The shorts aversion.

I hate shorts. Absolutely despise them. I wore them for volleyball in college solely because it was mandatory(NCAA rules- can you say CONTROLLING?), but other than that I really haven't worn them since about the seventh grade. I am honestly not sure why (get ready for a dazzling display of modesty), since I know that I have really long, muscular legs, but they make me horribly uncomfortable. Today is my Reggae Run and since it's about 90 bajillion (that's only a slight exaggeration) degrees here in Boston today, I knew my usual pants/capris wouldn't cut it, and I headed begrudgingly to the store, resigned to my fate.

Now, trying on shorts, for me, is the equivalent of trying on bathing suits for most women. I tried to pick out the least offensive looking pairs (i.e. ones that didn't look like half of a 1982 gym uniform), growing more and more agitated with every pair I saw. At the height of my frustration, as I was looking at some reflective (yes, that's right, these babies glowed in the dark) one of the "crunchy" guys who works there came over to "help me." I should explain that I was in R.E.I., an outdoors/adventure store (because it is right near where I work), where most of the staff looks like they either should be out hiking and communing with nature, or are spaced out and hiking in their minds (having been communing with their local pot dealer). I declined his help, sure that he had probably never seen a woman naked, let alone possessed the ability to help one pick out something as intimidating as a pair of shorts.

I was mulling over the options in my hand when I spotted it. It was as if the heavens opened down and rained celestial light on them. An "athletic skirt." This bad boy had it all- shorts UNDERNEATH, and a cute, flirty little skirt on the outside. I.E. It was stylish AND functional. Usually I have to settle for stylish and barely functional. I was frightened i'd have to settle for functional and horrifically unstylish and ghastly. I think metaphorically speaking, I could liken the skirt to biting into a coconut chocolate in your Valentine's candy box- fantastic on the outside and disgusting on the inside. The rotten shorts were concealed and everyone knows I am more than comfortable in a little mini skirt- and this isn't even all that mini!

Triumphant, I tried on the skirt. It fit like a dream, was wonderfully comfortable, and I didn't feel like running behind a 6'7 man to hide myself. The catch? It looks somewhat as though I've just "popped 'round for a game of tennis." I stood there for a good five minutes in that skirt, posing like a madwoman and trying to decide if I wanted to sacrifice my comfort for the sake of what everyone else will think. When I put it that way, I peeled it off, marched up to the register (ok, I DID put my own pants back on first!), and purchased that bad boy. Today, I'm going to be able to focus on the run and NOT on what my thighs are looking/feeling like.

The lesson, kids? It's just fine to dare to be a little different. And you know what? I guarantee that the guys running behind me will like it just fine.

On peeing. And some other stuff.

Let me set the scene. It was about 11:30 at night yesterday and i'd just spent four hours on a delayed train from New York(I would like to thank the freak sitting next to me who smelled like ...something truly unidentifiable. I was feeling too lazy to shower last night, but opted to do so immediately upon returning home. I overslept this morning and wouldn't have had one otherwise!). I'd been loading up on water all day and it had caught up to me somewhere around Bridgewater, CT. I could not, however, force myself to take the "walk of shame" (or what I imagine to be one), and use the bathroom on the train. There's something incredibly disconcerting about walking into a bathroom in front of all of those people. You might as well be wearing a sign advertising that within the next minute you will be sitting with your pants around your ankles.

So, by the time I had traveled the remaining 2 hours between Bridgewater and home, taken the T to my stop, and walked home from there, my teeth were positively SWIMMING. I was dancing, prancing around like Richard Simmons (and my hair, succumbing to the humidity of the weekend, was paying homage to him, as well), when I realized that I couldn't find my keys. Panic consumed me and I threw everything on the ground, frantic to locate the precious metal before I either exploded or did something I haven't done (to my knowledge) since I was three years old. Engulfed in darkness (I don't have a loving boyfriend/husband/anything at all to thoughtfully leave a light on for me), I struggled until my hand emerged from my bag, triumphantly wielding the key to my salvation.

It wasn' t over. Not until the formerly fat lady pees. My next task proved even more difficult- Fitting the key into the two locks and performing the various special wiggles and turns (sometimes I even have to peform a ritualistic dance) required before I can enter my own home. Finally, the door burst open and I rushed forth, leaving my baggage in the doorway and running up the stairs.

Of course I tripped.

What a weekend! I went on a cruise around the island of Manhattan, visited with my aunt and uncle and generally got away from the chaos that is my everyday life. For my own safety I would like to say that I am still an extremely loyal member of Red Sox nation. With that being said, I really love NYC. It has a flavor all of its own and although Boston will always be number one in my heart, part of me wonders what it would be like to pack it all up and move to NYC...or anywhere else for that matter.

Lately, I've had an itch. Don't worry, it's not one that requires prescription cream or shots, rather, it's an itch to get out of what seems to be a rut for me. I want to travel. I want more than one lousy stamp in my passport. I want to see the country, the world. I want to step out of my comfort zone and my safe, familiar life. Mostly, I want to expand my horizons and find my passion in life. I just need to find somewhere to start. How overwhelming. It's funny. I always thought that "finding yourself" or the desire to change or enhance your life in some fundamental way was just a "spiel," a way to make you feel like your life was missing something or empty. Now I finally get it.