Tuesday, April 5
*crickets on the blogfront*
I've got nothing for you, folks. I feel like I'm failing my Blogger account. But there's only so much awesome to be had when we're just nose to the grindstone around here. There's been lots of working, lots of belly rubbing (on the dog, not on us), and lots of Jeopardy...although that may change.
Lately we've discussed canceling our cable account since I usually end up watching deliriously trashy television (hello Teen Mom and Real Housewives!)...but this means we'd say goodbye to our beloved Alex at 7pm. We didn't have cable in Virginia, but we were all caught up on Netflix and Hulu for our regularly viewing pleasures. So we'll probably end of nixing it but will have to severely befriend people come college football season. We can't do Saturdays without the Orange and Black...despite their recent trend of win/loss records.
The allergies have picked up here to where the dog is getting eye boogers. Yum.
Our race on Saturday may have inspired us to kick some ass at our June half marathon. On Tuesday, I drove over to the hilly portion of the area to do hill sprints. Crazy? Yes. Officially.
But life's pretty boring here.
Each night I make dinner, curse at the dishes, then eat an ice cream cone. I crawl into bed before Mr. Wookie, look at the books on my nightstand, know I'm too tired to read them, so I just curl up beneath the covers and enjoy my way through 8 hours of sleep. We wake up to either our alarm or Sweet Pea doing her morning stretch (that also clangs her tag). We'll paper/rock/scissors dog responsibility vs coffee-making responsibility. Then we go about our day.
The highlight may be the weekly trip to the grocery store for bacon, coffee, and soy milk. Then some how $1 protein bars will end in the cart, besides some microbrew...and before you know it we're hustling through self-check out to make it back for Jeopardy.
California is turning us into a lame bunch. A lame bunch where the beach is the perfect background for hill sprints, date nights, and surfing competitions (where we spectate, of course).