Tranquilized Giraffe

"I would never run a marathon. Not even a half marathon. What situation in life would require you to run at length like that? It's ridiculous. Only idiots do that." - Me, 2006

"Hey, so, I just signed up for the 3M Half Marathon." - Me, 2010

.....................................................................................................................................................................................................

I have never been athletic. Ever. I'm a moderately good player at the grand activity of water volleyball, which is a sport that thankfully doesn't require much movement. Nor does it require you to serve the ball very far. Yes, this sport fits in quite nicely with my athletic prowess. Needless to say I never intended to branch out any further than water volleyball or the elliptical machine at the gym.

Well, two months ago I was diagnosed with Epilepsy. I'm on medication for it now, and my doctor told me that I needed to get fit - as sometimes this helps with controlling seizures. Not like the "fitness" I was doing then, which is moderate exercise. Like real, challenging, life-altering exercise. You know, like Rocky...or anyone else you can picture that has a training montage. I was pretty sad about the diagnosis in general - but suddenly, something struck fear into my heart.

Wait...she just said I couldn't drink with this medication. No happy hours? No fun-filled nights at weddings or Christmas parties? What about a glass of wine when I get home from work....no? Are you serious?

This leaves quite a great void in my life where fun activities used to take place. Crap. New Years? Aw. I just keep thinking of things that will no longer contain the majesty they used to. MAN!

So in an effort to find something to keep me busy, and....er....fit for real, I took a long time deciding.

What should I pick up....yoga? Meditation doesn't really appeal to me, I'm not good at being introspective. I'm scared my negativity would be replaced with a wider understanding of the universe - and that's a trade I'm not willing to make yet. Rowing? Nah. Cycling? People in Austin don't seem to take kindly to bike riders. You'd think with Lance Armstrong being a resident here that people would love all things bike - but really there's a lot of people who are none too enthusiastic about cyclists. So what else....

Running?

No way. I'm terrible at running. I can't run. I remember people running laps around me in middle school when I was in track. I have a short stride, even when I'm in shape. Plus I'm a very poor self-motivator with exercise. And more importantly, I'm slow.

I look like a tranquilized giraffe when I run. Close your eyes and picture a giraffe, hit with 40 tranquilizer darts, and you can envision the colossal train wreck that is me trying to be a runner. See below.



Spot on, spot on.

I've gone through a gauntlet of "you can't do it" thoughts in my head. To me, running is the scariest among all sport possibilities.

But I'm going to do it anyway.

I told my neurologist about this and she wasn't happy. I confessed that I'm terrible about drinking water, and something she strongly stressed to me is that it's very important for me to stay hydrated - a need that running doesn't really play to. In an effort to appease her and assure her I would have an ample amount of water, I went and bought a camelbak. It's this super nerdy looking backpack that you wear when you run that contains about 3 bottles worth of water.

So now I'm a tranquilized giraffe with a little pakpak on my back. Spectacular.

In addition to that, it's around....hmm.....478 degrees outside with 108230918341% humidity in Austin right now. Clearly, a GREAT time to decide to start running. However, even if it were a normal temperature, I would still have this....thing.......

I turn completely red when I do anything exercise oriented. I've got such a fair complexion that my face (and sometimes legs) turn red even if I'm trucking along at a comfortable pace. Thankfully right now it is actually hot outside so I might be able to get away with not looking too weird while summer weather is still here.

Finally, I have one last reason to support my "I look like a nerd" statement. I'm not ever going to use my shirt to wipe sweat, even if I somehow get a hot bod. Why? Because I'm not showing my stomach in public to all the weirdo people out there aimlessly wandering the neighborhood! Therefore I have a wrist sweatband. Yep, you remember them - circa 1980? They're very attractive.

Thus we are left with the final product - a red tranquilized giraffe with a lil pakpak and an 80's sweat band.

Let me put it this way.....



Less nerdy than me.

PROGRESS ALERT

Despite the fact that I clearly have obstacles....many many obstacles....I have actually made progress.

I can run 3 miles without stopping! A first in Mary history. I can also run 10 minute miles! Also a first in Mary history. I know, I know. It's not that great, but come on - it's me guys. Today's mountain? 4 miles.

Wish me luck!

Signed,

Giraffe

Noteworthy People: Part II

I used to work in financial services. It was maddening, painful, dreadfully boring - yet somehow extremely stressful - and no amount of showering could remove the feeling of filth that it caused me. The one positive thing I can say about it is that it threw me in with a bunch of interesting characters.

Looking back on it, even the ones that I considered conniving are still somewhat entertaining. I had a boss at one of the banks where I used to work that might have possibly been satan incarnate, but I can still appreciate him because he did find it humorous when I emailed him this after he kept peeking out of his office to see what his employees were up to:

“If you peek out of your office at me again I’m going to throw a stapler at your head.”

He promptly responded by sticking his head out of his office, staring at me with wild serial killer eyes, then giggling. (click picture below)


Enough of him, though. The person I must address in this particular post is a gentleman named Baxter.

It's difficult to really capture the glory that is Baxter through the written word. Almost tragic, actually, to think I could do it. Perhaps an oil painting is in order? No time for that. I'll try my best.

Baxter, like most Austinites, was a transplant. He hailed from the wilds of Mississippi and had an indiscernible accent. You couldn't have told where he was from, you just knew he wasn't local.

My initial impression of Baxter was, well... "HA! His name is Baxter."

Baxter is the type of first name that one generally associates with boating shoes, a tobacco pipe and an avant-garde mustache. This Baxter, however, was a twenty-something year old with loafers and an affinity for WWF wrestling.

He would end his sentences -pause- give a sideways glance, and very pointedly say "brother" doing his best to channel Hulk Hogan. He would often regale me with his favorite old-school WWF moments. I would stare at him while he was wildly gesturing, doing voices and being inexcusably enthusiastic about this fake wrestling nonsense.



Then, I would go home, and find myself saying BROTHER randomly. For shame, Mary.

Listening to and subsequently emulating Baxter was like reality television. Terrible. And addictive.

Suddenly I started to gain an appreciation of Baxter and his way of doing things. I would watch as he casually strolled into his performance evaluation meetings. They were routinely bad, but Baxter didn't care. He would put his arms behind his head, lock his fingers in place, and lean his chair dangerously far back as he was being scolded about his lack of sales. Baxter would then somehow magically turn the scolding around, and exit the room having just received an apology from our boss.

With a certain pep in his step, he would stroll back to his desk and plop down in his seat - unaware that what he had done was astonishing. I just sat, mouth gaping, wondering how he did it.

On nights that the two of us had to work until 7pm, I would sit and listen to Baxter tell tales. One of my favorites:

When Baxter was in high school, he woke up one morning and decided his school needed a mascot, and he was going to be it. He would dress up and booty dance all around whatever sporting event he was attending. Once he got all-up-on a football player while the player was trying to accept an award. The result was an angry football player swinging punches at a mascot on a podium.

But my most favorite of tales is that of Baxter and his dog.

For a heterosexual man that enjoys such masculine activities as wrestling, one would presume that Baxter was inclined to own a dog that reflected his masculinity. Baxter, however, owned a bichon frise - for which he picked a particularly special name. Which was ...



Baxter.

Now, I must say, I have owned a variety of pets (which I've made abundantly clear in a previous post). But not once has it occurred to me to name one after myself. Though apparently Baxter so thoroughly loved his dog that he could think of no better name for him than the name that had so lovingly been bestowed upon himself.

Truly Baxter had the utmost respect for himself, and being the embodiment of perfection that he was, I can only imagine he could think of no better way to honor the most perfect of dogs.

Needless to say, Baxter (the human) was a devout pet owner. He would take Baxter (the dog) for walks every morning.

To hear him tell stories about his walks was certainly not out of the ordinary. But one particular day, he decided to throw in a particular detail that left me breathless with laughter. Baxter was not one to quit on a garment due to wear, or for that matter, due to it being seasonal apparel. Thus, he had found a use for a particular article of clothing he had received during Christmas. Allow me to illustrate:



THIS, dear readers, is Baxter's dog-walking outfit. No shirt. Just a man, his adidas flip flops, and Santa Claus boxer shorts.

He managed to startle one very unfortunate female neighbor (and God knows how many others) with his antics. In a rush, she was leaving her apartment - she backed out of her door, locked it, and quickly whirled around only to see a shirtless wonder in Santa shorts. Baxter simply looked her in the eyes, laughed at her gaping expression, and relished the thought of her going to work and wondering about this strangely-clad neighbor of hers.

I can think of no better way to accurately capture this man's personality than a mental image of an ear to ear grin, Santa boxer shorts, and a yipping bichon frise. Need I go on further? I think not.

Enjoy.

Noteworthy People: Part 1

In college Shanda and I met a guy named Pee Pee Jones.

Yes, seriously.

I think his name sprang from having a first and middle name both beginning with the letter P, but regardless - the man opted to go by Pee Pee. He kind of looked like Jesus. Or maybe Jason Lee in the film Big Trouble.



Shanda and I decided we wanted to dress up for Halloween. Now, Shanda and I used to dress up for regular parties during college, so we were looking for something exceptional. I remember dressing up as batman and spiderman for some random keg slash fraternity party. It was amazing. We also had these white velcro tennis shoes that we had everybody sign. It was a hilarious night - I desperately wish I had pictures.

Anyway, this story begins at Electric Lady Land/Lucy In Disguise with Diamonds, which is a completely bizarre costume shop in Austin on Congress. Perhaps you've seen it? It's hard to miss.



Here's the scene:

Shanda and I are perusing costumes, and I'm ranting on about how I think it's key that we go as dinosaurs or dragons. Shanda was opting for giant fruit. Then, we find the perfect costume. GRAPES. She the purple, I the green. The thing is - grapes are a difficult selection to try on. So we stake out this giant dressing room and wait, wait, wait, wait for the person inside to come out. We wait so long that we decide it must be unoccupied. Shanda, being braver than me when it comes to disturbing someone in a dressing room, finally flings open the fabric curtain door. We see something like this -



It was Pee Pee Jones. Standing on his head. In a cape and a bat mask. He'd been silently plotting this escapade for weeks, and we were the unfortunate people who happened upon him. It scared me immediately, I was not prepared to see a ridiculous fool upside down in a dressing room. I stepped backwards and fell through a round rack of frilly skirts. Shanda stared at him with angry hate-filled eyes, and then doubled over laughing.

It took little more than introductions before Pee Pee engaged us in his mission. The night was somewhat of a blur, but I distinctly remember going with him and watching him randomly start dancing at people as they got out of their cars to go into walmart. Bat mask and all. And the man could dance. If he had never removed that bat mask I would have thought he was Michael Jackson.

As the evening raged on, our walmart funtimes turned into a random party he'd been invited to. You have no idea what it's like to walk into a party and hear PEE PEE is HERE!!!! And then get bum-rushed by a group of crazed Pee Pee Jones fans. PEEEEE PEEEEEEEEEE!

There was this girl, super cute dress and stiletto heels, somewhat out of place at this hipster party - that saw Pee Pee from across the room. In a whirlwind of excitement she ran to see him and slipped on an unseen puddle on the wooden floor. She skidded, then cascaded into the crowd of Pee Pee fans, knocking half of them over - including me. At first I was a little put-out, but the scene leading up to the fall was too hilarious to not appreciate.

Side note - it's funny, because even if you know the guy, no matter what you do when you tell a story about him it still sounds like you're talking about, well, you know.

I'll never forget a particular stunt Pee Pee told me he used to pull. Every time he stepped onto an elevator he would turn and face the back. He had a special affinity for doing this in full elevators, where there were a bunch of uncomfortable men in suits. He would stand there, looking all weird and Jesusy, staring at them. He wouldn't move when the doors would open. He would make people go around him. I've always wanted to try it, but I've not yet overcome the fear. Nor have I mustered the strength to just stare people blankly in the face, and have them return the glance with terror that I might be a gunman with bad intentions. Maybe some day.

Shanda hung out with him a few times, and I know they had crazy adventures. She told me what they were, but I can no longer remember a lot of my fuzzy college times. Perhaps she'll add to this post?

I never saw Pee Pee again. But I know he's out there, bat masking it up. He was a cool guy. Find the Pee Pee in yourself, friends. And....don't take that the wrong way.

To Do: Slam Head on Keyboard

I do and say the wrong things. I don't know what it is, but I also have this weird....let's say....ability to transpose words or select the wrong recipient, which can change a simple text or email into a ticking time-bomb of embarrassment. This only happens to me with one person. So I'm guessing what happened was - fates conspired, and when they did, they landed on the idea that it was perfect to have this occur towards the person that I want to be embarrassed in front of the least - my father.

Example:

Father: Your grandfather is going to have quadruple bypass heart surgery.
Me: Oh. Oh no. Oh, dad! When? Why?
Father: (Long medical explanation)
Me: (brain processing)
Father: I hesitated to tell you, I didn't know whether or not I should - I didn't want you to worry.
Me: Are quadruple vasectomies dangerous for someone as advanced in years as he is?
Father: I'm sure they are, but he's having heart surgery.


Just thinking about that makes me cringe. Who says that?

Me?! Surely you jest.

Come on, Mary. I'd like to think it was because I was emotionally overwhelmed. Alas, it's still no excuse.

Example 2:

I loooooove www.someecards.com. It makes the sun shine. It is the cherry on top. It helped God create (or rest, I can't remember) on the 7th day. And certainly, if I've run out of things to do at work, it makes me look occupied.

One day I found a card. I can't remember what it was at the moment, something work related I believe. I decided I would introduce my father to the ultimate awesomeness of the some ecard website via this card. It was tame enough, after all. Some of the ecards at this site are not so tame. Though the not-so-tame ones, however vulgar they may be, are just as - if not more hilarious than the tame kind. SO! I decide to send one to the father unit. I click send, completely proud of being the facilitator in this introduction process.

I get an email some hours later with a single sentence

"Mary, there is no way this card could possibly be for me."

WHAT? What is that supposed to mean? How could you not find a some ecard funny? Impossible I say, totally impossible.

Then I see that I'm still able to click the card. So, scowl on face, I decide to click on the card and improve my mood by relishing whatever joke lay within. I click, I see the card (which is green for St. Patrick's day) and the caption says the following -

"Let's make out before we inevitably puke on each other."


......


Oh. My. God.

HOW DID THIS HAPPEN?? AND WHY??? Curse you, some ecards!!! I believe, quite honestly, my reaction was to slam my head directly on my keyboard. Needless to say, this was not the card I had initially selected.

We never spoke of it again.



I think I've illustrated my point.

At this point I'm starting to wonder why I decided to disclose this information...