Workin ‘for the Weekend

I have been counting down the days — and now hours — until this weekend ever since Monday morning. It’s going to be epic.

Tonight is Nathan’s Birthday Attempt No.2, in which I try for the second year in a row to take him to a Minnesota Wild game. Last year, he got snowed in and, not wanting good tickets to go to waste, I took my friend Amy, instead. It was hella fun and all, but I felt badly for Nathan; the tickets were his present, after all. Anyway, we’re trying it again this year and, not to jinx it, but things are really shaping up. The weather is great, he’s leaving early to avoid rush hour traffic, and then this — the fact that tonight’s game will make or break the Wild’s playoff status.

I can work a room with the best of ‘em.

Saturday night is my Rotary club’s annual fundraising gala, Comedy for Caring. The words “Rotary fundraiser” don’t normal equate to “A Great Time,” but this one’s different. For the third year in a row, we’ve hired The Second City comedy troupe to come in for a night of improv. Plus, free appetizers, a cash bar, a silent auction and all the glad-handing a girl can handle! It’ll be great!

But the fun doesn’t end there — Sunday, Adam is taking me away for a mini casino adventure. Needing a day off from work but not having enough PTO or cash to make it to Vegas, he decided to book an overnight stay in a jacuzzi suite of a Minnesota casino. Buffet meals, Pai Gow and indoor smoking? Yes, please. I can’t wait. (And yes, I will thoroughly rinse the jacuzzi before setting foot in it.)

And then, this: Adam also just informed me that he bought two tickets to a Huey Lewis and the News concert on my birthday, also at a local casino. Spending my 31st birthday with my husband, sipping watered-down cocktails and half-ironically rocking to hits like Power of Love  and Hip to Be Square? Yep. That is exactly where I want to be.

I’m not positive this weekend could get any better, guys. (I’m totally knocking on wood as I type that.)

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You’re the best! Around! Nothin’s ever gonna bring you down!

(I realize the song in my subject line is from Karate Kid, not Rocky, but it’s stuck in my head so deal with it.)

I know you’re all dying from suspense, so let me go ahead and inform you that not only did I follow through with months of training and weeks of planning and actually ran the 10-mile race last Saturday, I ran it pretty well: my time of 1:43:48 is an average of just slightly above 10-minute miles, which was my dream goal. The snow and wind and below-freezing temps fought me–and Jesus, don’t get me started on the hills!–but I fought back. I didn’t stop to walk until mile 7.5, and even then, only in two short bursts while climbing hills.

But better than my satisfaction in achieving this goal was the fact that my friend, Amy, ran a great 5k that morning and was waiting for me at the finish line with her husband and Adam, who was smiling harder than I’ve seen him smile in years.

Best yet was later that night, they all escorted me to a surprise dinner in my honor. A group of my closest friends helped me celebrate completion of a goal that even two years ago seemed impossible. I literally slid to the floor when I walked into the restaurant and realized that I knew everyone in the entire room. And then I proceeded to get properly drunk.

For many people, running 10 contiguous miles is not that big of a deal, but for me, it’s something I can lean on when my self-confidence takes a beating (as it so often does, more than it should), a little thing onto which I can anchor when I feel pushed around. It is undeniable proof of strength, which I can use to refute my biggest critic: myself.

Now, if everyone would stop asking me to run a half-marathon, life would be damn near perfect.

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Back where you belong

Ladies and gentlemen, a triumphant return:

My darling friends Amy and Adrian, outside whose house I lost my wedding ring in early February during an ill-advised, late-night dare, have kept their eyes open for weeks, assuming it was tantalizingly close to their back door, buried under the snow. It was, and after a warm few days late last week, the sparkler revealed herself to Amy Saturday afternoon, lying outside their neighbor’s patio door. I could not hug her hard enough when she presented it to me less than an hour later. (Suspiciously, I was already planning on visiting her house that day, the first time I’d been back since losing the ring. It’s like it was meant to be.) She admitted they’d been casually hunting for it all month. “I’m glad I’m the one who found it,” she said with a smile. I am, too.

I cannot tell you how comforting it is to have it back, my beautiful ring,  just in time for Adam and my golden anniversary on the 7th!  And how oddly awesome to have lost it in a localized area right outside my bff’s house; even though it was lost, knowing that it was so close to people who love me was incredibly reassuring. Also reassuring was the unwavering faith of Adam, Amy and Adrian that we would find it eventually. Life hands you lemons sometimes; it’s nice to be friends with people who know the recipe for kick-ass lemonade.

Now — what to do with that insurance check we already received? MWAHAHAHAHAHAHA.

(Just kidding, American Family! We’ll send it back!)

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Open your eyes

It’s not what was said, it was who said it.

“I can’t do lunch that day — I’m giving blood.”

Coming from anyone else, that statement would’ve elicited a smile and a high-five from me. But coming from Adam, the boy who notoriously resisted my requests to donate blood for nearly 12 years just because he “doesn’t like the idea of it,” the statement actually, literally, stopped me in my tracks.

“Didn’t you… just donate?” I asked.

“Yeah, but I asked them to schedule me the first day I’m eligible next.” He said it so casually. “I mean, I’m giving for two now.”

He’d mentioned it in an email a few week prior, but I’d ignored it because we were fighting at the time: because I am ineligible to donate blood until June 2013, Adam decided that he will donate as much as he can until then. Knowing how important it is to me, he’s put aside his discomfort and taken my place. He isn’t doing it because it makes him feel righteous, nor because it helps innocent hospital patients–those are both really good reasons–Adam sheds his own blood simply to make me happy.

It is a powerful expression, one that is not lost on me.

And the more I’ve started looking for it, the more I’ve understood how people around me are constantly doing things for me. Taking care of me, paying tribute to me, doing little things to make my life easier. (What’s that stupid hippie saying? “If you want something, put it out into the universe and the universe will answer”?)

A few weeks ago, apropos of nothing, a friend I haven’t seen in years sent me a darling pug salt-and-pepper shaker set out of the blue, for no other reason than that she found it online and it made her think of me.

Monday, I emailed a friend a simple message that I half-expected to go ignored:  “I miss you — when are you coming to see me?” He responded with, “I miss you, too. Let’s hang out this weekend. Can you come Friday?”

Notice what she wrote on the first bag!

Responding to this blog post about my difficulty finding whole-bean espresso, my best friend from high school mailed me two pounds of Starbucks beans yesterday with the note, “No one deserves bad coffee.”The gift is all the more generous when you know that she’s currently pregnant with her fourth child and doesn’t have a ton of time to package and ship things halfway across the country.

Out of the blue last night, another friend texted me: “When does Philly go in tomorrow?” she asked, referring to Phil’s tooth extraction surgery I’d mentioned once, briefly, days before. “I will be thinking of you guys!!!!!!” she wrote. That she remembered my dog’s impending surgery was heart-warming.

It’s sometimes very tempting for me to go all pity-party on myself, but lately, that’s been wonderfully difficult.

I don’t believe the secret to life is just wanting something badly enough — I’m not naive. But I do believe that a lot of the time, we are too close to things to really see their true value, and it’s easy to take something for granted when you don’t see it. I don’t want to do that anymore. I don’t want to be blind to the really beautiful people and things around me. It’s ridiculous how difficult it is for me to admit, but there are good people out there who truly care about me and want me to be happy–maybe it’s time I listen to them and start actively wanting the same thing.

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A study in social anxiety and intense malaise

Ever have those days where you really, desperately, near-violently need someone to hug you or compliment you or otherwise make you feel like you’re not a socially-retarded asshat who insults everyone and does everything wrong and has no redeeming qualities?

But no matter how many people you email or text message or otherwise reach out to for said support, every one of them ignores you, either on purpose or as a consequence of their busy schedules?

And you start to suspect that you really are a socially-retarded asshat whom everyone not-so-secretly hates because why else would they all be avoiding you?

So you slowly spiral deeper down into self-loathing until you can barely contain the overwhelming urge to speed home, pull the quilt over your head and cry yourself to sleep?

Yeah, happy Friday, everyone.

Courtesy of error- on Deviantart.com.

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