$25.00, A Piece of Pizza and Some Dignity

me: ow! *finally finding the husband at the computer looking up bike racing information*
the husband: what's wrong, baby?
me: ow! *pointing to my thighs*
the husband: *laughter*
me: seriously. The hills and I have an understanding. . . . . . . we hate each other. I tried to tell you. And, just to reiterate, ow!
the husband: are you going to be okay? *baby voice followed by more laughter*
me: no. *I am a baby*
the husband: it's good for you. . . . . What would you like me to do? *laughing and laughing and laughing*
me: you did this on purpose *almost, but not quite crying*
the husband: welcome to my world! *then with a ninja stealth-like maneuver deliberately taps my iliotibial band*
me: aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah! *explodes through roof of house*
me: that's not funny! *musn't cry. mustn't cry. I'm not a baby. I'm not a baby.*
the husband: *laughing uncontrollably*
me: you'll pay for your sins. . . . . . . you'll pay. *limping off to a corner to lick my wounds*

Use It. Enjoy It. And Remember To Wipe Off The Sweat As a Courtesy to Others

I am very aware of my AWOL'ness these past few days. While I could give you a list of the things that have gotten in the way of your When the Godiva is Gone blog reading pleasure, I won't. Suffice it to say that I've been busy. Really busy. I am so supremely busy, it's taken me 5 weeks to get to the grocery store. Yes. I said 5 weeks. It got so bad that I didn't even have water in my fridge. Sure, the husband and I were able to eat out twice a day, but that is some serious jeopardy for the waistline as well as the fact that that even gets monotonous. I do like vegetables not strewn in butter soup now and then. Not to mention fresh fruit. I don't even like butter. . . .

Anyhow, I did manage to get to the grocery store twice yesterday. Once for lunch fixings and the other for dinner ingredients. In between, I managed to wake the graveyard working husband to attend the Pink Martini concert yesterday afternoon. Free tickets from a neighbor and a really good time. I still have the major grocery shop to finish, as well as to mow the yard and plant more bushes. I'm not even going to mention the flowers I have to plant - besides, the squirrels seems to think flower roots are their very own personal gourmet meal. I'm about to go and buy out this entire Longhorn city of its Cajun-burn-the-mouth-seasonings . . .

Finally, once the husband awakes today, we'll be hitting the CompuTrainer where he has informed me that I must begin to train on hills. For at least an hour. An hour of riding hills. Do you know what that will do to me?

the husband: you do realize that you have to start riding up some hills, right?
me: uh. *zombies*
the husband: you need to do that.
me: ugh. *zombies everywhere*
the husband: Jen. . . . *exasperation*
me: uh. I. Don't. Want. To.
the husband: it'll be good for you.
me: um. is there such a thing as easy hills? *what do you mean there is no tooth fairy*
the husband: *laughter*
me: seriously. I hate hills. I don't just sound like I'm dying going up a hill - I AM DYING.
the husband: it won't kill you.
me: what if I do die, then what?
the husband: you won't die.
me: what if I do?
the husband: you are not going to die riding your bike up a hill.
me: how do you know that?
the husband: because I do.
me: well, if I do die you're gonna feel bad. . .
the husband: You. Are. Not. Going. To. Die.
me: I could. . . .
the husband: cutitout! *walks away*
me: ugh. grrmph. mmmrzzzph. *more zombies again*

Currently, I am awaiting a call from my bank to inform me of my escrow situation where I can then politely turn around and share said information with my accountant. Taxes are such a lovely thing.

Today's list has only just begun and somehow is growing like sea monkeys.

I've Thought About This and You Are Not Going To Win

me: awww. . . . hon. . . . that's so sweet you came and found me. . . . *finding air and a great big smile*
the husband: you didn't ride up here? *slightly dazed and confused*
me: no-ooo. *oh crap*
the husband: so, you didn't ride your bike up here? *still hoping*
me: so. . . how was work? *note to self: must change subject*
the husband: so, you didn't ride your bike up here?
me: me? No. Um. I drove Coco Chanel and put my bike in the back seat. *super-duper crap*
the husband: you what? ! *face dropping past his bottoms hitting the store floor with a decided thump*
me: well . . .I, uh. I was running late. *loss of blood from entire body*
the husband: *crickets chirping*
me: why is your face on the floor?
the husband: *more crickets chirping*
me: I didn't do anything to Coco. *defiant*
the husband: you. put. your. bike. in. Coco. *laser death ray eyes*
me: I thought you'd be proud that I figured out how to . . . but. . .
the husband: don't.
me: but. . .
the husband: don't.

A few minutes later . . .

the husband: did you at least lay something down on the seat? *decidedly thinking*
me: um. No, but. . .
the husband: don't.

20-minutes later . . .

me: it's just a car.
the husband: I said don't. *maniacal laser death ray eyes*

I am now dead to you all, writing from beyond the grave.

Right.

Contrary to popular belief, I am not dead.

However, the same could not be said for my old 2WIRE modem. The lightening on Friday night, at exactly 7:23 PM, killed it dead. It was not replaced until today, Friday, April 6. At this very moment (as well as for a WHOLE entire week) I do/did not heart AT&T. And, my battles have only just begun . . . .

Imagine Jen without Internet. For. A. Week. With no blogging.

me: *Thursday afternoon* Can you believe we still don't have Internet service? It's been a week already. . . . . *sigh*

the husband: Yeah. I almost don't care anymore.

me: But I haven't been able to blog.
the husband: *chuckles*
me: . . . . that's like asking me to not speak for, like, 5-minutes!
the husband: *more laughter* I know! *laughs harder*

The Beginings of A Sophomoric Brain Damaged Relationship

me: Jack! The husband just torched me yesterday on our 2-mile run.
Jack: oh yeah?
me: Yeah. And he hasn't ran in 7-years! I've been running. . .
Jack: Well, he's a better athlete than you.
me: I kno. . . . What?!

Maybe You Should Try Prozac (Part II)

Pre-duathlon conversation (in fact, 2-days prior):

the husband: honey, you are going to ride the Ride for Heroes this Saturday, right?
me: um. I don't know. . . I'm not sure I'm . . . .
the husband: good! 'Cos I signed you up to do the 35-mile ride!
me: sigh.
the husband: what's that for? It'll be fun! And there's hamburgers at the end! *skipping ever-so-lightly away before un-planted flowers could hit him in the head*
me: *detonating* could someone please explain to me as to exactly why I married you?

Maybe You Should Try Prozac

the husband: Okay! We're both signed up! *big, big smile*
me: for what?
the husband: for Sunday!
me: what's Sunday?
the husband: the duathlon! *skips away*
me: okay. . . huh? What? Wait! Get. Back. Here. . . .

Renewing Our Vows

Front Yard Before Picture . . . .

So, today is Monday, March 26, which means that the husband and I were going to travel to Hill Country for a 4-day vacation so that we may actually have alone time together. No bike riding, no bike races, no running, no work, no gym, no dogs, no cats, no housework, no blogging, basically, no nothing unless it was done together.

I, on the other hand, decided to have a meltdown along the lines of Chernobyl approximately 2-days ago. This great grumpy-pumpkin sized cataclysm of mine will have forever changed our holiday plans that had once included artistry, fine wines, gourmet dinners, bike rides (together, people, together), movies, hiking or to just view the inner beauty of the great state of Texas. No, we will no longer be enjoying such luxuries outside of this longhorn city, because crazy time began Friday, March 23 at approximately 3:15 PM in the Honda Ridgeline while on the way to the movies. *Shudder*

Instead we will be staying at home to start & finish desperately needed landscaping and house painting. We have 4-days to plant 50 bushes, research [we did have a cool trip to the Botanic Gardens this morning], purchase, dig out existing grass, hedge and plant innumerable native Texas flowers around trees, the front walk and the garage fence, as well as paint the house trim - yes. all. of. the. trim. 4 days. I might as well be strapped to a chair getting my ear cut off.

And to make things even better . . . today, it is raining like the sky hasn't opened since Noah built the arc. The forecast shows possible thunderstorms for the next 4-days. Oh yes. We will be digging in the mud as my mini-Chernobyl was not for nothing. The plans have not changed. I certainly showed the husband who the Alpha Diva was. . . .

Um. Right.

So, while the rain pounds the pavement in mass quantities, and the husband pulls a Homer, I, the Alpha Diva, blogs. . . .

Laugh and the Whole World Laughs With You, Cry and You Have to Blow Your Nose

I have to ask, what does a girl do when her "girl claws" come out (but in this instance these claws have absolutely nothing to do with being territorial)? 'Cos, ladies, if you ever lay your hands on the husband, I will eradicate you like you've never seen Rambo before. Plain and simple. No problems there. But what if you're just angry? How does a girl deal with that? What does she do?

Generally, I consider myself a pretty decent human being. At times, I tease the husband more than I should (and put it in writing on the world-wide-net for the entire heavenly body to view), but that just means we have a solid relationship. If we didn't I could not write some of the things I do. He understands this. I respect this. And I love him all the more for him letting me be me. Everybody knows I am far from perfect myself. Even if I am a delicate flower.

However, I have even been known as a pushover. Some of my friends have said and continue to say I'm too nice as well as too forgiving and they've tried to help me with that. Most of their counsel has not been in vain - some of it has worked. And I believe am a better person for it. Though I'll never forget that an ex once said to me, "God, it must be nice to be you. I'd love to be ignorant. Ignorance is bliss." And then laughed at me. It hurt, but I forgave him for that. Eventually (and thank all the Gods in this universe), he became the ex. So, I can and will get there. In this day and age, be forewarned that the time line for me to achieve this is getting far shorter, especially since I'm becoming antiquated, primeval and in general just more crotchety. Or maybe it's just my dementia. Either way, I have a much shorter tolerance these days for people who steal my Godiva.

My point is, that I can and will turn into the devil incarnate if I am pushed far enough. It's not pretty either. And the husband, family as well as close friends will hear about it through my 90-mile-an-hour-machine-gun-mouth (or AK-47; whichever the kids find coolest these days). I pretty well sound like, "tat, tat, tat, tat, tat, atta, atta, tat, tat, tat, tat, tat, tat, tat, tat, tat, atta, atta, tat, tat, tat, tat (reload), tat, tat, tat, atta, atta, tat, tat. . . . "

How to make me angry: To summarize, go ahead and tell me that I am insensitive, irrational, selfish, insult my marriage and tell me I lack empathy.

So, how am I to deal with that without landing myself in the federal penitentiary system for the rest of my life? What is a girl to do? The girl claws are extended and waiting . . . .

Because I'm a Fun Girl Who Wants to Have Fun with a Fun Man

Today, the husband and I awoke a bit later than usual. I had planned to run 4-miles. The husband planned to ride 2-hours. But this time change thing has not sat well with me. I know I'm a handful when I am not sleep deprived, so I'm just going to just deny, deny, deny that I'm even more so every spring about this time of year when we have to spring the clocks ahead. The husband may disagree.

Somehow, he talked me into riding on the CompuTrainer instead of running. How he did it will forever remain a mystery to us all as I was on the wee bit cranky side of life this morning. I had once again regressed into cave man grunting. And since I am still on the Starbucks embargo, I still had no coffee. With a wash of the face, a bit of deodorant, and a brush of the hair and teeth out the door I was.

It takes about 15-20 minutes to warm up for these cycling sessions before one actually begins their course. For this one, I had planned to ride to keep my rpm's around 80 to 90. A good ride which isn't too difficult on a flat-road-with-no-wind. About 1/4 into my ride, I decided; however, to do interval training. For no other reason than I was inspired by the husbands training ride provided to him by his Nazi bike trainer. So, while he did his 20-minute intervals with a 10-minute rest period, I only did 2-minutes of intervals with a 3-minute rest period (5 intervals only). I. Thought. I. Was. Going. To. Die. Or puke. Sometimes it doesn't really matter which occurs as they're both equally dreadful.

Anyhow, about 45-minutes into our course ride, the conversation that popped out of nowhere went something like this:

"Honey. . . . if you trimmed down a bit you'd be a really good racer."
Me with laser beam death ray eyes calmly turned and looked directly at the husband.
"Well, uhhh. . . . you would. You, uhhh. . . . have a lot of power."