More excuses...

Sorry, these past two posts have been so long (and far between). The Gretchen story was so funny and such a good time, it deserved to be told in full, so that explains the length. As far as time between: We've been on a well deserved vacation. Now back to your regularly scheduled programing.

Gretchen's Bachelorette Party

Part Two: Why I’d Choose The Imel Girls To Be Stranded On A Desert Island With

The dawn broke on early Saturday morning, and the happy single-hood celebrators were up shortly thereafter. We had set an early alarm, so that we could tackle the car issue and get on the river ASAP. We didn’t really know what we had in store for us, and we didn’t want to waste the day working on the car with no time left for our intended purpose: canoeing! So we put on long pants, long sleeves, hats, closed toe shoes, and everything else we could find to fend of the Ticks. First stop: gas station to purchase some bug spray. Next stop: the cabin. After pretty much bathing in the bug spray, we delved into the woods to see exactly what we were in for. I have to say it looked pretty grim. To my inexperienced eye, I thought the car was pretty much a goner. Had it been me, I would have walked away and pretended that car never existed. (“Where’d the Saab go? What Saab? The one you left town in. I have no recollection of the car you speak of”). But there was no way the Imel girls were accepting defeat.

First we tried pushing. Nada. Nothing. Zip. Buppkiss. It didn’t even move enough to squish one of the millions of ticks that were probably swarming around us, wondering what that nasty taste on our skin was (DIE SUCKER DIE!).

Missy tries her hand at pushing.

Then we tried packing dry leaves and sticks around the tires, to give traction. Yup, still nothing. I was beginning to lose what little hope I had been clinging to. We discussed our options. Call a tow truck. This was tempting, but I don’t think I was the only one who cringed at the thought of receiving a lecture, or disapproving glare from whomever came to our ‘rescue.’ There is nothing more infuriating than being in a pickle, and having to endure a lecture from someone on the various ways you could have avoided it. HELP ME OR DON’T. BUT FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, SHUT THE HELL UP! Any option short of taking care of it ourselves, was not appealing to the group at large.

We devise a plan

So instead, a plan was hatched: use the jack from inside the car, to raise the car, and place the planks of wood we had gathered from the cabin underneath. It sounded good, and most importantly it saved us from the aforementioned lecture. So first the left side. We hadn’t lost hope that the plan was a good one, but it was immediately clear that there would be more sweat and elbow grease involved than I had anticipated. For starters, the ground was so damp that the jack initially just sunk into the ground without budging the car. We solved this with a piece of wood under the jack, which seemed to work. The jack was almost impossible to crank. Let me rephrase: the jack was impossible for ME to crank.

I try cranking, with no success.

Gretchen Missy and Sarah made it look like stirring a milkshake with a knife. Slightly depressing, but I got over it. The car got up in the air, the planks were placed beneath, the car was lowered, and it was immediately clear that we were geniuses. There was no WAY this wouldn’t work. All we had to do was crank up the other side and canoeing here we come!

We knew from the get go that the right side was going to be tougher. Unfortunately jacking up the left side first drove the right side even further into the Oklahoma mud. So far in, in fact, that there was no clearance under the car to place the jack. Lesser women (ahem, me) might have given up here, or cried, or both.

But the Imel’s would have none of that. I’m putting this next part in caps because if you weren’t there you can’t understand the importance of this: Instead of giving up, MISSY AND GRETCHEN BEGAN DIGGING IN THE MUD TO FIT THE JACK. THE MUD. DIGGING. WITH THEIR HANDS. TICKS AND OTHER CRITTERS BURIED DOWN THERE, BE DAMNED. I’M NOT LYING HERE PEOPLE. I stood in awe. Never again would I doubt the power of a determined person to achieve what they want. We had a place to be, and they weren’t going to let a little mud stand in the way of our good time. They were a total inspiration. Now, I know what you’re thinking. “give me a break. They dug a car out, big deal” Trust me. It was. You weren’t there. You don’t know. So you’ll have to take my word for it. What made it truly impressive was the fact that everyone had such a good attitude. It was unreal. Stick a bunch of men in the same situation and they might have got it done, but they would have been complaining the whole time. If a stranger was to have walked by, they never would have assumed the seriousness of our problem because we were laughing most of the time. Our plan worked. The car was out. We cheered, high-fived and then went on to canoe as if nothing had happened. For the Imel girls it was just another day. This is why, if you are ever stuck on a desert island, I HIGHLY recommend the Imel girls as your companions. Not only do you increase your chances of getting off the island 10 fold, but I’m pretty sure you'd arrive home with a smile!

Gretchen's Bachelorette Party

Part One: “Not the tattoo, THE TICK”

To be honest, when Gretchen told me we’d be spending her bachelorette party canoeing, I was a bit hesitant. After all, Gretchen and her sisters are exceedingly athletic, and I’m well…not. When Gretchen told me to bring jeans because the cabin we’d be staying in was “rustic” and she feared I would “catch a tick” my hesitation turned into full-blown panic. TICKS?! You could not pick something I feared more without actually witnessing all my childhood nightmares. I won’t go into details, but I spent a miserable summer after an unfortunate run in with a lost tick head, an incompetent doctor, and no anesthetic. But I pushed this anxiety aside. After all this was Gretchen. And the party was supposed to be about her, not my semi-irrational fears.

I flew into OKC, rather uneventfully. Got to say hello to the entire Imel clan, and headed out to Tahlequah (our canoeing destination) in surprisingly efficient time. Accompanying us in the car were Missy (Imel sister #1) and Sarah (Gretchen’s soon to be sister in law). We had a great time on the drive down chitchatting, with a pleasant mixture of catching up and getting to know one another. Even a mysterious phone call from Laura (Imel sister #2) had no effect on our mood (obviously I wasn’t a part of the conversation, but here is how it went in my head):

Laura: where are you guys
Missy: just made the turn off
Laura: I’m standing by the road…hurry
Missy: what’s up?
Laura: never in my life will I be so happy to see you, as I will tonight
Missy: huh?
Laura: JUST HURRY!

There Laura was. Standing by the side of the road. Two flashlights. Pink cowboy hat. Vaguely panicked look on her face. It was such a strange site; we actually passed her assuming it was a mannequin. Did I mention she’s pregnant? It didn’t take long for us to get caught up to speed. Issue one: the key she had did not seem to work in the cabin locks. Issue two was described thusly:

That (pointing to a break in the trees to our left) is the road to the cabin. That (pointing to an identical break in the trees to our right) is the telephone pole ravine. That (again gesturing to the break on the right) is where my car is. Stuck. Badly.

Problem is, Laura had unpacked the car, and carried everything down to the cabin when she got her car stuck. It wasn’t until then that she realized the key to the cabin didn’t work in what you would call ‘the traditional sense of a key.’ That is to say: it didn’t open the door. We double-checked and Laura’s assessment of the situation was correct. We were screwed.

Yup. No dice.

It was then we made an executive decision. HELLLOOOOOO HOLIDAY INN! We reversed the direction of stuff to the cabin and all climbed into Gretchen’s car. We would leave Laura’s car for the morning when we could get a better idea of what we were dealing with. We checked into the Holiday Inn back in Tahlequah, and I was thinking I had really caught a break. That was until we started decorating the room for the bachelorette celebration. Gretchen was hiding in the bathroom, while the sisters Imel decorated the room, as they had intended to decorate the ‘rustic’ cabin. It was then that I felt it. There on the small of my back, a small ‘mole’ that had never been the before. I had the sinking sensation this wasn’t a mole after all. “Missy, what is this?” I ask. Ok, total lie. I think it went more like this: “OH MY GOSH WHAT IS THIS? OH MY GOSH OH MY GOSH OH MY GOSH OH MY GOOOOOOOOOOOOSHH!” To which Missy responded: “A tattoo?” Well, it turns out that just north of my tattoo was in fact a tick. After summoning Gretchen from the bathroom (“GRETTTTTCCHEEEEEENNNNNN HELPPPPPP MEEEEEEEEEE”), Gretchen and Dr. Laura teamed up to remove the offending parasite from my backside. I don’t care if Laura says they don’t teach that stuff in Medical School, I think she did a bang up job of getting rid of the little sucker. Oh and the 5 that had taken up residence on her own belly! We then proceeded to drink wine, open presents, gossip and have a great night. Yes we found a few more ticks, but we were having so much fun we hardly noticed! See the progress I made? I looked my fear of ticks straight in the eye, and said “you don’t scare me you little bloodsucking wretches.” Well, to be honest I had a slight relapse when finding one on my hand and flinging it across the room instead of calmly walking to the bathroom to kill it. Unfortunately this resulted in a sleepless night as Missy and I both had images of it finding us in the night and chowing down on us. But seriously, I think I made progress on my phobia. Seriously. And ticks or no ticks, I counted the first day as a total success on the fun front.

Stay tuned for Part Two: Why I’d Chose the Imel Girls To Be Stranded On A Desert Island With

A Mother's Day List

Happy Mother's Day to all the Half Street reader Mom's out there. Life is pretty easy when you’ve got a lady like my Mom in your corner. So in honor of her, here is a list of 10 cool things I learned from my Mom. Its not a complete list, that could never be assembled, but it’s a start.

10. the pleasure of a good book
9. how to protect your family from people who don’t have their best interests at heart
8. the power of practical knowledge
7. how to be a loyal friend
6. the joys of seeing the world
5. the satisfaction of making the best chocolate turtles in the world
4. to hold on to things that were cherished by people you love
3. the necessity of surrounding yourself with good people
2. the value of a good reputation
1. to never be embarrassed to tell someone that you love them

I love you Mom!

Neglect

I know, I know. So before you even say anything mom, I know I'm doing a lousy job of blogging this week. I'm going away this weekend, and when I get back I promise to resume my verbose ways. In case it makes it any better. My week was pretty boring, so it's not like you missed much. Off to canoe it up, or whatever you do in Oklahoma with a bunch of girls!

Fitness Fashion

I've been a bit worried that I haven't had any inspiration for a new post. So I went on a training walk yesterday hoping that all that time by myself would help me find some subject matter. Did it ever. For starters I figured I could talk about my training. It has been going pretty well. You can see the aggressive training schedule that is set forth by the 3-Day staff. Needless to say, I'm lucky if I can sniff the weekly mileage totals. To this end, I'm adding a running total of miles walked each week to the blog. That way you guys can keep me honest as I fall behind. But be kind. When was the last time you walked 44 miles in a week? I'm also adding my running total of money raised so that you guys can keep track of my progress.

I've also found a cool new tool to help those of you who care about these things: http://www.gmap-pedometer.com/ It utilizes the cool Google mapping function to let you draw specific running/walking paths and chart your progress. Just type a starting point in the "jump to" box, then click "start recording". You can then double click on the map along your exercise routes to see exactly how far your going (or need to go in my case). It maps 'as the crow flies', so if you're on a curvy road, you'll have to click around a lot to get an accurate measure. I've used it a lot so far, and find it SUPER helpful. The route I walk is a 3 mile track, and its been helpful to see mileage based on where I park, and see where to turn around to make it a 4 or 5 mile walk.

Finally can I just rant about something? As someone who has always abhorred working out, I guess I've never understood the concept of the work-out place as a meet/meat market. Even in my single days, I never felt inclined to talk to a stranger while sweating my butt off. Apparently I'm in the minority. Taking a quick look around the area where I do my training walks is enough to tell you that these people are not dressing for comfort. Seriously. Note to the pretty-20-something-girl that runs at 5:45 each night: You have a nice body. And if the pace you are keeping in the oppressive 90 degree 100+ humidity that is Houston in May (yes, people May) tells us anything, you clearly work quite hard for it. Regardless. I have no interest in seeing the portion of your bum that can be seen in those shorts with the -1" inseam. Have some regard for those of us that are stuck behind you for 3 miles, and aren't interested in asking for your number. I have no where else to avert my eyes, and there is only so much distraction my I-Pod can give me. Thank You.

The Little Alien Who Sold Me A Flashlight

I have always willingly admitted that I’m susceptible to the powers of good marketing. Anyone that has received a Christmas gift from me knows that if there is ANY good press about any item at that time, you’re likely to find it under the tree from Santa Posey. Hand cranked radios featured in a cnn.com article on the ‘must have gifts of the year’? I’ll take two. Tripod flashlights hawked by amusing aliens? Sure, why not. (you know you love it Lawrence) On the other hand, I had no idea just how much power ads had over me till I was home sick yesterday. When the Half Street care taker came home from work and asked what his sickly girlfriend wanted for dinner, she quickly responded “The new Brooklyn Style pizza from Domino’s and the new Strawberry Sundae from Dairy Queen.” Could it have anything to do with the 20 commercials I saw during the day while watching Ellen, Oprah, and some terrible movie about Marilyn Monroe with that girl from Without a Trace? NO! My taste buds are independent thinkers, free from the pull of evil advertising executives! They came to that combination on their own. Right.

Final verdict? Brooklyn style pizza was good, especially dug the extra large pepperoni. The sundae from DQ was a total let down, mainly because my local DQ hadn’t gotten it yet. Devastating. I had to settle for a regular chocolate dipped sundae, while Lawrence opted for the Brownie Blaster Sundae. By the way, the close (10 minutes ROUND TRIP) proximity of DQ to our house has been the single largest contributing factor to the collective Half Street waistline. At first I thought it should be consideration for an increase in property value, but I’m beginning to rethink it.