Mother's Day Is Upon Us

Another year, another Hallmark Holiday... Mother's Day. I really find nothing wrong with buying my mom a gift and showing my appreciation, but picking out gifts for people is hard. Ok, sure I can go with the cookie cutter, cliched gifts of flowers and a card. It will do the trick. The five seconds of shock and awe that I did something may be worth the price, but my common sense kicks in. Why buy a gift that will be dead in a week? Plus, why buy some shmaltzy card that I could have created on my own?

And thus the pressure mounts as the search for the perfect gift continues.

Nothing Like a Good Run

In high school I used to be a big runner, not a fast or talented one, I just used to run a lot - anywhere from 7-10 miles a week. In college I kept up the tradition but by senior year, either from old age or tennis, or both, my knees started to hurt and it made running rather uncomfortable. Plus, the altitude in Colorado doesn't help.

These days the only running I do is for the Turkey Trot - whether I am prepared or not I run the 10k Thanksgiving Day Race every year. It is tradition.

I could say I miss running, but let's face it that would be a lie. Why run when you can walk, bike, or even drive for that matter? While I don't miss the actual act of running, I do miss that sense of accomplishment that comes after getting through a tough run, you know, that on top of the world feeling.

Today, I grabbed my iPod and walked outside with the intention to walk, but something came over me. I had that runner blood flow going, the kind where the run isn't torturous but actually enjoyable. Ok, I did walk a little bit along the way, but the last 1.5 miles I ran.

The tunes were pumping, I had a solid running rhythm going, and yeah... did I mention that I was running? Rounding third and heading home I began to raise my arms in triumph like Rocky. Alright, that part is a lie, but I sure felt like Rocky running on top of the steps of the Capitol Building in Philadelphia.

As for tomorrow - I'll probably be back to walking.

Nike, My Sneaker Adonis

I am sneaker obsessed, Nike kicks in particular. You know, the ones made in Malaysia by children sweat shop workers. *Ok that last sentence was sarcasm. But yes I do truly love nike sneakers.

Instead of collecting works of art I collect sneakers. And even though I have way more than I could possibly wear or use, I want my collection to grow and grow. They are so freaking cool. My sneaker fetish started a few years ago, when Nike decided to kick it old school with their retro look, and ever since I have been hooked. Currently my count of Nike shoes stands at 7, my total collection of awesome trainers stands at 10.

I used to go for the 50/50 split of comfort and style when buying shoes but now the breakdown looks like this 80- style, 20- comfort. Of course I won't wear any blister machines, but style must come first. I've also found it possible to color coordinate most of my Nike sneakers with a matching hoodie.

And when there is time to spare, I visit Nikeid.com and play around with my own creations.

Nike is so awesome that they've even made tennis shoes look cool to wear. Now that is impressive, and almost too good to be true. But my three most recent pairs of tennis kicks stand as daily reminders.

Thanks again Nike for truly being my sneaker Adonis.

The Test of a True Gentleman

Today as I headed to my weekly body sculpt class, I ran into the question of what makes a true gentleman? I was right behind a guy who I have seen at the club many times and we have a mutual friend. His first misstep came in the form of not holding the door open for me, but that really wasn't the kicker.

This class is packed every Saturday, and today was no exception. I had to run to another room and get two risers - one for me and one for my friend (the mutual friend in fact). I placed my risers on the ground and was headed to pick up some other materials when the dude in question nabbed one of my risers. He did not ask if it was saved for someone else. He did not ask if he could take it. He just took it as if it were no big deal. Hmm... maybe I am blowing this out of proportion, but whatever happened to a little common courtesy?

A minute or so later, my friend who I had been saving the spot for arrived. She was perplexed as to why she had no riser. And then I told her, "your so called gentleman friend is not such a gentleman afterall." Actually, my language was a little more descriptive (wink-wink).

Acting nice and polite to a fellow friend or person of a similar disposition would not be the qualifications of a gentleman, but rather, not doing such things would simply make that person an ass.

A true gentleman is one who treats everyone with the same generosity of spirit - friend, foe, or stranger. Now the question of what makes a lady... I shall leave that for another day.

Does anyone really write in cursive anymore?

I remember back in the 3rd grade when I first learned how to write in cursive. We had those practice sheets where we would trace over the dotted letters making beautiful S's and G's. We were told that writing in such a fashion is faster than regular print. After years of writing papers, notes, etc. I must say I disagree.

In order to write legibly in such an old school manner, it takes countless time and includes painstaking efforts. Oh and did I mention the hand cramps? Seriously, why write in cursive when you can just write in print?

Growing up in the computer age, it doesn't make much sense to write anything in fact. However, when forced to write I will always choose print over cursive. The only two words I ever write in cursive are my name and that doesn't count because it falls under the signature category.

While it would be frustrating enough to write in cursive, I find it more annoying trying to translate the chicken scratch older people send me in their foreign language of script. If you are going to write me a letter in cursive it darn well better be polished... like Declaration of Independence feather pen style, or at least do the courtesy of sending a translator along with the package. If not, then don't waste your time because I will not be able to comprehend your medieval handwriting.

Moral of the story - choose print over scribbilish cursive because that junk is way out of style.

Friendship bracelets

People are never too old to wear friendship bracelets. At least I'm not. I wear my bracelets/anklets proudly. I've never been a crafty person. I don't crochet, make wind charms, or capture scenic images on canvas. I do however make bracelets, anklets, and lanyards. Even as an adult, well young adult, I admit they are awesome.

I first got into the bracelet making scene as a pre-teen. Made my mom buy all the string along with a book of instructions and I got to work. However, as time went by I lost touch with the age old art of friendship bracelets. Thankfully Mr. Presnal, my junior year chemistry teacher brought back my love of the quintessential bracelet. His class was so utterly pointless that it required zero attention as a student. So in the back of the class I re-learned my lost art. It was a great way to pass time during fifth period.

A few years later, as a camp counselor in the Adirondacks, I had renewed spirit once again. This time I learned of the camp wrist, in which girls adorn their entire arm, at least up to the elbow, with friendship bracelets. Pretty sweet. I generally stick to a max of three on an arm, but I have sported four anklets at a time.

There is really nothing like a friendship bracelet - cheap, easy to make, sentimental, and Awesome with a capital A.

Interclub women's tennis

And I thought junior tennis was ridiculous. Well interclub ladies tennis brings that scenario to a whole new extreme. Tennis is life, that is the motto of a desperate housewife who dedicates her entire existence to knowing the ins, outs, and oh so mind boggling details of every player on every team.

"She has a nasty slice."

"All she does is lob."

"She is a notorious hooker." In tennis talk, that is one who makes bad line calls, but hey she could be a hooker too.

"She is too young to play; she shouldn't be on that team." The most common remark directed at me.

The list of complaints and comments goes on and on, then it goes on some more. Recently I played a match against a team that walks with such an aura of superiority, you would think A-Rod had just graced us with his presence. But no, it is just a bunch of ridiculous ladies who belong to a wealthy tennis club.

Anwyay, within the first couple games of the match I threw up a crappy lob so instinctively I yelled "watch it!" And why do I say "watch it" you ask? Basically, I am just letting my partner know it is time to get away from the net.

Turns out my opponent, who then proceeded to dump the easy ball into the net, was not too happy about my so-called outburst. She told me I cannot say that and I should "watch it" myself or else she was gunning for me. WTF? Where do these pyscho ladies come from? They are such an utter disgrace to the game.

It's ok, I won.