A Dazzling Turning Point!

So I have reached YET ANOTHER turning point in my life. I mean, this one is for real. Geez. These last 3 years have been NUTS for me. I got married, got a real job, moved back to the South (which for those of us who have left & re-entered know why this accounts for such a huge turning point…I mean where else in the world can you get legit Sweet Tea, Chicken & Biscuits, & confederate flags on a daily basis?) I also had a kid, etc, etc, etc. But seriously, this turning point really hits home. And will for a lot of other women after they read this & discover what I stumbled upon a couple weeks ago. It will change your life. And I have nobody else to thank but the Armenian princess herself; Kim Kardashian.

We all know Kim Kardashian. She rose to stardom through a process similar to Paris Hilton’s skanky Praying Mantis looking ass. Kim is known for her last name (yep, it was her dad that was OJ’s right hand man in his murder trial), her modern day Brady Bunch of a family life, & being a So Cal socialite….Oh! And I almost forgot about her also having a massive derriere and a sex tape. So yes – she’s not one of our celebrity royalty for nothing. She worked her way up the Hollywood ranks through her choice of butt-clinging clothes and the genius marketing and mass production of her sex life. Regardless, I will just say one thing about Ms. Kardashian. I love her. It’s true. But that’s all I’m going to say about that, because the plot of this blog is not supposed to be about WHY I love KK, but how she changed my life. Two words: Shoe Dazzle.

KK is not only an expert socialite, but she’s also an entrepreneur. Thanks to the oh-so-intelligent reality show, Keeping Up With the Kardashians, we know she & her sisters own a clothing store called Dash. But she also started an online company called Shoe Dazzle. And the word amazing just doesn’t do it justice what-so-ever. Go to www.shoedazzle.com & you’ll see what I mean. To sum it up, KK & her fashion “dolls” send you a new pair of shoes EVERY MONTH for the low cost of $39.95! I mean seriously. It’s better than finding that random $5 in your pocket you didn’t know was there. It’s better than that weird little feeling when cleaning out your ears (yes – even little McKenna loves that feeling! Don’t deny that you don’t either!). Anyway, to open your email to an assortment of killer shoes that Kim Kardashian herself had a hand in picking out JUST FOR YOU is like no other feeling in the world. And all it takes is ONE click on “SEND ME THIS SHOE NOW!” to have your feet dazzled. And this is better than being BEdazzled. As cool as being Bedazzled is…pause NOT.

I’ll go on the record of saying that I’ve never considered myself to be the most fashion forward person in the world, but I’ve also never considered myself to be at the back of the fashion pack either. I DO realize that brown belts don’t tend to work with black shoes. BUT now, with my new BFF Kim’s help, I’ve brought the Macy’s shoe department in my closet to a whole new level. So ladies, do yourselves & the rest of the world around you a favor. Let Kim & her Dazzling Dolls accessorize your feet in a way you’ve never expected before. Shoe Dazzle us and bring out your inner Kardashian. You’ll learn to embrace it like I have.

Um....Can someone quickly tell me how to raise a human being??

Alright, so this whole motherhood thing is definitely the weirdest point thus far in my life. You always hear how great being a mom is. Tiring, but great. And yes. It really is. But nobody gives details on what really goes on behind the scenes, if you will. There’s no instruction manual that pops out strapped to your kid when they’re born. Yes, you will more than likely have plenty of advice and words of wisdom given to you by other experienced moms, but ultimately, your kid’s operations manual is different from everyone else’s kid. So I’m here to tell the truth about some of MY mommyhood experience, or at least what I’ve experienced so far in the month that I’ve been one. (Only 30 or so days of being a mom, would classify me as an expert, right? I thought so too.) And warning: some material might be classified as “TMI” (or “Too Much Information,” for you non-computer geeks) but the truth hurts & is uncomfortable sometimes, so enjoy. :-) (P.S. McKenna’s going to kill me when she gets older and reads all my blogs about her! HA! McKenna, just know I still love you & you’re the coolest little human I know, despite what you’ve put me through! :-)

One word of advice for those of you who are expecting or plan to have kids someday…Epidural! Do it! In fact, if I could have convinced my doc, I would have had one about 3 weeks PRIOR to going into labor. Life would have been A LOT more fantastic that way. :-) I don’t want to offend anyone, but people who decide to “go natural” with no drugs are absolutely out of their mind. Trust me. The epidural is amazing because it literally causes you to lose all feeling and control of the lower half of your body. And it’s absolutely wonderful. When I was in labor, I definitely had to pick up my legs with my hands to move them whenever I wanted to change positions. (Okay, for the record, I wouldn’t want to be like this all the time, but when you feel like you’re about to, in the words of my girl Amy Poehler from the movie Baby Mama , “shit a knife,” paralyses is a great option!) The epidural actually made the labor process somewhat enjoyable (if that’s at all possible…). “Keeping Up With the Kardashians” helped entertain me between pushing, and I thank Dr. What’s-His-Name-Anesthesiologist for helping me be able to concentrate on whether or not Khloe Kardashian should have posed nude for the PETA campaign. Oh, those crazy Kardashians…

So the # 3 question I received while pregnant was “are you going to breastfeed?” (Because I know you’re curious, #1 & 2 questions were “is it a boy or girl?” & “when are you due?” respectively). The weird thing about this question was that it wasn’t my friends or family who were asking, but complete strangers! First off – what the hell do they care? I mean, they’re my boobs and my kid so is it really any of their business? And they’re not ever going to ever see me OR my kid again, so really? Why the need to ask? Weird. But since YOU are my friend (at least on my blog!) I’ll share with you that I did in fact decide to breastfeed. This worked for about a week or two, and then McKenna decided that boobs piss her off and would pitch a fit whenever I’d try to feed her. Soooooooo, I’ve resorted to strapping a damn milking machine to myself every few hours to pump that crap out so she can still eat for free! And let me tell you. It’s not fun. Just imagine power sucking bodily fluid out of your udders. Yep, it’s just like that.

Speaking of bodily fluids….a couple of the most interesting points of parenthood thus far have come while standing over the changing table. The diaper changing table, that is. I read once that Jenny McCarthy contemplated cutting her son’s clothes off of him one time due to the mess that he made. And can I tell you, that’s the BEST IDEA EVER?!? Let me back up a little and give an example of why….Bryant was sitting with McKenna on his lap one day, and all of a sudden a warm gush of smelly goodness spread all over his shorts. Awesome. But no big deal, I thought, he can just go change his shorts while I change her diaper and we’ll be all good. Right? Wrong. I was unaware that my sweet, little 8 pound, baby McKenna had crapped a 46 pound condor out into her diaper and then leaked that shit onto Bryant also! Seriously, it was all the way up her back, down her legs, up her chest, all over ALL of our clothes by the time I carried her to the table, and pretty much everywhere else you can imagine. Seriously?? I almost DID cut her out of her outfit, but decided what the hell? We all need a bath or shower anyway, so why not smear that crap more by taking it off like normal? HA! I won’t give any more details, but I will leave you with two facts: 1) that particular changing experience was definitely a two person job (thanks Bryant!) and 2) that human feces are disgusting.I can only imagine how many more condor craps I’ll have to clean up or how many more gallons of milk I’ll be pumping out of myself via electronic human milking machines, but I’m sure it will all be interesting. And not to worry – I’m happy to share every weird detail with you! More to come as the “mom” experiences pile up! :-) Stay tuned…

My "I Was Almost Raped & Killed by a Dead Phone Line" Story

Have you ever seen a pajama-clad, narcotic, delirious, angry, terrified, AND pregnant chick holding a loaded shot gun with a cell phone squeezed tightly between her shoulder and ear and convulsing uncontrollably? Well, if you had been a fly on the wall at the Funston residence on Dec. 16th around 2:30am CST, that’s what you would have seen. Let me start from the beginning.

Once upon a time, a husband left his pregnant wifey to help his parents out in New Mexico, with the plans of the wifey joining him a week later for the holidays. “Don’t stay by yourself while I’m gone,” he warned, “we live in Memphrica.” (Translation: one step down from Detroit, the most dangerous city in the country). “Okay,” said the wifey, “I won’t. I’ll have someone stay with me or I’ll stay with them.” Safety first, safety always, right? Well….the wifey lied. She stayed by herself. Days one through six went by without a hitch.

Night seven comes around. Sleep overcomes the wifey. Suddenly, around 2:30am the piercing house alarm jolted wifey awake. Sudden fear was aroused by the realization of potential danger. The massive shotgun, longer and larger than the wifey’s leg was pulled out (it’s amazing how quickly one can teach themself how to use a gun when fear settles in, whether or not it’s the safe & correct way to do it). 9-1-1 was dialed. Police were dispatched. The 9-1-1 operator attempted to console the convulsing wifey. The gun was cocked once. A massive bullet shell flew out of the shotgun and onto the bed. Oops. The wifey was pretty sure that was supposed to stay IN the gun. Oh well. The noise probably scared the m’er f’er who was trying to break in. Good. The 9-1-1 operator asked if the wifey was alone and armed. The response: “Yes! My husband left with ALL my damn animals and I’ve got a massive shotgun pointed into the hallway, and I have NO idea how to use it so SOMEBODY’S going to get hurt!” No lie. That was the response.

Five minutes passed and the cops finally showed up. (Within those 5 minutes the gun was cocked again, where another bullet shell flew through the air. Double oops. I was running out of bullets!) When the cops finally arrived, the operator directed the wifey to disarm the gun and let the cop into the house. One problem. The wifey had no clue how the hell to disarm the gun. Oh well. F it. So she opens the front door for the cop. In rolls the biggest, highest looking m’er f’er of a cop she’d ever seen. No joke here. The cop looked like he stuck his face into a pile of poison oak. His eyes were pretty much swollen shut and red as Sadam Huessin burning skin in hell.

So the cop’ers searched around the house and found nothing. Cop’ers went to leave when nothing was found. “Wait!” yells the hyperventilating preggo, “I don’t know how to disarm or reload my gun. You need to do it for me!” (This was the point when the cop finally showed some sort of emotion and looked at me like I was a complete idiot). Cop’er showed the wifey what to do. Nothing in his mini shotgun 101 class stuck. She had no clue what to do with it, so she left and went to a friend’s house. (Make note: This friend is a better friend than I! I would have ignored any phone call that I got at 3am! Haha! Thanks Molly!) :-)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

So it turns out that the house alarm didn’t go off due to a mean bad guy trying to rape and kill me. Instead, it went off because all the phone lines in the neighborhood went down and that triggered the alarm. Wonderful. I almost shot a hole through my roof and bedroom door because of a dead phone. I’m sure State Farm would be happy to cover THOSE costs. Oh, and did I mention that I put my husband into a panic because when I was hyperventilating over the phone with him, he couldn’t understand what I was saying and thought I’d been raped? Even more awesome. I just don’t understand how “I got scared” is translated into “I got raped.” Weird. But whatever. I lived. And that’s my “I almost got raped and killed by a dead phone line” story.

Notice: Picture below is pretty close to what I looked like that night with the shotgun. Hot as shit, hanging out of a car window. Wait...no. No, it's not.

Funston Family Planning

(Disclaimer: While this blog may seem to have a negative connotation, please be aware that the parents-to-be are very happy with the ending results!)

Well, it’s official….Bryant & I are going to be parents. AHHHHH!!! What a scary thought. If you know either of us, I’m sure you'll thought the same! But yes, we’re both really excited, but it still doesn’t seem real yet. No really…I think I’m faking it. And it’s all Stew Messer’s fault.

Let me start by describing my pregnancy from the beginning - jinxed. A friend of mine, Stew, started a nasty rumor back in early February that I was pregnant, and has been telling people ever since. Well, it took him 8 or 9 months, but it worked. He jinxed me. Punk. My stellar baby planning plan was to wait at least until I was 28 or so to pop one out. I won’t go into details of the stellar plan, because they’re all shot to hell now, since Stew had to go and ruin it.

Let me back up and describe D-Day….as in “discovered I’m jinxed” day. Stew just happened to be telling people at lunch that I was pregnant one day (which happened to be a Wednesday, by the way. No really, it was a Wednesday….no intended alluding to the legendary Mr. DC!), and something hit me….. “Oh f*ck. I’m pregnant.” Driving home from work that day, I kept having this internal argument with myself. The following is a script is what sort of went through my head on the 20 minute or so commute:

“No way. There’s no way….Bryant & I have always been careful…..well, I might as well check….yeah, that’s it, just prove Stew wrong……holy cow, I feel sooooo pregnant right now…..but I haven’t been sick…..nah, Stew’s playing mind games with me…..wtf??......I think I feel a kick…..yep, that’s definitely a kick…oh god, I'm pregnant.”

This argument in my boggled mind somehow directed my car to the local Walgreens where a plethora of “family planning” devices are sold. Time out. “Family planning?” Who the crap PLANS this kind of thing? (oaky, lots of people, but NOT me!) Every person I’ve ever seen in that aisle at Walgreens or Wal-Mart, or some other “Wal” store, has been a terrified, knocked up teenager who is thinking of ways to keep from being grounded while breaking the news to a pair of irate, “We’re too young to be grandparents” grandparents. Actually, now that I think about it….that’s probably EXACTLY what I looked like trying to decide on which “family planning” test I would take home. Anyway, I digress. I picked out a random 3 pack and took them home.

Once home, I chugged, and I mean CHUGGED about 6 glasses of water so I could relieve myself onto one of these weird little sticks (which apparently you’re not supposed to do, since it dilutes the variable – oops. I was never good at science anyway.) Sure enough….all three tests said, “yes, dumbass…you’re pregnant.” Then came the dilemma of how to break the test results to the husband. Two words to describe this conversation. Awkward turtle. Poor Bryant. I don’t remember exactly what I said, but I remember just throwing out a jumbled string of random words related to babies and pregnancy, and him giving me the “WTF" look. You know that look. So I had to show him. Despite the three positive tests, neither he or I believed it since I wasn't sick and had no real symptoms, so back to the family planning aisle at Walgreens we went to grab a two packer of a different kind of test. Yep. They were positive too. I just remember the words “oh” and “f*ck” running through my head.

Skip ahead a few days. I scheduled a doctor’s appointment, so that I could get a professional opinion and they could tell me I was faking it and Stew truly hadn’t jinxed me. I called my all-knowing sister about the appt. wondering what would happen at the doctor’s. Here’s what she said….and yes, this is a quote. “Oh, this will be the easiest prenatal appointment you’ll have. They’ll ask some questions and you’ll have to pee on another stick.” Can you say LIAR?? I almost died that day. Really. I had everything from cameras to needles shoved in me. (I apologize if that is too much information, but it’s the only way to describe what a horrible near-death experience I had). Yuck, I think I might yak in my mouth thinking about those needles and the THREE EXTRA LARGE VILES of blood they not-so-nicely extracted from my body….or maybe just faint. Either way, not good. And my hands have gone weak thinking about it…..ugh…but yes. The doc confirmed the jinxation. (Is that a word?)

I do have a sentimental moment to confess. Despite all my nay-saying about finding out I was knocked up, when I saw the embryo (fetus? baby? whatever.) and the heart beating away during the ultrasound…wow, don’t know how to describe it, but it was by far the coolest thing I think I’ve ever seen. The doctor gave me a picture of it to take home, and suddenly all my optimism and hopes were dashed. The fetus looked like a gremlin. Wonderful. Of course I would have a fetus in me that looked like a devilish character from a scary movie. Why would I think I would have a normal looking kid? And no, I’m not talking about the cute fuzzy little gremlin called Gizmo that we all know and love. No, I’m talking the scary, big-eared killing machines from that horrible Christmas horror movie.

Since that appointment, I’ve been fortunate to not be sick or have any major symptoms (except getting fat...but that could also be due to my new I love McDonald's diet!), which is why I still think I’m faking it. I think I’ve figured it out though. Stew’s playing a huge joke on me and the doctor’s in on it giving me a gremlin picture. Bastards. Anyway, I figured I’d share the story with all of you, so you can be forewarned when peeps start spreading rumors about you. And by all means…do NOT involve Stew Messer in your “family planning” plans. :-)

Another life altering decision...

So I'm going through a phase. Some might call it a lifestyle, but I'm clearly not that consistent in life, so I won't even place that kind of pressure on myself. I've tried this phase before, and it last approximately a day and a half. Not exactly what I'd call a life altering decision. But I've done it again. And believe it or not, and most won't, I've been steadfast in my endeavor so far. For two weeks now…..or is it three? Anyway, I've made a decision. Decision made. I am….dun dun dun (that would be the stellar cinematic sound effect most hear on television or movies but you're lucky enough to hear/read/imagine it through the art of text)…… a vegetarian!

WHAT??? Who does that?? Ya know, I contemplated for a while about this (roughly 37 seconds or so). Like I said, I have attempted to go down this path before, but was quickly re-routed back to my old meat devouring days. So what do you ask, showing my proven record of failure in this department, would make me want to go down this chicken and cowless road again? The answer = I don't know. Honestly. But I weighed the pros & cons. And here's the marathonal list I came up with:

Pros:

1. I have great healthness that enters my body with each lettuce & carrot filled bite.

2. Veggie meals aren't as filling as meaty ones. That means MORE food for me!! Can I get a WHOOP WHOOP??

3. Ferdinand doesn't have to stress about me at Christmas & Thanksgiving so much that the unfortunate fellow starves himself and flees Hoggett's sheep farm.

4. Nobody said Snickers and potato chips were off limits. Can I get another WHOOP WHOOP??

Cons:

1. My ag-student/meat-eatin'/animal ranchin'/meatatarian sister hates me and yells loud noises in my general direction every veggie moment of mine she gets.

2. In Treehouse of Horror XI, Homer Simpson is killed by eating broccoli. Keep me in your prayers.

3. I'll be THAT girl who only eats side dishes. Ugh. You know…..THAT girl.

4. They say you are what you eat. And really? Who wants to be a nut or a fruit?

Okay, so my cataloged why and wherefores might not be the most outstanding. But I've done it. I may not know why, but I'm committing myself. Go big or go home. I have to at least give this phase a decent showing. It wouldn't be fair to Ferdinand otherwise. (This would be my second reference to the movie 'Babe', for those of you keeping up. I love that crazy ass duck.)

Though I must say, I've come across some rather delicious alternatives to meaty meat meat foods. (And yes, I said "meaty meat meat" on purpose. I like how it sounds). One hamburger I had tasted like a scrumptious burrito!! If that isn't irony at it's finest, I don't know what is. And it was exciting to eat, because prior to entering your mouth, the tastebuds are screaming for hamburger, but wait!! Instead they receive the dreamy flavor of late night Taco Bell! It just keeps those taste buds a-guessin'!

Feel free to join the veg-head bandwagon with me. Maybe then I won't fall off it so easily if I have some compadres with me. VEG 4 LIFE!!

To add to the list of stellar peeps I hang with...

Damn! I'm just rackin' 'em up this season! I was invited to a private party here in my hotel last night (along with a couple other of my fine looking female co-workers...who'da thunk it?) where I hung out with a PLETHORA of (and when I say "plethora" I mean "PLE....THOR....UH! *this is the point where you repeat "plethora" with more emphasis!* As in over 20 or so...) major Nashville country songwriters....so naturally, I had to share my latest brush with famous-ish people!
















- Jerry Phillips....as in Sam Phillips....as in Sun Studio....as in Elvis Presley. Yep....that'd be him....(our host for the evening also) (*see very right of picture above)

- Gary Nichols

- Dave Gibson

- Curt Jones....founder and chairman of Dippin' Dots....oh yeah....the ice cream of the future! (not really a songwriter, but who doesn't love Dippin' Dots? And don't worry - we exchanged business cards...always looking for business opportunities! ;-) (*see very left of picture above)

- Some badass singer chick who somehow got a hold of my vocal cords....weird. Name is yet to be determined. I'll let you know once she's famous. And she will be. Promise.




Among others...and these peeps are the real deal....the master minds behind some of country's greatest. And they proved it too....with a mini concert series in the hotel suite. They were also name droppin' like fools mentioning how they work with but are not limited to the following - Jessica Simpson, Carrie Underwood, Reba McEntire, Toby Keith, Trace Atkins, Faith Hill.....(the list went on and on....) Don't worry - I let them know how "Jess" Simpson & I are buds these days....and Kid Rock, the dirty greaseface. Yeeeeaaaahhhhh....they weren't impressed. Imagine that.




Quite a night to say the least! :-) We were invited to another party of theirs tonight....I'll report back on how it goes. IF I decide to grace them with my presence. :-) Should they only be so lucky. Cause I'm kind of a big deal. People know me.

Officially a Name-Dropper...

Last night I had a run in with about 456 celebrities in Nashville (okay, that number may be an embellishment)....I went to a bar after a long day of meetings and work where I met/saw/stood next to/gawked at/touched/stalker stared at the following celebrities:


JESSICA SIMPSON!! (WHAT??? LOVE her!)

Kid Rock (officially a greasy, slimy lookin' sleaze...hopefully he's cooler than he looks...for his sake)

Rascal Flatts (minus lead singer, but who really knows them without the lead singer anyway??)

Kelli Pickler (super cute hair...)

Eddie George (Amy grazed his "Heismanish" thigh...and loved it....Jess's trade-in for Romo, maybe?)

Hinder (do they really think they fit in at a NASHVILLE country bar? Stood out like a sore thumb...)


Myself and my friends were - to say the least - star struck....literally. We couldn't move. And refused to until Jess (that's what her BFFs call her...so it's ony appropriate now, right?) took a picture with us. AND we decided she made a mistake in not hanging out with us more that night. No really. We're pretty cool and she would have liked us. Her loss.


I'm beginning to think I'm a star magnet....they just flock to me. I tend to run into them in the most RANDOM places - where no celebrity would normally be. And with my ever-extending list of celebrity run-ins (i.e. Old Man Shatner - though this wasn't really a run-in, more of a proximixic "meeting", Snoop, Brett Favre, etc.) I think I've elevated myself to the next level of celebrity fanatic. Celebrity stalker. I'm past the reading of celebrity news in US Weekly and In Touch magazines...I'm a frequenter (is that a word?) of the favorite celebrity bars. And it's only V.I.P for me. Word.

Words are weird....

(Disclaimer: If you are uncomfortable with offensive language use….do not read this blog. And if you love the F-bomb as much as I do. Read on.)

Words are weird. The way they look, sound, and the manner in which they're used. And who decides what word is used for what? And when exactly does Mr. Webster decide a word is worthy enough to be inducted into the dictionary?

These questions ensued during a long drive from Nashville to Cookeville then to Knoxville (what's with all the "villes" in the south?) It even continued on the even longer trip home. Let me back up for a second. The legendary Ms. Amy & I were trippin' (as in road trippin') out to east Tennessee last week and somehow during our highly intellectual conversation, this topic developed. A plethora of words were discussed and analyzed in our "weird word" discussion. The first of which was "f*ck." Yep….we deeply analyzed it. We did discuss other words, but this particular word will be the topic of this particular blog due to it's unique characteristics. I'm not sure how many people make it a habit to analyze words in normal conversation (unless you're in the Communication Studies graduate department at NMSU, where Morgan's seminars often lead into after-dinner conversations of Saussure's idea of the signifier & signified), but we did. The verdict of our scrutinization? Basically, that this word is borderline amazing.

First of all, it is just fun to say.

Go ahead, say it. "F*ck."

Feels good, doesn't it?

Regardless of how well it rolls off the tongue, there is more concrete reasoning behind the amazingness (does "amazingness" even count as a word?) of "f*ck." It has numerous functions and meanings. It can be used as a noun, adjective, or even as an interjection. Plus, it is considered both a formal word AND a slang word! No really, Webster that sh*t. Definitions of this word include, but are not limited to the following:

-to have sexual intercourse (verb)
-the actual act of sexual intercourse (noun)
-to treat unfairly (verb)
-used to express anger, disgust, etc. and is normally followed by a pronoun, such as YOU! (interjection)

Okay, now that we've got the basic definitions and usages out of the way, another topic needs to be discussed. Why and how did the word become widely known as a curse word? I'll be honest, I don't know the history of the word, but I'd be interested to research it. Another question – WHO the hell decided that it was going to be a forbidden utterance? I want to be the one who decides this type of thing! Because, quite frankly, that's a lot of power. Sooooooo…..Amy & I decided we're switching it up. We're no longer going to use the F word, at all. We're going to adopt its literal definition (i.e. "sex") and going to substitute it for "f*ck." Think about it. Learn it, live it, love it. And if you want to do your part in revolutionizing the English language, spread it.

So that's it from here. Quit sexin' around on the internet and sexin' get back to work!

In the words of the legendary Ricky Bobby, "If you ain’t first, your last!"

So an update on my hobby….(the running hobby, not to be confused with the blogging hobby.) I ran in my second race ever today. And yep….sound the Olympic bells, light the Olympic torch, and let the Olympic Committee know…..I'm on my way to being the World Champion in a VERY tough division. It was a tough one (And P.S., the ninety-f*ing-seven-damn-the-Memphis-humidity- degree weather had nothing to do with the so-called "toughness"), but I prevailed and came out in 2nd place! And what division am I going to represent my country in, you ask?? Well…you might want to sit down for this, but it's.…….the 5K!!

I know, right? Who would have thunk it? That I, KFun, a self-proclaimed "I do NOT run" runner (what does that even mean??), would be racing in what some might consider the most taxing Olympic sport known to man? The FIVE K??? (Disclaimer: please note that if you are not a regular reader of the KFun blogs, she tends to use a small amount of sarcasm in them. This would be a prime example.) Well, my friends, I have shattered all mediocre expectations that you most likely had for me.

AND, because I like you, I'll let you in on my stellar training secrets. You might want to take some notes for this, and it's gonna be quick, but here goes….take a long weekend off from running for the 4th of July, party hard and drinks lots…of alcohol, engage in multiple hardcore battles of late night Laser Tag with some ghetto 14 year olds the eve of the race, and eat LOTS of chili-cheese dip & chips. There you have it. My training secrets. Here's a run down of race….
00:00:00 – Race starts. Feelin' good, despite the late night of multiple laser quests!
00:08:30 – 1 mile down…thank GOD!!
00:16:26 – get passed by what looks to be an 82 year old grandmother. Awesome.
00:17:10 – I think I just vomited chili cheese in my mouth. Even more awesome.
00:22:00 – Holy shit (this was a church race after all, so "Holy" is only appropriate), they expect me to RUN up THAT hill??
00:00:00 – (we've come to the point where I no longer share my times ;) Attempt to keep my legs moving under me after finishing THAT hill!
00:00:00 – Cross finish line. Is that the Rocky soundtrack I hear fainting playing in the background??



Anyway, that's about how it all went down. Unfortunately, I only placed second. And in the words of the great and legendary Ricky Bobby, if you ain't first, you're last. I must have let that slip my mind at the point when the chili cheese dip started to make a cameo. Next time Ricky, next time. 8-8-08. That'll be when I live up to 'ole Ricky's expectations. Bejing, here I come. 8-8-08, baby!!

The Nuggety Cluster F* that was my Day of Independence!

1) Car blows up in the middle of B-F-E nowhere Kentucky roughly about midnight traveling to visit the familia. (Oh, and did I mention the husband was drunk and REALLY grumpy at this point??)

2) Lose the husband's phone. (Oh, and just a reminder...he's already drunk & grumpy at this point...)

3) Triple A sucks. End of story.

4) Load up the boat for what was supposed to be a 20 minute drive to Rough River that turned into a 3 hour trip, get boat stuck in the middle of a corn field, tear up some random farmer's corn field with boat, and finally get to Rough River approximately 2 hours & 40 minutes late. Then it rains.

5) Brother & sister-in-law show up....8 months pregnant. WHAT???

6) Husband gets my hopes up about buying a new car.

7) Husband shoots down the hopes of buying a new car.

Yep - that was my weekend. A big chocolatey cluster f***. And I loved it.