Little Bits of Pixie Dust

Life should NOT be a journey to the grave with the intention of arriving safely in an attractive and well preserved body, but rather to skid in sideways, chocolate in one hand, martini in the other, body thourougly used up, totally worn out and screaming "WOO HOO, what a ride!!"

Tuesday, October 25, 2005

PMS, Packing, and Working with Women

Outside, it is cold and rainy. The leaves drip with moisture like tears, and inside, that is exactly how I feel. I am completely and totally stressed out about the upcoming move. It just all seemed to happen so fast and I didn't have time to plan for anything. Now it is Tuesday, I have nothing packed, and we are supposed to move on Saturday. We don't even have any boxes, for God's sake. We haven't switched any of the utilities to the new place. I don't even know if we can keep the babies (ie: the cats) legally in this new place. Tomorrow we go and sign the lease and get our keys. Is it wrong for me to want to just leave all of our crap at the house we live in now and start over in the new one? It is just plain laziness, I know. And right now, with nothing done, the task seems monumentous.

Also, the shot that I am on for the endometriosis? (Depo-Lupron, for those of you who are not familiar with my archives) I recently learned that though I will not have a period for six months, I do still get to experience the joys of PMS. Which I think is one of the other problems right now, the thing that is making me want to pummel every single person that walks past my desk or even breathes in my direction. The hot flashes just keep coming, too. The fan on my desk is going constantly, and I still sit there with sweat pouring off of me. Ah yes, this is what I was afraid of when I told you all that I was going to be a fat sweaty bitch. She's here, and she is really pissed off.

On the plus side, I now have two boxes. Two boxes to fit my entire life in. Just talked to A* on the phone, and he assured me that I will have to do none of the packing. I then cried to him that this wasn't fair, that it made me a horrible person to even think about letting him do all the work. Meanwhile, the part of my mind that still seems to be working rationally is telling me to be quiet, and knows very well that I will be sitting on my ass as he does all the work, and then I will probably get mad at him because it isn't done right. I just can't win today.

Finally, one of the many reasons that I hate working with almost all women. Yesterday one of the girl's brought in her wedding album. About a million people looked at it, but I am the only one that got an email saying that a rip "mysteriously" appeared in the box that the photos were in, and why didn't I just tell her that I had ripped it in the first place? First of all, I didn't rip anything. Second of all, if I did, I would definitely be woman enough to admit it, and probably even offer to pay for damages. Third, this is not the actual album that we are talking about here, oh no, we are referring to the box that the album was in. Is it really that big of a freaking deal, even if it is ripped? But I swear to you, blogging audience, that I did not intentionally or unintentionally rip any kind of box. But now? I may rip her head off.

Still wanna come over for that packing party? I am so pleasant right now.

Monday, October 24, 2005

Watch Me Do the Happy Dance...

And then collapse from exhaustion. We got an apartment... A* just called me at work and told me the good news. The drawback? We need to be moved out of our old place and into the new one by the end of this weekend. Have I started packing, or even thought about packing? Of course not. So now I have to get all of my apartment packed and moved over to another one, in the middle of working full time and doing all the other stuff (mostly just sitting on my ass and watching TV) that needs to be done. God, my clothes alone could take weeks to move. A* told me that I have to get rid of some things, and that just sends me straight into a panic. I still have clothes from high school, in sizes that are smaller than my shoes, and I just keep thinking that maybe someday I might be able to fit back into them. So I hold on to them, and pray, and stuff my face. sigh. At least I will have a brand new place to be fat in!!

This weekend I went out to dinner with an old friend from high school, and it was so nice to see her. We haven't talked for at least three years, and out of the blue she emailed me and asked if I would like to get together. It was so great!! We laughed and caught up with everything, and made plans to see each other again soon. She is one of those friends that whenever we are together we cannot stop laughing. It doens't matter where we are, or what we are talking about, we both will collapse into giggles. We were in choir together, and her parent's took video's of each concert. You can watch us up there on the risers, pinching each other and snorting with laughter. I don't think that we ever sang, just caused commotion. The music teacher would seperate us everyday, but we had worked out a system of secret signals and hand gestures, so we still managed to communicate. God that girl can make me laugh. I am so glad that we are talking again.

If you have been reading, you may have known that I had sent my best friend a card after not talking to her for months. I basically told her that I missed her and wished that we could talk, and gave her my new cell phone number. She never responded. I guess that's it, then. I guess I can't do anything more than I already did, and the ball is in her court. Still miss her like crazy, though.

Anyone that wants to come over this week and help me pack, you are welcome. I might even give you some free pizza and beer, if you're lucky. I'll be the one on the couch, watching America's Next Top Model and clutching a pair of size don'teven wanttosay jeans.

Come on over!!!

Thursday, October 20, 2005

Reason #4501546463 That I Love A*

I am a self-diagnosed addict of reality TV, and I'm not afraid to admit it. I watch it all, from the crappiest crap to the regular crap. And since he lives there, and I am in control of the remote, A* is forced to watch all of these dumb shows with me. He pretends that he doesn't like them, but I catch him knowing names and facts. Anyways, one of my favorites is "America's Next Top Model". Love it.

Last night I went out for dinner with my dad and got home about 15 minutes past 8, which is the time that the show starts. I was a little bummed as I put my key in the door, because a lot can happen in that crucial first part of the show and I was worried that I missed something really good. When I entered the house, A* was on the couch, with America's Next Top Model on the TV.

He said, "I knew you would want to know what happened, so I watched it for you." And then he proceeded to tell me, in detail, exactly what had happened while I wasn't there. He knew names and facts, and by the time the next commercial break was over, I had my pajamas on and was all caught up.

Only love would make him watch America's Next Top Model.

Wednesday, October 19, 2005

She Was Meeeeeeeeean!

We had finally picked out an apartment. We both agreed on it, it had everything that we wanted, it was the right price... we made the decision, yes, we are going to put a deposit on this apartment. Well, it all came crashing down last night as we attempted to fill out the application and give the people our money. For the sake of the story, I should just let you know that this is one of the biggest complexes around here, and they easily have 500 to 1000 units in there. So they aren't hurting, and we weren't trying to get a million dollar estate.
We went into the office and told the lady there that we wanted to put down a deposit. I don't know her name, because she never bothered to introduce herself. I will call her Meanie, because even if that isn't her name, it should be. Meanie led us over to a table and asked for our licenses to make copies. We obliged. Meanie came back and started going over the application, that we had already filled out, with us. At first things were fine, until she got to our copied license. A while ago, before we even met, A* was having some problems at home and went to stay with a friend for a little while. I think it was only for about 6 weeks or so. Anyway, his license still lists that address on it, because he wanted to be able to get his bills at his friend's house. A* was never on the lease, no one even knew he was staying there. So Meanie points to the address and says, "What is this address?" A* explained to her about his friend, and he wasn't on the lease, blah blah. Meanie says, "We still need to have that number." A* tells her again that he wasn't on the lease, and besides, his friend has since moved to Florida and A* doesn't even talk to him anymore. Meanie persists- she needs that number. She tells A* that he needs to go to the apartment where he used to live and get the number for her. Fine, even though they will have no idea who he is, fine. Just stop talking, Meanie. Then before she even gets to my license, I tell her that the address on my license is from college, and I also don't live there anymore. I tell her that the people that owned it were my friend's parents, so it wasn't a formal thing. "We need that number." Meanie also proceeds to tell us that "we really should get those licenses taken care of, and why haven't we taken care of it" like we are the only people in the world who have a different address on their license. At this point, I was a little sick of Meanie. I don't need another mother, I like the one that I have quite nicely, thank you.

Even through this, A* and I were still pleasant and interested in the apartment. So we plugged on. We hand her the money, which she looks at in disgust and says, "We don't take cash. We only take money orders or a credit card." Well, seeing as we had been there two days ago and asked for the application and no one had told us that cash wasn't accepted. We explained to Meanie that we only had cash.
"Well, there is a CVS down the street, but we close in 20 minutes. If you can make it back in time, that's fine, but if not, we can't hold the apartment for you."

Still trying to be polite, we ran down to CVS. I honestly don't think Meanie thought that we were coming back, and really we shouldn't have. But we did. We came back and handed her the money order. Then we found out that you have to have double that amount in order to have pets, another fact that was not mentioned previously. We handed over our money and application, and Meanie said, "Sorry to rush you, but it's almost time to close," and pretty much ushered us out the door. As we were leaving, another nicer lady called out to us to have a good night, but Meanie was too busy sharpening her claws or something, and didn't say anything.

All of this combined to make me feel like a big Loser. I felt like Meanie was looking for reasons not to rent us the apartment, though I don't know why. As we were leaving the parking lot, I began to cry... in frustration and embarrassment. I hate Meanie.

Today A* thought and thought about it, and came to the conclusion that he didn't like our treatment. After all, we were giving them money, and a lot of it. So he called the rental office and asked to speak to a leasing manager. He was told there was no such person. Now, I know that there aren't just a bunch of people down there just sitting around with no boss. I know it, and if they are telling the truth, then I want to work there. A* told the person on the phone that he didn't appreciate being told what to do, ie: licenses, and also didn't like all of these hidden rules that were coming out when no one told us before about them. The lady on the phone said that the agents were instructed to be "helpful". A* told her that this wasn't helpful, only made us feel like shit. He also explained (again) about him staying with his friend and how he wasn't on the lease and even if they called the landlord he wouldn't know about A* anyway, and how A*'s friend had skipped out on the lease so even if the landlord knew who he was, he still wouldn't get a good recommendation. The lady told him that "sorry, but we have to call everywhere that you have lived in the past five years" and about his friend "yes, you probably would get rejected" even though A* didn't do anything wrong. At this point, A* got more than a little frustrated and f-bombs began to fly. He hung up before he said anything else.

We are going to pick up our money today. We will not be living in this apartment, even if they offered it to us for free.
The hunt is back on.

Monday, October 17, 2005

Weekend Wrap-Up

I'm sure that really no one wants to hear about my weekend, but hey, I want to tell you! So I'm going to, because that is what you get to do when you are the Keeper of the Blog.
So Friday night we-- hmm, memory block, it is escaping me as to what we did on Friday. I know that it involved something with food... oh, yes. We went to A*'s idea of Heaven on Earth, which is a huge buffet that both of us can get for under twenty dollars. To A*, this constitutes the greatest deal in the world. He can eat to his heart's content and it doesn't cost him that much, either. Me, not so much. The bargins of buffets are often lost on me, as I only eat about fifteen foods in the world and so therefore the large array of food is irrelevant to me. I get the same thing everywhere. But A* was happy, and went home with a big grin plastered on his face and a large protruding stomach, so it was worth it.
Saturday we went and looked at apartments all day. And guess what... we finally found one that we like!! We are going to put money down on it tomorrow! Thanks, in no small part, to my father. We don't have enough money to put down until Friday, and my dad graciously agreed to loan us the money until I get paid. Yay, I heart my daddy. He calls himself the "Bank of Dad", which is queer but in a cute, dad-like way. The apartment (trying to restrain myself from calling it "ours" so as not to jinx, but it is hard) is beautiful, looks out into the woods and has lots of windows and a large bedroom with a cool diamond shaped huge window in it. I love love love it. Please keep your fingers crossed that it doesn't slip through our fingers.
Then we went to one of the dumbest haunted houses ever. A*'s sister's boyfriend won 4 tickets to this place, and all I can say is Thank God it was free because I would have been really pissed if I had actually paid money for this. Just as an example, one of the haunted "area's" was called The Haunted Woods or something equally creative, and we didn't even realize until we were done that we had been walking through the attraction the whole time. I don't know if it was the street running directly beside the "woods", or the lack of things jumping out at you, but whatever it was, haunted was not it.
Sunday was a marathon day of Laundry. We hadn't done any in two weeks, so there were baskets and baskets piled all over the house. A glutton for punishment, I also decided that we needed to wash blankets and comforters as well. I spent the majority of the day guarding dryers at the LaundryMat, and fiercely growling at anyone that dared to even look in my direction. I was going to get my laundry done, dammit! Don't stand in my way! When we got home, I was pleased (ha ha) to discover that A* had pulled out every single load from the dryer when they were not thouroughly dried. This made me very frustrated and I had to take a little break in the bathroom. Lucky (for him) we do have a working dryer, just not a working washing machine, so by the time I was calmed down A* was already throwing damp loads into the dryer. Saved.
Oh, and by the way, A* told me that he did NOT want us to get excited about the apartment yet, because he says that we can't get excited over things until they are actually happening. I have a hard time with this, getting excited the second something is even mentioned, even just in conversation. (don't you remember six months ago when you said that we might go there? well, i've been waiting and have been so excited for six months, so now you have to take me) Anyways, I have been trying to keep it together. However, as I stumbled out of bed this morning, I heard A* talking, and at first I thought he was talking to me, but really he was telling the cats all about their "new home", ie: the apartment I am not supposed to be excited about. I caught the tail end of him describing a staircase and how they can chase each other up and down all day. Not excited, my ass.

Thursday, October 13, 2005

Randomly Random

First, let me start by saying that I am very unhappy with my clothing choice for today. I was running extremely late this morning, mostly because I was sitting up in bed with my head propped in my hands alternating between sleep and trying to figure out an excuse as to why I couldn't go to work. Alas, I couldn't think of one, so I eventually had to get out of bed. Also, Belle was biting my toes, so I was getting a little annoyed. Then I went in the bathroom and sat on the toilet for an unimaginable amount of time, staring at the wall, still trying to think why I couldn't go to work. I still couldn't think of a good one, so I eventually got up and brushed my teeth. Well, by this time it was WAY past the time that I was supposed to be leaving the house. So I had to grab the first thing that I saw to wear that went with my navy blue pants, which I had already decided on wearing. I ended up with a strangely enormous shirt. I don't know why I even have this shirt, seeing as it makes me look pregnant. It hangs unattractively down in a clump, over the top of my pants. It is ugly, and I look like a white whale in it.

Secondly, A* and I are still looking for an apartment. This weekend we have to go and look at more places, because we decided to lower our expectations a little and came down in our price, so now we have a whole new rash of places. I just want to be done, moved and in a new apartment, preferably one that has the heat paid.

Third, we gave Belle a flea bath last night. She was not very happy about this. In fact, she flattened her ears down, widened her eyes, and began hissing and yowling in a very Pet Cemetary-like way. She bit A* in the hand and scratched him, then with a mighty cry she lurched towards me and swiped a couple places on my hand. I tried to keep her in tub, seeing as she was still covered in flea shampoo, but she flung out her deadly paw and put a puncture wound into my finger. We let her out of the tub and rubbed her vigourously with a towel, trying to get all the soap off of her. It was a traumatic experience for all involved.

Fourth, I am going out for a Girl's Night with my friend tonight, and the only thing that could make it better would be if I was allowed to go to the restaraunt in my pajamas. As it is, we will order a lot of food and make giant pigs out of ourselves, and gossip about anyone that has ever crossed our path. Fun and laughter will be had.

But first, I have to go home and change out of this god-awful shirt. What was I thinking??

Wednesday, October 12, 2005

Katrina Hits Home

With all of the horrible things going on in the world lately, sometimes it is hard to place yourself in someone else's shoes and realize that each tragedy contains living, breathing, laughing and crying people. This may seem stupid, but it was driven home to A* and I yesterday after a trip to the gas station.
A* is totally addicted to that cheap, 99 cent juice that they sell at the gas station. You know the one, that comes in the gallon jug and is basically sugar water? Well anyways, the kind that he drinks is called Artic Splash, and we have to buy a gallon every day. It is all that he drinks at home. So the past week or two he has noticed that whenever he goes in the gas station they are out of juice. He has had to resort to buying other means of liquid refreshments. Yesterday, seeing that once again there was no Artic Splash on the shelf, he asked the service man if the company went out of business or something. The man replied that no, they didn't go out of business but that A* probably wouldn't be seeing his beloved juice for a long time. Why? Because the company is based in Louisiana.
A* came out to the car and started complaining about the lack of juice. He told me the reason, and before we pulled out of the parking lot both of us stopped, looked at each other, and he stopped talking.
"You know, we really are lucky," I said softly.
A* placed his hand on mine, and nodded. We sat in silence for a moment, the traffic rushing past us and the rain reflecting in the street lights. We thought of those people in Louisiana, who once had a job at the Artic Splash plant and now probably have nothing. We thought of all the other people who are without a home, or clothes, or family members, and realized that getting upset about juice is not worth the effort. We are so lucky, and it took this little incident to make the situation into something human, something that we could grasp. We held hands, and drove off into the night to our warm little apartment, and we are so lucky.

Tuesday, October 11, 2005

Bathroom Rules for an Office Setting

1.) Try to remember that you are not the only one in there. Any kind of grunting, sighing, and general personal noises are not things that the person in the neighboring stall wants to hear.

2.) If you run out of toilet paper, be courteous. Perhaps put a sign on the door, perhaps just simply replace the toilet paper. Be kind to your co-workers, they don't want to have to exit the bathroom with their pants around their ankles because you used the last square of paper.

3.) I find it better to try and hold your farting/pooping until the bathroom is completely vacated. This saves embaressment, not only for the person who is sitting next to you, trying to pretend that they don't hear you, but also for yourself. You don't want to be known as the person whom shouldn't be followed into the bathroom.

4.) Don't talk to people while they are using the facilities. This is a private time. No one wants to hear about your work woes, or what your kid did this morning, while they are trying to concentrate.

5.) WASH YOUR HANDS!!! I really shouldn't have to include this, but alas, there are still people out there who don't follow this simple, sanitizing step.

6.) If other people are standing there, waiting for you to move so that they may wash their hands, don't stand in front of the mirror for four hours fixing your make-up, brushing your hair, or taking a shower. Some people have work to do.

7.) A little spray never hurt anyone.

8.) A courtesy flush is always appreciated. This masks your bodily sounds and also rids the room of the smell for a second. This can also alert other's that you are pooping in there, so they may want to vacate the premises.

9.) If you must fart loudly, try and cover it up with a cough or rustling of paper. No one wants to hear the air escaping from your ass.

10.) If all else fails, hold it till you get home. If you insist on being gross, performing disgusting acts, and fouling up the restroom for all other patrons, perhaps it would be a better idea for you to do the "potty dance" for a while and wait until you are in the comfort of your own bathroom.

Wednesday, October 05, 2005

A* Finds an Apartment

Just wanted to give y'all a little update on the moving process. As I have written previously, A* and I are looking to get out of the ghetto and are searching for a new place to live. This past weekend we drove around for hours, until I stuck to the seat with sweat and exhaustion, viewing every single property that was in the paper over the weekend. We made an extensive list, complete with phone numbers and prices and important stuff like that. We vowed not to go about finding a place like we did last time, where we threw our stuff down at the very first apartment that we looked at and didn't take the time to think about what we really wanted. We promised each other that we would be picky, and not jump on the first thing we saw.
Then we went and saw a townhouse yesterday, the first one that we have actually been inside, and A* is ready to move tomorrow. All of the things that we had agreed on went flying out the window as soon as A* saw new carpet, a basement, and central air. He is planning to send in the application this weekend. Sigh.

Monday, October 03, 2005

One Drunken Night....

Sometimes, I feel old and I feel the need to relive my younger, drunker days. If I am thinking about being drunk, I have to think about Kelli. Kelli was my drinking friend for a couple of years. She showed up right after I found out that my fiance was cheating on me, and was there for me the whole time I tried to drown my sorrows in alchohol. Kelli could always be counted on to go out, no matter what day or time it was. We were known to drink a bottle of wine with breakfast. Boy, that girl knew how to have fun.
One night we were out downtown, drinking... what? My mind cannot wrap around this detail, but whatever it was it must have been good, because I drank a lot of it. I'm thinking maybe a fishbowl? Anyways, when we exited the bar it was late, and we were having a hard time walking. At first, we couldn't find the car. This fact did not upset us, though, just the opposite. It seemed hysterically funny and something that made us sit down on the curb, clutching each other and screeching with laughter. While we were down there, I noticed that we were sitting directly in front of my car, which just made me break out into more peals of laughter. I nudged Kelli and showed her the car, and we helped each other to get up off the curb. Well, the damn car door was SO hard to open. I mean, really, who thinks of these things like locks and handles and such? How can one be expected to open a door with all of these strange contraptions on it?
FINALLY we figured out how to actually get in the car, and also determined how to turn the car on.
**** just as an aside... I DO NOT CONDONE DRINKING AND DRIVING! These days I always get a cab or a designated driver. So don't judge me, I was young! I'm just remembering!! ****
I started off down the street, Kelli slumped unattractively in the passanger seat. I soon realize, however, that I can't see. I mean, literally, the road was swimming in front of my eyes, and I know that I was swerving like a maniac. My fear had been turned off by the enormous amounts of alchohol, so I didn't view this fact as a problem. Rather, it was one more thing that made me crack up with laughter. The following is, to the best of my recollection, the conversation that we had...
SELF: Dude (dude comes out unexpectedly under the influence) I cannot see!
KELLI: Open your eyes.
SELF: No, I'm serious. I CAN'T SEE!
KELLI, after rooting around in her purse for several minutes: Here, try these.
She was holding out her glasses to me. Now, just for the record, I did not wear glasses at the time, did not have any problems that required prescriptive eyewear. Kelli, on the other hand, had a very strong prescription.
KELLI con't, holding out her glasses: These always work for me.
Of course, this seemed like a perfectly reasonable thing to do. I put on her glasses, and joyfully told Kelli that they DID work. In fact, I told Kelli with amazement that they were MAGIC GLASSES! My friend had her very own pair of magic glasses.
These glasses helped me to drive to our friend's house, where Kelli, the vegetarian, inhaled a pepparoni and salami sandwich slumped against the counter.

Magic glasses... who would've thought? They may have saved my life.

Saturday, October 01, 2005

Glory Days

Last night A* and I went to grab some dinner with friends. We were sitting at the table talking, and the topic turned to my friend J- and I's stint on the high school swim team. We were giggling, having a great time and talking about the "Statman", when A* said that someone probably fell into the water while waiting for me to finish swimming my race. WTF?? I didn't think that was called for. I told him that was mean and made him brave the long line at the cash register to make up for it. But let me just give you a little background, and you tell me if you think that was an appropriate comment to make.
I started swimming when I was in the fifth grade. I had asthma pretty bad, and the doctor had mentioned to my mom that something like swimming would really help build up my lung capacity. My former swimming teacher had told me that I would really love being on a swim team, too. So my mom did some research and we found the swim team at our local YMCA.
The first night of swim practice, I was a chubby kid wearing her mom's leotard because I refused to go and buy a bathing suit. My insecurities and bathing suit fears started early. Why I thought that a navy blue leotard was somehow better than facing myself in the dressing room, I'll never know. Anyway, I entered the pool area and was shocked to see what looked like a thousand kids, all geared up with goggles and swim caps, talking and laughing with each other. Not one of them was wearing a leotard. I obviously didn't have a swim cap or goggles either.
The coach asked me to jump in and swim a length of the pool so that he could see where to go with me. I did, and was immediately assaulted with chlorine and stinging in my goggle-less eyes. With my leotard bunching up under my arms, I barely made it down the other end. I was gasping for air and pushing the hair out of my face, and the coach suddenly whistled piercingly.
"We have a new team member!" he said to the gathering of kids on the pool deck. "Let's all say hi and make her feel welcome!"
"Hi D!" everyone chorused dutifully.
And what did I do? Did I make some funny comment that immediately made everyone want to be friends with me? Did I do a swan dive to make everyone laugh? No. I was unprepared for all of this attention, so I did what anyone would do. (or just me?) I took a deep breath, smiled, and disappeared under the surface of the water without saying a word. Real cool, huh? That was the start of my swimming career.
Eventually, of course, I got myself a bathing suit. I had a million swim caps and a million and one pairs of goggles. I was able to swim more than one length of the pool, and despite my disasterous introduction I actually made some friends. But I never actually got any good at swimming as a sport. I was always in the slowest lane, always finished last place in every event, and never got to be on the "A" relay. For those of you who aren't familiar with swimspeak, the "A" relay is a relay composed of the fastest swimmers. I was on the "B" or even "C" relay. I'm sure if there was a "Z" relay I would have been on that one.
High school came, and swimming was just such a big part of my life anyway that I joined the high school team. I was most definitely the worst one on this team. I was actually in a lane with mentally retarded people. No, really, I was. It's okay to laugh. I never finished in anything but last place. I wasn't even on the relays, except if they needed someone to join the retarded one.
But I loved it. I loved taking the bus to practice every day after school, sitting with my friends and eating snacks and listening to our walkmans. I loved getting changed in the locker room with everyone laughing and throwing things and being loud. I loved the pasta parties before big meets, the co-ed slumber parties, having built in friends. There was always someone that wanted to hang out, to go to the mall or the movies. Some of the best times of my life happened because of the swim team. The smell of chlorine can still make me nostaligic.
I swam my whole high school career. Yeah, I never got first place... or second... or third... but that wasn't what mattered! I was a part of something.
So back to A*'s comment... yeah, you may have fell into the pool waiting for me to finish the race, but you wouldn't find anyone in that pool that loved being there more than me, and you also wouldn't find some one with enough character (I like to put it that way, instead of "stupidity") to get up on those starting blocks time after time, KNOWING that I would lose but still trying for just that one moment of glory.
I may have been slow, and I may have been last, but these... these were my glory days.