chips, children, and chaffing.

My utmost of unconventional Thanksgivings feels decades ago. My brother was released from the hospital Thursday morning and low and behold the 'rents forgot a change of clothes for him. You'd think they'd have that one down by now, considering Patric has had about 15 surgeries throughout his 20 years. Way to go padres.

Buddo, my hero.

So we escape the hospital around noon on Thursday with my brother in a disposable scrubby kind of shirt, three day old basketball shorts, and dirty red hospital socks (the kind with the grippies on both top and bottom because of their precariousness). After a struggle to get the shirt over his giant and wounded head, we roll out (literally. via wheelchair). It's time to go gather our Thanksgiving feast. We had been anticipating another mid-day Taco Bell run so the fridge is bare.

We leave the store with chips. Lots of chips. 4 bags worth. Along with the fixin's for spinach and artichoke dip. And can't forget the brick of Velveeta. As we are throwing items in the cart, Patric keeps rattling off new ideas. Buffalo wings. Patty melts. Cinnamon rolls. All the while traipsing around in his red grippy socks. The hospital food must not have been doin' it for him.

So our Thanksgiving dinner consisted of about 3 1/2 pounds of chips and cheese. Delicioso.

Friday leaves nothing to report aside from the chastisement I received from a stranger on the drive back to Santa Barbara. I was texting while driving, I know, I suck. But you do it too, don't ya? Anyway, I'm driving along and I get flashed from behind (with lights, not boobs). I think to myself, hmm, I wonder why he's flashing me. Do I have a brake light out? I'm driving as fast as traffic, so it can't be that he wants me to get out of the way, but after the second flash I get over to let him pass. As he drives by me the person in the passenger seat mimics a frantic text messaging gesture. Busted. I laughed and proceeded to finish my text message (kidding. I threw my phone in the passenger seat feeling like a dog with his nose in the puddle he just peed on the floor).

Saturday I got the good fortune of babysitting for my favorite family. Five year old Hanna and two year old Dominic never fail to make me laugh. This time Hanna had me rolling because Dom was sleeping half the time I was there. We had some Nick Jr. show on in the background while we were playing with baby dolls and stuffed kittens and other girlie toys, when Hanna makes a notable comment. She looks at the TV and says, "That is a really awkward rainbow." I said, "what do you mean?" Because I clearly wanted to know if she even knew what the word awkward meant. She proceeded to tell me "Well that rainbow only has red, yellow, green, and blue. Umm, there's no orange or purple. So awkward." I died. Her tone of voice and nonchalance about the whole matter was hysterical. She then proceeded to moon me. Yes, a five year old girl mooned me. Several times. Until I nearly had to restrain her to keep her from doing it again. She thought it was the funniest thing in the whole world. Probably because I was laughing too.

About to strike again. 

Sunday I ran a trail marathon that was fierce and almost killed me. I can honestly say it was the hardest thing I've ever done in my life. And I've done some hard things. Like training a hermit crab to come when I whistle. And weaving a basket from palm fronds. And ensuring the safety and well-being of 22 Indian first graders with a language barrier 8 miles high. This race even trumps that time Jami told me I had to only choose 20 of my favorite books when I was being evacuated from my house due to a vicious fire. Yeah, instead of helping me shovel 'em into my trunk she sat on my bed and made me choose 20. Anyway, back to the race. I think there was something like 8,000 feet of elevation gain and the terrain was pretty technical and treacherous. I consumed probably 87 pringles, 8 liters of water, 4 lifesavers, 3 power bars, 2 paper cups of soda, 1 energy gel and a time capsule in a eucalyptus tree. Ok, I didn't consume the time capsule, but it flowed with the days of Christmas jingle. I just heard a story about the time capsule. I didn't even get to see it. I was too tired to climb and retrieve it from the hole in the branch where it lives. My gal pal Ashlee conned me into this nasty race, and when I say conned, I mean she posted a facebook status about it months ago, and I proceeded to register immediately. When I showed up at 5:45 the morning of the race, I immediately felt like a childish trail running rookie. These were veteran ultra-runners. Luis Escobar is the race director. He's a legend. If you've read the book Born to Run, you know who he is. Caballo Blanco's dog was there. This is not a rookie race. Follow the pink ribbons Luis says. And your time is not official until you take a shot of Fireball whiskey at the finish. He goes on to rattle off the comparisons between this race and the Western States 100. Yeah. All the while the butterflies are freaking out in my stomach. I think I just threw one up. I turn to Ashlee, "we're doin' it girl. We're really doin' it."

We drive to the start of the marathon course where we are de-briefed again about the intensity of this course, and strongly urged to back out if we're not prepared. Ashlee and I look at each other. "we're doin' it Ashlee. We're really doin' it."

Clearly before the race has begun.

So we start. About half a mile in I start walking. Well hiking. Briskly. There's no way I'm gonna waste myself on this mountain at the beginning when I've got a whole marathon to finish. That mountain was 5 miles long. 

Made it to the top with a smile and a handful of pringles.

Now the descent. My favorite part. I had just eaten 37 pringles, downed a cup of coke, and popped a jolly rancher. I'm ready to rock. I fly down the mountain and end up in the enchanted forest. Seriously magical. 

I am most alive in these moments.

As I get farther down, it gets cooler and wetter and far more colorful. It's actually Fall in this one little nook of Santa Barbara. My city doesn't display seasons very well. We've pretty much got a balmy summer going on all year. But in this place there are picturesque leaves coating the ground, babbling brooks, and the scent of recent rain. 

And then I'm smacked upside the head with more mountain. Up, down, and around we go. Hiking, walking, running, yogging. We reach the half-marathon point and give a whoop. And then realize we're only half way done. Half. We're deflated. Exhausted. My calves have started cramping. These are the same cramps I get at the very end of marathons, not in the very middle. I'm worried. But there is no alternative. We have to finish. It's not like I have a private helicopter awaiting my urgent call for retrieval. So we keep on keepin' on. We make it to the second aid station. Mile 15. There are only two aid stations in this whole marathon. I'm used to aid stations at every mile. I feast on pringles. I seriously can't get enough of them. Homeboy in the American flag itty-bitty running shorts fills my camelbak with ice water while Whiskey Jerry is passed out in the insta-chair under the ez-up. There's a bottle of Jameson sitting next to the pringles. I'm tempted. 

We're off again. 11 long miles to the finish. We're wasted. And not the drunk kind. About mile 17 I start shuffling along because I'm desperately trying to avoid my calves seizing up. My shuffling leads to tripping on a rock and falling on my ass. My calf immediately seizes up. Crisis un-averted that time.

I get up and we move on. I've got seizing calves and Ashlee's got serious psoas, glute, IT band issues. On we go. Mile 20 marks the arrival of the infamous "Nash." This man is Ashlee's boss at the running company she works for. He's got wispy gray hair and bright red shorty shorts on. He's probably about 65 and he's fresh and ready to rock. We, however, are not. He tried to crack the whip to no avail. We're done. No amount of pep talk is gonna add any sort of clip to our gait. We're hiking. To the finish. I am so weary and delirious I have to stop and bend over repeatedly, hands on my knees, deep guttural breathing. Ashlee has resorted to these little yips of pain as she trudges along. 

We get to the RV park where the race finishes and we're taunted by the sight of rows upon rows of RVs, and then the trail takes us back into the hillside. Those sadistic assholes. We've still got another mile to go.

And then there it is. The most anti-climactic finish ever. A small room with a few benches and a giant digital clock. There's my shot of Fireball waiting though. I take it and ring the cow bell. Official time is recorded as 6:54 and some change. That's 6 hours, not to be confused with 6 minutes. You crazy.

It burns so good.

We did it. It is finished. Time to eat. I have a confession. I grubbed on a big meaty burger after the race. My bowels were very angry with that decision. But in that moment, it was a most wondrous choice. 

Red Rock Endurance Run, I have conquered you, you nasty beast. Now on to the next adventure. Considering the Avalon 50 on Catalina...too soon?

pocketful of thanks.

It's Thanksgiving and my brother is in the hospital.

In the midst of trying times, I am reminded just how much I really have to be thankful for.

No, I'm not thankful for the bitchy secretary behind the counter in the ICU who told us we couldn't have more than two visitors in Patric's room, but I am thankful I got to overhear my pops put her in her place while dropping a few expletives in the process. Johnny's bravery and belligerence together make for a great show.

No, I'm not thankful for the deflated demeanor of my little brother and his exasperation with this whole situation, but I am thankful that he still cracks jokes in spite of it all. Patric's strength and resilience baffle me, humble me, grow me into a more patient and appreciative spirit.

No, I'm definitely not thankful for the dirty Taco Bell we keep shoveling down our throats in lieu of hospital cafeteria food, but I am definitely thankful that I didn't crack my hubcap when I ran into that drive thru curb on the way to get those tacos.

Of course I'm not very thankful for the empty bed I'm sleeping in while I'm home because it's Patric's and I wish he was there snoring and farting beside me, but I am so thankful for neurosurgeons that can cut open brains and make things ok, at least momentarily.

I don't know why we decided as a country that we can only be thankful for things during this one particular time of the year. Or why we decided it's so necessary to become overwhelmingly gluttonous as we belch out our thanks in gurgley turkey breath garble while we rub our bellies and fall into food comas. But we do. And we will.

The house is quiet tonight. Thanksgiving eve. I've got the Solo Piano Pandora station on and although there's not a fire on the hearth, I'm pretending.

I am thankful for this family that birthed me from their Jesus loving loins just over a decade ago. They've been thrashed by medical emergencies and financial hardships but their unwavering faith and unending love win out repeatedly. No words could stack themselves up tall enough to ever amount to how grateful I am for this beautiful perfect wondrous family that calls me their own.

Jami. Johnny. Kristina. And Patric. I am so thankful for you. Everyday of my life.

online dating and cats.

Hmm..it's pretty interesting that I unknowingly foresaw my own future two blogs ago. My silly stab at an online dating profile became a reality just over a week ago. Ok, no, those exact words didn't make the cut, but I was coerced into joining Match.com last last Saturday. Clearly there was a lot of wine and peer pressure involved, because I've never seriously considered online dating. Ever. I do have friends that have met and married and are happy, so it works. But I just never thought I would ever do it myself. Which is what they all say, right?

So I created the free profile. Well Genna did actually, under my wobbly wine-o guidance. But obviously the free membership is quite limited. All you can do is look at boyz and 'wink' at them. Creepy. And quite hysterical. So here I am winking at boys for the rest of the night, and getting winked at too, mind you. And I had no intention of purchasing a subscription, untill...

The next morning I received an email...that I couldn't read unless I subscribed. Those assholes. Of course they're brilliant in their marketing schemes. I went back and forth for over an hour, looking at that little orange '1' in the corner signifying the one boy who was interested enough to write instead of just wink. I should stop calling them boys, because they're men. My search bracket is 26-35.

Well, I pulled some hair out and took the plunge. Purchased a 3 month subscription. And I love it! It's hysterical and wonderful and soooo entertaining. Not only is it an ego boost, I mean I get like 20 winks a day from overweight forty-year-old men. Come on. But I can narrow or broaden my search to find whatever sort of man I want. It's seriously like online shopping. Perhaps it's sick and twisted, but for right now, I'm having a good time. I've been on one date thus far and it was wonderful. He asked for a second date, and I obliged. So we shall see where it goes.

In other news, my grandma is, slowly but surely, becoming an old cat lady. Like the epitome. She had 2 and 1 died...RIP Spaz..

So then she had 1, but now all of a sudden, she has 3...and they own her. I went to visit yesterday and I got there in the middle of the night...because I was coming from a wedding (which I will share about in a moment). When I walked in at 11:30, there was a new orange one that I had never seen. As I was midnight-snacking in the kitchen, the red-headed step-child of a cat fully hopped up onto the kitchen counter. I couldn't even believe it. I shoved him off and he looked at me as if I was crazy because he clearly owns this house and does whatever the hell he wants. The next morning, I awoke to my grandma chastising me for stealing the affection of her Kingston (the ugly orange cat). She proceeded to tell me how he normally sleeps with her in her bed, but that this particular night he chose to sleep at my feet on the futon. Not my deal. I kicked him off three times before I fell asleep. Kingston must have a dose of Stockholm Syndrome.

She continues to gloat over her 'kitties' for the next 15 minutes while they literally drape themselves over her furniture preening and licking incessantly. I was so grossed out as she kept telling me to look at her pretty Kingston. Come on. You named him Kingston?! Have you bought him a pedestal yet?! 

My grandma is officially a cat lady. But she has a cell phone now and is learning how to text. So that's cool. She told me yesterday that she got one because I never call her back. She figured texting was her only means of communicating with me. Guilt trip central. She's also battling a late in life crisis (it can't be considered mid-life since she's 70-something right?) She's desperately trying to be young and hip, and it's cute, but the cats are killing the image G-ma. She bought Michael Kors frames for her glasses and has an extensive array of large flashy earrings. And now a cell phone. You go Grandma. You go girl. Just no more cats ok?

Saturday I got the pleasure of baby-sitting a nine month old for a wedding in Ojai. The baby and both of his parents were in the ceremony. So I was just the hand-off person for when he couldn't hang with the festivities. Little did I know that the groom of the wedding would be the director of Zombieland, the bride Emma Stone's publicist, and the officiant, Emma f'ing Stone. Hysterical. She tried to hide her face with her dress as she walked by me the first time. Good try Emma. I see you. Her boo Andrew Garfield was there. The teen wolf look isn't really workin' for him. Sofia Vergara was there too. And a myriad of other exceptionally wealthy people. Good times. I love my life.

I haven't been on a worthy run since my last marathon and I have another marathon in two weeks. I have one foot in the marathon kiddie pool and one foot out. I don't know if I'll get all the way in and run the thing. It's a gnarley mountainous trail marathon, and I've never taken a DNF (Did Not Finish). I don't know if my ego could handle it. This particular race is November 25th...I have yet another marathon scheduled 6 days later in San Francisco. Can you say over-zealous. Good Lord, what was I thinking? 

Yes, I'm a nut.

And that's all I've got for you today. Sorry for the lack of photos.