Tagged: L.A.W.

Seven things I’ve learned while running.

Here’s a thing, internet.

I’m becoming a person who runs. On purpose, even. I have no idea how this happened. One minute, I was trying to run a mile in the least athletic way possible, the next minute, I have a gym membership (!!!) and I use it to run many multiple miles several times a week. I’m even starting to crave running. I look forward to my next run. I even went running with my boyfriend like one of those couples who does cute couple-y things together that everyone else secretly hates.

Also, I’m really obsessed with my nail color right now. I realized that doesn’t have to do with anything, but it keeps catching my eye as I type this and I can’t not mention it, you guys.

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LOOKKKKKK.

Anyways, I run now kinda. So I feel like I have enough experience to tell you how to do it, right?

SEVEN THINGS I LEARNED WHILE RUNNING:

1. Running is really boring. It never stops being boring. A runner’s high is just zoning out of the fact that you are really, really bored.

2. There is no amount of deodorant or dry shampoo that will make you feel clean and dry after running on your lunch break and going back to work. You just gotta embrace the gross. And sit farther away from your coworkers.

3. Running outside means stepping in goose poop and getting yelled it by creepy strangers. Running inside means creepy strangers pretend they haven’t been staring at your ass, which is at least marginally better.

4. Speaking of poop, don’t eat a salad or drink coffee directly before a run. Your gastrointestinal tract will… protest. Eating like crap either makes your run feel like crap or will make you have to crap.

5. The treadmills at Planet Fitness are too far away from the TVs to read the subtitles. Don’t kid yourself.

6. Running in underwear that doesn’t have a strong elastic band is a poor choice. Those suckers will fall down.

7. Running is secretly kind of awesome.

Grief.

Hey internet.

Grief is a weird thing. First of all, it’s a weird word. Grief. Grief grief grief. It sounds like a grunt noise, like something that would accidentally come out of your mouth if you hit the ground at a funny angle or something.

Secondly, it hits you at really bizarre times.

Yesterday was the 3rd anniversary of the day my best friend Miks died. Which is horrifically morbid, but also something you don’t tend to forget. I’ll spare you all the gory details, except to say that she died of leukemia, and that her illness and her death were a defining point in my life that ultimately changed me forever. Probably for the better or whatever. Yet I digress.

My friend Kimchi and I had dinner (pork chops and quinoa) and drank Miks’ favorite booze (lambic) and it was all well and good and not even particularly sad. In fact, apart from a little sad tingle at seeing all the pictures of Miks floating around on Facebook, I actually managed to have a pretty good day yesterday.

That’s not to say that I’m not still grieving though. I still dream about her all the time. Constantly. Randomly, too. Like I’ll be at a dance in alternate China trying to stop a walrus from bathing in the punch (true story) and she’ll be there passing out cookies or dancing with a giraffe or singing in the background. Then I’ll wake up and experience that awful jolt of remembering she’s dead.

For the first year or so, I kept trying to call her. That was the worst, I think. I know I texted her at least twice about a month after she died. Or I’d find a song or a Youtube video I’d want to share with her and just about post it to her Facebook.

Birthdays are the worst. For obvious reasons.

Like I said, grief is weird and random, and it hits you hard when you you least expect it. Kind of like if a complete stranger hits you in the stomach when you’re walking down the street. It’s not really something you can control. You can’t decide when you get mad or offended or sick or sad, you can only manage how you deal with those feelings.

For right now, I guess pork chops and booze is a good way to go.

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The L.A.W. – Relationship deal-breakers from women.

On last week’s L.A.W., we explored a few of my male friend’s biggest relationship deal breakers. Just to recap if you don’t remember, here’s the list they came up with:

1. Lack of passion.

2. Low self-esteem.

3. Doesn’t read books for pleasure.

4. Passive aggressive.

This week on The L.A.W., the ladies get to answer the same question!

Here’s the lady-list:

1. Inconsiderate or rude towards female family members.

2. Over-possessive.

3. Controlling.

4. Dishonest.

5. Obsessed with their appearance.

Very interesting.

If you compare these lists side-by-side, the male list expresses disinterest in partners that are timid and weak, and the female list dislikes partners that don’t allow for self-expression, independence, and trust.

Let’s dig deeper.

In list one, the man list, the traits are all ones that do not impact the other person. If a person reads book in their spare time and is passionate and lovely and the sun shines out their ass, that’s great, but it doesn’t impact how their boyfriend or girlfriend lives their lives.

However, in the lady list, three of four of those traits – possessiveness, control, and inconsideration – directly and negatively impact the other person. Furthermore, those traits can have a direct impact on the other person’s behaviors and emotions.

The last two, dishonesty and vanity, are both related to low self-esteem (because think about it – liars and obsessive groomers are both trying to change their appearance), which also shows up on the first list.

I’m not exactly sure what to do with this information, internet. Any thoughts?

The L.A.W. – Definition of mediocrity.

You asked for it. I delivered it. This is the first Life Advice Wednesday. Keep your pants on, people.

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I was watching an episode of Mind of a Chef the other day (which  is the weirdest, most fascinatingly amazing show) and Anthony Bourdain struck up a conversation with all this really famous chefs over what their definition of mediocrity was. 

What an awesome question.

Mediocrity is something that everyone has a vague impression of. It’s what not to be. The official definition of mediocrity is “the quality or state of being mediocre”, and the definition of mediocre is “not very good”, and I think the only think we’ve just learned from that is that those definitions of mediocrity are themselves mediocre.

Some synonyms include average, uninspired, lackluster and forgettable, which gets us a little farther. Mediocrity is the quality or state of being utterly forgettable. Harsh.

Questions that logically follow the definition include:

How do you become mediocre? How do you perform mediocrity? How do you stop being mediocre? Can you even know you’re being mediocre? Is it important? Do you care? Does it matter? Does anything matter??

(Okay I got a little carried away. But you get the point).

I asked my coworker, Awesome Andy, whether or not he thought that striving to overcome mediocrity was important, and he made an excellent point that somebody could work the same job for 40 years and be seen as living a mediocre life, but that same person could be a perfectly happy individual, and perhaps happier than the ladder-climbing overachiever we’ve all supposed to emulate.

So I guess the question then becomes where happiness and mediocrity collide, and whether or not you can be happy being mediocre. I believe for a lot of people, that answer would be yes (even if they don’t know it or aren’t willing to admit it). Let’s face it, on a grand scale, the vast majority of us are and will continue to be mediocre (unless you’re Beyonce).

However, that brings me to my last point.

(Have I been making points? I think so? I’m just going to go with it, I guess).

As far as my own warped, biased, politically incorrect opinion goes, I believe people can be happy leading fairly unexceptional lives, as long as they are striving beyond mediocrity in at least one aspect. 

Mediocre job? Fine. No spectacular life achievements? Cool. Never run a marathon? With you.

But good god, do something. Maybe strive to be the best parent you could possibly be. Win a chess tournament. Collect stamps or Barbies or severed heads.

You don’t have to be the next Barack Obama or Steve Jobs or Britney Spears, but you should have goals or dreams or ambitions that make your life above average.

Isn’t that what makes getting out of bed in the morning worth it?