Another Wednesday, another night of tennis with dad.

I am 27 years old.

One might assume I’m old enough to know the real me.

(Spoiler alert: the real me is a liar.)

But 8 months ago, when a group email went out asking who wanted to sign up for a zombie 5k, I spent a moment thinking about it and then said yes.

After all, there were so many months left.

Surely, given half a year, I’d change my lifestyle and take up daily running.

(Have I ever mentioned I hate running?)

(It’s a pure and unending hate, one that could inspire poetry or lead to a villain origin story.)

Finally memorialized Wednesday night tennis with dad. #DadFace obviously included.

Last Wednesday, I was playing tennis with my dad.

(I play tennis with my dad on Wednesdays.)

(If by play, you’re assuming I mean he hits tennis balls at me and I frantically run around, attempting to hit said balls in his general direction, good assumption.)

And I thought to casually ask, “so, if you had someone who was about to compete in a shortish distance run but had no training or ability, what advice would you give?”

(I figured my dad might have advice, having taught high school track for many years.)

(There is, in his basement, an All American plaque given to a student that he then gave to my dad to thank him for being the best coach he ever had.)

(He might have secret running cheat codes, was really what I was looking for.)

His advice?

“Don’t do it.”

Take 1

I may sometimes forget that I’m a liar, but I’m always cognizant of my inability to take good advice.

So, last Thursday, I started running.

(My dad’s follow-up advice, upon realizing I wasn’t going to take the initial advice, was to run every day.)

(Which is less like an awesome cheat code and more like a series of terrible days.)

(Poorly advised, dad.)

Take 2

And in the following days, I continued running.

Take 3

(Don’t get too impressed, I only started with one lap, then added half a lap per day.)

Sunday's time of pain.

(By a lap, I mean I was too embarrassed to use the actual track at the local high school so instead use this gravel-y track behind an elementary school that my dad claims is definitely bigger than 220.)

(That number has something to do with track. As does 440. Or I’m remembering wrong and it’s something like 286. I really don’t pay enough attention to these conversations.)

(Also, 220 what? I have no idea.)

I make terrible life choices.

My dad also advised a banana to help with cramping.

And then I had worse cramps than before.

(It turns out bananas, like me, are liars.)

(Don’t trust bananas should be your take away from this post, if that wasn’t clear.)

Last night's life mistakes.

Lindsey, showcasing her amazing quality of friendship, has come out with me every night to stand by and encourage and time me and walk break laps when I want to die and be nice to the foreign man who asked if she was my mother.

She even came with me on Tuesday when I was running so far behind that we had to go out in the dark.

(Running, get it? because that’s what I was running behind on doing? Oh, you get it.)

It turns out elementary schools don’t light their fake tracks at night.

Someone really should start a letter writing campaign about this.


Wednesday I again played tennis with my dad, then gave in and ran a lap.

And that lap was the first one since I had officially agree to drive other people to the zombie 5k this weekend, thus ensuring I’m actually going and not going to lie and claim other plans, what I told myself was going to happen during every other run.

Different pants day, oh yeah.

Running when you know it’s only going to lead to more running?

Is even worse than normal running.

I’m rather concerned

The other people who’d easily sign up for a 5k

Are possibly people who run

Or have basic muscle usage

So tomorrow is going to be my day of shame

And failure

Keep me in your thoughts,


My Worst Life Decision Yet (And Down With Bananas, While We’re On The Topic)


What. Was. That.

I don’t swear.

(I have nothing against swearing, to be clear.)

(Just, personally, it makes me feel like a small child trying to be shocking and thus always ends with awkwardness and shame.)

(I find myself too awkward and/or lazy for most grown-up requirements.)

(But this isn’t a post about my power being shut off, so let’s move on.)

Yet, despite my resistance towards cursing, when I’ve been spending a rather lot of time with a person who swears, I find myself swearing in my head.

And it turns out, I’m easily influenced when it comes to things a little more disturbing than bad language.

I recently started obsessively watching Dexter.

(My mom pays for Showtime.)

(It’s quite the boon to my not-having-a-television life.)

And, Deb (Dexter’s sister), well, she swears quite a lot.

(On a side note, the actor who plays Deb, over the course of the show, married and divorced the actor that plays Dexter. Sometimes that’s all I can think about while watching their close-knit sibling relationship scenes. All the awkward, is what I’m saying.)

But swearing is not the biggest influence Dexter is having on my psyche.

For yesterday, at work, I was walking down the hallway to the bathroom when I passed by the head of my company.

She smiled at me and I smiled back while panicked and thinking “she wouldn’t smile if she knew the truth.”

The truth?

That just went through my brain as though it’s an average fact about my life?

Is my being a serial killer.

Which, to be clear, I am not.

(Pinky swear.)

It’s probably in my best interest that Dexter just aired its series finale.

I’m not sure my brain could handle it for much longer.


That show should have ended with the season 4 finale

If you were wondering my opinion,


Then I Was Mind Pressured Into Murder (Aka, Farewell Dexter)


Virginia, you're so pretty. #EpicRoadTrip

Skye has gone, possibly forever, but before she left we took one last road trip.

We went down to visit her dad’s family in the mountains of North Carolina.

Entering North Carolina #excitedface! #EpicRoadTrip

Roughly here.

This was quite exciting for me, as I’ve never actually spent any time in what could be considered “the country.”

After my week, I can assure you – where Skye’s family lives is the country.

My dream of becoming a bathroom sign remains plausible. #EpicRoadTrip

While road tripping, always make time to imitate bathroom doors.

(Road tripping, like acid tripping, is about the little moments.)

(Or so I’ve heard.)

(Or just made up because I’ve actually never heard someone describe their experience acid tripping.)

(I need to get out more.)

Stop! It's carrot time. #EpicRoadTrip

It’s equally important to make time for carrots and hummus.

(Only if said carrots are the grown-up variety cut into – rectangular boxes.)

(Baby carrots are from the devil.)


Success! #EpicRoadTrip

One of the best parts of traveling with Skye is that we’re on the same page.

As in, we both wanted to stop the car so we could get out and take official arrival photos when we turned here, onto her family’s drive-way.

(What is an arrival without a photo?)

(We’ll never know because there’ll be no evidence to analyze.)


Skye's Grandma is thrilled to meet me, as you'd imagine. #epicroadtrip

Skye’s Grandma Mary was not on the same page, photo-wise.

I tricked her into happiness with my strawberry joke. #epicroadtrip

Though, in her defense, there were many, many photos taken.

(And she’s really incredibly sweet.)

We went hiking on Skye's family's land. I found a new mushroom friend. #epicroadtrip

We went for walks on the family land.

And, one exciting night, Skye’s uncle drove us around the property while we photographed everything from the back of his pickup truck.

(It was like a country music video.)

(Only with no cowboy hats or bars.)

(Or large groups of young, attractive dancers or spotlights.)

(Or the ocean or mason jars or tractors.)

(So maybe it was nothing like a country music video, now that I think about it.)

Being introduced to the joys of buffet food, southern style. #EpicRoadTrip

Skye’s family introduced me to the exciting eating revolution of buffet restaurants.

My introduction to buffet restaurants continues. #epicroadtrip

Don’t be confused, this is an entirely different buffet restaurant.

They’re everywhere.

(And they do have surprisingly good rolls.)


When not learning that there is a more country version of y’all, we got in some sightseeing.

Exclamation Point #excitedface! #epicroadtrip

Aka, I stood in nature and made an #ExcitedFace.

Chimney Rock #excitedface. #epicroadtrip

Just so many #ExcitedFaces.


Some starring elevation signs.

Tubing time! #epicroadtrip

We also went tubing on a river.

In our two hours of floating we saw not a single other person.

And I got stuck on a rock 4 times.

(Tubing, I’m more incompetent at it than you’d think.)

(Unless you know me.)

(Then I’m probably the same incompetence-level you’d assume.)

I may or may not be on a trolley tour. #epicroadtrip

We ignored Skye’s cousin’s warning of Asheville catering itself to hippies and spent a day taking a trolley tour.

All I remember of Asheville is it’s where Zelda Fitzgerald died in a tragic fire and Nina Simone studied the piano.

And some famous pilot jokingly pretended to fly into city hall after some world war.

(I’m not the best touree.)

Apple pie beignets, I adore you.

And, while visiting the Apple Festival in nearby Hendersonville, I ate these apple beignets.


Apple beignets?

I adore you.

I miss you.

You’re everything I never knew I always wanted.

And then we drove home and stopped at the frontier museum in Southern Virginia and decided we were too cheap to go in so instead spent an hour reading about the creepy building next door which used to be an insane asylum run by the one of the main Americans who argued for eugenics.

And so a quality road trip was had by all,


Road Tripping, From Acid to Insane Asylums