Humble Bumble

Oft I write here bitching and ranting in my personal twisted style of humor the things that annoy me, frustrate me, anger me, hurt me, or just plain stress me out.

Rarely do I publicly do the whole "touchy feely" thing of calling out the love for the people who support, love, like, cheer me on when I am not racing and am just being me.

Maybe because that happens every day and the things that piss me off or hurt me happen so infrequently.

That being said, these really awesome people get "lost" in the name of blog-writing humor and although I try to tell/show the important people in my life how much I appreciate them, there's no reason why I shouldn't also declare it for the world (or the 10 or 12 other people who read my blogs*).

*Above number does not reflect the several blog stalkers and other complete strangers who attempt or assume to know me based solely on what is written here or my photos. Derrr.

While I have a small and wonderful circle of friends who may or may not also be friends with each other, there are a few people who are there no matter what and who are my constants.

People who I know I could go to in a second if I needed something. Anything. Even though generally I don't.

(This is sometimes perceived as "shutting people out".)

It isn't, but I understand the perception.

Ty and The Sass, by far are the most outstanding humans I have known in some time.

Both strong willed and steadfastly independent and headstrong...and yet complete opposites of each other and sometimes me as well. I am a very fortunate woman to be gifted with children such as these.

Then there is Lisa.

Through thick and thin (and believe me there was some pretty thick shit in our time) she is my rock.

So much more than I think she ever thought she would be but everything I knew she was even 23 years ago.

Words cannot express how happy I am that she lives only a mere 6 hours away (even though I think they should move closer).

This amazing woman (and her family) are family to me and I could not imagine my life without them in it.

We are opposite in sooooooo many ways but total mirrors when it matters...she's just tinier.

She's one of the few people I would give an organ to...if my organs were acceptable for human reception. (I'm sure at some point they will stop glowing from all the poison...if not I may spend the afterlife as a night light.)

Then there's Shannon.

What a selfless woman!

Strong. Sexy. Brilliant. True.

I have cracked up, cried, and danced my ass off with this woman.

From the minute we met, we were instant friends...which may be the one good thing that ever came out of that 4th of July party that year.

Shannon is one of those friends who you want to tell everyone about and at the same time keep her to yourself. She is magnetic.

With her long-time circle of close-knit friends I am not sure why or what she saw in me, but I am very fortunate to call her my friend...and I doubt anyone who knows her would disagree.

Steph.

If I had to name one person who changed my life over the past year or so, Steph would win this one hands down.

Every time I pin on a race bib, the experience is made better when she is present. Whether kicking my ass or cheering me on, she is my Robin Williams in Dead Poets Society.

There isn't a time that I get on my bike anymore that I don't think of her and wish I was riding with her when I'm not and get giddy when I am.

She has been there through all my cycling suffering and pain and may be one of the few who never gives up on me. The fact that I know this every day, whether we talk or not, makes her pretty damn special.

The fact that I have been around to see all that she has accomplished with "ideas" over a short period of time fills me with pride.

The day that I was able to introduce her and Lisa was monumental for me and one of the happiest I have had in a long time.

Her husband Phil is a pretty cool cat too...even though he made me cry in my first race. (Wait! He was being nice while I was sucking and it made me cry...he wasn't being a dick! Don't hurt him!)

*giggle*

Then there's Ish.

Another one.

We knew the day "they" made us share an office that it was a done deal.

Ish is my sweet Latin brotha from anotha mutha.

One of the few men I have met who is prettier than me. (WOW! That reads really arrogant!)

*snarf!*

Ish and Rodney are my loves!

I would do anything for these men and they for me.

I was lucky enough to be there at the start of their amazing relationship and will be the godmother of something of theirs at some point...(even though that something is trending more and more toward a bird or a fish.)

Ish and I have tortured office folk back in our corporate days and I am pretty sure we left a few with a twitch...at least I hope so...though a few had a twitch to begin with...

*snicker*

Jay.

Day in and day out this man cheers me on whether on the bike or on the bathroom floor.

I'll admit, when I met him I didn't think he had it in him.

...then again he told me he was 24 and I am no cougar, so he was ruled out as anything more than a friend. (Turns out he's a weeeee bit older than 24 so game was ON!)

He likes to act like he's a badass (I mean...he IS a badass...) but he is a true friend and wonderful to me and my children.

Now while that may be because he is a kid at heart, it works.

I won't pretend that we shit butterflies and fart sparkles, but we have a lot of fun and play hard...

...Possibly too hard for the common observer who may not realize we are playing, but generally we do not leave marks.

All I need to do on any given day is call him for a second in the middle of my hell and usually without saying (or sometimes even knowing) anything, he helps me.

Even when focused on his race, he takes the time to kiss me and tell me he loves me.

Sometimes all people see is him yelling for a water bottle or a wheel, but races are an hour or 3 of our day. There is so much more that goes on and he doesn't really get credit for that stuff.

The man carries me when I fall, holds my hair when I puke, and runs to the store when I need things to make the aforementioned not happen.

He helps me prep my gear before races and has brought me to new levels of bike geekdom.

Often people wonder how the 2 of us could be a couple since we are also opposites...TOTAL opposites...

But he is no different than Lisa or Steph or Ish or Shannon. He is my friend. He gets me more often than not.

These are my peeps.

There are more in my small circle whom I love and adore like Anna, Andre, Angela, Craig, Christine, and Jessi...the list goes on...but I am all tapped out on "cumbaya" for the night and I just looked at the time.

Maybe it was watching my littlest graduate Kindergarten today.

Maybe it was crapping and puking my guts/brains out today.

Maybe it was the whole ER/strained heart muscle thing that made me want to put it out there...

I don't know.

The truth is, if I show you any attention or affection at all, I mean it. I don't like most people, so if I communicate with you, I actually like you.

And now, because I like me, I am going to bed.

G'night.

An Open Letter

I knew I had been neglecting you.

When I saw you there today, I don't know why, but I had to have you. My mind was suddenly frenzied at the thought of not having you.

I could not help but run my fingers over your hardness. Climbing on top of you, I felt control as the heat rose up in me.

My god, you are beautiful!

As I lowered my self on top of you and felt you slide between my legs, I felt the slow smile creep across my face.

This, I thought, is happiness.

Feeling you hard between my legs, my ass pressed down tight on you as I pumped away.

I could feel my heart rate speeding up.

I closed my eyes and listed to the sound of you beneath me.

Listened to my breath.

Listened to the sound of the gardeners cutting the grass outside the window. The smell of it mixing with sweat and heat.

It was delicious!

I felt myself getting wetter and wetter. Sweat dripping from my head. Heat soaking my breasts. Heat rising from between my legs. I am swollen and raw. I am loving it.

I grab hold of you and thrust myself forward. My body falling forward as I pump harder and faster.

Yes! This is freedom! This hot! This happiness!

I want to stop, but I can't.

Harder. Harder. Harder.

Every ounce of me is wet and dripping.

My fingers dig into you and I am lost.

Smiling. Breathing that hot, smirky, satisfied grin of a slutty heathen who has just gotten her way.

I am spent.

I collapse on you and slowly slide off you.

Legs quivering and dripping in sweat and happiness.

I am filled.

I wipe you off, letting my fingers linger for a moment.

You have never let me down. You are always there when I need my fix.

I will love you always, my sweet Dolce.

My beautiful bicycle.

The Lazy Indifference of a Would-Be Stalker

I have been pondering lately whether I am lazy or just completely indifferent to certain things.

I guess the fact that I am now writing about it may point to a lack of laziness, but truth be known, I am sitting on my keister as I type this. (Though I am told that that is quite common and in most cases, preferred.)

I mean, who types in Tree Pose or Downward Facing Dog? (That would be a real bitch to accomplish.) I'm just saying. What? It would.

Anyway, back to my original point. I often do not know the changes that my friends have made to their MySpace pages. I often do not know which friends they have on their friend list. I often do not know if someone has replied to a comment I have left on a blog. I often don't read pages of people I see or who friend request me. I read their emails and that's pretty much it. Sometimes I look at their pics. Sometimes I "steal" their pics if we were all at the same event. (I seem to have gotten lazy about taking pictures. And honestly there are usually 5 cameras at any given event. Who needs another?)

Mostly my curiosity on the topic of lazy v. indifference is specific to men and dating.

*yawns*

Here's how it started...or at least how I started to figure it out...

A friend is moving from Hotlanta to Chicago. I love Chicago. It is pretty close to me and I go there quarterly. It is as close to my hometown of NYC that I can get at the moment. It's a bit like "NYC Lite". So of course I was excited by having another excuse to go up there. Something was mentioned about the yummy males of the city and I made a joke by saying, "...Ughhhh...I LOVE Chicago men! I can't wait until you move there so that I have another reason to stalk...errrr...I mean visit them..."

Then it hit me.

Dammit. I wish I had the energy to stalk. Or the interest.

I tried to think back to a time that any person had held my attention enough for me to want to find out anything about them.

I searched my mind...

I looked at my Google history...

(This gets scary...)

...Longview Farm Park...

...images for "manginas"...

...Sarah Silverman...

...800 pound gorilla...

...Alessandra Ambrosio...

...area code 208...

You get the point, yes?

Very sad.

Why do I not care enough to stalk?

I think men are hot.

I think they are sexy.

Why do I yawn about it more than not?

I met a nice guy on Saturday. We exchanged numbers. He called me 4 times in 6 hours. I have put zero effort into pursuing that. I don't know why. He is cute. He has a dog, a bike, and a kayak. He has his dog's pic on his phone. This makes me happy. He photographs well. Yet, I yawn, stretch and do nothing.

Am I really this bored by people?

A cute guy who is a friend of a friend sent me a friend request. He is balanced and sweet and lives in Colorado and rides a bike.

*yawns*

I am not actually yawning at him. Those things actually all appeal to me. Yet I have made zero effort in communicating with him.

Zero.

I know I am shy around the opposite sex sometimes, but come on. Gimme a friggin' break.

I literally almost never flirt anymore and actually come across a guy that I am attracted to in person very rarely. So far this year I have been physically attracted to TWO (yes the number 2) males who were non-celebrities.

One of those physical attractions got quickly watered down and flat out extinguished by the fact that the dude drove a red Porsche Boxster (yuck) and fucked a friend (now former-friend) of mine.

The other was the guy I met Saturday.

When I consider it, I realize it really wasn't a physical attraction. It was more rounded. I've gone back and looked at the photo he took of us. He's cute. The bike, dog, and kayak made him smokin'. Much like when a hot guy opens his mouth and is a complete assclown and is rendered immediately "un-hot", this guy was made hot by the other factors.

Be that as it may, I still have done nothing. Nothing.

Have I been brainwashed by Greg Behrendt?

Or am I a fan of Greg Behrendt because his philosophy has long been mine?

I just do not pursue men.

Period.

I rarely get giggly.

I assume that if the dude likes me, he'll let me know.

Women who stalk men are oft called psychos, bunny-boilers and loons, yet is there something wrong with me for having no inclination to stalk?

Why am I so disinterested in these men?

I explored whether it is possible I switched teams and no, I have not. (Much to the displeasure of my aunt who was hoping that I too would put on the Beaver Liquors team jersey.)

Nope.

Am I just bored of the game?

Fed up and discouraged by the ridiculousness of it all?

What does that mean?

Why do they all seem so very similar?

Are they?

Are these not the same men that I was once attracted to?

Does it mean that I have decided that I don't like them or that I simply could care less?

I want to be attracted to a man to the point where my stomach turns and I feel nauseous.

Instead, I feel nothing.

Not even a slight rumbling of gas.

I want to blush and sweat and giggle.

I want to be nervous.

I want to get goose-bumps.

Not that I want to be Kim Nowak and slap on some diapers and drive cross country for some dude who is just not into me, but I would love to feel passionately about maybe going to dinner and having a glass of wine perhaps.

A Secret Lover Is Trying To Get In Touch With You...

OK, I am going to go out on a limb here and say that if I had a secret lover, he would not be a secret to me.

...and if I don't yet know of him, can he really be my secret lover?

I mean, wouldn't that make him more of a bunny boiling/stalker type than a secret lover?

I happened upon this email in my spam box because one of my friend's emails keeps going in that box and so now I have to check it periodically.

There it was...

A secret lover is trying to get in touch with me.

Really?!?!

OH GOODY!

Does he have a fantastic dog, a bicycle and functioning penis?

Sign me up!

Still, if he's pimpin' his shit through the spam mail, he is likely to be a butter face and a garbage dick.

EWWWWWW! Gross!

The message said: "Your Secret Lover has instructed us to tell you they won't wait long for your response, so Click the link below to talk to them now!"

So my secret lover is also a lazy fucker who can't send his own effing emails and expects that I will snap to a response?

Clearly, this mystery man is unfamiliar with my particular brand of indifference.

Uh-oh, someone else may snatch up *snickers* my lazy lover and leave me with no secret love of my own!

Seriously, a man this lazy could not possibly be good in the sack.

*yawns and grabs vibrator*

Eh, at least I don't have to cuddle it after and it doesn't give me Dutch Ovens in the name of "fun".

((((bzzzzzzzzzzz))))

The Rebel Princess Coalition Sans Two

This weekend is now a blur.

In 3 days I relived fears I had thought I was long ago over, some of my darkest high school bully nightmares, awkward adolescence moments long abandoned, black eyeliner/too much make-up/too much jewelry, teen aged angst and insecurity, emotional torture inflicted by parental units, sorrow, pain, happiness, excitement, anger, frustration, and my ability to always find time to squeeze in some needless shopping.

Two friends with whom I attended high school came to town for a much needed get-together.

We were at least two fabulous females shy of a perfect get-together, having not planned ahead far enough, leaving the other two with practically zero notice.

The 80s party that was planned for Friday night proved to Weirdo and me that we could still have fun and be completely inappropriate in a paper sack. Not the party itself, but the shopping at the Goodwill and other little shops while we searched for vintage treasures to adorn our less-than-80s-bodies.

Weirdo and I had never shopped together in high school. That was a treat shared by Goofball and myself. Instead, in high school Weirdo and I exchanged talk about nails. Mostly, I would give myself French manicures with Liquid Paper on the drive to school and she would bite her nails while I bribed her not to.

Goofball and I were shopping goddesses. We knew the ins and outs and could teach a class on the topic. The current irony being that she now loathes shopping and is married to someone who has a career firmly rooted in women's fashion. She hit the goddammed husband lottery, other than diamond broker, when it comes to fru-fru shit. I won't even mention that he is also a more than decent human who actually loves her. If I didn't love her and like him, I would trip them both. I married a rocket scientist. I'll let you know the next time I need an effing fighter jet.

Saturday was spent from sunrise to almost sunrise again with the three of us (plus 2 male offspring) giggling, snorting, comparing, constructing, climbing, posing, cackling, crawling, and crying our way through The Lou.

It was a blast!

It was absolute glory to be surrounded by two fab chicks who knew and loved me when I was an awkward, insecure, damaged little brat with Flock of Seagulls hair and a shitty attitude...regardless of my imaginary fantastic fashion sense.

It was fantastic to be surrounded by these girls who still do not give a crap what I have accomplished and/or what I have not accomplished either personally or professionally and only care what I have accomplished with regard to our friendships.

We sat there, the three of us, reveling in how we were and are so different and so alike and how none of the latter was abundantly obvious until we were deeply ensconced in discussions about the bowels of our personal hells.

We are all pretty introverted in personality. Oddly, that picture is very different for each of us. Weirdo being the most verbal in her thoughts was both astonishing and exhausting. And although my frustration at the lack of silence I have incorporated into my little world was at times palpable, I knew in a very short time her excited and animated voice would be gone.

Over the weekend I had found myself wishing that we were the women we are today back then and how much we could have supported each other or even simply been the silent comfort in the corner of each others' conscious.

As it was, none of us knew of the others' private hells and we became who we are. Mothers, teachers, healers, comedians, leaders and advocates.

As I arrived home early in the morning after dropping Weirdo off at the airport, I stepped into a room thick with sorrow at the loss of her presence. The silence I had thought that I had wanted exposed itself for the truth it was like a mule kick to the face. They were gone.

I was alone again in the scary world that wanted me to be things that I am not.

I was again without the friends who knew that I was more the punk than the cheerleader. More the shy little girl than the outgoing social butterfly. More Liquid Paper than eraser. More Suzanne Vega than Madonna. More alive than dead.

There is no way to sugar coat or minimize it. I miss them.

Buddha Ballbuster Bashes the Bullshit

I've got balls.

Figuratively.

This is a known fact.

I'm a little bit scary. Even to myself sometimes. Sometimes I am just completely incapable of bullshit, so I just grab my ankles, pray, and let the truth fly...

Not everyone appreciates a visit from the "Kick-To-The-Balls Fairy".

Some people like to receive the truth like it's a yummy Fluffernutter sandwich... Extra Fluff and light on the mashed nuts.

I am the complete opposite. You can throw the shit at me for all I care, just get it over with.

I know I didn't always feel this way, but I think as you get older, you should not have to have people hold your hand through daily life. It gets easier to hear the truth and suddenly, there you are.

Now, there are plenty of people out there who have a lot more going on than me and there are plenty of people out there who have a helluva lot less going on than me too. And it is usually the latter mentioned fucktards who have the issues in developing their "coping skills".

I'm not going to lie, if you use your childhood, abuse, recovery, stupidity, etc. as a crutch, after so long I will tell you to shit or get off the pot. If you cry like a bitch about it and act like an emotionally crippled freakshow I will possibly crucify you.

No. Not literally.

And no, not intentionally. But the fact of the matter is that people should not have to pussyfoot around you and skirt the truth because you have been deemed incapable of hearing it.

Why should your emotional shortcomings be everyone else's problems?

Why should we have to "thin the truth" to make you feel better about your poor life choices and destructively unhealthy behavior?

You are an adult. You know the difference between right and wrong. Why should people have to explain it to you?

Saying that you know you are wrong but continuing to engage in the same behavior repeatedly is cute for like 2 minutes...

...if that...

Honestly, there are bigger problems in the world and universe than your perverse little issues. People need to seek their own happiness and stop expecting it to be gift wrapped and delivered to their door.

I fear there is not enough Fluff on the planet to deliver such a truth... but I have been known to be wrong.

I assure you, it is no one's fault that you lack the respect and self worth to make the positive changes you need to make in your life.

I assure you that no one will benefit more than you by making those changes.

Until you make the decision to do so, get a vibrator. They can't have kids, don't drink like fish, and will only fuck your friends if you let them.