Elbow's Birthday, Cherry Photos and Running

This morning I ran 10 miles with J &L and all I got was this bloody sock:

"Ew, that is so gross."

 It is gross, but that's why I like it! Elbow would be so proud of me. Running was one of only two forms of exercise he took seriously. The other was lifting weights like Ah-nold.

So I used to really hate it when people talked about running. And I hated running. But now I have running partners who basically sprint for 10 miles every morning and I hate losing so I try to keep up. And then I go home and throw up. Not really. Well, maybe.

Now I find myself talking about it all the time with other people who run. And we have lingo. Like "How many'd you do?" I did 10. We did eight. I only did four. What kind of crazy person thinks that running four miles is slacking? Back in the old days, I used to do 10 minutes and then be like, "Oh yeah, I run."  Daniel Tosh said the only thing more boring than running is talking about running.

Here's K doing the running man:

Don't tell him I put this on here.

Wednesday was Elbow's birthday so I celebrated the way wives and widows all over the world do: by getting s#*t-canned. But I'm just gonna say that I wasn't the only one and if this were a Facebook post I would be tagging a few people, including the dude in the sweater busting a move above. Oh yeah, and J.S. is now called Elbow, Jr.

We all have Cherry names. Mine makes no sense.

Then, last night I had to go to Bon Temps for Cherry Bomb photos! We did a big group shot and then individual ones. So basically it's a Thursday night and I'm putting on sequined hot pants, a tutu, a mask, boots and a red feather in my hair. Then I have to walk outside in the freezing!!! 40-degree weather we've been having and go to a bar and act like I'm happy about it. And I'm thinking, "Why can't I just go home and watch tv like everyone else?"

But I know the answer. It's because I live in New Orleans. And starting this weekend, s#*t is going to get crazy here. Stay tuned. I'm going to NYC this weekend and I'm hoping to get some good pics of Sarah Jessica Parker and people slipping on ice.

Boob injuries and butt grabbing!

I'm baaack. (Creepy Carol Anne's voice)

Went to a new bar that opened on Freret Street this week called the Public House. It should be called "where drunk Bama fans go to hoard bar stools" since that's what happens there.

But they have lots of beer on tap and the newest NoLa trend which is to install those crappy daquiri machines but fill them with "craft" ingredients and charge $35 for one "craft cocktail." It's uber trendy and cool. And they taste like daquiris, so that's a bonus.

I moved into an apartment with my little sister and so far we've only had one screaming fight. Buddy! took her side and slept with her that night. Little traitor. So I threw away his Jazz Fest mini-frisbee. I actually feel kinda bad about that.

On Sunday I had a 2-and-a-half hour marching practice for The Cherry Bombs since Mardi Gras is coming up! And this is what happened: The following evening I suddenly had what felt like a cramp in my chest. And it hurt every time I laughed. Then it progressed to hurting when I moved. That night I couldn't sleep on my left side.

So I'm thinking, "Really, I'm going to have a heart attack? What kind of s*#tty luck can one person have?" The next morning I have an early appointment and I can barely focus because my chest hurts so bad. And I'm googling things like "heart attack signs in women" and "chest pains on left."

So I run through the list of doctors I know - radiologist, no; dermatologist, no; pathologist, uh no; psychiatrist, maybe! - but then I remember I know a family doctor. So I call him and literally say, "I have pain in my left boob." And he's like does it hurt when you move or press on it? Yes. What exercise have I been doing? Marching practice and boxing. And yes, I wear a 2-pound men's watch on my left wrist.

I'm a genius.

He prescribes laying off the upper-body exercise for a few days. That night my sister and I are supposed to have a training session since she's a workout guru. I tell her I'm not supposed to do arm workouts. And she's like, "Can you do push-ups?" And I'm like, "sure!"

And so my b#*b injury has taken longer to heal than I expected.

But tonight we're going to Channing Tatum's bar Saints and Sinners. My friend L is in town and when I told her, she was like "Can I grab his butt?" And I was like, "hells yeah!"