just being miley.

I started doing puzzles again. Yeah, boring old lady jigsaw puzzles. For whatever reason I really enjoy them. But only in certain pockets of life. I go through waves so to speak. The past week I've been gnawing away at one called "Country Quilters." Good Lord, I'm 26 going on 62. I bought a pool table this week though. So I'm still young and hip right? That's not a replacement hip either. Yet.

I have a marathon in 2 weeks. My hamstrings are cringing in anticipation. I'm not even kidding. I can barely touch my toes. They've curled up into little balls, hiding away from the nutrageous beating I'm about to subject them too. I just made a candy bar into an adjective. Whatever happened to those anyway? Loved that peanut butter peanutty goodness.

I went to a pumpkin patch yesterday. I've never been much into carving pumpkins but there's a corn maze there too. And I love a good bout of "feeling like a trapped rat" every once in awhile. Please, do enlighten me, why do we subject ourselves to such frustration and anxiety so willingly? Five seconds past the main entrance and I immediately start feeling claustrophobic. Myriads of teens and tweens running me over flashing their iPhone lights in my face, pausing to take pictures. #cornmaze #soscaredrightnow #getthefuckoutofmywaybeforeirunyouoverinmyclaustrophobicrage

Meanwhile the friend I brought along is having a dance party behind me flashing his four little finger lights. That sounded mildly inappropriate but these are what I'm talking about:

Their proper name is Laser Finger Beams. Pardon me. 

All the while, the dead ends are chipping away at my composure. Soon enough we realize that the maze is the exact same as last year and we're able to vaguely remember the general directions in which we should be heading. We only came to this realization after we hit the "long side hallway" (McKenna gave it a name when we happened upon it). 

We make it to the finish in exasperation and decide to peruse the pumpkins while we wait for the other two to make it out. I end up with a happy little family of three (a dad and his two adopted children)

and then we're back at the exit. Waiting. We look at each other and ask the question "How long is the socially appropriate amount of time you should wait at the end of a corn maze for the rest of your party to finish?" We decide 20 minutes is acceptable. I text Caitlin and tell her we made it out and we're waiting but we're starving. Hinting that we won't be waiting very long. I send another text telling her she'll know she's on the right path when she hits the "long side hallway." 

Just as we're about to leave we spot Caitlin at the entrance to the maze. Her and her boo have wandered around for 40 minutes and have ended up literally where they started. We overhear Caitlin begging the man at the entrance for a hint. You mean my long side hallway hint wasn't enough for you?! They must not have made it that far. After 30 seconds of really confusing directions from the 3 of us that made it out successfully, Caitlin and Miles decide to head back in for Round 2.

Meanwhile, Christian, McKenna and I head over to Rudy's for dinner. After about 45 minutes of being creeped out by the wooden doll makeup on the lesbian couple sitting in front of us, we head out. As I'm driving Christian home I get a text from Caitlin, "We literally just got out." We went in at 6:40. They didn't get out until 8:15. I think I would have curled up into a ball in one of those dead ends if it took me that long to get out. Too bad you can't just shoot up a flare and get heli-vaced out of there. They persevered though. Corn Maze - 0 Miles & Caitlin - 1. Congrats friends. That one goes in the scrapbooks for when you're 62 and need a break from the jigsaw puzzle.

In other news, I think I might be Miley Cyrus for Halloween. What's wrong with me? Why am I mildly obsessed with this naked writhing heathen. She licks hammers and lewdly rides wrecking balls. Why hasn't her tongue dried up and fallen off yet? For God's sake I can see your vagina through that weird Dodgers leotard you have on. Miley stop, you're embarrassing yourself. But you're like a damn train wreck car accident catastrophe that I can't stop watching!! So I think I'll just pretend to be you for a night and maybe then you'll be out of my system. 

A first grader in my ASES class was wearing a Hannah Montana shirt the other day. A 30 second montage of Miley's transgression into mainstream pornography flashed through my mind as I looked at this innocent little 6 year old with her childhood hero on her chest. You have no idea little one. Your ignorance is truly bliss.

Well I suppose I should head off in search of one of those foam fingers and start making my carpetty mouse-looking leotard. Another conundrum, how do I get all my hair into those two tiny balls on top of my head? And I need a more convincing grill than a piece of tin foil. Suggestions?