A few photos from the 20 year high school reunion...

This is me and my beautiful cousin Amy, preparing to go to the Friday night casual (read: bar) reunion:

This is Amy and me on night two, before the dinner reunion. Note how we have exchanged curly/straight hair styles.

Amy, me, and Brett, who I've been friends with since we met on the bus on the way to kindergarten.

I have pictures to share from my 20th high school reunion but that requires me to figure out how to use the scanner with the new Mac which is something I'll work on this weekend. For the moment, we'll have to make do with a text version.

The reunion. In summary: not so bad. Fun, even. As a whole, I'd say the women are holding up better then the men. But everyone looked pretty good. There was no one that made me gasp and say, "What happened to him?"

Most people were recognizable, but nametags helped. But not always. At one point, I went over to say hi to a guy named Gordon. 

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No points for originality in today's blog title but I'm much too tired to care. I drove in 8 hours today from Ohio. I'm at a loss how to explain that it took me under 7 hours to drive to Columbus which is further north than Cincinnati and 8 hours to drive home, but whatever.  

I left Trisha's house at 5 am with the hopes of getting home in time for an extended relaxation period before driving into Greensboro for today's track workout. I made it home but rebelled physically, mentally, emotionally, and spiritually at the thought of getting back in the car, so I did the workout at home on my treadmill.

I hate speedwork. Just... hate it. All running is hard, but speedwork makes me want to throw my body down in the middle of a run and throw a temper tantrum worthy of a 5 year-old denied her favorite toy. "NO! NO! NO! Wahhhh!" is pretty much my mentality.

As I was heaving through a lap, I decided I needed an attitude adjustment and told myself to think of things I hate worse than speedwork. Maybe it was the lactic acid build-up kicking in, but I only came up with poison ivy, the Republican party, and artificial sweetener before I blanked. 

I'm spending tonight trying to catch up on e-mails and paperwork so I can hit the ground running with work projects tomorrow. Much writing to be done. 

Cheers.

 Five minutes ago:

"Aunt Di-Di?"

"Yes?"

"Can you help me put in my butt pad?" 

And people wonder why I've chosen not to bear children...

It wasn't as bad as it sounds. Max is 11 and plays football. There is a cushioning apparatus called a "butt pad" that must be shoved down into a miniscule flap of fabric on the (not being worn at the time) male shorts. I shoved and tugged and stretched and hurled curses at the thing until I finally got it down in there. NOT a user friendly piece of attire. 

I'm now on my way to watch twenty-three 11 year old boys hurl themselves at one another while I feign excitement from the sidelines. I am WAY too self-absorbed to ever have kids.

Plus, I just can't get used to those butt pads...

Ooh, Momma did some damage in the stores today. I'm not fond of shopping and only go out about twice a year but when I do, I bring back the motherload.

Today started with a visit to my hair dresser for highlights. She then proceeded to blow my hair out perfectly straight. WILD. I kept glancing in the mirror, trying to figure out who I reminded myself of and then it hit me: my sister. We look absolutely nothing alike but with the poker straight hair (sorry, sis) there was actually a resemblance. I'd love to keep the straight hair but it would involve about $80 worth of product and 45 minutes manual labor, daily, to make it happen. I get bored waiting the two minutes for the hot water for my tea to boil, so it's probably not going to happen.

I proceeded to the stores (slowly, blowing straight hair out of my eyes) and...

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