Awkwardly Social

Solutions are being formed.
My housing situation is being figured out.
My driver’s license is still missing.
I have decided to stop trying to control things I have no control over.
Sort of.
According to Weboggle, I’m an idiot.
But honestly, who knew ‘lin’ was a word?

If you don’t know me, you don’t know this about me. I am really hard to get a hold of. I hate the telephone with the burning rage I normally reserve for poor customer service and, ironically, people who don’t return my phone calls.

Right now I’m trying to get a hold of my father. He lives on the internet 8 hours a day. But those eight hours are spent watching the various stock market tickers. It seems that unless I actually call my grandma’s house (which I can’t do because I can’t talk to my Grandma right now) or somehow get the stock market to spell out “Call Tamara and leave a message about the Camp Verde PO Box,” I’m fucked.

So buy some stocks today - specifically those with the above letters. And Dad, e-mail me back.

I totally just nerd baited myself. I was looking at this Star Wars site where they compare the original films with the Special Edition and DVD releases. I got to the sound portion and the guy uses the word “echo.” And in my head I said, “It’s called ‘reverb’.” That’s when I realized that I was nerdier than the Star Wars nerd.

The Pottery Barn catalogue came last night. I looked at the overpriced furniture and bedding with more than a little longing. But when I put that furniture and bedding in my apartment (in my mind) I always see it with all my scraps of paper, used dishes, dust, mismatched books, and dead flowers on it. The magazine pages are remarkably free of clutter. I just don’t live like that. Apparently that means I can’t spend $579 on a pair of night stands. Fine, Universe, I get it. Message received.

I’ve been looking through childhood pictures of me, partly because my mom keeps sending them and partly because I’m working on a new project, and while I see the family resemblance physically, I don’t see the clutter in the back ground. Maybe because they were all taken around holidays? Mom hid the clutter?

All I can think about is the clutter and how it’s totally fucking up the Feng Shui of my apartment. Making me unproductive. I might need an intervention. This weekend might be a clean up the apartment weekend. An out with the old weekend. A scraps of paper weekend.

I have two days to talk myself out of it.

My anxiety is wreaking havoc with my sleep schedule. In essence, I now know what it feels like to be an 80 year old woman. I think in large part this has to do with the crazy decrease in running, my impending ‘cycle’ and the move of death.

I can now pinpoint the reason for my constant malaise and ill humor during the late 90’s and early 2000’s. I moved 8 times in roughly 7 years. A move a year is one too many. I cannot handle the stress of looking for a new place, thinking about my credit report and boxing up my possessions. The last part is usually the most difficult, which, considering my credit report… should be really surprising to you. I hate the fact that I am an incurable pack rat, that I have an intense need to keep every slip of paper ever mailed to me, that when I buy something - I save the receipt for decades. It’s so dumb. I even bought a book called, “How to Be Organized In Spite of Yourself.” It didn’t take. Top all this off with the fact that I lost my wallet and my Arizona Driver’s License was in it, and I have no idea if the DMV is actually going to send me a new one to my address in Los Angeles…

I realize this is all very whiny and I should just suck it up and deal, but for the life of me, all I can do is go home, turn on the TiVo and watch Top Chef, Wildfire, and Beautiful People, and that stresses me out because I should be writing my screen play so that one day I will achieve the level of fame and recognition I deserve. (that last part was me joking around)

I haven’t seen myself like this since grad school ended and I had no way to make money. At that point I surfed the internet all day, and beat myself up for not doing an internship that would give me the ’skills’ needed to do a job that I could do with my eyes closed (answer phones and get coffee orders correct). Here’s where the music gets really sad and I curl up in bed and try to figure out why Daphne Zuniga has the same hair she had 10 years ago on Melrose Place.

I’m waiting for my operating instructions, Universe. Give me a damned sign.

I’m not sure who invented the Bloody Mary, and then took it one step further and decided it was the perfect accompaniment for Sunday Brunch, but damn… they owe me a liver.

Let’s all be glad for a moment that I no longer feel required to worship on Sunday mornings, and that the run I did before brunch was only 2 miles, because it really has opened up a big slot for drinking. The big slot being my mouth. Or a time period not to exceed 10:30 to 2:30.

It seems if I want to ensure a healthy liver for the rest of my life I’m going to have to run and train for marathons. Forever.

I’m so stressed out right now. Trying to find a new place to live always has me worked up for largely no reason. It’s not like the universe is going to leave me homeless. Just, maybe, I don’t know, stuck in the goddamned Valley. Once you move to the Valley, you never come back. And that’s just something I’m not ready for. Until maybe, come April 28th, when I don’t have any place to live but a lovely 2 bedroom in Northridge.

Excuse me while I go throw up.

I’ve learned that when someone asks if you want the regular or ‘grande’ sized margarita, always go for grande. Always. Which is exactly what I did last night. I was warned not to go to Acapulco, told to go to Casita del Campo or El Conquistador, but I knew I just wanted to walk in and be seated without any parking hooha or booth/table drama. So we went to Acapulco.

Looking over the rim of my grande house margarita (rocks with salt) at my adorable boyfriend, listening to him giggle about the flamboyant presentation of the menu… so worth not getting a great meal.

I can’t wait for May when green corn tamale season at El Cholo begins. Best Mexican food in LA can be found at the location on Western. The Westwood location… seems a little chainy for my taste.

Today has been an continous onslaught of inefficiency masked as ‘customer service,’ starting with the SBC Farm team I like to call the “We Repeat everything you say. Twice. And we sound suspiciously like we’re in India though they have given us names like Ray and Selma to hide the fact that we actually ARE in India, Customer Service Department of SBC.” I swear. To. GOD. If I could physically crawl through a phone line and get to whatever location these persistantly polite ‘customer service’ reps are located, even if it took me three days to do it… I totally would.

I have very little patience for ‘repeaters.’ Strike that. I have very little patience. Today it was stretched to the limit and broken. All my patience for the rest of the year was used up in the span of 45 minutes. Gone. I’m out. Don’t cross me. At least until I get the Dot.

PS - To the writers of Lost. Your show bites ass.

Apparently the only thing holding me together and keeping me from sleeping 12 out of 24 hours per day (that number would be higher, but I have this thing I like to do called ‘make money’) was the 8-12 hours a week I spent running. Now I’m getting close to being full fledged crazy again. I lay in bed anxiously checking off things that I’m supposed to be doing but haven’t done, and then instead of getting up and doing them, I think about more things that I’m also supposed to be doing. ‘Overwhelmed’ doesn’t really even scratch the surface of what I feel every damned morning and night.

So, I guess I’ll have to take up some kind of activity for the rest of my life. Just saying those words makes me want to crawl into bed and sleep. Activity for the rest of my life… (Now I’m hearing the Imperial March. Ugh.) Tennis anyone? Is tennis fun?

The full marathon post will be up later today over at the other blog.

The night before:
Apparently there is much debate about whether or not an athlete should carb load before a big event. My bible (which I followed religiously) told me I should carb up all week, and if I felt like I hadn’t eaten enough carbs that on the night before I should eat a particularly carby meal. Since I feel like I could never eat “enough carbs” I decided to go for a nice Italian meal. I wanted to go early (6pm is early meal time in LA, for some people it’s even considered a late lunch…) and was unpleasantly surprised by the shit-tastic service we got from a normally delicious and low key restaurant. It probably didn’t help that I had been sitting in the auto shop all day with my car, so waiting an hour and fifteen minutes for food was not on my ‘things to do’ list. I’ve crossed that restaurant off my list. Il Capricio - if you were wondering.

The morning of:
I woke up at 3:45AM and kind of tossed and turned until 5:30AM. I was fretting about what to wear, if I should eat, was I going to have to go number 2 during the course, etc, etc. Finally I got dressed and Louie came to pick me up. He dealt with my nerves and my non-specific directions as best as he could. I am a trial.

The Line Up:
I met Eric, Dave, Karma and Joe at the corner of 4th and Fig, which was a block away from the start line. It was freezing. I was wearing shorts. Goose bumps and white legs. Sexy.

Eric gave me some pointers and tips and before too long we heard the gun and Randy Newman’s “I Love LA” playing, and we were off. Sort of. The start line is packed about a block and a half deep, so we walked until we crossed the actual start line and then Eric and Dave took off, and Karma and I puttered along.

Mile 1 through 6:
It is an amazing thing running with 25,000 strangers. You can only hear their footsteps and clothing and see the mass of heads bumping along in front of you. I did my best not to over run the first six miles, just took it slow and hydrated at every water stop. Karma had to pee at about mile 3 or 4, so I was alone running along, and at mile 6 I decided I need to pee to. I lost about 5 to 7 minutes in line for the portapotty, but wasn’t about to drop trou like the crazy people and pee beside a building. When I started back up again, I picked my pace up a bit, but not too much, I wanted to make up time, but I wasn’t terribly worried about it.

Mile 6 through 13.2:
People were out everywhere cheering for the runners, calling out the names they could read on people’s bibs, banging pots together. I started using my iPod around here, just to pass the time. I could have done it with out, but I figured since I was carrying it, I might as well listen to it. In two places “Eye of the Tiger” which is on my iPod was being played live, but the “On Course Entertainment.” I expected to feel really tired at the half way mark, but the only thing I felt was a little mental twinge. I was tired, but the mental image of doing what I had just run, except with more hills, made me a little… weary. I used the techniques my training bible taught me and that went away pretty quickly. At some point Karma reappeared, and we ran together for a while. I slowed down a bit and she kept going. Around here I took 2 more Advil and got drank/ate a Cliff Shot (the Vanilla flavor is delicious.)

Mile 13 through 19:
There were a few small hills to contend with, but nothing like what I had been training on, so that was a total relief. In fact, if anyone wants to train in Los Angeles for the marathon, I highly recommend Los Feliz/Silverlake/Echo Park. Our hills are killer. We started moving through neighborhoods I’m very familiar with on this part of the course, because of my commute to and from work, so that was nice. Running up Wilshire Blvd, there was a big cold wind blowing right in your face, then it would switch and be at your back, I almost put my wind breaker back on, but before too long we were on 6th Street and the wind was gone. At mile 18 they had a “Salonpas” pain relief station, where they sprayed some kind of Ben Gay type solution on your legs. It might be a pure placebo effect, but it felt great. Then I got just passed mile 19 and a group of my friends were there cheering me on. I was so happy to see them. Louie took a few photos.

Mile 20 through 26:
Wow. This is a blur for me because as they say, the last six miles are the last half of the marathon. You know you can finish, you just don’t know how. I saw a man in the middle of the street, he had collapsed and a couple of people were trying to help him. I’m not sure if he was one of the two people that died. I kept going. I walked a few times in this last six just to give my knees some relief. I was also getting worried about my left foot. I was experiencing some numbness in the pad and two of my toes. At mile 26, Karma and I reconnected and I started to push pretty hard.

Mile 26.2:
There is no way for me to describe running up Flower seeing the finish line, knowing that the past sixteen weeks had led up to this one moment. I crossed. I got a little choked up. They took off my timing chip and I half limped to get my medal. I kind of had to lean down because the woman was so short. It felt heavy around my neck. I had finished it.

Post Marathon:
After the medal you run the gauntlet of water, gatorade, shiny blankets, cliff bars and I devoured one and a half. (Which is probably why I got a little sick when we got to the car.) Louie was there with flowers and I was ready to start planning my next one.

I can’t believe how awesome it feels to do this. I love it and will do it again.