Pain In My Ass

Yesterday afternoon, Don left to take the garbage to the dump. He was gone for almost two hours. When he returned, he wheeled a road bike into the house. A Fuji Robiax Pro? I was stunned. Quite shocked. I was excited though because I would have a new riding friend. I really don't like riding my bike alone out in the country. Mostly because of all the dogs. I was also proud of him for buying and item that will help keep him healthy.

When we talked about the ride today, he had grandiose plans. We'd go by the bike shop, then ride to his Mom's house and come back home. I'll was all up for it. I even brought some money so we could stop by Subway for lunch. I filled up our water bottles and we headed out the door.

He didn't buy shoes or clips yet, he's using the "basket" pedals. He got shorts and a helmet though. I wasn't going fast today. I'm weight training pretty heavy right now. Yesterday was leg day. I leg pressed 175x12, 185x10, 190x8 and 200x6. A new personal record. I increased all my weights in lifting legs yesterday so I was gimping around this morning. We only averaged 13mph. It was my "active recovery".

I have to say this.. Men are the biggest cry babies ever! After mile number three, all I heard was complaining about ass pain. We had to stop once so he could get his butt off the seat. I just had to keep encouraging him to turn the cranks. Keep on spinning, keep on spinning.

We didn't make it to Subway, the bike shop or his Mom's house. He said if we went to Subway, then I would ride home and come pick him up in the van. I didn't want to ride alone because of the dog situation. He wasn't helpful in that department during the ride.

I was excited about having a new riding pal because I loathe all the stray dogs that chase me in the country. When the little Jack Russell Terror dog comes running out on our road, what does my husband do? He growls at it which makes it more aggressive and the little bitch starts chasing my wheels. My husband just watches, chuckling while I scream at the evil little dog.

I felt vindicated though. I had my moment when he said, "I have so much more respect for you now. I could never ride 56 miles and then run 13."

We did a total of 15 miles.

And then he came to the pool with me tonight and told me my swim stroke was "beautiful".

He wanted me to ask about his butt pain. I vaguely remember crotch pain in the beginning. I think women are better at blocking out pain though. My advice was just spending more time in the saddle. Any advice from the male point of view?

I may have a triathlete in the making!

The Sloppy Sad Drunk

I still remember the first time I drank alcohol. I was still in high school but my sister (Val) let me tag along with her college friends for a beach vacation. I was feeling just swell after two Milwaukee's Best in the hotel room. I figured if I drank more I would start feeling not just swell but super-duper. After four beers, I kept reminding my sisters' friend to make sure I'd changed my tampon before I went to bed because I didn't want to die of toxic shock syndrome. I don't remember much after that but I continued to drink.

I guess after six beers, I decided I would go running into the ocean and drown myself. I didn't make it that far, I fell down some stairs and sprained my ankle. I was crying my head off before I even fell down. My sister who also was drinking too much, was blubblering and trying to drown herself in the swimming pool. Everyone had to babysit us. They decided that night they weren't letting "the sad drunk sisters" drink anymore on that vacation.

I thought it was very bizarre that both my sister and I turned into these depressed, suicidal people when drunk. When I asked her about it, she said my oldest sister did the same thing. That's why she never would drink. (I just thought she was too uptight) I was hoping that my emotional outburst was just a fluke, a first-timer's flaw. I was wrong.

When school started, my Mom was away with her new boyfriend most weekends. I decided to have a party. I invited about eight friends over to stay the night and drink. I got into my parents liquor cabinet and starting drinking Southern Comfort. The first sip burned and tasted like crap but after sip #10, I could drink rubbing alcohol without a problem.

Around sip #20, I thought that painting the boys' fingernails with hot pink polish would be fun. They didn't want any part of it. I chased them with my polish brush. I wasn't very good with hand-eye coordination at this point of drunkenness so most of the polish ended up on the staircase walls.

After sip #35 my suicidal Sybil self emerged again. My best friend Zoe had to take away my Southern Comfort and sit with me on my bed. She said she wished she had a straight jacket because I was acting so sad. I eventually passed out. When I woke up the next morning, not only was my head pounding but my stomach felt like it was full of battery acid.

I swore I'd never drink Southern Comfort again, I haven't either. Then, I walked upstairs and saw streaks of pink nail polish all over the white walls. I thought nail polish remover would do the trick. I was very wrong, it just smeared the pink streak into a pink blob. My Dad was picking me up for dinner that night so I had to think of a story, pronto.

My Dad noticed the pink wall as soon as he arrived. I told him I was on the phone, painting my nails, walking down the stairs. I tripped on Sam's bone and polish splattered on the walls. When in doubt, blame the dog. My Dad taught me that trick. When he'd fart, he'd always blame it on poor Sam.

My drunk Sybil personality departed after Don and I were together after about three months. The first time I got drunk with Don, I went crazy and tried to drown myself in the bathtub. He didn't want me to drink for a long time, it scared the shit out of him. Who wants to be in a relationship with a secret nut-job? It really would upset people when they'd see that psycho side of me. I've always wondered about this though. Why would all these depressing emotions come out when my sisters and I drink?

I'm a creative, happy drunk now. Thank God because I love my gin, lime and club soda. Val still will get very sad if she drinks too much. It happened last year at the beach and her husband won't let her drink to get feeling good anymore. He 86'ed her for life. I've never seen my oldest sister drunk, she's smart. She's also the superstar of the family. Look who I found on CNN last night? My oldest sister!

Stallion Update

Upload music at Bolt

Oh God, I can't believe I will admit to some of the things I have done. After I read the comments, I remembered a minor detail about make out sessions with Joey. I would play "Do It to Me One More Time" by Lionel over and over again while we were making out. I had the CD single and put it on repeat. The fucking song is over six minutes long! Twice played equals almost 15 minutes of making out, it was my porch timer. But enjoying Lionel Ritchie at 16? Christ, what's wrong with me? It's part Kenny G., part middle aged housewife "let's get it on" song.

And what happened to Joey T. and I? We grew apart during the summer. I just stopped calling him gradually over the summer, he'd graduated, I had two years left. My sister came home from college and I chilled out with her and her friends more. I started to resent Joey because he'd always want me to do more. He'd had sex before so going home for months with a wet spot on your jeans from dry humping probably got old. Or maybe he got sick of Lionel?

The Italian Stallion

When I was a sophomore in highschool, I started dating a senior that my mom called "the Italian stallion." His name was Joey, not Buttafuco but his last name was very Italian too. Let's pretend it was Tetrazzini, Joey Tetrazzini.

My Dad hated Joey, he wouldn't speak to him. Part of the reason was he looked like a grown man. He was dark, earthy and hairy. He had a full chest rug at 18 and a 5 o'clock shadow. My Dad said he would try to put fast moves on me. I was only allowed to see him in my house when my parents were home. I could never ride with him in his hot car. He had an early 80's Camero with big, slick rear tires. I could hear him coming from a half mile away. My Dad hated his car as much as Joey. I was forbidden to ever ride in his car.


My parents also had another rule. Since they both worked full time, I was not allowed to have anyone in the house after school until they arrived home. I was allowed to sit on the front porch with my friends while I was home alone but they couldn't come in. Joey and I sat on the porch together for the first few weeks but it got boring. I knew my parents schedule and could expect them to arrive home at 5:10pm. After a month of porch sitting it started getting cold, I decided to break the rules.

Everything was great the first few weeks. Joey would drive me home in his muscle car, we'd get a snack and make out in the basement for a half hour. My Dad was right, Joey was a horn dog but I wasn't ready to go "all the way". He asked many times but I always said "No". He respected me and the worst deed we did was dry humping. He also gave me a hickey but I was smart enough to wear turtle necks for a week, my Dad never knew. I'd always make sure to watch the clock and to get out of the house by 5:00pm. When my parents pulled up, we'd be at the assigned station, the front porch.

I begged my Dad for months to let me go out on a date with Joey. He made me feel like a baby. All of my other friends were allowed to date on Friday nights. One Friday, Joey asked my Dad if he could take me to Olive Garden for dinner, a group of friends were going together. My dad said "no" without even looking him in the eye. He just kept reading his newspaper.

An hour later, the biggest dork in the neighborhood that mowed our lawn asked my Dad if he could take me out to dinner. My Dad comes running inside with a big grin on his face.

"Hey, I changed my mind you can go out on a date tonight."

I thought I was hearing things. I was jumping with joy! Me and Joey out alone, like a real couple.
"What? You finally are letting me go out with Joey? Thanks so much, Dad! I'll call him now, he'll be so happy you've changed your mind about him."

"Not so fast, not Joey. Rama is a nice young man. He asked to take you out tonight. I think it's a great idea. Where are you taking her, Rama?"

I wanted to crawl in a hole and die. Rama was standing there with huge smile on his face that revealed all the leftover lunch in his braces. My Dad was standing beside him chuckling. I wanted to kill him.

I survived the date night from hell. The next Friday, Joey and I were eating our pre-make out snack around 4:15pm. It was leftover Domino's pizza, we were sitting at the kitchen table. I thought I heard the garage door open but I had over an hour before my parents were supposed to arrive. Before I could check, the door flew open.

"WHAT ARE YOU DOING IN MY HOUSE? YOU KNOW THE RULES! GET OUT OF MY HOUSE NOW!" My Dad yelled at Joey.

I about choked to death on my pizza. I had never heard my Dad yell like that my entire life, he was a calm man. I'd never seen him in such a rage. While he was yelling he was approaching Joey. I thought he was going to hit him. I was scared shitless, I couldn't move. My Mom comes flying in the door after my Dad.

I remember Joey running out the front door quickly with my Dad on his ass. My Dad didn't say much to me except, "You are grounded for two weeks."

My Mom kept going on and on about it and how she was scared. She said when they pulled up in the driveway, my Dad saw his car. He didn't see us on the porch though.

"Where is she? She knows the rules, she better not be inside with him!"

Mom said he was in such a frenzy, he almost drove the Mercedes through the garage. He didn't put the car into park before jumping out and running in the house. Mom quickly put the car into park.

"Good thing you were eating pizza and not down in the basement getting all hot and heavy."

Yeah Mom, that wouldn't have been a good scene, would it? I still get nervous thinking about if they have arrived twenty minutes later and caught us dry humping. My Dad would have probably gone to jail and it would have been all my hormonal fault.

Why You Don't Want Me to Babysit Your Children

My parents were going through a divorce when I was sixteen. That Christmas was going to be awful because my Dad was in NC with his girlfriend and my Mom had a new boyfriend in DC. When I got a letter from a family that I had babysat for asking me to come to London for three weeks to help care for their kids, I jumped on that offer!

I babysat for this family since I was 12. They lived two houses down on our street in Virginia. They had two sweet little girls, Megan and Katie. They wanted a little boy too and about a year before they moved to London they had Thomas. Thomas was a spoiled brat because he was the youngest and he was a boy. He got anything he wanted. I didn't realize how bad he was until I arrived.

I thought the parents were very cool. They were both young, in their mid-thirties. The mom would sneak cigarettes outside and give me wine to drink at night. My job was to care for Katie(4) and Thomas(2), Megan went to school during the day. I wasn't a full time Nanny, the mom didn't work. Since this was Christmas time, she was busy shopping and out at parties with her friends.

The first week I was there, I had fun. It was like vacation. One weekend, they even took me to the Cadbury chocolate factory. I love Cadbury chocolates. Comparing Hershey's to Cadbury's is like comparing gerbil balls to goat balls. I'm especially fond of Cadbury Roses, it's an assortment of caramel and nut chocolates. I bought five boxes.

At night, I would feel sad and homesick. Even though my family was a mess, I wished we were still one unit. I missed my sisters and my friends. It was the first Christmas I was alone. I'd lie in bed, cry while listening to "Now That's What I Call Music 1993" tape on my walkman and ate Cadbury Roses. One night, I was PMSing so the crying and cravings were worse. I got carried away and ate the entire box of Roses while feeling sorry for myself, it was probably over 30 pieces.

The next morning, the Mom came in my room to wake me up. She found the empty box of Roses and wrappers beside my bed. She asked me if I'd eaten the entire box in one night. When I told her I did, she decided to keep the rest of the boxes hidden until I went home. She took my chocolates away and I'd bought them with my own money! Bad move. Things just went downhill from there.

Christmas Day I was even more melancholy. Everyone was so happy and cheerful but me. The children had mountains of gifts to open. I had two. It brought back memories of my childhood and how things would never be the same again. I smiled and pretended to be happy but all I really wanted to do was listen to my music and eat chocolate.

The next night, the Mom was going out with friends for drinks. I was in charge of fixing dinner for the children. Thomas would never eat his food, his parent never forced him to eat either. His diet consisted of animal crackers and juice. Thomas always had a sippy cup full of juice and that was the reason he was never hungry.

While I was in the kitchen heating up green beans, tater tots and chicken strips, Thomas came in waving his empty sippy cup at me. "Jjjj-UUUU-sh?"

"No, Thomas. No juice now. I'm fixing you dinner, you are going to eat soon."

"NO! Jjjj-UUUU-sh! I want Jjjjj-UUUUUUU-SSSHH" and he fell into a heap on the floor, screaming for his juice and kicking his legs in the air.

God, I didn't feel like dealing with his bullshit. Thomas, his sippy cup and juice was like an addict with a pipe and crack. I grab the cup out of his hands and the wailing gets louder. I decided to trick him and put two tablespoons of juice in the cup and filled the rest with water. Diluted juice would hold him over until I could finish making dinner.

He was a little whipper snapper though. He took a sip of my concoction and then gave me that "You don't fool me" look.

"This NOT Jjjj-UUUU-sh!" He threw the cup on the kitchen floor. The lid came off and juice splashes everywhere. I saw red and it wasn't just the juice either.

I know that I cannot beat the crap out of the kid. I grabbed him by his arm though. He won't walk and he acts like dead weight. I tell him he is going to sit in the TV room until I'm finished with dinner. He still refuses to move, so I drag him by the arm in the TV room. Katie is watching "Land Before Time" and behaving very well when I drag Thomas into the room. I deposit him on the floor and go back into the kitchen to clean up the floor and finish dinner.

Once I have the meal on the table, I call the kids in and the girls happily eat. Thomas won't touch his food and gives me the evil eye. The Mom walks in while the girls are eating. When Thomas sees her, he bursts into tears.

"Thomas Baby, what's wrong?" She asks as she runs over to hold him.

"No Jjjj-UUUU-sh!" He says while glaring at me.

She runs to the kitchen to get his fucking juuush. She returns and hands it to him but he will not hold it with his left arm. (The arm that I used to drag his bratty butt into the TV room.)
"Thomas does your arm hurt, what's wrong my sweet boy?" The mom asks brat boy.

He looks in my direction and points at me. Great, now the shit's gonna hit the fan. She asks if I know what happened to his arm. Before I could explain, sweet little Katie decides to help me out. Thanks, girlfriend.

"Thomas was being bad so she had to drag him by his arm into the TV room."

The Mom's face went pale. She runs into the kitchen and breaks out cookies and candy. She hands him all these goodies but he won't use that arm. She thinks I pulled his arm out of socket. Now, I'm getting concerned. I know I pulled him but I didn't yank him. She calls her husband and tells him to come home right away because they are going to take Thomas to the hospital. All I could think of was going to jail in London for child abuse.

Thomas was a Daddy's boy. Once he saw his Daddy walk through the door, he ran into his arms and hugged his neck tight. He used both arms. The little actor forgot to play the part once he saw Daddy. I was relieved and apologized but I was never forgiven. The Dad wasn't as angry with me as the Mom. She wouldn't leave me alone with any of the kids that last week. She took me to the airport two hours early too, she didn't want me to miss my plane!

Needless to say, I wasn't invited back to London for any Nanny jobs again.

As a side note, I ordered some Cadbury Roses a few years ago, I can't find them in the US. The UPS guy left them in the blazing sun on the porch. When I discovered them, they were all melted and ants were crawling on the box. I stuck them in the freezer, waited for them to harden back up and ate them, ants included. Chocolate covered Cadbury ants! Just more protein, right?

Cabbage Patch Kid Christmas (Cont)

Don read the post and said I didn't finish the story. Then I started reading the comments and they brought back more memories.

Emily and I loved to play with our kids for about two years. We'd take them for walks and I'd put him in Sweet Thunder's basket when I took her for a ride. Once, I crashed Sweet Thunder and Eugene went sailing through the air and lost his baseball cap. He ended up with bad road rash on his bald dome. I put a Band-Aid on his disfigured head.

When I moved to Spain, I played outside a lot more. Once I got a new bike, Eugene was forgotten. I looked for a picture of me and Eugene. I couldn't find one. I did find this picture of my Dad and me, Christmas in Spain.(For all the, "I like your Dad" fans) I got a 10-speed that Christmas. But Dude, check my mullet. Classic 80's.


My Mom did a lot of volunteer work while we moved base to base. She always liked to "run" the thrift shops. She would get so much pleasure out of helping young couples. My mom went to extremes though and would donate our things to the thrift shop. When I didn't show much interest in Eugene, she donated him without asking me about him.

I looked in my closet about a week later and noticed he was missing. When she admitted what she'd done, I got mad. He was special and had history. She felt bad about it. I asked her to bring him back from the shop but she'd already sold him for $2.00.

I still love my Mom even for selling my baby for $2.00. When I found that picture of my Dad above, I found my favorite Christmas picture of me and my mom when I was about 14. Even though I am trying to push her away, we look like we are happy.



And the dictionary? Well, the dictionary became sort of a love bible. My oldest sister started a tradition by writing "Rattlesnake" loves Jason or John or Phil. (My oldest sister's nickname was Rattlesnake)Around the age of the above picture with my Mom, I started writing the names of the boyfriends I was in love with. One boyfriend and I played sexual vocabulary with that dictionary. We would take turns underlining words in the dictionary like: aroused, erection, clitoris, climax) Bet my Dad never thought I'd be using the dictionary for that, huh?

But the sweetest part of the story is a treasure hunt. I told Don about the Eugene story and how he got sold right under my nose. A few weeks later, I woke up and found a card on the coffee pot. "Go To Import Gourmet and Spirits"

Once I got dressed, I drove to the shop and was handed a basket full of tea, coffee, candles, wine, chocolates and champagne. I got another card. "Go to the intimates department at Belk."

There, I was handed a gift bag containing a black lace bra and underwear set and a red lace teddy. I got another card. "Go to Green Valley Florist"

I picked up a dozen salmon colored roses and another card. "Go back home and look behind the couch."

When I got home and looked behind the couch, I saw Eugene Ernie's twin. Identical. The red baseball cap, overalls and green signature. He'd searched the internet and found a match in Kentucky and had him shipped. I got another card. "Go to room number 263 behind the Golden Corral and bring your gourmet basket."

When I arrived at the Hampton Inn, he had the room full of candles and soft music playing. A jacuzzi tub was full of bubbles. He opened the bottle of champagne in the basket and told me to look on the bed. There was a string with a note attached. It said, "Pull me". I reeled in a jewelry box containing white gold diamond earrings. I loved them because I don't care for yellow gold, they are difficult to find in white.

I know I have a wonderful husband. He is Don Juan di Marco. It's the sweetest thing that has ever occurred in my life. I decided to marry him not too long after that.

I gave the new Eugene to Monty. He was a bad boy and ripped him up. The only thing that was left besides mountains of fluff was the plastic bowling ball bald head.

The Cabbage Patch Kid Christmas

When I was seven, we lived on an air base England. My Dad was flying the A-10 Warthog while we were stationed there. A girl my age named Emily moved in next door shortly after we had arrived. She'd been living in the US and she owned all sorts of cool toys and movies I'd never seen before. I'd never seen a music video and she had "Thriller" on VHS. I think we broke the tape from watching it so much.

My favorite toy she owned was a Cabbage Patch Kid. Her kid was a female with yellow yarn braids. The doll looked like Emily. She showed me the signature on her kids butt, only real Cabbage Patch Kids were marked with "Xavier Roberts". She had other baby dolls but they just weren't the same. She always got to be the Mama of the Cabbage Patch Kid because she had adoption papers. I mothered the hard, plastic, non-autographed babies that didn't rate to own adoption papers.

I begged my Mom for a Cabbage Patch Kid for months. When you live in Europe, it can be difficult to get the hottest American toys. We could never find any Cabbage Patch Kids at the base exchange. My mom told me to write my Grandma a letter and ask her for a Kid for Christmas. I wrote my Grandma almost every week. Emily had shown me a book of the Cabbage Patch Kids. I knew which type of baby I wanted to adopt. I wanted a bald baby boy. I didn't like the yarn hair. Still to this day, if I decide to have a real baby, I hope it's a boy and bald when I give birth. Something about those soft little fuzzy heads I love. I'm buzzing my baby if it's born with a bush on it's head!

I guess even in the US, it was difficult to buy the Cabbage Patch Kids during the craze. My Grandma wrote me telling me she'd driven to many different towns and they were sold out. With three weeks left until Christmas, a package finally arrived. It was from Grandma and it was full of wrapped Christmas presents for the family. My Mom unpacked the box and put the presents under the tree. I ran over and found my box. I shook the shit out of it. My Mom told me to put it down, I was going to tear the paper all up.

The box containing my Kid attracted me like a moth to a flame. For the first few days, I would sit by the tree next to the box. Then, I would hold the box in my lap. One day, my Mom left with my sisters to the store. I couldn't hold back any longer. I carefully pulled off the scotch tape without ripping the paper. I got a glimpse of my baby! It was a bald baby boy just like I'd wished for, he was perfect! I carefully taped the box back up before my family returned home.

Just like an addict, my bald baby in the box consumed me. I couldn`t wait for my mom and sisters to leave the house again so I could stare at him. Finally, another private day came when they left for a basketball game. I pulled off the tape again, carefully. This time, looking at my baby wasn't enough. I wanted to hold him and find out his name. I opened the box and took out the adoption papers. His name was "Eugene Ernie". I loved it, it fitted him well. He had on a red baseball cap and denim overalls. I pulled down his pants and looked at the green Xavier Roberts signature on his ass. Emily's baby's Xavier Roberts was in boring, black ink. I knew Eugene was special.

I packed him back up in the box because my family would be returning soon. I encountered a minor problem, the tape wouldn't stick anymore. I searched the house frantically for more scotch tape. I couldn't find any. The only thing I found was masking tape. I tried to hide the white masking tape the best I could. I pushed the box toward the back of the tree so it wasn't as obvious. I promised myself I wouldn't open the box again until Christmas Eve. I could wait for three more days.

Our family had a tradition of opening one present on Christmas Eve night. It was a little tease of what was to come. You know which present I was opening, I don't have to tell you. Everyone was gathered around the tree after dinner. My Dad tells my sisters and I to choose our presents. I sit beside the tree with my box containing Eugene Ernie.

My sister asks, "Why did you chose that box first without shaking any of the others?"

"Because it's from Grandma and I miss her." I thought I was so smart.

"Are you sure you want to open that present? Once you open it, you can't exchange it. You are stuck with that present all night."

She was kind of laughing while she was staying this and giving shifty eyed glances to my other sister and Dad. I just wanted her to shut up so I could open the box and hold Eugene forever.

"Yes, I am sure! I want to open his box now!"

My Dad gave me the go ahead and I ripped the paper off the box. I opened up the box and was in for a shock. Inside wasn't my beloved baby but a children's dictionary instead. I started hysterically sobbing.

"Where is Eugene?" I had just exposed my sneaky lying self but didn't care. My baby had been kidnapped!

My Dad and sisters were laughing their heads off. They had found out I was opening the box and playing with him. The masking tape wasn't a good idea after all. They exchanged Eugene for the dictionary the night before. It was a lesson they were trying to teach me about being dishonest. I didn't get Eugene that night, I had to wait until morning. I got sent to bed early because I threw the stupid dictionary at my sister. It was the worst Christmas Eve I remember but my sisters thought it was the greatest trick ever.

Random Friday Funny's

I've been too serious lately. I've decided to lighten things up with some random funny things I've seen or done in life.

1) When my Mom farts while sitting, she has to lift one of her butt cheeks off the seat. It has to be mental thing. Maybe she thinks the gas will escape better if she helps it. Since she always does this ass cheek lift while farting seated, we all know what is coming. My sister's and I would always scream, "God, Mom! Could you fart somewhere else?"

One day, when I was eight, we were driving home in our Volvo. My Mom had picked my sisters and I up from school after playing golf- in a skirt. (remember the skirt part) She does her fart positioning, then starts screaming. The next thing I know we are swerving off the road. My sisters are yelling at Mom, "What are you doing? You are going to wreck the car! Drive on the road!"

We came to a skidding stop off the road. Half of the car was in the gravel, half in the grass. My Mom is almost crying. She jumps out of the car and pulls her skirt up and exposes her underwear. Now, my sisters are really freaking out. "Get in the car! The whole world can see your underwear! Why are you acting so crazy?"

When she finally calms down, she explains that a bee flew up her skirt while in fart position. It stung her ass three times. She wasn't storytelling either! When we got home, she pulled down her underwear to prove it to my sisters. I counted three, red, ass welts.

Warning!! Guys may not want to read this one, it's worse than the Myrtle Beach sanitary napkin story.

I went away to a church camp for two weeks when I was 13. Some days were spend trail hiking in WV, then swimming little creeks and waterfalls. My period came while at camp. I had always worn pads and was really bummed about about not being able to go swimming that day. One of my friends told me about tampons, she acted like they were God's gift to women. Now I know that they actually are but at 13, they really seemed scary. Stick that where?

Hiking wearing a pad equals diaper rash. The swim after the hike was my favorite part so I embraced the challenge and asked my friend for her "junior lite" tampon. On a mission, I headed to the bathroom.

She told me to just stick it in and push on the smaller part. I listened to her directions and felt very uncomfortable. I tried pull my underwear back on and thought,"I can't hike this way. I can't even sit down. I will be a pad princess forever!"

I had been in the bathroom for over five minutes and my friends came to check on me. She called outside my stall,

"Are you okay? Did you put it in?"

"Yeah but I can't walk or sit down. I don't think tampons are for me. How do I get it out? "

"Did you did what I told you? Push on the little thing?"

"Yeah, I did but the plastic is sticking out. It's hard and uncomfortable."

Silence.
.
.
.
.

"Are you still in here with me? What do I do? I'm not walking around with plastic hanging out of me!" I called out.

"You are telling me the plastic is still inside? You have got to pull out the applicator after you push it in! Oh my God! I can't believe you are that clueless!"

Jesus, forgive me for not studying the Tampax Tampon instructional insert!
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50-min. run

Same Back and Bicep workout as Monday's. I did add

12x15lb concentration curls for more bicep burn.

No More Junk in the Trunk

Today is day five of eating clean. I'm actually feeling much better as long as I don't see french fries. It's not easy, let me tell you. When my husband and I went out yesterday, I ate a grilled chicken salad for lunch, boring! I watched servers bringing mounds of french fries and hamburgers. Ya know how I love french fries. I'm willing to ride in a police car for french fries.

I'm not as bloated. My wedding band is actually loose and my stomach is flatter. I'm not as groggy when I wake up in the morning. As a bonus, my skin looks better. I usually have some zits on my chin, they are trying to clear up.

I was eating a lot of processed foods. Tortilla chips, pretzels, Pop Tarts, sugary cereal, deli meat and bagels. I'm not sure if it's from cutting back on carbs or eating more protein and higher quality foods that is helping me feel better. It takes more work to eat clean, I have to plan ahead and have eggs boiled, chicken or turkey breast grilled and salad chopped. I think I'll be pleased with the results in the long run.
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CHEST & TRICEPS

Incline Bench Press (3 sets) 12xbar, 12xbar, 12xbar
Dumbbell Chest Fly's (3 sets) 12x20lbs, 10x20lbs, 8x20lbs
Incline Dumbbell Bench Press (3 sets) 12x20lbs, 10x20lbs, 8x20lbs, 8x20lbs
Peck Deck Machine (5 sets) 12x30lbs, 12x25lbs, 12x25lbs, 12x20lbs, 12x20lbs
Chest Press Machine (3 sets) 8x60lbs, 10x55lbs, 10x55lbs


Tri's Standing Cable Pushdowns (3 sets) 12x30lbs, 12x30lbs, 12x30lbs
Skullcrushers (3 sets) 12xEZ bar, 12xEZ bar, 12x EZ bar
Dumbbell Donkey Kickbacks (3 sets) 12x15lbs, 12x15lbs, 12x15lbs
Seated Press (3 sets) 12x90lbs, 12x100lbs, 12x100lbs
Assisted Dip Machine (5 sets) 12x50lbs, 12x50lbs, 12x45lbs, 12x45lbs, 10x40lbs

15 min. AB work, 45 min. run

Oh, the Places You Will Go!

Today is a big day for Snag! She went to Raleigh this afternoon to take her ASVAB and enter DEP. (The Marine's Delayed Entry Program) That means, she will leave for bootcamp when she graduates next summer. I'm still in a bit of shock about how quickly it has occurred.

Just within the last two weeks, Snaggle has really been talking about the Marines. Her two older brothers are enlisted currently. She's been real serious about losing seven pounds since she's learned she's over the regulation. She has been going to the gym religiously, some mornings we will train together. Last Wednesday, she even went to my track workout with me. She started out barely able to run a mile. Yesterday, she was gushing about running three without stopping.

She has cleaned up her diet in the last two weeks. Her addiction was pizza. She could throw back a medium extra cheese and pepperoni pizza all by her lonesome. She used to live for Pizza Hut, she had it programmed in her cell phone for Christsake! Not a morsel since the weigh in though. She's really been trying and I'm very proud of her.


I'm worried about her too. I'm afraid that the Marines will take away the qualities I love about her so much. She'll become tough and hard like a piece of leather. Snag has been a very sensitive child and I'm scared they'll lamb baste her for it. Maybe that's what she wants though, to become tougher.

I have never seen her more excited about something before. She's always been a great student. She's always on the A-B honor roll. She's happy to bring home her stellar report cards. The plan for the past two years was to go to NC State after high school and become a vet.

The past few weeks have been completely different. Once she saw the recruiter and was serious about enlisting, she became determined and focused. She's been motivated and excited about tomorrow. She has taken control and has decided to open up a new chapter in her life. I still am allowed to worry though.

I can't wrap my brain around wanting to join the Marines. If someone was shouting while giving me orders and spitting in my face, I'd tell them,

"I'm not deaf and can you say it, not spray it?"

I'm just not obedient, never have been even with a father that was a general in the Air Force. He couldn't stand it. Nobody ever told him "no" in his life but me. Oh, he'd threatened me but it didn't get him anywhere. Like the time he demanded I say "sorry" to my sister for telling her to "shut up" or walk home five miles. I told him to stop the station wagon, I'd walk home. I did it too. My mom was all scared I'd get kidnapped.

We he took me to his new apartment because he was cheating on my Mom and getting a divorce, I gave him a piece of my mind. I gave him such a tongue lashing at 16, he stopped and got of the car that time. I'm not afraid of authority. I'm also am not willing to change my sense of self because someone "says so".

It's Maddy's life, not mine. Even if I think it's wrong for a drill instructor to scream at her, it doesn't matter. Her decision is making her as happy as a clam in spam. She didn't understand why I was spending so much time training for a Half Ironman. She told me she missed me and didn't know about all my changes. She never stopped loving me and when my big day came, she was out there cheering me on.


Snaggle, you know I love you like a rock star. I'm proud of you for being so brave and making such a life changing decision. I know you will be one of the best Marines that will be serving our country along with your brothers. I am happy and excited because these emotions are oozing from your pores. Oh, the places you will go!
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I was off today, it's supposed to be my rest week but I still weight trained.
My legs are so sore from the increase in weight yesterday, I had a hard time getting off the toliet today!

Running Coach for Dummies

Alright, FlatmanI'm throwing down the gauntlet! After reading Nancy's post, we all want to see the ten pounds of muscle. Cuba said, "Show me the muscle-y"!







After my race on Saturday, my husband said, "I could see you running from over 500 yards away. It's easy to spot you because nobody runs like you do."

I should have left it at and just thought I ran "special". I just had to ask, "What is that supposed to mean?"

He replied, "You shuffle but run on your toes and you take baby steps."

Wonderful. Sounds like I look about as graceful as a sloth while running. Then I had a flashback to when I was five. My sisters always used to say I was mentally retarded because I walked on my tip-toes.

Can your running style and form be changed? It's hard for me to walk any differently. That is like training myself to speak with a Canadian accent. Who exactly would I go to to get running form help? I'd really like to look like a gazelle running if possible.
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Legs and ABs
Leg Extensions (2 sets Warm-up) 12x50lbs, 12x50lbs

Squats (5 sets) 12xbar+50, 12xbar+50, 12xbar+60, 12xbar+60, 12xbar+70

Sled 45 degree Lying Leg Press (4 sets) 12x90lbs, 12x90lbs, 12x110lbs, 12x110lbs

Leg Extensions (3 sets) 12x70lbs, 12x75lbs, 12x80lbs

High Step Ups (4 sets) 12x(2)15lb dumbbells, 16x(2)15lb dumbbells, 20x(2)15lb dumbbells, 20x(2)15lb dumbbells

Lying Leg Curls (3 sets) 12x40lbs, 12x45lbs, 12x45lbs

Straight Leg Dead Lifts (3 sets) 12xbar, 12xbar+20, 12xbar+20

Adductor (3 sets) 12x80lbs, 12x90lbs, 12x100lbs

Abductor (3 sets) 12x80lbs, 12x90lbs, 12x90lbs

20 min. of Cathe Friedrich's Core Max segment 3 DVD.

Time For A Cool Change

I'm really happy that I have only one more race this season. I have over a month from now until I race. I can weight train more. I think I am burnt out with triathlon and races at this moment. Maybe I picked too many races my first year out.

I enjoy lifting weights. I like to see my muscle definition, I like to feel strong. It's hard to train for endurance events(eating carbs) while trying to build lean muscle(heavy weight training, low carbs/more protein).

Since my races are coming to an end, I'm going to start getting tougher about diet and lifting. Today, was the first time since March I have increased my weights and lifted until failure. I have been afraid to weight train hard since I started racing. I thought I should "save" myself. I'm also cutting back on carbs. I have been eating everything/anything I want while training for races. I have been "eating clean" since Bandit's.

I'd like to get down to 12.5% body fat. I'm currently 14.5%, I weigh 116. The tricky part about body fat percentage is when you lose weight, you tend to GAIN body fat. I'll probably need to put on more weight to reach 12.5%.

So, we will have to see if Nancy's theory about weight and speed is correct.. Once I reach my goal!
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I was suppose to take four days off after this race, I just can't be that still. I haven't done any tough cardio work. My legs are still a bit sore from Bandit's.

40 min. cardio, Elliptical

Back
Lat Pulldowns (4 sets) 12x65lbs, 12x80lbs, 12x85lbs, 12x90lbs
Bent Over Rows (4 sets) 12xbar+10, 12xbar+10, 12xbar+20, 12xbar+20
T-Bar Rows (3 sets) 12x65lbs, 12x70lbs, 12x70lbs
Dumbbell One Arm Rows (3 sets) 12x25lbs, 12x25lbs, 12x25lbs
Assisted Pull-up (3 sets) 12x60lbs, 12x50lbs, 12x50lbs
Biceps
Standing Olympic Bar Curls (4 sets) 12xbar, 12xbar, 12xbar+10, 12xbar+10
Seated Dumbbell "Arnold" Curls (4 sets) 12x15lbs, 12x15lbs, 12x20lbs, 12x20lbs
Preacher Curls (3 sets) 12x30lbs, 12x40lbs, 12x35lbs

Bandit's Challenge Race Report

You can call me naive, blissfully unaware, inexperienced or heedless but I am not a quitter. See, this was not only my first age group race in the series but also my first "D" as in difficult race and my first Olympic distance. To quote the parts of the bike and run course descriptions from Set-Up's website:

"At the very beginning of the bike, you realize what Bandits is all about. Coming out of transition you immediately have to climb up to the top of the dam in order to exit the park. This is one nasty little very steep climb. It's always a good idea to make sure that when you rack your bike, you have it in your smallest gear. Just about the time you have caught your breath, you encounter the biggest climb on the course (about the 2 mile mark). The climb isn't very steep but you climb for over a mile."

"The run course at Bandits is what makes this race famous. There are three VERY steep climbs. Fortunately they are not very long. Remember the climb out of the transition area up to the top of the dam at the start of the bike? - well you tackle it again right at the beginning of the run. BUT, it's the climb on the other side of the dam that you have to do twice on this two-loop run course that people talk about the most. Words just don't do it justice. We estimate that over 90% of all participants walk this hill during the race including many of the Elites."


Oh, friends tried to warn me about Bandit's Challenge. When I asked my girlfriends to do this race with me, they declined and asked if I was crazy. After today, I think I am certifiable.

When we got to packet pick up, I thought the shirt in my bag was very original and funny. It says:
"I swam it, I biked it and I did the dam run." Still, I was clueless. Until we drove to the race site.

When we parked the van near transition area, I saw the steep hill coming out of transition. I wanted to try out which gear would be easiest to use and practiced last night before the race. I had to get in Clifford's babiest gear, the tinest of them all and I had to stand up while climbing the hill. When I came back to the car, Don says,

"Wow, was that hill hard to climb? You were going so slow, I thought you were going to tumble over."

I love you too, thanks for your observation, dearest husband. I thought that hill was bad until I saw the run course hills, they were so steep I felt scared thinking about running down them. Maybe I could roll down them and crawl back up? Then some set-up guy tells me to run in the grass because it kills your legs to run down the hill. I realized why this course was called "Challenge". Because it sure as hell didn't look like a walk in the park. I kept telling myself I'd be fine, it was nice and cool in these mountains. I wouldn't overheat at least.

We had a nice room at the Hampton Inn, it was suite. We ordered carry-out sushi and ate in the room for dinner. My fortune cookie said, "Listen to you intuition." I really needed to sleep, I stayed up until 2am on Thursday night. The bed was glorious. Because I let our Doberman sleep with us at home, we cannot have a pretty fee-fee-foo-foo bed filled with white, cottony pillows. They called it "cloud nine bedding" and it indeed felt heavenly. I conked out at 8:45pm.

When the alarm sounded at 4:45am, I felt pretty good. I had a great sleep and felt rested. Until I opened the curtain to look outside. It was pouring rain. We look at the weather channel and it doesn't look good. I'm kinda freaking out now because if it is raining, I don't ride my bike. I have very little wet road/brake experience, especially in the mountains. I was also freezing after leaving the bed made of feathers. I'm used it it feeling like it's 100 degrees. Raining and in the 70's, I started shivering!

"Honey, I don't know if I should race in this rain. Could we stay in the cloud nine bed instead? My fortune cookie said to follow my intuition. It's telling me being warm and dry is better than cold and wet."

As much as I give my husband a hard time, he is wise. He always knows the right thing to do. He said, "You can do it, you are not a quitter. Embrace the challenge!"

It's all he needed to say. We ate breakfast, drank coffee and bugged the houskeeping lady for trash bags so we could create makeshift ponchos. We headed to the race site in the dark, cold rain. Guess who had a transition area right behind me? TriDaddy! I took off my trash bag for a picture!


Even though I was smiling, I was cold and scared. I was mostly scared about the bike though. Would my brakes work going down the hills? Worrying about my hands being wet and slipping off the handle bars. I started thinking about my fear of falling and road rash. Did I tell you I was fucking cold? So cold that when it was my turn to swim I was thankful. The water was warmer than the outside air temperature. I needed to get moving to get warm or I thought my nipples would crack from being so hard for a long period of time.

The swim was pretty uneventful. I got warmer with blood circulating. It seemed long. I realized that wetsuits help a lot. My longest swim was WL Half, wetsuits were allowed. My legs felt a little tired at the end of this swim.

I get out of the water and it's still raining pretty hard. I run to Clifford splashing mud all over myself. My transitions will suck because I wanted to keep my things dry and wrapped them in plastic bags. I climb the hill over the dam and exit the park. I see another blogger, Brett! I get up to a decent speed and I'm cold again. I think I had goosebumps the entire ride. The rain feels like little needles poking me. The faster I went, the more the downpour would sting. I knew the bike would be hard and it was probably more mentally difficult than physically.

I dropped my chain climbing a hill. Because I'm mechanically challenged, I had to get off and put it back on. It look me two minutes. People weren't following rules either. Lots of drafting going on. Probably because officials didn't want to drive motorcycles around in the rain. I was behind this pink Barbie girl the last nine miles. I seriously wanted to bitch slap her because she was riding in middle of the lane! When I passed her, I literally had to yell "on your left"! Not once but twice. She didn't move over either. I didn't want a penalty for passing on the right or going over the line. She passed me back going down a hill. It wasn't worth crashing to keep passing back and forth. "Barbie girl, learn how to ride your pretty pink bike in a race okay?!! Quit being so pink and stop acting like a road hog!" I came in on her tail, you can see her bike in the picture.


I was so happy to be off my bike in one piece. Usually, it's my favorite leg. I knew what was ahead for the run but I was alive, in one piece, and running! I knew I wouldn't feel fridgid during the run. Running always makes me sweaty.


The run was very difficult and I walked up the mountains. Even walking, my quads were burning. I saw girls in my age group passing me. I just didn't have the extra "uuuoommmppphh" to chase them down. This wasn't a tri that I really raced hard because I was so nervous on the bike. I just wanted to finish it.

When I finished, my husband, Brett and TriDaddy were waiting for me. I had seen Tri Daddy and Brett on the run course too. We always encouraged each other every time we passed. It helped because I didn't feel so alone without any of my girlfriends racing with me. I never knew blogging could bring such support. Thanks for my husband and all the volunteers for cheering us on in the rain, I know it was wet and cold for you too!


I didn't place in age group. In fact I would guess I placed close to last because I doubt all 12 girls that registered in my age group showed up. Only the hard core triathletes were out there today (and the crazy ones like me). This was the probably most difficult race for me to date. It's funny how it changed me though. Maybe the rain was good because I told myself this morning, "You just have to finish today". I didn't beat myself up for not placing like I thought I would. My final race this season, Pinehurst will look like a piece of cake compared to Bandit's.

I will update this entry when my times and splits are posted. I know that my finishing time was 3:09 but that's it. I had to stick around for awards to find out where I would have finished if I'd stayed novice. I would have placed 1st by twenty minutes. I have no regrets though because I wouldn't have cheated anyone but myself by winning so easily.

Seven hours after the race and I'm still FREEZING!
Results have been posted, The Cold Hard Facts:

5/7 Age Group, 30/66 Overall

Swim: 32:00/ 1.5k 2nd Age Group, 19 overall

Bike: 1:37.55/ 45k 5th Age Group, 31 overall

Run: 56:00/10k 5th Age Group, 41 overall

I have been really disappointed with my run times lately. I run a lot during training every week too. I can run 8 minute miles easily during my long training runs. When I race, I am really trying but obviously not moving very quickly. During the run leg, all I wanted to do was stop. I wanted it to end. Maybe I need to play with nutrition more, I ate two gels during this race. Maybe it wasn't enough. I was going to eat a third on the run but it just didn't sound appetizing.

I Think I Am Right Brained

I passed geometry in 10th grade with this pastel. This was final project that was worth four test grades. I got 108 on my MC Escher inspired pastel, it was graded by students and my teacher. It was my redemption. It was my way of expressing 360.

I Made it Through the Class

Today, I rested to prepare for Saturday's race. I packed, swept the floors, mopped them with bleach, washed all the bed linens and I went to a yoga class! When I get a massage, my therapist always gets mad at me about not stretching enough. She has asked me to go to yoga classes. I never tried it until today.

Yoga classes remind me of nap time in pre-school. A darkened room, laying on a mat and someone talking in a soft voice telling me to quiet my mind and relax. Maybe that's the" gyno" talk. I am afraid I'll fall asleep and start drooling during class. I expect the instructor to hand out orange juice and graham crackers when I'm done.

Today, I made it through the entire class without snoozing. I felt very tired when I was done though, like I needed a nap. It also gave me a slight headache. I'm not a headachy person either! I think I try too hard to relax and I give myself brain overload.

I'm headed to the mountains tomorrow. I'm still scared but I'm going fight through my first age group race and try my best. I was disappointed to find out I'll be wearing a yellow swim cap. I really wanted to wear a pink cap for Bolder .

Any advice about nutrition for an Olympic race? I already bought some Uncrustables and Ensure that Nancy talked about on her blog. I'll eat this in the morning, pre-race. Would two gels and water during the race be enough? One gel on the bike, one on the run?

Tonight, I'm going to eat some scrumpdiddlydumpcious lobster and artichoke/cheese ravioli. Yummy, yummy for my tummy. Is it dinner time yet?

Greenpeace and the Gift of Gravel

One cold, February night when I was 14, there was a knock at the door. My Mom answered it but I walked down the hallway to check it out. There in my threshold stood the most gorgeous, earthy, scruffy bearded Greenpeace guy. He was asking for donations. My Mom obviously had a bad day at work and was tired. She didn't even hesitate saying "No, thanks!" to the godly Greenpeace gent. She closed the door in his face.

I decided I would give a $5.00 donation and I ran upstairs to fetch money from my babysitting funds. I was wearing a sweatshirt and long johns and decided I didn't have enough time to change. I didn't want to look like a teeny-bopper stalker so I decided to bring my chocolate Lab, Sam. If he worked for Greenpeace he had to love animals, right?

Let me fill you in on Sam. Sam was a good dog for a young girl. He was full of energy and love. He wasn't intelligent like Monty though. If Sam could talk, he would sound like that cartoon character that says, "Duh-uh, Whatever you say boss.." My mom would drive Sam and I to obedience classes because he was strong and difficult to control. He was the worst dog in the class. He was completely out of control, smelling other dogs' butts the entire time. We knew he was going to fail so we didn't go to graduation. We went to Taco Bell instead.

I put Sam on his leash and ran outside into the cold, dark night after Greenpeace guy. It had snowed and the street was icy. The gravel and salt truck had come through earlier that evening. It was easier to run on the street than on the sidewalk. I slipped on ice because it was so dark and Sam kept on trucking, like a sled dog. I was getting dragged on the ice by this 100 pound oaf. I was screaming "Stop Sam! Heel! Stop!" I don't know why I just didn't let go of the leash.

The Greenpeace god heard all the commotion and came running over to help. Sam finally stopped to lick him. My knee was throbbing. I wanted to cry but I wouldn't do it in front of this hottie.

"Are you okay? Your dog was really dragging you down the road!"

I could feel warmth and wetness from my knee dripping down onto my socks. All I could manage to get out because of my pain was "I'm fine. I wanted to donate $5.00. I have to go. Bye."

"Are you sure you are alright? Maybe we should walk under that street lamp so I can look at your leg, I think I see blood."

I didn't want to see. Because if it looked as bad as it felt, I knew I would cry. I gimped home fast.

When I saw my knee in the light, I was horrified. My long johns were saturated in blood, they were ripped in the knee. When I took them off, my knee looked like it was chewed up and spit out. I had pieces of gravel stuck in my flesh. My Mom asked if I wanted her to "scrub it out with a toothbrush". Yeah Mom, sounds like just what I need. Do you want me to saw off your fingers with a nail file?

I had trouble walking for the first few days. I couldn't bend my knee or I'd rip open the scab and it would bleed. I had to wrap my knee in gauze for two weeks. I soaked it every night then doused it with peroxide. It would drain pus from the embedded gravel. Finally after about a month, a thick 1/2 inch scab formed.

That scab I had worked so hard on was ripped off at a basketball game. Some dumbass tripped me. I tried to catch myself and protect my wound. Those rubber type gym floors aren't so forgiving on scabby knees. I was bleeding like a stuck pig. The dumbass felt really bad as I walked off court leaving droplets of blood behind.

I had to begin again healing my knee. It was getting warmer and I decided to wear a skirt to school. It exposed my scabby, pus filled, bubbled up knee. I had seen it for so many weeks, I was used to the monstrosity.

There was this boy in school name Corey, he was a year older than I. He was the class clown. The smart ass with all the answers and the cruel jokes. He had liked me and I had spurned his advances. He'd write me notes and threatened to tease me if I didn't write him back. I told him, "I don't fucking care! I'm not wasting my time writing you." I didn't really care until I the day I revealed my ugly knee.

Corey had a field day when he saw it. He screamed out loud in front of the entire class, "Jesus! Cover that shit up, it's the ugliest thing I ever seen. It's all bubbly and weeping green crap! What kind of disease do you have?" The entire room turned to look at my leg.

To this day, you can still see the dark gravel in my left leg. All for the love of Greenpeace.

Myrtle Beach and the Band Nerds Mayhem

Sorry about my pissy attitude yesterday. I appreciate the comments, encouragement and advice. I'll take some time to digest them all. But back to the fun Mojo.

I started playing the flute in sixth grade. In junior high school, I was pretty serious about it. I took private lessons. There was 1st-3rd chair and most of my 7th-8th grade years, I was 1st chair flutist. That meant I got to play the solo part during concerts. My Dad was all about me playing the flute. He loved when I practiced in front of his recliner after work. Even when I screwed up, he still enjoyed it. I think it gave my Mom a headache, she'd always call it my tooty-flutey.

I became friends with a girl named Liza in junior high band. Liza played the saxophone. We decided to sign up for band our freshman year together. People would always tease us about being with a bunch of "band nerds". We found out we had to do marching band if we wanted to play in the highest level of the high school band, symphonic band. Liza and I decided that 1st chair didn't mean as much anymore. We settled for concert band, the second level HS band. In concert band, we just had to do evening performances, no marching band bullshit. Concert band wasn't that bad. I had to wear a cummerbund and bow tie but I survived. My Dad thought I looked wonderful!


****I just came back to edit because I spelled it "cumberbun", I knew it didn't look right. It looks like cinnabun or honeybun. But it's really "cummer"bund. Add a T and we have a cake.******

The real reason Liza and I even signed up for HS band was because every spring, the band would go to Myrtle Beach to compete, without our parents! We had to be sophomores though. Liza and I stuck it out for almost two years for that trip. We sold oranges and grapefruit to make money to go. We were called the "band babes".

Liza was a beautiful girl, I called her an "exotic". She wasn't scared to be the first to wear a plaid skirt with giant safety pins and combat boots. She followed her own drummer. I'll always remember Liza and her red lipstick, she always had her lipstick on. The reeds for her sax were always stained red. She always looked glamorous. She confided in me that she wanted to be a supermodel after high school. I believed in her too. She was very tall, had beautiful facial structure and she was my "exotic".




Usually in high school, girls are very jealous of each other. Liza and I weren't like that. She had her little nickname for me too, "My cute, little Mojoeeeee" (but insert my real name) We were opposites. She was tall, I was small. She was pale, I was tan. I liked lip gloss, she liked red lipstain. She had dark hair, I had every color of hair. I had junk in the truck, she had a little butt. We attracted completely different types of guys. We made a good team.



Our spring break at Myrtle Beach finally came after almost two years. We were so excited. The only problem was, we had to share a room with one of the biggest dorks in band. Her name was Jessie. We just planned to spend as much time out of the room as possible.

The entire bus ride down to SC, we listened to U2 Achtung Baby. We loved So Cruel and Wild Horses. We arrived very early in the morning and got unpacked. Later that day the entire band went to downtown to the boardwalk. Our band instructor, Mr.Taylor knew we were trouble. He watched us like a hawk. When we were talking to some sailors, he comes flapping over yelling "They are only 16, back off sailors!"

Liza was pissed and smoked a cigarette before we went back to the hotel. When we got to our room, Jessie started spazing out that Liza smelled like cigarettes and she had asthma. We went up to the jacuzzi to shut her up. For some reason, we decided to talk off our swim suits. About two minutes later, we see Mr. Taylor walking toward us. We dunk underwater and put our suits back on real quick and exit the hot tub. I wasn't paying attention to Liza until we got back in the elevator. In her rush, she'd put her suit on inside out! All the padding in the breast cups was hanging out for the world to see. It was some funny shit.

We saw some of the finest sufer dudes that night. We called down to them from our balcony to quietly come up to room 356. Jessie had went down the hall to practice her trumpet in her friends room. As soon as the hot surfer boys got into our room there was a knock at the door. It was Mr.Taylor with his fucking walkie talkie, like he was on Miami Vice or something. "One of the chaperones saw you calling to the boys. You are not to have any boys this room! You two better knock it off or we'll send you home at your parents' expense." Mr. Taylor was such a cock blocker!

We decided to be mischievous and play a prank on some of the band boys. We went down to the front desk and pretended we lost our card key. They gave us a card to the boys room. Liza and I bought some ketchup, a box of pads and tampons. We headed to the boys room and started decorating. We hung tampons from all the light fixtures, stuck pads on the walls and spread them with ketchup. We filled the sinks and bathtub with water, ketcup and tampons. We stripped the beds and tied the sheets to the balcony. We unscrewed the mouth piece to the telephone and hid the microphone part. We knew that when they came back, they'll call and tell Mr.Taylor. We went through their bags and found tighty whitey's with skid marks and made a path on the floor. And then the door opened, the boys caught us in action.

Liza was strong. She ran out of the room and got free. The boys had a hold of me though. She came and rescued me but we had gotten too loud. A chaperone comes running down the hall into the pad/tampon party room. The chaperone turned pale, he was in shock.

"This is the most disgusting thing I have ever seen! You girls are in big trouble! I'm calling Mr.Taylor! Look at all these sanitary napkins strewn about!"

I couldn't control myself. What idiot calls them sanitary napkins? "Ummmm, you mean pads and tampons that are covered in blood?" He looked like he was going to pass out.

I really pissed him off and he went running to the phone. He calls to Mr.Taylor's room. He's so angry, he is spitting and frothing at the mouth.

"I have the two trouble makers up here and you wouldn't believe what they have done."

Too bad Mr.Taylor couldn't hear him because we removed the microphone. Idiot chaperone keeps calling Mr.Taylor back because he keeps getting hung up on. I couldn't stop laughing. I think Liza peed in her pants.

We almost got sent home. For the rest of the trip, we were confined to our room. We didn't join band our junior year because they told us we weren't allow to go on the trip again. We had fun though, I've never laughed so hard.


The saddest part of this story is that I recently learned Liza had died in 2004. Her family didn't discuss why, it was probably suicide or an OD. She had made it into modeling too, below is a picture of her at a photo shoot. Her dream had come true. I am sad my partner in crime is gone forever. Wild Horses is for Liza, because she was like black beauty. Dark, strong and "exotic". I will always think of her when I wear red lipstick.

Houston, We Have a Problem

If you like reading funny, happy Mojo stories, this post isn't for you. I'm feeling a little in the pity party mode right now. I'm going to write it down because I want to remember these days too. Maybe I will learn something from your comments, whether they be positive or negative.

I'm afraid about my upcoming race on Saturday because I won't place. Today, before my run, I actually thought about backing out of it. When I first decided to do triathlon in January, I did have a goal. I wanted to finish the White Lake Half to test myself. I wanted to find out if I was okay. I wanted to know my body hadn't failed me.

Before I even got to that race, I did two sprints. I placed 2nd and 1st novice and I liked winning. It made me feel special, alright? It made my friends and family proud. I got to have my "moments of glory". I finished the White Lake Half and felt great. I didn't feel like it had killed me, I was bopping around until after 11pm that night. I placed 1st novice all the following races. I surprised myself by not only reaching my goal but succeeding more than I had ever imagined.

I decided to switch to age group for Bandit's and Pinehurst. To push myself and to face reality. I don't like what I see as the race nears. I'm going to be honest about why. Because I will not place. Because I'm doubting myself. Because I don't know if I have the ability to ever place again. Some people are naturally gifted, like the people that run 5-6 minute miles. I truly feel like it will be impossible for me to ever run that fast. My legs and cardiovascular system just isn't built for that quick business.

What bothers me the most about it is that I train and push myself hard. This is the hardest I have worked my entire life. I will not quit a workout, I'm crazy like that. Like today, when I thought about pulling out of this race, I still did my 1:45 minute run. If I didn't do it, I knew I would feel even worse. Someone that doesn't complete workouts doesn't deserve to win. It's a pill to swallow, trying hard but not winning.

I know, I know. I sound very ungrateful for life right now, sorry. (I promise to post something funny tomorrow) I should be happy just to be doing triathlon. I'm healthy and in the best shape of my life. We're able to pay the entry fees, travel to races and I have support. What more could I ask for, right? I'm just struggling with the entire "winning, placing" issue. As sad as it sounds, if I place, I feel good enough.

And maybe this is part of the reason I haven't been posting about triathlon lately. I didn't want to admit to these thoughts.

Bouncy, Bouncy, Bouncy

I did a ride for relay for life today. It was a last minute decision because I haven't gotten in enough bike miles this week. I have Bandit's Challenge next week and I'm nervous. Since I was selling the goats, I missed both evening group rides this week. Potential buyers always came after work and the group rides start at 6pm. I decided to go for gold and do the 100k ride today.
Starting out on the ride, Clifford was being a bad boy. He was making all sorts of noises while shifting and would really bark if I put him in the large rings in the back. It sounded like an extremely loud tooth grinder. I thought I knew what the problem stemmed from.

See, Don gets all ape shit about how my bikes are packed in the van. He likes me to use bungee cords and secure them tightly. He hates seeing a bike laying down on it's side. I asked for a kickstand. He threatens to sell my bikes if he finds they are be abused by me.

A few days ago, I didn't lock Clifford in the van tightly enough and he went crashing over on his side, hard. I didn't pick him back up and bungee him back in either. Today, I paid for it. I couldn't use any of the hard gears. Going down steep hills, I'd just pedal for nothing. Finally, I gave up trying to crank hard and just coasted down all the hills.

Then, when some guys were trying to help me figure out the problem, I almost wrecked. Because I dropped the chain when they told me to go into the hard gears. I freaked out and was just spinning air while going up hill. One of them saw I was going to fall over and grabbed me, thank God! I hate falling over, it always hurts my hip and I can't sleep on that side for a few nights. I owe that dude some soap.

When I finished the ride and was driving home, I decided to take Clifford to the bike shop. I was kind of scared that I really fucked him up. I didn't know how much it would cost to repair him. I think I'm going to need Clifford for Bandits Challenge because that race is so hilly.

I called Don at work while driving to the shop. "Hi Honey, how did the ride go?"

"It was okay. Something is wrong with Clifford though. I couldn't switch gears."

"Do you know why?" he asked.

"Nuh-uh, something with my chain ring?"I played the dumb non-mechanical chick card.

"Yes you do, you know the exact reason. It serves you right that you had problems with your bike today. I looked through your van window and saw the bike laying down!"

Busted.

And so is my crotch because I did an awful lot of bouncing while pedaling at like 200 RPM.

Lesson Learned.

Too Much Information

Okay, I'm just going to warn you. This post has nothing to do with training or triathlon. My husband actually brought it to my attention that most of my posts don't. I do create race reports. I don't like talking about training all the time. Because my life is more exciting than running 6 miles, working my triceps and chest and spending some time next to my Mom on the elliptical today. I enjoy the comedy in life.

I kind of felt bad I didn't talk tri stuff today, after he brought it up. I thought maybe I should have two separate blogs. One about life and one about training. My husband asked me not to write this post but it amuses me. It's my blog for Christ Sake! I write it more for me than anyone else. I want to remember this moment five years from now, even though it's embarassing. Don't read it if you don't like it. I'm brutally honest, even if it makes me look bad. So, if you have a problem with sex or farting stop reading right this moment. I don't want any too much information comments. IMO

You have been warned. I tell this story because I'm sure it's happened before. Also, when it happens to you, you won't feel so alone.

Last night, I was too lazy and depressed/drunk about selling the goats to make dinner. I settled on a bowl of bran cereal and the Dannon Activa Yogurt. The yogurt that says it helps with digestive health. I usually eat this yogurt in the morning. It was my dessert last night.

I think I'm close to ovulating, my sex drive is up. This morning, we were making love before work. My stomach woke me up making weird noises. It looked kinda puffy. I was in the mood anyway and you know how you just go limp when you 'gasm? Well, I let out a really loud, long fart. It didn't stink but it was in fuckin' stereo.

I was in shock. I hardly ever fart, for real! It is like a treat for Don to hear me fart. He's always like "Aaaaawwwwwwww!! I heard that little trumpet toot you just did!" It's a baby beep noise.

What happened this morning, wasn't a trumpet. It was a tuba. I wasn't sure what to do. I pretended in my seconds of bliss he was deaf enough not to hear it. When I saw the expression on his face I knew he heard it. How could you not? I will still shocked, I bet it shook the headboard!

I started hysterically laughing. I mean hurt my AB muscles laugh. He did too. That is why I love him. He doesn't make me feel like a nasty buzzard, he just kept going. I'm not eating that Activa or Bran cereal at night anymore!

It's Never Easy

I put an ad in the newspaper yesterday for goats. I need to sell the boys because they are getting horny. They are starting to pee in their beard, snort, stick their tongue out and they try to mount. I don't want any girls bred yet. If they were bred now, that would mean they would give birth in January. I like them to kid in March.

I have to cut down the herd, you can't keep them all. I sold nine goats today. Deciding which females will be sold is difficult. I always feel like I'm playing God. "Your life will be spared because you have better udders."

I got a phone call and a family offered me a good deal on all the goats. They want them for food. It much easier for me to sell them all at once. Because when I sell one or two at a time, I just suffer longer. I just have to "steel" myself.


Tonight, I caught the boys for the last time. I fed them all some golden delicious apples. I gave them their last sweet feed meal. The most difficult goat to say good-bye to was Fancy Pants. She just stood there when I to catch her and let me lead her by the collar. It was almost as if she knew this was her last walk with me through the green pasture.


I thought it would get easier. This is the third season I have sold the goats knowing they will be dinner. It's not easy. I feel like a hypocrite sometimes. I eat chicken, beef, pork and fish. I know my goats will provide an extremely healthy feast for many people. I still feel wrong about people eating the goats I helped deliver. My emotions can change so quickly. Just four hours ago, I was wearing lingerie for my husband and feeling sexy. Now, I'm sweaty with goat stench and feel guilty.



We loaded them up and I got paid. (notice horn dog's tongue sticking out) I looked in the back of the trailer one more time and told them "Sorry little babies". I hope I was a good Mom to them while they were here, I will miss them. It still doesn't help. I hope I'm not going to hell for all this sacrificing of beautiful animals. I'm going to have some gin and tonic now.

7:46pm
Had some gin and tonic and have a rant:

Please don't come to my farm and pick up my animals and ask, "Can I slit their throat or tie their legs up and throw them in a pick-up to get them home?"

No, I loved them. I want to see them leave me alive and know I did my best while caring for them. I'll give you our pick-up and trailer to take them, safely. I am too much of a whimp to watch the death.

My Fear of Merging

If I ever complain about being too cold in the winter, bitch slap me and remind me of the first week in August. I just finished 2,200 in the pool and it was refreshing. I felt like I could swim all day but I don't want to injure my shoulder. I feel really sorry for the animals, they only protection they have is shade from trees or the barn.

Have you ever started writing about something and get completely off track? That's what I did yesterday. I was planning on writing about taking a patient to the hospital but I wrote about Eddie. Here's my original story:

I told you that as an activities person, I had to take patients to doctor's appointments. One morning, I walked into the rest home and the supervisor tells me I need to take Walter to a hospital in Greensboro called Moses Cone. They gave me very basic directions. Go up 421, get on I-40 and it's on Elm Street. Sounded simple enough.

Walter was a very nice man. I bought him a root beer and Camel cigarettes and he was happy as a clam during the drive. I had never driven to Greensboro before. Everything was great driving down 421, it's a country drive most of the way. Walter was telling me about thousands of bugs that try to sleep with him at night. If he wears his Superman socks to bed, they don't bite him.

When I started to merge on I-40, I panicked. I only had 1/4 a mile to merge on the highway. There were two lanes merging into five. It was tractor trailer city. I was driving the rest home van. When I merge, I don't know how to gauge speed either. Should I speed up or slow down? I my frazzled state I asked Walter "Are there any cars or trucks coming? Can I get over??" He said the coast was clear so I quickly tucked behind a 18-wheeler with only 100 yards of merge lane left.

I couldn't find the hospital exit and my shoulders and neck felt tight from gripping the steering wheel too hard. I finally decided to get off the highway and stop at a gas station to ask for directions. When I walked up to the cashier, I realized I forgot the name of the hospital because I was stressing out so bad. It was 10:45 and Walter's appointment was a 11:00.
"Can I help you?" the guy at the register asked.
"I am lost. I need to find the hospital around here."
"Which hospital? There are many in Greensboro."

Fuck, think brain trust, THINK! A light bulb went off. "I need to find the hospital that is named after some character in the bible!"

They cashier gave me a weird look like I was playing a riddle game with him.
"You mean Moses H. Cone Memorial?"

Bingo! I could have kissed that dude. I didn't want to have to call the rest home to find out what hospital I was driving to again. He gave me directions and I sped away with ten minutes to make Walter's appointment. I told Walter we were running late, so we needed to hurry when we got there. I parked and got Walter out of the car. I held onto his arm to keep him walking at a fast pace. We made it, I was only three minutes late.

The nurse took Walter in the back and returns twenty minutes later with a concerned expression. She starts asking me medical questions about Walter, like he lives with me 24/7. How long has he had diabetes? What medications has he been taking to control his blood sugar? Does he wear glasses? How long has it been since his vision has changed? I told her she needed to call the rest home because I didn't know. Lady, I feel like I don't know fucking anything today! Not even the name of this hospital, okay?

"Well, Walter needs to go into surgery immediately! His diabetes has caused blindness and he needs surgery now if we are to save any vision."

Huh? What? Walter is blind? An hour ago, he had told me no cars and trucks were coming on I-40, "Go, the coast is clear!" Exact words.

I used up another one of my lives that day. We should have died, I hope I didn't cause any accidents. More baffling is how he lit his smokes and threw them out the window or knew where the cup holder was for his root beer.

I told my supervisor I wasn't driving back to the bible hospital to pick Walter back up. The drive was too scary. Walter returned two days later, both eyes all bandaged up with white gauze. He looked like The Fly.

I'm still afraid of merging on major highways. I still ask for help but I make sure my passenger isn't legally blind!

Working In the Looney Bin

After treatment, I started taking college courses and working full time. I was working at the restaurant part time in the evenings. I found a part time day job as an activities person at a "rest" home. It wasn't an old folks home, it was a home for mentally challenged people. I was in charge of playing games, reading and taking them to doctor or shrink appointments.

I really enjoyed the rest home job. Everyday was a new experience. Some of the patients scared me. Like old Dolly. Dolly would yell in a high pitched wicked witch of the west voice, "You little whore, I'm going to get you my pretty." She'd wait until I'd leave the door open to the office and sneak up behind me, screaming and pinch my arm, hard. I learned quickly to keep the office door locked because they'd eat my lunch, drink my diet cokes or wear my sweater/jacket or coat.

I watched he nurse giving out medication one morning. She was giving Helen some pills out of a birth control packet. I was shocked, why was Helen taking birth control? I had remembered one time, she had started her period and comes running down the hall waving her panties. "I'm bleeding to death help me!" The nurse informed me all female patients got the pill because they were sexually active. I didn't believe her until I saw Helen screwing Chuck in the woods. She came back all smiles and informed me she had three babies growing inside now. Two white and one black baby, all boys.

I tried to do nice things with them. Once I took them to pick strawberries. Everyone got a bucket and they were very excited. I was going to make shortcake at home and we'd have a party the next day. When I told everyone it was time to go and to bring me their buckets, one sweet old man handed me his bucket of green berries proudly. I told him he did a great job. I quickly threw them into the woods so I didn't have to pay for them when he wasn't looking.

I had some favorite patients. Eddie was my very favorite patient. He was in his late 60's, his file said " schizoid", but most of all the patients were diagnosed as schizophrenic. Eddie called me his "angel" and when I'd sit on the porch to read with him, he'd get really upset if a fly would land on me. "NO FLIES ON MY ANGEL!" and he'd shoo them away.

I'd asked Eddie if he'd like to go to Mc'Ds for lunch one day after his Dr.'s appointment. He said he was scared because black men weren't supposed to go out with white women, he may get beaten. I tried to reassure him it was 1997 but he didn't understand. He asked me to buy him a pack of Pall Mall's instead. Cigarettes were like gold at that place. Cigarette owners were like God.

Eddie's very favorite book was a book I had when I was a kid, Koko's Kitten.

It's a book about a gorilla named Koko and her trainer named Penny. Eddie loved to pretend that he was Koko and I was Penny. His favorite Koko picture was when she had her mouth wide open. Eddy had dentures he kept perfectly clean, he was always shaven and well groomed. He loved to open his mouth real wide and show his teeth like Koko.

One day, I couldn't come into work and called in sick. The following day I returned and Eddie wasn't waiting on the porch like he normally was every morning I pulled up. I found him still in his bed and I asked the nurse what was going on. I guess he acted badly when I didn't come into work and starting throwing things. They decided to up his medication to calm him down. Now he was in a drugged stupor. I went out to my truck and got Koko's Kitten. I brought it in his room and showed him his favorite open mouthed pictured.


He opened his mouth like Koko for a second and realized his dentures weren't in. He got upset and told me he didn't want to look at the book anymore.

The next day I came in, Eddie was gone. They said he'd try to slash his wrists and they sent him to the state mental institution. I was really sad. I never got to say good-bye. I would have given him my childhood book. I decided to call the state hospital and I got to speak with Eddie on the phone. I told him I was going to come and see him a week from Saturday. He just kept repeating "My Angel, my angel!" I asked if he wanted anything special to eat. He told me he would like some croaker or spot fish. I called all the seafood restaurants in the area but none of them had that type of fish.

My husband came with me that Saturday afternoon. It was over a two hour drive and I appreciated the company. We stopped when we got close to the institution and bought Eddie a fried flounder lunch and a pack of Pall Malls. I brought Koko's kitten with me too. I was excited to see Eddie, I hoped he remembered I was coming.

When we arrived, we had to sign in and they went to get Eddie. He staggered down the hall and he had googly eyes, like those puffy stickers. He hadn't shaved for a long while but he had his teeth in. I introduced him to Don and we went outside to eat lunch. When we got outside, I'd realized I forgot to bring drinks. Don offered to go inside and buy some Coke.

When Don left, Eddie started talking.
"I missed you Angel. Why did you bring him with you?"

"Thanks Eddie, I missed you too. I hope you are feeling better."

"I'd feel better if you'd spread your legs."

Whoa there cowboy. I couldn't believe what I had just heard. I decided to ignore that comment because Eddie had never been perverted before.

"Hey look Eddie, I brought you Koko's kitten. It's your favorite book and I want you to have it."

"I want to lick your pussy like creamed corn." He tried to pull me toward him.

"I don't like you talking to me like that. It's rude and I'm in a relationship with Don."

I was feeling very uncomfortable because I was with Eddie outside alone. We were also locked outside, I couldn't open the door to get back in. It felt like Don was taking forever to get the drinks. Most of all, I didn't want to get Eddie in trouble. If he grabbed me and someone saw or i got scared and screamed, I'd knew he'd be in big trouble. This wasn't the Eddie I knew, it was the drugs that were talking. Whatever medication he was on made him act ugly and violent.

Just as he was about to say something else I probably didn't want to hear, Don came back. Eddie never uttered another sexual word while Don was around. My heart ached though because I knew my Koko was lost for good. He had no interest in the book, he'd just stare at me with googly eyes. I never saw him again.

I still think about Eddie. I hope someone adjusted his meds because he is a dear, sweet soul. I miss him and the way he would shoo the flies away from me. Nobody else has ever done that for me since.
****I just removed Vanilla Ice's video because Don said "Take it off or buy me earplugs!"***