The Cast of Characters in My Craziness Life

It occurs to me that since I started this little blog, that my cast of characters has changed drastically. Sure, the sis is still there and so is the LB, but I've included a few others (or will include a few others) as well. Since about half of the new characters have the same name as someone else, and the people that I work with can't even keep everybody straight, I'm going to include this little brief cast synopsis complete with nicknames so you can keep everybody straight.

Me: Well, if you haven't figured out by now, I'm a little insane, sarcastic and surly. I'm annoyed by people and love flipping the script on people who try to make my life harder (chiefly the list included my credit card company, my cell phone carrier, and anyone else who may happen to cross my path on that certain day.). I have a dog that I'm nuts over and I find some kind of perverse fulfillment out of running long distances. Oh yeah! I also love margaritas!

The Sis/Bean/Andrea 1: Ok, obviously this is my sis. She is my PIC (Partner in Crime). Before I went to college, we were polar opposite and didn't appreciate each other. Upon my graduating college we both realized that we each had "goodness" in us (I'm using that term loosely. Not that we actually have the kind of God-fearing Tim-Tebow kind of goodness in us, just that we both saw things in each other that we liked) and became not only friends but best friends. She is my bestest and despite marrying a 6'8 giant Danish man and moving to Denmark, we still talk frequently. I also get to have really awesome European vacations now!

The LB/Kevin: LB short of The Little Brother, a moniker he abhors because he is "no longer little." At 6'1, maybe he has a point, but that's not the case. Andrea and I both changed his diapers growing up (and mom would then have to rechange his diapers because our 5- and 3-year-old fingers weren't quite as dexterous as we thought they were) and old habits die hard. He'll never be my "big" brother for the obvious reason such as I was born five years ahead of him. It doesn't matter that he's married and has a mortgage. He's still the little brother. When he makes me an aunt, he'll still be the LB. The LB and I share a love of IU or Indiana University, the college we're both alums from and also a passion for tho damned Yankees. Both the Sis, the LB, and I can talk in movie quotes. It tends to drive a lot of people insane.

Mom: The poor unfortunate woman who birthed me and now lives in sin (Sorry mom, but it had to be said). What can be said about her? Really, the question is what can't be said about her? She's had to deal with my immaturity and shenanigans. Flying marshmallows and burn outs in the grocery store don't seem to bother that thick skin. She expects the unexpected from me. And when the unexpected happens, she ducks her head and rounds a different aisle. Her goal in life is to get me to grow up. I think my goal in life is keep my mom young. So far, I think I'm winning.

Charlie/Chuck/Dr. Homer Noodleman: Charlie is my mother's other half. He's the one that lives in sin with her. Despite being a business owner, Chuck has a juvenile streak in him as well. Call the house and he answers by saying "Crime scene" and then proceeds to act like he's some kind of overseeing detective shouting cop lingo in any way that he can. If it's after 5p.m. Charlie can normally be found holding a glass of Jack Daniels and water - his drink - and coming up with ideas of sheer genius despite their depravity. The Mummy was the creation of Mom and Charlie.

Andrea 2/Dos/the Stepsister: Ok, I know my mom is living in sin, but try explaining to people how Charlie's daughter(s) are related to you. Yeah. Saying she's my stepsister just expedites the process and saves me the weird looks from my rambling description. She is still in college, used to work at a movie theatre, and now works as a hostess. We think she'll graduate this fall. We know that she isn't in much of a hurry to graduate. Anyway, it's not like there are actually jobs out there waiting for her, right Mr. President (ba-dum bump!). Sorry, sorry, I know I don't get political but it couldn't be helped. She is also my roommate at the residence that we have to come to reference as Animal House (because of the 7 boys that lived there prior to us). Like my real sibs, Dos likes the dives that we liked to inhabit.

Jenny 1/The Stepsister: I'm not repeating how she's related to me. If you need that, look at the first three sentences that describe Andrea 2. Jenny is a hairdresser at a local beauty shop in town. She lives at her mom's house, but can often be found at Mom and Charlie's if she knows that Andrea, Dos, or I will be there. She often likes to get involved in my juvenile schemes.

Andrea 3/the Sister-in-Law/Tres: Yeah, Kevin for real married a girl named Andrea. You would've thought after living and dealing with my sister that the name would've been a turn-off but apparently it wasn't. Which is good because Tres can't be any farther from being my sister. She's a manager at a store in the mall and we all totally love it because she gets us presents from the store for birthday and Christmas (and the store has awesome IU gear). She has broadened my brother's trash-TV habits by introducing him to Teen Mom and Jersey Shore. She loves Italian food and I can often count on her to come to lunch with me at Olive Garden, a place I love when I'm needing to carb-load for long runs on Saturdays.

Hans: This is my sister's husband. At first, he was my nemesis. He was tall and awkward and didn't talk to me. I wasn't happy with him for a number of reasons that mainly stemmed back to the first night we were all together. He and Andrea went to find privacy and I couldn't find her. She wouldn't answer her cell phone. Not because he didn't tell her to answer it, but because she can be a complete douche sometimes and she didn't want to answer it. Anyway, it was a big hurdle to cross, gaining my trust because I knew ultimately he would take her away (and he totally did. Bastard.). But he's a great guy who puts up with the many faces of Andrea and gives me free room and board when I visit them. His family is also aces (But not quite as cool as mine).

Jenny 2/Jenny that I Run With/RJ: RJ is a girl from my journalism classes. We knew each other, were Facebook acquaintances, but that was about it. Then I started running. Jenny had been running about a year longer (technically, she ran in high school, but dropped it in college), and we met at a the half-marathon in April. We kept in touch, ran on a team of four for a 12-hour relay (yes, twelve hours of four people switching up running), and then we decided to run a marathon (I'm thinking this was over margaritas). Having accomplished that, we are now looking to become marathon maniacs by running three marathons in 90 days (I know this decision was made over margaritas). Just watch, the next wise decision will be to run a triathlon of some sort (I'm drawing the line at a full-fledged iron man or swimming the English Channel).

I'm sure that a few more people will make appearances during the lifespan of this blog, but at this current moment in time, these are the people matter most to my stories (not in my life, because everyone matters equally in my life). Anyway, this was just a little clarification to help you out when you read these stories and become utterly confused when you see the word Tres used and wonder why someone is called "Three" in Spanish.

The Insanity Begins - My First Steps on the Pavement

I'm pretty sure that a meth head didn't set out to become a meth head. I mean, who really wants to resemble more of a zombie than a human with that pallid complexion, sunken cheeks, hideous sores, and missing teeth.

The same way I'm pretty sure that the first time a gambling addict sat down at the craps table, they didn't plan on heading to a loan shark for money and then having Two-Ton Tommy and Vinnie the Bone Cruncher standing over him when he couldn't repay the loan plus the vig.

Now, I cannot comment conclusively on this because I've never been a meth head or a gambling addict. I just know that I like my face healthy-looking and my teeth in my head and if I saw some extremely ripped men holding baseball bats looking for me, I'd…well…I don't know. Cry, probably.

I do know that the first day I decided to take my dog running, I didn't think I'd one day end up running a marathon.

That being said, I know how you can cross the line from fun to addict, from sane to clinically insane (And yes, I will admit to running being an addiction for me. I absolutely love it. I love getting lost in the miles with only my thoughts and no pressing responsibilities. To save on the cheese, I'm going to stop right there. Want to hear me wax poetic on my love/addiction of running, then message me and you'll get all the cheese you can eat).

Now, before you start shaking a finger at me and saying well, people who love running, they can run a marathon. While that statement is absolutely one hundred percent correct, I'll respond by saying that I hated running. In fact, despite running with my dog, one year ago, I topped out at about 4.5 miles.

In fact, if you would have traveled back in time and told my mom that one of her children would go on to run half-marathons and marathons, I would have been her absolutely last pick. My sister ran cross country and danced in middle school and high school. My brother played soccer. They both ran long distances. I did gymnastics. Everything I did was anaerobic.

Don't' believe me? Let me put it this way: Young Erin didn't do long distances. Young Erin cringed when she had to run a mile in gym class. Young Erin would've probably bitched slapped Present-Day Erin as she crossed the finish line at the marathon. Not that Young Erin has a problem with being healthy. Mainly because Young Erin had very clear-cut opinions on running. Those opinions were that you just didn't do it. Period.

Hell, even Running Erin didn't want a piece of that kind of craziness that went with 26.2 miles. With the lofty goal of a half-marathon in mind, Running Erin even thought it was full-on insanity to double that number and run a marathon.

So what caused this transformation? And more importantly, what the hell do you think of for five or so hours while you're running TWENTY-SIX POINT TWO MILES.

All right, let's start with my transformation. I run because of my dog. Being an active person and one who desires to be a size two, I would spend 45 minutes to an hour on an elliptical trainer. The elliptical never went under 10 mph. I thought I was the epitome of health and wellness.

Thinking I was this inspirational beacon of cardiovascularness, I decided I would take the dog for a run. He's my baby. He eats organic dog food, and if you feed him a table scrap - even if it is a high-quality piece of steak - I will freak out. My baby doesn't eat unhealthy food. My baby will not become fat. My baby will live forever. I'm not joking there. He. Will. Live. Forever.

Anyway, back to running - I hooked his leash onto his collar and bounded outside ready to conquer the pavement. Too bad the pavement conquered me. Three blocks. That was all it took. Three blocks and I was winded like an asthmatic on a soccer field. My baby, Mac, however, was all too happy to be outside, running, distributing his scent onto mailboxes, and wasn't ready to go home. I toughed it out. For maybe a half mile. That first year was tough for someone who always said she wasn't running unless a zombie or a knife-wielding maniac was after her.

But since then, I've managed to work myself up to respectable distances. We'd start springs off running around 1.5 miles. I'd run a couple of blocks and then walk. Then I'd run four blocks and walk one. I just kept building. It also helped that Mac was a complete lunatic when he was walking. He'd pull on the leash and choke himself, he'd piss even more….the run was a distraction. And by the end of the first summer, I was running everything except the hills in my neighborhood.

Mac and I continued in this fashion. At some point, the delusional idea popped into my head to run a half-marathon (Check. Did that in April. And then overseas in August). However, since my only running buddy was my dog and I didn't have any running friends to help me get there, my attempts were often well-meaning but unattainable goals.

Until Mac got older. For the record, he just turned thirteen making him like…91 in dog years. A year and a half ago though, at eleven, I ran with him in late April. The poor thing was completely miserably afterwards. He couldn't cool down. I wasn't going to abuse him like that. I entered my first 5k that summer and met runners. I found out about a half marathon in April 2011 here at home and that a training accompanied it. I signed up the training. For the hell of it, I took Mac running in the winter in between my long runs. The now 12-year-old puppy was able to 4 miles a couple of times a week with me, even running 5-6 miles with some.

I got in trouble with the vet. I was told my baby who will live forever is old and that he shouldn't go over two miles. I bet the vet couldn't run 5-6 miles and he's like half Mac's age. But, I listened to him. If I caused my dog to have a heart attack I couldn't live with myself.

Anyway, I did my first half in April. I trained all of January, February, and March for it. Pretty much every Saturday I was running more miles than I ever had in my life. Call my crazy, but I felt an odd sense of accomplishment about all that I was achieving.

The morning of the race, my sister who now lives in Denmark called me to make sure I was awake. My mom called me to wish me good luck and tell me she'd be at the finish line. And then my dad took me to the race.

The last two miles were horrible. We were running into the wind, but the thought of the beer garden kept me going. And I even managed something of a sprint the last quarter of a mile. In bit of a daze and breathing heavy, I found my dad and his lady, my mom and Charlie, my aunt, Kevin and his fiancee (now wife) Andrea (We will call her Tres since my step-sister is an Andrea), all waiting for me and yelling my name.

And then a phone was flung into my face. No clue what was going on, in need of water and with a photographer trying to get a picture of me for my post-race photo, my head was swimming. But when I put the phone to my ear and heard my biggest fan on the phone, 4,000 miles away, I was pretty excited. Yes, my sister had called my brother on Skype and listened for my name to be called. And then Kevin ran my down trying to get the phone to me so I'd know that my entire family was there to see me finish my first half-marathon.

Yes, I know. It's cheesy as fuck.

Shut up.

My family is awesome.

And we roll that way all the time.

Don't be jealous.

After chugging a water and a Powerade, my aunt Melody bought beer tickets for the beer garden and I made my way over (Yeah, you just got even more jealous of my family, didn't you!). Everyone sat down with me and listened to me talk about the race. Kevin and Tres had some beer with me. I had six beer. Yeah, that's how I roll. I'm a damn trooper - don't forget it!

During all of that drinking, I found an old acquaintance named Jenny. Jenny and I were in journalism classes together and were Facebook friends. I didn't realize it, but meeting Jenny would lead me to do something that even training for my half-marathon I had thought was crazy. That's right, Jenny had the bright idea to run the marathon. And I crazily enough followed her into the insanity without a second look back (until the day of the race that is).

But I think I'll let the insanity end there. We're not quite certifiable yet, but the tale is definitely getting there!

I'm not a Germophobe, I'm Just an Overeducated Dumbass!

Despite what a few of my fellow co-workers might think, I am not a germophobe. Nope, not in the least. I love the five-second rule (if it's something tasty like Stephen Libs chocolate, the rule most certainly gets stretched), I don't stress about cleaning cuts, and I don't see the point sometimes in washing the oatmeal pan out completely when I'm just going to make more oatmeal in the same pan in the morning. At certain times, I welcome a good flu if it means I can lose my appetite and a few pounds.

Now, my sister…that is a horse of a different color. She carries hand sanitizer with her all the time. She sanitizes her seats on planes and carries around a doctor's mask because she's terrified of bird flu or SARS or some other BS. She's thisclose from being Howie Mandel.

I, however, can stress myself into a heart attack over some of the simplest things. My problem is I know too much.

I flew to Denmark this August. I know clots can form in the legs. Despite being in good enough shape to run a half-marathon in Denmark, I was convinced I was going to throw a blood clot that would travel into my lungs and kill me as I was waiting to get my passport stamped.

So when the flight attendant came around with complimentary beer, I seized the opportunity without a second thought. See, I know from tanning strategies that were constructed from my anatomy classes that alcohol thins the blood. When the blood is thin, you can get a tan faster when you lay out. When the blood is thin, you're less likely to throw a blood clot and stroke out while traveling overseas.

I drank my Miller Lite. And Corona. And even enjoyed a small bottle of red wine. I'm sure I looked like an alky to the flight crew. I didn't care. I was still convinced I was going to die as soon as I sat foot back on the Earth. My legs were tingly. My toes were falling asleep. And I swear I could feel the blood backing up in the arteries of my legs.

Needless to say, I lived. But despite surviving on the way over (and being laughed at by sister the germophobe), I was still sure I was going to die on my way home. And in case you're paying attention, I did run a half-marathon, drink a few beers directly following, and do some sightseeing.

Once again, I'm still alive. No blood clost have fallen me yet. But a week ago, I was convinced the kitchen cleaner Kaboom had become my bullet.

See, we just moved into a new place. This new place was Animal House for seven boys (that is not an exaggerated number either, people) that went to the local college. It took seven weeks of repairs before we could move in to the house. The cleaning that needed to be done was extensive.

My stepsister, Andrea (yes, I have a sister, a sister-in-law, and a stepsister and all three are named Andrea), had bought Kaboom. It was this cool foaming action stuff that sprayed on blue and turned white once a surface was clean. Considering I refused to barefoot on the floors until after we bleached for fear I'd get AIDS, you probably won't be surprised to hear that I used the Kaboom on our refrigerator (my real sister Andrea has already told me about what I dumbshit I am for using these kind of chemicals, as if I needed a good berating after the sleep I lost that night).

It had been a month since we'd cleaned the kitchen, but because of my penchant for either diet Cokes or Gatorade, I hadn't drank any water. I wanted water that night, so I pulled out this awesome Royal Copenhagen china cup that my sister's mother-in-law gave me as token from my stay in Denmark, filled it with ice and then water from the fridge.

I drank heartily. I was wicked thirsty. And then I refilled the cup. With a cup that was topped off, I went into my room to go to sleep. And then that's when it happened. A cough showed up.

Because I have been training for a marathon and have been terrified of getting sick, I've slept with a vaporizer most night this fall. A tickle in my throat has sent me to the kitchen to fill the thing. While, knock on wood, I haven't had my fall sinus infection yet, I have gone to sleep with a tickle in my throat that has caused a few coughs.

The cough was back this night. Instead of looking at it as a product of the weather and rain, I chose to see it as a product of the water that I was now sure was poisoned from the cool foaming action Kaboom. I was sure my throat was swelling and that's what caused the cough, that I was going to be lucky to make it through the night without my airway swelling shut and killing me.

Knowing I was being ridiculous, I used cooling techniques that Andrew taught me in yoga. I turned on the TV, focused on the white noise of the house and began to breathe slowly in and out. I started with 3-second in-and-out breaths. Then went to four and five. When I tried to get six-second in-and-out breaths, I felt a constriction in my chest.

Instead of thinking it was my posture as I lie down in my bed, I once again began to brood about the possible Kaboom contaminated water and how the poison may slowly kill me. I pictured it slowly eating the delicate tissues of my digestive track, the acid from my stomach then poisoning my insides as it leaked into my chest cavity. Now, are you going to be surprised to hear that I began to feel pains in my abdomen? Because I totally did. And I was sure my small intestine was slowly disintegrating into nothing.

I focused on the TV and convinced myself that if I could stay awake and make it to the morning, that I might have a chance to live. I considered the ER. But knowing about the unkempt miscreants and gutter riff raff that practically lived at the ER (and that my cheap ass would totally have to pay for the trip), I decided to see if my symptoms worsened. Plus, I might get a flesh eating virus at the ER and what with the poison eating my body from the inside and the virus eating my body from the outside, I would stand no chance at survival.

At some point during Miss Congeniality 2 at 4 a.m., I fell asleep. At 7:30, I awoke to my alarm going off. I did a quick body scan and saw no stomach acid or blood had leaked out of me while I slept. I was tired, but I still went to yoga. I hated myself and my overacted imagination, but I was training for marathon and had still healthy body to keep limber!