How you can tell Corey and I are still semi-newlyweds:
"Hey Corey, it looks like we only got about 1-2 inches of snow."
"Yeah, well channel 10 says we got 5-6."
"Ok, but I'm lookin' at these sidewalks and there definitely isn't 5 inches."
"Is that why all the plows are out doing the roads??"
"I'm just sayin'. Come here and look at these sidewalks."
"I don't need to look. Are you saying The Weather Channel isn't accurate?"
"..."
"The. Weather. Channel."
"Whatever. All I know is I look outside and I see 1-2 inches."
"I'm not trying to argue with you here, but why would the plows be out for 1-2 inches??"
"Because it's still snow, genius!"
"Yeah. 5-6 inches of it."
"Ok, maybe where they're measuring they got 5-6 inches."
"That's ridiculous. Saratoga isn't that big."
"So you're saying it snows consistently all over this town??"
"..."
"You're saying it's impossible for there to be a tad more snow in some parts of Saratoga??"
"There are bands of snow. And we are in a band."
"Corey, is it possible that the edge of a band just happens to fall right through the city of Saratoga Springs and we are in the 1-2 inch part and they are measuring in the 5-6 inch part?"
"Yeah, I guess."
"I rest my case."
...
The dude still has not learned the words, "Yes dear."
Showing posts with label Saratoga. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Saratoga. Show all posts
Tuesday, February 8, 2011
Thursday, August 26, 2010
Horse Sense and Dirty Work
I didn't intend for my morning adventure to be a post topic. I actually had no idea what I was getting myself into when I agreed to meet two of Corey's friends at 6:30am for coffee and a tour of the innards of the Saratoga horse racing facilities.
Ohmigoodnessgraciousitwassostinkincool!!
...play it cool, Stace. Play it cool.
I mean, it was ok.
Yeah, we got to meet some big shot trainers.
Chatted with the owner of West Point Thoroughbreds.
Said hello to itsy bitsy jockeys.
No big whoop.
Ohmigoodnessgraciousitwassostinkincool!!
...play it cool, Stace. Play it cool.
I mean, it was ok.
Yeah, we got to meet some big shot trainers.
Chatted with the owner of West Point Thoroughbreds.
Said hello to itsy bitsy jockeys.
No big whoop.
Thanks to Corey's reporter friend, Claire, we came within inches of at least half a million horses.
Slight exaggeration, I apologize.
On the million part.
Because we were within mere inches.
I was able to resist petting each one (although barely) thanks to a grumpy rider who scolded Corey for swatting at a bee. I figured if the horsies are startled by "BEE!!" dancing they certainly aren't going to like a hand darting out in front of their faces with a crazy person attached to it.
So instead I picked at my lip.
We walked all around the barns and I was able to see the "real" side of racing.
Corey will tell you, eyes rolled and totally honest, I bug the crap out of him when it comes to how horse people treat their investments. Because really, you don't races horses because you like to see them run fast or you think it's funny when they snort across the finish line. You race them to win money. And I like to know that they are treated like living, breathing creatures should be.
And as far as I could tell, they were. Especially by the trainer at this stable. The dears had their baths and their treats. They got out to stretch their legs and take a leisurely stroll through the grounds. In other words, they live better than I do.
Girl's gettin' a manicure. Or is that a pedicure?
Don't even get me started on how beautiful these suckers are. The dang things are so long and lean, I could watch them for hours.
I did watch them for hours. We were there until 9am.
Work?
Eh.
Why work when you can ogle Rachel Alexandra?
Work it girlfriend. Work it.
I eventually did make it in to work, with the excuse of an ingrown toenail or something quasi-believable, where I stunk up the office with the smell of dirty hay and horse poop still on my skin and in my hair.
...haven't been able to place the dirty feet smell, though. i'm not wearing my stinky shoes.
So thank you, thank you, thank you Claire for smuggling us into the "other side" and giving us an experience we might have never had as simple spectators.
Or as they say on the backstretch: gracias.
Tuesday, January 12, 2010
My idea
I ran a 5k. All 5k of it. So did my dad, and so did my sister.
It is important to note here that we are not runners. We're just a couple-a lunatics who said, "hey, let's do more running than we've done ever/in a long, long time next month in the freezing cold."
Actually that was what one lunatic said (me). Then the other two lunatics said, "Yeah! Free t-shirts!!"
Wait, that was me too. But they were just as enthusiastic about the idea.*
Notice I said idea. Because when the day finally came I swear I've never seen my dad so grumpy. And Katie was so nervous she practically peed her pants. Three times.
But there was no turning back. We were assigned numbers. And t-shirts. If we wimped out they would write our names in a book of pansies...in ink. That is a permanent designation, my friends.
Are you laughing yet?
Is it because you know that 5k is really just 3.2 miles? And that 3.2 miles really isn't that far?
I would have laughed at this too if my heart wasn't beating in my throat.
So off we went, reluctantly, to the race site. We watched how others pinned their numbers to their Under Armour running jackets, then pinned ours to our Hanes sweatshirts.
We watched them attach the time tracking chip to their performance enhancing Nikes while we put ours on our Reebok cross trainers.
They warmed up and stretched. We wondered when we could have a slice of pizza.
"That lady over there is going to beat us."
"Why?"
"She's wearing Spandex."
"But she's 70 years old..."
"I think we can beat that couple over there."
"The guy with his gut pokin' out from under his sweatshirt? Definitely."
And so the conversations went until we lined up at the starting line.
"5 minute mile-ers up front!"
"Maybe we should go to the very back."
And then the race began.
It. Was. Awesome.
Crowds of people lined the streets cheering, blowing whistles and ringing cow bells.
We ran up hills, we ran down hills, we even ran by people in their spandex pants and expensive runner's gear.
I won't say we made magic on that night, but we did beat our goal (45 minutes) by 7 minutes. My dad made even better time.
How's that?
He ditched us.
"I got caught up in the crowd!" he says.
"I looked for you, but there were too many people!" he claims.
Right, daddy. Right.
*It was recently brought to my attention that my dad, in fact, was not looking forward to this race at any time. I was also informed of his inability to say "no." Something I wish I had known earlier...
It is important to note here that we are not runners. We're just a couple-a lunatics who said, "hey, let's do more running than we've done ever/in a long, long time next month in the freezing cold."
Actually that was what one lunatic said (me). Then the other two lunatics said, "Yeah! Free t-shirts!!"
Wait, that was me too. But they were just as enthusiastic about the idea.*
Notice I said idea. Because when the day finally came I swear I've never seen my dad so grumpy. And Katie was so nervous she practically peed her pants. Three times.
But there was no turning back. We were assigned numbers. And t-shirts. If we wimped out they would write our names in a book of pansies...in ink. That is a permanent designation, my friends.
Are you laughing yet?
Is it because you know that 5k is really just 3.2 miles? And that 3.2 miles really isn't that far?
I would have laughed at this too if my heart wasn't beating in my throat.
So off we went, reluctantly, to the race site. We watched how others pinned their numbers to their Under Armour running jackets, then pinned ours to our Hanes sweatshirts.
We watched them attach the time tracking chip to their performance enhancing Nikes while we put ours on our Reebok cross trainers.
They warmed up and stretched. We wondered when we could have a slice of pizza.
"That lady over there is going to beat us."
"Why?"
"She's wearing Spandex."
"But she's 70 years old..."
"I think we can beat that couple over there."
"The guy with his gut pokin' out from under his sweatshirt? Definitely."
And so the conversations went until we lined up at the starting line.
"5 minute mile-ers up front!"
"Maybe we should go to the very back."
And then the race began.
It. Was. Awesome.
Crowds of people lined the streets cheering, blowing whistles and ringing cow bells.
We ran up hills, we ran down hills, we even ran by people in their spandex pants and expensive runner's gear.
I won't say we made magic on that night, but we did beat our goal (45 minutes) by 7 minutes. My dad made even better time.
How's that?
He ditched us.
"I got caught up in the crowd!" he says.
"I looked for you, but there were too many people!" he claims.
Right, daddy. Right.
*It was recently brought to my attention that my dad, in fact, was not looking forward to this race at any time. I was also informed of his inability to say "no." Something I wish I had known earlier...
Sunday, January 3, 2010
A Happy New Year indeed.
I would like to sincerely thank the lovely ladies with the short sparkly dresses and drifty eyes for the permanent hand railing indentation in my hip. Falling into me and shoving me into said railing was an excellent way to ring in the new year.
And Tough Guy, thank you for bringing to our attention that some people just don't like to be touched. We heard your barely audible insults loud and clear. Oh, and no, thank you. Corey does not want to take it outside.
Shout outs to piggy-back couple and their well wishes for the new year. Girl On Back's "Go f*#! yourself" afterward was also very much appreciated.
I would have to say, though, what really got 2010 started off right was the cat fight over a slice of pizza. I might have joined in the fun if my hair didn't look so dang good. Rolling around on the floor just mats the curls. The death threats did make the whole scene tempting, though.
It was an interesting night forecasting, I'm sure, what will be an interesting decade. A decade that will find me snuggled up with a book and a sketch pad those weekend nights when all the crazies are loose...you know, to be safe.
And Tough Guy, thank you for bringing to our attention that some people just don't like to be touched. We heard your barely audible insults loud and clear. Oh, and no, thank you. Corey does not want to take it outside.
Shout outs to piggy-back couple and their well wishes for the new year. Girl On Back's "Go f*#! yourself" afterward was also very much appreciated.
I would have to say, though, what really got 2010 started off right was the cat fight over a slice of pizza. I might have joined in the fun if my hair didn't look so dang good. Rolling around on the floor just mats the curls. The death threats did make the whole scene tempting, though.
It was an interesting night forecasting, I'm sure, what will be an interesting decade. A decade that will find me snuggled up with a book and a sketch pad those weekend nights when all the crazies are loose...you know, to be safe.
Monday, August 3, 2009
Aaaaaaand they're OFF....
...at Saratoga! Yes, welcome to the 100-and-something season of horse racing at this, the most, or maybe it's the second most, historic race track in the country!!...or world...or whatever.
In this relationship, one of us is a racing fanatic and the other likes to get dressed up and look at fancy hats (that's me).
June:
"Corey! It's almost here!!"
"I know! The track is only 29 days away!!!"
July:
"I will help you right after the track is over."
"A week before the wedding?!?"
July 28:
"This is the best time of the year!"
"You mean, besides our wedding?"
"Oh yeah, of course!"
No, really. This is a good thing. Now is the time I get to push through a few "questionable" practices without any resistance from the distracted groom.
Like little finger cymbals for all the guests. So, when we say our "I do's" we'll hear a wave of tin chirps. Romantic...right?!
Or maybe fish bowl centerpieces.
Or a fun new dance where everyone grooves in their socks!
Am I trying to make Corey regret his choice in priorities? hehehehehe....no.
In this relationship, one of us is a racing fanatic and the other likes to get dressed up and look at fancy hats (that's me).
June:
"Corey! It's almost here!!"
"I know! The track is only 29 days away!!!"
July:
"I will help you right after the track is over."
"A week before the wedding?!?"
July 28:
"This is the best time of the year!"
"You mean, besides our wedding?"
"Oh yeah, of course!"
No, really. This is a good thing. Now is the time I get to push through a few "questionable" practices without any resistance from the distracted groom.
Like little finger cymbals for all the guests. So, when we say our "I do's" we'll hear a wave of tin chirps. Romantic...right?!
Or maybe fish bowl centerpieces.
Or a fun new dance where everyone grooves in their socks!
Am I trying to make Corey regret his choice in priorities? hehehehehe....no.
Monday, June 1, 2009
109 days...
The weekend is over. No exciting stories to tell. Corey and I picked out our wedding bands, we registered for a lamp, and he bought some pants.
Is this what married life is like?
Should I expect weekends full of plant shopping and doing dishes?
I hate doing dishes.
I never pair "mundane" and "Corey and Stacie" in the same phrase. Here’s a scenario of a typical C&S outing:
C&S take O for a walk through town. They stop for a nice lunch and are seated at an outside table. O lays down on the other side of the railing with his leash securely tied. C orders pasta, S orders pizza, O gets bread crusts. Dog #1 walks by, no reaction from O. Dog #2 walks by, O slightly agitated. Dog #3 walks by and stands with his owner, O now needs to be restrained.
Dog #3 starts to walk away, O decides to go with him. He breaks free of C, breaks free of collar, runs free through downtown Saratoga Springs. C runs after him, nine other people run after him, S stands at the table shrieking.
O is finally caught. S grabs C’s credit card, runs across the street to Dawgdom and buys the cheapest collar she can find. O now wears a rather feminine wide green collar with brown polka dots.
Is this what married life is like?
Should I expect weekends full of plant shopping and doing dishes?
I hate doing dishes.
I never pair "mundane" and "Corey and Stacie" in the same phrase. Here’s a scenario of a typical C&S outing:
C&S take O for a walk through town. They stop for a nice lunch and are seated at an outside table. O lays down on the other side of the railing with his leash securely tied. C orders pasta, S orders pizza, O gets bread crusts. Dog #1 walks by, no reaction from O. Dog #2 walks by, O slightly agitated. Dog #3 walks by and stands with his owner, O now needs to be restrained.
Dog #3 starts to walk away, O decides to go with him. He breaks free of C, breaks free of collar, runs free through downtown Saratoga Springs. C runs after him, nine other people run after him, S stands at the table shrieking.
O is finally caught. S grabs C’s credit card, runs across the street to Dawgdom and buys the cheapest collar she can find. O now wears a rather feminine wide green collar with brown polka dots.
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