Donut Icing

Most Sunday mornings I can be found on my couch eating the tops of chocolate donuts. (I'm like Elaine from Seinfeld, but instead of muffins - I cut off donut tops). I love the tops of chocolate donuts, but have never been able to replicate at home the same kind of icing. One time I even asked the bakery staff at HEB if they'd sell me a container of their chocolate donut icing - they said no - I growled at them.

This morning - I tried again. It's was interesting concoction of chocolate chips, butter, milk, flour and powdered sugar. It was not good. I threw that batch out and just decided to put chocolate chips on top of some warm flaky biscuits (the kind you get from a tube). Not the same as chocolate donuts, but it did the job and I was too lazy to drive to the store.

I'm guessing that the reason I can't recreate the same chocolate donut icing from the grocery store is that I'm using ingredients that I can pronounce. Mmm . . . Polyoxyethylene Sorbitan Monostearate . . . why must you taste so good?

The Fanny Pack Is On

I'm bringing sexy back with every mile. While running, I'm quite sure that I frighten children and small woodland creatures with my awkward motion and amount of sweat. "The flailing wet woman is scaring me, Mommy". Keep in mind, I pose no real threat to children or animals, as I'm moving so slowly.

Austin has hit the 100 degree mark 15 days so far this summer. Our average is 12 days in an entire summer. I was never very happy running in the cold weather, but now I can't wait to have it back. As a result of the heat, I've decided to use the water fanny pack on every run now, not just the long one on Saturdays. In addition to the fanny pack. I now run with an oh so sexy sweat rag. This week, I've had three successful runs (6.7 miles, 8 miles & 11 miles) using the fanny pack and sweat rag method.

The sweat rag is completely drenched by the time I get home, but I'm guessing it's better than using my shirt to wipe my face - which is what I have been doing. I sure do make some smelly laundry. Also, my poor ipod holder thingy has the most disgusting odor radiating from it. I think if I ever encountered something (man or beast) that wanted to do me harm on my run - my ipod sports band would act as a strong repellent - the odor could knock someone out.

Why Lumpy?

I've had quite a few friends recently have babies. Many of them gave their unborn child little pet names, like peanut or bug or sometime cute. Buttin and I have talked about our yet to be conceived child, Lumpy, for years. Well, I'm sure you're thinking, "Why Lumpy?"

Buttin and I enjoy laughing and sometimes (actually most of the time) we are laughing at other people. You know, when you see a funny looking person on the street or watch someone fall, you laugh - right? It's not meant to be cruel and it certainly isn't done at the expense of the truly unfortunate (like, we wouldn't laugh at someone who fell and really got hurt - unless the way they fell was just really that funny)- we just find humor in pretty much every person and thing. I don't usually feel that badly because I know people laugh at me too (I look ridiculous while running - my own mother even calls me "special" when she see those pictures of me that they take during races.) Just to show I'm a good sport, here are a couple gems:

(Notice the "jazz hands" form in the picture on the left - it makes me better able to glide through the humidity. I really think I should be on the cover of Runner's World. )

We are fully convinced that our poor child will be punished for our immature behavior (kind of like the whole sins of the father thingy). We joke that our child will be a round blob with one eye, a couple of teeth and a tuft of hair. I picture Lumpy looking something like the character Meatwad from the Cartoon Network show, "Aqua Teen Hunger Force".

Here, I've altered a Meatwad photo I found on the interweb with this new picture editing tool, Microsoft Paint (oohhhhh - fancy). As you can see, Lumpy is just as described.
(Pretty good, right? If this whole flooring thing doesn't work out, I'm thinking about going into graphic design.)

We imagine that Lumpy will spend most of his/her life rolling into everything. Poor (but really funny) Lumpy. We're already prepared for Lumpy to get scratched by Mouser and peed on (or worse) by Cartman. Lumpy will be such a lucky child.

So, that is why we call our still yet to be conceived child - Lumpy. And that's why this blog is called "Running with Lumpy". Hopefully, someday we will have (and love) our Lumpy and I will still be running (slow jogging) with my wrists flexed upwards, looking "special".

Scratch and Mouse

Since I've already discussed two of our four animal children (scabby-butt and pee bubbles), I felt it only fair to at least mention the other two - Scratch and Mouser. This post will probably much less entertaining and disgusting than my posts about our dogs.

I'll start with Scratch (also known as Scratch-A-Matach & Fat Kitty). He's the newest addition to our family and just showed up on our door step about two months ago demanding to be fed (he's very talkative). Now that he's officially adopted us, he can be found in one of three places - the eating bowl, the sleeping chair or the pooping basket. Scratch is a fluffy (or fat) cat and does nothing except for eat, poop and sleep (I like to think he takes after me.). This is not an exaggeration. When I walk into the kitchen, he follows me because he thinks I'll give him tuna fish. If I'm not feeding him tuna fish, he's in his chair sleeping - here he is in his sleeping chair & at his eating bowl (you'll have to take my word for it that he also poops - no one needs a picture of that).










When I leave for work in the morning - he's in his chair & when I come home, he's still in his chair. He is the laziest animal in our kingdom (I'm including myself) and that's saying a lot (have I mentioned that I enjoy naps?).

Our other cat is Mouser (also known as Kitty Baby & Mouse House). We've had Mouser for almost two years. Like Scratch, Mouser just showed up at our door step and demanded to be fed. (Mouser was very skinny, but Scratch has always been hefty). Mouser is our little killer. I've read that you're supposed to take their dead animal offerings as a gift, but it's difficult to be grateful when you're stepping in mouse guts. He proudly brings us birds, lizards and bugs on a regular basis.

Mouser is a very affectionate cat, but he also demands attention on his schedule. If I'm on the computer at night, he's in my lap trying to keep me from it - If I don't get out of bed in the morning to feed him (promptly at 5:20) he does the following:

• Begins by scratching lightly on the sheets; (if I don't get up)
• He gently places the pads of his paws on my face; (if I still don't get up)
• He starts to use his claws anywhere he can find skin; (and if I still don't get up)
• I get a claw to the eye.

Anyone who has spent the night in our guest bedroom also understands this morning wake up call routine - it's like the Mouser version of the "snooze" button. Truthfully, even though I feed Mouser his tuna in the morning, Buttin gets more claws to the eyes than I do. I think Mouser knows that I will protect my husband from his attacks and get up to feed him (if I was the one getting claws to the face, Buttin probably wouldn't get up). Mouser is smart.

(Totally off topic - I just thought of another disgusting/interesting fact about Cartman - he only eats Mouser poop - he leaves the Scratch poop in the litter box. I can only assume this means the Mouser poop tastes better, but I don't really want to speculate.)

Mouser will come when I call him and he loves to lay on my chest and sleep for hours (I can always use a good nap). I have ALWAYS been a dog person - thinking that cats were only for crazy old ladies or the criminally insane - but now that I have cats (especially Mouser), I can't imagine my life without them. There's a certain joy and attitude that cats bring to your life & even though I have to clean the litter box and pick up dead bird remains - it's nothing compared to the grossness that is Cartman.

Raccoons & Other Reasons I Can't Come To The Phone

As I've mentioned before, work is a huge source of stress for me, but also a huge source of laughter (mostly because of of the things our misfits do and say). One of my co-workers, Barbie, (not her real name, but it's what I call her - I have a nickname for pretty much everyone) and I laugh frequently during the day about ourselves and other misfits. Barbie isn't really a misfit even though she does sing songs about butt cracks (she says it's a song her daughter sings, but I'm not buying it) and downloads random viruses to her computer while searching for the latest "Celebrity Rehab" news. Barbie and I spend a large portion of our day on the phone - talking with customers and dealing with issues. About five times a day (sometime more, if we're lucky) a telemarketer calls asking for me, or the person who makes the marketing decisions, or the person who deals with the merchant account, and the list goes on. You can usually tell who the telemarketers are by noticing the delay from the time you say "Hello, Carpet Warehouse" to when they say "Hello" back or because they ask for a generic person (i.e. person who makes the marketing decisions) or because you hear a bunch of other people in the back ground.

Well, Barbie has this new game she likes to play with telemarketers. Instead of just saying that I'm out of the office or in a meeting or helping a customer (even though I am never doing those things and am often less than 20 feet away from her) when a telemarketer calls, she tells them something crazy. The funny thing is that even though what she's telling them sounds crazy - I could feasibly be doing it, that's how fun it is to work at Carpet Warehouse. Here are some examples (keep in mind it is very possible that I could be doing these things):

Barbie: Hello, Carpet Warehouse - this is Barbie.
(Pause, with lots of mumbling in the background)
Telemarketer: Hello, I'm selling crap - is Stephanie in?
Barbie: No, I'm sorry - she is:

• Letting the raccoon loose -we work at such a fancy location that we often have raccoons as office mates. A couple of months ago, we caught nine raccoons in as many days. Every day we caught a raccoon, we had to go let it free on a the golf course near the office. Variations on this excuse include, "playing with the raccoon", "talking to the raccoon" or "feeding the raccoon".
• Pushing the button - no, I didn't start working on the "Lost" island, but from time to time our water goes out and someone has to walk about a block to push a button to get the water to start again. Again, I think it goes without saying - but, we work in a pretty swanky facility.
  
• Pooping at Office Depot - sometimes, even after we push the water button (see excuse immediately preceding this one), the water doesn't come on. This means we can't flush the toilet. We're okay with mellow yellow, but if it's brown - we go to Office Depot. I feel guilty about just using the facilities at Office Depot, so I usually pick up some supplies while I'm there.
  
• Filling up water jugs - even when the water in our office does work, it's not drinkable. In order to make coffee every morning, we have to fill up gallon jugs at home and bring them into work.
  
• Picking up dog poo from the warehouse - yes, this has happened, see It's a Molly-Day.
• Waking up the hobo - yes, this has actually happened too, see above post.
• Bailing an employee out of jail - this hasn't happened yet, but did I mention that I work with misfits and it is a real possibility? We did have one misfit who couldn't come into work because he was in jail, but I didn't bail him out.
  
• Throwing out the food with worms in it - one day, I thought I was doing a good thing by bringing in a bunch of extra granola bars we had in our pantry. Well, I guess they'd been in the pantry a little longer than I remembered, because one of our installers opened one up and there were little wormy things crawling in it. We actually had one misfit who ate two of them before noticing and after we told him about the worms he said, "well, I did notice some white stuff on it".
  

(I know after reading many of these things, you're thinking "How can I work Carpet Warehouse?". Well, we're not currently accepting applications, but if you don't have a problem with raccoons, hobos, dog poop or toxic water - you're already on the top of the applicant pool.)

Barbie is so good at this game - she has actually stopped a few telemarketers mid-sentence. After she gives them one of these excuses, they say "Ok, please have her . . . what? what is she doing?" I have no idea how she keeps from cracking up on the phone (goodness knows, I'm almost peeing my pants in my office), but we just roll laughing when she hangs up.

Ok, I've gotta go - and by the way, I won't be available by phone for a while, I'm taking porn off one of our misfits' computer.

The Massage I Wanted VS. The One I Got

A few months ago, Buttin and I purchased memberships to Massage Envy. Massage Envy, for lack of a better term, is a massage club where .for a monthly fee, we get one 50-minute massage per month. The monthly massages never expire and they come in handy when I'm sore from running or stressed out from misfit work.

I figured after an 8 mile run and a car accident, I deserved a relaxing massage. Unfortunately, I couldn't get an appointment with the woman who usually rubs me (Nancy), so I said what the heck, and tried Betty.

At Massage Envy, they keep a chart on file documenting everything I've requested during past sessions.

Based upon the massage I received tonight, I can only imagine this is what it must say on my chart, under "Preferences".

• Beat the lower half of her body like it's a piece of tough, gristle meat - Ye ouch, it was painful. It hurt so bad, it tickled.
• Spend lots of time making circles on her butt - Betty spent no less than 10 minutes making round motions with her fingers on my butt. I thought she was trying to summon aliens by making crop circles.
  
• Squeeze her head so hard, brain matter comes out her nose - I usually love the scalp massage part of the session, but this was uncomfortable.
• Even though there is a sheet, she prefers to spend the entire massage uncovered - I have no issues was nudity for the sake of massage, but I'm still a modest girl - I mean, the sheet is there for a purpose, right?
  
• By all means, move your hands as quickly as possible - I felt like my massage was a race her hands were competing in. The massage was a very generous 55 minutes, but the pace with which she worked made me feel like we were in a hurry.

Despite all the oddities of her technique - I feel really good (of course that could just be the five martinis talking). I'm relaxed now, even though my massage wasn't a very relaxing experience.

Accident

Well, I was planning to write about something else this morning, but the something else will have to wait for another day.

This morning I was in an accident. Poor Bubba Mustang. I was driving along (less than a two blocks from work) in the far right hand lane (of the 183 feeder road) when a black BMW exited the freeway, crossed four lanes of traffic (like a bat outta hell) and literally ran right into me. Actually, I hit him - but I didn't really have a choice in the matter.

Molly was with me (it's a Molly-Day) and like a good dog mom, when I saw the BMW (for the split eighth of a second before I hit him) I instinctively put my right arm out to protect her from going forward and like a good Texan I hit the horn. Also, like a good driver I floored the break, for all the good it did.

I hit the guy (he's young - only about 25 years old) so hard that I spun his car around into the parking lot of the fast food place (Terra Burger) right next to our office. Here's the best part of the story - these are the first lines of dialogue that transpired between the two of us as soon as we verified we were both OK and injury free.

Guy: You hit me.
Me: You came into my lane.
Guy: But, I had my blinker on!

Are you freaking kidding me??!! I don't care if your car is purple with a flashing neon sign that says "follow me to free cookie dough" - there is no way I could have stopped.

Thankfully, one of the nice men at Terra Burger looked at the Guy and said, "No man, she was in this lane for a long time - you ran into her." I also had another driver "Bruce" who gave me his number and said he witnessed the whole thing .

Poor Molly - she was so scared. As soon as we stopped, she crawled into the back seat. A nice lady from Terra Burger came out and tried to give Molly a dog treat. Molly was so scared, she didn't eat the treat (Molly not eating a treat is like me not eating cookie dough - there's something seriously wrong). The nice lady left a couple of treats in the car and not surprisingly, Molly eventually ate them.

As I mentioned, the accident happened only about a block away from work. I know I give our little misfits a hard time, but I've never felt so relieved as I did when I saw three of them walking towards me to see what they could do to help. One of them took Molly by the leash and walked her to the office, another one of them went back to the office to get my digital camera and another one punched the stupid BMW Guy in the throat (ok, I made that one up, but I bet he would of, if I'd asked him to). I was very thankful to have the misfits with me.

The police officer arrived and discussed the accident with both of us - I didn't get a ticket, but I'm not sure if the Guy got one. My insurance company (the best ever) took care of everything and told me not to worry - they would handle it!

All in all, I'm very lucky - no person (or dog) was injured and most importantly - my rental car IS NOT A YARIS!