Moomsie daisy.

This picture, to me, kind of represents the mom jackpot. Wearing her most huggable outfit, sporting bodacious hair first thing in the morning, frosting homemade cinnamon rolls for us on Christmas. I kind of want to live in this picture forever.

My sister has already written a much finer tribute than I can, but I will say this:

Thanks, mom, for making it so that I never understood why women in movies are always so horrified when they realize, "I've turned into my mother." Because frankly, that seems like something I can only ever aspire to, and I will count myself extremely fortunate if that day ever comes.

Milestone.

A few years ago I wrote a song about these three girls. It was about them being kids and thinking about what life would be like when they all grew up. And it was about how even though things would inevitably get tough, they'd always be there for each other. In hindsight, it probably should have included something about destroying hilariously awkward photographs of themselves.

Today feels like a milestone for these girls, as the youngest one is graduating from college and they are all officially adults now. And the girl who, in high school, claimed she was "just not smart" is now a Dean's list graduate of the University of Utah Nursing School, and is about to go on to do great things and change lives.

I'm sure our lives are not quite what we imagined they'd be 20 years ago (I'm still waiting on our connecting houses), and there will be plenty of uncertainty to come. But I'm glad to know that these girls will be there for each other for lots more milestones.

Congratulations, Becca! We're proud of you.

Runner's high.

As I stood shivering in my tank top in the half-light of Sunday morning, I couldn't help but wonder, "Why in the world am I doing this again?" Like, maybe when I had signed up a few months earlier to run 13 miles, I hadn't been seriously considering how comfortable my bed is. I wondered how many of the other 11,000 people there were thinking the same thing. But after training for weeks and quickly destroying the cold virus that had threatened me earlier in the week (including some Googling to contradict my friend's claim that high volumes of Vitamin C can lead to kidney stones), I wasn't about to turn back.

Thankfully, it was a beautiful day for a run, with clear skies and a cool breeze. My favorite part of the race was around mile 8, when--after coming out of Central Park and before turning down the West Side Highway toward the site of the World Trade Center--the course took us through midtown. There's something about being in a sea of runners going through Times Square while total strangers cheer you on that is pretty hard to beat. It was the perfect adrenaline boost for the last half of the race.

Photo from New York Road Runners

(Incidentally, my second favorite part was the group of people around mile 11 holding a sign that read "High Five Station" and slapping our hands as we ran past.)

My goal for my first one was basically to not die, which I managed pretty well and finished in 2 hours 20 minutes. This time, I was shooting for 2 hours. My official finish time was 2:00:23. I'll take it. And besides, I'll have a chance to break the 2-hour mark in 9 weeks, when I run the Brooklyn half marathon. I'm taking a week off while I hobble around on ridiculously sore legs like an 80-year-old, and then it's back to training. I think maybe I'm a glutton for punishment.

In like a lion.

This weekend, driving rain coupled with 60 mph winds turned New York City into an umbrella graveyard. On Saturday afternoon, my roommate and I ventured out to the nicer grocery store several blocks from our apartment to get some things for a party we were having. I was happy we were together as I would have felt really stupid clutching my umbrella in front of me like a shield and shrieking if I'd been by myself. Instead, it was kind of hilarious. We opted to take the bus back after finishing our shopping, and didn't really brave the elements again that day (though all our party guests had to... they were rewarded handsomely with pie, though). Sunday morning, the carnage was everywhere--mangled skeletons of umbrellas, dumped hastily in garbage cans or lying abandoned in gutters. It was strangely poetic.

Thankfully, the 10-day forecast shows sunny and 60 degrees, with only one day of rain during that time. Except, guess which day that is? Half marathon day. I also appear to be coming down with a cold, so I'm downing NyQuil and am currently at about 2000% DV of Vitamin C (you can't overdose on vitamins, can you?). Bring it.

Shame.

Sometimes I feel like people are silently judging me.

Like when I'm trying to stuff all my things into a locker at the gym, and three boxes of Girl Scout cookies fall out of my bag.

Je voudrais un croissant.

Tomorrow is my first day of school. When I finished college, I secretly wished I could stay another semester or two and just take classes that I wanted to for fun. But since I'd already been there for 5 years and gone on study abroad (twice), I figured it was best not to try my parents' patience any further.

Anyway, I'd been thinking for a while about taking a class of some kind, since there are so many options around the city for continuing education. I settled on learning a new language, and decided to try French on for size. My reasons include 1) the fact that I took Spanish in high school and was awesome at it (we won't go into my retention, which is probably more relevant now that I live in a heavily Dominican neighborhood, but whatever), 2) it sounds pretty, and 3) it is one of my life's ambitions to meet a cute foreign boy and have zany/romantic adventures together while riding around on a scooter, a la Passport to Paris.

(For reference, my other life's ambitions include winning an Oscar for Best Original Score, meeting Ben Folds, and being a contestant on Cash Cab.)

My friend Zach signed up to take the weekly class with me, and we've already envisioned great things for ourselves. We're convinced that our plan to speak to each other exclusively in French after about week 5 will amaze both friends and strangers, even though our conversations will mostly consist of things like, "Where is the library?" and "I like oranges!"

I figure that, after the 14 weeks are up, my life in general will look something like this:

Type.

One night last week, I made my way to the store to return a book. As I crossed the street, a group of hooligan teenagers passed me, each waving a book in the air and yelling, "OZZY RUUUUUULES!" While I appreciated their enthusiasm, I was confused as to its source until I entered the Time Warner Center and saw the massive line outside of Borders. Next to the line was a poster: Ozzy Osbourne Book Signing. Apparently the Prince of Darkness himself was in the store to promote his recent biography, and these people were waiting to get into the signing.

Unfortunately, that meant that the checkout line was also filled with customers waiting to buy their copies of the book. I sighed and went to the back of the line, wondering if the $5 refund was really worth it. A few moments later, an associate came to the front of the line and announced in a shaky voice that he was sorry, but they were completely sold out of the Ozzy book, and those who didn't already have copies would be leaving empty-handed. He looked so terrified that I felt sure he'd never worked a Harry Potter midnight release party. There were loud grumbles from the crowd and, to my delight, 90% of the line dispersed.

As the crowd of mostly overly-pierced teenagers and aging rocker-types were turned away, I was surprised to see a conservatively-dressed man in his 60s. He walked slowly past me and said, in dejected tones, "You heard they're out of the book, right?" I looked down at my green peacoat and skinny jeans and then back at his neatly parted hair and sweater vest, and my gut reaction of, "Do I look like an Ozzy Osbourne fan?" disintegrated. So I just smiled and said, "Yes, thank you," and went to the front of the line.