2. For me, sleep deprivation = aphasia. In other words: Cat bicycle pineapple. And I get punchy. My co-worker -- who is also sleep deprived, we've been comparing war stories -- and I have had some interesting conversations today as a consequence.
3. And when punchy, let's share pictures! This is me and Julie at Portland Rock 'n Roll: the before shot.
4. This is my parent's new puppy happily settled in on top of their lab.
5. My mom and I have decided the puppy is the devil. It's the green eyes. In this shot, she's clearly thinking about ripping my throat out as I sleep. But I never got to sleep while she was in the house, and so foiled her evil puppy plan.
6. Okay, some times she's really sweet. When she's not escaping from the yard. Her name is Molly but we may re-name her Houdini. Or Steve McQueen.
7. This is their lab, begging me with her eyes to
Rebel Rebel, you tore your dress.
Rebel Rebel, your face is a mess.
Rebel Rebel, how could they know?
Hot dog, I love you so!
8. My parents have two horses. This is Chance. Although we put his hay well inside his stall for his meals, he prefers to dine al fresco and so carries his hay outside to eat.
9. And this is Jet. Or as I like to call him, that mother fucking horse that bolted out of the pasture when I was trying to carry the puppy out of the pasture and so I had to chase him around the mother fucking yard for an hour and a half in the hot sun. Yes,
10. We round out the ranch mix with three cats. Gizmo lives in the big house but due to puppy interference I didn't get any shots of her on this trip. Out in the bar we have Honey and Clover. Although I can never remember which is which and so I have now re-dubbed them Pudge and Fluffy the Finger Slayer. Can you guess which one is which?
11. Both barn kitties always put their paws up whenever I see them like Pudge is doing. Like they're demonstrating the petting process, in case we've forgotten between trips to the bar. Fluffy the Finger Slayer is so (now) named because when I pet her she starts chewing on my fingers. Like the petting provokes such ecstasy that she must chew on a couple of pink finger sausages. If I keep petting her normally, she'll chew on them where it's more like gumming them. If I stop petting her, then she chomps down.
12. I came home to this pretty mister hanging out on my neighbor's deck a couple of weeks ago. We have no idea how he came to be there, or to where he went when he departed.
13. This is my swag haul from Portland Rock 'n Roll. Yes, this is why you didn't get a lot of stuff at the expo. You're welcome. Seriously though, I learned you need to come early and have a partner who can block and distract the vendors. Even more seriously, if you're tempted to bitch at me for grabbing all this crap, remember that for every ten races I've run, only one of those has food and what have you still left over by the time I've finished. I've done races where I have heard tales of magical treats. Fuck if I ever even saw their remnants, much less had the chance to get one myself. Eugene Marathon where "every finisher gets a post-race massage"? Amend that to "every finisher gets a post-race massage, unless you finished less than 45 minutes after the course closed then you're out of luck." Hell, I've been actually out on courses where they ran out of stuff during the damn race. Apparently Portland Marathon had pretzels. I knew only because I crushed their bits into the ground as I ran by. Last year's Shamrock 15K? Ran out of cups at a water stop. The year before that? Ran out of finisher's medals. How the hell does that happen?
And if you're still really really really upset about this, I'll send you a pair of sunglasses. Because why did I get three pairs?