The weather is beautiful, wish you could forecast it

"Here is my card. It's got my cell number, my pager number, my home number, and my other pager number. I never take vacations, I never get sick, and I don't celebrate any major holidays." ~ DKS 2007

I was out sick today. Make note of that, as I take fewer sick days than Dwight K. Schrute. Anyway, it's just a cold and a sore throat or something. I'm sure I'll be back operating at my usual 30% of capacity in no time.

Anyway, in the midst of my sick day Office-viewing marathon, I uncharacteristically watched not one, but two local weather forecasts this evening. Have I ever told you how much I adore our local weather forecasters and the how-many-jellybeans-in-the-jar-like job they do of guessing, er, predicting the weather? I'm sure I've mentioned it a time or twelve. In passing, of course.

Well tonight, I observed two distinct differences in these two forecasts. (Warning: What follows may alarm and further confuse you.)

Channel A said there was a 40% chance of rain on Wednesday. They also said that the high on Friday would be 81.

Channel B said it would be sunny on Wednesday. And that the high on Friday would be 69.

Now if you've been practicing your flash cards, you've already figured out that is a twelve degree difference in the high temperature on Friday at two television stations located in the same city, probably not five miles from each other. And good luck figuring out if it's gonna rain Wednesday or not.

And that, in a nutshell, is why I pay no attention to the weather forecast.

"The weather is here, I wish you were beautiful. My thoughts aren't too clear, but don't run away..."

Ssss-aaaa-ffff-eeee-tttt-yyyy Blog

I went to Facebook to change my relationship status--you remember, my self-fulfilling prophecy thing.

Well... I couldn't do it.

Oh, it all started out well enough. I was sitting there trying to decide between their six available relationship options. You know the ones--single, in a relationship, she's complicated, etc. Then I got scared that all my Facebook friends would get a notification that I was now in a relationship. I seemed to remember seeing someone else's relationship status change pop up on my page one time.

From there, I started thinking of all the questions people would have about my new love. And then about how I would have to explain that I wasn't really in a relationship, that this was just a sociological experiment. Before long, I had over-analyzed myself out of the whole thing.

So apparently, I can't even commit to a fake Facebook relationship.

Never fear, however, for today turned out to be a harbinger of good news that perhaps this relationship recession is beginning to turn around. I am proud to announce that as of this morning--9:30ish--I officially have my very own safety.

Here's how it happened:

Bone: do you wanna be my backup or safety

Katie: uh
i thought you had a backup

Bone: maybe
but i can't remember

Katie: i already have one

Bone: ok you can be my safety
that's below backup
which means you'll likely never be needed

Katie: or so you hope

Bone: lol
do you accept

Katie: uh, sure

Bone: YES!

Katie: i reserve the right to redact this at a later date

I was so convincing! Reading it now, it doesn't even seem like it was me doing the typing. It feels like somebody else saying those things, or like I was channeling Dwight Schrute.

So now I have a safety. Next, I need to find a backup. And after that, well I haven't thought that far ahead yet.

"We can dance if we want to. We can leave your friends behind. 'Cause your friends don't dance and if they don't dance, well they're no friends of mine..."

The race is on

Girl: I knew there had to be another side to you.
Jerry: No, no, there's no side!
Girl: There is a side, an ugly side.
Jerry: No, no, no ugly side.

I'm not sure how each of you view me. My inclination would be as some sort of odd Jerry Seinfeld/Jason Morgan conglomeration. But I do have vices. And here is one: I don't like to be passed.

I'm not talking about driving, like those psychotics who hold up traffic and then speed up when you try to pass them. No, I'm talking about when I'm running. There are two ways to be passed while running. One is when you're going the same direction as someone else. The other, and maybe less obvious way, occurs when you're running opposite directions.

Two people, running opposite directions at the same rate on the same track, will meet in the same spot, exactly two times per lap. Let's call this spot Checkpoint Charlie. Thus, it stands to reason that if one person is running faster than the other, they will meet in a different spot each lap, and it will be obvious who is more fit and manly and who is the slowpoke.

So anytime I'm running and someone else is running the opposite direction, I speed up a little so that I can pass Checkpoint Charlie before they do. Some people might not notice such a thing. But that's what makes me different.

I say all that to say this. Last night while I was running, there was an incident. I was nearing the end of my second lap when I encountered this high school kid on his first lap. I made a mental note of where we passed so I could be sure I was ahead of him the next time around.

Only, I wasn't. I had lost about fifty yards to this punk kid in one lap.

Alright, we're taking it up a notch.

I increased my speed a bit, but still lost ground on lap four!

Good grief, what are they feeding this kid? And how tall is he? I'm 6'1" but this kid's like a gazelle, whatever that is. He covers like ten yards a step.

It was at this point I decided that no matter how far this kid ran, I'd keep running until after he was done. I would run all night if that's what it took to prove my superior stamina and conditioning.

It's a marathon, Junior. Not a sprint. You may be faster. But I'm stronger. I'm like Dwight Schrute on 'roids. Bring it!

Lap five was more of the same.

This kid's like a machine. It's like I'm running against Ivan Drago here. Hey kid, Manute Bol called. He wants his legs back.

Then it happened. On my sixth lap, Manute Drago had slowed to a walk.

Aww, could the little baby only run four laps? That's exactly how far I had originally planned to run not bad... for a beginner.

I kept running until he finished walking, careful each time we passed to make it seem as if I was barely putting forth any effort at all.

I was running when you got here, and I'll still be running when you're gone. Bone rulz!

I wound up running seven laps in all. To recap, that's:

Bone - 5.25 miles (<-----WINNER)
High school kid - 3 miles (<-----LOSER)

But who's counting?

"And I ran. I ran so far away. I just ran. I ran all night and day. I couldn't get away..."