Thursday After Work...

I went to get an MRI at Proscan, which happens to be located in Paul Brown Stadium.

I entered the black gate where the players enter.





As I waited for a Proscan employee to rescue me from the bowels of Paul Brown Stadium (she said it'd be about ten minutes) I ate a snack from a machine filled with cheese danishes, donut sticks, Hostess cupcakes and cherry fruit pies. Not very healthy snack options for our athletes I don't think.

I noted the direction of the "Bengals locker room and interview" and "Photographer check-in" sign as I ate a bag of Cheetos.





Then I was picked up by this sweet ride and was driven about 30 feet to the Proscan office. I guess some people needing MRIs can't really walk.





After my appointment was over the nice girl who came to get me kindly drove me around the inside stadium in the golf cart. For fun. On our journey I saw several Ben-Gals going to practice, one of whom had long, bouncy dark hair and was wearing a black sports bra and leopard print boy-short underwear. And tennis shoes.

"That girl is in her underwear," I said to the Proscan girl as we drove past. "I wish I could get a photo of her six-pack."

Alas I didn't get a photo of her, but I did get this photo of the field.





Then the Proscan girl warned me about this dummy, which she said always freaks her out when she drives past. I can see why.

What To Eat For Dinner on Debate Night

Given these tough economic times, spaghetti seems in order. Spaghetti with meatballs... made of wolf shot from a plane.

And TUMs.

Mmm... Cupcakes

Up until a few weeks ago my running shoes were exactly where they landed when I took them off after getting home from running the relay. Right here.

They only moved after three months of sitting there because I moved, and I figured the guy moving in to my old apartment wouldn't appreciate my Mizunos lingering in the dining room. (Or would he?)

But I guess I'll have to dig them out of the box they're still packed in. This via IM today with two of my "friends." I'll call them "Missy" and "Adam."

Missy: Run with me. I'll be by your house at 9.
Me: PM?!!! It's dark.
Missy: Sack up Gina. It's gonna make people cry we'll be looking so good!

Me: Dang. I just got told to "sack up"
Adam: Haha! hope you have some warm running clothes. it's going to be cold and dark.
Me: If I get hit by a car it's totally your fault
Adam: I give it 2 weeks...if it begins
Me: OH NO YOU JUST DIDN'T
Adam: you two talk big, but I know you're a couple of cupcakes.
Missy: AAAWWWW SHIT. it's so ON
Me: New life goal - to beat adam in a race.
Missy: dude, i am going to club his knee
Me: tonya harding-style. If that doesn't work i'll just sign up for a race under his name and walk it - i'll destroy his reputation!

Adam: So when does this running adventure begin?
Me: like i'd tell you
Adam: don't be bitter pumpkin pie
Me: stop calling me confectionary names

The sad news is, I'm feeling more and more like my muffin top cupcake spillith over. I'll be sure to wear my reflective arm band.

Black. Fiiiiin.

Would you wait in this line for Black Finn? What if there was a dance off?

The only thing I knew about Black Finn prior to last night was never to go there.

"It's awful. And scary. Don't go there," friends warned.

It's also the subject of one of the funniest news briefs I've ever read - the one where the shirtless, shoeless dude (who's also covered in vomit, natch) is passed out on a sidewalk downtown unable to utter anything but "Black Fiiiin." (Sadly this story is no longer available online. Foolish. Because I bet it could rack up some excellent repeat hits numbers.)

Knowing all of this, of course I had to go!

And so it was that last night was the perfect storm for Black Finn. My friend Lori, who didn't know any better, was in town and my friend Jay was DJing.

We roll up about 11:30 and for serious y'all, the line out front was snaked all the way around the building. For Black Finn? Umm... all right.

But we know people who know people, so we hit the ally entrance - that's the VIP entrance for you fools who don't know. Mmm hmm. Very important people. And we find the very important people in the ally acting like how you'd think people at Black Finn might act. Yeah, like that.

Some chick was using her scarf to pretend-strangle some dude while the two of them yelled at each other, but in a playful "We're the VIP entrance entertainment" kind of way.

Anyway, like I said, we know people who know people so we skirt these fools and get in.

Aaaaand whoa. I can totally see how you might end up shirtless and shoeless and covered in vomit by the end of the night.

Lori got frisked on the dance floor by some striped shirt wearing dude, who she told her name was Gina. Real cool, Lori. And I got karate chopped in the back by some 6'7" giant who was in a dance off. It was an accident, but still. That shit hurt.

That's the other thing about Black Finn - dance offs. And lots of them.

Need less to say, it was awesome.

Sad

Some people are just familiar. It's like you've been knowing them your whole life as soon as you meet them. They're good people. A good soul. A long-lost friend.

The fire chief of Fairfield is like that to me. He must be 30 years my senior, but we got on like peas and carrots when I was a reporter there. We easily and quickly developed a professional friendship, and then a personal friendship. I spent hours in his office gossiping, then 20 minutes talking business.

I would sometimes find myself competing with Cincinnati's news stations and the Enquirer during big stories. I reported for the underdog then, the small paper of just 35,000, while the others had bigger mastheads and expensive cameras. Didn't matter though.

When big stories hit as they occasionally did, and the rest of the CIncinnati media that normally ignored Fairfield descended, the fire chief would part the fray for me. He ushered me into his giant red SUV many times so I could get to fire and accident scenes, and we'd drive right past the rest of the swarming media, and he'd never even act like he was going to roll the window down for them.

Suckers, I thought as we drove past. Ha!

He used to say, "You're not my ex-wife. You can't talk to me like that," whenever I'd boss him into giving me information. So whenever his secretary would tell me he was busy and couldn't pick up the phone I'd have her tell him it was his ex-wife, and he'd pick up, knowing it was me of course.

The last time I saw him was at a surprise anniversary party for him. I hadn't seen him in a few years and when he walked in and saw everyone clapping and staring at him, he paused for a minute, walked straight over to me and gave me a giant hug. The kind of hug that kind of lifts you off your feet for a minute.

He introduced me to his daughter at that party, and a few weeks later I had the pleasure of hanging out with her and him at a restaurant in Fairfield. She and I chatted at the bar and she told me how much she loved her job as an ultrasound sonographer.

Yesterday I was browsing Cincinnati.com for weather headlines and saw this one, and read that his daughter was killed. She and her husband both died during the wind-storm when a tree fell during a fund-raising motorcycle ride for Fairfield families of military personnel who have died in Iraq.

She was young. In her late-20s. And they'd just had a baby about six months ago.

I can't fathom what agony my dear friend is in. It just doesn't seem right. Doesn't seem right at all.

Everyone Knows It's Windy

Stella got - JACKED UP!

Last night I showered by candle light. It was very romantic. It's like I'm dating myself.

I also ate Taco Bell by candle light. I know what you're thinking: Gina treats herself right, mm hmmm.

The wind knocked the power out at about 3 yesterday and it still wasn't on this morning. I imagine I'll be throwing out everything in fridge when it comes back on. So long chicken and ice cream!

In even sadder news than the ice cream - Stella got knocked over. I went outside yesterday evening to find her on her side, her cover still on her. She didn't cry though.

(Thanks to The Association for the super catchy song and title of this post.)

Lipstick

End of Summer Harvest

Seven Years Ago Today

I lived in O'Bryonville with Craig. He called me before I went to work and told me turn on the TV. I did. I was stunned. Angry. Heartbroken.

I went to work at the Running Spot. We had about five customers all day. At the morning meeting we sat silent for a few minutes. I choked back tears. I hoped for the best.

To this day when the clock reads 9:11, I say a little prayer. For peace. For solace. For everyone.

What I've Been Doing

I moved. And got a new bookcase.



The cats are settling in.



This is the view from the kitchen counter.



I've been eating homegrown tomatoes at the counter.



Had my photo taken with my boyfriend Barack. At the Marion Mall.



My mom made peach cobbler with peaches from my late brother's peach tree.



But what I've really been doing instead of blogging/returning phone calls/unpacking is playing with my new iPhone. It's pretty much the best thing EVER.