Like A Pro

Everyone looked like this.

I can't imagine how desperate my healthy (as in marathon-running, MD-holding) friend must have been to have asked me to do this MS Bike-a-thon with her.  Maybe she needed someone along who would make her look fast?  What's more, there are going to be all these intimidating-looking people in real bicycle clothes and special bicycle shoes and with specially streamlined bikes at this thing.  I know this is true, because I saw them at the packet pick-up yesterday.

Fit Friend: We need to go to the packet pick-up this weekend.

Me:  Okay.  What's that?

Fit Friend:  It's where you pick up your number and your free T-shirt and such.

Me:  I get a number?  AND a shirt?  Awesome!

Fit Friend:  Look, I'll do the talking there, okay?

So I walked around all day Friday, seizing on any chance to say, "Oh, I have to go to the PACKET PICK-UP tomorrow" and reveling in how athletic that sounded.  As it turned out, I was suffering from heat exhaustion after the morning training ride (20 MILES, people) that Fit Friend inflicted on me; so I couldn't really formulate any complete sentences by the time we did pick up our numbers.  They were handing out water bottles instead of T-shirts, but I played it pretty cool.

Training ride - I like how that sounds, too.

There were all these cyclists there, fresh back from a different (meaning, more difficult) training ride sponsored by the bike shop that was hosting the PACKET PICK-UP; they were milling around in their spandex and their funny shoes as I willed my heat-exhausted fingers to hold a pen firmly enough to sign a 2-page waiver form.  "Do I need to read it?" I asked Fit Friend.

"Essentially, by signing, we're saying it's okay if we drop dead on the ride," she told me.

That didn't sound quite as good to me as packet pick-up and training ride, but I really wanted that water bottle, so I signed anyway.   Then they gave us numbers for our helmets AND our backs AND our bicycles -- I guess so they can identify the bodies more easily at the end.  And that was that - I am now officially a person who does bike-a-thons and does training rides and goes to packet pick-ups.  Who knows?  I may even end up wearing one of those spandex shirts with the pockets on the back.  Peer pressure, you know...

Danger, Will Robinson! Danger!

Might I present to you Exhibit 3,432 of Why We Are All Doomed.  That's right - the Middle East Respiratory Syndrome Coronavirus (MERS-CoV) is about to decimate the world's population.  And, unfortunately, with its 9-12 day incubation period, it may gain its foothold in the US right here in my neighborhood.  Let's see...Bunko is being held at my house on the 10th, and my neighbor just returned from visiting her grandchildren in Jordan a few days ago.  If she shows up at my door with cold symptoms, I might just have to ban her from the game.  Or at least give her her own dice.

If you see something like this, call the CDC.  And don't breathe.

Overreacting, am I?  "The novel coronavirus is a threat to the entire world," says Dr. Margaret Chan, director-general at WHO.  Gosh, that sounds a tad alarming to me.  The rest of you can just go about your business, whistling past the graveyard, as it were, of certain catastrophic illness; but I feel I have a responsibility to warn people, Paul Revere-like, that the Big One (epidemiologically speaking) is coming.  Mostly because I have nothing better to do, being unemployed and all.  Also, because I tend to freak out about things like this.

You know, just because I am a hypochondriac doesn't mean that I WON'T die in a pandemic.  Think about it.

30 Years Ago? Really?

Blame Wendi Aarons for this post. Instead of sitting down and regaling you with the events of my day, I read her post first and ended up wasting my evening listening to this Hall and Oates retrospective and reminiscing about my youth. Okay, I won't lie - there was some singing along going on, also.  Everyone else here was asleep, so I felt free to belt it out.

Enjoy. Or not -- it's up to you.

The Ravages Of Time

Susie's birthday on Saturday proceeded just as she had planned: Belgian waffles for breakfast (made by David), the opening of the presents, a lunch date with Mommy, a trip to a nearby carousel with Daddy, and then pizza (made by David) and cake (baked and decorated somewhat haphazardly by moi, the resident cake-decorating genius).  Do note that Susie opted for David to make her meals, instead of myself.  She knows which side her bread is buttered on, apparently.

Oh, and then she insisted on staying up until nearly midnight to watch "It's a Mad, Mad, Mad, Mad World."  Apparently, she has developed a precocious appreciation for vintage comedy.  Myself, I fell asleep by 9.  Cake-decorating is exhausting.  Also, my youngest - my baby - is now 8, and I am verklempt.

I think I'll listen to "The Circle Game." Again.  Feel free to join me, but bring your hanky.

Sunday was perfect weather for all of us to go see the local air show.  An hour out, an hour back, and 2 hours in between spent staring into the sun.  Again, I fell asleep early.  I don't seem to have the resilience I had when I was younger - you know, when I could do maybe 2 or even 3 things in a row without needing to recover in between each one?

This will be me, only without the hatchet.

Today! My healthy friend (the one who convinced me to sign up for a 30-mile bike-a-thon in June) held me to my promise of taking a 12-mile bike ride today.  I believe she is trying to kill me.  Then we kept all the kids up late for a neighborhood marshmallow roast (I know! It's like The Truman Show around here).  I would go to bed NOW, but I'm afraid that, if I stop moving, my entire body will stiffen up from post-bike-ride syndrome.  Larry will wake up tomorrow morning and find me lying in bed, mumbling the words "oil can" over and over.

In short, I cannot handle 3-day weekends. Because I am old.  The end.

[Tin man image: Babble]

Pinterest, You Harlot

They like me!

For some reason, this is my most-pinned pin EVER.  Apparently, the concept of crockpot beef stroganoff has real crowd appeal.  And, happily enough, it happens to be one of the few Pinterest recipes I've tried that has actually turned out all right (meaning, nobody cried).  So I'm proud to spread the crockpot stroganoff gospel.

We just won't talk about the many failed recipes I've tried involving Pillsbury crescent rolls.  People, these are NOT an all-purpose food stuff, as they are way too sweet for most savory dishes.  I can't take the lies anymore, Pinterest.  The deception, the false promises, the glittering vision of happy mealtimes...

One would think my disillusionment would make me a little less susceptible at this point to the siren call of Pinterest recipes, but no - this "Pan-Roasted Chicken With Lemon-Garlic Green Beans" still beckons to me seductively.  "Just toss it in the oven!" it claims.  "Easy weeknight meal!"

Tie me to the mast, someone, won't you?

Chicken Cordon Bleu in the crockpot, you say?  Hmmm....

[Ulysses image: Brick and Tree]