Ug. I feel gross. I’m in Greensboro, at a hotel that evokes a strange sense of deja vu or "I've stayed here before." In another life... But this is my last business trip until… wait for it… January! Hooray! In approximately 48 hours I will be back in my house with MM, and I will never leave again. Ever. Again. And I will force MM to be shut in with me, perhaps hibernating until spring. Then… we’ll see.
Ohhhhh… stuff… I have been lacking the blog department. I’ve been thinking about the new direction, which inevitably happens every so often. Where are we heading? What do we want to write about now?
Race season 2008 is winding down. In fact, there is only one more race on the schedule. My sister and I are going to run a Turkey Trot together on Thanksgiving in Ohio. And that’s it folks. That is all she wrote. Race season 2008 will be D.O.N.E.
However, given the fact that an 8K need not be specifically “trained for” at this point, the time has come to shift my focus. Oh yes. This much we know is true.
Of course, I’ll talk about all this wedding nonsense. I’ll probably confide that I’m “this close” to booking a reception location based on the fact that it would simply be done even though I’m really disappointed we won’t be able to use the location’s fantastic outdoor space because the first date they have available is December 12, 2009. Not conducive to outdoors. Not in Chicago my people.
See, this is where it helps to be one of those people who dreams of their wedding for… like… ever. I envision nothing. I have no thoughts. No ideas. No clue. I want this event to be magically planned for a reasonable amount of money, and I will show up beautiful, and then we will get married, and maybe go on a nice long (very long) vacation.
I mean, am I a winter wedding kinda bride? I don’t know. Does it really matter that much? I’m not sure.
Stupid city. Stupid wedding industry. Stupid people who booked stuff before I did.
Confession time. I am hating myself right now. I have gained about a million pounds, give or take nine hundred, ninety-two thousand, and it makes me want to cry. If there’s one thing I refuse to be, it’s a fat bride. Yes. I said it. Now don’t go leaving me comments about how I’m “not fat.” This is not a pity party thrown by and for Lou. This is reality people. This is the hard facts. And we must face them.
There are reasons I don’t talk about my weight on this blog. The reasons include: first, dudes I know read this blog. I don’t need no dudes reading about how I think I’m fat. That’s just embarrassing. Why? I don’t know. Second, I don’t know who reads this blog, I’ve posted it all over God’s great cyber creation (well, gosh I do just love my blog) and so what if ex-boyfriends, ex-classmates, ex-friends, ex-patriots (just kidding, I love ex-patriots), exes of exes are reading…
But then again, hell, why not? Other people have this problem right -- being “fit” but “fat”? Supposedly? There must be a remedy to this madness. I will find it. Or I won’t. And, I’ll write about it. I promise. Well, you may not want me to promise because you may be reading this and thinking, “Dear lord, not another one…”
And if I fail, then all ya’ll will be here to tell me that I’m fantastic and never needed to lose weight in the first place. Cause I’m awesome and fabulous and shit (P.S. I predict zero comments on this blog).
So, I’m back in Chicago on Tuesday night. I have a plan… um… sorta kinda. And, we’ll get started, like asap.