Music plays a huge role in my life. There is rarely a moment when I don't have at least one song stuck in my head. My mental iPod is usually on shuffle, switching all the choruses of my favorite songs back and forth. I find my motivation to work from music. I can find peace from music. I can find entertainment from music. I can also find parallels to my own life from music.
The Group Ride song for the last RPM release was a song called "Livin' the Right Life". Today was one of those days that I can sit back and review and think to myself, "I'm livin' the right life."
The day started early with a text from Karen to Nadean and me about when and where we were running this morning. If you live in Columbus, you know the weather was nasty all day. I don't think it has stopped misting all day long. But we threw comfort in the backseat and set out. As we made our approach the park, we were running in a live about 20 paces behind one another. I looked up and saw a biker approaching us. I felt kinda proud to have someone see my running friends and me on a friendly run. As the biker got closer I realized it was our friend Brian and then was just excited to see him. I squealed and waved like a little kid. At that moment I was completely overwhelmed by how lucky I am to have friends who share the same goals and aspirations and values as I do. I am so blessed to have friends who make me want to be harder, better, faster, stronger.
Presently, Granny and I are in different rooms. We are, however, watching the same movie. It's one of our favorites--The Parent Trap. Not the old, waaaay better, one but the one with Lindsay Lohan before she was a skank. Apparently, my "overgrown teeny bopper-ness" (to quote my dad) is genetic.
Before we discovered our favorite movie was on, Granny reminded me again how I am livin' the right life. I came in from church and she looked at me in my new Target dress and told me how good it looked on me. I believe she said the dress was made for me, to which I replied, "I love you, Granny." She said, "I love you, too, Hannah." She got me. There's something about hearing your name after those words that makes it real. She loves me. Yep, I'm livin' the right life.
Saturday, January 30, 2010
Friday, January 29, 2010
Run it out
I want to know what it is about a girl dressed in all black Nike apparel and a hot pink bandana on her head that doesn't say, "I will bust you up if you try to mess with me." After my work out this evening I went to Walmart to buy groceries for next week. When I came out of the store it was raining. In an effort to keep my groceries from becoming totally saturated, I sprinted to the car, unloaded the buggy as quickly as I could, and sprinted back up to the door to return my buggy. Not only did this give me a few extra calories burned, but I also intended to save the Walmart buggy boys one less buggy and give a Walmart patron a dry buggy. On the sprint back to my car I dashed past a group of boys approaching the entrance with a slow swagger (a la "Pants on the Ground") that could not be disturbed by the rain. As I zoomed past them, one of them said, "Run it out. Ooo...girl, run it out." Now, I've seen what I look like after the gym. I've smelled what I smell like after the gym. (I'm smelling me now. It's not sweet.) There is nothing cute or sexy about sweaty Hannah. Are these guys really that desperate for some attention from a girl that they would try to holler at me in my current condition? Not only do I stink and have mascara running down my face, but I know I look like I could hurt someone, even if it was a minor hurt. I think there is something about a running girl that turns guys on. Let me tell you why.
Last Sunday one of my friends was out for a run around the park. She had plotted out her 8-mile journey and was booking along when suddenly, she had to change her game plan. On Sunday mornings the local newspaper sends employees to various places around town to sell the weak excuse of a Sunday paper. As she passed by the man assigned to the park, she felt him slap her booty. Yes, he actually moved his hand and made contact with her butt. He clearly had no idea who he was messing with. She turned around immediately and asked him what he thought he was doing. He, of course, pretended like he didn't know what she was talking about. Here's the thing though. Before I became friends with this lady, I was terrified of her. She's one of those girls who also looks flawless, regardless of whether she's at work, playing tennis or at the gym. Could this man not tell she could rip his arm off and beat him with it?
I just don't think I will ever understand what it is about girls like us that doesn't scare the poop out of these losers. The thing about us though, is that you can't shake us. We'll tell our friends how stupid you are. We will think about how nasty you are. We will roll our eyes in disgust. But we will not stop. We will keep going. So, I guess we will "run it out". But not for you. For us.
Last Sunday one of my friends was out for a run around the park. She had plotted out her 8-mile journey and was booking along when suddenly, she had to change her game plan. On Sunday mornings the local newspaper sends employees to various places around town to sell the weak excuse of a Sunday paper. As she passed by the man assigned to the park, she felt him slap her booty. Yes, he actually moved his hand and made contact with her butt. He clearly had no idea who he was messing with. She turned around immediately and asked him what he thought he was doing. He, of course, pretended like he didn't know what she was talking about. Here's the thing though. Before I became friends with this lady, I was terrified of her. She's one of those girls who also looks flawless, regardless of whether she's at work, playing tennis or at the gym. Could this man not tell she could rip his arm off and beat him with it?
I just don't think I will ever understand what it is about girls like us that doesn't scare the poop out of these losers. The thing about us though, is that you can't shake us. We'll tell our friends how stupid you are. We will think about how nasty you are. We will roll our eyes in disgust. But we will not stop. We will keep going. So, I guess we will "run it out". But not for you. For us.
Thursday, January 28, 2010
Talk to me
If you're expecting sexy stories filled with glitz and glamour, you're reading the wrong blog. Friends who know me know that ironic, random and down-right funny things happen to me every day. More often than not, I'm wearing high heels while the shenanigans unfold around me. I'm left standing there looking for someone to share my "what just happened here???" story with. I've always said I want to write a book as a compilation of these happenings, so here is my attempt at recording my stories.
As part of my job I answer the phone and speak to members of fraternities and sororities and their parents--mostly their parents. If you know me, you know there are two people I talk to on the phone, my mom and Kristin. I'm not a phone person. It's hard to do anything else but talk on the phone while you're talking on the phone. Texting and emailing is much more efficient. You can eat, drive, work out, etc. while communicating with multiple people simultaneously.
Anyway, I digress. Taking phone calls from these members and their parents is one of the few things I dislike about my job. However, these phone calls are often entertaining. I've noticed in the Cubeland I call my office that I end up talking on the phone a lot longer than the others around me. I guess there is something in my voice that says, "It's okay. Talk to me. I know what you mean. I hear what you're saying." Again, if you know me, you know I'm usually the one looking for someone to unload on. Friends don't come to me for advice, unless of course it's involving what shoe to wear, or what color nail polish to wear, or what type of cupcake to eat.
Last week a lady kept me on the phone for 25 minutes telling me how managing a family is like running a business. She told me not to worry that I wasn't married. She said she wished she was in my position because she could marry someone a lot better than her husband of 30 years.
Yesterday I had a lady tell me how proud she was of me for going to college. In fact, she was so proud of me that she said (read with thick New York accent), "Any time you come to New York you can stay with me. I have a huge house with seven bedrooms. My office is in Manhattan. I have a house in South Beach, too. Come stay there when you visit." Wow...I've never felt so much acceptance from a complete stranger. This job is good for my ego.
Shortly after that call, a lady whose son attends the University of Idaho called to pay his bill. Then she asked me if I had heard about Amanda. "No...Amanda who?" I said. "Oh, you know Amanda, hun." She then proceeded to tell me about how Amanda got so drunk at a fraternity (not frat, they don't like it when you say that) party and fell out of a third story window. This lady didn't know Amanda before she fell, but she befriended her family and goes to visit her in the nursing home where she is rehabilitating. She told me all about Amanda's progress and even got my email address to send me a picture. Then she told me about a guy from the same school who also fell out of a third story window because he was so drunk. Seriously...what the heck?
Apparently, and unfortunately, this is a common occurrence in the Greek world. Kristin and I talked about this yesterday and discussed possible solutions to teach kids to drink with control. The sad thing is, I don't think most of them care. Take my friends from the Jersey Shore, for example. They pretty drank every night last summer and laid in bed hung over the next day well into the late afternoon. They got in fights, went to jail, slept with random people, but they still kept doing it. I'm glad I know better. I'm sad I will raise kids in a world where they will have to learn better. I can only hope that I will provide an environment that teaches my babies what's right and what's wrong. I hope that some day my kids will hear in my voice, "It's okay. Talk to me. I know what you mean. I hear what you're saying."
So there is it. My first high-heeled happening.
As part of my job I answer the phone and speak to members of fraternities and sororities and their parents--mostly their parents. If you know me, you know there are two people I talk to on the phone, my mom and Kristin. I'm not a phone person. It's hard to do anything else but talk on the phone while you're talking on the phone. Texting and emailing is much more efficient. You can eat, drive, work out, etc. while communicating with multiple people simultaneously.
Anyway, I digress. Taking phone calls from these members and their parents is one of the few things I dislike about my job. However, these phone calls are often entertaining. I've noticed in the Cubeland I call my office that I end up talking on the phone a lot longer than the others around me. I guess there is something in my voice that says, "It's okay. Talk to me. I know what you mean. I hear what you're saying." Again, if you know me, you know I'm usually the one looking for someone to unload on. Friends don't come to me for advice, unless of course it's involving what shoe to wear, or what color nail polish to wear, or what type of cupcake to eat.
Last week a lady kept me on the phone for 25 minutes telling me how managing a family is like running a business. She told me not to worry that I wasn't married. She said she wished she was in my position because she could marry someone a lot better than her husband of 30 years.
Yesterday I had a lady tell me how proud she was of me for going to college. In fact, she was so proud of me that she said (read with thick New York accent), "Any time you come to New York you can stay with me. I have a huge house with seven bedrooms. My office is in Manhattan. I have a house in South Beach, too. Come stay there when you visit." Wow...I've never felt so much acceptance from a complete stranger. This job is good for my ego.
Shortly after that call, a lady whose son attends the University of Idaho called to pay his bill. Then she asked me if I had heard about Amanda. "No...Amanda who?" I said. "Oh, you know Amanda, hun." She then proceeded to tell me about how Amanda got so drunk at a fraternity (not frat, they don't like it when you say that) party and fell out of a third story window. This lady didn't know Amanda before she fell, but she befriended her family and goes to visit her in the nursing home where she is rehabilitating. She told me all about Amanda's progress and even got my email address to send me a picture. Then she told me about a guy from the same school who also fell out of a third story window because he was so drunk. Seriously...what the heck?
Apparently, and unfortunately, this is a common occurrence in the Greek world. Kristin and I talked about this yesterday and discussed possible solutions to teach kids to drink with control. The sad thing is, I don't think most of them care. Take my friends from the Jersey Shore, for example. They pretty drank every night last summer and laid in bed hung over the next day well into the late afternoon. They got in fights, went to jail, slept with random people, but they still kept doing it. I'm glad I know better. I'm sad I will raise kids in a world where they will have to learn better. I can only hope that I will provide an environment that teaches my babies what's right and what's wrong. I hope that some day my kids will hear in my voice, "It's okay. Talk to me. I know what you mean. I hear what you're saying."
So there is it. My first high-heeled happening.
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About Me
- hannah
- Just a busy girl trying to make the world a better place one group fitness class at a time.