A (potential) wardrobe malfunction

Sadly, not what you may have in mind. This one's a bit more innocuous.

The first Sox game is tonight. Even though I harbor a love for the O's that, at times, rivals Jimmy Fallon's in Fever Pitch (the love for the Sox, not the one for Drew Barrymore), I can't help cheering for the Red Sox in the post-season. I'd like to blame Johnny Damon's super-hot ass, but I really thing the fault lies with Ron Goldstein and that Roger Clemens game freshman year.

But yeah, back to the wardrobe issue.

See, some friends and I are going out tonight to cheer on the team at a supposedly Boston-friendly bar (we'll see how this goes). I have a cute hat. It's from Cheers, so it fits the whole Boston thing. The only problem is that it's pink, and the Sox colors (blue and duh, red), if I chose to wear them, would completely clash. It's rather unfortunate.

If I didn't wear the hat, I may face the wrath of the monsoon outside.

Either way, I'll look like a doofus. But would I rather look like a doofus who got caught in a rainstorm or a doofus who doesn't know how to match her clothing?

It's all very confusing.

Blasts from the past

When most people take a look at their college graduation photos, it's with a wistful eye and a longing for a fleeting youth.

I, on the other hand, wonder where the hell the baby I was so-obviously carrying in those photos is.

My friends look freaking awesome and still do. I'm glad I finally discovered the gym.

I recently found (re-found, actually) , some rolls of film that I hadn't had developed since I moved to Baltimore. On a whim, and because I was bound and determined to do it before the photos were completely lost, I developed three of them. Oddly enough, I learned that unlike most women who find themselves pushing thirty wishing for the "killer bod" they had in high school and college, I wouldn't trade the body I have now for anything. All right, I may give up something (leg, ear, probably-not-arm, etc.) for George Clooney's body, but that's a totally other thing. :)

I may decide to share them with the masses, but not yet. I'm still pretty embarrassed. For right now, they're just a reminder of good times, fleeting youth, and the fact that I'm healthier at 29 than I ever was in college.

Whose @#$#%@ Idea Was This?

Actual sign worn on a woman's shirt on Saturday. The woman running with her had a sign that read: It was YOUR'S, Mom!

Some of you guys got text messages from me on Saturday claiming that I finished the Baltimore Half Marathon in 2:50:40. If you didn’t, I’m sorry, the phone was dying a slow and agonizing death. Kinda like me at that very moment. ;)

Turns out that my time was based on the clock that I passed as I went wheezing and hacking (though still running) my way into M&T Bank Stadium. What I didn’t take into consideration, however, was that it took 2 minutes (we started and stopped a few times because, well, I don’t know why) to get to the “official” starting line from where I was standing (without my iPod b/c I followed the rules – still bitter) when the bell went off. Soooo, my OFFICIAL finishing time shaved two minutes off of that.

2:48:40

Is it great? Not really. I’m in the 39% of my age group, and I don’t think they offer an ISAT curve. However, I did finish before the VT/Duke game reached the end of the first quarter. Small victories, right?

A few observations:

• Apparently it’s ok to take candy from strangers when you’re running along a marathon course – though, had I looked at the girl with the Swedish Fish, I would have realized I actually knew her. Dude with the gummy bears, not so much.
• According to the guys with the beer shots, you’re allowed to drink before the 3 mile mark (where the half- and full marathons merge). I passed, but major props on the idea.
• When you know you’re not going to win, it’s more fun to run in costume…Elvis, the New Jersey Light House, a few Miller Light Cans, a couple of guys in kilts, an old guy in a powder blue tuxedo, and a juggler made for interesting watching. Any chance someone out there knows where I can get a Duke Dog costume for next year?
• I am more than willing to jog through parts of Baltimore that I would NEVER dare to drive through without the doors locked, the windows rolled up, and a can of mace in the glove box – provided I have 15,000 people with me for backup.
• Funeral processions and marathons do not mix – we won.
• “It’s all downhill from here” is not any sort of encouragement unless it’s true. If you’re yelling it on Mile 11 and you’re standing in front of a hill, do not be surprised when 30 participants “miss” your extended high five and get your face instead.
• Skinny courses – though flat – around a lake and BANANAS (whole) do not mix. I’ve seen enough Marx Bros. movies to tell you how this was going to end.
• When a pregnant woman (due in 6 weeks!) beats you to the half-way point, it’s time to rethink your training strategy.
• If my friend Jen and I were antelopes and there was a lion on the course looking for dinner, Jen would escape with absolutely no problem. I, on the other hand, am best served with cranberry sauce and a nice Pino Grigio.

Officially, I'm hooked. The Frederick Half-Marathon is on May 4 (more than six months away!), and it's only $40 to sign up before New Year's Eve. Who's with me?

Shut up and drive

To the woman who was at the red light outside of the Superfresh about 4:30 this afternoon, let's go over a few basics...

1. This is a STOP SIGN. When you see it, you DO NOT MOVE YOUR BIG-ASS CAR!!
2. This is a WALK SIGN. When you see it, and me, you DO NOT MOVE YOUR BIG-ASS CAR!!
3. This is a CELL PHONE. If you ever move your big-ass car while talking on it and ignoring both the previous two signs to the point where I scream like a fucking banshee and slam both my hands on the big ass car that is rapidly approaching me, I assure you that I WILL rip it out of your hands, call the police to report an attempted murder and then shove it up your ass.

And no, when I am screaming like a fucking banshee because your GMC truck has almost run me over, the little smile and wave doesn't work. You roll your window down and actually apologize for being a dumbass who thinks their phone conversation is more important than actually watching out for someone who's trying to walk.

Voldemort was not a math major

So yesterday, I submitted my resignation to the dating-site-which-shall-not-be-named (but not the one of the religious freaks who reject people for no good reason. I'm not saying for certain it's the other one, but yeah, it totally is).

Not that there was anything wrong, per se, with the dating site in question. It's just that it seemed to me that I'd go out with men from that dating site, and then almost immediately meet a perfectly wonderful guy in the next bar or restaurant I'd walk into. He wouldn't on Voldematch, but we'd still end up hitting it off much, much better than the person to whom I had been introduced via the dating site.

Probably not what they had in mind with their "six month guarantee."

Either way, since things have been going so well in the real world, and I've been extremely busy, I waited until yesterday to actually submit my resignation. The "confirmation message" read something like....

"Thank you for submitting your resignation to Voldematch. Over the next 181 days, please take advantage of our site to think about what you've done because, obviously, meeting men in the real world isn't something we prefer you to do. You should continue to use our site. In fact, we'll help you out with that. We'll charge you for the next six months even though you have like 15 hours left on your current subscription.

Obviously, italics added for translation of actual message.

Still, it made me wonder. It was the last day of my subscription, but why, if they were claiming that I had at least 181 days left were they charging me for the 180 day subscription. Sure it was Sunday, but they weren't going to renew on the previous business day, were they?

One quick check of my bank account revealed they were. Great....

Since I couldn't do anything about it yesterday, I waited until I got home from work to take care of the "problem." I'm pretty sure it didn't help that I had this total idiot calling me every five minutes at work until I finally snatched the project away from her. Yet, I digress. Twenty minutes of searching on Voldematch revealed absolutely nothing regarding a phone number. Google helped, but since it also revealed about 10,000 messages on a BBB site about how horrible the site-which-will-not-be-named is about Customer Service, I was feeling discouraged.

Still, I figured I'd give it a shot. Using my best Southern accent (hoping to speak to a guy, I'll admit, plus, I was calling Texas), I called the Customer Service line, obviously staffed by the twin sister of the woman who called me every five minutes at work today. I explained my math and my position, and she informed me that she'd be happy to refund me a partial refund of $66.

"Sixty-six bucks?" I exclaimed. "But my card was charged, illegally I might add, since 180 days is less than the number given to me when I resigned, over 100!!

"Well, um," the tech-from-hell said. "That's all I'm authorized to do."

"Ok, well, I've met someone offline," I stammer. Here I go, explaining my dating life to someone who really has no business hearing about it. "But let's just say that it doesn't go well (kiss of death = me asking him to teach me to drive stick). How much access to the site would the $40 get me?"

"Oh, we'll shut down your access today," she replies.

If anyone out there doesn't see the problem, I believe that positions are available in the Dallas-Fort Worth area. I was dumbfounded. Again, I explained my logic to her...how, when I cancelled, the confirmation message clearly stated 181 days; how six-months is 180 days; how I'm not going to be using the site; how $40 a day is more than most hookers on Hollywood Boulevard who don't resemble Julia Roberts make; how occasionally hookers that do resemble Julia Roberts find love and they don't need a dating site to do it.

Not that I necessarily resemble Julia Roberts, but I look a lot more like her than your average crack-whore on The Block. I'm just saying.

It was just after the hooker reference when the tech-from-hell announced that she was going to "see what she could do." I was then put on hold for not one, but two full Journey songs. Apparently, Steve Perry is big down in DFW.

Then, Leslie/Jennifer (I still never quite got her name) got on the phone. Leslie/Jennifer announced herself as a supervisor and explained that the tech-from-hell had explained the "entire situation," (no word on whether or not the tech-from-hell actually included the hooker references) and that the company was willing to refund the entire $100 on a "one-time-only basis." Apparently, I had used logic which was inarguable. Well, either that or they were eager to get rid of me since my choice of feminist love heroines was, at best, questionable.

As of 3:30 this afternoon, I will no longer receive emails from uneducated men with 5 kids, 2 ex-wives, and about 15 years on me. Plus, I will get a full refund. Things are looking up.