Cue the old Carly Simon song. I am terrible. Almost 3 weeks since the Tahoe Relay and I haven't blogged about it yet. I am too busy working. Writing for pay. Too bad blogging isn't lucrative.
But, then, one should ask, what about the hours after work? Too busy having fun. Like tonight. Had a couple of Tom Collins here with my buddy (and fellow Tahoe relay runner) A., and watched a bunch of DC folks sing, act, and in general goof around.
Then I took the subway and sped-walked 3/4 of a mile home, scaring the crap out of a chubby white girl in culottes when I blazed past her. Sorry, babe.
If you want to read a great account of our Tahoe race experience, read P.'s post about it. What it doesn't mention is the pressure I felt being the last runner on my team to race (didn't start until 5 pm), the aching tiredness I felt even before I began running, and the gnawing hunger in my stomach. But, yes, I also enjoyed myself, and I'll organize another team next year, God help me.
By the way, this isn't a photo of me at the Tahoe relay. I'm too impatient right now to download some of the photos on this blogeroo. And too tipsy. The photo is from last year, on the beach. But it shows my current mood: Bemused and a little buzzed.
The opposite sex: By the way, I want to get your feedback on something. My friend, H., and I talked the other day about dating. As a single woman, she says that far fewer men flirt with her now than when she was married. She says that women who are married or in serious relationships exude confidence and thus attract more attention from men than single women.
What do you think? I'm skeptical.
She posited this theory after I mentioned several recent and random encounters with the opposite sex. For example, while walking to the subway on Sunday after a piano recital here, a car stopped, and the driver (a 30-something man) asked me directions to the freeway. I gave them to him and walked away.
While waiting for my train underground, the same man walked up to me, handed me his business card with a big smile, and asked me to call him so he could take me to lunch as a thank-you. I was too stunned to speak. Oh, he did ask me for my name. I gave him a fake one. Then I smiled weakly as he reiterated his request for a date while bounding back up the escalator.
Afterwards, I realized that he may have been the same man who changed his seat during the intermission of the piano recital to sit near me. I felt a little creeped out about the whole situation.
Then I thought, "Well, I guess the boob job worked."