Yay! Only a month to go til the triathlon. I had a super duper training day today.
Biked 26.some miles in app. 1 hr. 22 minutes
Ran app. 5.78 miles in app. 58 min.
I think I'm going to adjust my goal slightly--I believe I said I wanted to get under 3 hours. Right now, with my fastest 1 mile swim time at app. 40 min plus the run/bike times above, AND leaving a few minutes for transitions, I think I will settle for a goal of 3 hrs. 15 min. I'll still be slicing a ridiculous chunk off last year's time. YAY!! (Oh, and my transition time today between bike and run was about 4 minutes.)
To take a line from Rebecca what's-her-name Friday-lover lady, "We we we so excited."
Tuesday, June 21, 2011
Saturday, June 11, 2011
Fixin' up the ol' bedroom
I revamped my room today and I'm really likin' it.
These boxes got covered in paper and hung from the ceiling to store headbands/hairclips/bobbypins/deoderant/whatever other random junk was littering my vanity.
Trinkets! I filled the vase and pottery with old tissue paper.
Vintage Valentines got mini-clothes-pinned up above my closet doors.
Precious, right?
I hung my Aruba license plate over my favorite Aruba painting.
A smattering of my favorite island pictures (which I took, btw) got stuck on the little window shutters. I think I might paint the window shutters a different color sometime.
And finally, these little salt and pepper shakers were too cute for me to pass up at the antique place. Not really normal bedroom decor, but whatever.
Hope you're having a lovely weekend.
These boxes got covered in paper and hung from the ceiling to store headbands/hairclips/bobbypins/deoderant/whatever other random junk was littering my vanity.
Trinkets! I filled the vase and pottery with old tissue paper.
Vintage Valentines got mini-clothes-pinned up above my closet doors.
Precious, right?
I hung my Aruba license plate over my favorite Aruba painting.
A smattering of my favorite island pictures (which I took, btw) got stuck on the little window shutters. I think I might paint the window shutters a different color sometime.
And finally, these little salt and pepper shakers were too cute for me to pass up at the antique place. Not really normal bedroom decor, but whatever.
Hope you're having a lovely weekend.
Monday, June 6, 2011
News Flash: I love the post office
No, there is not a trace of sarcasm in that title. I really do, if for just a day, LOVE the post office.
Normally, I hate the post office. I feel like the employees are often slothful and apathetic, as if deliberately trying to drive me mad. (It doesn't help any that I don't generally designate adequate time to get in and get out. Generally, I manage to forget the slothful and apathetic way in which my visit will undoubtedly be received, and then, inevitably, I am forced to painfully remember as I wait there in line for who-knows-what to get done so I can hand over my package and some money and be done with it.)
Today was different. Let me be clear--the employees seemed lethargic as usual, a state likely aggrandized by the fact that closing time was only a few ticks away. However, once to the counter, I had a much better experience than I had anticipated.
Allow me to backtrack: I was coming from the apartment manager's office, where I had been patronized by a woman in a twangy, condescending tone, "Don't you remember, sweetie? When you were here to sign the lease we told y'all that you'd have to go pick it up from the post office." (Actually, the same woman had instructed us to come back on Monday to get it from her, which is precisely what I was trying to do. Another roommate, also present for the original exchange, had tried to do the same thing but 20 minutes before, unbeknown to me.)
Allow me to backtrack even further: We misplaced our mail key last week. I called and left a message at our apartment manager's office on Memorial Day, asking what we would need to do if we lost our mail key (uh, hypothetically, of course). Our lovely management promptly called the post office and ordered a new mail key and informed us it would cost $15, although in the interim between my leaving a message and speaking with the management again, we had found the original mail key. But, too late. They'd ordered a new one, and it was too late to cancel, as they discovered in calling the post office.
So we're done backtracking. There I was, at the post office today, 5 minutes before closing time, there to pick up a key I didn't really want but desperately needed because our mail lock had been changed. And I was gonna have to pay for it. The man went to look for the mail key. He brought not one, but three mail keys, which means one key for each of my roommates and myself, instead of one clumsily-passed baton that gets dropped and/or forgotten to be hung on the hook in our kitchen. When he brought out the keys, he said, "Has this already been paid for?"
"Uh, no. I don't know. Does it look like it has been?" I said.
"Uh...not really. Yeah. Uh...I'm just gonna give these to you."
I signed off on the deal, and he asked to verify my ID. "Have you ever watched CSI Miami?" he asked, alternately studying my face and then the picture gleaming up from my license. "You look exactly like that girl, Poppi Monroe. The girl on that show." I hadn't seen the show, and I didn't know who she was, but I figured it was flattering to have someone think you look like a movie star. I came home and googled her and decided it was, indeed, a compliment.
So, in summary, I walked away with three times the amount of product for infinitely less price than I expected, and I looked like a movie star while doing it. Boo-yeah.
Normally, I hate the post office. I feel like the employees are often slothful and apathetic, as if deliberately trying to drive me mad. (It doesn't help any that I don't generally designate adequate time to get in and get out. Generally, I manage to forget the slothful and apathetic way in which my visit will undoubtedly be received, and then, inevitably, I am forced to painfully remember as I wait there in line for who-knows-what to get done so I can hand over my package and some money and be done with it.)
Today was different. Let me be clear--the employees seemed lethargic as usual, a state likely aggrandized by the fact that closing time was only a few ticks away. However, once to the counter, I had a much better experience than I had anticipated.
Allow me to backtrack: I was coming from the apartment manager's office, where I had been patronized by a woman in a twangy, condescending tone, "Don't you remember, sweetie? When you were here to sign the lease we told y'all that you'd have to go pick it up from the post office." (Actually, the same woman had instructed us to come back on Monday to get it from her, which is precisely what I was trying to do. Another roommate, also present for the original exchange, had tried to do the same thing but 20 minutes before, unbeknown to me.)
Allow me to backtrack even further: We misplaced our mail key last week. I called and left a message at our apartment manager's office on Memorial Day, asking what we would need to do if we lost our mail key (uh, hypothetically, of course). Our lovely management promptly called the post office and ordered a new mail key and informed us it would cost $15, although in the interim between my leaving a message and speaking with the management again, we had found the original mail key. But, too late. They'd ordered a new one, and it was too late to cancel, as they discovered in calling the post office.
So we're done backtracking. There I was, at the post office today, 5 minutes before closing time, there to pick up a key I didn't really want but desperately needed because our mail lock had been changed. And I was gonna have to pay for it. The man went to look for the mail key. He brought not one, but three mail keys, which means one key for each of my roommates and myself, instead of one clumsily-passed baton that gets dropped and/or forgotten to be hung on the hook in our kitchen. When he brought out the keys, he said, "Has this already been paid for?"
"Uh, no. I don't know. Does it look like it has been?" I said.
"Uh...not really. Yeah. Uh...I'm just gonna give these to you."
I signed off on the deal, and he asked to verify my ID. "Have you ever watched CSI Miami?" he asked, alternately studying my face and then the picture gleaming up from my license. "You look exactly like that girl, Poppi Monroe. The girl on that show." I hadn't seen the show, and I didn't know who she was, but I figured it was flattering to have someone think you look like a movie star. I came home and googled her and decided it was, indeed, a compliment.
So, in summary, I walked away with three times the amount of product for infinitely less price than I expected, and I looked like a movie star while doing it. Boo-yeah.
Sunday, May 29, 2011
Birthday weekend.
It was my birthday on Friday. The branch went kayaking at Coosa River in Wetumpka, AL. Here's right before I jumped off a cliff into the river...
My roommates and friends from school and church came over and we made pizzas. Becca Z (from church) made the dough and Esperanza (roommie) got the toppings. Oh, and we also had awesome cake that Esperanza made. Sweet, sweet friends.
Yummm.
I tried to make a cat pizza, because back in 3rd grade when we made individual pizzas for my birthday party, I remember I tried to make a cat. Mine's the one in the middle. Looks like I still got it...
Here's me sporting the birthday bow Emma sent me. :)
Would've been fun to spend time with my momma, since we share our birthday. But I had a good one, just the same.
My roommates and friends from school and church came over and we made pizzas. Becca Z (from church) made the dough and Esperanza (roommie) got the toppings. Oh, and we also had awesome cake that Esperanza made. Sweet, sweet friends.
Yummm.
I tried to make a cat pizza, because back in 3rd grade when we made individual pizzas for my birthday party, I remember I tried to make a cat. Mine's the one in the middle. Looks like I still got it...
Here's me sporting the birthday bow Emma sent me. :)
Would've been fun to spend time with my momma, since we share our birthday. But I had a good one, just the same.
Saturday, May 21, 2011
How to Have a Crawfish Boil
1. Put the crawfish in a big pot of boiling water. The water must be boiling first, and the crawfish must be live until they hit the water. (This is important, I am told). Throw some cajun seasoning, potatoes, onion, sausage, and corn in there, too.
2. Throw down all the food onto a spread of newspaper. Assemble your friends and family. This is a social event--a conversation set to the soundtrack of slurping and shell-cracking. Choose your first delicacy. Hold up the crawdad with your fingers. Twist off the tail, as shown.
3. You can suck the juice out of the front half (the head--yummmm) if you've got the stomach for that sort of thing. Otherwise, peel back some of the shell surrounding the tail.
4. Pull the tail meat out of the rest of the shell.
You will have some guests who pretend not to enjoy the crawfish. Don't worry--this is normal. When they've got a mound of discarded shells the size of their head, it is safe to say they like the crawfish.
Delight.
Appetizing, no?
The second batch was a lot redder than the first. I guess that happens when your propane burner is working better and your water gets hotter and the crawfish get cooked better.
2. Throw down all the food onto a spread of newspaper. Assemble your friends and family. This is a social event--a conversation set to the soundtrack of slurping and shell-cracking. Choose your first delicacy. Hold up the crawdad with your fingers. Twist off the tail, as shown.
3. You can suck the juice out of the front half (the head--yummmm) if you've got the stomach for that sort of thing. Otherwise, peel back some of the shell surrounding the tail.
4. Pull the tail meat out of the rest of the shell.
You will have some guests who pretend not to enjoy the crawfish. Don't worry--this is normal. When they've got a mound of discarded shells the size of their head, it is safe to say they like the crawfish.
Delight.
Appetizing, no?
The second batch was a lot redder than the first. I guess that happens when your propane burner is working better and your water gets hotter and the crawfish get cooked better.
Saturday, May 14, 2011
Tuesday, May 3, 2011
Huge Math Victory Leads to Free Frozen Yogurt
That's right, folks. Today's big story is one of triumph: it's about a girl who thought she was really bad at math her whole life just to find out, in one high-stakes, telling moment, that she's actually pretty stinkin' awesome at it.
Our heroine was out for a night on the town to celebrate the brightening light at the end of the tunnel known as "a semester of graduate school." She entered her favorite frozen yogurt joint, prepared to blissfully surrender 45 cents per ounce of the glorious substance. A sign caught her eye, which read, "Smoothies: Fill a cup 2/3 full with yogurt of your choice, and we will add juice of your choice and blend." Intrigued, she queried a roaming employee as to available flavors of said juice, who promptly went to see what sorts were available.
Upon returning, the lass regretfully informed our heroine that there was no more juice; she added, smilingly, that our heroine could receive her yogurt for but half of the asking price. Our heroine protested, as she had already determined to buy yogurt instead of a smoothie, anyway. However, the young yogurt peddler insisted, and our heroine was happy to relent.
There are so many flavors in a yogurt establishment such as this one: peanut butter, oreo, thin mint, cheesecake, fruit sorbets and at least 10 varieties besides. However, Thin Mint was quickly settled upon and our heroine advanced to the counter to pay, after securing a most generous portion of the Thin Mint cream.
At the counter, there was another sign which caught her eye. This one read, "Guess your yogurt's weight within .10 ounce and it's free!" Our heroine (who, remember, was never very sure of her aptitude for mathematics) creased her brow, tapped her foot, and felt the pressure of a growing line of customers waiting to pay for their yogurt. "Think, think, think!" she told herself. She knew that her yogurt generally cost somewhere around $5, and she knew the cost was .45 per ounce. The math seemed simple enough, but the growing line of customers made her feel flustered and frantic. And then, in a sudden burst of division skills, she knew the answer--or at least, a pretty good one. "9.5 ounces!" she wagered, expectantly.
The attendant's eyebrows raised as she weighed the yogurt and then said, "9.32 ounces. Not bad! I was gonna give it to you for half-off anyway, so I'm gonna give it to you for free."
Dun-duh-duh-DUN!! Triumph! Thank you, GRE prep class. Not only did you help me get into graduate school, you helped me get free yogurt. And for that, I will be forever grateful.
Note: Sorry for the weird writing style. As I mentioned, it is near the end of the semester, and taking longish breaks to use thesaurus.com and write ridiculous blog posts seems way more appealing than working on my final Stats memo.
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