Love and War
I would like to state that I do not believe this post will be of significant length or interest. I've had a very tight ponytail in for most of the day and I believe it is starting to affect my cognitive abilities. My head hurts a little but the skin on my face has never felt so tight and wrinkle free. If you're worried about the headache, don't be. I had spinach, broccoli, carrots and cauliflower today. I've also been running. Any cognitive shortcomings will soon be compensated for by the fact that I will be able to perform incredible feats of strength (leap over tall buildings in a single bound, dance for days on end, drink liters of pool water with little or no heartburn, etc.). It will be wonderful. They shall call me Bachata Babe (BB).
May long weekend I went to war. Yes, war. It was I versus the Gods of wind. My weapons & artillery roster consisted of the following: 1 squeeky Cannondale R400, multiple peanut butter and jam sandwiches, bananas, 1 tire tube, 2 C02 cartridges and liters of grape Gatorade. They say war will make one mad. I will attest to that. In a state of extreme frustration and fatigue, I dropped an F-Bomb. Multiple actually. The effect? The gods retaliated by turning the R400 and my clothing against me. Nobody likes a traitor. My bike blew a spoke and my shorts... well, in an effort to keep the posting PG, I was violated. The pivotal moment? In a slightly delusional state I swore that the wind had changed directions. I swore that I would battle a head wind both ways. So, I did what any soldier would do. I calculated. Calculated given the current wind conditions, my current physical state and the position of the sun, whether I would ever make it home. It was very edge of your seat kind of stuff. Very complex, very exciting. Believe me. My saving grace? The tuna sub awaiting my arrival in Bragg Creek. Days at battle: 2. Battles won: 2. My medal(s) will be arriving shortly. I am sure of it.
On to dancing...
First off, I would like to make the following crystal clear; it is not my intention to hump the salsa instructor. No, no humping for me.
As per usual, Sunday night I threw on my fabulous dancing shoes and went to class. Super fun. We learned the Cumbia. Not as sexy as Bachata, but fun nonetheless. Here's where it gets good. After class a bunch of us head to Don Quijotes! SO MUCH FUN! ...and so educational. I learned so much. 1) Keep my hands by my waist 2) Do not try to guess what your partner will do next 3) The instructor likes my body. I already knew this, but I think he really wanted to drive this point home. 4) If I so pleased, I would be permitted to make the instructor "work" in bed. Oh my! Now, chances are you know me. I am shy. By this point I've turned 50 shades of red, and like Bambi in head lights, I am stunned. What do I do? I use my default reaction. Smile. Smile really big. You know, show some teeth kind of smile. You've all seen it. It's time for a new default. I am open to suggestions.
Oh yeah, I didn't get into the New York Marathon. To that I say, "Stink". To the New York Marathon lottery organizers I say, "you don't know what you're missing". An aggressive 50-year-old man once told me the same thing. I therefore understand the impact of such a statement.
BTW: No, I don't get hit on a lot. It is actually a rather rare phenomenon. These stories are in honor of the love and war theme for the post.
Ok, bye now. This post was brought to you by the letters N and L and the number 25.
May long weekend I went to war. Yes, war. It was I versus the Gods of wind. My weapons & artillery roster consisted of the following: 1 squeeky Cannondale R400, multiple peanut butter and jam sandwiches, bananas, 1 tire tube, 2 C02 cartridges and liters of grape Gatorade. They say war will make one mad. I will attest to that. In a state of extreme frustration and fatigue, I dropped an F-Bomb. Multiple actually. The effect? The gods retaliated by turning the R400 and my clothing against me. Nobody likes a traitor. My bike blew a spoke and my shorts... well, in an effort to keep the posting PG, I was violated. The pivotal moment? In a slightly delusional state I swore that the wind had changed directions. I swore that I would battle a head wind both ways. So, I did what any soldier would do. I calculated. Calculated given the current wind conditions, my current physical state and the position of the sun, whether I would ever make it home. It was very edge of your seat kind of stuff. Very complex, very exciting. Believe me. My saving grace? The tuna sub awaiting my arrival in Bragg Creek. Days at battle: 2. Battles won: 2. My medal(s) will be arriving shortly. I am sure of it.
On to dancing...
First off, I would like to make the following crystal clear; it is not my intention to hump the salsa instructor. No, no humping for me.
As per usual, Sunday night I threw on my fabulous dancing shoes and went to class. Super fun. We learned the Cumbia. Not as sexy as Bachata, but fun nonetheless. Here's where it gets good. After class a bunch of us head to Don Quijotes! SO MUCH FUN! ...and so educational. I learned so much. 1) Keep my hands by my waist 2) Do not try to guess what your partner will do next 3) The instructor likes my body. I already knew this, but I think he really wanted to drive this point home. 4) If I so pleased, I would be permitted to make the instructor "work" in bed. Oh my! Now, chances are you know me. I am shy. By this point I've turned 50 shades of red, and like Bambi in head lights, I am stunned. What do I do? I use my default reaction. Smile. Smile really big. You know, show some teeth kind of smile. You've all seen it. It's time for a new default. I am open to suggestions.
Oh yeah, I didn't get into the New York Marathon. To that I say, "Stink". To the New York Marathon lottery organizers I say, "you don't know what you're missing". An aggressive 50-year-old man once told me the same thing. I therefore understand the impact of such a statement.
BTW: No, I don't get hit on a lot. It is actually a rather rare phenomenon. These stories are in honor of the love and war theme for the post.
Ok, bye now. This post was brought to you by the letters N and L and the number 25.
posted by Nan at
3:45 PM
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