Morning Routine...Interrupted

After nearly 4 years working at the same job, starting at the early hour of 8:00am I've got my morning routine down to a science. The alarm starts going off at 6:43am allowing me to hit the snooze button twice before actually rolling out of bed and entering the cruel, cold world. I wash my face, then flip on the TV while brushing my teeth and type in Channel 231 for Good Morning America HD which starts at 7am. I know what segments happen at what time so if Sam Champion goes to weather and I'm not styling my hair or putting my makeup on I know I'm running behind. At 7:24am they break for the local news and Eric and Alicia from "7 Action News This Morning" spout off on the the local going ons in our fair city. This part of the show is normally just background noise since we all know how horrible local news can be. I'm usually slicking on some mascara until I hear them send it to Dave Rexroth, the weather man, at which point I actually leave the bathroom to watch. Today; however, I nearly poked myself in the eye when I heard the teaser, "Daughter kills Dad over last dinner roll!" I don't have coffee until I get to work so I considered the fact that I was still in a sleepy, groggy state and walked to the living room to rewind the segment. Sure enough I rewound and heard the same teaser so I continued to watch as they described a Melvindale woman who ate her Father's precious last dinner roll even after he put a note on it saying it was saved for him. This selfish, heinous act really lit a fire under ole Dad's ass and understandably he went right for the knife drawer to show her who was boss...unfortunately for him his daughter either had a secret knife drawer of her own or regularly carries a knife on her person at 6am because a knife war ensued and the daughter actually stabbed her Father to death! Following the murder the daughter was found hiding in the woods behind her house. Ok, so I have a few questions/comments/concerns about this whole story and you can watch the actual news coverage here:

http://www.wxyz.com/news/local/story/POLICE-Woman-Kills-Father-Over-Leftovers/9fV_Ukhuxk6a_LPB2Gl-aw.cspx

1. Who puts a note to save a dinner roll?? I mean a Ribeye from the Chop House is one thing but a dinner roll?? Talk about the crime not fitting the punishment, I'd only break someones Tibia for eating my saved dinner roll, not stab them!!

2. Who eats dinner rolls at 6a.m? Cereal, eggs, omelets, bacon, french toast...all acceptable breakfast foods, dinner rolls? Not on the list!

3. The woman was found hiding in the woods behind her own house! What's the point of hiding if it's within 50 feet of the crime scene?!? Has this woman never seen Law & Order, CSI or even Reno 911?!? Doesn't take a genius to figure out that hiding requires a bit more distance then the back woods of your home, I mean walk around the block at least!

4. The 42 year old daughter was living with her 62 year old Father: Well that's enough to make you stab just about anyone but seriously, a knife fight?!? What happened to a good ole screaming match or food fight?!? Both are far more productive and cleaner then having to sop up your poor father's blood! Clearly these two had some anger management issues from the get go and it's sad that it had to come to a head over a freaking dinner roll...hope you enjoyed that last bite that cost you your father you evil wench!

Diary of a Newlywed...partial credit

As I have previously mentioned in a couple of postings I've spent many hours on the treadmill working my way through The West Wing. I'm completely in love with this show and luckily my Father-in-law offered me every season on DVD from his collection so I can come and get the next season whenever I need it. I'm on the last disc of season 2 and there's nothing worse then walking downstairs to the treadmill, queuing up what you think is the next episode only to find that you've seen them all! This happened with the first season and I was forced to take a hiatus from the West Wing and watch Law & Order: SVU until I could get my hands on season 2. To avoid this problem I asked Nick to pick up the third season from his parent's house when I was only on disc 3 so that there would be a seamless transition between seasons. A few days later he was in Ann Arbor and I reminded him to pick up the DVD on his way home. I described precisely where to look, down to which side of the drawer so that he wouldn't have to traipse all over the house looking for it. Later that evening I asked if he'd remembered to stop by and when he nodded yes relief washed over me considering the fact that it'd taken days of reminders to get him to stop in. He walked over to his shoulder bag, reached in and with a big grin pulled out not one but two plastic wrapped DVD cases and handed them to me. I smiled back, set them aside without much inspection and gave him the pat on the back he deserved for thinking ahead and grabbing season's 3 AND 4, I mean seriously, this was a big deal! Not only did he do everything I asked but he went the extra step to grab the next season as well so I wouldn't have to wait! I put them on the coffee table where they have resided for the past week and took the remaining disc of season 2 with me to Florida last weekend where I polished off the season on the flight. Excited to start season 3, I went to grab it before my run on Tuesday and before ripping off the plastic noticed that I was holding season's 4 and 5. I stared at the box sets, confusion growing as I tried to figure out where season 3 was. After a few moments in thought I knew what had happened but was even more confused about what to do. He'd clearly gone exactly to where I'd told him the DVD's were, grabbed anything that said West Wing on it and not given the title's or large Season numbers on the covers much thought. Hey, its only 18 episodes, what can really happen in that short amount of time that I can't skip right onto season 4 right?!? I just had to laugh, I was bummed about not having season 3 but he'd tried, he really had and even though he'd completely failed to get what I needed it was an A for effot! Next up we'll work on execution...

In the name of research...

From time to time, we at Dyingtobedivas attempt to provide our readers with some actual valuable information. Obviously those posts are far and few between our usual nonsensical posts meant only for entertainment purposes. After a lovely long weekend in New Smyrna Beach, Fla. at my parent's beachside condo we discovered a new, (could seriously be 5 years old for all I know), feature on our rental car, a 2009 Ford Taurus. As you've probably noticed, we don't dare promote websites, products, movies, books, etc... unless we've done some serious scientific research and this time is no different. What your about to see is a tightly controlled experiment set up after days of preparation and I gotta give Lisa a shoutout for for participating in this highly dangerous test trial. So without further ado....

Diary of a Newlywed...collection schmollection

Single ladies out there rejoice! You are free from the incredulous looks, rolling eyeballs, sighs of disbelief and outright comments about your shopping habits. When you feel lonely watching that sickeningly affectionate couple in the park feeding each other frozen yogurt just remember that you can go to the store, buy a $140.00 pair of jeans or a $79.99 pair of black strappy BCBG heels and no one will guilt you, ask how many pairs of Joe's Jeans or black heels you already own, or accuse you of being addicted to shoes, and that is a beautiful thing. Now you may end up guilting yourself and catch a case of buyer's remorse but that's easier to deal with as you are your own checkbook keeper! What husbands, boyfriends, significant others generally fail to understand is that clothing, accessories, and shoes don't stay in style forever! Yes I might have a few, (okay 9), pairs of black heels stashed in my closet but they all serve very different purposes and none of them are this summer's must have gladiator, super strappy sandal! Don't point at that pair of black velvet pumps with silver trim on the shelf because they are so obviously made for fall and winter, you don't see people donning velvet dresses in the summer do you? Nope, that's because it's a Fall and Winter fabric.

Remember the old adage, "you can never have too many pairs of black heels,"? Well it's time tested and Diva approved so I say shop on! Now this post is starting to make Nick look really bad and I just need to say that he's very supportive of my trying to look stylish, fashionable and current so he rarely gives me any grief when I come home with bags full of goodies from TJMaxx or Marshalls on a bi-weekly basis. I have no debt and live well within my means, (although I could do a little better job contributing to my savings but shopping is so much more gratifying!), and he's never serious when giving me grief but he does like to put in his two cents about how my shoe collection, (that's right people it's a collection and collections are meant to grow!), is out of control.

A few days ago the grief giving came to an end.

I was cleaning the house last Thursday when I heard the doorbell ring so I checked outside and noticed a large box sitting on the porch from Amazon. Nick is addicted to ordering everything possible in bulk from Amazon so we get these types of boxes regularly but I wasn't expecting anything since we are currently stocked full of paper towel, toilet paper, dishwasher detergent, etc. Imagine my surprise when opening the box to find not one, not two, not three, but four pairs of Adidas street shoes inside the box! I was flabbergasted! Hadn't I just picked up two practically brand new pairs of his white Adidas street shoes lying around the house?!? Hadn't I stacked three full rows of these types of shoes in his closet? And here were four more that looked exactly the same to me except for a few different trim colors! What do they sell shoes like cans of green beans now...buy 3 get the 4th one free?!? I thought about it and decided that couldn't be right, he probably wasn't sure what they looked like in the pictures so he ordered them all and would decide to keep one, maybe two. After some serious grief giving text messages I was proven seriously wrong; they were in fact on sale and he planned to keep every one of them. I thought about giving him some serious shit when he got home but after a few moments a huge grin spread across my face and I nearly jumped for joy because this was exactly what I needed! The street shoes are like my high heel collection and he couldn't say another word about me buying too many shoes without the fear of being struck down by a bolt of lightening from his conscience! I'm free! Free as a bird to while away the hours at DSW, Marshalls, Macy's, Nordstrom any shoe store I please to find yet another unneeded pair of shoes!

The bad fan

I could very well be the only Detroiter excited for something other then tomorrow night's Red Wings Playoff game. I know I'm gonna catch a lot of flack for this but I intend to spend tomorrow evening watching one of my favorite shows as it airs its 3 hour season finale on NBC, The Biggest Loser. Thanks to the goddess of hair, Alex Noll of Ashka Salon, I was clued into this show when, while sitting in her chair with 50 foils attached to my head, she asked if was watching the current season. I told her that I'd never seen it and that I didn't know much about it other then the obvious goal of helping people lose weight. At her suggestion I recorded the 3rd episode of the season and once I had viewed all my other recordings while running on the treadmill I decided to give it a chance. My DVR is currently scheduled to record the following: Flip This House, Big Love, Californication, Weeds, The Tudors, Law & Order: SVU and Lost. In the not so distant past I was guilty of being a reality addict but I'm in recovery and rarely watch such shows unless you consider Cathouse and Katie Morgan's Tips on HBO to be reality trash TV, I personally consider those to be of high educational value!

I watched my first episode and 15 weeks later haven't missed a single one. I'm gonna sound like an advertisement for this show but it's one of the only reality shows I know of that you can honestly feel good about watching. The contestants are split up between two trainers, either Jillian Michaels, a tough chiseled brunette with a gravelly voice and some serious eyebrows or Bob Harper, a high energy, lovable, flamboyant southern boy with tattoos and reddish blond hair who whip them into shape (I have a major crush on Bob!). Each week the contestants are faced with physical challenges that test every kind of athleticism. One week they fought to stand on a block with only one foot and another week they had to hold themselves up in cages 50 feet above ground. They test endurance, strength, and what usually wins the competitions, mental toughness. Along with the physical challenges comes the psychological effects of people who were so void of self confidence and a belief in themselves that they go through a dramatic emotional and mental transformation. I quit watching it while on the treadmill because it's really hard to keep your pace while getting teary eyed and having to blow your nose. Seriously, I've cried at least once in every episode. They cross a finish line, I cry, they lose 8 lbs, I cry, they pick up a carrot stick...I cry. Okay the carrot stick is a stretch but I always find myself emotional over what these people are accomplishing and how it's changing their lives. At the end of each episode they all weigh in and the two people with the lowest percentage of weight loss are the two candidates for elimination. It's down to four finalists and shock, three of them are from Michigan. Yep, those studies placing Michigan in the top 10 fattest states every year isn't a hoax people, we're fat! And the finalists aren't from just anywhere in Michigan, the two on the right are from South Lyon and one is from Sterling Heights. I don't know whether to be a little ashamed that they likely represent way too many overweight people in Michigan or whether to be proud of our fellow neighbors for having the drive and determination to lose 100's of pounds! Either way I'll be on the edge of my seat watching as someone takes home $250K and the rest take home a new lease on life. I understand if the Red Wings take priority, promise to at lease record the Wings so that I can watch it on commercials.

Website of the Day

Happy Friday!

I enjoy reading Gawker.com. I can't really put my finger on why, but it's drawn me in and I am a frequent visitor. They kind of talk about everything and every now and then it's hilarious. So today on one of my quick trips over there I read an interview with the creator of the blog: Look at this Fucking Hipster.com. I apologize for the foul language, it's not mine. I'm too old to really care about this interesting "group" of people (although I think most of them are too old to actually still have a membership card, but it's their world) so I wasn't sure what this would entail. We've all run into the hipsters from time to time when we're out just trying to mind our own business without announcing our cultural tastes by wearing flourescents. Well, this website is a nice little collection of hilarious photos and videos of hipsters. It's fairly boring compared to "Stuff White People Like" but still worth a visit for one reason and one reason only. Check out all those neckerchiefs! I had no idea there was a resurgence in the bandanna/neckerchief market thanks to our dear misguided hipsters! Can anyone explain this fashion statement to me?? I get the funny staches and facial hair stylings of the gentleman hipster...ha ha you look like an a-hole but it's HILARIOUS. So what is the ironic message behind the neckerchief wearing?? If you explain it to me, and it makes sense, I will buy you a drink (yes, it can be a can of .75 cent Pabst).

http://www.latfh.com/

Visit and behold

The People Upstairs

Well hellloooo again. Sorry for the lapse in blogging. I was feeling a bit overexposed after our birthday party, in multiple ways, and was going through some internal blogging struggles. Is blogging as narcissistic as tweeting, I asked myself. Am I being a hypocrite for frowning on social networking and tweets, but still posting the mundane details of my life on a blogspot? The answer is most definitely yes, but the fact is I no longer care. So without further ado: I cooked this post up whilst lying in bed at about 12:15am last night praying for sweet sweet peace and quiet, but receiving just the opposite. As I lay there plotting unspeakable things, it occurred to me that I haven't lived in peace and quiet since I was 18-years-old. The day that I moved out of my childhood home to be exact. Since then my nights have been filled with various excitements and noises and bad music tastes all coming from walls to my left, right, front, below, and the soul crushing ceiling above. Full disclaimer: I am an only child who was not raised to withstand noises of any kind while catching my required 8 hours of beauty sleep. I'm convinced my parents had my room hermetically sealed at night so that no noise could ever pass the threshold. Because of this my chances of being murdered while sleeping have greatly declined, but my chances of murdering someone else while trying to sleep are at an all-time high. Did I mention I was single? Snore around me and the Exorcist will look like your BFF.
My first home away from home was perhaps the most jolting living situation of all: the co-ed dorms at WMU. For the first time in my young life I was required to share a room, a very very small cement walled purple carpeted room, with another being. Luckily for me, Nikki Loveless was the perfect training roomie. She was neat, quiet, and very respectful of other people's things...even psycho only children who still didn't know how to use a can opener or do a load of laundry. We bonded quickly and went on to enjoy four years of co-habitation. Cleary, Nikki wasn't the problem. The Co-Eds upstairs with a penchant for all things AC/DC at 8am were the problem. I'll never forget the first morning I was blasted out of my ceiling high wooden loft by the sound of bells. Not just any bells. Hell's Bells. Bong, Bong, Bong, Bong. This went on each and every morning for too long to remember. I think I would have adapted fairly quickly to the wailing rock riffs of AC/DC if it weren't for the hoodrats next door keeping me up all night with their dorm room parties and one-night stand traffic. I was a fairly well adjusted freshman, but I think whatever was left of my youthful innocence flew the coop the first time I saw their "Boy Chart" on the back of the door. But after that first semester, some sort of modesty must have come over them. They quickly learned that cement walls don't automatically equal sound proofing. From that point on, I was forced to fall asleep to the haunting sounds of "Take My Breath Away" at full volume. On repeat. It became the love song of choice for, well, their many moments of drunken love. I like the Top Gun soundtrack as much as the next 80's child, but somewhere between my breath being taken away and the bells of hell were my missing hours of sleep. If only I would have known how the next 10 years would unfold and how I would be forced into using dark circle cream at the ripe old age of 25, but I was wide eyed and ear plug free. How soon that would change!

Dun Dun Dun....stay tuned for the next installment of The People Upstairs!

Deleted from our Dictionary...

First, let me thank all of our fans out there, (all 3 of you), who have either texted, facebook messaged, or merely commented on missing our blog. There's no good reason we haven't been blogging. I wish I could tell you that we've been super busy curing the swine flu or house sitting Kwame's mansion while he's gone but the truth is we just got lazy and uninspired and didn't think people would care if we let it go for awhile. I'm happy to report that a few of you do care and for those people we have a renewed commitment to entertain you! So without further ado I will start this blog off with a post on a word that has only recently become part of my vocabulary. Chafing. I am finally ready to talk about this word after a recent experience with its meaning. Nine days ago my mother-in-law, her sisters, family friends and I boarded a plane for Nashville, TN to run in the Country Music Marathon. Now let me just make clear that I only ran in the half marathon which is 13.1 miles. This was our second time running this race and we all assumed that our better training and knowing the course would prove a easier feat then last year. We were wrong.

Because this race is in April and we live in Michigan, the majority of our training takes place during the cold winter months and if we're lucky we get the opportunity to do a few outdoor runs when there isn't ice on the ground. I did three 11+ mile runs; one was on the treadmill while I watched Flatliners, (not a good movie to watch while running if you're already balance challenged), and for the other two runs I got a break and was able to run outdoors in around 55 degree temps. In general I don't sweat, and no I'm not trying to say that I "glisten" instead of sweat, I have a hard time getting a good sweat going and it often requires sprints, intense cardio or high temps to really get sweaty and even then, I'm not someone who drips sweat, my face just gets salty and dewy. So cut to last weekend when the whole east side of the country was experiencing unseasonably warm temperatures for April. Coming in at a balmy 88° for the high each day was Nashville.

Fortunately the race started at 7am when it was only 68° and humid but by mile 2 when the sun was shining without a cloud in sight I suddenly found the ability to sweat. My face began feeling overheated and within 10 steps of hitting 2.5 miles I began the fun task of disrobing while in motion. I had brought along my camelbak pack which is a little mini backpack with a water tank and a hose that fastens onto the front of the pack so you can take sips of water whenever necessary. If you've ever run a race and been assaulted by clumsy people throwing their half drunk paper cups off to the side only to hit you or the ground just in front of you so that you get a nice splash of Gatorade all up your leg then you'll know why I wear this contraption. I began the removal of my backpack until I remembered my ipod nano armband and headphone cord was intertwined with it so I started over with the ipod first, the backpack next, oh and then the really fun part, your official race number which needs to be displayed at all times. I was attempting to keep moving while holding the backpack, ipod, and t-shirt in one hand and the safety pins for the race number in my mouth. Finally I got all re-situated and sped up back to my normal pace. Within another two miles the backpack straps started to rub my now bare shoulders and the thought crossed my mind, "it was never warm enough in Michigan to go without a T-shirt when wearing this damn thing."

By mile 7 the temperature was definitely in the mid 70's and my previous difficulty in sweating was history, I was drenched. Sweat does really interesting things to your body, like produce salt which in turn rubs against your skin and rubs it raw. My shoulders were now permanently stinging when every step rubbed the straps against them and my feet were starting to feel awfully damp as well. I've never had any blisters before but once again the sweating does things to your body you can't control. After sucking down the liquidy chocolate snot, commonly known as GU, around mile 9.5 I'd already seen a handful of people on the side of the road with medics administering oxygen, water and salt. By Mile 12 I was beginning to think oxygen looked pretty damn good and so did a a little nappie in the shade.

The last three miles of the course were the most unshaded part and by this time it was at least 80. I began thinking how nice it would be to just slow down to a walk but that would have meant more time in the hot sun so I kept my feet moving as fast as they would go. The toes on my right foot were definitely blistered but I pushed toward the finish line and the promise of relief! I hit the last water station and grabbed two cups of water to pour over my head and face which of course ran the salt into my eyes. I looked blearily ahead and finally crossed the finish line a few minutes after the 2 hour mark. I was so happy to have finished that I didn't remove my backpack until much later when I noticed the red chafe lines down my shoulders and around my neck. Now it could have been a lot worse, and some people I was with did experience worse but it was enough to make me question why I do these races. Well it was enough until the Monday after when I signed up for another one anyway! Oh and by the way, this is not what I look like when sweating...