Some like it hot

...but I DON'T.

Since summer started (which starts mid-May for me, since the conditioning of summer vacation for 20 years of my life), Mother Nature has maintained a pretty pleasant temperature. A few showers here and there, a couple humid days in between. All in all, I can't complain. Until now.

Last week, meteorologists explained we'd be reaching the mid- to upper-80s. That's great for all you central air folk, and perpetual beach junkies; but what about us full-time cube dwellers? We're forced to wear business casual -- Or, here, jeans, as compensation for all the economy business causing us to get pay cuts and lose our 401K matching).

No problem. They've got AC, you say? That's right. I'll deal with walking to and from the car. nbd.



BUTWAITDERSMORE.

It's not so much going to work that bugs me. In fact, I don't mind because I'm getting paid to sit in air conditioning all day. The problem is, when I have to head home.

As mentioned before, most of you know I live in an upper unit apartment in a very, very old house. Without air conditioning.

Last year, I bit the bullet and bought a cheap AC unit, to use when Lucifer decides to vacation in SE Wisconsin a few times each summer. It's been a godsend.

Problem is, the heat started Monday morning ... and I didn't get a chance to set up the unit until Monday afternoon. I cranked it on high until going to bed, hoping it'd at least cool my bedroom a few degrees. The thing rattles like someone beat it with a sledgehammer, so I decided to turn it off before falling asleep.

Terrible, terrible idea.

I woke up at least three times, drenched in sweat. Then I got out of bed in the morning pissed off at the world for being so EFFING HOT. I didn't want coffee. I didn't want eggs. I didn't want anything having anything to do with warm. I didn't even want to shower unless the water felt like icicles.

Tuesday: I go to work, come home and turn the AC on. I put up a sheet between my kitchen and living room.

The cold air comes from my bedroom, and some will make it into the living room; but in order to cool my kitchen, it would have to go through the living room and front hallway first. That's a lost cause, making my bathroom and kitchen unbearably hot. For some reason, all of the heat from the day is not only trapped in that insulated box of a room, the oven/stove puts out some kind of ridiculous heat from the pilot light. (I checked repeatedly, all the knobs are set to "off." And yeah, it's probably not safe.) Yesterday my kitchen and bathroom sat at about a balmy 120 degrees. I'm not exaggerating.

Anywho, I stick to the BR and living room as my main areas. Don't get me wrong, it's still about 75-80, but some of the humidity gets eaten up with the cold air.

I slept with the AC on all night. The rattling didn't even bother me, because I knew my internal body temperature wasn't rising above 100 degrees. In fact, after awhile the rattling turned into white noise, and seemed to lull me to sleep.

Another great thing? I don't pay for electricity. That means the AC can run without any financial consequences. Of course, I still limit use to days when the dew point matches the temperature, and the temperature's above 80 degrees.

DIrty mouth? Clean it up.

Many of you who know me in person, know I have a tendency to drop a few eff-bombs here and there, On occasion, I'll sprinkle my conversation with synonyms for feces, Hades and, err, dammit. But I love love love dropping eff-bombs.

These verbal onslaughts are okay in front of friends; but mixed company sometimes doesn't appreciate my colorful vocabulary. This is especially true if I'm around kids at a Brewer game, or hanging out at the zoo. So lately I've been trying to incorporate some more unique verbiage in place of swearing all over the place.

Generally, I try to replace any f*ck with "eff." As in, "EFFFFFFF, I just deleted file full of pictures on my computer."

Besides substituting that word, here's what else I've got so far:

GODDAMMIT = God... bless it.
WHATTHEFUCK = For crying out loud; what the what?! (Thanks Liz Lemon.); Really.
FUCKME = Oh dear; You gotta be strokin' me.
SHUTTHEFUCKUP = OMG; Shut the front door.

Any others?

Birthday suits

Last night, I finished reading Naked by David Sedaris. It only took me about a month (High five! to myself.) The reason? It's effing hilarious.

That's not to say the main character, Dave, isn't flawed. This dude's got some of narcissistic, selfish problems my friend. But he's laugh-out-loud (yeah, I spelled it) funny, regardless. I think one of the reasons might be that he's still so relatable, and tells the reader like it is, no holds barred.

The characters he describes and stories he tells (working in a mental institution when he was 16, hitchhiking across the US, harvesting apples in Oregon) make you laugh and cringe at the same time, mostly because you probably shouldn't laugh, but still are.

You might be asking yourself, why is the book title "Naked?" I wondered the same thing until I got to the last, self-titled chapter.

After ordering a nudist colony brochure as a joke for his brother, Sedaris receives the pamphlet and actually considers booking a week-long reservation. He's apprehensive, mainly because he doesn't even walk around his house without shoes, let alone without clothes. Over the course of a week, he finally becomes comfortable walking around a (for lack of a better term) nudist trailer park. The first couple days wearing a t-shirt and shoes for some cover ... then finally exposing himself for all to see.

A nice way to end a book, where he finally developed to be comfortable in his own skin, I guess. But it got me thinking ... what if the entire world were a nudist colony?

First things first; no clothes! That means, no one would worry about buying updated clothing, and I wouldn't have to replace my ever-expansive wardrobe. (I'm a lady, what of it.) No need impressing others with the latest fashion crap. Wearing shoes and socks without clothes might look kind of ridiculous though.

It might get cold, so I figure I'd plant myself in some kind of Arizona- or California-based colony. Sand might be a problem.

Usually you have to worry about washing your hands after touching things; but what if you're putting your bare ass all over the place? Sedaris' colony recommended carrying a towel everywhere. For sanitary reasons, I would too.

But the other issue I'd have, would be seeing other people naked. A geriatric WWI veteran? Or, a 40-year-old mother of six? Yikes. Once you get used to it though, I suppose it'd be common place. It'd be like Faces of Death, where you couldn't look away -- but after awhile, all the train wrecks start to look the same.

Initially I'd be nervous because I'd be pretty self-conscious of baring all in front of them. Honestly though, I love not wearing clothes.

When I wake up in the morning, I generally prance around in my underoos for a good hour. I start by making breakfast, sometimes in the buff. It's one of the perks of living alone.

But that's really only in the privacy of my own home. I can handle seeing myself in the nude, but I'm not ready to see the rest of you.

Crossing the finish line

Last Saturday night, I had trouble falling asleep. I got to bed pretty early -- 10 PM. But I tossed, I turned. I woke up three times. I yelled incoherent things in my sleep. And I had dreams that I missed waking up on time.

But I got out of bed at 5:30 AM, right on schedule. I'd make it in time for my first half marathon.

The family piled into the car at 6 AM (ish...), heading down to Lambeau Field for the start of the 10th Annual Green Bay Cellcom marathon.

I've been training since January to run the complete 13.1 miles.

In the Atrium, we sat around, stretched, listened to music. All 10,000+ of us. Amazing.

Awe-struck by the volume of people that just showed up to this thing, I couldn't believe all the runners AND spectators wandering around before the gun start.

I began at the start line with Michelle's mom, Brenda, and Brenda's cousin, Mike. Both had run before, and encouraged me I'd do great. All I could think about was running through Lambeau Field and crossing the finish line. I couldn't wait for it to be over.

We started off at 7:30 AM. Masses of runners huddled together out of the corrals. I was going to run over someone, or get run over. Holy crap. Looking ahead, it's like an ocean of heads bobbing. The first two miles, I felt like I didn't need to do anything ... this river of people was going to push me along the entire way.

By the first water stop, some people broke off. I grabbed Gatorade (oops), tossed it and realized water was at the second station. I knew around Mile 3 I'd see Gregor, which kept me going.

Right after though (about Mile 4 or 5), I thought, 'Wow, this would be a whole lot better if I were at Mile 10 or 11 right now.' No dice. My side cramped up a little, and I slowed my pace so I wouldn't overexert myself. I refused to walk.

I noticed some people passing me, and watched the sweat rings around the necks of people ahead I was keeping pace with slowly get bigger and bigger.

Around Mile 8, runners pass the Gu station. I've never had this crap in my life, and didn't want to do anything differently than training. I grabbed some anyway, and kept it in my left hand for three miles. The (briefly) cold packet helped for two reasons: 1.) It was like an ice packet in my hands for about 5 minutes, and 2.) When I run while training, I usually carry a small water bottle in my left hand. I kept it there to psychologically put me in the place I usually was when running at home. The adrenaline rush wasn't there, so I needed to try something else. It worked.

In two more miles, I'd see Gregor again ... which was encouraging. I finally found my groove. I started passing people, and felt like a ran faster when the course headed east, because we were looking into the sun. Each water station, I'd briefly walk while drinking and hop back in to the run.

At the Mile 10 water station, all of the volunteers and spectators were cheering, on both sides of the runners. It felt amazing. I told myself I only had three more miles. This was cake.

A little after Mile 11, the half marathon and marathon split. I thought, 'Thank GOD I don't have to run another 14 miles right now.'

I knew I was close. I could hear people yelling ahead. In less than a mile I'd be heading into Lambeau.


Running up to the gate entrance, a bunch of spectators were cheering as runners were entering the stadium. Then I heard the familiar "WHOOOOOOOOO-OO-OO" to my right -- from Gregor. And he was with my mom, George and Matthias! Oh HAI! (Pffft I GOT THIS.) I'll see you guys in 10 minutes!

Running into the stadium, we got to come out where the Packers do during games. "Celebrate Good Times" was blasting and the spectator section cheered for passing runners. I passed at least a half dozen people while looping the stadium. Pushing myself didn't even hurt. I knew I was almost done.

I saw the finish line about 200 yards ahead, when I noticed Gregor's mom waving as I passed. And there he was with his dad too!


I shot to cross the finish line under 2:30:00. I crossed at 2:06:38, but because my chip time was 2 minutes behind, I actually made the 13.1 in 2:04:06. That's a pace of 9:28 per mile. Awesome.

The next day, I signed up for the Lakefront Marathon on Oct. 4.

Goodbye GMA

Almost every weekday morning, I wake up, stumble to the kitchen and start my coffee pot, and turn on the TV. It's usually past 7 AM by the time my omelet's ready, so I end up watching Good Morning America on my favorite news station, WISN-Milwaukee. I dig the local news, but each day I watch GMA, I feel more and more stupid. Literally -- like my brain is turning to mush because of the shit they air.

The only valuable time spent watching that show is from the 90 seconds of actual news Chris Cuomo (mmmm, Chris Cuomo...) usually shares about 15 minutes in. Otherwise, IT'S CRAP.

I don't mind mindless dribble, but I can find that on my own time all over the Internets. I don't need to be hand-fed spoonfuls of feces for breakfast.

I understand it's a morning show, so they're upping the entertainment value, instead of just providing news. But give me a break.

Besides hearing about NY bus drivers who sing opera to passengers, or British toddlers that can name 150+ world capitals, viewers are CONSTANTLY bombarded with DAILY (I'm not kidding...) videos and "news" about the doom of the swine-flu epidemic (including today, when they had a five minute segment about stores running out of hand sanitizer) and Susan Boyle. If I hear another fucking story about Susan Boyle, I'm going to punch someone in the jugular. Her 15 minutes is UP.

And she is the reason I'm turning off my TV.

In the meantime, I've been slowly turning to NPR in the morning. That way, I can still get bfast ready, and even sit around while I eat. And I can also read while the radio's on.

Ultimately, my argument comes down to offering cable TV stations ala carte. If I could have ESPN, HGTV, National Geographic and the Discovery Channel, I'd be a happy lady. Instead I pay $9.95 a month for doubles of Madison's and Milwaukee's basic channels. And subsequently, two Good Morning Americas and Today Shows each morning. And Bob Saget's Funniest Home Videos, which I did end up watching today.

Keeping the glass empty

I'm attempting a feat I haven't accomplished since before college: Not drinking. For a month.

Now, I know you're thinking "Ric -- YOU crazy girl!"

But really first off, that's not that long.

Don't get me wrong; I don't drink nearly as much as I did at UW-SP. Or since most everyone moved away from Whitewater, my college away from college. At this point, I'd probably the be worst choice for a beer pong partner; and the Beast hasn't touched my lips since at least a year ago.

But I still drink on a weekly basis.

I usually have a glass of wine once or twice a week when I eat, or relax while surfing the nets, or reading a book. I'll get over that. I'm usually pretty busy M-F anyway, so I'll bide my time.

My achilles? Beer.

I'm not talking about that watered-down, flavorless crap Miller and Budweiser try to pass for triple hops, barley special edition brew master fresh, blah blah blah... (which, I can enjoy on occasion). I'm talking about full hops IPAs and nutty amber ales. See, I don't know much about beer. But I know when it tastes good.

So relaxing on the weekend, I've been sitting back, grilling out with a burger and Beck's Dark. Or hang out on the porch, enjoying a Guinness.

But I've noticed it's affected my marathon training. Last week, after tailgating for a Brewer game Monday night, and heading to Thursday night trivia at the Milwaukee Ale House; I noticed that the combination lack of sleep and too many pints put me over the edge. I kept up with my training schedule, but struggled each time I put on my running shoes.

Instead of cutting back, I'm going cold turkey. But wait, derrs more!

A couple weeks ago, I won a six pack of Special Edition Jim Gaffigan Point Pale Ale (and his new comedy album) from the Pabst. Awesome! I still have to pick it up...

Then, in compensation for writing a cover story at work for my old magazine, my bosses bosses boss said he'd pick up a 12-pack of any brew I wanted, instead of cash. (Apparently we've resorted to the barter system at the office...) Cool. Gimme some Newky Brown!

Alas, they'll have to sit in the fridge. For now, I'll stick with resisting temptation to focus on the big picture: kicking that half marathon's ass.

Bills, pills, pills

I started taking the BCP about five months ago, and my doctor said if I had any questions, wanted to switch up the type of prescription or awkwardly talk about the weather with my pants off again, I should give her a call. A few weeks ago, I decided I'd had enough with the current pill and wanted to try something else.

I called the doctor's office to explain what I wanted (a new prescription) and why (because it makes me crazies/go blind/not sleep). The woman on the other end of the line said it was absolutely necessary for me to see the doctor. But not before making me feel like an idiot because my symptoms sounded ludicrous.


*Three weeks later, after hassling with a reschedule.*

I go in for my appointment, tell the Dr. my problems and she goes over the options. We decide on a low-dose BCP. Problem is, there are no generics. That means spending at least 50 percent more for the EXACT SAME THING. (Think Tylenol versus Target brand acetaminophen -- there's no difference, they just use different color dye for the pills.)

Next day, I head to Walgreen's to pick up the prescription. But in exchange for those 28 little baby blockers, they want $60. WHAT?!!? That's more than my food budget for the WEEK. I ask them to call the office back and ask for a prescription of the second option we discussed. But they don't call doctors at Walgreens, they fax them. It's 2009, not 1991. But whatevs. They tell me the request should go through and to come back tomorrow.

Day three: On top of not hearing back from the doctor, Walgreens refuses to call to confirm. I have to call. It's 4:55, the doctor's office closes at 5 PM and I have to get home to look up the number first. UGGH. No dice.

Rather than deal with Walgreen's ineptitude toward customer service, or using any ounce of common sense, I decide to go the mail route and order the pills via NextRX. Although it takes about two weeks to fill, an entire 3-month supply costs $90.

Then a week ago, I got a bill in the mail. (See... ...Medical Bill Errors: Fighting Mistakes, it happens more than you think.)

Because I was, IMHO, forced to make an appointment to see my doctor in person, versus a simple chat on the phone, I have to pay $20. I didn't know that. Funny -- last time I checked, swindling people out of cash was a crime.

Per a conversation with mi madre, it's best to request to talk to the doctor if at all necessary to avoid an extra trip to the clinic. She said I should also be thankful my co-pay's only $20, instead of $200. Yikes.

Or maybe I should just follow the rest of America and bend over while health care takes advantage.