Today's Run Brought To You By IBS, Pain, and ODU

Thank you, Google Maps for providing our layout for today's increasing mileage.

We start out at "A," the Casa de Wookie. From there, we circle around the Minor League Baseball Stadium, and back home. Total miles: 3.1. The perfect amount of miles before the thought process of needing to find a bathroom becomes Mission: Numero Uno.

From there we stroll along the residential area, aka "E."

After that, we hit the busy street of Hampton Blvd, up to Old Dominion University, and kick around the campus for a stride.

Then, we head for home, a tall glass of water, a snack, and a shower.

Total miles: 10. Amount of perspiration: Tons. Foot pain: Hopefully minimal.

We've got exactly 2 weeks people. Well, actually less than. By this time I should be multiple deep into free beer. And I imagine it'll taste spectacular. If not, there's always straight vodka. To drown the pain of the run and the lacking quality of beer. Here's to Mr. Wookie, Mommy McD, and I. May we learn that $80 for pain, beer, and swag bags may come at a higher price. Cheers.

This Little Man Is Growing On Me...

Happy Saturday for some. Happy Hungover Saturday for others? Baby Sister?

Here's more Little Man video. Der. Like you need more introductions. Yes, he's been getting quite the attention lately. But that's what you get with the first nephew/grandchild/family reproduction. The next child'll barely get a blogpost. Okay, not really. But that could happen. Unless it's another Gingish offspring. There's always room for more Ging blogging.

Happy Birthday To My Portland-Dwelling Sista!

The Countdown: 364 days. Until? That elusive 21st birthday. Amazing.

Here we are, pimpin' it in Mexico, on our latest family vacation of fun. We're hot.

I wish I had the motivation for a list of 20 Things To Do For Your 20th Birthday. But I don't. I'm still nursing my first cocktail. And motivation eludes me.

Instead, let's recount my 20th birthday. I don't remember it. Because it was probably super lame. Now my 21st birthday, oooooooh boy. I wish I would have been told the wise pearls of wisdom of drinks lots of Gatorade pre-bash, then nurse a bagel and Gatorade post-bash. Instead, I was nearly presumed dead in the hallway of my apartment. In just my underwear. And a blanket. Awesome.

The 20th is the last hurrah for illegal fashions.

So Baby Sister, go out, and prosper.

I did sing to her on my commute home from work. Apparently she's being taken out to dinner by her friends, which is how it should be. However, she doesn't know where she's going. So for all she knows, it could Jiggles (a strip club just south of Portland). So enjoy, Baby Sister, even if it is Bridget the Midget.

Finally, Over Halfway to Friday

Did you know you can bruise your palm by excessive 3-hole punching?

- I learned this the fun way, while filing at work, and after punching about 2 reams of paper, realized, "Wow, this might leave a mark."

And did you know I can actually stay up to 11:30pm on a work night?

- I found this out last night as I kept trolling online for anything to entertain me, before realizing that it's 2 hours past my bedtime. I hope I don't pay too much for last night's lack of sleep. My first cup of coffee at the office should taste mighty fine.

And who scored 2 new suits in her shopping endeavors from last night?

- This Ging right here. I tried to find pictures online to show off my latest wardrobe additions. But I couldn't. So, it looks like Model Ging may come out to play this afternoon.

And what's on the running schedule tonight?

- The standard Thursday 5 miles.

And what were my thoughts when I saw on Facebook that someone I know just signed up for a full marathon?

- You're nuts. Do you have any idea? But good luck with that. Ya, not me.

Is It Friday Yet? Or Can I At Least Sleep Until Friday?

I'm here. I meant to blog yesterday. Then, there's today's post. Which is just crap. I'm telling you that I meant to have a post much better than this, but this is what you get. I'm all about needing good chi to write, otherwise it'll be crap. This is that crap.

So let's just go ahead with a verbal vomit to round out this day.

- There are 19 days until the Half Marathon. 19 days until I deemed it necessary to run 13.1 miles for beer. Wow, did I learn nothing in college? Beer is merely a, "Someone beer me!" away.

- I went to Target this weekend and stumbled upon some yoga gloves, so I picked them up. So come the end of this Half Marathon training, I'll be back to my yoga mat. And hopefully these babies will help me stay in place on said yoga mat.

- Tonight's cocktail was brought to you by Sailor Jerry's Spiced Rum.

- Tomorrow is Wednesday, which is halfway to Friday, which is Thank You, Jesus.

- This Sunday is a 10-mile run. Yay me.

- Thank goodness there are only 2 more long runs before this Half Marathon because finding a place to use the bathroom after Mile #2 is getting difficult. Both Starbucks and Walgreen's are off the list. What's left? Rite Aid and the 7-11??

- Mommy McD is dying also from training. Yay her.

- I did the math to keep on track for 500 miles logged this year. 3 miles on Monday, 3 miles on Thursday, and 4 on Sundays. These are minimums, of course. But in all actuality, these are probably maximums.

- If you guessed that I'd be behind on my book reading, you guessed right. Maybe once the running is done with I can devote more time to the resolution. But who are we kidding? It's me we're talking about. Maybe I should just switch to Choose Your Own Adventure books. Those are short enough.

- I've still got that in-grown armpit hair. And it still doesn't hurt. But if you're bored and want to scare the crap outta yourself, just start Googling and WebMD-ing what might be wrong with you. Hypochondria, check!

- I wonder if couples who share beds ever have 2 comforters. I mean, there are sometimes I put a vice grip on the covers. And who's left in the cold? Mr. Wookie, of course.

- For those who are JCPenney's fans, there's a sale starting tomorrow. So what did I do today? I went shopping. And put everything I wanted on hold. I'll go back tomorrow and pick it up for a way better price. That's using the ol' noggin'!

- And speaking of shopping, tangerine is making a comeback in spring colors.

- And so are those awful 60's prints. Go away. We don't want you.

- And did no one tell the East Coast how tiresome/boring/overdone the black 'n white combination is? I got rid of all my black/white clothes before I jumped ship. And now that's all I can find. Apparently there's a lot of color blind people on the East Coast. Or a lot of lazy people. Either way.

Operation: Repopulation!

Pay no attention to the cleavage Mama Ging is sporting, as apparently the title of "Grandmama" is causing a slight mid-life crisis.

But I see the beautiful tint of Ging to the Little Man's hair in this picture. Could it be??? Another Ging in the family? If so, welcome, welcome, welcome to the club. Yes, assholes will tease you in elementary school, junior high, and potentially in high school. But just think, you're not some boring-ass brunette or blonde. Those are a dime a dozen. We're a dying breed. Walk with pride.

This message was paid for by a Ging. By no means does she harbor true ill thoughts of non-Gings. There's just got to be some pride somewhere for having zero ability to tan, the exciting game of connect-the-freckles, and the fact that we survived the Salem Witch Trials. No Gings were harmed in the making of this blogpost.

A Day To Myself: A Pair of Jeans and a Wife-Beater Tank

This time, I'm roommate-less and content. I'm kinda surprised. Usually I put up a little stink about having to feed myself/entertain myself/clean up after myself. But this time, I was going to make the best of it.

I woke up this morning with 3 minutes before my alarm went off. Why'd I set an alarm? I had things to do today. And that was before I knew I was going to be blown off by co-workers because they have sick children. Pssssh, what kind of parents are they??

But first, last night. I rolled into town past 9:30pm, and was praying for a parking spot. Somehow, the parking gods were totally with me.

I got off work at 5:01pm, and because of the turn of events for the day, was invited down to the Club to meet 'n greet the owner. Little did I know I'd be sitting with a one-of-a-kind woman who knew everyone, knew how to entertain, and knew how to connect people. I spent over 4 hours chatting with a small group of people, who any other time would never get to meet, but because I decided to take up the offer of a glass of wine with this woman, I'd be connecting with so many people. Needless to say, a fantastic 4 hours. I can't wait until next Friday as I'll go back and see how else I can be wow'd.

But today was going to be a good day. It was the inaugural Sustainable Living Fair in Downtown Norfolk. And I was excited.

And it didn't let me down too much. Except for this one guy. He continued to talk me into a corner about how the City should care about the environment of the children for their sake. He didn't like the way the City did business. And he demanded change. Umm, well buddy, if you don't like, why don't you move? And to tell him I was from Oregon, the Land of Yurts, Nancy's Yogurt, and Yogi Tea, had no bearing to him. It was like saying I liked to clip my toenails. No change. Whatever, buddy.

I talked composting. I talked vermiculture. I talked laundry detergents. I talked coffee snobbery. I talked how giving out flyers at a Hippie Fair is the most anti-hippie concept ever. That last one, they didn't get. Go figure.

And as much as the 30% off the entire store of Eddie Bauer, because of their 90th anniversary, was appealing...not a damn thing worked for me. Yes, pouty face.

But I've moved on. As y'all know, this July, the Ging & Family is galavanting off to England for 2 weeks, and I'm going to need a great pair of shoes for this trek. I made mention of the neglect that my Chaco's have received since being on this Coast, and the Sheriff didn't think sandals would be enough for this trip. So until then, I'll be PiperLime.com-ing my heart out until I find the perfect ergonomic shoe for this summer's travel.

And now I'm at home, waiting for my dinner to finish, taking a hiatus from attacking the laundry piles that exist on the bedroom floor. I'm also desperate for a dresser, but will instead be sorting through my clothes on the continual binge until my clothes fit into the 2 small, clear "set of drawers" a la Walmart (picked up last year, after my arrival). I guess it's enough to say that my motivation towards the Simplicity Movement has returned. Darn me and my never-ending hippie ways. But yes, you will find a razor in my shower. This hippie doesn't go without personal hygiene, thank you.

And what's a week without some Little Man action?

And the proud-aunt-who-won't-get-to-meet-the-Little-Man-until-June has to boast somewhere. And it's my blog, and I'll Little Man drop if I want to.

I'm still thinking this is some severe ab workout/yoga pose that he's touting.

Umm, excuse me Sheriff...but I think the parents are the ones that should be tired.

And Mama Ging claims that this is the Little Man's best salute to Uncle Wookie, minus the inability of the fingers to straighten. I'm thinking he's up for some White Supremacy action. Or maybe some protesting pesticide use in Mexico and Canada. Or that his soy macchiatto wasn't up to par.

Slacking Ashley, Party of One

I didn't run tonight. I just didn't feel like it. Yes, it's a piss poor excuse to not get out and log miles. But I totally have great excuses lined up. Ready?

First up, I have a headache. Yes, it's only slight, but a headache is a headache. And if wives can use headaches as an excuse to not have sex with their husbands, I can so use it to get out of running.

Secondly, I have 2 "blemishes" residing as next-pore neighbors (clever, right?) on my face. Oh, joy. Exactly what I want. To revert back to adolescence and be forced to date retards who drive minivans with side paneling. And no, I didn't actually do that. They had real vehicles. Like trucks. That we went muddin' in. Yes, muddin'. Driving around, wasting gas, spraying mud, and hopefully not hitting trees. Obviously I've seen the light and now drive as minimally as possible.

Thirdly, my foot could use another rest day. Since the picture-age of the potential hallux valgus, I'm no longer quizzical in whether I'm getting a bunion or not. I AM. And I know it. It's now a larger bump. It'll make my whimper at work when I'm up and moving for most of the day (so I totally look forward to accounting projects and more desk work). I'm just not moved yet to purchase one of those ri-DIC-ulous "toe-straightener-outter" foot braces. This is NOT Romy & Michelle's High School Reunion.

Fourthly, I'll totally hit up the gym tomorrow. Will I though? Well, it's a 50/50 shot. Mr. Wookie will definitely be out of town, and I'm not the biggest fan of going out to Snappers alone. There's just something about being seen as single, in a bar, with no one to talk to, that makes males think I'm something to entertain/talk to/annoy/try and talk home. No, no, no, and no. But back on topic, the gym does close at 9pm and I'm off at 5:30pm. Totally time to go treadmill/elliptical/Lance Armstrong-action it up.

Fifthly, my new magazine is totally calling my name. Yes, a lame excuse. I agree. But still, it's In Style with Anne Hathaway. And I need to go shopping for work clothes, so what's a better way to plan my attack on the mall for this weekend than research. There, you have it, it's reading for my education. Not vapid, shallow entertainment.

And how could I forget No. 6. I have an in-grown armpit hair. Yes. There. It's wonderful! But in all seriousness, it's pretty lame/retarded/not wanted/but thankfully not painful. It's about the size of a pea or a hazelnut. And I've tried squeezing the crap outta it, but to no avail. I definitely need my Mommy Monkey here. She picks everything. I swear, you have a scab somewhere...she'll vulture in and attack it until it's gone. Who cares if you're bleeding out 4 pints of blood afterwards. She got her target. Mission accomplished.

And yes, I've asked Mr. Wookie to pick my armpit. But I didn't tell him it was my armpit. Either way, he said 'no.' He's not into causing me pain. As cute as it is, I wouldn't call squeezing the daylights outta one hair follicle as pain. I'd say it's relief.

Oh, Beautiful...Sucky...Morning

First I wake up at 4:something by flailing in the middle of the night and knocking my phone off the side table. Then I proceed to wake up at 5:00am and 5:30am, until my alarm allows me the justification to get up at 6:00am.

So my sleep has been trumpled upon by big, wallowy sleep-deprived elephants. Superb.

Then I stroll downstairs, load up a bowl of Cheerios, but then smell the milk.

"Umm, Wook, is this still good?"

Sniff. Sniff-sniff. Sniiiiiiiiff. "Nope."

Shit. What the hell do I make for breakfast now?

Yes, we have eggs, and bacon, and pancakes, and everything that could constitute a nice weekend breakfast. But on a work day, I only allot time to eat cereal. Not to flip omelets with shrooms, peppers, olives, and cheese.

And now I'm here blogging about it, eating up more of my morning time. So while I should be getting out of the shower now and working on my hairs, instead I'm continuing my bitch-train this morning about how I couldn't have my Gold Standard and had to make oatmeal instead.

Hopefully I can get to the grocery store this evening, after my hairdid appt, but before Zumba to rectify this situation. I can't wait to see how else today will not go my way. Yay me.

Maybe getting shit on by a newborn isn't such a bad thing after all.

Words From The Sheriff: The Sheriff's Fireside Chats

"Not my 1st rodeo, folks. But all you greenhorns out there be careful with babies going commando." - Sheriff

Only my dad can mix parenting advice to sound like it's Mike Rowe voicing over Deadliest Catch. But let's not go there. That's still a sore subject in our family. Then again, thank goodness it wasn't my Time Bandit boys. Or the Hansens for Mommy McD's sake.

So yes, the Sheriff is a professional in the children category. What quantifies a "professional?" Well, he survived raising 1 boy (Brother) and 3 girls (this blogger, Middle Sister, and Baby Sister) through commando, diapers, sports, high school, and almost all of us through college. No suspensions, no fights, no graffiti, or dropping out. Just a fair share of sports, music recitals, and Nutcracker performances.

And let's not forget the Mama Ging. The woman packed a mean lunch. All the way until I graduated high school. Tried to teach me how to drive a manual transmission (but all I did was make Middle Sister and Baby Sister cry for their lives in the backseat). Don't worry, that issue has been rectified as I'm the proud owner of a stick-shift. And did my laundry too. Till I moved out to college. Now you know why my transition to adulthood has suffered. It's called "Awesome Parents Syndrome."

Check it.

We've Got a Mess on Aisle 9 - Woops

Along with the Little Man being on a boat-ton of antibiotics, he's developed a little diaper rash also. So they're letting the Little Man air it out.

So he did. Along with some bowel. And the Sheriff doesn't bat an eye. Professional.

Thank Goodness I Grew Up Baptist

I fail at this only-for-Lent Catholic business. So many rules, so little time frame to actually apply them.

I was on board to give up my clothes dryer for Lent. Some people give up iPods (lame), some give up alcohol (not as lame as an iPod, but still...no chance to agree to that one), I figured I'd at least go hippie and give up the huge drain on electricity. But then I failed to notice the giant heap of dirty clothes that was hidden beneath the bathroom sink and in the closet. In their respective clothes hampers/boxes, people. So that shit lasted for...umm...about 6 days and some change.

Some wanna-be Catholic I am.

So while I've only started on my first load of laundry, the whole no-using-the-dryer-for-Lent is out the window. Good thing the window isn't judging.

The Woes of Sports Bra Shopping

It started with Champion USA having an uber-awesome sale on their sports bras. Score. And because of the back-to-back weeks of the long runs reeking havoc on my skin because of some over-their-final-use date of old sports bras, I was desperate for new gear. If not for my sanity's sake, my skin's sake. Because chaffing burns. Like a bitch.

So thanks to ChampionUSA.com's fun little feature of "Bra Finder," they narrowed down which bras meet the "Maximum Support" and my lovely little size.

There's only 1 bra as an option, so I throw it into my shopping cart. Round it out with 2 different running capris to try and I've qualified for Free Shipping. Come to MAMA!!

Wait. Wait. Wait. Wait. Wait.

But in severe anticipation of needing new bras before Sunday's 8 miles, we hit up the running store (Running, Etc.). Wook claims he was talked into new running shoes. Truth be, he'd been berated for wearing his sneakers for long past their death date. Turns out that we're meant to be together. We each use something until it's beyond an advisable state. Yay us.

Anyways, I was excited. SUPER excited. They had each Moving Comfort bra I contemplated purchasing earlier in the week via online, but was secretly hoping that Running, Etc. (the running store) would have them instead. SHWING! They did. So I start grabbing sizes, colors, and heading for the fitting rooms. Okay, well instead, I waited for forever for the 1 fitting room to become available. Small store, small needs.

I get in and start trying them on. Then there's the inevitable bounce test. Jump. Jump. Jump. Wiggle. Wiggle. Jump. Super jump. Obviously, if I'm going to be running, I need to make sure that I don't give myself a black eye, or crack someone's windshield while I'm crossing the street.

I'm not in love at all. The 2 bras that I was soooo sure would work out are failing miserable. No support. No support. Flail. Flop. Flubber. Thank goodness I didn't buy these online. Moving Comfort: FAIL. But there was 1. Just 1, that had potential. And it's new, therefore not online, otherwise I'd totally give you a picture. But it was too small in the boob-age compartment. So I go to the lady worker.

Worker: "Can I help you?"

Me: "Yes, I need this is a bigger size. I looked for it, but there isn't one."

Worker: "And what size are you looking for? I can check in the back."

Me: "A 32DD."

Worker: Choking on air.

Yes, lady, I realize I have some cans. Believe me, this is not the first time I've ever hit a roadblock in my bra shopping experience. Some call it a blessing, I call it life. Not that I'm jealous of those who don't even have to wear Band-Aids for a sports bra, but it'd be nice to have the little-rib'd-naturally-big-boob'd people represented. I think I'll look for that in my next politician.

So she calls the sister store that's in the town over.

Worker: "I need a bra check. Yes, it's Moving Comfort, (item number, color) 32DD."

Listen lady, no need to be embarrassed. They're not your boobs, they're mine. And that fact that I've taken up this little exercise known as running, knowing full-well the difficulty it will be strap down 2 nuclear weapons, means I've come to deal with it. I have boobs. And it's not like I paid for them, so there's no reason to whisper like I had Dr. 90210 fix me up.

Survey says: FAIL.

Then today, I check the mail. CHAMPION DELIVERY! CHAMPION DELIVERY!

First thing's first...strapping on the only chance Champion had of helping me out. And it had a great price tag of $24.99 (sale). But would that come back to haunt me?

Kicker: It's a racer back with a 3-hook rib strap. See. In other words, very hard to get the shoulder into the racer back, then get it down over the boobs, then lock 'n load in. I have to do rain dances just to get in and out of the bloody thing. Not sure about this one.

But what should Dillard's have, even though it has a pricey $62 tag. This baby...

Obviously, NOT me. That's more pigment than my whole family combined.

But now I'm disappointed because it says it's only a Medium Support sports bra. But we'll see. I did talk the Bra Lady to let me return it if things don't work out. Because really, who ever thought that bounce testing in a fitting room will ensure great results? Not this blogger.

So on the schedule for today. 8 miles. Broken into 2 halves, though. We're testing equipment out here, people. I don't want to be locked into 8 miles and hate my life because I have 2 black eyes and under-boob chaffing that looks like Gorbachev's head. Work with me, here. Please.

Little Man's Jail Break!

Pack your bags, Little Man, you're heading home to Hollywood. Okay, well it's actually known as Medford, but you're a little celebrity already.

Pack your sunglasses, because flashbulbs will pop when you roll into town.

So What Do Vegans Eat For Breakfast?

Just a note I pondered, while relaxing on the couch, getting ready to hit up the running store for new sports bras (there's this wonderful thing called under-boob chafing, and it's so great - I kid, but more on that later).

Man, I could use a killer omele... Nope. Omg, it's French Toast Sund... Nope. I'm dying for a bowl of Cheerios and cold cow's mil... Nope.

Thank goodness I eat animals. Because otherwise I'd starve. And speaking of starving, I may be roommate-less next weekend. But I'll save the surprise for then. You'll love it.

Holy Hallux Valgus?!?!

Calling Future Nurse Middle Sister, come in Future Nurse Middle Sister...

Take a look at my left toe (right side of the picture) - is it just me or is my toe moseying a bit too close to Toe #2?? Or is this pain I'm imagining? And if this is what your feet feel like, I'm so sorry! That's annoying twinge.

Yes, these are some ugly, veiny feet. Well for your information, you judgmental hooligans!, this picture was take post-Zumba. Thank you very much. What did you do last night? Hah!

I LOVE Technologically Able Men!

Thank you Collin, of the Futon & Breakfast clan of Corvallis, for your wisdom.

Enjoy a 1:00 minute video of the Little Man taking in his surroundings. And, yes, Mama Ging loves being a Grandma. You can hear it. ;)

Maybe Tomorrow Blogger Will Work

I meant to post an adorable video of the Little Man in action, but Blogger failed to upload it after 2 tries. And there's only so much I can do before I have to call it a night because I am a working body from Monday thru Friday. So maybe Blogger will work with me tomorrow.

So until then, a picture of the sleeping gentlemen. Ryan #2 and Ryan #3.

All of this Little Man lovin' is making me jealous.

Dear East Coast,

This is not working with my family's reproductive schedule. I'm not meeting the Little Man and probably won't until June because then it'll coincide with taking time off and traveling back to Oregon for Middle Sister's graduation. Then there's that whole taking 2-weeks off in July for England which somehow that kinda kills most of my time off. Boo.

So Baby Sister commented that once Little Man is home from the NICU, we should have a big family Skypefest. I agree. But I'm still working out how get the Brady Bunch boxes on my screen. Any ideas? Insight? And how cute do they look? I got my picture of Uncle Dane. Now just waiting on a picture of the happy parents.