Tuesday, September 25, 2012

New Blog Location

Thank you for visiting this blog site.  Whether you're a loyal reader, or you stumbled across my blog recently, I appreciate you stopping by.  Unfortunately for you, this site will no longer be updated.  BUT, I have all my old posts, and plenty of new posts at my new site: "Yeah, I'm A Nerd."


You can just click on the link above, or type it in yourself.  It's simply: yeah im a nerd dot com.  Go ahead and check it out, and don't forget to update your bookmarks or blog readers!     

Thursday, September 13, 2012

The Internet Hates Me

Sorry if you're having trouble interacting with my site (especially involving the viewing or leaving of comments).  I'm currently negotiating with the internet, so hopefully it'll be resolved soon.  Please come back and leave me awesome comments later, since my validation as a blogger comes from you.  :)

**UPDATE**  It was totally Blogger's fault.  I'm glad they fixed it and that all my old links work again, but I've since moved on to bigger and better things.  Come back soon to get details about my new and improved blog.  Don't worry!  All of your old favorites will be there waiting for you.  

Monday, September 10, 2012

Future Zombie


Confession: When I get nervous or anxious, I eat myself.  Literally.  I pick at the skin around my nails and tear it away with my teeth.  And when I’m trying to give the open wounds on my hands a chance to heal, I start gnawing on my bottom lip.  For the most part, I don’t even realize that I’m doing it until I’ve drawn blood.  I’ve been doing this for as long as I can remember, and because of it, I have callused thumbs and a permanent crater on my bottom lip.  I can’t seem to shake this anxiety trigger no matter how mindful I try to be.  I’m starting to think that this gross habit of mine predisposes me to becoming a great zombie.

Greg and I have had countless discussions about what would happen to us during the zombie apocalypse.  Though I’ve instructed him to shoot me in the case of our apartment getting overrun, there’s a huge chance I’ll be bitten too quickly for him to help.  The reality of it is that I would be eaten immediately (my hopes being that enough of me survived to become a walking dead).  Greg would likely survive, and he may or may not come back to collect me and lock me up in a cage waiting for a cure. 

We’ve thought about the different options for me as a zombie.  Because of my passive personality and love for everything, it wouldn’t be so far fetched to see me sitting in someone’s front lawn eating daisies as opposed to the helpless child wandering the streets.  Greg and I have laughed over the humorous prospect of me trying to convert my zombie friends to vegetarianism. 

However, with relation to my skin biting, it’s likely that I may find brains delicious.  My worry is over the execution of retrieving said brains.  I’m a pacifist by nature, and I just can’t see myself hunting down an innocent human, no matter how black my own brain becomes.  It’d probably be more likely that I would just be softly growling from a distance and gnashing my teeth together ever so lightly in the hopes that the living would approach me.

Or maybe I'll just end up resorting to this:

Zombie Erica enjoying a chicken nugget.

Thursday, September 6, 2012

Dress to Impress (Myself)


I bought myself a girly shirt the other day.  Really, it’s just a glorified tank top with tiny flowing pleats and a sash to tie a bow with.  I’m still not sure whether the bow is supposed to be tied in the front or the back.  Which brings me to my point: a girly purchase is a break-through for me.

I like my clothes to be casual, comfortable, and sensible.  This new shirt is maybe one of the three, so I felt a little guilty buying it.  Plus, I feel like I need to be invited to a fancy barbeque or a semi-casual girls night out to wear it.  I mean, don’t get me wrong.  It’s cute, and many other girls or women my age would wear it on a weekly excursion to Target (weekly? Who am I kidding? I visit Target, at minimum, twice a week).  Anyway, I could wear it today with some jean shorts and sandals, but I’d feel dressy.  Strangers would think I looked normal, but I’d know I wasn’t.  I’d know that I was way too dressed up.  As much as I’ve wanted to buy more girly clothes lately, the greater part of me knows they aren’t practical, and they’re not me.  Yeah, I might look cute in them, but at what expense?  To losing the sense of me-ness? 

I think my mom will literally kill me if I don’t give her a girly granddaughter one day.  I always hated those foo-foo dresses my mom would force upon me.  The lace all over the dresses itched like crazy!  I’m told that I would stick my finger under my collar, tug it away from my neck and say in slow, staccato words, “Take. It. Off.”  The only joy I found in dressing up was wearing my shiny black buckle shoes with the quarter inch chunky heel.  They were not at all comfortable, as they pretty much tore into my anklebone, rubbing my skin raw through my tights.  However, if I walked on the backs of my heels across the kitchen floor, they would leave the most satisfying black “half-moon” marks all over the ground!  Sometimes I would purposely slip, so that I could see the line of black tear across the floor.  I found use for my impractical shoes.

So I guess that’s what I’m going to have to do in my adult life.  Find use for my cute purchases.  Ideas?

           

Wednesday, September 5, 2012

This boot was NOT made for walking


Last October, I began noticing pain on the outer edge of my right foot during and after my runs.  At the time, I was running in Vibrams (those toe shoes) because I like to show off that I don’t have webbed toes.  Not really.  They just truly helped with my IT issues and knee pain.  I figured my new foot discomfort was due to the lack of support in my ankle, so I switched back to my regular running shoes, which helped at first…until it didn’t.  A doctor diagnosed tendonitis, so to let it heal, I gave up running for three months (but not Ultimate Frisbee, ‘cause I’m brilliant like that).  Long story short: I didn’t have tendonitis; I had torn my peroneus brevis tendon right below my anklebone and needed surgery.

I was told that after surgery I’d be in a walking boot for two weeks, after which, I’d be able to walk in a normal shoe, and then be back to running again in an additional four weeks.  Six weeks out would still keep me right on schedule for the beginning of my marathon training in April, so I went for it.  The reality was that I was in that damn boot for three full weeks, and then intermittently for an additional two weeks so I could build up hours of normal shoe wear vs. the boot.  And by “normal shoe,” I’m talking about supportive running shoes; not my beloved flat-soled Chucks.  I wasn’t cleared to run until eight weeks post surgery, and was told that Ultimate Frisbee was “the worst possible thing I could be doing to my foot” and I would need to ease myself back in, as tolerance would allow. (I'm still easing.)

Elevating my foot and being confined to a couch all day every day was torture!  I was forced to depend on people for every little thing.  I’m one of those independent types who gets off my ass to grab the remote sitting next to you just because I see no reason to make you get up and hand it to me when I’m perfectly capable of getting it myself.  So yes, Greg bringing me something to drink, or grabbing my Kindle from the bedroom, was torture, and a constant battle between us.  Being gimpy and in pain, I usually lost. 

At one point in my recovery, when I was still wearing the boot and using crutches, my pain had substantially subsided, so it was deemed okay to leave me home alone for the entire day.  When it came time for lunch, I was thrilled to be up at the stove heating up my soup and pouring my own juice.  However, once prepared, I suddenly realized that I needed to get the bowl of hot soup from the counter to the folding tray near the couch where I was stationed, and there was no way I could hold both my crutches and the heavy bowl at the same time while walking.  But I’m a problem solver.  I dropped carefully to my knees and placed the soup and juice on the ground.  Then slowly and carefully, I pushed the bowl and cup a few inches ahead of me, crawled forward on my hands and knees dragging my 20lb boot-foot behind me, and then pushed the dishes ahead of me again.  I tediously worked my way back to the couch in that manner.  I continued this ritual in secret for a few days until it was finally bearable to place some weight down on my boot clad foot; thus, making me able to walk a few steps sans crutches.

I was able to ditch the boot altogether after about six weeks, and continued exclusively wearing running shoes for an additional five weeks.  While I’m not a hundred percent better, and my marathon training is officially a wash, I’m at least glad that I’m finally back in flip flops and can carry my lunch easily to wherever I want it!  It’s the little things that I missed the most.

My boot would wait for me outside the bathroom door while I showered.
Now it waits for me in my storage unit.