don't read this if you get grossed out easily or are afraid of flames

lately i have been training to run a Ragnar Relay. over the past 2-ish years, i've given running some half-sassed attention, but the past 2 months have been serious business.

here's what'll be happening: Ragnar So Cal

i'm following this: Training Schedule

i've typically been pretty much a sissy with running, but with steady training, i'm amazed at how far i've come. with such effort, however, come some basic maladies. i really couldn't care less about sore muscles or cramps or shakey legs; the problem is the toenail issue.

i've started to develop blisters underneath most of my toenails, causing a bit of...alarm. not to mention a lot of pain. my roommates can attest to this because i tend to talk about it a lot. actually, i just recently figured out they were blisters, which is sort of a relief because i was starting to get worried that my toes were just warping. i'm a girl, ok? we don't like stuff that's not pretty.

i found out about the blisters when one popped. it was unexpected, and as i noticed a mass of bloody, gooey, serum flowing out of my toe i almost passed out. luckily my cousin, the aspiring MD, swooped in and took control of the situation. after the gore was gone, everything felt much better.

another blister has started to outgrow its shell and i noticed this morning is causing an infection. i was just trying to suck it up until this morning, at work, when i noticed i could barely walk down the hall. it was time to get the inevitable popping over with.

i asked the front desk if they happened to have a needle and a match. they referred me to the janitor. i asked him and he answered with a mischievous smile, "Yes, I have something." when you read that sentence in your mind, please attach a Hungarian accent to it, as the janitor is not only well-equipped, but also Hungarian.

5 minutes later, he came in with this:

i'm not sure what's worse: my throbbing, incapacitating toe, the blow torch, or the biggest freaking safety pin i've ever seen.

it did the job. amazing.
this running thing is obviously not the business of sissies.

Gag

i loathe worms.

i was properly and thoroughly traumatized by them in about second grade, when my teacher read us How to Eat Fried Worms. i am still sicked-out by this book as an adult. one of my middle school students in Philly once had it and i warned him it was super-sick and that he couldn't read it in front of me (i'm not that ridiculous, it was just a ploy to get him to actually read it. Manipulative Reverse Psychology--a great thing to use on developing brains.)

i'm happy about Springtime, but can't walk down a sidewalk without gagging. why, why, why do the worms have to hog all walkways?

about ten minutes ago i unsuspectingly ran outside to get the mail for my school. i was halfway down the sidewalk with no escape in any direction when i noticed i was surrounded by plastered worms. i tried my best to plug my nose and ignore my plight, finish the mailbox business and run back in.

it was bad.

then i was sitting in my office and the receptionist came in to hand me stuff. she asked why i was looking so weird, and i said i was afraid to put my feet down on the floor because i didn't want worm guts to get on my carpet. she looked at me like she looks at her children and told me to show her the bottom of my shoes.

see, when i freak out about stuff, people like to try and minimalize it, acting like i'm exaggerating or something. i know she was planning on looking at my shoes and appeasing me by telling me i was worrying over nothing.

i lifted up my feet, and she says, with concern, "OK, you have some worms on there."

i only knew the shriek i let out was inappropriate because i simultaneously saw the principal cock her head down the hall. i leaped out from behind the desk in as few carpet-worm-shoe contact points as possible as the receptionist suggested--"Go wash your feet in the snow."

i did my best to scrub. it's so gross. i only stopped when she came out to get me saying, "Can you please come back in here? Someone wants to sell us a copy machine."

elchchchccchhkckck.

Anjelica Huston Has Weird Hair

my poor parents. they've been waiting so long for me to give them a grandchild. since they are kind and sensitive in general, they were patient and unassuming for the first 13 of my childlessbearing years. but that didn't work and they are taking a different approach these days.

a phone conversation at Christmastime, while in a car with my pervy friend Steve:

me, unsuspecting: "Hi, Dad."
Dad: "Heather, I need a grandson."
me: "I know, Dad. I'll work on that."
Dad: "Soon. Just get it done."
me (foolishly): "I'm with Steve right now. I'll see what he can do."
Steve gets the jist of the conversation and recognizes a window of opportunity.
He attempts to get in the driver seat with me.
me: "Steve, get off. Dad, because of you Steve is trying to jump me."
Dad: "Lay back, relax, and open up."
me: "I'm hanging up now."

then, yesterday, from my mother via text:

Mom: "G'mornin. I decided what we can name your daughter. Angelica."

it was waaaay too early in the morning for such talk and i was unamused. the only response mustered was, "?"

Mom: "Yeah. I watched a movie last night with Anjelica Huston and like the name. We can nickname her Little Angel."
me: "Mom please name your own kid that."

let's review the problems here.
1. "WE"??
2. my daughter? that's called counting your chickens before they're concieved.
3. ANGELICA? any name consisting of four or more syllables is old before it gets out of your mouth.
4. she wants to name her progeny after a vampire? let's face it, at the rate i'm going she's likely not going to get very many granddaughters in the first place. you'd think she'd not want to waste names.

the conversation went on.

Mom: "What should we name your first son?" (again, "WE"?)
Me, giving in: "I have no idea. What do you suggest?"
Mom: "How about Lane, Layne---like Lanet (her name)? As in Heather Lanet? Huh yeah!"
i'm giving her the benefit of the doubt and assuming she was simply in a weird punk mood.
i told her the closest i'd get to either of those is "Lint."
she vetoed and the discussion is over.

if you ever need to end a crazy conversation with your mother, you just act more crazy and she will stop talking so as to not encourage you.