Oh for farks sake.  This day has been a big tub of suck so far.  It's not yet 3:00 p.m., so it may turn around.

you suck, day

I've got to type my pissy mood out if I have any chance of getting out of it.  Here goes.


I got in the Gentleman's car this morning to drive him to BART for work (tax season = Saturdays at work).  We park his car in our apartment garage, so we drive it more often than mine.

As I was pulling out of our garage spot, I was lamenting about how sorry I was that I scratched his car earlier this week while pulling out in our tiny, shitty garage.

yeah yeah, If I don't want to scratch the car, I shouldn't drive like this

Background: I have a serious sensitivity about scratching cars.  As a teenager, I was deathly afraid of my strict father, who went off the deep end whenever I did anything "bad" -- and "bad" to him especially included harming his material things.   So when I (minorly) damaged the side mirror on the hand-me-down car that I started driving 1 week after getting my license, I didn't hear the end of it for weeks.  I probably also didn't see anything but my bedroom door for weeks (read: grounded).

Me and my dad are bff's now.  It's all good.

Then a few years later, when I was 17 or 18, I damaged a different hand-me-down car (we passed cars around between me and my 3 sisters after my parents moved on from them) by trying to back out of a different shitty parking garage in Berkeley (JENNIE do you remember this? I'm pretty sure tears were shed).  If there weren't laws against it, I'm pretty sure my dad would have given me 20 lashes.

so me = hyper sensitive about car damage.  Good?

Now as I was saying, this morning went like this.

Me: "I'm so sorry about that scratch.  I don't know how it happened.  I was just pulling out like any other day, just going la-dee-da-dee-da"
Gentleman:  "It's ok.  I don't care"

Our flipping freaking fracking garage gate came crashing into his car as I was midway out the garage exit.

I froze.  I said "what. was. that."  And then I started bawling.

I'm pointing the finger at the landlord.  And I'm pointing the repair bill at the landlord.


I was really exited to go to a bay-area blogger meet up at the Sports Basement in Chrissy Field in SF.

Cannot contain the excitement!!!

I was stoked to meet some new runners/writers; to scope out the selection of Brooks running shoes; and to watch the Blue Angels perform stunts for fleet week right at Chrissy Field.   The Blue Angels always make me feel like welling up with emotion.  They are the definition of amazing.

Well after the car scratch, and after remembering that "oh yeah, I'm RoseRunner and I hate traffic and hate San Francisco,"  I decided that I couldn't handle that hassle of driving into the City on Blue Angels day.  This could literally mean sitting on the freeway before the bridge toll for 2 hours.  And unfortunately, BART doesn't go anywhere near Chrissy field.

So I didn't go.


I went out on a run.  I knew that would cheer me up.  My favorite thing about Saturdays is pounding out 17-20 miles.

I ran out the door with thoughts of last Saturday on my mind...ah yes....20 miles at a 7:23 pace.  HA.  haha. hahahaha.

I trudged through about 9 miles just feeling bleh.  Hitting  between 7:50--8:20 minute miles (it felt slow and crappy for me today, no disrespect to that time range in general) and just not loving it.

Then my knee started hurting, so I said "running, take a long walk off a short pier" and walked home.


Nobody liked my laugh diary.  wah wah wah.  Listen, I write on this blog for myself at times....but when I share parts of my real "journal", I'm not writing it for ME, or else I would keep it in the journal!  I was writing it to share.

And then I got no love.  Nary a comment in sight.  (Thank you to the few of you who did give me some love).

I learned from a couple people that there have been problems with the comment box this week.  So then I was like "OH, they like me! they still like me, they just COULDN'T comment!"

And then I took my Sally Field head off and decided that actually, my last post was a failure.

It had taken some real effort to post it, too!

we're sooooooo kooky honey! gag

Me: "I think it will be funny if I share some of our journal of funny stuff.  Is that OK?"
Gentleman: "uhhhhhhhh"
Me: "Just a couple things.  They are great -- people need to see this stuff!"
Gentleman: "uhhhhhh"
Me:  "I'll only share the tamer things.  I'll keep it light.  And the picture of my butt in underwear"
Gentleman.  "Hmmm.  uhhhh.  no?"

NO sharing our DIARY.  harumph!

That's my rotten day.

And I know that my many, many readers in the devastating parts of third-world countries are like "RoseRunner, you call THAT a bad day?!  For me, a bad day is when my sister dies from AIDS and my mom dies from malnutrition and I can't find an ounce of clean water anywhere."

I get that.  But in my privileged little world, this day blew.  I'm off to go make it better.  At least try.