Meg Ryan is a LIAR

Romantic comedies have told us a lot of lies over the years. They would have us believe that the following gestures are the height of romance:

• Emotional reunion in the rain; 
• Extended dance sequence; 
• Feeding one another (let the record show the only time it's ever appropriate to feed a significant other is after one of you has been hit by a bus); 
• Bathing one another (see above). 

But the number one, single most over-rated romantic activity of all time: the lazy Sunday in bed.

Oh sure, on paper it sounds delightful—a full day devoted entirely to gentle napping with that special someone. But the stark reality is a different story. My most recent "lazy Sunday" had all the relaxing zen of an internment camp. Ladies, don't be fooled, the moment you set foot in his apartment you're not a guest, you're a POW.

9:00am: The morning's off to a good start with some, er, adult cuddling. But it's a clever tactic to leave defenses lowered. Suddenly I'm ensnared in a snuggle/sleeper hold. There's no countermaneuver. As I lapse into unconsciousness I think, "Must... escape... the dry cleaners... closes at noon..."

3:00pm: W-Where am I? Hungry and disorientated I awaken behind enemy lines. With the fate of my "To-Do" list hanging in the balance, I negotiate for my release. But is that, is that reruns of The Wire I hear?

4:00pm: Morale has stabilized. I was able to convince my captor to allow me food rations so we ordered Chinese. I requested extra hot mustard sauce...but I didn't get any. War is hell.

10:00pm: Stockholm syndrome sets in and the mission fails. There's still a chance I could get to the grocery store today... but first let's watch just one more rerun of Mad Men.

Weather the weather

"Some people walk in the rain, others just get wet." ~Roger Miller

"There will be a rain dance Friday night, weather permitting." ~George Carlin

"I ran my fastest marathon in the rain." ~Bill Rodgers

"It always rains on tents. Rainstorms will travel thousands of miles, against prevailing winds for the opportunity to rain on a tent." ~Dave Barry

"The best thing one can do when it's raining is to let it rain." ~Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

"If a kid asks where rain comes from, I think a cute thing to tell him is 'God is crying.' And if he asks why God is crying, another cute thing to tell him is 'Probably because of something you did.'" ~Deep Thoughts by Jack Handey

Fifty Shades of Stupid

One distinct advantage of utilizing dating websites for which I'm forever grateful is the "essay portion" of the online dating profile. Most dating sites display the standard stats: height, occupation, education, and then encourage you to go on and include additional information about yourself that your potential partner might find interesting. This prompt is intended to be the difference between a missed connection and a soul mate (e.g. No way, I thought I was the only one who acted out The Pirates of Penzance with my cats) but actually serves to alert you to potential narcissists, creepers, and weirdos.

As noted in a previous post, the more clever of the pack can sneak below our wackiness radar and enter into the dating pool. But the weaker members of the herd, less skilled at fraudulent word smithery, are forced to show their hand and lay their pair of crazies on the table. 

For example. I came across the profile of a fellow who shared the following tidbit about himself: He felt that his eyes changed color...

...based on his mood.

Like a mood ring, only way, waay stupider.

Initially, I think, alriiight, stranger things have happened, it's not outside that realm of possibility that this guy does have some sort of bizarre eye anomaly that causes a spontaneous change in eye color. And while linking it to his mood is so nonsensical my knee-jerk reaction is mercy kill him for the sake of future generations, this eye color change must be so dramatic and noticeable that he felt it warranted mention lest his date be startled. But he went on to elaborate. His eyes changed color - not from blue to yellow or hazel to red - but from brown...to dark brown.

Brown to dark brown. A hue differential so nondescript and utterly unnoteworthy that even M&M's recognized the insignificance and gave the tan color M its walking papers in 1997. And since that fateful day, no one has spent more than one minute of cognitive thought on the distinction between brown and dark brown, if for no other reason than unbridled fear that should they address an issue so staggeringly trivial they would be dragged into the streets and stoned for forcing anyone around them to opine, even for an instant, on the all encompassing idiocy of said concept.

Except for with shoes.

Obviously.

Fractured

My doctor diagnosed me with a stress fracture and told me that the recovery period was 6-8 weeks.

My attorney thinks he can get me off in 5.

With a running career that spans 12 years, 4 marathons, and over 10,000 miles, I suddenly find myself sidelined by the lamest of all sports injuries. It could have been the bad shoes, it could have been the uneven terrain, it could have been the years of an odd running technique described most acurately by my little brother as that of an "ambitious Velociraptor," (for the non-runners that means I run on my toes) but mid run a small section of my third upper metatarsal simply no longer wished to be connected to the lower portion.

Did you know evidence of stress fractures has been found in dinosaur bones? 

But it's not all bad. Like every woman, I love shoes, and I've gotten some brand new foot wear out of the deal. Gone are my stiletto heels and in their place is a stylish hard-soled, velcro-strapped foot brace. The foot brace not only helps to reduce the impact of weight bearing movement on my injury, it also gives me the seductive gait of a peg-legged pirate. Oh, and it prevents me from getting laid for the next 6-8 weeks.