Tales from La La Land

Just a reminder that on Sunday I will be live blogging at The Cooler during the E! Red Carpet extravaganza. The telecast begins at 6 p.m. ET/3 p.m. PT, so I will go live just before 3 p.m. PST. I’m no expert in movies – or even fashion – but I like to see what people are wearing, what they say, who they’re with, etc. Last year there were a lot of people (OK, by a lot I mean Lamb) who came over to join that chat, and that made it more fun. I just re-read the comments and am cracking up. I hope you guys will stop by and share your thoughts again.

In completely unrelated news (unless we see some of the starlets holding one on the red carpet), why do we need a 31-oz option at Starbucks?

When I read about this, I had to roll my eyes a little. Starbucks is now trying to keep up with the likes of McDonalds and Dunkin’ Donuts. I guess the good news is that they’ll only be offering iced coffee and tea in this size, but it’s only a matter of time before Britney rolls in, demanding that they put her Frap in the 31-oz cup, is photographed with it, and then of course, everyone else will want what she has.

My co-worker is from France. It’s so interesting to see how he approaches food. It’s a completely different mentality from how we do it in the US. Frenchie eats very, very slowly. And he doesn’t eat huge portions. He eats small portions, seemingly savoring every bite. He would never need a 31-oz drink because it would probably take him 2 years to finish it.

So, anyway, it seems as though you can get a super size of just about anything these days. And they wouldn’t offer it if there wasn’t a demand, so I’m probably alone in thinking it’s insane.

See you Sunday!

I love award season. Love the dresses, the hair, the gossip, the underdog winners and the awkward Red Carpet Encounters.

That Busey/Garner mashup was priceless. Let’s be honest though, Ryan threw Jen to the shark. Busey was seemingly content to congratulate Laura Linney when Seacrest insisted on introducing him to Jen.

Ah, Oscar season. Love. It.

Last year I spent my evening live blogging the red carpet activities at The Cooler and will be doing the same this year. I learned quite a bit about the pace of live blogging last year, so hopefully it will be more relaxed and fun this time around.

I can tell you in advance that I’m a Sandra Bullock, Carey Mulligan, Meryl Streep,Vera Farmiga, Maggie Gyllenhaal kind of girl. The “young” Hollywood presenters – Cyrus, Efron, Lautner – bring the snark from me BIG TIME. Although she’s part of the Twilight saga, I’m a big Anna Kendrick fan. She was great in Up In The Air, and doesn’t bring the skank the way Miley does.

So, what this probably means is that I’m old as fuck. I don’t get what the kids love. I don’t understand what the F it is about Robert Pattinson or Taylor Lautner. I have started to accept that the actresses I love are of the older kind, and that I had a bigger desire to see “It’s Complicated” than the Jonas Brothers in 3D.

I wish I could say that I’ve seen all the movies that are up for awards this year. Sadly, I haven’t. Laef has seen more of the best picture nominees than I have, so he probably has a better opinion on the frontrunners. This is a major problem for me – staying awake for movies when I’m on my couch. I missed Inglorious Basterds, The Hurt Locker and Disctict 9 despite them playing right in front of my (sleeping) eyes.

Laef did however drag me to Avatar, which I did not like. Yes, I respect the feat. Yes, it was pretty. Yes, I had a headache when I left. In turn, Laef went to see Up In The Air with me. I loved it. As much as I love Sandy, I can’t explain why I haven’t seen the Blind Side. Also, for some reason Laef bought me the book, Push, for Valentine’s Day. This is the book that Precious is based. Not the most lovey-dovey Valentine’s book, but at least I have an idea of what the movie is about despite not having seen it yet. Tragic, I know.

My old ass will simply sip Vodka and comment on the dresses and awkward Red Carpet conversations caused by one glass too many of champagne in the limo ride to the Kodak Theater.

Speaking of old asses, is it me or is Idol shit this year? Yes, I know that we’re only in week 2 of the real competition, and the contestants will get better as the lessons and styling increase, but thus far, I am lulled to sleep by most of their faces. Never thought I’d be a fan of someone with jacked hair, but I really like Alex Lambert’s voice. I also like Lee Dewyze. Mostly because last night it looked like he told the Idol styling team to fuck off. He wore jeans and a t-shirt. Sometimes Idol makes these people look so packaged. One after another, dressed for the big time, but completely unsure of how to own the moment. It’s all a bit awkard.

As for the girls, no one stands out for me. Maybe after tonight one or two will separate themselves.

Speaking of the girls. It’s a rough fit for Ellen. And, I love me some Ellen. She is funny. But, there’s nowhere for her to be funny in this setting. And she doesn’t know anything about music. So there’s no valid point to her being there. Which I find sad because I want her to work. Especially this season when I’d rather be watching Uncle Buck.

Yesterday morning – at an hour that used to be their bed time – Amy and Andrew Longeteig welcomed a little peep to the world.

Her name is Leila Grace Longeteig.

She is precious. I thought for certain she’d be an adorable little ginger like her daddy, but luckily for her, she has her mommy’s looks, and a head full of beautiful black hair.

I don’t know what it is about the Longeteig’s having a baby that makes me feel like I want one a lot more than I used to. It’s not that I ever didn’t want kids, it’s just that I still had friends who didn’t have them, and as I spiraled out of my youth and into my mid-30’s (FUCK that is hard to write), I sort of started to think that I might be able to live without babies.

I have never had a biological clock issue. Then again, I never really visualized myself getting married and was certain that Amy L. and I would be single, 29 and drinking Cosmos for our entire existence. Somehow, I just sort of do what comes my way and don’t live by any sort of rules (i.e. married by 23, a baby girl by 25, a baby boy by 27, a Lexus by 30 and a house in suburbia by 33).

However, this little Longeteig peep stabbed me right in the baby-maker. I am completely and totally in love with her after only one photo.

The Longeteig’s have been friends for 12 years. I have seen Andrew barf on himself, Amy fall down no fewer than 10 times, and have helped them move 14 times. On the flip side, Amy has catered to my dozens of requests for Taco Bell and visits to Rennies, even though BOTH were against her religion. Andrew is like a brother from another (ginge) mother who I adore to pieces.

I can not believe they have a precious little peep. The jury is still out on whether they’ll allow me Auntie rights, but hopefully they can look past my checkered past.

And because of this little peep, I think I might be able to try it. I just wanted Amy to try it first and let me know how it goes.

Also, I wasn’t totally ready to give up on wine.

My last post was two weeks ago and something about being pregnant and going to Target on a Friday night?

Well, let me tell you, things have only gotten more exciting since then.

Not.

Laef has been gone a lot over the past two weeks, which is normally great news for me (shopping, watching crap TV, eating). The first weekend he was gone – Valentine’s Weekend – I celebrated by myself at the 3rd Street Promenade. The weather was nothing short of spectacular, I found amazing sales and indulged in a dark chocolate crepe and champagne.

It was a good substitute for spending the afternoon without Laef, but as the weeks press on during basketball season, I’m definitely missing my partner in crime. Sure, I don’t laugh at his ridiculous jokes and he takes up way too much space in the bed, but isn’t that the whole point of marriage? Having someone to talk to besides your cat?

The Sanch and I are getting tired of each other. I know he appreciates my lack of discipline and the fact that his nails have not been clipped since basketball season started (I make Laef do all of the jobs that would lead to the cat liking me better), but he also appreciates it when the litter box is cleaned more regularly.

We’ve run out of things to talk about.

Laef was gone again this past weekend, but I was pretty much shopped out and had honestly run through my entire list of “things that keep me occupied and happy while Laef is gone”. I have painted my nails no fewer than a dozen times over the past two months, colored my hair, gotten a facial, gone out for sushi, made three trips to Pinkberry, watched The Notebook, watched marathons of 16 & Pregnant and Keeping up with the Kardashians, reorganzied the closet and watched the entire Season 4 of Friday Night Lights online.

So, now all that’s left is preparing for this marathon.

That leaves me with running as my “fun thing to do when Laef is gone”. Except that it really isn’t all that fun sometimes.

My hips are wondering when exactly I turned 74. My toenails are no longer on board with marathon training. And my iPod can not believe that I downloaed LA Candy by Lauren Conrad (I won’t even try to justify it or give you an explanation other than to say that I don’t want to be bogged down with Homer when I’m running 13 fucking miles. I have enough to worry about).

My body seems to be holding up fairly well, but I am also working really hard to make sure I do all of the right things. Which means when I got a text on Saturday from a girl I recently met through a UCLA carpool system asking me if I’d like to go out on Saturday night, I had to decline. OK, if I’m being honest, it had more to do with the fact that her text said, “I can pick you up around 10 and we can go have a few drinks before heading out around midnight.”

The fuck?

As lonely as I am, and as much as I need human convo when Laef is gone, I would need 6 Adderall’s to go out according to her schedule. I suppose I would have taken a nap and gone, but I honestly can not go out and drink and expect to run 13 miles the next day.

So, I’m kind of boring right now.

I have only 10 weeks to go until the race and I just keep picturing myself crossing the finish line. All the lame Saturday nights and Sunday’s where my hips creak will be SO worth it when I am done.

Laef hates it when I watch 16 and Pregnant on MTV.

Now that I think about it, he actually hates when I watch anything on MTV.

He thinks that by me watching, and thus giving it ratings, I am somehow encouraging other 16-year-olds to get pregnant.

I guess he has a point.

Because what 16-year-old doesn’t want to be on MTV?

Anyway, it should be noted that because of Laef’s strong objection (as opposed to his mild objection of Real World), I don’t actually watch this show with any regularity. However, I noticed that the reunion/catch up show was on the other day so I watched.

Dr. Drew totally tries to justify all of it by raising awareness. He mentions things like “protection” and “adoption”.

Shit that would have gone right over my head when I was 16.

But, now that I’m 35 and have stopped taking my birth control pills, his words actually resonated with me.

I stopped taking birth control pills because we are beginning to have the “baby” talk. But we don’t want said baby to grace us with it’s presence for at least a year, if not longer. And we don’t even want to think about said baby for at least 6 months.

My solution was quite simple and it had something to do with being born-again virgin.

Laef did not like this idea at all.

And then reality set in: We can’t just hope.

On Friday, after a little dinner date night, we went to target for Tampons (WHEW), condoms and cat food.

We were totally trying to act all cool and grown up, but we were acting totally dorky and sketchy while perusing the different brands, and I SWEAR like 22 people came on that aisle while we there.

After Laef (in his LOUDEST voice ever) made sure I knew that “Target doesn’t carry XXXXL so I guess these XXL will have to do”, we headed towards the checkout counter.

At that point, I noticed a familiar dude in the line – some guy that works with Laef at UCLA. I made some excuse that I wanted to go look at greeting cards and bailed before Laef ever knew what happened.

I left Laef at the check out counter with Tampons, Condoms and Cat Food. I know, I am totally mature like a 16-year old chick.

After feeling somewhat guilty, I made my way back to the checkout counter where Laef’s coworker was still standing, chatting about “our exciting Friday at Target”.

Whatever, dick.

We got condoms.

And we giggled like super mature teenagers the whole way home.

This weekend marks the one-year anniversary of my first-ever half marathon.

You can read all about my experience at The Surf City Half Marathon here. That was a fun day. Except for the part about parking miles away from the race and having to walk that far after running 13 miles. I never would have thought that beer could taste SO good that early in the morning. Or that it would feel so good after running.

Since that first race, I’ve run two other half marathons and a 10K.

This weekend, I will run the Surf City for the second time, again with my sister Brooke.

But, it’s different this year. Originally, my goal was to finish the race in 2 hours or less. Now that I’m training for the Eugene Marathon in May, this weekend is simply a training run. While I know that it will be difficult to slow myself down and not get caught up in the adrenaline of a race, I wish that every long training run had me surrounded by thousands of other runners, beer at the finish line, spectators with signs and a cool surfboard medal.

Usually a half marathon would be my peak. It would be the reward for months of training, and I would take at least a week off afterward. Now I can’t think like that. I have to run 13 miles on Sunday and resume running on Tuesday. We’ll see how that goes.

At this point, I don’t know what my goals or expectations for the marathon will be. Right now I want to get through the next three weeks of back-to-back-to-back long runs and see if my body holds up. Assuming it does, my goal will likely be to finish the race without having to walk at all.

Having said that, I was talking to Laef the other night and mentioned that deep down my hope is that I can finish the full marathon in 5 hours. (Which is insane because I could drive all the way to my parents house in Sacramento in that amount of time, so I have no idea WHY on Earth I think it will be fun to run for that long).

Without hesitation Laef said: “As long as you finish faster than Oprah.”

Of course, neither of us had any idea how long it took Oprah to run her marathon.

After some quick googling I found out.

4:29:20.

SHIT.

The fastest I have ever run a half marathon is 2:06. Double that and I would run the marathon in 4 hours, 12 minutes.

But, I can pretty much guarantee that I won’t be maintaining that pace over miles 20-26 in my first-ever marathon. So, it’s more realistic to think I’d finish in closer to 5 hours.

However, Oprah ran this shit in 4 and a half hours!

I really want to beat Oprah.

If I don’t though, there are other famous people that I think I could beat and still feel happy:

Mario López, (5:41:41). OK, so either he was cocky and didn’t train at all and is in good enough shape to just go for it, OR he stopped along the way to do situps.

Freddie Prinze, Jr., (5:50:49). See above.

David Lee Roth, (6:04:43). He probably stopped at a bar along the way and had a smoke.

John Edwards (3:30:18). Let’s be honest. He has a lot to run from. That’s the only explanation for that time. And, it’s probably a lie.

Al Gore, (4:58:25). This is more like it.

This list is outdated because I know that Edward Norton ran a marathon last year, but here’s the list I looked at for Oprah’s time.

TGIF!

I consider myself a lucky wife.

From time to time, my husband travels for entire weekends at a time and I get to do whatever I want.

Doing whatever I want usually consists of me being able to roam about the house without getting the “sex” eye or the “Let’s watch The  Hurt Locker” statement.

However, over the past couple of weeks, I was in a funk. I can’t pinpoint why, but I think it had to do with a combination of getting back to the grind of traffic and the stress of work after a splendid 2-week break for Christmas. It rained quite a bit in early January so I wasn’t running nearly as much as I usually do.

Not to mention, I noticed that I was sporting a mustache that I swear I never noticed before. Also, my brows were clearly trying to meet in the middle of my forehead in an effort to remind me of the most important part of marriage: Always meet half way.

True.

You gotta meet halfway.

Which is why over the past 5 years I can’t remember a time I went to a spa for a facial or a wax. I have gotten a few massages here and there on special occasions, but basic feminine maintenance?

It’s hard to explain to men that a fucking facial costs upwards of $100. I could barely understand it.

But my face was looking tired and Lindsay Lohan-esque, I was growing hair that I can no longer hide or comb into a pretty shape.

So I deemed this past weekend a “me” weekend.

I woke up on Saturday morning, went on a 6-mile run in great weather, and then headed out for my facial and waxing.

Now I know why facials are so expensive.

It was 60 minutes of bliss.

I felt refreshed.

Which gave me the energy to go to the mall and browse around with nothing to do and nowhere to be.

Then I decided to treat myself to a $3 cupcake. Between facials and cupcakes, I am pretty sure I’m in the WRONG business. The bake shop was packed with people willing to spend $3 on one cupcake. I could have made 12 cupcakes for $3.

I am now thinking that I should open a salon that sells cupcakes. The Bill Gates of pampering, bitches.

Anyway, I sat outside and ate my cupcake, savoring every bite and realizing how happy one little cake can make a person.

After that, I headed home to watch a movie and lay on the couch. I did that until I fell asleep. At 9 p.m.

On Sunday, I ran 10 miles and it felt great. By the time I got back, I was feeling back to normal and out of my funk.

Laef came home around 4 p.m.

His first words: Get Naked.

Good thing I am out of my funk.

I recently visited home for the holidays, and being back in my old room from high school brings back a lot of memories.

Now, I didn’t totally hate high school, but I also didn’t totally love it.

I was a zoo in every sense of the word. I was a cheerleader with jet black hair who loved The Cure and played softball in the spring. I’ve never been the kind of person to fit into one type of mold – I somehow always find something in common with almost every person I meet.

That doesn’t really work in high school, and people end up questioning your moral character.

“Damn. Why is that bitch talking to them?”

If I somehow lived the life of the characters on Friday Night Lights (I know, I really need to get over this show) where they all seem so grown up and mature (they go to bars for fucks sake), that might have been OK.  While they all go through serious drama, they come off as way more mature than I ever was.

Anyway, I recently came across this photo of me snapped in my bedroom when I was a senior in high school.

It’s no fucking wonder my parents (and my brother) hated me. If I wasn’t lazy, I would get on photoshop and draw arrows to the MANY things that are wrong with this picture.

For starters, God forbid I allow myself to get a little sun. And, secondly, lose the goth/emo/I hate life bitchface.

You will notice that there is a bright yellow construction/traffic light thing. Apparently, I thought it was cool to steal it and bring it home. I remember that. It was cool until I tried to go to sleep at night.

Blink. Blink. Blink. Blink. Blink.

WHO THOUGHT STEALING A BLINKING LIGHT WAS COOL? WHY?

A few things of note on my mirrored closet doors.

1. I thought the GAP was THAT cool that I put a sticker on my wall. The GAP. Seriously?

2. There is a photo of my brother (taped above a photo of some male model) in which I clearly drew devil horns and a goatee on him. What a nice person I was.

3. Apparently, I thought that Bartyles and James wine coolers were so cool that I put their labels on my mirror. Wine coolers? Seriously.

4. I guess I liked black and white photos of people kissing. A LOT.

5. Wire hangers were totally acceptable to me.

The point is, if I ever had to go back to those days, I might die. Even knowing what I know now, I would never want to be an angst-ridden 17-year old who covers her wall with stupid shit and has enough anger to last a lifetime.

As you’re probably aware, I’m currently on a Friday Night Lights binge.

I am almost done with Season 2. I have forsaken all of my other shows. They sit, in the DVR, waiting for the bender to end.

And, yes, I’m also running a marathon.

These are the things that keep my mind occupied. They are my escape from long days at a cubicle. The escape from taking orders, battling traffic and wondering if I could be doing more with my professional life. Wondering why the fuck my numbers never come up in the lottery.

Yesterday was one of those particularly rough days. During the drive home, I told myself to let it go. Be over it by the time I walk in the door. Let it go so that I have the evening to salvage what’s left of the day and enjoy it.

I never know what each day will be like, so I always savor the last 5 minutes in bed before getting up. And, I savor the last 5 minutes before I fall asleep. Somehow, I know that those moments could potentially be the best part of my day. I want to remember them. They are what carry me through.

When I got home last night, I was still trying to snap out of the funk when I noticed a piece of mail from the Longeteig house.

First of all: How exciting is it to receive mail that isn’t a bank statement or a pack of coupons? With email and facebook and cell phones, real mail has become SO exciting.

Inside was a CD of songs from a band that does a lot of the songs on Friday Night Lights. There was a note. Just a quick note to say “I miss you.”

And just like that, the best part of my day started.

Thank you, AL. I needed it right then.

I miss you too.

I’m putting this on the internet and in writing so that it is real. So that there’s no turning back, and so that I can lean on random people for support.

After weeks of debating in my head, I have decided to run a full marathon. I have 15 weeks to train, and will do my first (and almost certainly last) marathon in Eugene, OR on May 2.

When I ran my first half marathon, I watched in awe as people continued on for 13 more miles after I had crossed the finish line of the half marathon. I have very close friends who have run full marathons, so I know it can be done. I know you don’t have to be an elite athlete, and that anyone can start from walking and progress to 26.2 miles.

But, I am nervous. I’m worried about the time commitment, the possibility of injury and about the complete change in my life over the next 4 months. Because the truth is, I can’t really make weekend plans because running 20 miles on a Sunday doesn’t really coincide with a night of drinking on a Saturday. Nor does it coincide with doing ANYTHING on a Sunday aside from that run.

And so I thought a lot about this decision. It comes at a time where I have been seriously assessing certain things in my life and wanting to change those things. Focusing on this will force me to make some of those changes – drinking less, eating better, thinking about positive goals as opposed to dwelling on petty things that don’t matter.

There really isn’t a more perfect time to attempt this. There’s no wedding to plan, no babies planned in the very near future and no big plans over the next 5 months.

So, here goes.

WTF am I doing again?

Oh, yeah. Eugene 2010.

My favorite place for so many reasons.