If I'd Only Listened To LeVar Burton All This Could Have Been Avoided

You ever have one of those days?

You know, the kind where it's Friday evening and you're doing your best to dress up for your spouses work Christmas party but you have a two year old grabbing for the iPad that's precariously balanced on the back of the toilet as you're trying to figure out exactly how the pretty people on PinINterest did that updo. And then you remember that you have absolutely no hair styling skills. So, instead you just twist your hair into three buns*, call it good and defeatedly hand the iPad to the two year old.

Then, two outfit changes, a frantic search for black nylons, some crusty mascara and heels you haven't worn since your best friend's wedding later, you wobble out the front door, leaving the children behind with their most favoritest babysitter EVER, and you think to yourself, "I haven't been this dressed up in YEARS!" Which is true. Because the only nylons you could find are circa 1998, your best friend's wedding was three kids ago and your dress? You bought it six months before you got married. In the year 2000. Meaning? You are either embarrassingly out of style, or awesomely vintage.

Then as you giddily rush for the ferry to take you to the BIG CITY, plain latte swish sloshing in your hand, you think, "Oh, man! A whole hour to myself to sit and drink coffee! No kids! No husband! And DUDE! I'M WEARING A PRETTY DRESS!"

But then you start to slow down as you notice the amount of people waiting. In line. Because there's not a ferry in sight.

And you wait.

And wait.

And wait.

Then, after a whole hour passes and your latte is gone and you've eaten the random packet of cheese crackers you found in the bottom of your purse, you snap a picture of yourself reflected in the window of the terminal. Because you are BORED!

And that's when you realize that you're paying someone $10 an hour so you can sit in a ferry terminal a little over a mile from your house, eat stale crackers from the bottom of a purse and take stupid pictures of yourself. But at least you have your phone, so, you know, you have something to do.

But then! There's the ferry! And people start moving! And you think,"THINGS ARE GETTING BETTER!"

But then, while waiting to get on the ferry, some guy mistakes you, in all your holiday party finery, for a Catholic nun.

For reals.

Of course, once you're actually on the ferry, you have go to the restroom to see what, exactly, it is about your outfit that's giving off nun-like vibes. And while you're there reapplying your nude colored lipstick and repining one of your buns, you rip a huge hole in the knee of your awesomely vintage nylons and think, "Huh. Maybe nylons do have a shelf life...."

So you take a picture.

Why? Because you have nothing else to do. For a really long time.  Because they've replaced the regular ferry with a much slower ferry and instead of taking an hour to cross over to the BIG CITY it takes an hour and a half. During which, you rip another hole in your awesomely vintage nylons.  But you don't take a picture. Because nuns don't take pictures of their derrieres.

Then? Your phone dies. Because you forgot to charge it. And you spend the rest of the ferry ride ducking the curious glances of the guy who thought you were a nun, pretending to look stuff up on your dead phone (to fend off any more awkward nun like questions) and trying to surreptitiously read the book of the lady who's sitting next to you. Until she moves seats. Because, obviously, she hates nuns.

Yeah.

Days like that.

You know what they teach you?

Always bring a book. Because everything LeVar Burton ever said was true.



And maybe buy some new black nylons.



*Because one bun says "librarian" two buns say "Princess Leah" but three buns say "I'm being all fancy and stuff". Obviously.

I'm Getting All Judgmental. Christmas Style.

Tonight, as Jon and Katie are enduring enjoying their annual trip to the Nutcracker, complete with fancy clothes and dinner out at the Family Pancake House, and Ellie is tucked cozily and grumpily in her "I'm a BIIIIIIG girl I go too!" bed, and I sit here, glass of wine in hand (on second taste this may be the expired pomegranate juice from the back of the fridge..*sip*... eh. wateves.), I bring to you 

The Comprehensive List Of The Worst Christmas Gifts To Be Found On A Single Shopping Trip To Fred Meyer With A Two Year Old

1) Half a set of footie pajamas. For men.

For men who aren't quite willing to commit to the Full Monty*.

*I'm totally using this phrase correctly.  Because, dudes, these pjs are begging for some stripping. But only in the privacy of your own home. Not mine, because that's just-Is this footnote getting awkward, or is it just me?

2) A spoonstraw. Because milk with floaties in it was NEVER meant to be drunk.

Didn't we all learn our lesson with the spork?

3) Finger lights. For those times you want to pretend to be Edward Scissorhands but can't get the nagging voice of your first grade teacher yelling, "Stop playing with the scissors" out of your head.

"Hold me."
"I can't."

4) A coffee cup that lets you catch that first glimpse of your "Crapaziodal! We're late for school again! Everyone to the car! Where's your lunch bag? What do you mean it's show and tell day? ELLIE PUT YOUR CLOTHES BACK ON!" morning face. You know. The pretty one. The one before your first cup of coffee.

In attractive zebra stripe.

5) So, let me get this straight. I drop a couple plastic cubes into a cup of "pomegranate juice" and a rumba and a topanga later I have myself one of those fancy slushy drinks? Because it's magic?  And exactly how many can I drink before the magical cancer sets in?

But it's BPA free! It must be totally safe!  

6) For the special person in your life that needs some comfortable footwear to go with their favorite sock monkey pajamas.

Wait.
I own sock monkey pajamas.
DUDE!
These slippers are totally awesome!

 7) Your own personal desk top style cotton candy machine! For those 2:30 in the afternoon feelings!

Oh. Wait. That's what grown ups are supposed to use coffee for.

8) Nausea. In a stripy stick shape.

Someday I'll have to share my "mint makes me nauseous at normal times but makes me throw up when I'm pregnant all the time and this one time I went to the dentist and they flossed my teeth with mint floss" story. It's spectacular. Just like Old Faithful.

 9) Twinkies. On a stick.

There's a reason the makers of Twinkies went bankrupt. And it's not because they forgot the sticks.

And finally,

10) The Keurig.

Listen. If someone is going to spend $190 on a coffee maker, you can be dang sure that it better make more than one cup of coffee at a time. At the very least it should charge my iPhone, pack Katie's lunchbox, read Ellie Robert the Rose Horse for the thousandth time AND lie  tell me how the color of the dove grey skies make my green eyes snap and spark while they gaze like emeralds from my bewitchingly beautiful countenance.  Without a stupid mirror glued to the side of my coffee cup.

What's the worst gift you've come across this year?

Real Runners Wear Them Across The Finish Line

It's Thanksgiving, and we all know what that means! (Well, beyond vegetarians the world over teaching their geriatric poultry how to do the merengue, that is*.) It means it's time to break out those TURKEY! hats and run a 10K in them!

Everyone but me, that is.

Because, this awesome hat:

is sitting on a store shelf. In eastern Washington. Hundreds and hundreds of miles away. All lonely like....(...*sniff*gooobbble*sniff*....) dreaming of the day, it too, can run wild and free along a really really really** hilly route that has a beautiful view of a harbor while Canadian geese honk their encouragement overhead as you POWER UP THOSE HILLS***!!!

I know. It makes me sad too.

So, in lieu of a TURKEY! hat that, let's face it, I'm not spending $45 on, (Do you know how many coffees that will buy!?! Priorities. I've got them. And they come caffeine flavored.) next year I'm just going to wear this poster:

Like a banner of awesomeness, people. A. Banner. Of. AWESOMENESS!!



*Untapped market, people. That's all I'm sayin'!
**Really.
***Spoiler Alert: I walked.

I Used The Words "Best Besties" and "Totally" In The First Paragraph, But That's OK Because It's Another Post About Twilight Again.

Sooooo..... (clapping hands in excitedly!) Tomorrow? I know! Right! I mean, you know what I'm talking about, obviously, because we're like the best besties in the history of, like, e-ver, obviously. And, it's the end of a four year epic battle for, um, for, um..... stuuuuuff.... Um. No. Wait. I know this. Totally! It's love. It's totally an epic battle about love, and finding your place in this world, and growing into the person you're meant to be, and angst, leaning against his silver Volvo full of angst, while he wiggles his eyebrows at you. You noticed them, right? Because his eyebrows are kinda, prominent. I mean, right there. On his face.  He's like the Brooke Shields off the vampire world. Which, is not a cut down Edward, geesh! Everyone knows Brooke Shields is like, gorgeous and stuff!

But.... You have to admit,

the resemblance is uncanny!

Speaking of resemblances, have you seen Vampire High? The TV show that ran from 2001-2002? It's about a dark, silent and mysterious vampire who falls in love with a human girl from his high school and struggles with the consequences of such a dangerous relationship. Oh, and he and some other teenage vampires are supposed to be trying to learn to live in peace with humans. No. Seriously. It is. One is a newborn who is having trouble controlling his urges. Another is a beautiful and glamorous. A different one can read other people's minds. And another is known for his humorous outlook on life and light hearted nature.  I mean, dude, all it's missing is a werewolf pack and a half human half vampire baby with a stupid name. (Sorry, Stephanie, but, come on, I mean, I can't be the only one who kept pronouncing her name as Resume every time they read it in the book. Of course, it's not like I have a better suggestion, so, you know, that win is totally all you right there.... Can we high five now? No? Too soon? I get that.)

So, next month, when the buzz from all the Twilight hoopla has faded and all that's left is a half used bottle of body glitter and a jagged hole in my chest where Edward's eyebrows used to be, and all I want to do is drown my sorrow in a plateful of turkey shaped gingerbread cookies, will you, my best besties, come over and watch Vampire High with me? Please? Because, dudes, this kind of angst doesn't mock itself.

A Pictoral Study In Similarities. Or Similies. Or Is It Metaphores? Or, Um, Uh.... *Face Palm* I'm Sorry, English Teachers Of My Educational Past, I Don't Know What Happened Either....Can I Distract You With Pictures Of A Cute Dead Cat Instead? UPDATED: The Cat Is Not Dead In The Pictures! And, Well, Possibly Not Now Either. Maybe. It's Complicated.

My Back Porch 

Buster the Cat

Halloween 1989

My Kitchen

Ellie the Human

Halloween 2012

Dudes!

You know what this means?

Exactly.

My cat reincarnated himself!

And this time around? I totally taught him how to use a spoon.

Someone Invited The Curmudgeon To A Party And Now I'm On PinINterest

One night at Mabel's house:

Mabel: Hey! You know what would be cool?

Belinda: What?

Mabel: We should have a Pinterest Party!

Me: (Silently. In my own head, while remembering Katie's fifth birthday party planning.) Crapazoidal.....

Belinda: (Excitedly, because that's how Belinda rolls.) AWESOME! That'd be so fun! I found this really cool pin with tennis balls!

Me: (Silently. In my own head.) Crap-a-zoidal....

Mabel: (Excitedly planning, because that's how Mabel rolls.) Everyone could bring some project they found on Pinterest and we could do them! 

Me: (Closing my eyes and willing myself invisible, like Ellie does when she doesn't want to do something.) 

Mabel: (Grabbing her phone to show something to Belinda.) We could make our own dishwasher detergent!

Me: (Chanting silently. In my own head. Sitting very still with my eyes glued shut.) I'm invisible...I'm invisible...I'm invisible...

Mabel: Martha! This is going to be fun! You're coming. Right? (Which she probably said with her own version of "don't-you-dare-touch-my-coffee-stare." But I didn't see it. Because I was invisible.)

Me: (Silently. In my own head. But very loudly.) CRAP-A-ZOIDAL!!!! I was supposed to be invisible! (Out loud. In my curmudgeon voice, because that's how I roll.) Only if you guys call it a PinINterest Party.

Mable and Belinda: (without a second thought) OK! (Then they high fived each other.)

Me: (Muttering, under my breath, curmudgeonally.) Crapazoidal....

And that's how I found myself, just hours before the party, trolling PinINterest for something other than "Birthday Parties for Lazy People".

But first, a touching back story:

See, I had a grandpa and he was pretty cool.  He gave scratchedy mustache kisses and hugs that seemed to always smell of pipe smoke even decades after I last saw him smoke a pipe. He told me I was beautiful, which, especially, as a scrawny and horse toothed thirteen year old, I needed to hear and didn't want to disbelieve.  And, sometime, after he retired, he bought a computer. Grandpa used his computer to research things like genealogy, surf the internet, connect with near and distant relatives and old and new friends all around the world, and send emails.  You know the ones. The ones with a bunch of forwards on them.  One's that had amazing pictures of structures made completely out of oranges, or cats sleeping in weird places, or heart wrenching stories of penniless mothers doing their grocery shopping, or close up photos of the Blue Angels flying formations, or useful stuff like how you can open up pesky plastic packages with a can opener. He sent so many that I eventually had to make a mailbox just for him so I didn't misplace any of my other emails in the deluge. But then, Grandpa passed away, and after my uncle sent one last email from his account letting everyone in Grandpa's inbox know that his email address was now inactive, I thought about emptying the inbox, but, never managed it. Because I missed my grandpa.

End of touching back story.

A few years have passed, and it's hours before the PinINterest Party and there I am desperately scrolling through all the pretty pictures on PinINterest trying to find something to bring to Mabel and Belinda's party other than a recipe for making my own dishwasher detergent when I got the strangest sense of deja-vu. Because, dude, I had just seen a picture of a cat sleeping on a dog's head. And a plane! And! And! A useful tip about how to open up all those pesky plastic packages with a can opener! Dude.  I had seen this stuff before. In an email.  From my grandpa.

And that's when I realized:

PinINterest isn't just for overly extravagant children's parties anymore, it's also the place all those old forwarded emails have gone to die.  

And by die, I mean, they went to pretty pretty internet heaven, filled with recipes of caramel brownies, houses with water slides instead of staircases, huge libraries with cozy reading nooks, fuzzy knitted sweaters and running workouts... just like real heaven*! 

So. I did it. I joined PinINterest. Because it's the newest coolest whippest thing out there on the world wide web. Join me? Please?  I have a great recipe for dishwasher detergent!

*OK, sure, I don't actually know if heaven has a water slide, but, come on, God is awesome and so are water slides, you do the math.

Random. Just Like Normal.

The following stuff never made it into any real blog posts.  There may have been a reason. But, then I thought, DUDE!, everyone loves an underdog story!

She knows nothing, people. NOTHING! (And I need to add more sit-ups to my workout routine.)
Ellie: (at the park, while climbing up to the slide) I'm a big sister.
Me: (spotting from below) No. You're a little sister.
Ellie: (looking over her shoulder to pierce me with the cutest death stare ever) No. I'm a big sister. (finishes climbing to the top of the slide and yells) I'M A BIG SISTER! ELLIE IS A BIG SISTER!!
Me: (chuckling awkwardly, backing away, and sucking in my gut while giving a death stare to everyone at the park that day to just DARE and congratulate me)

We may have a bit of a problem....

We have run out of bookshelf space and took a trip to Powell's the other weekend.
Which means....
These books may have a permanent home on the floor of our living room. 

Fun story.  Mabel dropped by to borrow a book.  I told her, no problem, I'm pretty sure I know where that one is. Then I walked into the office and said, "I know I saw it in here somewhere once." And Mabel said, "You narrowed it down to one room?" And I said, "You do realize that each and every room in our house is floor to ceiling books, right? The fact that I could narrow it down to just this one room actually is quite impressive." And then I handed her the book.  End of fun story.


I'm in a video! At Zion!

I may have made it myself....


The unfortunateness of being a pear:

Pear. Rear.  They're  practically the same, um... word...

It's never too early to discuss politics:

Me: (reading from the new bulletin board at the library) Duck for President! Bad Kitty for President! Baby Mouse for President!
Kids: YAY!!!
Me: Who would you vote for Ellie?
Ellie: The Penguin.
Katie: She means the Duck.
Ellie: (turns toward Katie) NO! The Penguin! (does penguin walk) Waddle, waddle, waddle!
Me: And another independent voter is born!


And, lastly, and quite possibly leastly:


Cutest picture of Jon and me EVER:

What I Did With That Taper Week

Awesome Things (from my half marathon on Sunday):

1) Eating a peanut butter and honey sandwich in an elevator.

2) Starting the race with Clive and Mabel. Who enthusiastically* performed awesome Jazzercize moves with me while surrounded by a gajillion strangers in the pre-dawn cold.

JAZZ HANDS, PEOPLE! JAZZ HANDS!

3) RUNNING!!!

4) Pirates! At mile mile 7.5 and 10! And, yes.  They were shooting at us.  With blanks.  Probably.  I mean, the road was a little sticky... but most likely it was just Gu.... Right? (races off to check running shoes) Um... does Gu come in raspberry?

5) Being lapped by the elite marathoners. Twice.  Because they run at the speed of light.

6) Leaping over the road kill the elites left, Wile E. Coyote style, in their wake and yelling, "DEAD SQUIRREL!"

7) Complete strangers cheering me on at almost every corner! Because putting people's names on the race numbers you pin to the front of your shirt is sheer BRILLIANCE!

8) Hearing the announcer say as I raced down the finish chute,"Looks like we have a real treat for you all! Blah, blah, blah" (because it's physically impossible to understand announcers when you are sprinting out the end of a race) and feeling like a ROCK STAR! But then looking over and seeing the first place marathoner cross the finish line just in front of you.  I may have stole some of his applause. But only a little bit.  Just under 50%, or so...ish.

9) Eating post race food! In a bathtub. Fully clothed. Because Ellie needed a nap and waxed paper wrapped seitan burgers are noisy. Plus, I had just run 13.1 miles and eating in a bathtub just made good solid logical sense at the time.

10) And then Ellie woke up and there was Powell's.  And all was right with the world.

Because that world also came with a donut:

And a guy hiking with a Segway:

*As long as a 3/10 on the Enthusiastic Scale still rates as enthusiastic.  Which, it should, because three is totally a magic number.  School House Rock told me so.

Taper Week

A lack of a blog post this week brought to you by this book:

Seriously. Can't put it down.  And, you can't be upset, because that woman up there? She helped cure polio. She went to the moon.  She was blown up by a neuclear bomb and then went on to help develop DNA indicators, cancer drugs, and cloning! All that and she's not even a vampire*.

What are you reading?


*Or a "Lich King who is using a glamour to look sparkly in the sun". According to Jon.

I Took Some Horrible Pictures Of Fun And Then I Was Sad

Three of my Most Best Bestest Besties came to visit this last weekend!!! (Which I celebrated with a dance of glee and happiness. And, yes, my dance of glee and happiness includes one or two Gangnam style moves. I perform them badly.)  The timing of their visit was awesome, because the voices in my head were getting louder, and more insistent to be fed, clothed and kept in a basic state of aliveness. (In hindsight, those voices may actually be my children.) Me and my Most Best Bestest Besties do this every year, and every year we're in a different city, mostly because some of them insist on moving, like, a lot. But this year it was my year! We were going to SEATTLE! So, I did what any normal Seattleite-ish* would do when their out of town Most Best Bestest Besties visit. (That was the last time I'm going to use that phrase. Promise. Spoiler Alert: I'm lying.) I took them to the Space Needle!

Which, when they saw it, they were all, "Wow! This is awesome!" and some other stuff. And I was all, "I know, right?! Elvis!" And they all gave me a strange look that I took to be a collective exhibit of overwhelming pop culture awe, because, you know: ELVIS! And began to point out the important sights from the top of the Needle. Like this one:

Me: (talking really fast and gesturing wildly, because that's what tour guides do) We passed the Space Needle restaurant where Elvis sang "I'm Falling in Love Tonight" on our way up, but since the elevator didn't stop we didn't see it. But! Down there, is the Science Center where Elvis and Sue-Lin were chased under the arches and through the fountains by security guards in the movie!

Most Best Bestest Besties: Um.  What are you talking about, Martha?

Me:  It Happened at the World's Fair.

Most Best Bestest Besties: ------

Me: 1963?

Most Best Bestest Besties: ------

Me: The Elvis Presley movie?

Most Best Bestest Besties: We've never seen an Elvis movie.

Me: (in my sad voice, that I normally use for describing empty coffee cups and dead puppies) Seriously? No Elvis movies? Like...ever?

And that's when I realized I had to throw out my original "Tour of Elvis in Seattle".  And it's all my Most Best Bestest Besties fault.  Because it had the potential to be the most awesome "Most Best Bestest Besties Personal Tour of Elvis in Seattle" EVER! (Which is probably even true because, most likely, it's the only personal tour of Elvis in Seattle in the history of, um... ever.)

Instead, I had to show them the car that drives around with a hay ball on it's roof:

And the dead wolf fish in Pike's Place:

And, obviously, no one gets over this kind of Elvis disappointment without a little liquid fortitude:

Then I took them to the prettiest toilets in Seattle:

And a book store, because the two stops seemed to flow together well:

And, then, over some delicious Turkish food, I may have convinced them that the Seattle Mariners baseball team was recently sold to Texas**. Which, in my defense, is totally plausible considering Seattle sold the SuperSonics basketball team to Tennessee once.

But, I made up for it by taking them to "See A Shoe Actually Worn By World's Tallest Man":

And to see the hula hooping guitar/harmonica playing guy on the street corner:

The Dude has skillz.  Serious skillz.

And, then, the day came, when, one by one, my Most Best Bestest Besties boarded the monorail (where Elvis had sung to a sleeping-oh, never mind...) and were whisked away, each to their own lonely airplanes to their own lonely corners of the United States.  And I was sad.

And then, on the way back to the hotel, all by myself, to pick up my suitcase, I walked by this:

And the sight of the beautiful flowers callously shoved into a trash can at the Seattle Center almost made me cry....

But then I remembered that one scene from It Happened at the World's Fair!

You know, the one with Kurt Russell?

By the trash can?

You do?!

Finally, someone's seen it!***


*Because, I don't actually live in Seattle, or, even on the same land form....

**But only for like five minutes.  Because I couldn't keep from laughing.  Or, maybe, now that I think about it, they may have just given me this one.  You know, because of my huge Elvis tour guide disappointment? Because they're just plain awesome Most Best Bestest Besties like that. (Dude, that was like the most awkward Most Best Bestest Besties sentence ever.)

***Because someone out there has had to have seen this movie!

As Long As She Uses Her Super Powers For Good And Not Evil We Should Be Just Fine

Some people would say completing a triathlon makes you a superhero.  Not everyone, obviously. But, you know, some... people....

OK. Fine. "Some People" is really the same person who looks at this picture on the wall of my favorite restaurant* and exclaims at the top of her voice, "THAT MOMMY!":

Oh, yeah. My two year old thinks I'm a ROCK STAR!

But, whatever, dude.  A compliment is a compliment.   And, as the highlight of my day is chugging down a megalithic cup of coffee each morning at 7am**....

But, as the current reigning Rock Star/Superhero residing in our house, I have begun to realize exactly how lonely it is at the top.  So, I decided to create my own Superhero sidekick. Out of one of my children.  Obviously, I picked Ellie, not just because she thinks I'm a ROCK STAR!, but for practical reasons too. She's smaller than Katie, and therefore her DNA should be easier to mutate.  Also, I saw her licking our travel sized Operation game, and realized she'd already done like half the work for me. Because, as I've recently learned, our DNA can be "remarkably modified through energy centers", and that's basically what a battery is, right? Just little tubes of energy centers. And, since the website I learned all this off of also used words like "starship" and "Galactic Federation" and kept calling everyone on the Internet "dear Hearts" it's probably totally legit.

However, I couldn't leave this experiment at just one DNA changing variable, no matter how heavily researched by Sheldan Nidle and his "space kin". So I didn't.

More Things Ellie has Licked in her Quest to Obtain The Awesome Super Powers:

Her toes (For fleetness!)
Her shoes (For inpenetratable fleetness!)
Library books (For undepthable knowledge!)
A used band-aide (Little know fact: this is also how Wolverine got his super power.)
Her sister (To be able to create strong relational bonds just like Marcus from the Volturi in Twilight!)
Me (For the ability to withstand high levels of caffeine!)

The experiment seems to be going really well so far! I mean, sure, there's the side effect of huge amounts of mucus streaming from her nostrils, but, it's probably just a "scalar wave", which is really just "the result of inter-dimensional electromagnetic wave propagation" which simply "operates in multi-dimensional space/time."  Nothing to worry about.

Which is why I'm moving her into stage two this weekend.  That's right. It's time to visit the petting zoo!


Listen, Sheep. It's for the greater good.



*Not just because it has a disco ball in the restroom, an Elvis wall and a self serve coffee station out of an old VW bus. But, let's face it, it totally helps!

**OK. Fine.  There are other highlights too, but none that come in an awesome 3-D butterfly mug.  Mostly because my kids won't fit.

Please Excuse My Butt. It's Being Rude. Again.

This summer I have done my best to shield you all from the uncouth mutterings from my butt.  No.... No.... (waves hand vaguely, blushes) Don't thank me.... It was nothing.

No.

Really.

It was practically nothing.

(Those last three sentences were in my serious voice.  In case you missed it.)

See, another triathlon season has come and gone.  And, with a stellar lack of motivation shown by myself once again, I signed up for exactly one.  Wait.  Let me say this differently:

1.

Uno.

I.

Ibotuyi.

(Um, I made that last one up. Because Nickelodeon only lets Dora the Explorer talk to me in two languages.) And, because I only signed up for ibotuyi triathlon, I never got serious about my training. And, consequentially, conversations with Mabel began to go something like this:

Mabel: We should ride bikes tomorrow.

Me: (In my whiny voice.) Is it Friday alllrrrreeeaaaddy???

Mabel: Yep.  What route do you want to do?

Me: (In my serious voice. The one that comes with the scary "Don't touch my coffee" stare.) Same.

Mabel: It's a pretty flat route, you know, maybe we should do one wi-

Me: (In my "Did she seriously just touch my coffee" voice, which is kinda loud, and comes with irrational stomping.) SAME!!!!

Mabel: -hills....

Poor Mabel.  She totally deserves a free coffee, a fancy house on the beach in the Cayman Islands and  a donut for putting up with my whiny butt this summer. Or at least two out of the three.

But, no matter how many times I managed to throw a fit sneakily worm my way out of biking that almost flat 8 mile route with Mabel, last Sunday came anyway and bit me on the...

...(wait for it)...

butt.

(That was totally obvious, wasn't it?)

First, I had to battle my way through a half mile of cold lake water. Which included putting some woman in a head lock.  Accidentally. I think.  This makes complete sense, by the way, if you've ever done a triathlon.

Then, there it was.  Swinging, suspended, ever so slightly in the what the meteorologists were calling a "gentle breeze of early Autumn", from the communal bike rack. By its seat.  Accusingly. It may have even smirked.  Or that was my butt.  It's hard to tell sometimes after attempting all those WWE moves in 33 feet of murky lake water. However, not one to be intimidated by extremely tall doors or accusatory smirking bike seats, I grabbed my helmet, and headed out into that"gentle breeze of early Autumn". Which, by mile 0.3 was more like "stupid dumb cyclone of frr-rrr-rr-reeze my butt off dead of winter".  And I began to mutter about "dumb pseudo-scientists with their stupid spinning Dopplers". Which entertained me for about another 0.3 miles, but then reality set in.  I had fifteen more miles to go. Wait.  Let me say that differently:

15. Miles.

Quince. Milla.

XV. Millia.

Fabuto. Buttsquishes!

And most of it was uphill.  Which meant I spent the next fabuto miles buttsquishes pedaling to this cadence: "Mabel was right. Mabel was right. Why am I so stupid? Mabel was right." Dude, let me tell you, if it wasn't for the quacking I did each time I passed Mallard Road, I think I may have gone insane!

But then, came the run, and, you know, after a quick trip to the porta-potty and a mile of shuffling running, it wasn't so bad. I even managed to finish with a smile on my face!

Which, considering I hadn't even gotten to the free beer and massage yet, means it was pretty darn awesome!

Also? My butt is a total liar.

Except about that whole bike thing.