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When you look up the word “weenie” in the dictionary, you’ll find a smiling photo of me, hands up, with a “What can I say, you got me!” expression on my face. I have no problem jumping out of a plane or riding a motorbike in Vietnam, but sleeping alone in my own home gives me butterflies. Walking alone in the dark to my car parked just outside my house? Who do you think I am, Catwoman??

So you can only imagine the Depends I should’ve been wearing when I walked out of my house at dawn yesterday, dressed in my running clothes and bathing in my self-satisfied morning-person glory, to look across the street and see a hooded figure meandering in the exact direction of my jog. At 6:15 in the morning. In 70 degree weather. Without a dog or any other sane reason for being outside at that hour.

Our eyes met from across the street—or at least I think they did, considering the huge dark hood blocking his face—and I can only imagine that my expression resembled that of a squirrel caught with a nut. “Oh hey! I wasn’t doing anything here! I’m clearly sleepwalking (err, jogging?) and didn’t mean to disturb you violating my neighborhood with your terrifying early-morning hooded sulk! Please, continue on your way to frighten other neighbors!”

I crept back inside as nonchalantly as one can in that situation, then did what anyone would do: watched him ramble down the street until a safe distance away, then ran to my car holding my keys like a weapon, locked my doors immediately and held my breath until I got to the gym.

An hour later, I come back from the gym having nearly forgotten about the whole thing, until I see him. Standing in front of my neighbor’s house. Trying to look nonchalant while admiring her rose bush. Up close. For 15 minutes straight.

If anyone needs me, I’ll be huddled inside the closet, posing for Webster’s.


I picture them as little league players, sitting anxiously on the bench until it’s their turn to go in the game. You’re so close, I want to whisper. Summer’s on its way.

This guy gave us quite the scare this weekend. Luckily for us, he’s totally fine now, but we’re compensating by giving him lots of long walks, extra snuggles and a couple of treats. Well played, Oslo. Well played.

Ahh, the weekend. The perfect tree (so perfect that it was too tall for our living room); the post-run smoothie (good for sore, marathon-training muscles); the Christmas cookies (to counteract all the calories burned from running).  The lights and the Izzie sniffing the lights. The weekend.

The first Thanksgiving at the Gorsuch household was far from perfect. The rolls didn’t rise and the turkey needed reheating but no one cared a bit. In fact, I don’t think anyone really noticed, what with all the love and laughter and pie and football and the big black Friday bible! Lesson learned: if you ever mess up in the kitchen, just distract your guests with coupons. Works like a charm.

I came home from work last week to discover this.


Not only did someone go on a bender with my street sign, but they also ran over my recycling bin, which, as you can see, was kindly placed down on thrown across my driveway by the weekly collection workers. And the worst part: the culprit didn’t even have the decency to leave a note! Not a post-it, not a scribbled “Oops” on the back of a crumpled receipt, nothing. Surely they make Hallmark cards for these occasions! I think something to the tune of “Sorry I turned your street sign into a lawn ornament” would be appropriate.

Oh man, I’ve definitely suffered from this on several occasions.  Do you every get hangry?


I’m grilling chicken for dinner when I hear a knock at the door. I turn to see four kids jockeying for position on my doorstep, nudging and elbowing each other in a way that immediately tells me they’re siblings. They’re standing so close to the door, and to each other, that when I open it they practically fall inside. The oldest of the girls is holding a paper, but when I say hello she turns shy. “Um hi. Hi, umm…” Her older brother helps her out. “She’s selling Girl Scout cookies. Do you want some?” The two younger siblings peek from behind, anxious to see if I’ll bite. The whole scene is so cute that I can’t resist. I make my order (Samoas, Tagalongs, and Thin Mints), but when I go to pay, I only have a 20. The older brother considers running home for change, but the other brother (and designated treasurer) assures him that they can handle it. As he fishes out the dollars from a big yellow envelope, the girl gives me the sheet to enter my address. I notice the photos of incentive prizes at the top and ask which one she’s hoping to get. It’s a pair of shoes. I stifle a laugh and ask for two more boxes.

A girl after my own heart.

Guess who I’m hanging out with this weekend? Oslo, you’ve got competition.

Have a great weekend – see you back here on Monday!

It’s starting to feel like fall around Baltimore. There are big September clouds in the sky and a chill in the air that has me wearing a jacket when the sun goes down. Growing up in a beach town, I used to dread fall and the ending that it seemed to evoke, whether that was the end of the summer season and the summer crowds that made the town come to life, the end of summer relationships, or simply the end of warm weather and beach days. Even after I moved away from Ocean City, I always found a feeling of emptiness lingering during early September, perhaps just as a remnant of my childhood or probably more likely, a signifier of the end of my all-too-short August break from graduate school. Now that I’m done with school and am just over ten years away from my days as an OC local, the coming of fall feels less like the stealing of summer and more like a welcome invitation to slow down, eat freshly baked bagels, and snuggle under the covers for the better part of the day. It feels like a natural evolution after the busy excitedness of summer. And I can’t wait to soak it all in.

A photo of me.

About me

Hi, I'm Pam. I'm a runner, reader and recent MBA grad living in Baltimore with my husband. I work in PR, but I spend my off-hours writing here about my life, which mostly revolves around family, friends, fashion and fitness. Sometimes I throw in the occasional food photo just to make sure you're paying attention.


For questions or freelance opportunities, contact me at theinspirationfiles {at} gmail {dot} com. I'd love to hear from you!

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