A white truck pulled over on Hwy 100, the driver got out, stopped traffic, and scooped up a dead kitty from the road. Until that moment I was completely clueless that someone actually had the job of scooping up road kill. I'm not entirely sure what I thought happened to road kill, other than it getting super smooshed into the road and eventually washed away with rain and tires. When I ride, I see dead animals all over the place, so I am not completely dense in my not realizing that there was a person who held this job. What does his business card say?
Does he tell his children what he does?
Where do the dead animals go?
As this happened one block before the coffee shop and I was not fully awake, I may have contemplated this for longer than the average caffeinated folk would have.
Then I got told yesterday (completely randomly by someone who was not in my head on the morning that I discussed the above with myself) that the State of Missouri has decided NOT to pick up dead animals anymore due to the constantly rising price of fuel. I wanted to thank them for seeming to consider our tax dollars, but on the other hand....EWWWWWW! A few weeks ago, Steph, Sam, and I rode past a dead beaver on the side of the road. And while Lisa would say that that is a fantastic name for a punk band, I am not excited to know that the same dead beaver (a better name for a punk band) may just be there when we ride by tomorrow.
See? I've been thinking about stuff more important than destroying complete strangers' lives by deleting them from my MySpace page. *snicker*
So then there's that. Oy! The drama. I did it. So what? I left the page open for a while so confused people could catch up and then I made it private. Oh well. I deleted people who I either didn't know, didn't get me, or posted too many effing bulletins. I wouldn't care if they were interesting bulletins, but they weren't. All I was learning about many of those people was that they were either angry, sad, victims, or a sad cocktail of it all. I didn't delete anyone with a bike. At least not on purpose. (With the exception of a few Lance Fanatics.) Marone a mia!
There's still one person I need to talk to regarding the "major" changes, but I chose to not write her until I could write something nice. That day has not yet arrived. I am afraid she will come to her own conclusions before I get to her, and that might be the better way for her to go. I know I am being passive/aggressive. I know. Tell me something that I don't. However, after being faced with her love for confrontation, what would be the point in trying to convey an articulate point of view to her. I do not communicate with people who lack communication balance. It is exhausting. I'd rather run the NYC marathon...braless...on the first day of my menstrual cycle...with a regular absorbancy...nevermind...you get it. If you don't, well...WOW! I hope you are wicked pretty!
Speaking of races and discomfort, I raced in my first ever road race this past weekend! (Yay me!) I bet you think I am going to pat myself on the back and gloat. Nope. I know I posted the podium pics. It's more of a joke between Stephanie and I on how I was going to taunt my ex-husband ("Super Cyclist Extraordinaire") with my Grand Prix podium while he brags about all his riding miles and gets larger and larger and is on the committee organizing the Tour de Donut. (Seriously. It's a real event!) Ehhhhh, it's all in good fun and we like to tease each other. His event is allegedly really fun and they always have a good turn-out...but then again, StL is one of the fattest cities in the nation, so there's that. At least the donuts aren't deep fried...oh...wait...
OK, so the skinny on the race is pretty funny. To set it up, I had played golf all day Friday with clients. We drank a few mojitos. I had salmon, green beans, smashed potatoes, and raspberry sorbet for dinner. (Yummmy, right?!?!) I then went to get a relaxing massage to make sure I fell asleep at my scheduled time so that I was well rested for the morning.
I came out of the massage to a friggin' storm that would have frightened Christ himself. Then there was effing hail. I love when my beautiful car and freshly massaged/relaxed self get pelted with giant balls of ice. It gives me that warm and fuzzy feeling...much like being married. I then had a less than pleasant conversation about "feelings" and "how much I suck but never the right thing" with someone French while driving home and crawled into bed. While on the phone being a girl about the conversation with the French person, I started to feel physically uncomfortable. That escalated to painful discomfort...which escalated to acute abdominal pain.
For a moment I thought my appendix was exploding and possibly having babies. I crawled to my bathroom in a sweat. I started to get that distant, tingly feeling where you can hear stars in your ears... I sat on the toilet and the room started to spin...sort of. I ended my phone call. (I know. I know.) You don't need to know what happened between then and this next part. Use your imaginations. I really can't say if it was all day in the sun, bad salmon, nerves, getting pelted with hail, or all of the above, but I slept on the bathroom floor while doubled over in pain and dehydrating.
At some point I passed out and bit my tongue. I have a huge bruise on my thigh so I don't know if I fell off the toilet or what, but I think I'd rather not know. (If you have met me, you will assume I fell off the toilet.) I woke up and drank Gatorade like Tatum O'Neil smokes crack. (Is it too soon to make that joke?)
I drove out to the race with no intention to race and ended up switching cats to ride in a less fierce group. I threw up twice and spent the last 6 miles trying not to poo my pants... (I was successful in dehydrating myself just enough to not poo my cycling shorts but not dehydrated enough to pass out in front of a truck while climbing that last effing hill 1000 meters from the finish....ummmmm...YAY!)
...and that's the all too glamorous story of my race and the past week or so as a whole.
Today, my kidneys are recovering and I am writing snarky blogs. The end.
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