Friday, April 20, 2007

Yes, I am a better person than YOU

English is an interesting language. For example, the way we use "you" is fascinating.

We don't have a plural you like most other languages...hence why some people say "y'all" to signify a difference between second person singular and second person plural. I love the word "y'all."

Some people sometimes also use the word you as an indefinite pronoun. Some for generality. So some use you instead of one or people or someone or anyone.

Those people would have written the previous paragraph thusly:

You sometimes also use the word you...So you use you instead of....

I'm not sure if I like that.


The reason I even mention this is because I want to add some ambiguity to this blog. Because you, and you know who you are, I wanted to tell you that I am better than you. Yes, YOU!

Last weekend, I had to deal with a lot of you, and needless to say, you weren't nice to me, were you, you?

Even when I did my best to be there for you, you were quite unprofessional, and you were rude. You know how you are, don't you?

At times, you told me I was other times, you scoffed at my suggestions. You asked me needless, senseless questions...and you made me feel like you thought you were better than me.

Yeah. Fuck you, you.

But what I have noticed about me, after all you did, that you made me more aware, you made me more patient, and you even made me smarter. Somehow, someway, tangled up inside all of you, was a notion and a piece of knowledge that I needed from you.

And for that, thank you, you.

You made me a better and people like you.

So, until we meet again...I'll remember you. And what you did.

Wow...I had no idea

My blog is worth $1,098,564.
How much is your blog worth?

Thursday, April 12, 2007

Random Thought

Imagine, if you will, that for one day...every time someone talks to you, you simply reply:

Whachu talking about, monkey balls?

Bob: Hi Frank. How are you?
Frank: Whachu talking about, monkey balls?
Bob: What?
Frank: Whachu talking about, monkey balls?
Bob: Monkey balls?
Frank: Whachu talking about, monkey balls?
Bob: Um...I gotta go.
Frank: Whachu talking about, monkey balls?

I think I would get a lot more done. AND...I would get to say "monkey balls" a lot. Sounds like a full day.

Sunday, April 08, 2007

Century Ride Update #4: A Progression and a Regression

I rode 68 miles yesterday...and it felt pretty good. When I first started training, I was one of the last people up the hill. About a month in...I was in the middle of the pack. And yesterday, I was first. It was awesome...I felt like I was racing for a gold medal as I pumped (he he) my way up this gigantic incline, lungs burning, sweat pouring into my bike rhythmically swaying left, right, left, right as I powered my way through.

I started feeling competitive about biking for the first time. I wasn't just riding to ride. I was riding and now I had to win. I had to be the first one to the top.


After a particularly long incline...we rested at the top of one hill. L was the last one up. Again.

This is not a big deal as we go at our own pace up and down hills. We regroup, turn the corner to keep riding, and wouldn't you know it?!?!?! More hills.

So, as we go up this second set of incline, a few of us break away...and we near the top, which is preceded by a long downhill.

L comes racing past us on the downhill, rudely pushes her way into between the group of us while we are riding, and then again fades as we make our last ascent.

A brief background on L before I get to the end of this story.


The first thing you need to know about L...she's a gigantic bitch. Although we are out riding long hours with each other every Saturday trying to raise money for cancer research...she finds a way to make everything about her, her life, her job, her complaints, her weight, her kids, her inability to ride, her, her, her, a thousand times her. Needless to say, I am a little tired of L.

And to top this wonderful world of personality off...she is not just a bitch. She is the mother load of all bitches. She is spiteful. And in my brief life, I cannot stress enough (and I know many of you are with me on this one) that there is nothing worse in the world than having to spend many hours with a spiteful bitch who is not your friend.

Case in point, last week, she definitely had something up her ass for all six hours that we rode. She was literally snapping at everyone the entire day to ride faster and not wait for people who had flats or mechanical problems. Such a beautiful person.

Anyway, while we were in our pace line last week on a flat IN TRAFFIC...(and you never, ever, ever pass someone in your own pace line, especially in traffic) she decided to pass me for some reason..and because I didn't want to hit her as we are sandwiched between moving cars on the left and a parked cars on the right, I lean to the right and fall over INTO A PARKED CAR.



So back to yesterday.

We get to the top of the last hill, and the rest of us are feeling tired, but good. We had a real sense of camaraderie going...and we knew we only had about ten miles to go. We just had to wait for a few more people to make it up the hill, and we were almost done for the day.

L was with the last group. And when she reaches us, Debbie Downer says:

"I guess you guys are never going to wait for me. I told you to wait up...but you didn't. I guess it's every man for himself out here."

There is an odd quiet...and we all, even the coaches look at each other with shock...and almost in unison we say "What?" because we honestly have no idea where this is coming from.

"I don't know if it's because I'm heavier..." Her she goes again... "...but I can't keep up with you guys. And none of you waited for me back there."

Now in my life...this is usually where I keep quiet. To me, it's not worth getting into it with an obvious stupid person. But the combination of being tired, having a group high ruined, and realizing that NO ONE CARES if she is last or first up really got to me. Seriously, no one cares.

So I politely say "You realize that was all uphill, right?"

"Not at the start."

"So you do realize that it was uphill. That's what you're saying."

"Well, guys..."

"We are supposed to go at our own pace on the uphill, right?"

"I guess it's every man for himself."

Dude, you cannot argue with a crazy person. The worst is when you are dating a crazy person. Try arguing with that shit for a year. I thought crazy had a name, and it started with a C. friends...crazy got a new name yesterday...and it starts with an L. But I digress.

Point felt good to speak my mind and shut up a whiney-ass biotch...if even for only a second.

But because of her complaints, we had to all stay together, even on hills, the last ten miles. And I was behind her...and her overly-filled biker shorts...slowly grinding up hill after hill, feeling my legs burning through my shorts, deep into the muscle. She kept motioning me to pass her because she knew she was going so slowly. But I didn't. I stayed behind her and watched her get her wish. We all got to go up the hill at her pace and witness her struggle.

It might have been the highlight of my day.


A progression and a regression.

Friday, April 06, 2007

And I'm the Asshole

I was driving home today after...

Teaching/Tutoring all day.

In the middle of thinking about...

How to raise more money for LLS
My bike ride for LLS
Activities that I need to create for a curriculum development project I am in charge of

And I didn't notice I was on a road merging from two to one lane.

I was next to a minivan with a very large 65-ish-year-old woman in it. I turned my signal on.

She sped up.

I sped up.

She (yes, in her minivan) sped up.

I sped up some more so I could merge...and I made the mistake of looking in my rearview mirror. The not-so-little old lady was flipping me off...hand out the window...middle finger all the way up. She even did it in the way that I can't stand....sans thumb. Just middle finger out...pumping her hand at me.

A fire burned in me. I wanted to stop the car...I wanted to take a stand. I was going to let her know that she shouldn't go around pumping her flabby, swinging back and forth, cellulite ridden, sun spotted, wrinkled, and haggard arm at me.

But I took a breath.

She doesn't know me.

I let it go...

And laughed because her fucking weighed down minivan was almost faster than my car...and because she doesn't shave her armpits.