Is it Vegas yet?
My feet hurt too much to type.
So the pictures will have to tell the story for now.
Yes I'm packing this Sunday for my 3rd visit to the Big Bike show. Some know it as bike porn, I just remember it as the site a big 7 foot Not so Libre guy hoisted me into the air with my pink hat flying onto his shoulders. That was my first experience at Interbike. It was a show where there were not too many women attendees and mucho mucho macho hombres.
Alrighty then. I am going forward with the red kitchen.
And since I am not starting another blog (there are about 15 on my dashboard right now for crying out loud) you will just have to put up with reading about remodeling stuff here if I feel like babbling about it.
But today I don't feel like babbling about it. I'll just post a pic of my current plan and leave it at that for now.
I do feel like babbling about frustration.
Last night's ride was full frustration. I couldn't do anything right. I was wussy, out of balance, not in the mood (we're talking cycling here folks, just to be clear and all). Each time I bobbled or klutzed out, the frustration grew. And of course, when that happens its a vicious cycle and things just get worse.
Mine culminated in me slipping on a groove and doing a slow motion spillover into a thorny blackberry bush. It was one of those spills that leaves you all tangled and stuck, all retarded and helpless. I was flopped over in the bushes, where every movement led to a new thorn in me, with my bike on top and my feet still clipped in.
And I was stuck there...both physically and mentally.
I knew I wasn't hurt bad, but I wanted to cry. Not for the thorns, or the lack of grace, or the bruised booty, or even the fear that I was disappointing him. It was for all of the things that had been bottled up and shelved aside. Whatever those things are. Some I can name and some I can't. They are usually small and insignificant, but when piled on they can crush. And sometimes, when riding, you are so stripped down in essence, that those things can't hide. And they come out.
And fall into the blackberry bushes.
Luckily I have a partner with supreme patience and genuine love. He gave me just the right amount of support and space (such a fine balance between those two) and a kick in the ass. And luckily too that riding cross bikes is so godamn fun. By the end of the ride, the demons had fluttered away, the smile was on, and I was riding like a champ. I was still klutzing out, I'm sure, because I always do...but I felt like a champ anyway.
Bike riding and red kitchens. Keeping me sane.
And on Saturday and Sunday it was the weekend. And it was a particularly luscious and decadent and perfect weekend. No time for scribbles when that happens.
And tonight, I pulled out the computer to ~~~
wait a sec.....Jeni's boyfriend just handed me a piece of Gizdich pie and Marianne's ice cream. I might be a while.....
Surf City is driving me nuts. You all better come race these damn things and you better like them.
I want to talk about The Vuelta, which got a hair more interesting today. And Tom and Manuel and the whole Discovery team doing well, but not doing anything. And who's the leader of their team? So confused.
And what was Petacchi thinking?
I want to talk about Cranky Frankie's admission and especially his feisty wife. Jeez, that is one pissed off lady. I am telling you, its going to be these spouses that may eventually pull down the house of cards that is currently silencing the peloton. Either someone pissed at the system for what she's seeing her guy go through, or someone pissed at the guy for doinking a podium girl and looking for a little retribution. Either way, Betsy did not hold back.
I like the name Betsy by way. Ah well, cat's already been named.
I want to talk about the first cyclocross race held in Belgium and won by Sven (V. not N.) and how cx season is almost here and I can't wait and a one day cross race is so much more exciting that this utterly painfully slow Vuelta. I want to talk about how much I love how loony cross is too. Just damn loony.
Need to figure out what I am wearing for Halloween.
I want to ride my bike at lunch because its gorgeous outside and my cross bike is in the car and wouldn't those trails I ride all the time at Santa Theresa be a fun new challenge on the cross bike.
Sigh...but no time for any of that. I have to head off to another meeting instead.
And pretend to be a grown up.
Michael reprimanded me for not blogging today.
The Cheezy Bavarian sausage from Corralitos Meat Market would be scandalous in Bavaria. You don't put cheese INSIDE the sausage. But heavens, is that sausage ever good.
We broke down last night and ate some (well I only had a 1/2 because Michael stole mine when he was done with his). But we did an excellent job of justifying the decadence. I justified it because we had just finished doing 110 situps and 80 push ups (Didn't think I was counting did you?) and some unseemly number of these funky high kneed fast footed uphill thingies. Micheal's justification was that it tastes gooood.
I love the Corralitos Meat Market. Its one of those small town little community markets that is so rare these days. It is able to survive because on the weekends it is packed with visitors doing the Country Backroads thing. I also like living in a place that is a Country Backroads destination. Its a pain in the ass, like the Market has banker, not 7-11, hours, and sometimes I would like a sidewalk to walk on, and the whole septic thing is annoying, and the community is way more homogenized than this army brat is used to, and I 'd like it if meth lab and pot busts weren't so close...but most times I feel insanely lucky to live here.
And yesterday evening was one of those times.
Just noticed in that picture that a pack of cigarettes is almost $5! Holy shit.
And here's a completely unrelated pic, but I am too lazy to create another post for it. Its from our cross ride last weekend. What a great time and the reason I love this team and sport...
And you'd think that after spending $500 (which in Ikea money is a lot) that they could at least bag your little items.
But no, they grunt at you and leave your little items just sitting at the end of the moving belt thingie, next to some plastic bags, and you can just bag it yourself even though you have a cart that you can barely maneuver thank you very much.
Except without the thank you.
An the cinnamon rolls never taste as good as they smell.
And yet I keep returning because I am too cheap to buy real furniture.
A few weeks ago I told myself that I would start cutting back on my wine consumption. Michael and I usually enjoy 2-3 glasses each night as we dine, read, chat, surf, roommate kibbutz, build bikes, bella business, kitty fish, do laundry, or just stare blankly ahead. No matter what the activity, a glass of wine is never far from reach.
I decided that I would limit myself to one glass of wine per night.
So what did I go and do?
I bought bigger wine glasses.
So while google searching photos of big wine glasses, I landed on one of those tacky gifts websites. I saw this cooler thing. I am going to buy it for Michael and Jeff for christmas. Just in time for their feedzone duty for us bellas in 2007. They can drive it to the feedzone at our races. Jeff can put Michael in the little back cart thingie. It just needs a little flair.
The website has some hokey things on it. Like, who would want to do this to a hot dog?
Looks like Manuel Beltran will be the Disco leader at the Vuelta. Four discos finished in front of Tom today. I wonder what happened?
My major chores list just keeps getting longer and longer. I still haven't sold my car, finished my stairs, planted the apple tree, maintained my Toaster, and on and on and on.
As we were finishing our ride at Nisene on Wednesday night, someone in the parking lot asked me, "hey, can you guess what I sell?"
I answered with the second thing that popped into my head, "Ice cream?"
"No", he answered with a giggle (guess he likes ice cream too) "I sell windshields" And then he pointed to the tattered splintered windshield on my poor neglected Toaster.
He said he would come to my work and take care of it and he gave me his card. Easy shmeezy. Just a quick phone call and I can have a new windshield without a hint of interruption to my day.
Except I have no idea what I did with his card.