Things I Knew But Re-Learned This Weekend

1. If you consistently leave the top down on the convertible, sooner or later a bird will poop inside your car.
2. If the bird does not do a fly-over bombing, it will land on the back seat and wipe its feathery little butt on the upholstery.
3. Garages house many things with multiple legs.
4. Black widows are among them.
5. When it’s 87 outside, and you’re trying to reorganize the garage, you will sweat. A lot.
6. Before the re-organization realizes its full effect, it will look like the garage threw up.
7. When carrying a bunch of plastic containers out of WalMart, there will be 20 old or infirm people shuffling in microsteps, blocking the door.
8. Patience is, indeed, a virtue.
9. Goodwill wants donations on their terms only.
10. Goodwill is lucky more people don’t get fed up and toss potential donations into dumpsters instead.

Because I can't Think Of Anything Worthwhile To Say, I Bring You:

THESE CATS SAW YOU NAKED!!!

Ok, take up a collection and buy this for me.

Or not.

Today was Day 2 of riding in the Basic Rider’s Course, where we went (zoom³)(zoom²)+10 and ziiiiip and did not drop the bikes or have nervous breakdowns. We rode and picked bugs out of our teeth, and in the end both the Boy and I passed.

Yes, if we ever get a bike, new parking lots await us both.

We have to wait about 10 days to get the little slip of paper that tells the DMV to waive the riding portion of the license exam, but after that, we can take the test and be legal on 2 wheels.

All along I’ve thought “scooter-scooter-scooter” but after getting to ride a bike and learning that shifting will not make me pee my pants and finding out that those smaller wheels can make a scooter a littler more dangerous than a motorcycle, I dunno. I rode a Kawasaki Eliminator (125cc) in the class and was comfortable on it, and I won’t need a bike big enough for highway speeds. Ever. This wabbit will not do the Interstate on a bike. Ever. I barely want to do that in a car.

Tell ya what…I was told over and over by experienced riders that the only way to learn to ride is to take the MSF Basic Rider’s Course, and now I can see why. You go from baby steps to wheeeeeeeeee in less than 10 hours, but the steps progress so naturally it doesn’t feel like learning. It feels like doing.

I don’t know when I’ll actually get a bike, but when I do, I feel confident that I can manage practice in a parking lot, and then get out on the roads around here.

In baby steps.

And then I’ll squeal wheeeeeeeee.

We went zooooom.
We went zooooom in straight lines.
We went zooooom weaving between tiny little cones.
We went zooooom around curves.
We went zooooom all the way to 3rd gear.

Day 1 of How To Ride A Motorcycle And Not Fall Off Or Run Over Kittens And Puppies was about 32 kinds of fun, and both the Boy and I survived it.

Day 2 is tomorrow, where (I think) we will attempt tighter curves and turns, spiffy figure 8’s, and quite possible things that will make me cry just in contemplation. After the exercises, there will be a skills test, and if we pass it, then we’ll be fully qualified to ride around in parking lots, practicing turns and shifting and the all important Stop Before Running Someone Off The Road.

If we survive Day 2 (it’s not a given; one of the students was dismissed from Day 1 due to lack of balance, but he gets to come back another time after he’s learned to balance on a bicycle…) there’s a skills test at the end. I really want to pass that, if for no other reason than it means not taking the riding portion of the DMV test.

Keep your fingers crossed I shift better, stop rolling on the throttle, and stall 4 less times than I did today…

Oh, man.
Could it get any better than this?
Could it please stay like this all freaking summer?
Don't I wish....

And yes, I took the convertible out, I didn't even have to invent errands 'cause someone has a birthday next week. I didn't even mind waiting in the 15 minute long line at the gas station. And I thought it was cute when a kid walked by me in the store and said "That lady smells like summer!" (I hope he was referring to my sunscreen and not the odor of 100 sweaty bodies...)

It's supposed to rain on Saturday (insert frowning face here) and I did not want rain at all this weekend.

Keep your fingers crossed for just hit and miss sprinkles...

:::off to invent an errand or two:::

1973*
*Or… Because My Brain Is Numb, I Shall Allow you to Laugh At Me

My mom made the World’s Best Pizza™ and it was so good that I had never, not as far as I can recall, had a slice of anything different. As I grew up, if we wanted pizza, we had her pizza. Completely homemade, sausage¹ and green pepper. To me, that was pizza.

Oh sure, once in a while we had pizza from somewhere else, but it was always sausage and green pepper.

Then came 7th grade and some school function for which we had a field trip that kept us out long past dinner time. I think—not sure—that it was the time Mrs. Cheshier, our English teacher, took a bunch of us to see Hal Holbrook perform as Mark Twain. It was awesome, even for a group of idiot 12 and 13 year old kids. It was made even more awesome by a stop to Pizza Inn, whereupon I was asked, “What do you want on your pizza?”

On it?
There are only three things on pizza.
Cheese, sausage, and green pepper.
What do they all mean by “what do you want on your pizza?” Pizza just is.

Yes, I was 12 years old and clueless to the sheer variety one could have on a pizza.

And you know what made even more stupid? I had two sister who worked at the freaking Pizza Inn. I’d had pizza there before. But I’d always had sausage and green pepper. I’d never looked at the menu. Pizza was sausage and green pepper, and that was all there was to it.

Now, I was stupid, but not stupid. A little bell went off in the back of my head warning me that other people obviously put other things on their pizza. I couldn’t fathom why they would do that, but some kids wanted pepperoni, others wanted mushrooms, some just cheese. No one wanted sausage and green pepper.

Except for Mrs. Cheshire, who smiled and said “I’ve never had green pepper on a pizza!” She nudged Mr. Cheshire and said “We’ll share a pizza with her. It sounds good!”

It kept other kids from laughing at me, or the surprised look on my face.

My culinary world changed that night. As did my self perception. I knew I was smart, but I realized then, as the little bell went off and all that pizza could be occurred to me, I could be really, really dense…²

I'm not sure I've had sausage on one since then.

¹No, my mother did not go out and kill a pig and make that from scratch…I don’t think.
²Shut up, Murf.

Is it Monday?
:::scratches head:::
It’s Monday.

In spite of my efforts—I went to the library and everything—I have gotten no work done lately. All my writing just shuffled itself to the back of my brain with a condescending pat on the head, muttering “there, there, dear, you just read your motorcycle crap” like someone’s irritated grandmother.

Yes, I’m a one-track wonder these days. I read the DMV M-Class manual, took copious notes, typed those notes up (all 15 pages), read and re-read and took the 2 online sample tests the DMV has three times, bought a book on the CA driver’s test that has 7 full-length practice tests and have done those (and happily, only missed a couple questions on each, and they had to do with things I just don’t deal with regularly, like trolley cars…)

I’m 99% sure I could take the written test and pass right now.

And I’m fairly confident on most of the riding part. I have a healthy fear of falling but I’m not terrified by it, especially not at parking lot speeds. I’m not too worried about the curving and turning. But I am worried about gears. I’ve looked at pictures and diagrams and I just don’t get it. I see a pedal and I think “push on it” and have no idea what they mean by “lift” and dammit, I want to know everything before I get there. Because that’s the way I am.

Oh and we’re going to have spectacular weather all this week—until Friday, when it’s going to start raining, and with my luck, it will rain in biblical proportions through Sunday…

:::wanders off, wondering if putt-putting around on a tiny little electrical scooter is like practice:::

While I’m A Slave To My Cats, I Don’t Want Them On Me Forever…

So no, my tattoo will not be a beatific image of Max. Or Buddah. Or Dusty. Or Hank (though Hank wasn’t a cat, he certainly thought one was his mother…)

Wanting a tattoo isn’t a new thing; it’s been on my list of Things To Do for as long as I can remember. And the design I’ll get is something I’ve had sketched out for over 10 years. I figure if I still want the same thing after a decade, I won’t ever regret it.

I figure if you’re going to etch something into your skin and it’s going to be there until long after it’s sagged and stretched 4 inches, long after you, even, then it needs to mean something. No one else has to get it, but it needs to have some kind of meaning beyond “Hey I got drunk, and lookit what I woke up with!”

Thumper Overjoyed, Splashing In A Puddle. That’s what will eventually wind up on my upper arm, and I’m thinking it will get there this summer.

It has more meaning now than when I first thought about it: the puddle is every bad or not so fun thing that’s ever happened to me. It’s friends lost to cancer, to car wrecks and drunk drivers, to heart attacks, to age. It’s a broken heart and loneliness. It’s chronic pain: fibromyalgia and myofascial pain and arthritis. It’s a brain tumor. It’s diabetes insipidus and growth hormone shots every night.

That puddle is also all the good. It’s finding friends, falling in love, having a child. It’s watching those first steps and hearing a first laugh. It’s holidays spent with family, laughter so hard that soda squirts right out your nose. It’s learning that the bad things aren’t always fatal. It’s waking to a cat curled up on the pillow, content little meows and dorky catnip trips.

I’ve always wanted a tattoo; I’ve always wanted a motorcycle…so I’m pretty sure I’ve been leading up to my midlife crisis since I was 8-10 years old.

And here I always thought forward thinking was not my strong suit…

These Are The Things Of Which A Middle Age Crisis Is Made…



Unless I drop dead, break a limb, go insane, or become deathly ill, next weekend I, along with the Boy, will be taking the CHP Motorcycle Basic Rider’s Course in pursuit of a motorcycle license.

Yes, I’m a wuss. I need my little boy to accompany me, because I just don’t do things for the first time alone. I don’t know why, so I can’t explain it.

But I like going zoom. Initially I was thinking putt-putt of the moped variety; the Spouse Thingy reasoned that taking the course would be a good idea, because learning to ride a Real Bike would give me options. Plus, it seems you need a motorcycle license for even a putt-putt now. While my first thought was why? It’s just a moped my second was well…putt-putts get in trouble, too…

In any case, because I really don’t want to die right now, if you would all concentrate on No Rain Mojo™, I would greatly appreciate it.

Oh, and send Remember All The Test Stuff Chit Mojo™, too…I can’t believe I have to re-take the written CA driver’s test for this. I hate tests. Tests make me nervous and upset, and even if I know the material cold, I stay nervous and upset. Why can’t I just take a written test on motorcycle stuff? Really, I know the important things, like never stick a playing card in your spokes because you already make the Rrrr Rrrr Rrrr sound. And don’t ride naked no matter how hot it is. And just because you can do a wheelie for 1 mile at 55 mph that doesn’t mean you should.

And the next big thing after learning to ride…I’m getting a tattoo…

After 13 million days of rain, we finally had a nice day. So this afternoon we pulled the convertible out of the garage and ran errands in it, soaking up the sunshine and enjoying the wonder of 72 degrees. Heck, we even washed it, which pretty much guarantees that the rain will return tomorrow, but according to the weather guy it’s going to anyway.

Then after coming home I chased the Spouse Thingy around on his bike with my scooter—we could have gone to the gym but why when it’s this nice, and when we came home…it was time to introduce Buddah to the back yard. Unlike Max, Buddah shows no fear of the great outdoors and was even calm enough to take outside (being held tightly) in the rain the other day. So we bought him a harness and leash, and let him explore.

While Max had no desire to go outside on the leash, he was a tiny bit jealous, I think, and wanted us to at least offer to take him out. He had to settle for sniffing Buddah through the screen.

We needed a day like today. I’d be happier if it would stay like this for 3 solid weeks, but I’ll take today.

Now, keep your fingers crossed that it’s like this next Saturday and Sunday, when Thumper and the Boy are taking a motorcycle rider’s instruction course. Didja know that in CA you have to have a motorcycle license to even ride a moped? And Thumper wants a putt putt… because Thumper is lame and talks in 3rd person and really really really likes electronic and transportation-oriented toys…

Thumper may wuss out after takng the course, but better to take it and wuss out than to save the money and buy a putt putt and THEN wuss out…

I have spent way too much time the last couple of days sitting here, clicking on little kitty faces at Kitten War, hoping that Buddah’s little kitty face would pop up and I could vote for him, no matter how cute his opponent might be.

Buddah as a kitten wasn’t…mmm…the most attractive kitty there was. He often had this odd look, like (at the risk of being WAY politically incorrect) he should be riding the short bus to school. His eyes would cross and he just didn’t look quite right sometimes. He was kitten-cute but not in that way that makes people look at him and squeal.

Buddah now…much cuter. He filled out, he gained control over his eyes, and became quite dignified. But at a year, he’s not a “kitten” and thusly, the picture submitted to kitten war was one when he was really a kitten.

And he’s losing.
Badly.
As in 60% of battles lost. 13% are draws.

It’s a good thing I know he was not the most attractive of kittens…

No, don’t try to go there and vote for him, You could sit there for 2 hours and he might never pop up in a battle (don’t ask me how I know this…) Or he could be in the first or third or 5th battle. It’s so random, there’s no telling. I managed to stumble across him there one time, and while OF COURSE I voted for him, the other kitten was awfully cute.

Really. Do not go to Kitten War. If you do, you may find yourself stuck there for the rest of your life, clicking on cute kitties, sighing “awwwwwww” way too often, and contemplating life as someone owned by 30 of the little furballs…

At The Library...Again

• Library Bob must be taking the day off from reading.
  
• For whatever reason, all the table lights are unplugged.
  
• I need lots of light.
  
• I brought my laptop today instead of my spiffy PDA.
  
• My laptop only has about 2 hours battery power, and is about to punk out.
  
• I was on a roll with my writing, but suddenly hit a brick wall.
  
• Now my head hurts.
  
• What I’m working on so far seems really depressing.
  
• I need to inject some funny into it.
  
• My stomach is growling loud enough that people keep looking at me.
  
• I could use it and the waning battery as an excuse to go get something to eat, something totally not good for me.
  
• I am fighting that urge.
  
• I have 5% battery power left.
  
• I think I’m done until I get home…
  

Things I Didn’t Need To See Today...

• The guy in the Raley’s parking lot with his hand down his pants, scratching his junk.
  
• The teenager in the library picking her nose.
  
• Then eating her special treasure.
  
• The Woman outside the library who tossed her trash bag of McD’s leftovers onto the ground because the can was full.
  
• Max’s paw zooming towards my face at 7:20 this morning
  

And Random Things…

• There are hot tub hogs at Gold’s Gym.
  
• No, I don’t know where that thought came from, other than I wanted to get in the hot tub after swimming Friday and it was full of people who just wouldn’t leave.
  
• No, I don’t expect people to get out just so I can get in.
  
• They’d been in there over 45 minutes, you’d think they’d have been cooked clear through by then.
  
• If they’re still there when I go back tomorrow, I think I should tell someone…
  

It takes a very special kind of stupid to put a swim suit on backwards, and then not notice for a good 30 seconds...

I ache from head to toes. Well, from my neck to my toes, but still… My body is taunting me, whispering “it’s your own damned fault for having not worked out for so long,” while it giggles like a sadistic little school girl. You know the one, every school has one. She’s the little B.I.T., embracing her future self like a life preserver.

My body hates me. The Spouse Thingy is going to want to hit the gym again today, and my body is busy hating me.

It’s a beautiful day, however—I can see actual sunshine out my office window—so it might be a day to pull my car out of the garage and take it for a spin with the top down. He can go ahead and take himself to the gym; I can drive around in the sunshine, grinning like a fool, and then I’ll take myself out for this huge, so-not-good-for-you lunch. Simply because I can.

Or I’ll sit here and whine about how much I ache from just a half hour of swimming half assed laps…

You didn’t think I’d spend the day working did you?

More Bullet Abuse…

• Gold’s Gym now owns us for a year; surprisingly, I’m excited about that.
  
• I have lost a lot of endurance over the last year.
  
• The pool was nice and warm, and it was good to know that unlike the Y, that’s not because 50 kids just peed in it.
  
• We fully intend to go back tomorrow.
  
• SUNSHINE! Well, at least it didn’t rain, even though it was cloudy a good part of the day.
  
• The Spouse Thingy, missing brew made by the spouse of an OH Evil Person, wants to make his own beer.
  
• I hate beer, but I’m all for it.
  
• I’ve decided I need a moped-like scooter instead of a motorcycle.
  
• Apparently, my mid-life crisis is minor.
  
• Or I’m a wuss.
  
• Either way, it would be fun.
  
• zoom
  

Wandom Bullets Aimed Right At You

• I am officially tired of rain.
  
• It is my fault we have had so much rain.
  
• It is raining because I want to ride my scooter.
  
• I can make it rain all summer long.
  
• I’ll just go buy a motorcycle.
  
• Or not.
  
• I love daylight savings time.
  
• Everyone who hates it can bite me :)
  
• DST is like magic to the night blind.
  
• Of which I am.
  
• My cat has a potential stalker.
  
• I think I’m jealous.
  
• He’s way more popular than I am.
  
• We are joining Gold’s Gym tomorrow (the Spouse Thingy and I, not the cat.)
  
• Yes, we joined the Y last year.
  
• That didn’t work out.
  
• Joining means I should actually go to the gym once in a while, doesn’t it?
  
• Maybe I’ll get buff.
  
• And then I’ll buy a motorcycle.
  
• Or not.
  

Yep. The Boy is 23.
Damn, I feel old.

My train of thought completely derailed at 2:11 in the Ulatis branch of the Vacaville Public Library this afternoon. There I was, typing away on my spiffy NEC Mobilepro 780 (yes, all you writers, be very jealous...), the words flowing from my brain to my fingertip in one giant literary river, when a 3 or 4 year old little girl stopped behind me and screamed at the top of her lungs “I HAVE TO GO POOPY! DADDY I HAVE TO GO POOPY!”

And Daddy, it seems, was not comfortable with taking her into the men’s room. And hell no, I did not offer to take her to the women’s room. Daddy continued to browse books, whispering “Just hold it for five more minutes,” and Little Girl kept informing the world that her bowels were 4.5 seconds away from evacuating involuntarily.

I could no longer concentrate on my work, not with them standing behind me. I don’t think it was the noise of his whispering and her trying to get him to understand that she was very close to a personal emergency; I think it was the idea that at any moment I was going to be directly in front of an oozing toddler.

My mental choo-choo didn’t even hit the brakes. It just sailed off the rails, and into a mountain of Oh Dammit, where it exploded in a mass of unfinished thought bubbles.

They left before she reached critical mass, but it was too late. I could not pick up where I left off, so I now have this mediocre-ly constructed, half-finished paragraph and I can’t figure out where I was headed with it. All I know is that it was damned good, probably the best stuff I was ever going to write, and now it’s gone.

So I’m packing up my spiffy NEC Mobilepro 780 (all writers, drool now) and heading home. I thought about detouring to Jamba Juice, but that wouldn’t be fair to the Spouse Thingy, who might want one, too. I’d call to see if he wants me to bring one home for him, but he still might be asleep, having worked the night shift.

But dammit, that was some good chit I was writing, but now the world will never know...