Tag Archives: romance

37 years and still going strong


This past week was my parents 37th wedding anniversary. Just look at them (see the photo above) It truly was that 70′s wedding. My mom is wearing a hat. A hat, not a veil. What a hippie! And my dad, we’ll get into that later.

37 years. If they had gotten divorced, I’d at least have an excuse. But nope. They are best friends and still manage to have things to talk to each other about. I have a lot of respect for that. I can’t imagine the patience that it takes my mom to talk about the History Channel or listen to my dad mangle the already mangled jokes from The Big Bang Theory. And I can’t imagine the patience that it takes my dad to listen to my mother talk about what she’s eaten in the last 3 days. It’s her favorite topic of conversation.

Just look at my dad up there. He knows he just scored the hottest babe. And look at that mustache. My dad has had a mustache since he could grow one. The only time he didn’t have the mustache was when he graduated from high school, my grandfather made him shave it off, and when he surgery on his nose for sleep apnia. When that happened, my whole world view changed. I had no idea that my dad had a top lip. I am pretty sure that mustache is why I haven’t been able too have successful relationship. How can you compete with that? There are 2 people in the world who can compete with my dad on mustaches – Hulk Hogan and Nick Offerman. For Halloween, my dad used to dress up as Hulk Hogan with a tin foil championship belt that we made for him. He’d rip off his shirt and yell, “Hulkamania” and we loved it! He’d ruin four or five shirts every Halloween. I can see why my mom stuck around. He’s funny.

on ambitions and exceeded expectations

Sunday morning at the races.
Early on a Sunday morning, I’m late of course. I run about a mile from my house to catch a cab to take me to the starting line where I am about to run another 13 miles. This is how I start my NYC Half marathon. Not with a nice, well timed breakfast, but with a rush of scarfing down scrambled eggs and peanut butter. That is how I prep for races. I get my adrenaline pumping by knowing that I am going to be so late to the race that it’s going to cost me an infuriating amount of money to get to the start line. But this time, I made it and on less than $20, already a win in my book.

Then the race starts. At first, I’m stiff. I am still having a good time though. Then I get warmed up. After the hill, at about mile three, I begin to tear the race to shreds averaging about an 8:56 mile. One mile was sub 8 minutes. Quite quick for me. I was having a blast, listening to a great tech house and disco playlist. I was expecting to do this race in 2:20. Instead, I beat my own personal record with a time of 1:57:19. I killed

I killed other things that day as well. A big ass burger – killed it. The rest of Sunday – killed it. A mini banana cream pie – killed it. Starting a relationship – killed it.

Wait what was that last one? Yup. That’s right. Looks like this lady seems to have tripped and fallen into a relationship. I didn’t expect that to happen any time soon. I was not unhappy running from my fears and drinking myself into excusable situations. That’s a lie. I was miserable. So I ran a race that ended, for once, with a nice guy waiting for me at the finish line. Isn’t that something?