Tiki Time

The hill at the beginning and end of my near-daily bike journey is no longer referred to (in my mind) as The Hill of Death. Now it is The Hill of Slight Pain. Soon it will be The Hill of Indifference. Maybe someday it will seem like The Slight Upward Slope of Happiness. But I doubt it.

I rented a workout video and tried it for the first time tonight. I only did one of the segments, so I will reserve judgment until I try the whole thing. It is a "dance" workout video, though it is really more aerobicizing or something than dancing. Anyway, there was one move that I just could not get down despite repeated attempts. You are supposed to kick with one foot and step back with the other foot, but you aren't supposed to fall over. I don't really get how it works. H was in the other room, and I asked if he was embarrassed that I couldn't do the kick move. He said, "No, I already knew this about you." I am not sure what he meant by "this." I would like to think that H meant, "I already knew that you were too cool to follow a workout video exactly. You have to express yourself by doing your own moves." However, I fear that really he meant, "You are totally uncoordinated." Which would be an accurate thought on this part.

I needed to work out today because last night I went to a tiki bar with (the lovely)Noelle, 3 of Noelle's (very lovely) friends, and Stefanie. While they drank their classy tiki drinks and tried a few fried cheese curds each, I ate approximately 8 giant onion rings and 52 tater tots while drinking wine out of a box. Good times!

Some Might Call it an Overreaction

Dear Blackberry,

Thank you for beeping louder than a smoke detector at 12:07this morning. H was on a weekend trip with some friends, and I was home alone getting ready for bed. When you beeped freakishly loudly, despite the fact that I have set everything on you to mute, I could not figure out what in the kitchen would make such a noise. None of my kitchen appliances beep like that. So the only logical explanation I could come up with was that there was a killer in the kitchen who made that noise in an attempt to lure me into the kitchen. If I went into the kitchen to see what was beeping, I would be playing into the killer's hands. I weighed my options: running out of the house, calling 911, or running out of the house while calling 911. Then I realized the beep was probably just your low battery warning. But I would feel pretty stupid if I went to plug you in and it turned out there was a killer in my kitchen and I hadn't dialed 911 on my cell phone. So armed with my pre-dialed cell phone (so that if I was attacked I would just have to hit the send button), I went into the kitchen and plugged you in.

So thanks a lot, Blackberry, that was a really enjoyable experience. I'm glad we could share some middle of the night bonding.

Love,
-R-

Picture Crazy

My highlights:


There were more pictures here, including some before shots and then some smiling after shots, but I have now removed them. I tell you this so that a person reading this at a later date does not think all the commenters are crazy when referencing my smiling face. You're welcome.

I'm Tired of Coming Up With Titles

Warning: I have an appointment to get my hair highlighted on Saturday morning. I have been considering this option for about a year and just decided last week that I was going to go for it. So highlights, here I come. The reason I am warning you is that there may be lots of sad posts this weekend if it goes poorly, but I have my regular stylist and not the crazy girl who butchered my hair that one time, so I'm not worried.

Beyond the hair dying experiment, I have no idea what I am going to do this weekend. I want to ride my bike and, unfortunately, I will have to do some work, but that's about it for plans. Man, I'm old. I did got a party last weekend though, so it's not like I never go out. The party last weekend was a housewarming party for one of H's coworkers. When H and I arrived, the host was holding the two-month-old baby of one of her friends. H immediately asked if he could hold the baby and tried to take it from her. I thought that perhaps he should introduce himself to the baby's parents and ask if they minded, but H had no time for that. He had to hold the baby RIGHT NOW. The baby's mom was right there and said it was ok, so H took the baby from his friend and held him, talked to him, and snuggled with him. (I originally referred to the baby as "it" in the previous sentence. You can tell who the baby-lover in our family is.) The baby had been crying when H's friend was holding him, but H calmed him down and kept him calm the whole time H held him. So there is really no point to that story except that H loves babies. And is good with them.

Anyway, this weekend will be both party- and baby-free as far as I know. And hopefully hair-crisis-free as well.

Do you talk to your hair stylist/barber/whatever when you are getting your hair cut/styled/dyed/prepared? If so, what do you talk about? I am so bad about hair styling conversations.

Ta da! It is my bike!

Apparently, H thinks, "Please take a picture of me and my bike," means, "Please don't let too much of my bike be in the picture because I really want to get a good look at the neighbors' houses." I am so mean to H, when really, it was very nice of him to take a picture of me for my blog. Thanks, H!

And now for a segway.

Get it? I pretended like I was going to segue into a new topic, but really I am posting the next picture in the series: Cops From Other Cities Who Ride Segways. This one is from Philadelphia. I love it. And I find myself hi-larious.

Also, I should really not tease H about his picture-taking skills when I post pictures sideways on my blog.

There is really no explanation needed for the following picture, is there?

My mom gave these little stuffed fowl to H and me for Easter, and we occasionally leave them in unusual places for the other one to find. That's totally normal for near-30-year-olds, right? Right.

Maybe Later I Can Upgrade to the Sparkly Seat

I got my birthday present early this year. I think I received the same gift for my 5th birthday. Well, the one I got for my 5th birthday was yellow and had a banana seat covered in silver sparkles, while this one is mostly white with some seafoam green details and a regular seat. Yes, I got a bike!

I know I said I wanted an iPod shuffle, but H and I have been wanting to get bikes for two years now, so we decided this was the time.

I went for my first ride after work today. And I didn't fall off even once! Wooo! And, even better, I didn't run into anything! Two older ladies and a 12 year old boy did pass me, but that's ok! Also, I thought I was going to die when I was riding my bike into the wind, but I survived! And then I turned and realized that I hadn't really been riding into the wind; NOW I was riding into the wind! And I survived that too! And then I thought I might have to give up and walk my bike when I was going up a big hill, but I didn't! I made it!

Seriously, How is This a Real Song?

[Update: According to my sources, the following appears to be a real song by Sly & the Family Stone.]

I am at Starbucks, waiting for H to finish his jiu jitsu class and getting some work done. A song is playing in the background. I would describe the music as 70s jazz. Some of the lyrics are:

We can do it on the floor
We can do it on the stairs
We can do it on the couch
We can do it in the air

If we do it every day
We can do it every way

The next line was:

We can do it on the grass

If the rhyming line was "We can do it in the ass," I was either going to leave or buy the c.d. I'm not sure which. Luckily/unfortunately, I did not have to make this decision.

From The Simpsons:

Mr. Burns: Smithers, are they boo-ing me?
Smithers: Uh...no. They're saying boo-URNS, boo-URNS
Mr. Burns: (To the crowd) Excuse me, are you saying BOO or BOO-URNS?
Crowd: BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!
Hans Moleman: (to himself) I was saying "boo-urns."

I bought this shirt for H the other day. (It is a t-shirt with a speech bubble on it, and in the speech bubble it says "Boo-urns.") I decided to wait until the shirt arrived before telling H about it. But last night I thought I would give him a hint that he was going to get a present. I told him that I would have a surprise for him in a few weeks. He freaked out. He started guessing all kinds of wild things. He was getting really worked up about it. I tried to tell him that it wasn't a big thing so that he wouldn't be disappointed when it turned out to be just a t-shirt, but he kept guessing bigger and bigger surprises. And he acted like it was horrible torture to not know what the surprise was going to be. I told H that I couldn't tell him what the surprise was or it wouldn't be a surprise. His response was, "It will be a surprise when you tell me what it is!" Which is true, I suppose. So I showed him the Boo-urns shirt because there is no way I could deal with 3 or more weeks of him freaking out about the surprise. H loved the shirt, and I think it made his bad day a little bit better.

Also, H pointed out to me yesterday, "You don't cry as much as most chicks." In case you were worried after my last post. H also told me that I am "not as dumb as most chicks." Which I pointed out was not exactly a compliment. But I love him anyway because he is funny when he is trying to be a chauvinist.

There's No Crying in... Well, You Know

I read this post about crying in public today. For those of you who do not feel like clicking on the previous link, I will summarize. It is an article discussing the possible and appropriate responses when you see someone crying in public. The majority of commenters seem to think that offering a tissue or a sympathetic look is the appropriate response. I am fine with that. It makes sense that a person would want to be sympathetic but not intrusive.

But.

If you see me crying in public, do not acknowledge it! It will only make me cry more! Even if I have stopped crying, acknowledging the fact that I cried will (with 98% certainty) make me start crying again! Please treat me like I am not crying. Ignore the tears and sniffles. You can offer me a tissue if you absolutely need to and I don't have any of my own, but then you should pretend I am not crying, perhaps by asking me what my favorite baseball teams are (the Twins, the Royals, and the Braves) or if I have seen Walk the Line (why yes, I have, and I enjoyed it very much).

Streets of Philadelphia (Are Uneven and Threatened to Trip Me Multiple Times)

Philly was good. There is a tourist bus called the PHLASH, which I pronounced "P-H-Lash" in my head. Yes, I am a smarty.

I met Guinness Girl for dinner one night and Christine for dinner another night. First Wruce, then GG, then Christine- it overwhelmed with all that superstardom! GG and Christine were both tremendously nice.

H's airline decided that his suitcase would prefer to go on a different flight than H, which was annoying, but the suitcase was found and delivered to our hotel in the middle of H's first night in Philly, so it worked out ok.

H and I saw the Liberty Bell, the Museum of Art, the Rocky statue, the Franklin Institute, South Street, an Italian-American festival, and some kind of event that involved Mardi Gras beads but no flashing (that we saw).

But it is good to be home.

With A Vengeance

[Now edited to prevent googling.]

I am in Philadelphia. AND I JUST ATE DINNER WITH WRUCE BILLIS. Oh yes. The Wruce Billis of Die Hard who used to be married to Memi Doore. I also saw the person that I am guessing is his girlfriend, but since Wruce and I are such good friends now, I will be discrete and not tell you about her. Except to say that I didn't recognize her.

Anyway, I feel like my blog's purpose has been fulfilled now. I get to write about a movie star sighting. Because by "I just ate dinner with Wruce Billis," I mean, "We are staying at the same hotel, and I had dinner at the bar of the connected restaurant while he sat at the same bar a few feet away from me and had drinks with his friends, while I pretended like I couldn't care less about the whole thing and continued to read my book by Bill Bryson, but secretly I was pissed that I did not bring my camera to dinner so that I could figure out a way to snap a picture without him noticing."

Here is the part of the blog where I would post a picture of Wruce and me if I hadn't been too cool to take one, and if I had brought my camera to dinner, and if I had brought connector cables or something so that I could upload pictures from my hotel room. I wish I were ruder. Instead, just picture a 5'10" guy in a tight shirt, seriously skinny jeans, cowboy boots, with a shiny bald head, standing next to a 5'2" nerd.

You guys, I do not even like Wruce. Why am I so excited?

Family Stories

My post about Maine has made me think of my grandfather a lot recently. He grew up in New Hampshire, the youngest of nine kids. Only one of the nine kids was a girl, and she was the oldest. I think the one girl outlived all her brothers, probably in part because she was the only one who didn't smoke a pack or two a day. Anyway, I got to meet Auntie several times when I was growing up. She did not have much short term memory by the time I met her, but she would tell fantastic stories about her childhood and my grandfather.

[Sidebar: How do you pronounce "aunt"? My mom called my grandfather's sister Auntie, rhymes with Monty, and all her other aunts were Aunt (rhymes with want) Firstname. However, my sister and I grew up pronouncing "aunt" as "ant". H says aunt so that it rhymes with want as well. So I pronounce it "ant" when I am referring to my own aunts, but "aunt" (rhymes with want) when I am referring to H's aunts or my mom's aunts or when I am talking to my nieces and nephews about H's sisters. It is all very confusing to me.]

My favorite Mom'sMaidenName family story is about World War II. I don't know how this story could be totally true, but my mom acts like it is, and I like the story, so I am going to believe it. All of my grandfather's brothers joined the Navy when WWII broke out. But my grandfather was only 14. So he lied about his age and got sent to the South Pacific. As his ship was nearing Japan, another U.S. ship passed on its way back to the U.S. My grandfather was on deck and saw his brother on the other ship's deck. His brother also saw him and started yelling at my grandfather because he was too young to be there. My grandfather just smiled and waved.

Do you have any family legends? And how the heck do you say "aunt"?

Knocked Up

The movie. Go see it. Awesome. Even the 70-year-old woman sitting next to me loved it. A lot. She was laughing really hard throughout the movie.

If the film critics are H, the old lady next to me, and me, this movie gets 6 thumbs up.

You're welcome.