Defining Easy.

And here it is, Monday again. Most of the weekend was spent in a desperate scrambling attempt to get in shape for this race. I've already paid my entry fee in advance so I guess I have to do it, even though it seems odd, paying to suffer. On Saturday we drove out to the happening town of Oilville to ride bikes on a great private course. The ground was wet which give the bike a lovely sloggy feeling. Sweet. We did a couple of laps which took about an hour and a half. I was toasted for the rest of the day. See, I go to the gym five days a week and I think I'm fit, but really, I'm just a blubbery ball of drool or something. There's no other explanation for why this is so hard.

Yesterday we did an easy ride at a local trail and then had the brilliant idea of riding over to Forest Hill Park (aka Park of the Ridiculously Steep Hills), thus making it an "easy" ride. As the rest of the group smoked by me up the hills I slogged along and sent hate rays in their direction. Hate rays are an important coping skill when one rides with more experienced people. Hate rays also work in traffic or even at the office when the mail guy asks to borrow a piece of tape and then says "But I won't give it back!" HA HA HA. Asshole.

At one point during the ride we traveled up one of those vertical-type hills and my friend Paula mentioned she was in her middle chain ring (non bike people - this means she was in her middle gear, not the easy one). I was in my granniest of granny gears (YES, THE EASY ONE) and decided that she and my husband both have freak legs. I mean, I can SEE the muscle in my legs so I'm not sure why it doesn't work. I'll be pedaling and suddenly my legs just...stop. That doesn't seem to happen to them. Hate Rays.

Two and a half hours later we went home, dragged myself in the kitchen and begged the cats to drop bits of food in my mouth. They smirked and went to take nap #287.

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A Programming Dream Come True.

Okay, I have to ask - am I the only one who was riveted by the royal wedding hoo-ha on Saturday morning? I was completely fascinated and watched it on CNN with Anderson Cooper running commentary (and wearing a hot pinstripe suit. Rowr). It was so bizarre and fabulously British. Trudy Styler! Morning coats! Rowan Atkinson in a top hat! Prince William! Crazy feather hats! Phil Collins! A streaker! Anderson Cooper! Did I mention Prince William? It was like reality television crack with a side of cucumber sandwiches. I could've watched it all day. Best. Show. Ever. Prince Charles should get married every week - I'd watch it. And thank God those two finally got married because they're so perfectly horsey for each other and if he had a spine he'd have married her to begin with, but then, no Prince William. I mean, I liked Diana as much as anyone but they really hadn't a chance in hell of staying married. You know it's true. If you were eighteen and a virgin would you want to marry that guy?

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Ms. Greenjeans.

So, do you remember the weirdness last year with my father and the garden? How he had these grand plans for a vegetable garden in my back yard and then completely dropped the ball? I had lunch with him last week and brought it up - asked him if he was interested in trying it again and he totally changed the subject and talked about the lack of drainage in his driveway. I'll take that as a no?

I did get the small garden plot cleared and planted seeds for lettuce, carrots and basil. I also planted two wee hot pepper plants. And oh, the tomatoes, they are next. Yeah, shut up. I know I get all psycho when I talk about the tomatoes. You just have NO IDEA.

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The Television has Forsaken Me.

The noise continues. The television pretended to stop with the high-pitched noise when we put a piece of foam core under it, then a day later it was all "psyche!" We stuck a yoga mat under it and that stopped it for about an hour. I discovered that pressure to the top of the TV makes the noise go away so we talked about strapping that bitch down with a ratcheting cargo strap. Kenny went to the hardware store and could find one (note to K: did you ask?) and brought home nylon rope. He tied the rope around the tv but it wouldn't stay tight and kept slipping. Then he wedged the fireplace brush under it. That didn't work, so he added three paperbacks on top, under the rope. Also? Some Velcro. The noise is still with us. The TV looks ridiculous ( I hope it feels ridiculous, when I think about the praise we lavished upon it when it was new). It makes me want to cry.

25 chatty monkeys