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| Click on the picture to see more Pink in San Francisco.... |
Tuesday
Sunday
31 July 2011
Because sometimes ya just gotta rock that pink..
...and a deal's a deal...
...and a deal's a deal...
Photo by Michelle DKM Calvo
Saturday
30 July 2011
Dear neighbor,
Please take into consideration that your secondary driveway is right next to the side of your neighbor's house where bedrooms are located, and that you have other parking options at 3:15 in the morning. Really. You have a whole other driveway that isn't right next to other peoples' bedrooms. You even have street parking available.
Lacking that, could you please not slam your freaking door shut? It sounds like a gunshot going off, and I'm getting tired of being woken up every damned night.
Oh, and you owe my cat an apology, because the first few nights I blamed his furry little asterisk, thinking he was getting into things he didn't need to be getting into.
Sincerely,
One Passive-Aggressive Yawning Wabbit
Please take into consideration that your secondary driveway is right next to the side of your neighbor's house where bedrooms are located, and that you have other parking options at 3:15 in the morning. Really. You have a whole other driveway that isn't right next to other peoples' bedrooms. You even have street parking available.
Lacking that, could you please not slam your freaking door shut? It sounds like a gunshot going off, and I'm getting tired of being woken up every damned night.
Oh, and you owe my cat an apology, because the first few nights I blamed his furry little asterisk, thinking he was getting into things he didn't need to be getting into.
Sincerely,
One Passive-Aggressive Yawning Wabbit
Friday
29 July 2011
You: So, do you think your walk was fun today, Thump?
Me: Eh. Depends.
I noted the old woman sitting on a bench near the restroom from a couple hundred feet away; she sat there with a red walker set in front of her, and after a moment she seemed to sigh, then pushed herself and hobbled into the restroom. I was headed there myself, but didn't really think anything of it. People have to pee; I had to pee. When you're walking a lot, peeing is a good thing.
Drink, pee, no IV...
When I pushed open the door I saw her standing just inside the handicapped stall; she was leaning hard against her walker, her skirt was down around her knees, and she had one tab on a very soaked pair of Depends pulled back.
Very quietly, "I need help. I need help. I need help."
All right, this was not on my agenda for today, but what was I going to do? Say "No" and then turn around and leave?
Kinda wanted to.
I asked her what she needed me to do; she wanted to lean on me while she tried to get the diaper off, but it was easier if she just leaned and let me peel it off. I cringed inwardly a little; not at the sight of a wet diaper--I've seen literally ten thousand of the damn things--but because her one hand was warm and wet. Probably from trying to get the diaper off.
She didn't need much help after that, she got the fresh one in place easily and just needed a little help with the tabs and then getting her skirt back up. She was almost delicate in her modesty and really, it wasn't as gross as it could have been. One wrinkly butt cheek from the side, one soaked diaper tossed into the trash.
Lots of hand washing.
As we stood there washing our hands, the door burst open and a fairly breathless women about my age blew in with, "Mom? Mom! I told you to just wait there for me!"
Mom apparently couldn't wait for her kid to park the car.
And yeah, I went and bought a new shirt because there was no way I was walking around with a potential urine spot on the back of a shoulder.
And damn, I need to stop going out in public.
Srsly.
Me: Eh. Depends.
I noted the old woman sitting on a bench near the restroom from a couple hundred feet away; she sat there with a red walker set in front of her, and after a moment she seemed to sigh, then pushed herself and hobbled into the restroom. I was headed there myself, but didn't really think anything of it. People have to pee; I had to pee. When you're walking a lot, peeing is a good thing.
Drink, pee, no IV...
When I pushed open the door I saw her standing just inside the handicapped stall; she was leaning hard against her walker, her skirt was down around her knees, and she had one tab on a very soaked pair of Depends pulled back.
Very quietly, "I need help. I need help. I need help."
All right, this was not on my agenda for today, but what was I going to do? Say "No" and then turn around and leave?
Kinda wanted to.
I asked her what she needed me to do; she wanted to lean on me while she tried to get the diaper off, but it was easier if she just leaned and let me peel it off. I cringed inwardly a little; not at the sight of a wet diaper--I've seen literally ten thousand of the damn things--but because her one hand was warm and wet. Probably from trying to get the diaper off.
She didn't need much help after that, she got the fresh one in place easily and just needed a little help with the tabs and then getting her skirt back up. She was almost delicate in her modesty and really, it wasn't as gross as it could have been. One wrinkly butt cheek from the side, one soaked diaper tossed into the trash.
Lots of hand washing.
As we stood there washing our hands, the door burst open and a fairly breathless women about my age blew in with, "Mom? Mom! I told you to just wait there for me!"
Mom apparently couldn't wait for her kid to park the car.
And yeah, I went and bought a new shirt because there was no way I was walking around with a potential urine spot on the back of a shoulder.
And damn, I need to stop going out in public.
Srsly.
Wednesday
27 July 2011
Ya know your cell phone camera isn't half bad when you can snap photos like this:
We went to Six Flags today, and the Spouse Thingy rode a couple of the roller coasters while I sat in the shade. When I realized I had a good vantage point I pulled out my cell phone and caught it as he zoomed by.
See, there he is :)
I would have ridden with him, but my back no longer enjoys the rides that the rest of me would.
We went to Six Flags today, and the Spouse Thingy rode a couple of the roller coasters while I sat in the shade. When I realized I had a good vantage point I pulled out my cell phone and caught it as he zoomed by.
See, there he is :)
I would have ridden with him, but my back no longer enjoys the rides that the rest of me would.
Tuesday
26 July 2011
We walked out of the theater today (Captain America! Stay through the credits!) and were surprised to see the sky overcast, looking as if it was going to rain any second, and rain hard.
It was surprising because we're not anywhere near our rainy season, and the forecast was for sunny and warm. And this was the mother of all storm clouds: heavy, thick, and dark...with a very odd sudden cut from dark to bright light.
As we cleared the covered building entry, we saw this:
The first thing the Spouse Thingy did was grab his cell phone to take a picture. The first thing I did was grab my cell phone to check the Channel 13 news app. And then I took a few pictures.
It was a 6 alarm fire at a plastics facility in Fairfield, near Travis AFB. By the time we left the theater it had been burning for a couple of hours and the area around it--which I would guess included the base--had a Shelter in Place order. We could smell it faintly, but by the time we were just a couple miles further away, the smell was stronger.
Once we were home...no smell. But by then the fire was mostly under control and there's a nice breeze dispersing the smoke, and by 5:15 it was pronounced under control.
Still...that's a hell of a sight, walking out to what you think is a rain cloud and seeing it funnel up from the horizon.
It was surprising because we're not anywhere near our rainy season, and the forecast was for sunny and warm. And this was the mother of all storm clouds: heavy, thick, and dark...with a very odd sudden cut from dark to bright light.
As we cleared the covered building entry, we saw this:
The first thing the Spouse Thingy did was grab his cell phone to take a picture. The first thing I did was grab my cell phone to check the Channel 13 news app. And then I took a few pictures.
It was a 6 alarm fire at a plastics facility in Fairfield, near Travis AFB. By the time we left the theater it had been burning for a couple of hours and the area around it--which I would guess included the base--had a Shelter in Place order. We could smell it faintly, but by the time we were just a couple miles further away, the smell was stronger.
Once we were home...no smell. But by then the fire was mostly under control and there's a nice breeze dispersing the smoke, and by 5:15 it was pronounced under control.
Still...that's a hell of a sight, walking out to what you think is a rain cloud and seeing it funnel up from the horizon.
Sunday
Friday
22 July 2011
No more running for the Border's.
I has a sad...
I spent a lot of time here over the last 4-5 years. I wrote much of It's Not About the Cookies, The King and Queen of Perfect Normal, and The Flipside of Here sitting at one of the little tables while downing gallons of tea (extra ice).
Now the cafe in Border's is closed (as are the restrooms, which is unfortunate) and people are descending on the place like it's Book Nirvana.
The signs outside say "up to 40% off" but honestly, the only thing that was actually marked at 40% was a rack of greeting cards. There was a stack of DVDs marked at 20% off, but everything else is only marked down 10%.
Considering the deals you could get prior to this closing sale, that 10% off is more than you would have paid yesterday.
Yet that line? It goes from the starting point near the far right register, across the front of the store, and all the way to the back by the cafe, where I stood to take the picture.
I would guess people in that line will wait 45 minutes in order to pay more for books they would have 18 hours earlier.
I'd like to ask where they were all along, but I know the answer. They were buying books from Amazon, where they could get even better deals than they could buying stuff at Borders on sale. They were downloading e-books to their Kindles and Sony e-Readers and Nooks. They were paying dirt cheap prices at Costco.
I'm just as guilty of that as everyone else. I embraced the e-reader fervently, not just because of the price of books and the ease of which one can just buy a book no matter where they are, but because as a writer, I earn a hell of a lot more on e-books than I do print.
Still...I hate to see a bookstore go.
I really hate to see one where I spent so much time in go away.
I has a sad...
I spent a lot of time here over the last 4-5 years. I wrote much of It's Not About the Cookies, The King and Queen of Perfect Normal, and The Flipside of Here sitting at one of the little tables while downing gallons of tea (extra ice).
Now the cafe in Border's is closed (as are the restrooms, which is unfortunate) and people are descending on the place like it's Book Nirvana.
Considering the deals you could get prior to this closing sale, that 10% off is more than you would have paid yesterday.
Yet that line? It goes from the starting point near the far right register, across the front of the store, and all the way to the back by the cafe, where I stood to take the picture.
I would guess people in that line will wait 45 minutes in order to pay more for books they would have 18 hours earlier.
I'd like to ask where they were all along, but I know the answer. They were buying books from Amazon, where they could get even better deals than they could buying stuff at Borders on sale. They were downloading e-books to their Kindles and Sony e-Readers and Nooks. They were paying dirt cheap prices at Costco.
I'm just as guilty of that as everyone else. I embraced the e-reader fervently, not just because of the price of books and the ease of which one can just buy a book no matter where they are, but because as a writer, I earn a hell of a lot more on e-books than I do print.
Still...I hate to see a bookstore go.
I really hate to see one where I spent so much time in go away.
Thursday
21 July 2011
I was about halfway through my hour-long swim this morning, gliding down the lane with a slow freestyle stroke, minding my own business, when I noticed ahead of me a hand slapping the water in my lane.
Being the deductive person that I am, I figured someone needed my attention, and stopped.
"Your swimming keeps splashing my kid!" I was informed indignantly by a 20-something oddly complected blonde.
Fake tan gone wrong?
I glanced at the kid; maybe 6 years old, hanging on the rope dividing my swimming lane from the rec area of the pool.
In that entire area, there were maybe 2 two more people; hard to tell because I didn't have my glasses on. But that kid had been hanging on the rope for a good ten minutes and she obviously hadn't felt pressed to move him elsewhere in the vast nothing of that side of the pool.
I'm not a wild swimmer. I'm slow. Slow doesn't create much in the way of splatter. But holy hell, her kid was in a swimming pool and HE WAS GETTING WET.
Clearly I was at fault.
So I said the only thing one should say in such a situation.
"Get over it."
I will be so glad when school starts back up...
Being the deductive person that I am, I figured someone needed my attention, and stopped.
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| It was like this, but...not... |
Fake tan gone wrong?
I glanced at the kid; maybe 6 years old, hanging on the rope dividing my swimming lane from the rec area of the pool.
In that entire area, there were maybe 2 two more people; hard to tell because I didn't have my glasses on. But that kid had been hanging on the rope for a good ten minutes and she obviously hadn't felt pressed to move him elsewhere in the vast nothing of that side of the pool.
I'm not a wild swimmer. I'm slow. Slow doesn't create much in the way of splatter. But holy hell, her kid was in a swimming pool and HE WAS GETTING WET.
Clearly I was at fault.
So I said the only thing one should say in such a situation.
"Get over it."
I will be so glad when school starts back up...
Sunday
17 July 2011
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| If this were a little black kitty, it could be Buddah... |
I also set the speed a little faster than I walk normally. And it's working; my walking pace has increased quite a bit.
I was looking forward to it today; I planned on hitting the gym at about 10 a.m. and using a treadmill there, and then hitting the pool for an hour, but... 15 miles yesterday kicked my ass.
Literally, I think. It started last night with a pain to my right buttcheek, and when I got up this morning I hurt like crazy on my entire right posterior side. I know the cause--using a backpack I normally don't on a long walk--but knowing that doesn't exactly help every time I try to get up and feel like I'm 95 years old.
And nearly every time I get up I groan inwardly. I really am getting too old for this chit. Not that I'll quit because I do enjoy the walking and swimming, but I'm thinking it's time to go with one of the Spouse Thingy's long-term wants.
Not that, you sick freak.
If I'm going to keep moving on a daily basis, this is turning from something that would be nice to have to practically being medical equipment.
That's justification, right?
Right.
Wednesday
13 July 2011
When the July weather backs off and gives us a hint of April, it means taking the bikes out and heading for roads like these:
Didn't get much else done yesterday or today, but when the temperatures are a good 15 degrees below the normal and it's nice and sunny, you take the time to ride.
Even if you do wind up with bugs crawling in your helmet and across your glasses...
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| Highway 128 between Winters and the Monticello Dam |
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| Pleasants Valley Road, heading toward Hwy 128 from I-80 |
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| Just before what used to be a hairpin turn...it was more fun with the hairpin |
Even if you do wind up with bugs crawling in your helmet and across your glasses...
Sunday
10 July 2011
Thumper's spelling lesson for today, having seen it no fewer than 3 times today and a dozen in the last 6 weeks:
bussed = kissed
bused = put on a bus and taken somewhere.
No, you were not bussed to the YMCA. You may have been bussed IN the YMCA.
And yes, I know that TECHNICALLY the dictionary allowed for "bussed" to be used when "bused" should be BUT IT'S WRONG, PEOPLES!
It makes my eyes all wonky and makes me want to stab someone with a spork.
Srsly.
bussed = kissed
bused = put on a bus and taken somewhere.
No, you were not bussed to the YMCA. You may have been bussed IN the YMCA.
And yes, I know that TECHNICALLY the dictionary allowed for "bussed" to be used when "bused" should be BUT IT'S WRONG, PEOPLES!
It makes my eyes all wonky and makes me want to stab someone with a spork.
Srsly.
Thursday
7 July 2011
Know what makes an hour in the pool shrink your brain?
Having one line from an 80's song playing over and over and over in your head.
♫ The jig is up, the news is out, they finally found me ♫
Thanks, Michelle...
Having one line from an 80's song playing over and over and over in your head.
♫ The jig is up, the news is out, they finally found me ♫
Thanks, Michelle...
Friday
1 July 2011
How I know I'm getting old?
While swimming laps, I develop this strong urge to chuck aquatic kitties at the kids darting in front of me while screeching "Get off my lane!"
I'm really starting to miss the days of adult-only gyms...
While swimming laps, I develop this strong urge to chuck aquatic kitties at the kids darting in front of me while screeching "Get off my lane!"
I'm really starting to miss the days of adult-only gyms...
Tuesday
Saturday
25 June 2011
I stopped at McDonald's partway through my training walk today, as I typically do if I'm going to be out for more than a couple of hours. It's a decent place to take a short break, they have a/c, clean restrooms, and $1 large drinks with unlimited refills.
Saturdays it's usually pretty busy so I cram myself into the smallest spot, a tiny table at a long booth seat that runs nearly across the room. There are other tables along the bench seat, but I make sure I take the small one, because hell, I'm by myself and don't need an entire booth. I sit there and glare at the lone customers staking claim to the booths that are essentially 6-tops.
Today, though, it wasn't crowded at all, though I still sat at the tiny table. I must have looked like hell, because more than one person glanced at me and damn near recoiled...dripping sweat, coated in a thick layer of sunscreen, and redfaced, I'm sure I was absolutely beautiful and they just couldn't help themselves avoid my stunning self.
Or maybe they were worried I was going to keep over dead, and they didn't want to be near me when it happened.
As I sat there and sucked down my cheap drink, I noticed a little girl, maybe 5 years old, at a nearby table; while her dad finished his lunch, she played quietly with her knock-off Barbie doll, making it spin and dance across the table top. She did it quietly, and I entertained the idea that Daddy had told her to be quiet while he ate, but he didn't look like he'd spent the day being irritated by a loud little kid, so I also entertained the idea that she was just making her doll dance to the music in her head.
It was certainly energetic music. That doll spun quickly, did dips and splits and backbends over fries and a half-eaten burger, and flew effortlessly over Dad's drink.
She was lost in her own little world, and happy as hell about it.
Dad finished his burger and she was still making her doll dance; I braced myself for the 5 year old whining that was likely to happen when he said it was time to go, put the doll away and clean the table up. But instead of being done and ready to go, Dad turned in his seat and leaned forward, elbows on knees, looked right at the doll and said, "You're a very good dancer. Are you a professional?"
His daughter didn't miss a beat, and in a pretend-falsetto replied, "No, I just love to dance! Do you want to help me dance?"
He reached out and took the doll from his little girl, and guided it--although not as gracefully--across the table, over the unfinished burger and fries, until she reached out in a fit of giggles and grabbed it from him.
It occurred to me in one of those odd flashes: this was nothing out of the ordinary for them. He wasn't weekend dad trying too hard to turn an I-can't-cook-for-crap visit to McD's into something fun. It was all too familiar to him, routine, comfortable, and something he loved.
To his little girl it was just Daddy being Daddy. Nothing all that special.
For now, anyway.
When they left, I watched them go; she was poking at his leg with the doll's feet and laughing as if it was the funniest thing she had ever thought of doing, and his hand was resting comfortably, protectively, on her head as he guided her toward the car. I got up to refill my drink and then head outside to change my socks and check for blisters, and I wondered if she would ever remember those moments, if twenty years from now she would have a flash of Daddy making her doll dance, and how absolutely wonderful and extraordinary that really was...all the moreso because it didn't seem to be special at all.
Saturdays it's usually pretty busy so I cram myself into the smallest spot, a tiny table at a long booth seat that runs nearly across the room. There are other tables along the bench seat, but I make sure I take the small one, because hell, I'm by myself and don't need an entire booth. I sit there and glare at the lone customers staking claim to the booths that are essentially 6-tops.
Today, though, it wasn't crowded at all, though I still sat at the tiny table. I must have looked like hell, because more than one person glanced at me and damn near recoiled...dripping sweat, coated in a thick layer of sunscreen, and redfaced, I'm sure I was absolutely beautiful and they just couldn't help themselves avoid my stunning self.
Or maybe they were worried I was going to keep over dead, and they didn't want to be near me when it happened.
As I sat there and sucked down my cheap drink, I noticed a little girl, maybe 5 years old, at a nearby table; while her dad finished his lunch, she played quietly with her knock-off Barbie doll, making it spin and dance across the table top. She did it quietly, and I entertained the idea that Daddy had told her to be quiet while he ate, but he didn't look like he'd spent the day being irritated by a loud little kid, so I also entertained the idea that she was just making her doll dance to the music in her head.
It was certainly energetic music. That doll spun quickly, did dips and splits and backbends over fries and a half-eaten burger, and flew effortlessly over Dad's drink.
She was lost in her own little world, and happy as hell about it.
Dad finished his burger and she was still making her doll dance; I braced myself for the 5 year old whining that was likely to happen when he said it was time to go, put the doll away and clean the table up. But instead of being done and ready to go, Dad turned in his seat and leaned forward, elbows on knees, looked right at the doll and said, "You're a very good dancer. Are you a professional?"
His daughter didn't miss a beat, and in a pretend-falsetto replied, "No, I just love to dance! Do you want to help me dance?"
He reached out and took the doll from his little girl, and guided it--although not as gracefully--across the table, over the unfinished burger and fries, until she reached out in a fit of giggles and grabbed it from him.
It occurred to me in one of those odd flashes: this was nothing out of the ordinary for them. He wasn't weekend dad trying too hard to turn an I-can't-cook-for-crap visit to McD's into something fun. It was all too familiar to him, routine, comfortable, and something he loved.
To his little girl it was just Daddy being Daddy. Nothing all that special.
For now, anyway.
When they left, I watched them go; she was poking at his leg with the doll's feet and laughing as if it was the funniest thing she had ever thought of doing, and his hand was resting comfortably, protectively, on her head as he guided her toward the car. I got up to refill my drink and then head outside to change my socks and check for blisters, and I wondered if she would ever remember those moments, if twenty years from now she would have a flash of Daddy making her doll dance, and how absolutely wonderful and extraordinary that really was...all the moreso because it didn't seem to be special at all.
Friday
Tuesday
21 June 2011
I have had some freaky dreams lately. About a week ago I dreamed that we got rid of Buddah to make Max happy, and then got a dog because Max wanted one...but then we realized what a mistake that was and had a spastic freak out trying to get him back. We found him in a cage with about 50 other black cats that all looked so much alike that in order to figure out which one he was I kept picking them up and holding them close, stroking the length of their tails.
Buddah has a really long tail, which is how I finally found him. And when I did, he grabbed onto me like a toddler and just wailed. It was sad and mournful and a horrible, horrible cry that still makes me feel guilty just thinking about it.
For the record, Max can be as pissy about Buddah as he wants. Buddah stays.
Last night I had another cat dream, but this time I wasn't getting ride of either of them...I was taking custody of cats from the cat blogosphere. It was a house trashing party extraordinaire, but I could not grasp why these kitties what are such good friends online didn't seem to get along very well when thrown together. I kept shouting "But you LIKE each other?" over the din of hissing and growling, and remained upset and confused until some of the cats who have long since left for the Bridge showed up to calm everyone down.
There was no mistake...those kitties were judging me. I still don't know why I took custody of so many cats, or why I expected them to all actually get along, but the Bridge Kitties made it pretty clear: I'm a moron.
I'm almost afraid of what my brain will cough up next...
Buddah has a really long tail, which is how I finally found him. And when I did, he grabbed onto me like a toddler and just wailed. It was sad and mournful and a horrible, horrible cry that still makes me feel guilty just thinking about it.
For the record, Max can be as pissy about Buddah as he wants. Buddah stays.
There was no mistake...those kitties were judging me. I still don't know why I took custody of so many cats, or why I expected them to all actually get along, but the Bridge Kitties made it pretty clear: I'm a moron.
I'm almost afraid of what my brain will cough up next...
Friday
17 June 2011
Oddz N Enz #64.3.1923-a
- I belong to several different online message boards. I recently joined a new one, and before you can post images or send private messages, you have to have made 15 posts. Fine. I get that. But if someone else sends you a PM, you still can't respond to it.
- I got a PM from someone on said board; he followed links from my profile to my blog and saw that I was walking the SGK 3 Day. He wanted me to know that there's already a cure for breast cancer, but because the SGK makes so much money off these events, the public isn't going to get it.
- I cannot send a PM response, so I'll do it here: You cannot be fucking serious... I hope you are not serious. Holy crap, you cannot be serious...
- Originally, I had something far less polite to say.
- Oh yeah, I won't be going back there. It's a motorcycle forum, and there are so many more, less restrictive places I can play and get real information about bikes and the like.
- Tomorrow's training walk = 11 miles. Last year I freaked about that distance. Now? As long as it's not too hot, it's no big deal.
- I am not, however, looking forward to the days when I have to walk 15 or 18, especially followed by 12 and 13.
- Those distances on teh actual walk? Don't seem like much, really.
- It's supposed to be really hot the middle of this coming week, the high 90s.
- My Tuesday training walk shall be done in San Francisco, where the high is supposed to be about 70.
- Damn, I love living this close to the city.
- If my 15 and 18 miles days hit on hot days, I may take myself into SF and walk.
- Ooh. get a room and stay the night!
- I did not work out today. I intended to, but slept really late, and figured if I was that tired, I needed a day off before tomorrow's 11.
- That's not an excuse, it's a reason. 'Cause I really wanted to swim.
- Max's 10th birthday is in 3 days.
- I won't buy his present until Monday. So it won't go bad.
- That is all
Thursday
16 June 2011
We joined a gym.
Well, yeah, we've done that before, but this time we totally mean it! Like, we'll actually go there and do sweaty stuff. It's a brand new gym, has only been open for 16 days, and we've gone, hmmm, 7 or 8 times. That might be more than all the times we went to our last gym gym combined.
The problem with the last gym was that it was very, very small. It seemed cozy and adequate at first, but when you have people sweating in a space not much bigger than my family room and living room combined, it starts to smell. And the worst odoriferous offenders seem to be the guys who act like they own the gym, and they don't seem to like sharing the equipment with the out of shape people.
Sure, that gym was close by--3 miles--but if you're uncomfortable, you don't go no matter how close it is.
The new gym...it's huge. I suspect at its busiest there will always be cardio equipment available, and it won't take long to get onto the weight machines. The only downfall--but it's what made me want to join this gym--is the pool. There are only 3 lanes for lap swimming and walking. There's a rec area for nonswimmers to play in, but getting them to stay in that area is already problematic.
I haven't yet been there when I haven't had to tell some kid to get out of my lane and to stop darting out in front of me. I get it, the kids don't really know any better, but someone--probably me--is gonna get hurt sooner or later. So I have to be the wicked witch of the water and bitch these kids out, because their parents either don't care or aren't there.
Mostly, the parents aren't there. The offenders are usually 13-14 years old, ideally old enough to be in a pool without constant supervision
Even without the kids there, it would be nice if there were 5 more lanes to accommodate all the people who want to swim. I'd forgotten how much I like to swim. I'm pretty freaking slow, though...did about a mile today and it took half an hour. I can walk a mile and a half in that time frame.
In any case, we're back at a gym. I'm hoping that between the walking and the gym I can get into good enough shape that two Walks this year won't kill me. Because it would really suck if I got to the end of day three of the second walk and just up and croaked.
Well, yeah, we've done that before, but this time we totally mean it! Like, we'll actually go there and do sweaty stuff. It's a brand new gym, has only been open for 16 days, and we've gone, hmmm, 7 or 8 times. That might be more than all the times we went to our last gym gym combined.
The problem with the last gym was that it was very, very small. It seemed cozy and adequate at first, but when you have people sweating in a space not much bigger than my family room and living room combined, it starts to smell. And the worst odoriferous offenders seem to be the guys who act like they own the gym, and they don't seem to like sharing the equipment with the out of shape people.
Sure, that gym was close by--3 miles--but if you're uncomfortable, you don't go no matter how close it is.
The new gym...it's huge. I suspect at its busiest there will always be cardio equipment available, and it won't take long to get onto the weight machines. The only downfall--but it's what made me want to join this gym--is the pool. There are only 3 lanes for lap swimming and walking. There's a rec area for nonswimmers to play in, but getting them to stay in that area is already problematic.
 |
| Yo, if you think you're gonna share MY lane, think again! |
Mostly, the parents aren't there. The offenders are usually 13-14 years old, ideally old enough to be in a pool without constant supervision
Even without the kids there, it would be nice if there were 5 more lanes to accommodate all the people who want to swim. I'd forgotten how much I like to swim. I'm pretty freaking slow, though...did about a mile today and it took half an hour. I can walk a mile and a half in that time frame.
In any case, we're back at a gym. I'm hoping that between the walking and the gym I can get into good enough shape that two Walks this year won't kill me. Because it would really suck if I got to the end of day three of the second walk and just up and croaked.
Sunday
12 June 2011
(Yes I'm nuts...but I wanna go play with my friends...)
So.
Yep. All da monies.
ALL OF DEM!
From here until the end of August, 100% of my book royalties will go towards this endeavor. Got a Kindle? They're cheap. Don't got a Kinde? They're not as cheap and I actually get a whole lot less on the print books.
Srsly. A lot less. Plus, I get paid for Kindle books sooner.
I luvs me the eBook Revolution.
Either way...Click here to get to my Amazon author page.
Friday
10 June 2011
I started out with good intentions today. The goal was to gear up and ride my bike to the gym, warm up on the treadmill and then hit the circuit, and ride around a little bit more.
Then I got to the gym and realized I didn't have my running shoes with me. And walking on a treadmill in boots seemed kind of sucky. Now, I could have gone home for the shoes, but it seemed like a cosmic sign that I should take the Day Before Ten Miles and just ride.
So I did.
I zoomed around town and the outskirts of town, and right at about 50 miles I stopped at a McD's about 10 miles from home to make use of the facilities and get a drink.
All right, I know bike gear is not attractive and not flattering. I was wearing a hi-viz armored jacket and silver armored pants with clunky boots. I have fairly short hair. I've gotten the comments before, usually they roll off me, sometimes amuse me, but when I came out of the stall and was confronted by an Asian woman yelling NO FOR WOMEN repeatedly while she whacked me with her purse, I damn near lost my shit.
And thank you for that turn of phrase, Murf, because it fits.
I did manage to tell her to back off or I would ^$&# her up, and as soon as she heard my voice she realized her mistake...and she promptly ran into the handicapped stall to hide.
An apology would have been nice.
If she was scared, she had a reason to be, because at that moment I was embarrassed and angry, and I probably would have done some serious damage with one swing of a fist.
I could have waited her out, but it didn't seem worth it. I washed my hands and got the hell out of there; I got my drink and sat on the far side of the McD's where she could slip out without having to face me, and I stewed. I didn't dare get back on the bike as ticked off as I was.
Yeah, this time, it was humiliating. There was no shrugging it off, no sarcastic amusement over the way people judge without knowing. This was just...wrong.
I had intended to ride for another house or so, but figured I'd better just head home. If I'm not focused, I don't ride. So I put my jacket back on and headed for the parking lot, and as I was putting my helmet on I heard a little boy asked someone, "Is that a girl's bike? It's pretty."
And the response from his dad? "No, it's not a girl's bike. It's just an awesome one. But a girl is riding it."
"Cool."
The took just enough of the irritation away to get me to refocus...but I still headed home.
The kinda-sorta longish way.
Then I got to the gym and realized I didn't have my running shoes with me. And walking on a treadmill in boots seemed kind of sucky. Now, I could have gone home for the shoes, but it seemed like a cosmic sign that I should take the Day Before Ten Miles and just ride.
So I did.
I zoomed around town and the outskirts of town, and right at about 50 miles I stopped at a McD's about 10 miles from home to make use of the facilities and get a drink.
All right, I know bike gear is not attractive and not flattering. I was wearing a hi-viz armored jacket and silver armored pants with clunky boots. I have fairly short hair. I've gotten the comments before, usually they roll off me, sometimes amuse me, but when I came out of the stall and was confronted by an Asian woman yelling NO FOR WOMEN repeatedly while she whacked me with her purse, I damn near lost my shit.
And thank you for that turn of phrase, Murf, because it fits.
I did manage to tell her to back off or I would ^$&# her up, and as soon as she heard my voice she realized her mistake...and she promptly ran into the handicapped stall to hide.
An apology would have been nice.
If she was scared, she had a reason to be, because at that moment I was embarrassed and angry, and I probably would have done some serious damage with one swing of a fist.
I could have waited her out, but it didn't seem worth it. I washed my hands and got the hell out of there; I got my drink and sat on the far side of the McD's where she could slip out without having to face me, and I stewed. I didn't dare get back on the bike as ticked off as I was.
Yeah, this time, it was humiliating. There was no shrugging it off, no sarcastic amusement over the way people judge without knowing. This was just...wrong.
I had intended to ride for another house or so, but figured I'd better just head home. If I'm not focused, I don't ride. So I put my jacket back on and headed for the parking lot, and as I was putting my helmet on I heard a little boy asked someone, "Is that a girl's bike? It's pretty."
And the response from his dad? "No, it's not a girl's bike. It's just an awesome one. But a girl is riding it."
"Cool."
The took just enough of the irritation away to get me to refocus...but I still headed home.
The kinda-sorta longish way.
Thursday
9 June 2011
Nothing does your ego as much good as being on a treadmill next to an 80 year old woman who is going at nearly twice your pace and barely breaking a sweat while you sop it out of your eyes and gasp for air...
Friday
3 June 2011
Last week I joined a gym that hadn't even opened, sight unseen. The list of amenities was nice--cardio theater, free weight room, resistence equipment area, dedicated circuit training, pool and hot tub, racquetball courts, spinning classes--but what did it for me was the availability of Yoga.
I keep thinking that'll be good for my back, and the class times are ideal: M-W-F at 11 a.m. I can walk before hand, hit the gym for the class, play in the pool, and then have the afternoon for whatever.
It seemed like a plan.
Two days ago it opened, but today was the first time I stepped inside, and holyeeee carp. This place is HUGE. It doesn't just have cardio equipment, it has CARDIO. You could fit the gym we used to belong to in the resistance equipment area twice, maybe even three times. The free weight room is big, too, and in the back corner where the muscle-heads can play without us normal people getting in their way. The pool isn't huge, only 3 lanes, but unlike the only other gym around here with an indoor pool, it's brightly lit.
There's an upstairs, but I have no idea what's up there. By the time I got done in the circuit area, I really didn't feel like climbing teh stairs. I just felt like going into the locker room and changing.
Did I mention the locker room? It's big and it's CLEAN. 'Course, it's new, but it's CLEAN.
When I wandered trough the front door and stood there with my mouth hanging open because I had just entered gym nirvana, wondering where the locker room was, a very helpful but I-hate-you-slender kid bopped over from behind the counter to help me and point out the areas I was interested in. She was able to answer the one question I had forgotten to ask before signing a year of my workout life away: can I drop off my stuff in a locker, leave the gym to go walk for a few hours, then come back and hit the pool?
I was worried I might not be able to use the locker while not actually in the gym.
But...no problem. I can ride my bike there, dump my gear in a locker and take off for training walks, and then hit the pool or hot tub and shower if I want. But mostly, I can store my gear! That means this year I can both ride a lot and walk a lot.
This may be the summer I turn into a gym rat.
I have pink spandex to fit into, you know.
Hot pink spandex...
I keep thinking that'll be good for my back, and the class times are ideal: M-W-F at 11 a.m. I can walk before hand, hit the gym for the class, play in the pool, and then have the afternoon for whatever.
It seemed like a plan.
Two days ago it opened, but today was the first time I stepped inside, and holyeeee carp. This place is HUGE. It doesn't just have cardio equipment, it has CARDIO. You could fit the gym we used to belong to in the resistance equipment area twice, maybe even three times. The free weight room is big, too, and in the back corner where the muscle-heads can play without us normal people getting in their way. The pool isn't huge, only 3 lanes, but unlike the only other gym around here with an indoor pool, it's brightly lit.
There's an upstairs, but I have no idea what's up there. By the time I got done in the circuit area, I really didn't feel like climbing teh stairs. I just felt like going into the locker room and changing.
Did I mention the locker room? It's big and it's CLEAN. 'Course, it's new, but it's CLEAN.
When I wandered trough the front door and stood there with my mouth hanging open because I had just entered gym nirvana, wondering where the locker room was, a very helpful but I-hate-you-slender kid bopped over from behind the counter to help me and point out the areas I was interested in. She was able to answer the one question I had forgotten to ask before signing a year of my workout life away: can I drop off my stuff in a locker, leave the gym to go walk for a few hours, then come back and hit the pool?
I was worried I might not be able to use the locker while not actually in the gym.
But...no problem. I can ride my bike there, dump my gear in a locker and take off for training walks, and then hit the pool or hot tub and shower if I want. But mostly, I can store my gear! That means this year I can both ride a lot and walk a lot.
This may be the summer I turn into a gym rat.
I have pink spandex to fit into, you know.
Hot pink spandex...
Wednesday
1 June 2011
Wanna win an iPad? Or a Kindle? Or an iPod Nano?
In just a hair over 3 months, I'm--again--walking in the Susan G. Komen Walk for the Cure. 3 Days, 60 Miles. All to raise money for breast cancer research and treatment.
I need donations, folks. I am way behind where I need to be in order to reach my $2300 goal in time.
But...I'll get there. And thanks to a generous donor and digging a little into my own pocket, I have some AWESOME prizes this year.
Donate $5, and you have a shot at one--or even all--of these:
The winners will be chosen using a random number generator on August 26, 2011 at around 9 p.m. Pacific Time and will be notified via email ASAP. Be sure to use a real email address when you donate, as well as your correct mailing address.
Thank you so much.
In just a hair over 3 months, I'm--again--walking in the Susan G. Komen Walk for the Cure. 3 Days, 60 Miles. All to raise money for breast cancer research and treatment.
I need donations, folks. I am way behind where I need to be in order to reach my $2300 goal in time.
But...I'll get there. And thanks to a generous donor and digging a little into my own pocket, I have some AWESOME prizes this year.
Donate $5, and you have a shot at one--or even all--of these:
A 16 GB iPod Nano...that'll hold a metric ton of songs.
An Amazon Kindle 3, with free 3G and Wi-Fi
An Apple iPad...it's a first generation model, but it's the 64 GB w/3G version.
The winners will be chosen using a random number generator on August 26, 2011 at around 9 p.m. Pacific Time and will be notified via email ASAP. Be sure to use a real email address when you donate, as well as your correct mailing address.
Thank you so much.
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