F*ck you, mother nature

Oh mother nature.  Sometimes I love you.  I love you in the summer, when it is 80 and sunny with a nice breeze.  I love you in the fall when the leaves change colors and the air is perfectly crisp.  I love you during a great thunder storm.

I hate you when it is April 1st, the robins and geese are back around, the snow is mostly gone, the temperatures have me aching for flip flops, and you go and open your fury on the north east.

What the what??

When I lived in Truckee last year, snow in April wasn't something for most people to complain about.  People loved that shit.  It meant more skiing! (Please sense my disdain for skiing right now.)  Last April, my loving friends and family (sarcasm) back east would call me in April and tell me "the crocuses are out!"  "We are having a BBQ!"  "It's an incredible 81 degrees out!"

Mr. G had to put me on suicide watch as I listened to these calls and looked out my window at this:

(yes, that is the house on the right with a path to the garage.)

Or as I drove by something like this:

(what, you haven't driven next to 3 stories of snow?)

So, we hit the road (at the end of May.  And it was still snowing).  "Back to VT!" said I, with visions of warm, normal springs in my mind.  And with the weather the last couple of weeks, I was convinced that we were in the clear and that by April 1st, Mr. G would be participating in the annual Burke Pond Skim in his shorts and not wearing a full on snow suit.

Until I woke up this morning and saw this:

Seriously?  10-14 inches at valley level?  More snow at higher elevation?

Fuck you, mother nature.  We are breaking up.

Cold and annoyed,

Granny

You say Potato, I say Pistachio

I love: pistachios

I hate: pistachios that will not open, regardless of how hard you pry with your fingernails, even if you suck and chew on them (and chip a tooth) to try to soften their shells, even if you try to hammer them out with a makeshift hammer (full water bottle) at your desk at work while looking a fool.

I had to throw away far too many unopenable little green nuts this morning and I am none to pleased about it.

Pretty Pissed,

Granny

How to Succeed in a 5K (without really trying)

The title of this post is a lie.  While I did run my 5K this weekend, and I did it in 31:52 (beating my personal best by 1 minute and 2 seconds, thankyouverymuch), I did in fact try.  Hard.

If I can run a 5K, anyone can.  Here, I will tell you my tips and tricks to surviving the 3.2 miles that I have now run 6 times.

• Do not look up.  Keep you head down.  Or at least do not look ahead of you very far.  You will only be discouraged by how far you still have to run.
• Pretend you are living in cave man times.  This is your mean of transportation.  Your body was literally meant to run.  Run to catch your dinner.  Or run away from being something else's dinner.  Either way, you ran.
• One foot in front of the other.  That's it.  That's all you have to do.
• Think about what else you could have been doing for 32 minutes.  Watch TV?  Read?  Go for a walk?  BORING.  Run, it's only for 32 minutes.
• Picture yourself crossing the finish line to something you love.  A pedicure (why yes, I treated myself to one after completing the race)?  A steak and a beer (check to both of those two)?  Throngs of screaming fans (I had my parents and in-laws as well as hot hip young cousin Katie there cheering me on, close enough)?  Run for a reason, even if it IS something to treat yourself to.
• Look at all of the people passing you, including the 78 year old man and his wife, and know that you.can.do.it!
• Sing to yourself "Running Against the Wind" and every other song played during Forest Gump's running scenes.

I completed my 5K in my own personal record time.  I did NOT run fast.  But I ran the entire thing.  No walking up the 4 different hills from the course.  No slowing down when I wanted to stop and get water.  "I just kept on runnin'" (Forest Gump).  I placed 439th out of 700.  

And I already signed up for a 4 mile run for June 19th.  

But lord have mercy, my shins hurt.

Love,

Bubbikins

Lawd have mercy

By now you have all heard quite a bit about my only friend and local cousin, the hot, hip, young Katie. 

If you do not believe that she is hot, hip and young, please see exhibit A:

oops, sorry to embarrass you, Katrina, I just can't handle your baby cuteness.

Ok, please REALLY refer to exhibit B:

here she is with her sister, my other hot, hip, young cousin, Hannah.

If Katie and I were not cousins I would hate her.  Not because she is a bad person, a right-wing conservative, a skank, or dumb (all things that I reject friends for), but because she is TOO PERFECT.

Is the photographic evidence of her beauty/body not enough to convince you?

The other day, as I was struggling through week 6 of my double dub diet eating 3 point oatmeal, Katie texted me that she was eating thin mints for breakfast.  And she is all of, what, a size 2 (at the most)?  Then the next day, she texted me again to tell me how good her lunch was--it was a bag of Cheetos.  The crunchy kind.  The kind I love but haven't had for 10 years due to the fact that my waist is already huge.

Oh, and she doesn't work out.

Further more, she is 2 years younger than me, but makes 20K more than me.  

She stays out way too late having a social life and shows up the next day in sweats and no makeup and looks at least 87 times better than I do all done up.

And lastly?  As I complained last night about menstrual cramps, I looked at her and said "god, cramps suck, right??"

Her response?  "I don't know, I don't get cramps.  I just get huge boobs."

Gerren immediately looked at me (whilst thinking to himself, "shoot, I married the wrong Pinkson") and said "why doesn't that happen to you?"

Love your less than perfect Granny

Of course

It's the final countdown, folks.  T minus 5 days until I run the 5K.  And I am in good shape for it.  I have been running and can comfortably (barely) run the required 5K PLUS some.  I have been looking forward to Saturday to prove to myself (and the world) that I can do this.  And I hope that this little road race propels me into the world of running.  Like I said, I really want to like running.  Either way, I have been pretty excited about this.

Until I checked the weather this morning.

From Tuesday until Friday of this week, it is supposed to be Sunny and near 50, if not warmer.  Sure, there is one day in the forecast with a little rain, but thats ok.  50 and sunny on Friday.  Perfect for my first 5k.

Oh wait.  What's that?  35 and snowing on Saturday?

Of course it is.

Fuck my life,
Bubbie

Happy Birthday, Mr. President

Today, as many of you may know, is Mr. G's birthday.  He is now 26, along with his cougar of a wife.  So today, in his honor, I will reflect on his many positive attributes and share them all with you.


Mr. G says the funniest things (please refer to previous blog entry).  


Mr. G looks dead sexy with his new haircut.  It should be noted that he does not look 26, but in fact looks 16, but still, super sexy none the less.


Mr. G can rock neon green ski pants and flannel like nobody else I know.


Mr. G can also rock the "I only shower once a week" look like a God.  Please note, darling husband, your cougar wife things you need to take a shower.  As good as you look all dirty and rugged, you do not smell so good.


Mr. G rarely wears matching socks, unless he is going skiing.


He can jam out like the nerdy white hippie he is to and bluegrass/Dead/hippie music.  And he does so with only embarrassing his wife 5% of the time.


He eats only junk and yet keeps his slim, sleek figure very well.  If any scientist/nutritionist want to figure out where all of that junk food is going, please email me.  We can arrange something.


He has an uncanny knowledge of old classic rock/country music.  


Yet he is a horrible singer.  (Sorry honey.  I love you, but don't quit your day job.)


Mr. G is the perfect combination of funny, sweet, smart, hard-working, dedicated, romantic, goofy, and just about any other positive descriptive word you can think of.  I love you, Mr. G.  And happy birthday.


But I am not the only fool on the planet who loves you.  No, I have been bombarded (except for your stoner friends who were too lazy to help a sister out) with nice things that people had to say about you.  Here are a select few that are blog appropriate.


Mr. Jonathan Herre says "I was there!  I was there, it was called 'the 80s...." (He also said you would know what that meant...)


"G-spot lifts his leg whenever he sings. it tugs at my heartstrings every time." Direct quote from none other than your dear friend Shawnna (and co-signed by Lauren).


A totally crazy, unknown person (I must denounce a connection to her due to what you are about to read) says "To the ass kicking foosball champion of Lake Tahoe (granted he was playing a 4 and 7 year old) but a champion nonetheless. I have one Birthday quote for you and being a married mom of two boys this is as dirty as I can get on a public forum.....

Work like you don't need the money,
Love like you've never been hurt,
Dance like no-one is watching,
Fuck like your being filmed,
And drink like a true Country Hick!!!"

Ok, that was my cousin Nicole.

Alison, of the famed Levittown, Pa, says "On Mr. G's birthday I'm going to buy a Miller High Life 40oz...and tip it for him. :) Even though I just met the Magical Mr. G I am amazed at the lack of food he eats, the amount of alcohol he can drink, his fabulous skiing skills. He loves the crap out of my good friend Shaun John and he is super awesome! Happy Birthday Buddy!! :) "

Here is a quote from our dear friend Uncs out in the Sunny San Francisco Bay: "Great. Guy:

Genuine. Gangster.hates Gapers. likes Garlic chips.has Gas. Good Genes. Genius. hates George bush. wife makes him watch Glee. Gifted skier.built like a Gladiator.likes plaid Glasses. always a Good time.likes Grape jelly. married to a Granny. GNARLY! Happy B Day G-Diddy."

"Here's to Mr G...my kindergarten crush. Gerren is my favorite and most hypocritical food eater of all times - his picky butt chooses confetti cake, cereal and brownies for dinner yet teases me nonstop for my war with potatoes! Wishing him a deliciously healthy birthday dinner filled with lots and lots of green veggies that scare him ;)" Again, direct quote from Ms. Allison Cutting, all the way from Asia.

Stephen wants you to know "you are a great friend for helping my naked ass off the toilet for the summer bash in high school!  There it is-- Funny at the expense of my dignity!  The future Governor of Texas just said thank you for putting my naked, drunk ass to bed!  Love you Bro!  Always will!"

"Mr. G is the sweetest, skinniest, best ski teacher and man ever. today i raise a PBR in honor of his skinny ass" Curtesy of Lia Dangelico, esquire

Of course, my dear, sweet cousin Kimmi only had nice things to say, and we will end on her message to Mr. G: "Tell Mr. G, I love having him in the family and wish him a great year ahead (and a job that brings him back out to Tahoe so I can have you both back here! :-) Corbin loves him too!" 


So, my darling, 26 year old hubby, here is to you, on your birthday.  Though we have 1 friend in the entire upper valley (Katie Rae), you have friends all over the globe that love you and wish you a happy, fantastic birthday.  Looking forward to BK Lounge in your honor tonight.

why don't you go kill an elk while you're at it

Mr. G was recently reminded of the South Park episode about Priuses that reduced the amount of SMOG but created an equal amount of SMUG from the drivers who drove a Prius. 

Being the die hard liberal that I am, I was inclined to argue with my redneck, truck driving husband and show him the (better) way of the Prius.  Our debate lasted a lovely 45 minutes (of which I won, but don't tell Mr. G).  This is how our debate ended:

Granny: Shut up, you redneck, truck driving, Sarah Palin-Lovin' jerk!  I am going to just buy you a Prius next week for you birthday so you can start saving the planet, you asshole!

Mr. G: I will just run it over with my truck.

Fuck my liberal life.

Lots of planet-saving love,
Earth (grand)mama

TGIF

The number one thing I miss about good old Truckee Town (aside from the sky high gas prices, the long lines at  Safeway, and the punk ass dirty snowboarders) is that liquor is sold everywhere.  If the lines looked too long at Safeway, I could pop right into CVS instead, grab a bottle of Goose (yeah right.  This was Truckee, back when I had negative amounts in my bank account at all times.  Svedka it was back then.) and the club soda all at the same time.  I could even throw in a Hallmark card and some deodorant and call it a day.

Not anymore.  Now that I am in the land of state controlled liquor outlets, I need to make a special stop to get the Goose at one store, and then run next door to the fancy Co-op to get the soda water and the limes.

It harshes my Friday afternoon mellow.

But not too much.  It is after all, a liquor outlet.  The Goose is the same price as the CA Svedka.

Happy Friday,
Grams