Nike! Also, foot pictures for Gregori!

Yesterday, I ran a marathon.

That's right.  Screw you, asthma.

First, a bit about the historical marathon.  According to legend, when the Greeks beat the Persians in the Battle of Marathon in 490 B.C., a soldier by the name of Pheidippides (also named as Philippides, Thersipus, or Eucles) ran the entire distance from Marathon to Athens, where he burst into the Senate, yelled "νενικήκαμεν!" and then collapsed and died.  Supposedly the distance from Marathon to Athens is the marathon distance of 26.2 miles but this is actually probably incorrect.  See, there's two routes from Marathon to Athens.  One of them is about 21-22 miles, running northwest through steep mountain terrain, and the other is about 25.4 miles, running south and around the mountain.  When the modern Olympics began in 1896, a "marathon" was 25 miles, to represent Pheidippides' route south along the Marathon bay and then west, past Mount Hymettus and Penteli and downhill to Athens.

At some point during the run he lost all his clothes apparently.

Between 1896 and 1924, no one in the Olympics seemed to be able to agree how far a marathon should be.  It changed each game, with the shortest distance being a measly 24.85 miles and the longest being an agonizing 26.56 miles.  But they all stopped drinking in 1924, presumably due to Prohibition, and settled on the 26.22 mile course we now know and love.

Last historical tidbit:  Pheidippides's famous words, "nenikekamen," is the inspiration for the name brand "Nike."  People always say that "Nike!" means victory, but this isn't entirely correct.  Nenikekamen means "We have won" or "we have succeeded."  Thus, "Nike" is not a derived from a noun at all but a verb: νῑκάω, which means "to win."

Now, about my marathon.  This item has been on my bucket list for a while and I have the following positive things to say:

• I crossed the finish line.
• I did not shit my pants.
• My nipples did not bleed.
• I did not vomit.
• I did not need to use my rescue inhaler even once, before, during, or after the race.  My breathing was perfect!  

 I ran this marathon without any preparation and so I'd like to take a moment to tell others who plan to do this what I have to report.

5 Tips for How to Train for a Marathon Like a Moron Without Any Training Whatsoever

1. Invest heavily in your gear.  I got a very, very supportive sports bra, sunglasses, and some imported Swedish insoles for my shoes.  I also had a sweatband for my head, and sweatbands on my wrists so that I could look like Pickles the Drummer from Dethklok.  The wrist sweatbands did nothing, but having good shoes and a good bra absolutely did.  I also got some compression socks for ankle support.  No one explained to me that they cut off circulation and should be worn after the race, so I wore them for the first half and then ripped them off later.
2. Invest heavily in your diet.  In the week leading up to the race, I stopped drinking caffeine and liquor and focused on "healthy" fats like avocados and walnuts.  I also took fish oil tablets, a small concession to my vegetarianism.  By race day, I was taking 4 pills every 12 hours, for something like 6 grams of omega-3s. 
3. Use pseudoscience.  I bought a yellow crystal.  As an actual scientist, I don't know if I got the right crystal or not, but since yellow seems like a pretty positive color, I thought it would do in a pinch.  I also did a lot of mental gymnastics to get myself pumped.  For example, I figured that if the first guy who did it died, I only needed to run half as hard as he did and I wouldn't die.  I got some "energy gels" for the race from Clif that are basically caffeine suspended in a cake icing matrix.  I read a lot of articles about running to inspire myself and learned some mantras ("Pain is weakness leaving the body!") and made note of the fact that some dog ran a half marathon without even trying and so I just had to be twice as strong as that dog to do it.
4. Have a playlist.  Andrew made my playlist for me.  It was upbeat and perfect for running and interspersed with messages from my friends encouraging me, including Jeff from D&D telling me not to bring dishonor from my family, Andrew imitating Obadiah Stane and telling Tony to "finish what he started," and my dear friend Dr. Forbin singing "Go Go Power Puppy... You're a Mighty Runnin' Power Puppy!" to the Power Rangers theme song. 
5. Tell all your friends.  Talking about the marathon constantly in the days leading up to it ensures that you will be forced to follow through lest they all judge you.  Accountability was a big part of running this race for me; once I'd decided to do it, quitting was no longer an option.

 I also wrote this on my race bib just in case.

I will also say that racing with someone, having low expectations, being in generally good health, and pacing yourself are also good ideas.  But it is absolutely possible if you loathe running and just want to check it off your bucket list.

Here's the route we followed:

Each mile was supposed to be a Los Angeles landmark but the only ones I remember clearly were mile 7 (Silverlake, where my mechanic is), 10 (the Hollywood walk of fame), and 11 (Grauman’s Chinese Theater, featured in Iron Man 3).

As we scooted off, I felt good.  I had once run eight miles and felt great so I figured I would just do that three times and be good to go.  Unfortunately, Google Map miles appear to be much shorter than Official Marathon miles because it seemed to take forever to get to mile 1.  I was pacing myself at a slow jog but by mile 5 I felt tired.  Every single mile, a gamut of volunteers shoved water and Gatorade at us, yelling at us to hydrate, and I shot the water like whiskey, unaware that this would unsettle my stomach.  I began to switch between bouts of walking and jogging because my asthma medication can cause tachycardia if I push myself too hard, and I knew if that happened I would be out of the race entirely.  Also the Gatorade gave me a bloated feeling; my insides were liquefying.  Sometime around mile 7 or 8 I had to pee, desperately.  I found a Port-a-Loo, waited in line with 4 other women for five to ten minutes, said "screw it," and squatted and peed right there.  Relieved that they weren't the ones to suggest this measure, all the other women did the same, and we went back to the race.  My urine was clear, a good sign.  I wondered why everyone said marathons were hard because I was obviously owning this race like a total badass.

By mile 9 or 10 I felt pleased that I had gone father than ever.  I was in the double digits!  Unfortunately, with regards to things that are doubled, my bad ankle was beginning to act up.  See, I have Accessory Navicular Syndrome, and my extra navicular bone isn't meant to be weight-bearing.

I have 207 bones in my body! 

Sorry about all the foot pictures today!

My other foot, compensating for it, began to feel weird; my Achilles's tendon felt like it was made of taffy and was pulling much farther than it should.  Finally, around mile 13, my bad right foot collapsed.  It refused to bear any weight.  I tried to walk it off, leaning on Andrew and limping/hopping, but it was useless.  We walked back to a CVS we'd passed and bought Ace bandages.  I wrapped up the foot for support and removed the compression socks to improve circulation, and we limped on.  It was basically like having a prosthetic because the foot was useless.

Oddly, though, shortly after this disastrous setback, we felt a lot better.  We began our jog-and-walk routine again.  We were more than halfway there and aside from our feet feeling like Hamburger Helper and our legs being sore, we both felt we could finish strong.  At mile 19, I felt hypnotized, like I was in a trance, like I was a zombie.  Around us, everyone was shuffling dutifully forward.  The sun was high in the sky and beating down on us, and we dumped water on ourselves as often as possible.  I ran the last 6 miles at a crawl, but damn it, I ran them without stopping.  Actually I was scared of stopping; my body felt like it was under a spell and if I broke it I would never walk again.

Those last six miles were a death march.  There was no "wall," just a gradual realization that I lacked the capability to either stop my legs from moving or to move any faster; I was jogging at perhaps 3-4 miles per hour, more of a walk that involved a jogging motion, and my body was mechanical and powered by determination.  I had been eating ice and sipping water at every mile but I was no longer urinating at all because of the sweat.  Everything below the waist ached.  Andrew and I weakly mumbled things to each other like, "Pain is temporary; glory is forever," and "You're doing great, we're almost there," and "This is the end, let the sweet embrace of death take me, tell my wife I love her."

The ocean, which was the final destination, only appeared in the last mile.  We felt the breeze by mile 23 but the ocean only came into view by the last mile.  Aching, we shuffled forever, not really happy or sad or anything except for numb, mindless running machines.  We saw the finish line.  It approached faster than we could have expected, and we joined hands and ran over it together.  Our time was seven hours and twenty minutes.  This isn't a good time but, considering my foot crashing out and our total lack of preparation, we were pleased.  Pleasant volunteers put heavy medals around our necks, and we wandered around in a daze with our medals, unable to stop moving our legs.  When we finally sat for a few minutes, getting up was nearly impossible.

Due to the weight of the medals.

Once home, Andrew soaked in the bath while I popped three blisters the size of quarters.  One had erupted twice already and reformed, making my toe look like it had some sort of terrible disease.  Perhaps gangrene.  The other two blisters, throbbing like fluid-filled bubble wrap, hadn't yet popped; I lanced them and they squirted fluid in a thin but rather powerful stream out before slowing to slow, viscous drip.  I have since lanced them three more times because they continue to fill.

 Look at these fuckers!

Legend has it that there was once a toe here.

Am I sore today?  "Sore" isn't quite accurate.  It would be better to say I'm "stiff."  My legs don't bend right anymore and I walk like Frankenstein's monster now, but overall I feel pretty good.  If it weren't Presidents Day, I would be able to go into work.

So overall I'm going to give this experience a 7.5/10 and say that I might just do it again, and actually train so that I can finish it in under 6 hours.

Noteworthy signs I saw along the way:

• Thanks for running so I could hold this sign.
• This seems like a lot of work for a free banana.
• Run like you stole something!
• You're beating everyone behind you.
• Worst parade ever.
• [accompanied by a picture of Grumpy Cat] I ran once.  It was awful.
• Because 26.3 miles would be ridiculous.
• Kick asphalt!
• That outfit makes your butt look fast.
• If Trump can run, so can you!

Feverish Productivity

Following my last post on Wednesday, January 6th, wherein I promised to update more, I promptly got violently ill with what was either the flu or the Devil.  Since Gatorade is cheaper than exorcisms, I opted to call it the flu and treated it as such.  Anyway, the thing about the flu is, it gets in the way of your plans.  Plans like training for a marathon that's only 2 weeks away, for example, and updating your blog.

Speaking of which, look forward to a post about what it's like to run a marathon with no training!

Pictured: Mile 2

After going home early on Wednesday the 6th (more accurately being sent home by my boss after I began dry-heaving in her office), I quarantined myself on the couch, where I experienced combating bouts of chills and high fever.  Andrew stepped up to the plate to take full responsibility of the 5 animals in the house while also going to work and taking care of me.  Not a peep of complaint out of him, either.  He might have been slowly be going mad, but by George, he didn't complain about it!

He had a look of sympathy on his face like this the whole time.

Although there's not much more to say about my illness, as part of my new "updating regularly" thing, I'm going to post about it anyway so this post appears to have more content.

Experiencing Fever as an Adult:

It's Like Taking Government-Provided LSD

• No one could enter my bathroom without a hazmat suit.
• I was unaware I was capable of sweating so much. A small African village could have been helped via the amount of liquid coming out of me. There was literally water in my ear. I almost got swimmer's ear. From my own sweat.  We had to lay towels on the couch so I wouldn't ruin it.  I smelled like a musk ox.
• Seriously, though, the sweat.  My fingers actually turned wrinkly and pruny from my own sweat.
• By day 4, I'd began pouring Gatorade directly into the toilet to save it the trouble of passing through my GI tract. My body refused to absorb any of it.
• I sweated through a pillow and we had to throw it out.
• I confessed to my best friend that I "sexually identify as Tony Stark" while delirious.
• I had a fever dream that I built a time machine and brought back a T. Rex to my primary school cafeteria. I then went and had a serious conversation with my primary school teachers and adulthood bosses about the ethical rationalizations or lack thereof of keeping a T. Rex captive in a primary school cafeteria. And also I had shapeshifting powers.
• I considered cutting off all my hair.  (Been growing it for 4, 5 years now?  Couldn't brush it.  Joints too sore.)
• Watched the movie "Saving Private Ryan" and concluded that war is bad. Called several friends to inform them and e-mailed to the UN about it.
• Watched "Planet Earth." (All 11-ish episodes on Netflix.)  Apparently donated $50 to the World Wildlife Fund.
• Watched "Babadook."  It's good.  You should see it.  I already e-mailed the UN about it.
• Became hyper-aware that I would be dead if I lived in a third-world country.
• Asked my boyfriend to remove the puppy and kitten that were playing on top of me because I felt so sick. "That's when I knew it was serious," he said.
• I looked like the old woman from Insidious.
• I tried to go back into work after a week and dry-heaved in my boss's office again and was sent home again.  

Yeah, that sums it up.  I hope that where ever you are, you don't catch the flu this year, reader.  It's a doozy.  Remember to get your flu shot if you haven't already.

Fortunately, despite this crippling fever, I was able to get a lot done in the month of January.  I got my bathtub reglazed.  Or, more accurately, some guy did it while I passed out on the couch.  Following violent chills, I would pass out and then wake up gleaming with sweat, with my clothes soaked like I'd been in a tropical rain storm.  On that particular day I woke up not just gleaming skin, but a gleaming new bathtub.  

Which is great because I was starting to run out of gin.

I also got a new bike, a Kawasaki Vulcan 800.  The new bike ("Betty") rides like a dream, although between the larger size and my own fear of getting hit again, I've found riding a little difficult emotionally.  The truth is, after I posted about my accident on a forum site, the number of comments that said things like "WOW, you were LUCKY," and, "You only get one of those!" and, "Same thing happened to me but I broke my clavicle," scared the hell out of me.  Even though I handled the accident really well, I've gotten really paranoid about people switching lanes near me.

My old bike, ("Veronica"), by the way, ended up abandoned by the insurance company at the mechanic's.  They took so long to settle with me that the storage fee for the bike was worth more than the bike itself.  So instead of picking it up for salvage, they left it.  I, as the title holder, happily went and got it back.  It's now restored and ready to ride.  So far there hasn't been much jealousy between the bikes but I'm keeping my eye out to make sure that the 250 doesn't get bullied by the 800.

Shiny!

At work, things have been chugging along beautifully.  I think I made a new friend ("Alex"), who also likes D&D and superhero movies and irreverent humor.  Social scene aside, I'm feeling a lot more confident with the lab techniques and language of the lab, which is new; I felt very lost for the first few months.  I gave a killer presentation last week entitled: "The Impact of a Consortium of Fermented Milk Strains on the Gut Microbiome of Gnotobiotic Mice and Monozygotic Twins: A Review."

Who says science isn't transparent?  This diagram, for example, is crystal clear to even the most casual reader.

At home, Andrew and I's relationship has been closer than it has been in a long time.  We're still playing D&D weekly and our newest player, "Jeff," is this really awesome guy we met online last year.  Jeff is Chinese and has a hilarious deadpan sense of humor.  Last Sunday he invited us out to see some Oscar-nominated animated shorts with him at a local theater.  He's a really easy-going guy who invites us out to a lot of cool activities and who often brings authentic Chinese food to our D&D sessions.

Stupid cookie.  What does it know, anyway?

Lastly, I started writing again.  Not in my blog, obviously.  Right now I'm embroiled in an emotionally-charged sci-fi thriller about parallel timelines that Stephen King called, "A piece of utter garbage.  Please stop contacting me."

Incidentally, in case you were wondering, while doing research on parallel timelines and multidimensional theory, I discovered a list of Marvel's universes and they're hilarious.  Here's my personal favorites:

• 616: The one we know and love.  aka "Home World." 
• 617: the Nightmare Realm (aka "Dimension of Dreams").
• In 59,822, Thor gets a haircut.
• In 61,828, Tony Stark develops an eating disorder.
• In 74,820, George Washington was assassinated.
• In 82,801, the Fantastic Four are literal bananas.
• In 82,809, Nick Fury wears eyepatch on right eye instead of the left.
• In 82,810-82,812, Ghost Rider possesses a wheelchair-bound grandpa, a roller derby girl, and a baby, respectively.
• In 82,819, the Invisible Girl dyes her hair.
• 89,130: Old West London.
• In 92,202, Dr. Doom is a pediatrician.
• 99,467: Dino Land.
• In 103,173, a dog named Wilson goes through a experiment with Mascara X and becomes this universe's Deadpool (named "Dogpool"). 

Okay, no more Marvel references!  Instead, let me conclude by saying that things are going well for me so far in 2016 and so I guess the antidepressants are working because I'm generally feeling pretty optimistic about my life.   Thanks, chemistry.

Yay, serotonin!

Wrapping Up and Ringing In

Let's play a game, blog.  This is similar to "Two Truths, One Lie."

Below is a list of 15 lessons I learned in 2015, and 16 resolutions I've made for 2016.  However, only ten on each list is true.  I will not reveal which on each list is true or false but allow people to get appropriately offended and/or inspired as they see fit.  I've included pictures, but with the advent of PhotoShop, it's possible I am planting fake memories.  There's no way for you to know.

Remember the time I did motocross?

Also, fun fact: I determined which numbers should be lies using an actual random number generator.  I did this because I play D&D and take this sort of thing very seriously.  It is almost impossible for people to pick random numbers for themselves.  For those of you who play D&D and take these sorts of things seriously, this is a nice tool.  For those of you who don't understand how randomness works, you might find yourself offended and/or inspired by what numbers this tool chooses for you.

15 Lessons from 2015

1. Everyone gets a second chance, because sometimes, first impressions can be wrong.  (But three impressions and you're out, pal.  Honestly, do you think impressions grow on trees? I'm not running a damn impressions charity here, you know.)

2. I cannot reasonably be expected to drink in moderation and should exercise extreme caution even when it comes to a glass of wine over dinner.

3. Using paid vacation to travel to new places is actually a pretty good idea.

Whether spending your vacation to visit San Francisco...

...or get some "us" time...

 

...or just to see old friends...

I've found that taking a break now and then can be a good thing.

4. If you find yourself in the grips of depression, try to "fake it till you make it."  Asking for help from others will make you look weak.  (Protip: Wearing bright colors and smiling a lot will convince even the cleverest that you aren't consumed with self-loathing!)

5. If ice cream isn't scooping out of the container very well because of freezer burn, warming up the spoon in the microwave first will cut through it like nobody's business.

6. There's a sharp learning curve associated with my job and I should always be actively engaged in learning more about studies that relate to mine, because there's no such thing as too much knowledge.

7. Giving gifts is better than receiving them.

 Of course, receiving is fun, too.  

Above: How did Andrew know I'd like this hat?

Below: Our Christmannukah haul.

8. Five animals is the limit in this household, especially when you consider that Carlisle counts as like 8 dogs.

The kitten is integrating well.

9. You can stump the Trump.

10. If you love someone and worry that their attention is waning, don't talk to them about it; this will only increase the friction between you.  Instead, manipulate them into loving you by being extra-clingy, blogging about their family, and getting their name tattooed on your body.

11. I have the same birthday as Tony Stark.

We are also both problem drinkers with poor coping mechanisms and a great love for dressing up as robots.

12. If your soda always fizzes over when you open it, try opening it upside-down.  This forces the gases in the soda bottle upwards, toward the bottom and away from the neck, and allows every bottle to be opened without any annoying foam!

13.  One word: Sunscreen.

14. If people aren't responding to me, it's likely that they didn't hear me.  I am going to make an effort to talk louder and stand closer to people when engaging them socially to ensure a better connection is made.

15. Karaoke is actually a lot of fun and not nearly as embarrassing as I thought it would be.

16 Resolutions, Expectations, Hopes, and Dreams for 2016

1. Time to take up smoking.  This is going to make me look much cooler.  Added benefits: less troublesome lung capacity and an easy way to get rid of pesky extra money.

2. My old motorcycle was nice, but it's time to upgrade to something with a bit more firepower.  I'm thinking a 800-900 cc engine.  I'm looking at either a Kawasaki Vulcan or a Honda Shadow.  I prefer the Shadow, but I also have a real problem with Honda right now.  Specifically, the "Helpful Honda" radio commercials. Basically, they exploit poor, old, or disabled people to demonstrate how "helpful" they are.  First: if you are poor, why the fuck did you recently buy a new Honda? The commercials select from a pool of people who purchased and registered new Hondas in 2015.  Second: Giving a poor person a one-time handout isn't life-changing or "helpful." Examples include giving a special needs kid an Olympic torch, buying a kid a basketball hoop, buying a family bicycles (even though they already have the goddamn Honda), et cetera.  Why not pay off their cars or something? Why the shitty little handouts? All of the handouts are cheap crap to the Honda corporation; it's not REAL charity. It's like throwing pennies at hobos.  Also, way to broadcast your "charity," Honda. That's not at all despicable. It's awesome how you shove it down our throats how generous you are. That's like people who take pictures of themselves giving a homeless person a bottle of water and then post it to FaceBook. What's worse, the people in the commercials always cry and say how grateful they are. It's so cringey.  Fuck you, Honda.  Your nauseating, ham-fisted commercials attempting to portray the company as kind and generous make me want to puke. You want to be generous, Honda? Spare us your sob stories and your petty handouts and do something meaningful with your advertising money.

/rant

3. It's a leap year!  I will spend my extra day doing something truly special.  I have a few ideas (but they're all secret so far so if you're still reading this please forget this item on the list).

4. I'm hoping to get engaged.  Of course, I said that last year, too.  But this year is noteworthy because justifications.  Also, I find that the only way to truly know if someone loves me is if they present me with a blood diamond.  Nothing says "love" like a rock that you paid thousands of dollars to a middle man to exploit child slaves to dig out of the ground.

5. Like many of my friends, I am going to resolve not to drink in 2016.  Considering the drought we're in, it's the responsible thing to do.  So far it's day 2 and aside from the brown urine and swimming vision, I haven't really experience any side effects of dame brainbage or serebus issues of my helthp so reallly swimming vision mmmmm water.

6. I will stop picking at my skin.

7. I need to keep a more consistent lab notebook.

8.  I think I should stop making fun of gluten-free things until I at least try the diet.  Otherwise how can I know that thousands of peer-reviewed journal articles concluding that gluten intolerance isn't a thing are actually legit?

9. Time to lose weight.  Coming in at 108 pounds, I have really let myself go.  Tomorrow I'll totally join a gym.  I think early January tends to be a slow time for gyms, so I'll probably be able to negotiate a discount!

 

When I use my trainer's quotes at my interventions they sound a lot less convincing.

10. My spending is out of control.  This year I will pay off all my debts and spend more responsibly.  As it stands now I have two credit cards and bought a necklace last week.  I can only assume that it's these sorts of terrible financial decisions that have gotten me to where I am today.  All the other people at the country club laugh at me and tell me that my racehorse is ugly.

11. I will floss more regularly.  Not just when my dental hygienist wracks me with guilt or when I remember twice a week.  Not that twice a week is actually awful, but I really do feel like I could be doing better.

12. I will run a marathon in February, asthma be damned.  And I will make an effort to continue running afterwards, even if only a couple miles a week.  I find that running improves my stamina and really helps combat my asthma in the long haul.

 Again, these motivation quotes are really not helping with the sobriety...

13. I want to update my blog with more consistency.  This will ensure that my target audience, Gregori from Albania, gets their fill of Julie-filled fun.

I got your package, by the way, Gregori.  Not sure what it means, but thanks, and "Merry Christmas I'll see you soon" too!

14.  I think that my track record of keeping in touch with my friends is pretty poor.  For example, I just finished sending out hundreds of Christmas letters, but forget to mail one to Gregori.  This is unacceptable.  I resolve to spend even more of my time worrying excessively about staying in touch and writing letters to my friends who keep refusing to write back.

15. I will work on being more honest with myself about the time it takes me to do chores and the commitments I can make.  It's easier to say you'll do something than to do it and lately I've definitely been overwhelming myself.

16. I'm getting a new tattoo!  (Refer to #10 on the previous list.)  (Am I joking or not?  Only time will tell!  Wink wink!)

Take-away message?  I'm pretty effin' excited for 2016.

Belly of the Beast: A Surprisingly Warm Trip to Pittsburgh

Disclaimer: despite all attempts, there appears to be more exposition and less hilarity than usual in this post, and also lots of therapeutic emotional musings.  But there are cool sock designs at the end to make up for it.

So Andrew and I visited his hometown of Pittsburgh last week and it went much better than expected.  Andrew has not been home for the holidays in three years and wanted to see his family, and despite our history of tension, I agreed because a) I like plane rides, and b) I like Andrew almost as much.

We boarded our plane early last Saturday, where we dozed our way 3,000 miles across the continent to Pittsburgh.  I took some anti-anxiety medication before we left the terminal to see his mother.  My face had already broke out in some impressive acne in anticipation of the trip.

 Thanks, Brain.

Andrew's mother, Gail, met us and was very cordial, and we went to her home, which is also Andrew's childhood home.  I have always been a bit jealous of this home.  It's a three-story brick house with an expansive front porch at the end of a cul-de-sac that opens into a front room with a fireplace flanked by bookshelves.  Andrew lived a very upper-middle class life and I envy that.

Regarding my own childhood, it wasn't all that bad, though.  My mom let me pet tigers.

Anyway, back to the trip.  We put away our things in Andrew's childhood bedroom, which had that sad storage-y look that the childhood bedrooms of adults who have moved away often have.  His mother and stepfather took us out to dinner and then we (Andrew and I) went to meet up with two of his friends at a shithole of a dive bar.  It made Golden Corral look like Sardi's.  The two friends ignored us while I tried to ignore my increasingly loud, nagging alcoholism, and finally asked Andrew to leave because the place was filled with smoke and his friends were more interested in each other than us, no homo.  We did get a couple of games of billiards in, though.  (We lost but considering the bar we were in, we definitely weren't the biggest losers there.)

So we went home and started Sunday off with a nice "family hike" along the creek of a local park, where I identified a falcon, some orb-weaver sacs, tangle webs, some enormous Artist's Conk mushrooms, some tiny freshwater shrimp, and Andrew's mother's discomfort as I waded into the woods in search of things with too many legs.  The landscape was without snow, much to our disappointment, and it felt more like autumn than winter.  Old stone bridges covered in lichen crossed the creek in places, much to the approval of those who think shrimp are icky and would prefer not to get their feet wet.  Andrew's mother walked far ahead of us, as if I was generating spiders by pointing them out.  I felt awkward.

Spiders are under-appreciated.

It was a nice walk through lovely country.  Shortly after getting back, though, I had to go upstairs and have a crying spell, because I felt so out of place and alien.  No one had made me feel that way; that's just how I felt.  Also, Andrew's grandmother had asked to see him, in private, and had confessed she didn't want to see me, which really hurt.  Andrew's mom texted us and asked if we wanted to come downstairs and talk it out.  (I didn't.)

We went downstairs and had a long heart-to-heart that was about 60% crying and 40% talking (on my part).  I felt especially bad because I've felt that my and Gail's relationship has been improving incrementally and she'd done nothing to make me feel unwelcome, but I was just so anxious and also feeling really bad about the rest of the family and was worried about Andrew.  Andrew said he thought it was a good talk but I didn't feel it was entirely necessary, since I don't think Andrew's mom had much to do with my emotions at that time and was nothing but a very hospitable host.

She had the graciousness of seven or more dwarves.

I will say that she brought up this very blog a few times and seemed upset by its contents, which I guess is understandable to some degree.  I apologized but told her I wouldn't censor myself and she oughtn't read it if she thinks it might hurt her feelings.  Like the rest of the family, she denied reading it, which is important later on.

Anyway, I coped by taking more anti-anxiety medication and by binge-watching "Hoarders" on Netflix in bed, while Andrew, perhaps motivated by "Hoarders," sorted through some of his childhood things and cleared out an old closet.  That evening we walked with his mother to the market to get some food, and after dinner, we watched The Daily Show like a normal family in the living room.

The next day, Monday, Andy went to see his grandmother.  He said that the talk didn't go so well.  She accused me of being a manipulative liar and refused to believe otherwise.  Andrew tried to reason with her, but her protectiveness of the family overwhelmed any of his pleading, and she refused to think better of me despite his reassurances.  Andrew said it was curious to see his grandmother, usually so warm, acting so ferocious and aggressively dominant.  "I kept reaching for my water glass and there was no water in it," he reported. 

 She's a tough cookie.

As for me, I was still in bed, exhausted after the previous day's emotions.  I got up for a late lunch and then we went to Phipps conservatory to meet Andrew's friend Rachel.  I've never gotten along with Rachel because she always seems very high-strung and reactive when I see her.  As usual, she showed up tense and a bit manic.  She was talking far too fast and seemed on the verge of hysteria.  But as we walked through the conservatory, identifying plants, she calmed, and by the time we went to the café for dinner, she was calm and pleasant.  We had a great conversation and for the first time I really got along with her; we really clicked and I was happy to have met Rachel at a good time.  She actually is a really cool person, once you get past the short fuse and the mania.  As a fellow anxiety-haver (well, depression-haver, but same diff), I realized that our impressions of each other in the past were always negative because we'd always been anxious and unable to focus on anything but ourselves.  Once in a safe place, we got along swimmingly, and it really delighted me to know my medication is working and that I can find new friends in people I never expected.  Andrew was also very happy about our connection, even though we teamed up to nag him to put a ring on my finger.

Tuesday was "my day."  We drove to State College, home of my alma mater, Penn State.

  Nothing but fond memories.

We met my little sister Kait (from the Big Brothers Big Sisters program), who is now 21 years old.  We brought her a nice gift basket with some nail polish, wine ("Drink responsibly!" advised her birthday card), a little plush cupcake, and a few other goodies.  We had lunch at the Corner Room, a State College classic, and after a brief tour of her very own new apartment (so proud of her!) we went back downtown to Herwig's Austrian Bistro, where we met my friend Lily.  I got to meet Lily's new baby, Andrew, who I fed, burped, and paid more attention to than my own Andrew, who was engrossed in conversation with his old college friend, Laura.  On a tight schedule, we then drove another 90 minutes to Harrisburg to meet my old friends Kevin and Tom.  Andrew parallel-parked Tom's car L.A.-style into a space with about 6-8 inches of room total to spare, and we went off to a pub to catch up.  We didn't leave until 10 and so we got home by 2.

Again, exhausted, I slept in, while Andrew went to do chores with his mother.  When he came home, I was called downstairs by Gail, who said that Grandma wanted to meet me.  I was under the impression she didn't, but I went downstairs anyway and stood politely by Andrew's side, trying not to look like a manipulative liar.

 I kept nervously twirling my mustache.

His mother, in what I think was supposed to be a kind gesture, asked after my dogs.  "Who's watching them?" she said, knowing that I'm always willing to talk about my dogs.  If I was fighting in the trenches and someone asked me about my dogs, I would probably yell their entire life histories over the booming of mortar.

"And my bunny's ears look like this!"  

"I... I think they're bombing us!"  

"...and her wiggly little tail goes boop, boop, boop!"

"Jack's looking after them," said Andrew.  Uh-oh.  Sensitive topic, here.

Now, remember how I said earlier that Andrew's mother claimed not to read my blog?  Well, she then pulled out this gem.  Looking directly at me, she said, "I thought you hated Jack."

Whoa.  Whoa.  Whoa.  Hate is a pretty strong word here.  I've never given any indication that I hate Jack.  I don't know if Jack said something to her, but it seems more likely she read about our little feud in my post from July.  I'd like to quote myself here regarding Jack:  " I'm not angry at Jack.  I just recognize that he is a very fair-weather friend, and his actions aren't supportive.  I'm someone who puts a lot of value on reliability, and... his inability to accommodate or compromise when we had conflicting plans is part of a larger pattern of bad behaviour that hurts me.  I don't feel like I need to stick out a hurtful relationship.  ...Instead of getting angry and bitter and passive-aggressive, I'd rather just shake hands and part ways."

Yeah, so no hate there.  Shocked, I said, "I don't hate Jack.  I mean, we bicker sometimes... all friends bicker."  I didn't feel like I should go into details about our bickering.  But my voice faltered.

"That worries me," said Andrew's mother.  Her eyes narrowed a little.  "I've very protective of Jack."

Grandma's eyes narrowed too.  "And I'm very protective of you, honey," she said to Gail, despite staring straight into my eyes.

I stood there awkwardly for a bit, then reached for a glass of water.  It was empty.

I politely excused myself and went back upstairs, feeling sad and more than a bit rejected.

Don't leave me hanging, Grandma.

After some moping and the departure of Andrew's mother and grandmother, we decided to focus on the positive, which was the general way Gail and I had gotten along.  We walked downtown and Andrew indulged me in one of my favourite hobbies, which is making gift baskets (aka "grab bags").  Since RedditGifts, I've been really obsessed with this hobby.  In fact this was the fourth gift bag I'd made in four days, the other three being for RedditGifts (you can view it here!), our lab office party (we did a Secret Santa!), and Kait.  We loaded up the gift bag with a scarf, candles, soaps, and tea, and tried to make each as personal as possible.  We presented it to Andrew's mother Wednesday evening before going out and she loved it.

When we went out Wednesday, it was to meet Andrew's friends Sarah and Jedd.  I was dismayed to see Sarah had purchased a bottle of wine already.  Sarah seemed like one of the more interesting, outgoing, and amiable of Andrew's friends and I would have loved to have gotten to know her, but anxiety was tugging at me.  Seriously, she seemed awesome, but alcohol has a tendency to counter-act even the best anti-depressants.  A glass of wine went down, then another.  We left after dessert (pear gelato and vegan pumpkin cheesecake) to a bar, where I had a third drink.  (My limit in social situations is two.)  I begged Andrew to take me home, feeling the bubbling of an anxiety attack in the pit of my stomach despite the soothing effects of the pear gelato, and he acquiesced.  We got home and upstairs just in time for me to melt down completely; I sobbed miserably, which undoubtedly made Andrew's mother downstairs very concerned that I was either dying or watching Looney Tunes

"Ooooooh, I'm dying over here!"

Fortunately, even though I was sure I was dying and the world around me was falling apart (as one does during panic attacks), I had the presence of mind to tell Andrew to go back to see Sarah and Jedd.  With some hesitancy, he did, and was able to have a good time catching up with his old friends.  He was also able to meet briefly with his friend Jason, who had eluded us like some sort of rare bird for the entire trip due to work.

And that's what the trip was all about, connecting with old friends, so it was good that Andy was able to visit all of his friends and family, except his sister, who continues to blacklist Andrew for fraternizing with the enemy (me).

The next morning, Thursday, I felt wrecked from the previous night.  Thankful that the trip was over, I was dropped off at the bus station by Andrew's mother, and Andrew and I got on a plane to get back home.

Overall?  I gave the trip a B- and I think Andrew gave it an A-.

This wasn't just a vacation, but a test for us to see if my medication was working, to see if we could maintain our friendly and familial relationships despite internal tension, and to make sure our own relationship can withstand the pressure put on it by my own failings (such as having anxiety) and by his family (Hi, Lilly).

I was happy with how well his mother and I got along and even more happy to connect with Rachel and see her as Andrew does.  Truth be told I got along with all of his friends really well, which was great because in the past I've had trouble navigating social situations and I know that one of Andrew's concerns before getting engaged is the assurance that he can maintain his old friendships with me in tow.  The best part of the trip was how much it strengthened our relationship; we're stronger and happier than ever and I'm glad we went even though it was very difficult, emotionally, for me.

When we came home, I spent the three-day weekend of my vacation cleaning the house, inspired by my "Hoarders" binge.  With two bags donated to GoodWill, four bags thrown out, and another bag regifted, our house is reorganized completely and cleaner than it has been in the last three years we've lived here!  The kitten finally has some space and is getting along with the dogs, under the condition that Seamus doesn't see her leaving the kitchen or utility room, which Andrew has designated the "Kitten Ghetto."

It's a place of adorable gang warfare, like in "West Side Story."

In other good news, I returned from the vacation to work feeling refreshed as hell.  I've been PCR-ing and Gel-ing and Sanger Sequencing like nobody's business.  I finally feel like I'm getting control of things.  My last meeting with my boss felt exciting and instead of feeling shy and apologetic, I felt a click, like we were moving toward a goal together instead of her just coaching me.

The arrival of a package in the mail was also spectacular; my father sent me a watermelon tea kettle that was on my wishlist, and then called me yesterday.  We talked for nearly an hour.  Having had some friction with my own family in the past I'm delighted to hear from him.

The holidays are really being good to me and I really feel like the spirit of the season is working its magic.  At this time I don't feel like I have very many worries, complaints, or hostilities; the closest thing to a "problem" I have is my search for a new motorcycle and trying to re-learn my friendship with Jack, drawing new boundaries and expectations so we don't hurt each other in the future again.  Also, all this cheerful good will and productivity and lack of problems is making my blog less funny.  Sorry not sorry, Blog.  I'll try to find a way to make happiness funnier.  (You know what they say... Tragedy + Time = Comedy.)

As for the future... bring it on!

 
I'm ready for it!  2016 will be awesome!  Go ahead, 2016... sock it to me!

 (Also, I designed these socks.)