Foster greyhound posts were only linked from blogger, so that page will be a bit slower in coming up. It is now.... HERE
And finally the letters home will eventually make the switch to typepad. Not yet. Too much to do and I'm doing this while sick (so wash your screen). When that one moves, i'll let you know.
# posted by IHateToast : 9/05/2006 10:38:00 AM
Wednesday, July 05, 2006
Gonna do me some squats... pass the tuna.
I'm taking some time off. I made the promise and I will stick to it... sort of. I'll eek into shorter runs next week and keep my "long" runs to 40-60 minutes max and I'll keep it infrequent. I have to rest and while I do, I'll build up those leg muscles. I was thinking about finding a university with a decent gym or a Y or any place that doesn't remind me of White Goodman's gym (Dodge Ball). I can't justify the expense of a gym to really use a few machines.
I do squats against a wall here, but I'm not satisfied. They don't do squat.
OH I CRACK ME UP!
And I could do lunges and bends and all sorts of things. I'll pass on the bi-dental fish lift as seen in the video above.
Now I have to go; my dog just farted.
# posted by IHateToast : 7/05/2006 02:55:00 PM
Monday, July 03, 2006
Totally knackered but feeling good! .. oops forgot one bit
They say that you should never do anything new before a marathon. Tell that to the germs that invaded my body!
Friday at work... feeling a bit toasty. A bit sore. A bit of that thick and dizzy feel.
No! Down! Back! Be gone!
Friday afternoon we loaded up the car and headed for places warmer... for Mark's debut at a pacer and my tri-but at a marathon. I was so tired. I was sick. ...and as you can imagine, cranky. We went to the expo to get the gear and look around at toys and stuff. Expos and running stuff always cheers me up.
Well hell... My number was 888. I can't NOT run because I had the best number ever! 888... neighbour of the beast. I had to run. And I also had to run as too many people knew I was doing the marathon. I knew if I didn't run because of illness, I'd be all better by Monday and would have just looked like a chicken. No. In the name of palindromic numbers and pretty numbers everywhere, I had to run.
It was off to the mall across the street to Go Vita! for what I'd call a witch. Gimme a woman with naturopathic skills and I'll be happy. I got some tonic of echinacea, anise seed, and more bad tasting things. 3x a day I'd slam this down, grasp at my throat, gag, and swallow liters of water to relieve my pain. Mark and his son won Dumbasses of the Day with their "Oh C'mon Let Me Try" bit. Clearly I was just too girly and they were going to call me on it. I don't remember what our plans were later that day, I just remember that we were late, because Mark and boy-crouton were both gagging in the bathroom and sucking water from the tap. Yeah... listen to me! Mark and his kids left me in bed with my knitting and my Time Traveler's Wife. I rested like an 80 y.o. in a retirement village. All I was missing were ugly, but comfy, slippers and a stack of Readers' Digest.
I don't know if it was the book, the napping, or the brew (watching the boys nearly die), but I woke up with out the sore throat and cough. I was stoked! I got out of bed with a spring in my step and then ....plantar fasciitis again. It has been niggling me. I refuse to say I have it. And all week I was getting better from my previous long run. I was being so careful. But I misstepped.
I had to readjust my goals when I realized I was getting a cold. I wasn't going to switch races. The 21km race is just ugly. The 1st 21km of the full marathon takes you down the beach. The second 1/2 (actually from 26km on) it dog legs up through dull suburbs. The 21 only race takes you up there and a bit further. Eew. I'm going to run pretty races. I've got all 5 senses working and sight is key.
Run to the 1/2 way mark with a respectable 1/2 time.
Anything beyond that is a bonus.
If you're going to die and drop out, try to do so at the 26 km mark as it's where we pass the start/finish line.
Oh, and poop before the race.
On that last one. It's not that I love that topic, but I've yet to manage to run a race .... comfortably. In the last year, I picked up drinking coffee in the am just to get my body used to waking up and sending me into poo heaven just so I could be used to the ritual before a race. I'll have you know that I did it! I had my coffee at 5 and while I was bummed walking from our seedy motel to the start, because nothing was happening, I perked up, looked at my friend and said, "I gotta go back!" With a smile on my face I gave my legs a warm up and ran/limped back with cheeks clenched.
It was also a good sign... My foot.... while I felt a shadow of pain, it wasn't too bad. There was hope.
My only other times were 4:29 ish (1st marathon at GC 05) and 4:17ish in Cols. I know I could do 4:17 if I didn't have my loose patella and my foot bothering me. I never once made a run longer than 2:45 without this pain. And I never was able to run 2 days in a row for the last 2 months. So with only 1 long run a week and 2x 5km run in the city, I know I haven't trained for 4:17 . So I hung with the peeps at 4:30.
Okay... here we go. I had been downdogging it and warrior posing it... I was at one with the race. I was not at one with the 4:30 people. It wasn't my natural gait. I left them to just do my own pace. I was just going for a happy 1/2. I was sure they'd pass me eventually. I really was okay with doing a 2ish hour 1st 1/2 and a 39847598 hour second.
I was having a great time. People were cheering me on all over. They had no idea I was Katy. They called me pink pants, happy pants, pinky and more. Hey... knowing they're finding something on you and giving you a big cheer, makes a huge difference. If you click here and scroll down to Laurie Gordon, you'll have an idea of what I was wearing. I had the capri bottoms and a white top. I even had runners coming the other way telling me they loved my tights! Whoo hoo! sub 4:00 people huffing compliments at me. It was great. I was doing so well. I was right on a 4:17 pace. All I had to do was make it to the main area where the half way mat was.
at 1:47 I was coming around a round about and the turning made me land on the bad side of my foot and pain shot right through from heel to tootsies. I couldn't walk. I've had this before. A bad turn on the foot and limping for days. No. Not going to happen until AFTER 21 km. I've worked on this visually. I know I cross the finish line. And I know I do it well. I don't know my time, but I do NOT hobble!
It took about 5 steps to figure out how I'll land on my foot and then I started up again. After a few more meters, I stopped to readjust my laces to make my right shoe a little looser. And I was off again.
I crossed the mat at 2:08.25... and would have been at 2:08.00 but I had to find out about France beating Brazil. It was 0-0 at the time of the gun. Cool! France won. I have happy thoughts in my head. I did a decent 1/2 (not what I'd want if I was just running a half, but what I'd want for a half with more to go).
At 3:00 I realized I had no pain. None. Okay, I took Ibuprofen before the race and at the 25 km mark. But it was OTC and I was AOK! And still didn't have to do a wee or a poo. Checking those goals off one at a time!
All in all, it was a great race until 34-38 km. By GREAT I mean I was passing people and my silhouette said that I was not stumbling. I was running still. However, at 34km, I was feeling a lot of pain in my lower back. I moved my gel pocket from the center of my back to my side and that helped, but I had to take some time to stretch it. At 38 km my knee decided that it was done. Please stop. I'm over it. As they don't give out finisher's knee pads, what reason so I have to go on? Please stop this nonsense now, Katy! So I bargained. I'll walk 60 seconds at the water stations, but you will finish. I've seen the prosthetics, you're not totally necessary! Don't make me slap you!
My knee knows when to hold 'em, knows when to fold 'em. Knows when to walk away, and most importantly, knows when to RUN! And run we did. When I passed the 42 km mark and had .198 to go, I knew I could book it. Always have. Where it comes from, I never know, but I have always found the anaerobic stores for sprinting the last bit in and I feel nothing. I surely didn't feel guilt passing the blind woman and her guide (oh c'mon! she didn't see me!). I even passed two people just meters before the beeeeeep of the chip. And do you know why?!??! Because as luck would have it, I got to finish to Wagner's Ride of the Valkyries! (Depending on your age, that's either from Apocalypse Now or Kill the Wabbit!) Whoo hoo! I did it. I killed the wace wabbit and wan my widdle wump off! 4:25.13. Not my PB but better than last year's of 4:29ish! And I felt great. My muscles didn't feel tired like they did in my other two marathons. I really feel that if I can figure out the knee problem and the foot thing, I could do 4:10 with proper training... as in running more than 3 days a week.
My 5km splits were hardly worthy of the U.S. gymnastics team but those girls scare me. These splits don't merit 10s, but they don't show off prepubescent camel toes either...
5 - 30.40.41
10 - 29.59.55
15 - 30.11.64
20 - 30.40.97
25* - 32.13.03 (probably 31 ish)
30* - 31.12.48 (probably late 31 ish. I like my ish)
35 - 32.52.08
40 - 33.20.97
end - 4:25.13 (outgoing 1/2 2:08.25; incoming 1/2 2:16.48)
* I realized I had forgotten to hit the split time after 25, so that's a bit longer than it is and 30 is a bit shorter.
I think I can get my 2nd half stronger as I get my weekly kms up, but until I build up the muscle around my knee, that isn't going to happen.
Mark did well. He'll blog it, so I don't want to steal his thunder, but... he did well as a debut pacer.
My favorite part of the race? Well, I have to say seeing that guy with his family jewels hanging below his shorts. I think the makers of running shorts need to make sure that if you have dark shorts, the built-in undies need to be dark. Seeing a white sack hanging low below dark shorts is a bit distracting. Ha! Made my day. Unlike the guy who stopped suddenly, got down, spread his legs into the splits, and stretched before getting up again. My groin had sympathy pain for a least another 10 minutes. He was one of the many Japanese runners. I love them! They run to have fun. I saw Hello Kitty hats, fun outfits, amazing gymnastic stretches and always a lot of support for each other.
....I want that Hello Kitty hat!
Okay, it's nap time. I called in sick from work. Ciao!
p.s. I looked up Scott'scyber shorts and learned how to get my blog more colorful. While there, I wrote "Katy was here 3 July 2006." Shhhh!
I want to run like my dog.
Before I start this, for those of you who really want to know… tape removal without olive oil hurts. Don’t try it. Pack a bra! and if you're a male reader (stupid to say... why not "if you're a man" as if there are male gorillas, hagfish, or servals reading), then you should still pack a bra. Women don't get blooooody nipples. The key? A jog bra. So get over your issues about running in drag!
Did I mention I want to run like my dog? She’s a greyhound. Little waist, big muscular booty, dainty ankles. Would be a hottie if not for a bad overbite.
As Greyhound Adoption Program (GAP) volunteers, we’re occasionally treated to outings by the Greyhound Racing Authority (GRA). Over here, GRA sees the benefit of getting these athletes into new homes. They sponsor many things and are very supportive. While I am not a fan of any sort of betting, I do understand that it will never leave and it’s best to work with, not against, the program. The greyhound racing thing is also less institutionalised here than in the U.S. In the States, the dogs are kept at the track. Over here, they’re usually with the trainer. While that’s not home life, it’s better than living at the track.
We’ve been to two V.I.P. cups to promote the program. VIP is a dog food brand and is, I believe, the main ingredient to meat pies. So punters (gamblers) can see that these dogs are companion animals and available for adoption. Mark and I don’t gamble, but we’ll enjoy our free meal and watch the dogs run. Spot the one that looks like Tamale! Guess which one will be in the program next. I’d lie to tell you that it’s not fun to watch them run. They do love to run. I just want their retirement secured.
But I want to run like them. I’m not talking about running in a spandex top with no bottoms. I’m not talking about sprinting on packed sand. I’m talking about the attitude.
The dogs are taken to a spot of grass where they wait until they’re put in a pin next to the course. The lure goes around twice and the trainers make sure the dogs see it and get pumped. Even Jonesy who was the GAP dog on promo for race #4 one night was just shaking and pulling… Let me run, Katy, I can get it this time!
They are then put into the starting box, the race starts, they run blah blah blah…
At the end of the race, the lure passes a point where an arm swings down guiding the dogs to the catching area. The catchers are there to get their dog and to walk back to the vet to make sure all is well. The dogs, having run their fine booties off, are jumping and wagging their tails. Even though they’re completely knackered, they’re spazzy. Due to the anatomy of a greyhound (flexible spine) they can run at incredible speeds but not for long periods. They do not run the days before or after a race. They sleep it off. So knowing this, I’m amazed that at the end of the race, they’re still so happy to see one of their trainers. You don’t see this anywhere with human runners. At the end of the race, even the winner, draped in her flag, looks totally wiped out. Might smile an exhausted, but we all know there is little room for jumping and prancing.
I want to run like this. I need to go to the Gold Coast and look at the runners and shake with excitement. I need to not be worried, I need to be totally beside myself. Santa who? Gimme a run! Let me stand in a designated area, show me the finisher’s shirt. Taunt me with it. Light the fire in my belly. Must... chase... free except for the price of entry shirt.... must... have... bragging.... rights. Show me my prize for this effort. Oooooh, my tail’s wagging! Can you see it? swish swish swish.
I also want to be able to finish with such excitement that I wiggle my booty, search desperately for Mark, lick his face and repeatedly jump on him. I know that resting comes later, but until that time comes, I’M SO HAPPY TO BE HERE and smile without effort.
And I want someone to hug me like this and say I was the best runner ever and promise me a cookie.
And I want someone to put me in my snuggy jammies (it's winter here), carry my broken body to my bean bag, drape a woolly bankie over me, and gimme a kiss nuh-nite.
I really don't ask for much.
Oooooh. Had a Gold Coast Marathon dream last night. It was after the race and I was thinking as I was in bed that I didn't hurt enough. Not like I did my other times. Then I sat up... I DIDN'T DO THE ENTIRE RACE! ...and I was going to be in trouble.
and ooooooh times five divided by .43 and all of that squared... i've been tagged by a cookie. I wonder if she got crumbs down my skivvies. Never been tagged before. Wheee. While I'm sure you've all done this before, I have not. I was the last in my 4th grade class to see Grease. I'm always last. Trust me. Just wait until I finish the Gold Coast limping in just under 9384573984 hours.....
4 jobs I've had:
dish dog at dormitory cafeteria/mensa (I can tell you what an egg does in a ceiling fan)
grad assistant (German) @ miami university,
4th grade math teacher @ Lamplighter in Dallas,
temp at a govt department in brisbane
4 movies I watch over and over:
A Fish Called Wanda
Thelma & Louise
4 Places I have lived:
Brisbane, Australia.... and yes, I've lived in both AustRia and AustRALia and I still mix up the words. I know the places but the words tumble out wrong.
4 TV shows I watch:
various shows on ABC (like PBS in Oz)
4 Places I've been on Vacation:
Green Island on Great Barrier Reef (long before I met the toast stud!)
Coastal Maine. A Bar... but not Bar Harbor. One of those.
Toulon and Villard de l'ans, France
4 Websites I visit everyday:
4 Favorite Foods:
chocolate silk pie
4 Places I'd rather be right now:
in bed on a lazy long weekend (perhaps a Sunday before a work-free Monday) with a good book and toast stud
on a year long tour of Germany, France & Italy (also the teams I'm rooting for in that order in the cup. Sorry yanks and aussies, I'm true to these only)
on a long pain free run knowing I can run the next day with out pain, too. Been a long time.
Lake Austin Spa
4 Favorite Bands/Singers:
4 Bloggers I'll tag:The Black Knight, fierce Italian...Keeper of Rome
The Black Knight 2, another keeper of Rome and collector of plushy dogs
den laufenden Marcus, perhaps the only German to leave Germany in the time of the World Cup. Rumor has it, he's not being allowed back in.
Peezbowe. She sometimes goes by Bella, but I'm not fooled. She's also needing a little oomf.
# posted by IHateToast : 6/29/2006 05:04:00 PM
Thursday, June 22, 2006
Release the Girls!
(no photos for this one.... trust me)
Mark had running school this morning.
This means he got up bright and early for speed work with Pat Carroll and his groupies. It also means I sleep in a bit and then run to where he parked the car, swap shoes and get work clothes and walk to work. great fun. Mark is happy (he's a social runner) and I'm happy (I run aloooone...cue in guitar).
I'm also happy because not one bit of the run had any pain. Okay, so it's 5 km to work. Just a shade under a marathon. Still. It means I'm feeling positive. I bound my knee, had the pod, had the support socks for post run (see, basic math tells me those are cheaper than skins), I was all over it.
Walked to work feeling smug and listening to David Sedaris (I really think humor essays might be the new black). I might have even had a bit of a Travolta circa 1978 strut. I was ready to kick booty, patootie!
I got to my building and to my locker. Got my shampoo, soap and razor out, then unpacked my clothes. ....then I deflated.
I always forget a bra. I'm not endowed enough to need one. Don't give me any crap about sagging. When your skin loses its elasticity, there is nothing you can do about it. A bra won't keep them up. Luckily my skin is still tight enough for what I have. I hold no pencils! I ran 6 years of x-c without a bra. Tried to wear one once and during the race it came off and is somewhere at Norbuck Park in east Dallas.
Now I wear one for running. But rarely any other time unless the shirt is such that the nippiebits can be seen. I'm nothing if not classy!
I was wondering what to do when I saw it.
The tape I sometimes use to bind my knee.
So two wee strips later, the nips are safely tucked away.
I don the shirt and see that due to wrinkling, I now have four nipples and I seem very cold. This won't do. I look around. I'm alone. I take my hands and press as hard as I can. This is not sexy. This is not hot. This is trying not to get in trouble in a government job because I have too many nipples and not enough bras.
Ha! Wrinkle free. ...and who's going to be looking?
Mark doesn't know about this yet. I was going to come home and take them off after putting olive oil on the tape (yeah, not risking nip-rippage just to look decent at work) and I thought better of it.
It's not uncomfy. Let's just spend the evening like this. Then...
I shall take off my shirt and shout, "RELEASE THE GIRLS!"
Who said running can't make your whoopwhoop life more fun?*
This was an odd day of blogging for me. In this one I wrote about me jubblybit and here I wrote about my pannies. I may have gone too far.
The Roman Forums. Nice! Been there, you? You should see them. Sit and wonder what toga-clad Romulus sat here before you. It's my little nod to our running friends in Italy.
Not all forums are worth visiting.
I think running forums are put out there for county hospital patients who can't afford anesthesia?
While some threads are interesting, I must say that most make me flatline, drool, and lose control of my bladder. The topics are often stale or rehashed, but even if the topic is interesting, then many of the responses either make you want to cry and eat glass shards (and not in a good way), or make you think that, as this world is grossly overpopulated, you'd make a great culler of nitwits.
At least reading them can provide me with a blog topic. Good thing I'm so perfect, otherwise I'd be so foolish to write a post like this.
The thread that stuck with me was "What is your power song?" Hm.
Does anyone run to stuff other than songs? I have an odd mix to run by. Some songs I'd never listen to were I in normal clothes, still, knitting/reading/cooking. Some songs I like no matter what I'm doing. Some are impulse buys from iTunes. I love to run to foreign language songs. I wrote about this to frinz and fambly a while back. I've added more songs. Several versions of Kalinka and Alouette now. This entertains me. Only me. The ear buds are in MY ears with aural nervy bits going to MY brain. If it works for ME, who cares if it's good, bad, or ugly? I listen to all sorts of stuff, but as long as I plan to have "A Town Called Malice" on as I end the race, I don't really care what comes in the middle. Do I really need to share with runners from Perth?
Butt I do, because forums borums draw me in like a vapid Cosmo article on sex in the (put decade here).
And while I was reading Coolrunnings at work (as you do), I was listening to David Sedaris's Barrel Fever on tape (as you do) and laughing out loud.
Does anyone run to books? Is it safe? I might try it at the Gold Coast Marathon. I'll pick a pace group and hang behind. I'll listen to Me Talk Pretty One Day and laugh. I laugh every time I read it and every time I hear my David read it. I'll keep count of all the people who feel their butts for gaping holes in their shorts, check for period mistakes, grope for toilet paper sticking out....
Would my performance be affected by a sad book? Pepped up by trendy Chick lit? Slowed down by a depressing memoir? Would I kick booty to some self help book? Would the earth open up and swallow me at the finish line just before crossing the line at 30 minutes better than my pb because I ran to Dummies for Dummies? Idiot's Guide to Running?
I think I might try it, but with comedy. I have some 70s Steve Martin and Monty Python on the pod and chuckles keep me going.
... but not yet. Nothing new for a marathon. I read that somewhere.... in a forum.
By the way, I did run just a wee bit. Shins okay. Knee fine. Right foot... nosso goot. While I blogged and surfed forums at work above the desk, below I was rolling the foot on the stick. Getting nervous. Finisher's shirt looking harder to get than a polysyllabic word from GWB.
photo from the Spit on the Gold Coast
I don't fear spiders (used to own 3 tarantulas) but right now I'm fear running.
I'm supposed to be running right now but I'm blogging. The plan was to get up and warm the muscles and then run from home. I have 2 hours to do and I'm dreading it. Lately running's been my dentist.
I have monster dental phobia. I build myself up for great pain. Then when it's all done, I think, "That wasn't so bad." But the next time I go, I think it won't be so bad and I'm zinged. So it is with running right now.
2 long runs ago I did 2hr 45min and felt great. Last long run I did 2:45 and felt like my knee was going to pop off from 2:30 on. So where am I? I'm in the dreading stage. It probably won't be this bad, but tell that to my knee.
Perhaps I shouldn't have run to work after that good long run. I ran long on Sun, to work on Tues, and hobbled 74 of what was supposed to be an 80 minute run. I'm being stubborn. Last year I knocked off 10 minutes from my first marathon time and I was only doing 1 long weekend run and 1 not-as-long midweek run. That was all my shins could take.
2006 is not the year of recovery as I had hoped. I took my time off after Columbus. I built up slowly (easy to do if you start in a subtropical summer....nooooo desire to increase those runs any faster). The shins still hurt and now I have a slutty (loose) patella that gives me pain.
The Tuesday after Monday's LRoP (long-run-o-pain), I had a podiatrist appointment. Over here, podiatrists are not medical doctors, they're more like specialized physical therapists and occupational therapists for the footsies. Less invasive. Me likes. The appointment was at 7 am. Me no likes. The train I took got me there early enough to have a cappuccino (large, 1/2 for warming belly and waking self, other half to pour down my back as it was chilly!). On the way to the Podi, I had to go under the rails via the pedestrian tunnel and there I saw them.
They were a sign.
7 very nice marbles in the little gutter. Marbles. Marbles not in a child's suede bag. These were lost marbles. Someone lost their marbles. It can happen literally. I was too busy wondering how the kid didn't hear the noisy marbles on the concrete to see that this was a sign. Katy has lost her marbles to think she should still run a full marathon when bodily injury and pain is still unpredictable. I should switch before it's too late for the half. I know I should. But I won't. I'll run it and be thrilled to finish at all. It's a dog leg course, so after 2ish hours of running, i'll be in walking distance from the start if I feel I need to stop. I'm also banking on psychology here. I'm hoping that the excitement of the race will help me block out the pain. ... if it shows up. It's not always there. That's what kills me. That's the root of the dread.
Now, I am not a pain wuss. I drove from Taos, NM to Dallas, TX while my tooth was absessing and my head was exploding. I was by myself and I had to teach the day after I arrived. 10 hours alone in my car screaming every 5 minutes as the pain cycled back. My t-shirt was soaked with tears, saliva and snot. I mean, I was hot! How I didn't come back from that as an engaged woman was beyond me. My mom met me at home with some great knockout drugs, but really by then, the nerve had all but died and my body, having stayed alert for the drive, decided that nothing was going to wake me.
So yeah, I can do pain if I have to, but do I want to?
Here's my faustian deal: Let me finish the Gold Coast running more than walking and under 7 hours. In exchange, I will take a full month off. I'll only ride my bike to work (only a 20 minute ride now that I've decided to brave the streets and go directly there) but that out of necessity. I will stretch and do alllll the exermacises that the docs and podi tell me to do. After a month, I will trickle back slowly and not hit >2 hour runs for 2 months. Let me get to Honolulu so I can run with my mom and dad cheering me on. Let me get there, and I promise to be good. I'll take time off from most activities (I still need to ride my bike to get to work). I'll do more yoga and stretch my tight legs. I will. Please just let me get to Honolulu.
(one run later)
Went out to run my 2 hours and ran 2:25 and felt fine. My first song, and here I'll be showing you my 70s upbringing, was PP&M's "If I Had a Hammer" followed by BOC's "(Don't fear) the Reaper" and I was changing the lyrics to suit my pain needs as I ran. Most people move out of the way when I run as they hear this horrible hissing. I can't sing and I don't run well. To combine them as I huff and puff is an aural crime. Not totally painfree at the end, but most pain was just niggling and I was able to run like a puppy singing to Schnappi at the very end. I didn't have any pain that made me gasp. What this means is that I'll be all excited about my next run and it'll kill me. I guess this will be okay as long as last run before the Gold Coast is horrible. It also means I'll be singing Schnappi as I cross the line. I might be on time or dead last, but over my dead body will I come in looking anything but frisky!
I had a great time with my tunes. I forgot to turn it off and Peer Gynt was giving me the background music I needed as a woman who's recently added more iron to her diet... Peer Gynt: Suite No. 1, Op. 46: IV. In the Hall of the Mountain King. Usually a hill tune, but hey...
I had other ways of helping me get over little pain twinges. I thought of the vampire fish. I thought... Katy, if you start to hurt, you have to think of a pain worse than what you're experiencing. So I thought of the 2km Hornibrook bridge (oh, it's 2.8 km??!!? now I don't feel so slow). The most frightening bridge. All those kids fishing. Nearly had a Something About Mary moment when I was running past a kid who decided that right then and there was perfect time to bring the rod back... Because I'm always prepared, I stopped dead before chunks-o-cheek went to bringing up tonight's dinner. Did you know I'm always prepared? I always have an escape plan. I live life knowing most people are insane and just fooling the authorities.
It was a beautiful run along a beach. I'm glad I did it. I'll be okay. I probably won't beat my best (4:17) or even my first (4:29), and there is a strong possibility that with all the walking I might have to do at the end, the palindrome version of these might be the case (hopefully 7:14 and not 9:24), but I'll know why. I'm okay with it. I'll time my splits and then look at how I did before Santa Painaclaus came to town.
I'm getting that bloody finisher's shirt!
# posted by IHateToast : 6/17/2006 09:57:00 AM
Sunday, June 11, 2006
Mark and Katy, part throo: when and where not to wear a wife beater's shirt
(man-nipples and sushi should never be in the same photo)
As this is the last installment of how we met and ends with our getting married.... aaaaaaand as I'm playing around with getting linkydinks up on the side bar, please note the site I'm trying to promote down at the bottom. Click and spread the word.
We continue with the story of how I met the famous sushi god (see above).
Let's clarify some things.
No, I did not pee in the bag. I made it to the first exit Stateside. I did the deflated pee. Do men do this? You have to pee so badly that when you do, you just deflate and collapse upon yourself and swear this is better than nookie in a chocolate fountain. I must say I've taken to timing my roadtrip pees. I get all excited going back to the car and announcing, "That was a 17 second pee!"
Yes, we did bribe a policeman. He took my US$, Mark's AU$, and even the few Pesos we had. We flashed our wallets open so he could see we were bone dry.
Yes, Mark did smack and crack my face, and that, my liege, is where we left off.
We got some ice and applied it to my semi plum face. My oral surgery didn't seem to go backwards and hey, I wasn't in any pain, really. Time to go and get our money and put Mark's name on the rental agreement.
We head to a mall and get money.
We head to the airport to get the rental car straightened out. I left Mark to sign stuff and went to the restroom. I did my bidniss and then after washing my hands, I blew my nose. Inside my head was the highest pitched rrreeeeeeeech and my cheek puffed out more. So much that the lower eyelid was pulling away from the eye. Hm.
"Mark, we need to go to the hospital."
"Because I think my skull has a leak," I said and then explained the inner rrreeeeeeeech.
Now, imagine going to a hospital with a banged up face with a guy who is wearing a basketball shirt that is quite old. Yeah, WIFE BEATER!
"Can you explain what happened?"
"I hit her."
"I goosed him."
Nurse Skepticia didn't look convinced, so I tried my skills at logic and formal reasoning. "Look, if he had hit me in anger, I'd have told you I fell down the stairs or some other story. As it is, I leaned over, goosed him, learned he was very ticklish and here we are. He did it. I'm not going to lie to you. He'll tell you he did it. We are not fitting the profile."
I think what convinced her was that we were giggling about this. I mean, compared to a Mexican jail cell, this is nothing!
Then the phone rings.
Mark takes the phone out of the hospital, because $3,084,257,093,487 in fees can't find us equipment not foiled by text messages from horny teens.
"Uh... Hi.... Is this Mark?"
"Can I speak to Katy?"
"No. She's in the hospital."
"I broke her face, but it's okay, she'll call you later."
Meanwhile I'm getting a CAT scan or something that xrays you in slivers. There is it, clear as can be, what is scientifically and medically known as the apple of my cheek is broken. It looks like two parentheses that overlap, instead of meeting in one continuous curve. Nothing we can do about it. It'll heal itself.
Bonus! Let me go then.
Mark tells me of the phone call and I hurry to call her back before the Fibbies come to rescue me. She took some convincing. She even had to work on asking me questions that wouldn't give it away that I was saying that the boy was abusing me. Anyway, it didn't matter. By the time she got a fed to listen to her, we'd be long gone. The AZ state fair was on, and there were funnel cakes to inject directly into my butt.
So off we went to the fair. Mark in a white basketball jersey, loooooong saggy arm holes (always a hot look, really) and me with my puffed out purple face. There was a guy trying to get our attention to buy his snake oil or sweepa or something. When I turned to face him, he blanched. YEAH BUDDY! Sell to this mug!
We left Phoenix and headed to Vegas. On the way there was this sound. A sort of pffffffffff. We looked at each other and did the "not me" (which, by the way, in married life has become... THAT'S MINE!). Seems the Odwalla drink I got and half finished became one nasty brew and blew the bottle to bits. This required immediate stopping to clean. That was a stink!
We made it to Vegas (remember, October after 9/11) with no other stink ups. We found a place off the strip and then cruised the strip for deals for the next day. The place was empty...relatively empty. For $100 we found an enormous room at Treasure Island. Two king-sized beds, two full baths (one a tub, one a shower) and all sorts of poncy furniture as if we'd be entertaining kings at the foot of the two beds. I think there was room service, I know there was jumping.
It was from these rooms that I decided to call my mom and fess up.
"Hi mom! I'm in Vegas with a guy from Australia I met on the internet. I think I'm going to go over there for a few months to see if he's worth my dowry." (something like that)
"Oh thank God!"
"I thought you went to Tijuana for sex." (This is an actual quote and has become a favorite amongst my friends)
"Well, you called me from your cell after going to San Diego. What you described sounded like a UTI (wee wee boo boo) and you usually get that from sex." (This was very close to what she said. The woman was too relieved I didn't go to Tijuana for sex to care that I had what miiiiiiiiiight be considered kindaearly nookie with some freak from the internet. Go mom!)
".... well.... yeah... but couldn't you think that I got it in California? I don't need to go to Tijuana for sex!"
"Why else would you go?"
My mom. I love her to bits, but sometimes little Miss Lawrence Central (Indianapolis) Homecoming Queen 1961 comes out. Both clued in and clueless all rolled into one short woman.
And you know what? She was thrilled. All excited about this. Will talk later. Love you, good-bye.
I really have so little to rebel against.
That night we decided to take advantage of the tub and get bubble bath. But first, there'll be some drinking. I don't drink often. Probably 10x a year is a heavy year, so when I do... I'm GONE! ! After some apple martinis (sorry, but I can only do sour stuff) we were off to find bubble bath. And being that my judgement was off a bit, I poured the entire contents in. I also learned that being drunk in deep hot water with too much soap is not good for a long life. I don't understand what happens, but it was like our butts became balloons and we were totally unable to sit without going butt up like a messed up Weebil. I was probably out back picking my nose when they handed out the romance gene. Perhaps I met Mark there and we were destined to meet again.
You know what is great about Vegas? You can walk around with a puffed out purple face and a Krispy Kreme doughnut hat on your head and no one looks twice.
Where to next?
Mark wants to go to the Grand Canyon. His idea, and I swear this is not an exaggeration, was to go to the GC, hike down, spend a night, hike up and go back to LA. Two days! Yeah well, this is the GRAND canyon. Not the not bad canyon, not the good for a first attempt canyon. Every Guide we met on the way as we got maps looked at him funny. I think he got away with it because he's an Aussie. He had to be joking. Oh those nutty Aussies. Where was I? Why wasn't I involved in this planning? I was too busy squeezing my head so it wouldn't explode and keeping my head down against my knees to keep my eyeballs in. Hiking was not on my agenda, but unfortunately neither were reason, logic or audible speech.
We got to where we could camp up above (he realized no one was going to let him try to get down) and set up camp. We decided to go find this here Grand Canyon. When we got to the fence Mark said, "That's a big hole." And then he looked down and saw how deep this big hole was. Then we lost it. I was in great pain, but the giggles just hit and I couldn't save myself. Oh sure... HIKE DOWN! in a day... but hey, you trip and fall, you might get there, but hiking up in a day? Tee and a hee! We got distracted from our giggles by a squirrel who was on the edge and just running amok. Probably not amok and totally with a plan, but it looked amok to us. We both got very serious. Doesn't he realize this is a big hole!??!?
We passed the night on the part of the world where the ground is the hardest! Always good for a night after the hangover. The next morning we left. Now remember, we had and at this time have no plans. We're just driving. Sure, it'd be nice to stay longer, but we were just, you know, in the Grand Canyon hood (compared to Australia) and why not just stop for a look-see? And it was his birthday and he wanted to see it. I never refuse a man who breaks my face.
Now we have an agenda. Get back the day before Mark leaves. Hop on the internet somewhere, make a reservation at yet another tourist place that has no one there, do Disneyland or some other version of institutionalized fun and get him out. I don't let people miss planes.
Anaheim. The Heim of Ana. Void in anything interesting, but a plethora of nice hotels with really cheap rates.
I had to show him the Outback Steakhouse and he had a lot of fun letting the waiter do some crappy Aussie accent and then ordering in his own gen-u-ine accent. It's not a good restaurant, but hey... we went to steal the menu (and did). The Wallabydarns were okay, too.
Off to Disneyland. Why? Because ... because we were too tired to drive anywhere else (I have read Fast Food Nation and am not keen on giving $$ to Walt's company, but I was too tired to protest. I was going for easy fun). $7 for parking (not a good sign...freaky anti-semetic mouse!) and then two weather beaten men approached us and asked if we paid already. Of course we hadn't, we don't have that shellshocked look on us. One said to come with them, and naturally, being suckers for more punishment, we did. We got to the gate and the woman took the first guy's ticket and said, "This is for you and 3 guests? Are these your guests?" He said, "Yes ma'am." We all got in and he gave us the tickets and said it was good for both parks, and have fun! He said everyone else was just too freaked or said they had tickets. Well, let's hear it for being trusting and it paying off! That's about $120 that Walt didn't get. Okay, we were stuck when it came to food, but hey.... $7 to get here? Worked for us. It was about time we had luck on our side.
We had all of our stuff in the car and left to go to the airport. When you go to Australia, you leave LAX between 10:30 and 11:50 pm, depending on where you're going (BNE SYD ...). We had the time to amuse ourselves at a park and then fly out. As the USA was still in the midst of the fear sphere, we had to get there 4 hours early. And we'd have done that on time had we not had a flat in who knows where. It was dark. That was all I knew. The service people weren't going to come, you got that idea, so Mark just fixed the flat and I held my flashlight (thank goodness we had camping plans) to wave the cars exiting the freeway away from the squishy Aussie. The flat was on the driver's side. Oh lady luck you hate us so.
Okay, back on the road but we're too late to do the rental car first, so I drop him off first, say good-bye and see you in December and get to the rental agency. I called my friend in LA and she was going to meet me at one of the many groovy diners. I turned off the phone and cabbed it.
While I was telling her the story, Mark was hanging out outside of the airport with 2908374509837 other people. Seems there was an anthrax scare right as I was digging into some nice homemade cobbler.
And really that was it.
I went downunder the following December for a few months. Nothing exciting there. We were living as we would were I to come down. All went well and here I am. Sure, I had to come back. You have to do all sorts of stuff to immigrate to the only country that is meaner to immigrants than the US, but that's not blogworthy. Basically I had to apply for the visa on US soil and get married on Aussie soil. That was horrible for having any kind of wedding. We wanted to have a wedding in the US as I knew more people or to elope. Neither were options as I had to know ahead of time who was marrying us. Because of DIMIA (Dept of Immigration, Multicultural and Indigenous Affairs... and don't get me started about tossing the indigenous in at the end of a group that starts off with immigrants. Totally offensive, in my opinion, but no one ever asks) and its rules, I was not fussed or excited about the wedding. But that was okay. I was never a white wedding woman to start with. I didn't want it to be the best day of my life. Leaves the next days as wanting. I know Mark agrees. Being married to a guy I am smitten kitten over is great. Pomp and circumstance is not (for me).
We got hitched on (US) Thanksgiving Day and only celebrate that day. Not the date. I can't tell you the date we said "I do", but I can tell you it was Thanksgiving 2002. I mean really.... Why celebrate the date? If you got married on a Saturday, why not celebrate that first Saturday in March or whatever?
Now I gotta run. Literally. I have a 3 hour run and this blog has left me concentrating too hard and the breakfast blast just isn't happening.
(Columbus Marathon 2005. Was born in Columbus. Had moved to an apartment we ran past when I was packing up to move to Oz.)
From now on, there'll be more athletic stuff and dreams. But not the one I just had last night where I picked up Mark's kids for a visitation and discovered we were all wearing pleather pants and plimsoles à la 80s.
# posted by IHateToast : 6/11/2006 12:22:00 PM
Saturday, June 10, 2006
I'm so behind on my blogging it boggles the blogger.
I've been trying to get the story out into cyberspace of how I met the marathon running god seen above. I've also been trying to run without pain (oh funny!), doing yoga without pain (not as funny, but nearly as painful), and continuing with my French (no pain, lots of fun, sadly no finisher's shirt).
We've realized we've reached over 20 foster dogs (Jonesy above giving running advice... less curry) and had to catch up on the dogblog. I had a friend over for 2 weeks and am behind on publishing that blog (the homesick blog). And then to top it all off, work keeps me busy and tired. Where is a slacker with 66 wpm to find the time to blog?
I've even had dreams about bloggers. I am not behind on reading blogs though. Nice thing about being married to a fellow cyber geek, is that he'll read some out to me. Unfortunately my comments then are oral. But it does help for him to read them out to me while I do the dishes or squeeze the blackheads from a dog's chest. Here you can see him blogging while icing a boo boo.
To be sure, I'll be up to date soon. I'm flooded with internal notes on my tangents and dreams. I even had a dream about blogger Scott. He had a very talented and flexible squirrel that he taught to do weird poses (yoga influences?). This blogger worries about his weight a lot and in the dream I only saw bits of his hand, arm and shoulder (it was a video posted on his site just of his squirrel) and thought he didn't look fat. Does this mean I blog too much or I am sending a message saying I'm behind?
Would anyone advise me on how to put links up on the side? I did it once and forgot how. Help me, Obiwan!
(okay, had to redo my template and start over. thanks to view source, selecting and pasting, i'm working my way through fixing this one. one step at a time. needle noses will have to wait.)
# posted by IHateToast : 6/10/2006 07:06:00 PM
Thursday, June 01, 2006
Mark and Katy, part doo: What not to do when traveling with a stranger
Where did we leave off?
Ah yes. We’re both on line and we’ve decided to chat.
And that’s all we do for a year. But what is our fair young single teacher doing during this time? She’s not pining over Mark as his photo displayed a guy looking far too serious for me to take seriously. He wasn’t even smiling, just staring at the camera looking like he’s going to tell you your favourite Aunt just passed. Oh well, he’s a great chatter and gives good man-vice and for that I give him woman-vice.
I was getting annoyed with the system. I’d left Udate and tried others. I was all about my free two-week trials. Mark and I had exchanged our own (gasp! So daring!) email addresses and chat media. I didn’t need these others to entertain myself with this goofy Aussie. The problem with moving around so much chasing down my free trials is that you never are any where long enough to take it seriously. That’s hard enough as it is. So I decided to plunk it down and use my free trials to create the anti-Katy.
I was getting the feeling, after reading some of the letters from zee boys, that they’ll write to anything living, breathing, wearing a skirt (provided they were straight boys). I got the idea of the anti-Katy from another guy whom I long since lost touch with, but who only did fake personalities (carnies, fire cracker stuffers… you name it!). Sigh. I hope he found someone. He was a riot. Anyhoo, Krystalle was born.
If I said my favourite shows were on the Discovery Channel or Animal Planet, then hers were soaps.
If greens and blues were my favourite colours, then hers were pastel pinks and light blues.
If I was 5’5” and 125 lbs, brunette and outdoorsy; she was 5’10” and 115 lbs, blonde and into nice nights at home with Readers’ Digest.
I remember some of the questions, too. “What do you find sexy?”
Katy: Hairy legs!
Krystalle: I don’t feel comfortable with that word because it promotes “sex.” I could tell you what I respect in a man, and that’s manners.
Oh, I was having fun creating her. She was tall, too skinny, blonde… and with no photo, the boys decided she was hot! My plan was to read her letters first then see if any of those boys wrote to me. Those who did would clearly write to anything alive! Unfortunately one guy became upset that Krystalle never wrote back. I wasn’t going to lead them on any more… I didn’t feel bad to create her as it was filtering out those who were “carpet bagging” (I have a friend who works as a designer at Match.com and that’s what they call it when a guy just sends one letter to many women). So I decided to check out this guy’s profile before telling him that I (Krystalle) was happily dating and didn’t know how to express that…blah blah blah.. really, she was nauseating. When I saw that he had over 10 photos, I thought… no way am I sending anything before checking these out. 10?!?! You pay for that out your nose. TEN?!? And were those ten ever so glorious! Each and every one of them was of this guy posing with no shirt on and flexing to show the abs on his skinny little torso. All were like that! Perhaps looking this way or angling that way, but the boy was topless and flexed in each one. Wonderful! Ammo….
“I apologize for not writing sooner. I didn’t know how to write what my reaction was to your photos. While I find your letters lovely and warm, I was not comfortable with all your photos. You might see it as posing without a shirt. I see it as posing half nude and trying to be sexy. As you recall, I am very conservative and am not comfortable with sexiness.” Or something like that. Really. She was dreadful. He wrote back saying he understood, and I was off the guilt hook.
So the year was more entertaining than successful for me. I’m picky. We all should be.
I had quit my job as a teacher and already found an apartment in Columbus, OH. I was going to go back to school in zoology! I was determined. One last hurrah before I lose all my $$ to tuition. Mark and I decided why not meet for a holiday in California. I know plenty of people there, so if he turns out to be a dud with blackheads on his butt that desperately need squeezing, I had places to hide.
We bought our tickets in August 2001, we’ll meet in October. Plans were to just wing it. Tour around, see a national park or two. Camp. Shove off and continue on as penpals.
Before I left, I gave my mobile number to enough friends who’d call at various times to make sure I wasn’t meat chunks on the road. I don’t think he took those precautions. I really should have whacked the guy with a skillet just to show him a lesson!
Some things happen in September around the 11th. Mark even told me about it. We were online and he types in “The World Trade Center.” Huh? Is this some game? “Eiffel Tower?” So, even a big event like this was pretty much shared with Mark.
I tell him he doesn’t have to come. I’d more than understand any hesitation. But he was determined. I bet he was thinking what I was thinking. They don’t usually strike the same way twice. Even the other time the WTC was attacked was in a different manner. As far as I was concerned, the skies were the safest place to be.
I was to go a day before he arrives, find a place to hang and then enjoy CA on my own. He’d come the next morning and we’d be off for two weeks doing whatever and planning as we go.
That was the plan… but Lennon said, “Life is what happens when you make other plans.”
I must have emailed him and told him where I was staying, because I got this call…
“This is Mahk.” (oooh, the Australian accent… cool. We’d never spoken before. He really is Australian.)
“Cool! Hi! You must be calling from those phones on the plane. Nice reception. Pricey?”
“Er…. Ner… I’m at home. I missed the plane.”
“YOU’RE CHICKENING OUT, YOU WUSS!” I say demurely and not at all accusingly.
“No no no. I’m getting the next plane.”
“You’re mad! It’ll be expensive.”
“No, it’s alright. I found a doctor who said I was too sick to travel. I’ll get it back from traveller’s insurance.”
Oh, devious and cunning. Me likes. Too bad he’s not a smiler and otherwise not attractive to me, he’d totally be my style. See, I”ve learned that men use photos that make them look much better than they do. Probably because the photos were taken when they were 25. Women are more realistic. It’s true. Or rather, it’s not. We think we’re fatter and older than we look. At least our surprises are pleasant.
“I’ll be there at the right time tomorrow.” He says this like he’s missed the bus. I’ve nearly missed many flights, international and domestic, and it usually turns my insides into ice water. But hey… his dollaridoos on that one. I have another day to wander around LA.
You’d not recognize the airport as Tom Bradley. It was empty. I waited for Mark with 3 other families. No one was travelling except for freaks who meet on the internet.
I’m still waiting when this strapping young buck comes walking out looking bewildered, tired, and happy. He’s a cutie. Now where’s Mark?
Baroo? “Mark?” Bugger! He’s cute! What am I going to do? What if I like him? He lives so far away… Man… This will be like summer camp but no reunion next summer. Man…
Yeah well… sucked face on the bus. See, you can’t park near LAX so you get shuttled out to Arizona. I’m not that easy, but hey… I’ve already chatted the boy up and lo and behold, he’s a cutiebiscuit. And why not? It’s summer camp! What is summer camp without the snogging?
And that was the last time our trip was easy.
Mark wanted to go to Tijuana. Why? I don’t know. I think T is made to look edgy in movies. You see men smoking, drinking, playing poker with music in the background and the women are all hot and bodacious. In reality, you have women from Iowa getting cheap vanilla and frat boys buying rohipnol. But the boy wants to go and he’s a guest in my country. Who am I to refuse?
I have to say that my brain works only at the wrong times. As we were driving into Mexico, I remembered that we didn’t get permission to go there nor did I get his name on the rental car. He lost the reservation and I just made another in my name. He was getting his luggage when I was getting the car. Where is this realization at the last turn off before Mexico?!?!? Eh. What can go wrong? We’re not young and hip enough to attract attention.
Once in Mexico, Mark is having me drive here and there looking for Tijuana.
“THIS is Tijuana.” Ah the border town. Never as hip as it comes off in the movies. We decide to park at a shopping centre and just look around. I’m starting to feel sick (planes make me sick) and all I want is a place to buy bottled water. I start drinking lots of it. Eventually I give in and tell him I’m dying… let’s go back to the States.
Mark offers to drive and again, I’m not thinking. I’m curled into the fetal position. Sure fine. Drive, but I have to call my mom for drugs and then rest.
I don’t think Mark is even 2 meters from the parking space when the cop comes to pull us over. He wants our papers. I lean over to the glove compartment and hope he doesn’t smell that I have just relieved myself…I’ve just crapped my future into my days-of-the-week undies. I’m screwed. I know what papers he’s asking for and I’m playing dumb getting the passports. I’m going to turn 50 in a Mexican jail.
Sure enough, he doesn’t fall for it. According to him, we’re in deep trouble. We’ve stolen the car. His interpretation of my mistake. And Mark isn’t to be driving. That I’m sweating and curled into a ball doesn’t matter. Ebola could be bursting every cell in my body and I could be bleeding out of my eyes, but Mark is not to drive this car. He tells us we’re going to have to follow him to the police station.
WELCOME TO TIJUANA, HAVE A NICE CAVITY SEARCH!
Luckily the next word out of the policeman’s mouth was “but.”
“But I could help you out.” Yeah, I bet you could Senor Bribe. And sure enough, he passed a book to us and we filled it with glee. At least nowadays, one doesn’t travel with all the cash already out. With ATMs, you can just take a bit. Anyway, Senor Bribe’s kids will have good dental work thanks to us.
Wow! We had to bribe ourselves back into the U.S. We even got a police escort to the border. I think that was his way of marking us as “these morons have no cash, not bribeworthy!” Every trip has its snafu, this was ours. At it was early and we were laughing at it.
Oh silly woman.
I had been drinking liters of water. Liters. Oceans! And now we’re in line to get back to the U.S. Since 11 September, the border has become a wee tighter. The lines were long and not moving. A certain bladder was filling. I was sweating, rolling, rocking, moaning. Mark says, “Just run over there and pee in the bushes.”
“Are you nucking futs?!?! This is the Mexican-U.S. border! If the doobie farmers don’t blow me away, the U.S. Border Patrol will riddle me fancy with their guns!”
“Well, what are you going to do?”
This is when I spied with my little eye, one small plastic bag in the back seat. Mark had gone to the Melbourne Show (think State Fair of Victoria) and brought me a Bertie Beetle showbag. It was filled with a few chocolates of Bertie Beetle and some inflatable toy. It was about to become my backseat toilet.
Forty-five minutes later, we’re through to the U.S. and I’m screaming at Mark to ignore reason and cut across traffic to that exit to the gas station. Do it now or we’re scrubbing seats for 2 weeks.
One big aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah later and we’re heading back to San Diego. I encourage Mark to drink with his new-found Youth Hostel buddies, while I call my mom (an MD, not a dealer) and ask for drugs. I go to the drugstore when, I swear, the old and infirm of San Diego go to die and wait for my antibiotics. I wander back, take my meds and then try to sleep it off, but I can’t.
I can’t sleep it off, because Mark keeps coming in, progressively drunker each time, to declare, “You’re gonna be me woif!” Yeah, whatever, Dundee. Go away! Go play, drink more beer if you want, but piss off. I promise to be a joy in the morning. Sure enough, 5 minutes later, again he declares in a slur that I’m going to be his woif. After a few more of these interruptions, I feign a deep sleep that he can’t disturb.
We’ve been together 3 days. Arrive, find place to stay, bribe ourselves out of Mexico, get told I'm to be some drunk's wife.
We're off to Arizona now. Can you see my skin cracking? I drove the entire way, because I was not going to be busted by a U.S. cop. They don't take bribes... or they can't be counted on it.
We find a nice little motel in Phoenix (pah hone ix... so love that commercial). We're sitting side by side on the bed looking at maps, planning stuff. The Arizona State Fair is on. BONUS! I get a bit bored of the planning, I'm ready to explore this glorious state being ruined by golfers. So I lean to my right. Lean behind Mark and goose him a good one!
Seems the boy is ticklish (I was counting on that). Seems he was jumpy (even better). Seems my face was right behind his elbow when he flinched (not quite on my humor list).
"GET SOME ICE! I NEED ICE!" I yell as I check my mouth for loose teeth and a bad mandible. Oh, did I not mention that 3 years before getting my face creamed by an Australian elbow (oh they're all brutes!) I had a "le Forte I" on my face? Yeah, entire mandible removed, 3mm of bone shaved off, mandible held in place with 4 bracket like things. So I'm checking to see if I'll actually have my upper mouth bits or if I can just retire early to soft foods. So I'm checking and my face seems to be okay except for the minor problem of looking like the love child of a human and a plum. Mark finds and hands to me ice that wouldn't cover a hamster's patella. "I NEED A BIT MORE ICE, DUDE!" I direct the Aussie down the hall and all is okay after that.
Really, it didn't hurt. Happened too fast to hurt. If you pressed it, I'd have smacked your face and bitten your ear, but left alone, it was okay. Pretty, really. A beautiful shade of purple. Oh well, poo happens. We had things to do. First, we had to get more money. See above. We had to get Mark signed on as an additional driver for the rental car. See above.
Surely this trip couldn't get worse.
....to be continued....
What you can find on the internet, part one: The boring part
I had a hot date with my hubby at lunch today. I was a little disappointed that it did not in with necking in the back seat of the car. I wonder if he still likes me? I heard he necked with Julie at homecoming... what's wrong with me?!??! Anyway, I have flex time at work and because work owes me time, I could take a nice long lunch with this incredible man I call my lervemunkee.
I also ran my 10k well tonight. And who was there with me? Lervemunkee. He's much better than I am. Wait...NO... so not true. He's much FASTER that I am. I'm actually the better runner. I sleep in and run later, I always stop to fart, and I run to Russian folk songs and French children's songs. This makes me better! His running with me was his way of inspiring me to not fall asleep while I run and he could just have an easy run.
I can't really tell you what I thought about as I was bitching to my inner self about a woman at work who seriously needs to be throttled. I cannot blog about work as I enjoy my employment. And while I want her throttled and I can vent by running and planning her throttling, I am not so inhuman that I would ever want her to read my bitchiness. So, all you can know is that when I get angry and pissy, I tend to run faster.
As I was icing my leg, and by icing my leg, I do not mean I was spreading a big can of frosting over my leg, but that sounds fun. ... As I was icing my leg, I was watching my sweet baboo, my lervemunkee, my Australian-pithicus watch the State of Origin match (yawn) and I realized that I owed you an explanation on how I married a guy I met on the internet who inconveniently lived in Marsupialopia.
1) Fall 2000: A friend comes over with a Time magazine and some article about online dating. She said she is trying it but wants to have a friend do the same, too. I have been on too many lame-o set ups that I was game for anything that didn't involve the nosy parents of my students.
I looked at the various sites. Okay, they're all cheesy. I was going to have to embrace the cheese. I picked Udate. It's defunct now. OR bought out by another company. But anyway, Udate it was.
I diddle around with my profile. Decide it's as good as it's going to get and this will be fun even if it doesn't work, because hey... some of those photos those boys were putting up were priceless! And I have the right attitude... a bad date makes a great story.
I find the perfect photos of me and put them up. As you can see, I was trying to convey the image of a demure texan belle. I thought surely this would explain to most that I am not a fluffy dollop of doe-eyed puppy cream. I also chose the name "Aschenputtel" for Cinderella. I studied the artificial fairy tale of Germany when I dallied in graduate school.
Do you know how these things are set up? They have their own email system and chat system. Udate called their chat "whisper." I'm not keen on whispering. You say whisper, and I flashback to first grade and some person's hot breath moistening up my ears. Ew. So, I'm stuck. EtC... Embrace the cheese! Now while I thought my photos would filter out those that want a hot chick and my name would just bore the jerks, I didn't realize that men are pretty keen on talking to anything... ANYTHING THAT BREATHES!
I remember this opening whisper... "Hey, is that a Texas ass you have?" Why, yes it is. Let's meet and suck face, you're so brainy, I love you but don't want to commit, you can see other women while I just wait for you.... Now, the bonus to online dating is the ability to block someone. You try that in a bar or just on a blind date set up by parents of your students, you could be in trouble. Face to face, you have to be nice. Pah. DELETE! BLOCK! GAWN! And I became skilled in the way of blocking.
Then I get this... "Do you like the way your legs burn when you get to the bottom of a hill?"
Huh? Someone read my profile and saw that I liked to ski and wrote about that? No reference to my butt? No, "you seem like you like to party." Yeah, I don't use 'party' as a verb. I can't.
So... Let's look at this guy's profile... Australia? Excellent. Won't ever have to meet him. See, you exchange a few emails and people want to meet. Not me. I am all about not meeting. Once we meet, it's just a big gelatinous glob of disappointment. Let's see... there's the guy who told me his car is one of only 5 in Texas of this make and then he proceeded to then "wink" at another car like his as he was taking me all over the farm roads outside Dallas. Wink by doing one headlight down. Oh my great googlymoogly! Do men think this is cool? There's the guy who told me I could be funny if I weren't so sarcastic. He could be interesting if he weren't so boring. The FBI guy who was involved with the TX savings and loan bust ups who could only tell me his philosophy of child rearing. I was a teacher. I don't want to talk this crap outside of my work. And he wore a Bill Cosby sweater...sorry, I just couldn't. Is wrong to show lack of interest? Why drag it on?
A guy from Australia... Great! Chat, email... never meet. Look at his photo... Oh, perfect. Not really a hottie. Kind of dumpy. Excellent. I won't have lusty thoughts about some guy in a far faraway land. Perfect.
We end up chatting and emailing for a year. He'd tell me about his dating and his successes and I'd tell him about how I think everyone is scum and Dallas men annoy the hell out of me. I'd wake up at 4:30 to get ready for the gym, and while I ate breakfast and waited for the breakfast blast to clear me to head to the gym, we'd IM. He was getting ready for bed. I don't think he knew that I was chatting with him with goo in my eyes, sloppily chugging muesli and waiting to poop. Somethings even I don't share on the internet... ahem.
He'd advise me and listen as I cried about a guy who really hurt me, and I'd tell him what I think a woman really meant when she said something that confused him.
Summer came, I had decided that teaching forever was not in my blood and I quit, sold my house, and moved to Ohio to start school at OSU. I studied at Miami U for ugrad, hated that place and was hoping another Ohio attempt could cure my Miami ills. Oh, and I had a good friend in Columbus.
to be continued next week....part two: the exciting bits
Katy decides to create a second profile, the anti-Katy
Mark and Katy decide to meet early October 2001... an ideal time for international travel
Mark breaks Katy's face
# posted by IHateToast : 5/24/2006 09:04:00 PM
Tuesday, May 23, 2006
Been lax, that's the facts, my husband wears funny slacks
The vicious hairy Mary is gone and I'm in a funk. To top it off, I'm not well in the head. No, really. Migraines. Totally robbed me of sleep last night. No sleep = no dreams.
4 Issues I'm having....
1) Body image. Always have struggled with it (was 80-85 pounds as a 17 year old) but to see an old photo from my early 20s with a rockhardandflat tummy... and a face with no wrinkles. It was as if I've aged since then. I'm really not happy about it. Glad I'm not the idiot of yesteryear, but not too keen that the idiots get the youthful appearance. And before you blabber on about "oh no, you look fine" I have been accused of being preggers. Okay, fine if I were, but it's not good when i'm not! I'm naming my kid Gutface Lardass Cashew (a combination of Lervemunkee's and my last names).
2) Immigrant homesickness.
3) My legs hate me
Good things that make waking up great....
1) My lervemunkee. He took care of me when I was whimpering with a migraine. See, I don't get these. They're new to me. Now I know that coffee helps, but I'm allergic. I get the itchy nose thing that makes me look like I'm booger obsessed and I cough. Coughing and rubbing the face... there's a look! Beats the migraine though.
2) My pets love me.
3) I'm 38 and can still crack up with my friend and do a wee bit of tinkle in the undies. Yeah... two words... foam cave. More on that later.
4) can't think of a 4th.
Blogging would be easier if it was an acceptable thing to do at work.
Gotta go. I've got icy feet and a warm husband. It's like marital Reece's Peanut Butter Cups!
# posted by IHateToast : 5/23/2006 09:47:00 PM
Monday, May 15, 2006
Posting from Cairns
I shouldn't be doing this. I've done no athletic anything since I've been here. But Bella's post on her shinnies and ITBeeties tells me that just chillin' will be good.
But this is a quick post. We're at an internet cafe as it rains (again) today. I'm not sure my keyboard isn't really an agar dish loaded with more microscopic critters than a bucket of the Ganges. I am also not totally sure that those weird smudges on my screen aren't boogers from some backpacker from Doodledekk Finland.
I can tell you that I'm faithfully taking notes of my dreams and other things. I'll probably post on my mac.com blog, but I'll link it up here. Let's just say that there's a big tale involving a bit of tinkle in the pannies (I don't say panties... I just can't) due to uncontrolable laughter in a place that requests "behaviour stickers" at the front desk.
So, yes, the weather hasn't been great for going to the beach, but we've been to the rainforest (always good when there's rain) and the Atherton Table Landth. Tomorrow we're hitting Green Island. I was last there as a 15 year old. Wheeee!
bye. time to wash my hands in bleach!
p.s. since i met my hubby on the internet, he broke my face in 3 days of knowing him, we had to bribe the mexican police to get out of mexico... would anyone want the real story? i've been told to document this. i'm just not sure.
# posted by IHateToast : 5/15/2006 12:52:00 PM
Thursday, May 11, 2006
I'm a mutant!
And durned proud of it, thank you very much, love your hair, hope you win!
They've measured my legs and there's not one, but two 2 cm difference. 'Splains a lot, Loooocy. And it also seems I'm tighter in front, too. Tight hammies, tight baby cows, and now, one leg with tight quads. I don't really appreciate asymmetry in my own body. Okay with Picasso, and in some faces, it's cute quirky; however, I'm not overly keen on it if it's causing pain for me. Oh, and my right patella is a slut. I think the sports GP said "loose", but we all know the truth, don't we. Could this be from where I was running and dreaming and then later falling on the rocks on the side of the river? I remember that being a real bang up on the right side. I also remember that I cut a lovely scratch in my iPod (dopi backwards). Like Final Destination, the iPod cheated death then and death tried to come back when I dropped it on the treadmill and watched then rocket back to the wall behind me. That killed the screen, but not the willingness to play. Blind, but not dead. Death came later when I lost it at the airport. You can't cheat gadget death. Anyway, I learned how to tape up my knee. If I do that, I'll have to get pretty markers to decorate it. Knee tats.
Anyway, I have about 93798478938 cm of felt under one heel. I am thinking of running with the right member of these with my normal novizio bilancio shoes.
I'm sure the bunny will command respect at races.
Okay, Mary and I are off to Cairns tomorrow. Mark is making me pack (hear the whip crack).... mean old coot! And between packing and sleeping, I have an assortment of stretches to do... this is NOT including the piece de la resistance ... Les Splits. I may be strung tighter than a Fender, but I'm determined.
# posted by IHateToast : 5/11/2006 08:26:00 AM
Monday, May 08, 2006
Scary commuting dreams and bad songs
I don't know. Could have been that Mark's choice for DVD rental was Wolf Creek. He hates how I squirm in scary movies or stressful shows (had to be sedated to watch Frasier) and he chooses Wolf Creek?!?! Don't get me wrong, I'm glad. I like scary movies or some... but I get scared. THAT'S THE POINT! So I went to bed a little scared. Watching "The Making of..." helps me to detox... takes some of the mystery out. Good before I go to bed, but still. I think I was too jacked up to properly sleep.
I had this dream where work was now moved for a few weeks. I was to ride my bike to work like normal, but then follow Paul (previously mentioned co-worker with no fear of traffic) to the new place. Fine. But that was before I had to follow him up and down curbs (kerbs here) and then through inner city subterranean food courts. Paul always looked like he was going smoothly on a ramp, but when I got there, STEPS. No way was I going down lots of steps on a bike. Not without my stunt double. So then I had to get off and carry the bike, which turned out more precarious as I was wearing rubber slippers. What? We make it to work all nasty and sweaty and there are no showers. The new office, when I think about it, is like the creepy abandoned mine slash torture zone from Wolf Creek. (shivers)
Less scary, but more painful was yestiddy's run. I had to do 2 hours. Yeah, had to. I did two circuits of a large loop that takes me along the river as it bends around a pocket. Rich and old suburbs, so the houses (not the people) were visually stimulating. My shins caused me no pain, and I was really tickled about that. Until 48 minutes when I was going down a small hill and my right knee decided that I was too happy. Intermitent, but always there.... lurking... waiting to remind me that I had nerve endings. Well, I made it. At 2 hours I thought, "It's not far to the car, I'll just keep running." At 2:01 my knee said, "that's bewl sheet!" and walk to the put-in I did. Not quite an ice bath, but cool enough.
Because I'm a good person and the cosmos loves me....
Right by my car was the ice cream truck! So there I sat, with ice packs on my shins (just in case), knee, and outer thigh, eating a raspberry popsicle.
I did collect a 3 L bottle of Coke. I hate to see the rubbish along the way, and every day for the last 2 weeks, I've made a point of collecting what can be recycled and taking it home. I was worried that I'd forget after 2 hours, but there was an empty 3L bottle. Who needs that much Coke in a sitting?
I had a hard time thinking while I ran. Couldn't get three songs from rotating in my mental juke box and I don't even like these... Thriller by Michael Jackson (I have NEVER owned one of his albums), and that song that goes "ooooo oooh child things are gonna get easier, ooo oooh child things will get brighter... some day (some day) we'll get it together and we'll get it undone" and then "i'm not talking 'bout movin' in, and I don't wanna change your life, but there's a warm wind blowin' the stars around and I'd really love to see you tonight."
WHERE DID THOSE COME FROM!? And I couldn't shake them. I'd think... Why am I singing X?! Well, at least it's not Y like at 50 minutes.... then Y would be stuck in my head and I'd be grateful it wasn't Z. And so the cycle continued. At least I didn't have bad songs for A-W. I'd be committed by now.
# posted by IHateToast : 5/08/2006 06:33:00 AM
Saturday, May 06, 2006
Are you kidding me?!
I've not had my long run yet. Had my legs zapped at the physio on Thursday and I promised her I wouldn't run until Sunday. And due to this and other late appointments (physios, pubs, whatever) I've not been on my bike since Thursday morning. I was wondering if I was ever going to have something to fret about.
I do! What joy! I could get molested by a cyclist. I don't know. I just assumed that all runners and cyclists were the good guys. Except that runner who ran in his speedos only... That was visually criminal. But now I have to worry about getting my boobalies grabbed along with not spacing out or hitting runners with ears blocked by head phones.
Oh... and during the Brisbane Marathon, a runner was hit by a cyclist and down in the Gold Coast, a cyclist was killed by a motorist (hit and run).
I could get depressed about all this, but ... Nice people just don't make the news. I need to remember that. And to stretch. Going to do the splits by 2007!
# posted by IHateToast : 5/06/2006 07:49:00 PM
Friday, May 05, 2006
Che, fear, and new goals set for mid 2006!
I look like Che Guevara when I cycle. I could also say I look like most honky grid iron players from the 70s, but that doesn't sound as edgy. I took this photo on Thursday, yestiddy.
Sort of look like Golden Richards. Or was it Sterling?
Imagine this lovely park at night. No lights. I am coming in from the left and what you might not realize is that the path veers every so lightly so that I start to face the on coming cars. Not for long, but long enough to blind me, cause me to curse and then ride wobbly as I dodge the enormous white light spots that dance in front of me.
Today I was supposed to ride home at 5, but people were heading to a bar and I said sure. Why not? My plan was to walk the bike to the pub. It's only 3 city blocks away. I don't ride in the city. I don't know why, I've never tried it. I'll do the bike path, but the CBD (downtown, central bidniss district) is a place for cars and pedestrians, me thoughts. The co-worker gets his bike and mounts it.
"You're going to ride there?"
"....okay..." (I think.)
Up the sidewalk we go (yes, I can do this)
Then we cross the street (yes, to the next sidewalk)
But Paul, commuting since he was fetal, does not get to the other side. He turns and goes down the STREET! This is Friday around 5:30 pm. No one would be on the road wanting to either get home or get loaded. So this chicken didn't get to cross the road, I trailed him. (I'm doing it, I'm coping, I'm following the dubious leader)
It's segue time (can't touch this).
You know I knit, right? Sure. Made all sorts of things last year for my friends' holiday presents. Made a yoga mat bag. Made this:
Just finished my yoga socks. working on something to keep me warm in these chilly subtropical nights. I LOVE to knit. Bought a spinning wheel and drop spindle and want to learn to spin. I do not want to know how to WEAVE!
NO WEAVING! Not one of my interests.
But Co-Worker Paul is weaving in and out of these cars. Granted the cars aren't moving much ... at all, but I see angry commuters who already hate cyclists. Those bumpers could make my shin splints split! I kept up the best I could, but then gave up one block short of the pub. While I was waiting for Mr GreenManWalking to make his appearance, I thought about fear and poop.
Usually, when I get scared, I think, "Scare the sh*t out of me" or "I nearly crapped myself." Basically, sudden poopin'. However, tonight I was given a memo from my bowels informing me that there'll be no exiting of anything for the next 3 weeks. Why? Why not sudden exiting?
Sudden fear = immediate problems.
Fear in duration = no need to stock up on toilet paper anytime soon.
Left the pub after one soda (yeah, I make no one proud) and thought about riding home... I could do it. I'll walk to the park and then ride the path slowly. I can do it. I big girl now. But nah... I'm tired and I have stuff to read. Let's ride. Good thing. When I got of the train to ride just the length of one street, I notice that my rechargable batteries in my headlamp are dead. I missed riding 36 minutes in the dark. Aw... breaks my heart!
NEW GOALS FOR 2006... January as goal-setting month is so passé.
I supposed to be stretching my calves and hammies. Why stop there?! I'll never be a fast runner. I won't be running in Boston unless someone takes my bag. I need different goals. Why just stop at being more limber. I want to do the splits. I never could, but I decided that if an old guy can do the splits nude on ice, I could, too, fully clothed in the comfort of my own home.
Now I gotta go.
Someone has some stretching to do! See you at Nadia's house!
# posted by IHateToast : 5/05/2006 08:01:00 PM
Tuesday, May 02, 2006
Haven't thought too much lately
Mark paced me during my 3km time trial. My only thoughts were along the line of changing my fitness regime to include more pillows.
Tomorrow is my mid-week long run. I'm up to an hour now. Whoo hoo! There'll be plenty of tangents! And we bought a book by Julia Thorn on nice runs around Australia, so my 2hr run on the weekend will be something new. I bore easily.
But at the end of these runs, I have this to look forward to.... Musings of a Texan in Oz: When one of us suffers, we all suffer!.... my husband says he loves me, I'm not so sure.... I sense he enjoys this a bit too much. This post is under all of my blogs, as it is the first to unite....greyhounds, running, and domestic bliss here in Oz. I apologize in advance for repeats.
Oh jeez. He's home now. I gotta set up the torture mat again. Maybe if I'm really quiet, he won't notice I'm here.....
# posted by IHateToast : 5/02/2006 10:20:00 PM
Monday, May 01, 2006
The great equalizer!
Yestiddy my lervemunkee ran the Brisbane Marathon. I couldn't cheer him on as I volunteered as a back up timer. Basically, I was at the finish line for 6 hours tink tink tinking as the finishers crossed. There were 4 of us with these timers that had paper tape. As one tinked, the printer printed out the time. We'd tink for 100 runners then walk with #100, pull his/her tag, go to the tag collecters and say this is 100. They'd band up the numbers and then the timer would wait in line for the next time to tink.
I've always felt the finish line is the big equalizer. I don't care if you come in at 3:10 or 5:10, after 42.128kms/26.2 miles, you're pretty much looking dead. Even the strong finishers look the same. If you finish strong at 3:10 you're looking no better or stronger than those that finish strong after 2 more hours. It is really quite amazing, and it's a reminder to all those who praise only the speedy, that everyone who has finished has run their own amazing race. Perhaps the pacers are the exception, but how many are those in a race, really... They have a big enough job to remember not to run their PB but to get hopefuls to the next time chunk. So they're a special exception, not a lazy one, of course.
I wish more people who finished would remember that those coming in after them have run just as far and really just as hard. Not as fast, obviously, but no less effort. They were even running for longer! Sure, you whooped my lily white tuchas by an hour, but I'm ran for longer. Yea me, gimme a cookie!
It reminds me of why the Olympics should be watched on mute. To the announcers, the winners are the ones who want it more. Clearly the chaps in the back of the heap with less funding or smaller stride thanks to genetics don't really want to win. Pfff. I'd think those who never believe they have a chance against the big guys want it even more. Look at the last person in the heat, tell me they're not as exhausted, spent, worn out as #1. And hey, wouldn't it be harder to run/swim/hurdle when you see you're dead last? And wouldn't you want to win, beating well financed countries, run around the track saying "In your face, U.S.A./Australia/Germany... You show Ecuador/Suriname/Bangladesh some respect!"
I can say I've watched #1 and #dead last come in and I must say, I'm impressed more by the middle to end of the pack. I respect the leaders, but they don't impress me. Look at their bodies! They're meant to run. I have retired greyhounds. People at the dog park are in awe when they run. Why?! They're genetically built for speed. When I see a Jack Russell terrier book it, then I'm impressed. Or a portly dachshund dragging his belly as he sprints to chase the greyhound. That's something to admire. I love my dogs, but they don't impress me because they are fast. Same with those who come in first with these body types:
I respect them very much, but hey...
come in with some meat on your bones and I'm screaming like a cheerleader who's won the spirit stick (ohmigawd!) I'm loving these bodies:
These body types demand my praise.
Last night I did dream that Mark wanted me to run the 10K. There were only 10 runners and I knew I'd be last. I was also dressed in jeans and some hideous 80s top and no shoes. It was stinking hot, but he wanted me to run. So I started off and about 20 meters into it, I thought... screw this! I stopped my run, lay down and fell asleep in the middle of the course.
I also had a dream where I was in far northern Canada and created my own sport... sled polo!
I love dreaming!
# posted by IHateToast : 5/01/2006 09:20:00 AM
Saturday, April 29, 2006
p. bloody s.
Now because I have no self control, I checked one more blogger before I left to brush my teeth. While brushing, I got the tune "The Night Chicago Died" munna nuh munna nuh munna nuh nuh NUH nuh nuh.... in my head. Where did this come from? Oh... now I remember... Elizabeth did this to me. That's okay... but if I dream of a depression-era gangland shoot out, she's in trouble!
# posted by IHateToast : 4/29/2006 10:37:00 PM
Wobbly and Roly
I had a dream that there was an endless line of kittens coming out from my neighbor's shed. There is no such thing as overpopulation in dreams. Just one kitten after the other and they were all coming to me! That's all there was to it. I like those dreams. No kicking of shins. You know, with kittens, I just want to put them all in a pile and dive into them, but with puppies, I want to lie down and have them dive all over me. It's yin and yang for the cute world.
I got to ride my bike home Friday, too. Great fun as I left the building too late and got to ride in the dark. 'pooky 'cary (friend's niece used to not say S... had a cat named 'potty.) But first, did you notice my backside? It's larger and sits a bit higher in a jaunty flirty sort of way. I got me a new bag. A big bag. I said, "Is this the biggest? I pack a mean lunch along with my clothes and some books. I need the biggest!" A Topeak. I have disc brakes and can't attach anything to the wheel so I got a beam rack ages ago. I had a smaller bag, but now that I'm commuting and taking a lot more, I want.. nay, I NEEEEDed a new bag. I asked the young fella in the store, "Say, how do I prevent my side paniers from whacking my wheel? I've been taking a bungee cord and attaching it to both bags over the main bag. Looks like the flying nun, but works. Is that what I'm supposed to do?" And he thought about it for 2.3 seconds and said, "Uh... yeah... I guess..." "Really? They sell a rack like this (point) and a bag to go on it with sides that can be unzipped to become paniers to whack the wheel and send me right into a prothsodontist's office?" "Huh?" You know... Tammy would have helped me!
Nevermind. I've discovered this crazy thing called the internet. I've got fingers, a computer and a credit card. I found my optional side bags.... Oh before I ordered them from another bike shop in Melbourne, I called my guys back and told them what I found and gave them the model number and I got this from a different guy, "Uh, I don't know if we can order that, but the guy who orders stuff is in later this week." Snonk? Huh? They stock every other bit of Topeak, but they might not be able to order my optional side guards? Mucking forons. Again, the internet to the rescue. Hey, I found my hubby there, why not a doohicky to keep my bags from whacking my wheel?
Check out my bike butt!
I got the bag Thursday, but couldn't ride home until Friday. I was so excited. No more backpack! I left my desk at 5:15, went down to the showers to stock up my bag with the old towel, work clothes, Frankie magazine and the plastic bag I tote about to pick up recyclables. By the time I was out of the locker and the bike out of the cage it was dark. Eeek! I have lights, but my path is along a creek... pooooky! No street lights... poooky! Just me and my head lamp that shines a light that looks like a skull. I couldn't see bends along the way and after one bend, there were those bollards that narrowed the bike path lest a bus decided to bypass the traffic. I was heading right into them. I froze. I couldn't move. Deer in the headlights and I remember thinking in a yell... STEER! and I did. I just missed them but my arms were still frozen by the "BOO!" effect of turning a bend and suddenly seeing bollards. I stun easily. I was still stiff from fear of being dead in the middle of the dark path with no phone (where is that thing?) and no Aldis lamp to help me find the nearest living soul that I rode the next 100 meters wobbly. Mr Bean style. Then it happened. The tune hit my head and I couldn't shake it. "Weebles wobble but they don't fall down!"
Then the tangents....
Where are Weebles now? And what about Stretch Armstrong? I had a Stretch Armstrong (woah, stay to the left, let the nice jogger live to see another day) but my cousins stabbed it before I even had it 24 hours. And the Million Dollar Man toy with the roll up skin? The virgin in "The 40-year-old Virgin" had one, I bet he would have had a Stretch Armstrong, too. At the stoplight I continued ... why was part of the virgin's image that he rode a bike to work? Why is it that is not considered manly? Have you seen cyclist quads? Hot! And by "hot" I mean "reaow...psss! Hello, sailor!" hot. Being a sexually experienced man means you drive an obnoxious car? ... I'm just assuming that driving a Pinto or Gremlin wouldn't really get you out of virgin status. We had a Pinto. Red. Parental units would let me ride in the back with the hatch up! How cool was growing up in the not-yet-ready-for-prime-time paranoia and litigation late 70s? So, I'm riding my bike to work... I'm a virgin again! Whoo hoo. Hubby will love this. My great aunt used to say, "You're always a virgin on Monday."
But wait, the tree that hates me is coming up. I dread this part all the time. I'm coming down the narrow sidewalk from my trainstation short cut and have to turn left. If I wait until this path meets the other footpath, then it's a 95 degree turn, not even 90. Perhaps even a 100 degree turn. Too sharp for me. I cut across the corner where there is a tree that has seed pods that are a foot long and encase heavy and hard seeds. I get whacked every night. It's my bully. I know the tree is waiting to whack me for cutting the corner. Thwak! Or perhaps it's really a TONK! I recycle all my papers... lighten up! Leave me be!
Then I see home and I start ringing the bell. That calls all critters a Casa CasHew to come to the door to greet the food-giving goddess. Ah... the fair princess excapes the evils of the night to make it to her castle with furry maids-in-waiting.
It was a good day of thinking!
I need my nanoo.
Not a lot of thinking. I was full of pep as my RunningSkirts arrived. I had to choose. Is it a double pink day or a choco blue? It was a choco blue day. Mark and I were going to the Brisbane Marathon expo. He was to get his race pack and I was to meet the other timers and try not to make them cry when they see how flash I look. My shins were still hurting. I was losing the interest in running. BUT I CAN'T, I HAVE MY COOL DROOL SKIRT ON! I can't not run, I'm dripping with fabulous.
I did it. I ran. Pain for the first 10 minutes, then cruisy for the next 50, then the ITBS (=it is b.s.) started up, but not before I made it back at 1:40. I have no guilt. The skirt was great. RunnerSusan was right, they're great. But they do have a major flaw. They do not prevent you from running with dumb songs in your head. There are two small pockets for gels or an iPod Nano (from here on out, a nanoo), but with no nanoo and an iPod left in the Brisbane airport, I was stuck with this song in my head... I just kept repeating the bold bits.
FISH HEADS by Barnes & Barnes
(Dr. Demento's 20th anniversary tape)
Fish heads fish heads roly poly fish heads
Fish heads fish heads eat them up yum
In the morning laughing happy fish heads
In the evening floating in the soup
Ask a fish head anything you want to
They won't answer they can't talk
I took a fish head out to see a movie
Didn't have to pay to get it in
They can't play baseball they don't wear sweaters
They're not good dancers they don't play drums
Roly poly fish heads are never seen drinking cappuccino
at Italian restaurants with oriental women yeah
Are you kidding me? I'm 38, lived in Austria and Australia, toured on several continents, studied many subjects, know many people, read many books and I can't get that bloody tune out of my noggin? And just one section. ... over and over and over again. I even found myself singing (huffing) it aloud to the beat of my feet slapping the ground.
It's time for bed. Mark must get up to run his marathon, but sadly I must get up earlier to get there as a timer. Why? they're not finishing before they start! 5 am? That means we're getting up at 4 am! Them's shootin' words, missy!
# posted by IHateToast : 4/29/2006 08:46:00 PM
i'm an ohioan by birth, naturalized texan, australian permanent resident. for sh*ts and giggles, i make a mess and walk away, read, knit, foster cat-safe greyhounds, and run or plod. i don't shave my legs often enough, love quinoa, and hate it when people stare at my chest.... they don't, but were they to do so, i'd hate it!
WORLD RECORD BROKEN As I live in my own little world, this is a true statement. I broke 2 hours. 1:57.31. The official time was 40 seconds slower, but as I also got an email from them saying that there was a problem, I'm suspicious. My watch went off at the start and the stop. I know what I ran. Still, even if it's 1:58.??, I broke my 2 hours. Whee! WORLD RECORD!
like Threadbared, this is a collection of "what were you thinking" in the knitting sphere. while i am a knitter and love the rebirth it's experiencing, i think there is always the need for editing ideas. and boy do the comments get bitchy!
Do you really think homosexuals marrying will destroy straight marriages? Of course you don't. While dem dare home'sayk'shuls can't have a "propper" wedding recognized by 49 states, they can at least have a place to go to throw a great civil union ceremony. My friend is the blonde in the first photo you see on 2Brides.