Love stuff.

I love being married. Have I mentioned that?
Well, I guess I should rephrase that, I love my husband. It just feels so comfortable. If you told me a few years ago that I'd be married now, I'd probably call you an idiot (and a lair). I always saw marriage as being tied down, being tamed, giving up your independence and giving up yourself. It was just a piece of paper that doomed you to unhappiness, nasty lawyer fees, and scarred.

But it's not, infact, it's comfortable. And I'm not sure if that word captures it correctly. I always thought of brides as woo girls. They squee, wave their hands around, get pedicures, be the very escence of the overly feminine, catty, intellectually challanged women I hate. I have no idea why I ever had that concept of it, it just seems like they want to shove it down everyone elses throats. Hey, you got hitched, good for you. But I'm not going to congratulate you with my voice 5 octives higher than normal while my eyes are bugging out of my head.

And here I am, married. The most gorgeous wedding ring on my hand and a man in my phone labeled as 'hubby'. Who is also, the most gorgeous man on earth. I admire him and I think the sun shines out of his ass. He's safe, he's warm, he's sexy, he's smart, he doesn't judge me (or if he does, he does so silently), and he completely ignores the hot mess I am.

Alright, enough of the love stuff.

We adopted a cat. He's 8 months old and his name is Jax. He loves to cuddle and he snores. It's been a week and Tank and Jax are already spooning.

Where do I find these animals?!? ha.

cupcakes.

 

I like the married life.

Last night we went out to this amazing little restaurant here and split 2lbs of steamed crab/shrimp/sausage/corn/potatoes. It was delicious. I had two cosmopolitan martini's. Then we bailed on his work christmas party and went to the Winter Wonderland at the Lowry Park Zoo to see the Reindeer we've been trying to see for three years now. They were cute and despite the fire department I work for wishing all of their employees merry christmas by not paying us the week before christmas and handing out paper checks friday night (so I can go all weekend without money), it was a fabulous night.

I have a 4.0 for this semester. I finished it with the highest grades in both of my classes.

I've celebrated with delicious homemade mini pizzas, wine, and cupcakes.

We're just going to avoid the word (looks over shoulder and whispers), "diet" until after the holidays.

Also, I've concocted recipes for two of the most delicious cupcakes in the entire world. Rum-eggnog with a white chocolate/butter cream icing and red velvet with a peppermint/white chocolate/butter cream icing.

They're also gluten free.

I might die. Well at least get fat.

Thanksgiving break was really rough on the waist of my pants (and the behind area). Really rough. We had five thanksgivings in four days and I made it through all of them slightly nauseous, waddling, and damn near incapacitated. On the fourth one I cried because I couldn't get my pants to button.

We hosted our first thanksgiving which was also our first shin-dig in our new house. It was great and we slaved away in the kitchen for almost twelve hours. It was an entirely gluten free thanksgiving and it was delicious; the skeptics agreed. The other four had special dishes made especially for me that were gluten free so I couldn't not eat them.
Although it doesn't help that we've recently gotten into expensive cheese and wine. And by expensive cheese I mean one trip to whole foods and the cheese center shelf by the deli at Publix with the cheap to expensive mix (we went for the inbetween) and by wine I mean really sissy stuff (and some including Arbor Mist, as alex says, "made by women for women") because I don't really like wine.

That probably didn't help the pants problem. Neither does the hip flexor injury that kept me from running for a week.

Ridiculous.
I did drag my larger than normal ass out of bed this morning before class for a run. With each painful step I reminded myself of my now jiggly booty and the courthouse wedding monday.

Oh, we're getting married early. As in we signed the marriage license yesterday and going to the courthouse monday. Don't worry, I'm not knocked up. But I don need insurance and albeit the county offers good insurance for us paramedics, the basic insurance is forty dollars more than what it would cost for us both to be on his insurance which is a lot better and covers a lot more. That and I need financial aid for school.
Apparently being twenty one with your shit together, a job most people turn into a career, and trying to better yourself to help mankind does not qualify for getting financial help to do so.
The trashy hoodlin's in my class? Well, they DO qualify.

work has been busy and by busy I mean I apparently bring hell with me to work.
We got toned out for a call as soon as I got to the station to start my shift and ten minutes later I was intubating. I proceeded to pace someone, run a stroke alert, wrestle with a combative 'Nam veteran who was hypoglycemic and ETOH, and treat SVT in a psych pt.
It was busy.

He's sick, which means I'll probably die. Usually he coughs once or has a tickle in the back of his throat for half a day and the next thing I know I'm retching until my lips turn blue with a 104 fever and half a foot in the grave. Joke is on him because we're not legally married yet and I'm up to renew my life insurance policy. Ha! (Kidding). So yesterday I made some homemade soup on the crocpot and baekd a loaf of cheese/french bread that I expertly timed to come out of the oven 10 minutes before he made it home from work.
I know, I know, I'm a domestic goddess.

False, our house is a wreck and I'm pretty sure I re-injured my hip flexor when I tripped over his batman boxers that were on the floor. Fail.

long time no um, ramble.

Alright, so I've been about as consistent with this thing as I have been with rationing my panera trips. Which is a complete failure. I still go there at least twice a week, if not, and usually more. (Hey it's a great place to study and they don't mind if I just buy one cup of hot tea and refill it ahundred times over the next six hours I spend occupying my favorite seat in the house. Well, technically two because it takes two tables to successfully house my textbooks, notebooks, laptop, and pen in every color).

So here's some tid-bits from my life recently:

 I went wedding dress shopping. Origionally I wasn't going to have any wedding updates here since this was kind of my thing and I made an entirely diferent blog for that but considering I haven't done any wedding planning (besides booking a venue -yuuuuus) and dress shopping IS all about me, I'll do it here (and possibly there).
I went on this diet three weeks out from my appointment date because I wanted to lose all the weight I gained in paramedic school, then the weight I gained from being out of paramedic school and celebrating being out, and then the weight I gained from moving into our new place with our ridiculously large kitchen, and my insatiable love and need of cooking.

I did great and a week out I had lost all the weight (and then some) I had planned on. I was feeling great, I was looking great, I was great.
And then I got sick. Not just kind of sick, pathetic, snot bubble blowing, spiking 103 fevers every night, kind of sick. Trust me, it was a lot cuter than it sounds (and I snored even LOUDER. Sorry, Alex). So sick infact that I shoved the logic out of my head and let my stupid pride ride shot gun; I went on a six mile run. Ended up in a whimpering ball in the shower and I swear I could feel my pulse on the back of my eye balls.
I couldn't even sleep. Why? I kept waking up to cramps and having to pee.
Thank you mother nature and crappy kidneys, I was being double teamed by my two sets of twins.

So, what do I do with my hormonal, snotty, scolding hot (in a bad way) self?
Bake. Good thing my mom bought me so much gluten free flour huh?
White chocolate chip cookies, pear cobbler, ooey-gooey cake/ginger snap/white chocolate/marshmellow bars, casseroles, and about three bags of Brach's candy corn pumpkins.

Luckily and unluckily I live about 4 blocks from a very large, open late walgreens. So, every night I jogged up there at a pitifully slow pace as my ill body whined and protested, for a redbox movie and chocolate or (sometimes and) candy corn pumpkins. Both were on sale all week.

Needless to say, I not only gained  the weight back, I think I gained more. And then I thought I gained more ontop of that because of that lovely hormonal roller coaster mother nature likes to give us like throwing salt in the wound. No, bleeding and cramps aren't enough. Let's make you want to avoid every reflective surfact like the plague too.

-Alright, I just got back from a call so I completely lost my train of thought.

OH, that reminds me. Apparently with this fancy patch comes the blackest of black clouds.
Seriously, on my first day I did a procedure most paramedic's will retire without ever doing.
First.fucking.day.
Second out at that.

Although it made it a save.
I guess the praying to sweet baby jesus and all the f-bombs worked. Or I actually know what I'm doing.
All the senior medics hugged me and high fived me.
And offered to buy me a drink Ha.


annnnddd coffee does not make a headache better.
Neither does reading a biology textbook at almost 1am with a smudge on your glasses.



Did I mention I almost died last week?
I locked myself in my art studio and called him crying that I lost the house and had to retreat and our dog is the most fail predator to ever live. Seriously.

Biggest.flying.roach.ever.

The past few weeks have been a whirlwind of emotions as I've settled into a new life after a year pretty much took it captive. A year not necessarily wasted because without it, I may not have ever pursued my current goal. Before that year, I never thought I could. So in a way, it's a year I'm thankful for and a year that has certainly made me stronger and realize what I will not take and my actual potential. In the grand scheme of things, it was a kick in the ass. But up close? I still wouldn't walk across the street to piss on him if he was on fire.

We're stepping into the beginning of autumn but here in Florida summers breath still holds ferth. It makes me long to pack up and move to the mountains. Disregard responsibilities and set forth to higher ground with warmer leaves and cooler air.

I've been running more. I let my long runs slip in the midst of the move and fall semester. I felt myself going stir crazy. My body was anxious and my joints were grinding against each other. My body was metaphorically chomping at the bit. I think it's what a puppet must feel like; stiff, cramped, and dusted. I needed to unfold, stretch, and dust the spiderwebs from the neurons in my brain. I needed free thinking and I needed a lot of ground.

And I needed discovery.

So, I hit the road and this time there wasn't a set running path, there wasn't a set goal, there wasn't a set distance or time; there was my asics, a few hours of battery left on my ipod, and me. I ended up running around five miles before I decided I'd given the holy terrors ample time to drool, knock over, urinate, or generate tumbleweeds of hair the size of texas in my house. Besides, I dived in at the hottest time of the day and Florida showed little mercy. The next day I repeated it.
Five miles is pretty pitiful. Even though it was five invigorating, feverish, perpetual miles. It whithers in respcet to my other runs. None the less it was five miles that wasn't there before. When I got home I couldn't wait to go back. I wanted to right then. Irresponsible.

I obsess and I'm obsessing over the next three weeks. It'll either turn out with the best results ever (read, healthiest) or a complete failure.But I feel like it's needed because it's a last hoorah over getting one up. Over having something to hold onto. It's complicated. Pretty messed up. And slightly more painful.
And somehow, hopefully, I'll reach a few small accomplishments in the process. Or at least make headway.

Therapy.

All I'm going to say is after the past week, I ran this evening after my absence and it breathed the life back into me again.


I picked up all pieces, slung them over my shoulder, and I just ran.
It wasn't a run to write home to coaches about; I kept a steady, albiet slow pace. And now my bones are screaming. I wanted to sear my lungs, liquify my quads, run my heart out but I knew I'd have to hold back.

Soon though. Soon.


And I started painting again.

My thoughts on mornings.

I think at this point we've all established that I'm a born runner. It's what I do, it's who I am, it's what keeps me functioning, yadda yadda yadda.

But if there's one thing I'm not, it's a morning person. Maybe it's my chronic sleep deprivation or the fact I think it's just down right cruel to be pulled out of bed before your eyes bud open gently and the sound of birds chirping in the breeze brushes over you (at least, that's how I think it should be). But I am especially not a morning shower person. There's nothing worse in this world than being pulled out of a warm, soft bed (ahem pillow top queen bed with extra fluffy pillows and the softest blanket on earth) as daylight is slowly creeping in (or not even there yet) and having to go stand in a cold, tiled cubby -naked of all things with water dumped on you. I absolutely detest it. I'd rather go slightly dirty and wear a headband to cover up the rats nest for hair than do that.
However, over the past few days whether it was in fear of being late to class when we're down to the wire or just the fact that it sets the mood for the day I have been peeling myself out of bed at six thirty in the morning, slipping into some yoga capri's and my grey'/lime asics and pounding the pavement. And it starts out the same way every time; the countless thoughts of regret, trying to work the snooze button on my android phone, thinking maybe today is just not my day or I'll just go around the block. There's yawning, skipping stretches because that's entirely just too much effort, and a bit of swearing (occasionally).

But it always ends the same way too; two laps around the lake, a sprint up a steep hill, a panting dog who collapses on the wood floor, and me, walking straight to the shower.

He proposed in a Huey mid flight.

Yes, he got down on one knee. 

<3

a garbage soup of updates.

I'm going try my hand at updating via my fancy new phone (although its complex and "convienent" features leave me more frustrated than impressed)

our student just asked me for the number to the court house. classy.
although im not all that surprised.

Im doing well on this whole gluten free diet snf I've noticed a lot of positive changes with my body. Except I miss oreos. My booty apparently misses them so much that its starting to drop off to go search for it, ha.

Our daily afternoon gale-hurricane weather is already looming and I want to plead with my zone to do as I want to do and curl up with a good book (I just had To Be a Runner arrive via mail the other day), make some delicous hot tea and let the storm have its way with the outside world.
...except I think most of my zone is illiterate and bored so I see none of this happening.


I'm in desperate need of change. Actually, before i dam myself with that, let me clarify- I'm in need of good change. Because for the past year I've been in a lull of no sleep, high stress from every angle (personal, health, family, relationship, work, and school), and a constant string of bad luck. Enough that I've adopted Meredith's saying from Grey's Anatomy (insert total fan girl moment because I'm slightly inlove with this show), "Seriously?... s-e-r-i-o-u-s-l-y?" into my everyday lingo.

Apparently the one thing I never wanted I now want and it's the one thing everyone else around me seems to be getting. I mean seriously? (See, there I go again). Oy. I've come to the conclusion I'll be hanging out in limbo forever. Although I do slightly (alright, a little more than slightly) get a shallow satisfaction from the constant bonbardment of harrassment and everything short of physically putting a gun to his head my parents are doing. It's humorous. Although he probably doesn't see it that way.

long time no useless update, blog.

I'm in the library again with one of our eight final-final exams down (only program I know that makes you take EIGHT final exams for one class. That's a final exam every class, folks). Oy.

I was up until well after three am studying, mostly a chapter that apparently wasn't on this exam. And isn't on an exam until after my birthday. Go figure.

We hit a rock the other day, but I think in a way it was good because it's a rock that we needed to hit (and patch up) before we really settled down (hello sparkly thing, meet my finger). But we both came to an understanding and we're definitely better for it (hopefully). As much as we both hate to admit it because lets be honest, I think it was our hell-bent independence that made us like each other in the first place, we've grown to need each other (in a good way). But I guess if it's all put in perspective it really was just an argument, which we don't have nearly enough of compared to other couples. And despite being an introvert at it's best (well, and worst at some times) we need each other. At least, I kind of need him, a lot. He's my guy. I'm his girl. (Is that enough cute to make you want to throw up yet?)

I pretty much have this program wrapped up. It's all planned out now and as long as the world doesn't end in the next month and a half, I'll have this behind me, these polo's burned and onto bigger and better things. Thank you sweet, baby jesus.

I ran twice yesterday. I did a long one which was pretty pitiful and I'm going to blame that on the timing (11am in forida heat, I know, I'm an idiot) and the fact I was sick, a wreck the day prior (thank you Celiac's) and not my muscles atrophying. Which, judging by my nine forty-five pm run, that's not the case. Even though the second one was only two laps around the southern lake and one around the northen one, I was having to pep-talk my bouncy, dopey, long legged, mastiff mix to keep up (this is quite the accomplishment, I assure you).

I'll finish this with a little gloating; I made the most delicious pizza's ever (and they're gluten-free).
on the (gluten free, soy free, dairy free, nut free-and despite all of this still delicious) pizza crust I added approx 1 1/2 tbsp of tomato pesto, a layer of shaved (fresh) tomato, layer of (fresh) spinach, fat-free mozzarella, diced (freshish- they were creeping to that questionably good point) baby-bella mushrooms, and a mixture of frozen veggies that had something like broccoli, cauliflower, carrots, snap peas, corn, peas, lima beans (?), and whatever else is in those cheap frozen bags. Add some garlic powder and bake at 375 degrees for fifteen minutes and BAM! Hello deliciousness.
Not to mention low fat, low calorie (under 350 calories for one very filling personal pizza), vegetarian, gluten free, soy free, and nut free.

Anyway, I'm going to amble myself back down to the pit of hell until four thirty (insert screams).

apple crub cakes and such

and sometimes you have those moments where you realize, this is it. This is what people search for. Hold onto it.


I find myself fidgeting with excitement at the thought of school supply shopping for fall and I cant tell if its the smell of new textbooks or the notion I'll actually be starting the road to the rest of my life. I do love their smell if books though, its intoxicating with knowledge and the crisp freshness of newly printed pages. I detest the kindle for this reason. Sometimes I wish I could borrow other peoples children just to take them  school supply shopping and instill in them some of my neurotic tendencies when it comes to education. These are good neuroses though, I promise. Color coordinating notebooks to binders for classes is good. A little weird, but good. I associate school supplies with cool breezes from fall creeping in and warm, loose leaf tea leaves drifting in hot water with milk foam and apple crumb cake.

Tequila anyone?

It's been a rough week (and by rough I mean horrible). And if I wasn't so socially inept I would go out like normal people my age and have a drink because I could certainly use one (and by one I mean about six).
But both of my best friends are unavailable, my mother and I are at odds, and I'm not comfortable venting on anyone else.

Instead I spent some of my tax refund on new clothes because god knows I do need those. 

I drove to class the other day, cried for a moment in my truck, cleaned up my face, swallowed the knot in my throat, and walked in and took both my quizzes, none of my classmates the wiser. I don't do that. I've been in this vicious cycle of anger and sometimes things are bigger than paramedic school and work. And I genuinely feel bad because I don't talk about important things and I have this unmatched ability to act like everything is okay and people, the people that love me tend to forget exactly what I'm going through. And then I snap a little and these things bubble up from somewhere deep and even surprise me.

I don't know who I am anymore  but I know who I want to be. And it's so incredibly frustrating that I can't be that person until this is over so I'm sitting here while the gears in my head are grinding and the vibrations from  heart strings being played like a harp rattles my bones. 

I hate that I'm so hard on myself and I hate that I can't just relax.
I can't actually remember a time I ever really just stopped and took a breath; my brain is always feverishly trying to solve problems or creating new ones and in the midst of the chaos I end up missing out on life because I'm so wrapped up in my head all the time.





Basically, my point is I'm a perfectionist at it's worst.

.

It's one am and officially tuesday which means two things:
     First of all, I have my two-hundred most missed questions exam that's worth an astonishing amount of my overall grade (if you're starting to question his teaching now you're about how long it takes to contrive and hatch a human too late) and my oral final with the medical director

    Second of all, I'm a day closer to Thursday which is the start of my two-whole days off. That's forty-eight hours off with the mister at a hotel; pool-side, under the covers, fire-works, and wherever else we decide to wander. Or not wander. I'm absolutely content with avoiding society and all the scholars that will be celebrating cinco de mayo or reminiscing on a time they used to before they hatched their own pivotal moments that changed their lives for the "better"- snotty noses, pattering feet, addicting smiles, never-ending money pits, and the rest of their glory.







Please Cinco De Mayo and the day after, be good to me.

Much love,
the runner girl.

I'm in a funk.

It's late so I'd just like to share something really fast,

This evening (well technically yesterday evening) I was in the midst of my run when I couldn't help but smirk at myself; here I am at twenty years old, spending my friday evening running over six miles in an over-sized burgundy Flash t-shirt, black running shorts, grey/neon green running shoes, and cupcake underwear.
    and somewhere back in my house was my phone with the, "Trek yourself before you wreck youself" Spok background.

World, meet Lauren.

I'm glad to know that despite my hellacious schedule where I spend a vast (let me reitterate; vast) majority of my life on busy ambulances or in school, I am still able to fit in 6-7 mile runs.

Not only am I able to fit them in but I am able to own them.



I'll sleep when I'm dead.

After all, barbie came in heels.

I hate that we live in a world where women are raised to hate their bodies. Where Barbie's completely irrational shape is considered perfect and counting ribs from across the room makes her them an idol.

Women who are naturally curvy starve themselves to be thin and women who are naturally thin are getting implants to give the illusion of curves.

It's like by the age of 5 you're already predisposed to have an eating disorder that is her dirty little secret. Because god knows admitting to falling victim to the pressures of culture and actually being human makes her an attention seeker. and according to society, women are naturally supposed to be a double zero, while eating pizza and beer and not pooping. Because all men know that women don't do that; we piss glitter and rainbows come out of our asses.

And then there's porn which is full of these women who are injected, nipped/tucked, airbrushed, and gave up carbohydrates back in the early nineties in exchange for cocaine.They're the Bentley of women. The hidden treasure and certainly daddy's pride and joy.

Men have made out like bandits, and then have the audacity to scuff and tease a woman for having a few extra pounds. Or openly make vulgar comments about her shape, like that's all that matters and that's all she is. The notches in their beds are conquests and somehow, make them more of a man.
     Women get waxed, stand in front of mirrors for hours pinching skin and making a mental checklist of all the flaws that somehow make them not only less of a woman but less of a person and not as deserving of love and companionship because in this fucked up world she'll silently compare herself to redtube. And then she'll regret every extra calorie for the past week and a half.

Men want to come home to a screen and then go home to someone who lies there, in relief the lights are off and wondering if he noticed her premenstrual bloat or the cookies she ate earlier.

Even though we can work beside a man for the same pay, the world never really changed. There's this unobtainable image we're supposed to have, all while being a CEO, having children, keeping the house clean, and dinner on the table by six-thirty. 

Women are supposed to be under five foot six, one hundred pounds, perfect skin, big boobs, tiny feet, weak, emotionally dependent, and do only cute girly things. There's no such thing as blemishes, drinking out of the jug, burping, cellulite, independence, or strong; physically and emotionally. She shouldn't be able to reach the bowl off the top shelf in the kitchen or outrun him. Her thighs shouldn't be big, especially with muscle, and she shouldn't worship her running shoes right?

I don't think hate is the word

it's saturday night and

I just cried to Faithfully (by Journey) while spooning with my dog.



Needless to say, it's not been a pleasant few days.
and I'm a sad excuse for twenty.

I'm confident the only luck I'll ever have is bad.

I managed to get off shift of a ridiculously busy twenty-four on time; beaming and ready to start a long fantasized about day off in a bikini on the sand. I had it all planned out, I was going to wear my cute blue sundress that made my long legs look even longer, with my flip flops and even put in my contacts. After all, I had been dieting hard and trading some of my minuscule amounts of sleep for a little extra time pounding the asphalt in preparation what I was convinced, was going to be perfect. Except there was torrential downpour that knocked out our power. Which of course made finding my blue dress a shot in the dark (no pun intended). We found it after ten minutes of fumbling and guess what it needed desperately? To be ironed [mumbles].
After doing my make up via window light and a few sprits of victoria secret perfume we headed out the door and suddenly with a flicker and return of the buzz of the refrigerator the lights came back on [mumbles].

On the way to the truck my flip-flop got stuck in mud and my hair went from tussled and cute to a frizzled hot mess in about two minutes.


Then there was the wounded, cold and wet, pitiful, scared shepherd puppy we found crossing traffic and his glass half full, "well this is going to end one of two ways, he's either going to get hit by a car, freeze to death, or be picked up by animal control and put down"... It's not even lunch time yet.


We stopped by Ikea and instead of being ecstatic I found myself frustrated that these were all things I should already have in my home, because I should have already had my new home months ago. I was hungry, my debt card was burning a hole in my purse, and my knee's were shooting pain that rocked my bone. Let's add orthopedic doctor to my list of specialty physicians I'll be seeing after august.


We did however have a delicious carb and sodium loaded lunch at the Spaghetti Warehouse, (an all-time favorite of mine nestled in an old brick building on the corner of Ybor) since as long as I can remember. Followed by tracking down and falling in love with The Cuppy, The Chocolate Elvis, Bunny hops, Better Thans, S'mores, and Butterscotch Babies by http://www.thecupcakespotinc.com/ . My day was starting to follow my plan and finally, we were going to curb a long time craving since we stumbled across a little piece of heaven in Chattanooga, TN. These my friends are not your average suzie homemaker/ local grocery store cupcakes; no, they're heroin for your taste buds.

So good in fact, it made the realization of leaving my cell phone back in Ybor tolerable. After all, it was more drive time to say, "ohmygod!" after every bite of exceeding our expectation and skepticism.

(By the way, I cut my finger on the bread knife at lunch)I completed the first of about six final exams today and I'm not throwing up or hanging my head. Which, is surprising considering I study about as much as I sleep and if you could see the bags under my eyes, you'd understand.

I thought college libraries are supposed to be quiet.






You know why I hate community, oh I'm sorry, "state" colleges? highschoolers are allowed here.
and you know what I hate? Highschoolers.

I really wish we'd close on the new house already.

I spend an unhealthy amount of time on Potterybarn.com and abstinence does not make the heart grow fonder; it makes my stomach more bitter; I've been craving delicious, rich, heaven-in-a-cute-paper-cup cupcakes something serious for a while now (since Tennessee actually but who's keeping track). But I'm saving myself for my new kitchen.



Don't get me wrong; my ass thanks for you the delay but the rest of me? Not so much.