nice to show up somewhere with a little bit of energy left.

I'm so much happier only working 50 hours a week.
The husband seems more sane and I even think the dogs are happier too.

Or it could be that I finally have the time to notice the little things in life.

The things I've missed oh so dearly.

Detox and Zombies

I remember a few key points about 9th grade. It was my first year in the High School with all the big kids. I was still recovering from a wicked golf cart accident that to this day I blame my memory loss, lack of direction and slight lack of balance on. And it was the year I had discovered weed.

The high school had this pesky D.A.R.E cop.
He had his own office and walked around like he was a real police man. He was in charge of the D.A.R.E program. He spewed the catch phrase "Just say no" In reference to drugs, alcohol, sex and probably rock and roll too.

He was a total fun hater, who clearly had never smoked a bowl in his life.

In 9th grade the phrase "Just say no" was killing all of our teenage wild souls.
Rebellion ran thick in all of our blood and saying no was the last thing any of us wanted to do.

Fast forward Ten *cough* years.

Here I sit. Stressed out, worn thin, tired as hell all the time and resentful of those who get to spend an entire day doing nothing.

2012 was going to be the "me" year.
The year I was only going to do things that brought me happiness.
A year of elimination.
No stress. No worries. No wearing myself thin and running myself into the ground.

This is the year I'm just saying NO.

I've decided to put my 2 weeks notice into the Bar gig.
I didn't come to this decision easily. As a matter of fact it's all I've been thinking about lately.
I've even taken polls from friends and family and logged the results in the form of a pie chart.
Pro's and con's lists are all over my house.

The results are a no brainer, yet there's always that slight twinge in my mind that holds a dollar sign. But at what point do you draw the line between money and happiness?

Me? I'm at the point where time is more valuable than the dollar.

I want to spend lazy Saturday mornings with my husband and dogs watching TV. Or lay out in my back yard all afternoon long with a cocktail and a good book. I want to camp, or hike or go out of town for the weekend. I want to spend weekends up at the lake or down at the bay. I want time to plant a fucking garden or maybe take a spur of the moment road trip. I feel like for the last 5 years of working 2 jobs I've just been a husk of myself.

I look back on how silly and light hearted I used to be. Even, dare I say... Spontaneous.
I mean, sure I've always been a stressed out list maker rubbing worry stones who has an agenda and a plan at all times but now I'm at least giving myself the option to get my old self back.
A self who isn't so cramped on time every week, or has to cram one million things into one night because after 60 hours of work in a week that's all you have left.

I'm ready to not be a walking zombie.

I'm ready to slow down, take some time and enjoy life.

On that same note, I've turned down every race I've been asked to run this year as well. This year, I'm running for me. Not for time, not for pace, not for cutting minutes off miles. This year I'm running where ever I want to, and taking however fucking long as I'd like. On my own terms. In my own time.

It's time to detox life and get back to the basics.

I'll let you know if I suffer any withdrawl symptoms.

Mad love ya'll.

I might as well have IBS

Grief can hit you anywhere. Just like diarrhea. The holidays are always particularly difficult but this year went smoother than most. I wasn't side swiped by a breakdown.
As a matter of fact it was quite the opposite. I had lucked out on a little time off from both jobs, had some good ME time complete with bad decisions and hangovers as far as the eye could see. Yet, something lingered. The perfect storm perhaps?
A couple years ago I was side swiped by a left hook of emotion at a traffic intersection.
This year? It was the week after Christmas. At the gym during a totally sick weight lifting session on chest. In the middle of all my testosterone-induced man-rage and awesomeness I felt my eyes well. With anger.
Then sadness.
I finished up my session and stretched while fighting off alligator tears the entire time.
I got in my car and broke the hell down. My toughness displayed in the gym was now a liquid pile of goo that just wanted to be held and for someone to understood what I felt and that it wasn't fair. --- Some rocking me might have been quite pleasant too.
It was the kind of cry that no sound comes out. Just silent, awkward facial movements and deep gasps for air.

I've come to the conclusion that time does not heal all wounds.

Time is like that one junk closet that every one has in their house. You stuff random shit in there because there's no where else for it to go but you can't throw it away. But you know one day, inevitably you have to clean that fucking closet out.