Yoo 291 - I Am Not A Cyclist

I met up with a few guys from work for a group bicycle ride today.

It was everything I expected it to be.

They looked like this:

I did not. I was wearing my one and only generic yellow bicycle jersey, (same one i got in canada years ago at mec...elizabeth!), massively diapered bike shorts, a mismatched helmet, and no gloves.

Oh, and I broke my sport sunglasses on the way there so I had to resort to my bright green aviators, too.

(one and the same)

Also, and maybe this is just me, I feel like a dork wearing a yellow bicycle jersey. Like everyone is judging me. "Who does she think she is, Lance Armstrong?".  Like it's just reserved for The Tour, or something. Never again will I buy a yellow bicycle jersey.

But back to the point.

They were riding these:

I felt like I was riding this:

(they advised me to cut the streamers off before the ride...something about aerodynamics? i think it helped...)

(and just for the kyoodad...i'm kidding...you're old road bike is performing like a champ!)

I'm sure they, with their massively muscled bike legs, viewed the route like so:

While I, with my massive but not muscled legs, viewed it more like so:

(except stack that picture on top of itself 5 times and then repeat 50 times)

For some reason I looked at their list of scheduled rides and thought the one marked "Very Difficult" and nicknamed the "Hills of Terror" by seasoned riders was a good first ride to join them for.

Go Kyoo!

The whole 90 minutes was terribly exhausting and terribly exhilarating at the same time. I loved being on the bike and conquering hill after hill but I couldn't stop thinking "112 miles of this...and then a marathon...112 miles of this...and then a marathon?!"

It hit me a lot little more tonight.

But they're a great group of riders and pushed me waaaaaay more than I would have pushed myself. So it was good. And the hill country sunset was amazing! As we regrouped back at our vehicles they told me I was quite the trooper. I'm new to this but I'm guessing that's bike speak for "nice try". I thanked them for waiting for me.

It was kind of a slice of humble pie and when I saw the Gregbeau later I let out a "What was I thinking??" exclamation to which he echoed with a "What were you thinking??" exclamation and that was about the end of that sob fest.

Mostly because my phone started playing Ace of Base and that got us sidetracked on the most random of musical journeys with friends like Avril Lavigne and Boston and Veggie Tales and even a tiny bit of Backstreet Boys in there.

Hardly worth mentioning on the blog but I just did.

(also hardly worth mentioning but happening anyways...) I had Costco frozen yogurt for dinner. (you're loving this play by play, i'm sure of it). And I was resorting to counting out pennies to pay for it except I ended two short. And I almost panicked but the Costco dude was nice and still went thru with the sale...though I suspect he didn't fill the cup as full...

It was hardly the dinner of champions. I need to work on that.

And did I mention I'm not a cyclist? I really need to work on that, too.

Have a great day :-)

Yoo 290 - A love-hate relationship with 3 ingredients

Sometimes, cravings hit. The Gregbeau and I were both being ravaged by one particularly brutal "me want brownies!" blow this past Sunday afternoon. Except we had nothing of the sorts to make. So we sat there in somewhat of a trance, absently tossing out ideas sans censor.

It was in the midst of this feeble brainstorm that recollection crept up on the Gregthinker like a mischievous squirrel.

And after a bit of googling, he disappeared into the kitchen.

And I sat there, kind of tickled that I was still sitting there while he was busying himself in the kitchen.

But now I haven't decided if I hate the Gregbaker for introducing me to these or if I hate the Gregbaker for taking so long to introduce me to these. But either way, I'm hating on the Gregbaker.

(typical, i'm probably the last person on earth to hear about these...) 

3 Ingredient Peanut Butter Cookies, yo!

1 cup peanut butter
1 cup sugar
1 egg

Preheat oven to 350 degrees. Mix all ingredients until smooth. Make whatever size cookie balls you want. Put them on a cookie sheet or in a cake pan or whatever you have available. Bake for 6ish to 8ish minutes. Eat all of them while they're still warm!

Please tell me you can see the problem here! Simple, gooey, peanut buttery cookies in less than 15 minutes?? (not to mention that it's super easy to throw a handful of chocolate chips in there and really make them divine...)

Before, when my inner cookie monster was raging, I would sic my inner lazy monster on her. Because, you know, regular cookies take at least 30ish minutes and require soooo much more effort. It was like this "Am I craving cookies enough to stand here dough mixing and spoonful dropping and sweet morsel baking?" safety net. The answer? "No! Hand me a graham cracker and some peanut butter!"

But now, it's like my safety net was replaced with silly string. Just a matter of minutes separating me from these.

I find them dangerously delicious.

I guess I'll settle on hating to love them (and the Gregbaker), for now. At least until I train my lazy monster to see making them as too much effort.

Have a great day :-)

Yoo 289 - 3 Things

Thing the first:

I'll be playing around with the "design" of my blog for the next little while...so don't be alarmed/annoyed if it keeps changing. I figured after 5+ years it was time to actually customize/organize it a bit. Work in progress!

Thing the second:

Ready for the grossest way to begin your Monday?

That used to be chocolate milk. (the same that exploded). Do you think that bottom section is almost potable water now? No? Don't worry, it's been properly disposed of...


Thing the third:

More phone drama. So, Saturday night. The Gregbeau and I were settled in watching my, hands down, most favorite movie (apollo 13). Nothing out of the ordinary. Except that he actually agreed to watch that movie with me. He usually just shakes his head in disbelief every time I start gushing about how it's the coolest. movie. ever. (hello! partially filmed in the vomit comet!). But that's besides the point. Movie played on, Kyoo fought back tears, Kyoophone sat abandoned and "turned off" in the kitchen. (it had been particularly unruly that day). Or so I thought...

End movie, enter Kyoo into the kitchen.

"What the.....on no!"

Yes folks, serious trouble now. The Kyoophone had managed to turn itself on during the course of the movie and make, no less than, 12 calls to a handful of my most obscure contacts.

My recent outgoing calls list looked a little like this:

21:26 - guy I was going to sell my old punching bag to but never did. (2 years ago)
21:30 - old manager at work. (she's still with the company)
21:40 - another work contact. (haven't been on a project with him in over a year)
21:47 - random girl that used to be in my singles ward years ago.
21:51 - guy I played soccer with at work. (3 years ago)
21:55 - another call to punching bag guy
22:04 - the Morgansister. (not a big deal)
22:16 - another old work contact. (again, haven't contacted in years)
22:23 - old manager again
22:34 - punching bag guy again
22:37 - old high school/college friend. (boy, went on a couple dates with him...)
22:49 - punching bag guy, yet again.

I walked in on that last call and it had been connected for over 2 minutes.

We have, at least, two takeaways from this.

Takeaway the first: I need to clean my phone contacts out.

Takeaway the second: my phone is possessed and doing everything it can to humiliate me. Two prank calls to my old work manager??

I now have a voicemail from her that I'm too afraid to listen to.

I imagine it's something about why I was calling her on a Saturday night to a soundtrack of Apollo 13 and maybe me crying and cheering in the background...

I think ignorance is bliss in this situation. I'm going to pretend it never happened.

First item on the to do list this week: buy a new phone!

Have a great day :-)

Yoo 288 - The Doctor and Celebrex

I really do not love going to the doctor.

Now, I know you're thinking "Cool, Kyoo, who does?".

And I'm here to say "No, I really do not love going to the doctor."

Actually, it's probably more that I hate trying to find a new doctor. But actually scheduling an appointment and going to the doctor is still not favorite.

Like, I will call my mom and start to whine and complain like a small child and maybe even go as far as ask her to call and schedule an appointment for me. Or just call one of my old doctors and ask them my question. Or even delay an appointment until I'm back "home" in Nebraska and can go to one of my old doctors myself. And by myself I mean with my mom.

I've gone as far as finding a friend with a similar problem (acne) and having them schedule an appointment for us (me) to see a new doctor (dermatologist) together (for fun).

I need to grow up! But I don't think that's going to happen anytime soon.

For example: my right foot. There's been this pain of sorts in my metatarsally region that's been affecting things like, oh, running and walking and jumping and standing.

Not a big deal.

I've been ignoring it. Because that's what most athletes do. DO NOT TELL ME TO TAKE A FEW DAYS OFF I CAN IGNORE THIS WHAT LIMP? That approach. (stupid...stubborn...hard-headed, yes all apply).

But then people were pestering me about that limp and telling me all sorts of horror stories like they're so good at ("and so and so couldn't run for two years and her foot was permanently maimed because she ignored it...") and then I started fixating on those horror stories and what two years without running would do to me ("anyone else see 200 on the bathroom scale?") because of course that's what was going on with my foot and then it became really hard to ignore the problem.

So, after deliberating with the Gregbeau, and the Alishafriend, and 5 of my coworkers and the Kyoomom, I decided I should actually go to the doctor.

Except the conversation with the Kyoomom lasted a while and consisted of me slouching in an abandoned chair at work almost with tears welling up in my eyes while begging and pleading. "Can you just call Dr. Maynard and ask him if I can ignore this? No I can't call him! He'll remember you better. His nurse, Jackie? She loves me?? Ask her then! I don't want to call! I'll feel so stupid calling and won't know what to say!! Moms call all the time!"

She didn't call. Something about how I need to grow up? Lame.

Still feeling stubborn at this point and desperate to find ANY other solution to the problem, I spent hours researching podiatry and sports medicine websites trying to diagnose my own problem. But it didn't sound like anything described therein.

Great. None of the medical journals can describe my problem. How am I supposed to??

So, when self-diagnosis didn't work and I knew I didn't have the resolve to take a couple weeks off and just let it heal without someone telling me to, I found a doctor and scheduled an appointment.

By myself.

Please recognize the magnitude of that.

And do you know how that doctor's appointment went?

A little like this.

I filled out the paperwork like a pro. Until I realized my health insurance card was expired. Probably because I never use it?  So I had to drive home, rifle thru months of mail until I found the new one, activated it, and drove to the doctor. Then I nervously sat in the waiting room and pretended to blog about Costco Frozen Yogurt but actually I was doing all sorts of things with my right foot trying to prepare my "it hurts when i do this..." statements ahead of time.

I knew words would escape me in the exam room. I almost wrote down notes...

The exam room was scary. Foot skeleton models and all sorts of muscle images of ankles and toes bending ways they should not bend...

The nurse told me to take my right shoe and sock off while she asked me a bunch of questions. Then she told me I didn't need to hug my shoe and could just set it on the floor.

"No need to hug that dirty shoe ma, just set it on the floor. We won't bite."

I wanted to love her but she just called out my nerves!

The doctor came in and was super cool and a runner himself. That wasn't the problem. The problem was that he started looking at my foot and squeezing and pushing it and, just like any other time I break down and go to the doctor, all of a sudden nothing hurt.

"Does it hurt when I do this?"

"No."

"Does it hurt when I do this?"

"No."

"What do you feel when I do this?"

(thinking real hard...trying to feel pain...) "Nothing...should that hurt?"

I felt so dumb. I went into a hurried explanation of the "pain" and how it wasn't horrific and I could compensate for it in my foot strike and ignore it mostly and I just didn't want to be maimed and not able to run!

He gave me a sympathetic look and ordered x-rays.

I wanted to hug my shoe again.

I almost smiled for the x-rays. But that would have been silly.

When that was all done, the doctor studied my glowing foot bones, darkening and changing angles, for several minutes, before telling me they were perfect.

And then I felt really really silly. And fake. And like a pansy.

He couldn't find anything wrong!

We talked about several possibilities and how most foot injuries only show up in MRIs. And then he told me to take it easy for a week and prescribed Celebrex.

Celebrex, people.

Like, this Celebrex.

I didn't think much about it until I was leaving his office and remembered what Celebrex was. Actually, all the commercials I saw for it in between cartoon reruns as a teenager came back to me in flash sequence like some haunting dream with slasher music accompaniment.

If that's not a blow to the ego I don't know what is.

So, for the next week, this Kyoo will be "taking it easy" and ingesting old people pills.

And by taking it easy I mean I'm about to go on a hilly, double-digit trail run.

If my darn foot didn't hurt in the doctor's office, then either it's fine or I'm going to make sure it hurts the next time I have to go in there...

And that, my friends, is an extremely lengthy example of why I do not love going to the doctor.

Have a great day :-)

Yoo 287 - Costco Frozen Yogurt

(this is no secret).

I'm in love with the stuff.

Have been for a while. In fact, the Gregbeau's in on it too. Pretty much, if its a weeknight date and before 8pm, we're probably laughing and debating finishing times for a triathlon relay team consisting of Michael Phelps, Lance Armstrong, and Ryan Hall in between spoonfuls of it.

Yes, there are those fancy frozen yogurt places with their 60 flavors of the week and a buffet of toppings that might put Las Vegas to shame. But those are stressful! I stand, staring at that wall of dispensers with my sackful of used sample cups, completely torn. Which one this time? All of them again?? Fretting and sweating...and don't even ask me about toppings! It could send me into a stress-induced cardiac arrest!!

And if that doesn't the total price by weight at the end will.

("dang-it. those spoonfuls of cheesecake pieces sure cost me..."

Yes, there are those places. But they're dangerous. Costco is my frozen treat safe house.

Seriously, best frozen yogurt $1.35 can buy. Vanilla. Chocolate. Sweet frozen berry topping. A few combinations to combat whatever I'm craving. Always perfect.

It's "froyo". Simplified.

But you already know this, I'm sure.

Cheap, simple moments of delight are found in the Costco food court, people. (remember how the comma is SO important in that sentence??)

That's a fact.

Have a great day :-)

Yoo 286 - A Tribute to Babar, Pt 2

Hey, guesses what?? More Babar stories! (or you could just scroll down and finish reading "the" story...but you'd miss out on car-baked cookies and stuff...)

I almost forgot but the Elizabethfriend reminded me how Babar was practically a traveling kitchen, too. Who needs a camper van?? Not me! We used the balmy insides right by a window to melt cheese on tortillas and create what Elizabeth dubbed "car-sadillas".

I also baked cookies in him once. It was the hottest part of the Texas summer whilst I was doing my internship and every day as I'd eagerly climb into Babar after work I'd exclaim "It's as hot as an oven in here!". And that just got the idea wheels spinning, you know? So one day I parked at the very tippiest top of the parking garage with a sheet full of chocolate chip cookie dough carefully placed in the rear window. "Work your magic Babar, work your magic" I thought as I walked into work and left my experiment in the hands of the car baking gods.

And my faith was rewarded.

I came out that day to the most titillating of fresh cookie smells and the gooiest most perfectly done but not really done confectionery morsels. Oh was that ever the best commute home!

(and i was the most courteous of drivers..."go ahead, merge, i'll just grab another one of these tasties...")

(why i don't do that everyday escapes me. until i remember that might not work as well on a bike. and also, eating cookies everyday is frowned upon? especially a whole sheet?)

But back to Babar. He wasn't always the troopiest of troopers. On one especially looooong to-Idaho-or-bust road trip he threw in the towel. We were cruising down the highway at 75 mph one minute, and inexplicably stranded on the side of it the next. In the westernmost parts of Nowhere, Nebraska. I found out later that it was just a little sensor that pooped (that might not be the technical term) but it was sure an adventure getting him to a shop and then bunking with a friend-from-girls-camp's family that night.

However unreliably reliable, Babar still made it to the moon. It was a challenge I gave him who-knows-when - 245,632 miles and counting. Can your car claim that?

And, without further ado, the rest of my hit and run story. From Babar's perspective, again. [see part 1 here]

I rolled slowly along while a marvelous display of light lit up my insides. The way the sunlight hit the frost on my front windshield and sparkled every which direction with intense, colorful rays was just beautiful.

Beautifully blinding.

"Blast. I can't see a thing. We're going to be late! Ugh...I HAVE to pull over and scrape this stupid windshield!"

It was such a Kyoo moment. I knew she didn't actually think my windshield was stupid, but the word attack was taking its toll as she slowly maneuvered me to the side of the road. I guess I wasn't paying much attention either when it happened.

CRUNCH!!

"Expletive! What did I hit??"

I already knew. It was the bumper of the neighbor's truck. She normally parked it on the other side of the street. But sometimes, when she got home from work particularly late, she'd park it on the opposite side. The side Kyoo had just tried to pull over on.

Oh did that crunch ever instigate a panic. Kyoo was all shook up. But, amidst it all, and despite the fact that she was just kitty-corner from her house, she was still bent straight on getting to school on time. The damage survey was brief and, with shaking hands and a worried countenance, she took control of the wheel again and was off.

If I could talk there would have been conversation starters of "hit and run" and "crime" and other trivial, impertinently pertinent matters. But I can't talk. I saw the bumper of that truck and how it was bending in a direction it's never bent before, but the Kyoodriver would need to mull that over on her own. And, judging by the tense silence in the car, she was mulling.

All 8 blocks to school.

Meanwhile, I was starting to notice a sharp pain on the right-most part of my fender and headlight. A splitting headache for a car, if you will. Something was not right.

Kyoo discovered the source of my aching upon arriving to school. I can't remember if she said anything, but she didn't have to. I could see the gaping hole that used to be my headlight in the reflection of her sunglasses.

"My headlight!" I thought, "It's gone! And my side has a crater as long as her arm!!". I was a mess.  A complete mess.

But nowhere near the disaster that was Kyoo. She looked downright sick. I don't know how she even dragged herself into that building, 10 torturous minutes later. I surmise she sat in class all morning feeling sicker and sicker and not able to focus at all as she came to a full realization of what had happened and the kind of trouble she could get in. Not only with her parents, but with the law.

That's probably why I saw her dart from the school building seconds after the lunch bell rang and run towards her house. She could have utilized my services but I think she was too afraid to drive at that point. I imagine she ran home and confessed everything to the Kyoomom and took a closer survey of the neighbor's truck and left a note and maybe ate a teeny tiny little bit of something and cried a bit before she ran back to school.

Ok, she cried a lot. Her eyes were all puffy and red when she got back. And not "I've been running thru the wind and biting cold" red and puffy.

I'm sure it was AWFUL for her.

Even more awful, later I heard that fixing that little encounter cost her most of her previous summer's earnings. Which is a big deal because I know Kyoo spent hours in a stifling corn field walking thru sludge and getting accosted by knife-like leaves to earn minimum wage at the time. (all of $6.25, minus state and federal taxes). I felt bad that I cost nearly $1200 to get back to my former glory. But not as bad when I heard that that measly truck bumper stole another $500. Talk about high maintenance! At least I had significant damage to justify my cost!

But, I think it was a good lesson for Kyoo. A hardest of hard lesson, but a good one nonetheless. She seemed a more responsible driver after. A little more aware and a little more cautious.

But then again, it could be because the Kyoodad made her take my busted out headlamp with her everywhere she drove as a reminder of what just a second or two of inattention could cost.

And that, children, is the story of my hit and run. The one story I'm sure I will never forget about my trusty college car.

Babar, you were great. And in your most inanimate of objectly ways, you made me love you. The memories live on.

*tear*

Good bye.

Have a great day :-)

Yoo 285 - A Tribute to Babar, A Story: Pt 1

I have all sorts of sad news for you today.

Sad news the first:

I finally went to band practice. This might not be sad in and of itself, but my performance, after not playing for two months, certainly was. 

Sad news the second:

I don't really have any sad news the second. This is filler text to make the next point seem even more dramatic.

Oh wait! They're going to poke my finger at work today and tell me that the all-knowing BMI scales say I'm obese and also that I have high cholesterol. That's going to be sad.

Ok, the really sad news (the third):

The Kyoodad is selling Babar!!

Like, this Babar, guys!

(i thought i had way more pictures of him...sad news the fourth that this is the only one i could find).

He was "my" car from the most junior of high school years...skip freshman year of college...all the way thru an internship and college semester number 8 of 9.

That's a long time!

The Morgan and Dylan sisters both had a brief stint where they called him their own...but they didn't love him and take him off to the exotic lands out west for college, like I did. So he's been holding down the fort that is the Kyooparent's backyard for quite some time now. Just sitting there, trying not to be an eyesore and wishing he had people to tell all his cool stories to.

Cool stories like spending a night guarding precious cargo (me and Elizabeth) at a gas station in Miles City, MT on a Rexburg to Winnipeg to Clay Center road trip.

And carting the "Polly Peptides" along a [dam] marathon relay course.

And looooooooooong drives thru Nebraska and Wyoming and Utah and Idaho. And then back again. And then there again. And then back again...you get the idea.

And so many weekend excursions with the Katiefriend. Where we usually almost died and then Babar welcomed us back with open doors and was so happy to see us and we were even more elated to see him.

And how, for the better part of our time together, his dashboard was adorned with a line of army men, simply because I found myself sitting there one day with army men and sticky tack and nothing better to do than decorate.

(^^ lining a dashboard looking almost identical to this vv).

(they kept my passengers under control).

And then there's the best story of them all.

So good, I probably haven't told you yet. Or just about anyone else that didn't know me at the time. But it shaped me as a teenager. Shaped.

So pay attention.

[from Babar's perspective]

It was a bitterly cold Nebraska morning. And not just cold, snowy cold. I sat out on that lonely street all blistery night long while the skies dumped on me and the tree branches that normally sheltered with leaves in the summer did little to stay the storm. By the time that snowplow came by, I was a ghost of my typically regal maroon self. A thin layer of ice crystals had formed on my windows and a thick, smooth layer of fluffy snowflakes covered every remaining surface.

If only there was a way I could alert the Kyoodriver. I love her, but I know she doesn't prepare for mornings like this. She probably doesn't even realize that it snowed. I need to be defrosted! Someone needs to tend to these windows! My engine's hovering just above absolute zero! Oh but she won't. She'll come running out that kitchen door at 8:06 am, completely oblivious to the effects of last night's weather, and hop right in with her usual "Ok Babar, tardy bell's at 8:10, let's see what you've got" pep talk.

Oh if only I were a transformer and could grant all of her wishes! I would be the best transformer for her. Helicopter. Jet. Motorcycle. Autonomous car that starts and defrosts at the first indication of inclement weather. Whatever she needed!

But alas, I am limited to the capacities of a simple 1995 Olds Eighty-Eight. (luxury edition).

And so, just as I predicted, Kyoo was absent all early-morning long. The Kyoosiblings started gathering around my doors several minutes before the scheduled 8am departure time, but they did nothing more than throw snowballs and gripe about their Kyoosister. Which I found quite curious considering that their classes started 10 minutes later than hers. But oh how oblivious they were to the pending disaster! Couldn't they warn her?? All they needed to do was scrape the mounds of snow and ice off my laboring windshield! Or at least tell her that it had snowed and maybe to stop jamming to the Harry Potter soundtrack in her bathroom and just leave already.

But they didn't.

And just as scheduled in her own world of Kyootime, there she came, bounding down those patio steps at 8:06 with words of "why couldn't anyone get the car warmed up??" and "who has the keys...you're supposed to get the keys for me" spilling out of her mouth with vigor. It was a typical morning.

I felt so helpless. There wasn't much I could do in the .63 seconds that she gave me to warm up. I knew the situation couldn't end well when I felt my driver and passenger's side windows roll down. Could it really be? Was she going to try to drive to school navigating with her head peering out one side and the Morganhead peering out the other?

"No time to scrape that stupid windshield."

Was all she said.

And we'll stop there for the day. Part two tomorrow! Stay tuned?

And have a moment of silence for Babar! And that the new owner will love him just as much, if not more! And that he'll survive for him for longer than two months...

Have a great day :-)

Yoo 284 - When I Decided to Not Take My Phone to Church

First, this sign:

It's posted all over town right now and when I initially saw it I thought "Carmen Sandiego...she's in San Antonio!"

It took me a couple seconds...not quite the same...but almost. I still get excited every time I see it. Which, if you're going for name recognition, is effective. At least, when it comes time to voting, I'm sure I'll recognize her name and probably vote for her just because I don't recognize the names of anyone else on the ballot.

Their signs don't trigger happy memories of childhood TV shows.

Second, remember my *new* redneck phone and how excited I was about the possibility of this whole year together? With no money out of pocket??

Yeah, that's not going to happen.

It's on the fritz and needs constant supervision now.

Exhibit A

The phone was resting on my bathroom counter. The shower was running. I stepped out of the shower only to realize that my phone had dialed and been connected to a work contact (that just left the company on Friday) for all of 54 seconds.

Awkward.

I panicked and hung up. You know, to avoid the "Hey Fred...just calling to see how the unemployed life is....shower? No, you didn't hear a shower..." conversation.

Kind of glad I don't have to face him today.

And that I wasn't singing at the time...

Exhibit B

The phone was resting on my desk. It was "asleep" and set to "silent". All of a sudden it buzzed to life and spontaneously announced:

"Now playing songs by Pink"

 And proceeded to blast "Don't Let Me Get Me".

Ask me the last time I've ever played Pink? [I can not tell you.]

That's when I decided my phone would NOT be going to church with me yesterday. It behaves like a small puppy. I can't control it! And I didn't want to be the one accidentally adding a soundtrack of "Flying Purple People-Eater" to the Sacrament.

(what? you don't have that song on your ipod? crying shame.)

This phone is seriously possessed. And it's not Siri. It's "Voice Control". I need to turn this alleged "Voice Control" off.

I've been keeping the whole thing shutdown but when I do have to turn it on, it's just a few seconds before it starts switching between all my apps and then calling random contacts. I have accidentally called no less than 5 people today. That I know of. And when it's not doing that it insists on playing "Everybody Wants to Rule the World" by Tears for Fears on repeat.

What is my phone trying to tell me??

I'm ready to fork out the money and buy a new one. At least I can laugh about it now.

Happy Monday!

Have a great day :-)

Yoo 283 - Of Duck Ponds

I am a lover of ponds and their water fowl. It's no secret that the duck pond was my most favorite of favorite places in my small Idaho college town. I discovered that almost-hidden gem one Saturday morning on a charity run for teeth and smiling children. (it was a 5k sponsored by the local dentist's office to provide free dental care for under-privileged children). I mostly signed up for it at the plea of a (cute) FHE brother. But also because I am an advocated lover of nice teeth. (teeth are important).

That duck pond was a glorious place. I ran around it, walked to it, sat on its benches, fed its ducks with many a failed bread-baking attempts, cross-country skied over it in the winter, photographed it, explored every inch of its trails, and wrote more than one journal entry whilst nestled in the low branches of its trees.

I look back on that favorite place with only happy memories.

Except one thing.

I never had anyone "special" to share it with.

On Sunday afternoons, that duck pond was littered with happy couples, walking hand-in-hand, taking in its splendor together.

And there was Kyoo, all by her lonesome.

*tear*

Alas, there is a happy ending. I have a new duck pond here. It's a lot more crowded, sports a few more palm trees, and isn't quite as colorful and serene.

But it's my San Antonio duck pond.

(as seen from our spot in the summer)

And a great place to spend a Saturday afternoon, as the sun is fighting off storm clouds, and the breeze is blowing miniature sail boats thru the soft waves, and all shapes and sizes of people are jogging along the trails.

This duck pond fills the void quite nicely. Minus the fact that San Antonio ducks and geese are waaaaaay more aggressive than their Idaho counterparts. Like, there are "life flashing before your eyes" moments when you pull day-old Jimmy Johns bread out of your jacket and they take notice, aggressive.

But (and this is key) I have that someone to share the moments with now. You know, those moments when your "protector" shrieks louder than you, as the geese start attacking and the ducks are pecking and the pigeons are swooping in, and decides to throw chunks of bread your direction to distract the waterfowl assassins from him.

Yeah, moments like that.

Whether alone or with the Gregpoppins (tuppence a bag...), I am a lover of duck ponds.

Have a great day :-)

Yoo 282 - Valentine's Day

Since the Morgansister requested it and wants to hear all about my supposed "mushy" Valentine's Day, here you go.

(do you have "ohhhhhhhh's" and "ahhhhhhh's" and "that's so sweet's" you've been saving??)

(good, keep banking 'em. you're not going to need them here).

Valentine's Day was kind of a dull day this year. Mostly because I didn't do anything to make it not dull.

I had all these grand plans though.

First I thought about making a disgustingly adorable photo book of us with all the ways the Gregthief has stolen my heart.

But that was a bit too ambitious with just a week to prepare.

Then I thought of surprising the Gregstudent when he got out of class by hiding a note on his windshield wiper and leading him on a small scavenger hunt where he would collect little gifts and eventually find me waiting with a box of chocolates and a game or something we could play real quick (not much time on school nights).

But the Wal-Mart trip wherein I was going to buy all of that got cut short (see here) and I didn't want the Gregman to think he'd gotten a parking ticket.

So then I tried to simplify that and planned on just surprising him by being at his car with the chocolates and a love letter and a game.

But then, day of, he told me he wanted to workout after class and I didn't want to discourage him from that so I just went back to work and waited. I wasn't feeling super stealthy so I let him know we could just meet up at our favorite frozen yogurt place when he finished.

But then, after class, he wasn't hungry and we both were tired and couldn't decide what to do. It was Valentine's Day though so we agreed to grab drinks at the Sonic and just spend some time together. (annnnnnnd yes, we are the one's who killed cupid...sorry!).

But, on my drive over there I almost got in an accident...TWICE...when two vehicles blatantly pulled in front of me. (kyoomom/dad quit rolling your eyes...it was not my fault). I was so angry and shook up over it I vented to the Greglistener for 5 minutes, we sat in silence for another 5, and then just said good night.

After I gave him chocolates, at least. Never did get around to writing that love letter.

Am I a failure or am I a failure? I pretty much went home and cried myself to sleep* over the bad day and still being phone less. (i need to not let myself get so tired).

*not really, but almost

The best part was the Gregifter had ordered me flowers and they never got delivered. But don't worry. They came. Yesterday.

[picture of the good side...the white flowers in back and baby's breath(?) were falling to pieces]

They were probably really pretty fresh. Not so much three days late, smashed, and moldy. (fyi flowers can stink).

I think the only redeeming quality of the day was that I took off work early to spend 3 hours outside on a bike ride and run.

But really, I shouldn't complain. It was my fault I didn't get around to planning anything special. And honestly, for only the second time in my life (last year being the first), I had a Valentine. He's my favorite and I love him even more now than I did last year. As long as I have and can say that about my Valentine every year, I'll be happy.

And maybe I will get better at celebrating? I think last year was kind of lame too. Minus these, of course.

Sure do love you Bear!

Is that too mushy for you Morgie???

Have a great day :-)

Yoo 281 - The iPhone Resolution

I'm reading "Failure Is Not An Option" right now, the autobiography of Gene Kranz, a former NASA flight director (apollo 13!) and Mission Control's first procedures officer. (let's just get it out, all together now, "NERD!!").

Anywho, in his book he talks about a time during one of the first Mercury test launches when a bunch of things go wrong. Essentially, the rocket only launched 4 inches into the air before it settled back down on the pad and they basically had a live rocket standing there that they had no control over. Not a big deal but the parachutes had ejected and were threatening to tip the whole structure over with any significant gust of coastal wind.

As operators all across the board started shouting out ideas (getting progressively more absurd...like, firing shotgun rounds at the rocket's fuel tank to create holes and relieve pressure-absurd), Chris Kraft, then flight director, stood up and growled this command:

"That is the first rule of flight control. If you don't know what to do, don't do anything!"

Good advice? Good advice.

So, tying this into my tragic phone dilemma, naturally, I had no idea what to do. So I didn't do anything, for 4 days, while I researched all possible options.

And what did I learn? Basically, if your iPhone gets stolen, you are not in a happy place. AT&T does not care about their customers. I talked to 3 different reps and did any of them express even a fake "I'm sorry to hear that."? Nope. Not even in the store, face to face. And the best they offered was to either sell me a cheap flip phone (with a new 2-year contract) or sell me an old iPhone for $400 (with a new 2-year contract).

If I'm signing a new contract, I want the discounted phone price, thanks.

I looked on the ad boards at work. All the iPhones had been sold. I checked online. Nothing at a good price. Tina even offered to sell me her old one. But I was frustrated and unsettled and just didn't feel like spending money.

That's when I remembered my trusty old iPhone 3GS.

(wow i'm desperate...)

It's in pretty bad shape. Like the sleep key fell out and the home button doesn't function bad shape. But I decided to give it a try. (my cheapskates just reached new lows, i know).

First, the sleep button sensor is still there, it's just hard to reach. I usually have something handy that I can press it with, but not always. And it tears at my finger so when I don't. So I taped a bended paper clip just right to the top so I can press on that instead. It's awesome[ly redneck].

Second, the home button does not function. That was a little harder to get around. But I installed iOS 5 and it has a nice little accessibility feature you can enable that floats a home button on the screen.


Settings --> General --> Accessibility --> Turn "Assistive Touch" On

Before:

After:

I got the old phone all synced again, took that piece of work into AT&T for a new sim card (where i had to wait for over half an hour), and voila! Functioning iPhone again.

It's a bit of a demotion but I'm happy I fixed the problem for now with no money out of pocket.

We'll see how long it lasts.

Moral of the story is, don't lose sight of your iPhone (or any phone for that matter), and if you're in a situation and don't know what to do, just don't do anything. Think about it for a few days.

If I'd have acted right then, I would have spent at least $400 on a new phone instead of rekindling ties with my old one.

Lame!

Have a great day :-)

Yoo 280 - Chocolate milk...explosion?

This is what greeted me as I climbed into my car to head to the pool today. Chocolate milk. (and yes that's bubble tape...holler!) It has been sitting in my car for well over a week now. Ever since a craving and subsequent trip to HEB after a run some time ago.

But the lid has always been on.  Until now...

At first I thought some creeper broke into my car to teach me a lesson in car cleanliness.

But then my senses kicked in.

And as I was driving home, pondering this perplexity and singing along to "Can You Feel the Love Tonight?" (hey elton john!), I realized my milk bottle most likely exploded.

How cool is that?

Pretty cool.

I wish I would have seen it.

So...biology friends...can you confirm? That's possible, right? Elizabeth? Janelle?

I still can't find that lid.

And I still need to throw that milk away...

Have a great day :-)

Yoo 278 - Keith Urban Concert...Pre-iPhone Tragedy

I'm pretty sure I should be shopping around for a new phone and getting that all taken care of. But I think I'm still in denial and feeling pretty apathetic about the situation. I'd be feeling even more apathetic about it if I wasn't still being charged for my phone service. I think I could go a week without the phone to save a few bucks. But not much more...

The fact that I've felt this extreme need to text people all day  might just spur me into action though.

This is (according to my memory) the first time in the entire history of my relationship with the Gregbeau that I haven't been able to text him on a whim all day about funny stories and boring work and when I poo other trivial things.

I haven't talked to him in 24-hours! We have a facebook chat date tonight.

I am holding-my-breath excited.

It's pathetically awesome.

But on to the Keith Urban concert and rodeo. (thankfully i had my camera with me and am not relying on phone photos to document this). It was fun, fun, and more fun.

The night began with a slight tantrum from the female section because the jeans were feeling a bit smaller than normal and that just has a way of inciting irritability, don't you know? (if you were to point out my infatuation with rice crispy treats right now i would say "lalalalalalalalalaicanthearyoulalalalala").

After drifting all about this side of town looking for a restaurant that struck the Gregfancy and didn't elicit fat comments from the Kyoo section, we spotted Ray's Pizzeria and settled. (pizza has a way of pulling me out of the self-esteem blues...it could be the problem). Let me tell you though, falling in love with Ray's Pizzeria is a good idea. We have found our new fave pizza joint. It's casual and sporty and original and delicious.

The drive to the now notorious AT&T Center was uneventful and passed with chatter of running and fruit snacks and the epicness that would be watching Lord of the Rings in New Zealand.

And then the rodeo began. We had the $10 nosebleed seats but we didn't care. The rodeo is one of the coolest San Antonio events and I just eat it all up.

The laser light show.

And the horses.

And mutton busting. Oh how I love the mutton busting! When I first saw mutton busting, I couldn't believe it. The kids hang on to the sheep for dear life as long as they can and then get trampled! But eventually I decided it was the coolest thing ever and I secretly want my kids to bring home a mutton busting trophy or two. That's something you can put on college applications, that is.

The calf-wrestling's not half-bad either. Especially this determined young man. He hung on to the hoof of that calf for a solid five minutes trying to bring it down and get a better hold. The whole crowd was on their feet cheering for him. (or maybe that was just me...).

There's also your more typical rodeo events like bull-riding and bareback and barrel-racing and all the jazz.

And girls, they're all wearing their tight wranglers. It's eye. candy. even up in the nosebleed.

(Boo, don't read that).

One of my favorite parts of the rodeo is definitely the clown. Leon Coffee is back year after year with his same antics.

Really, there's just not much I don't love about the rodeo.

Or Keith Urban.

Ahhh, Keith Urban.

He can put on a show! His concert was one of the best concerts I've been to. The Kyoo dad might be a hater and make comments about all his songs being the same sappy love croonings. (and, uh, maybe they are). But what fun croonings to softly sing into the Gregman's ear while he blushes and makes all sorts of faces and secretly revels in the romance of it all. (he doesn't). (but he sang along with his fair share). (or maybe i wasn't supposed to mention that?).

Keith played all my favorites though. (with my favorites being "Long Hot Summer", all inclusive). But really, there's not much I don't like when he's singing.

There was this extremely awkward moment wherein he invited a young girl up to the stage and had her sing the chorus of "Kiss A Girl" all by her lonesome. This was awkward for 2 reasons.

1). She didn't know all the words and you could just tell she was dying and about to hyperventilate.

2). She was singing "I want to kiss a girl". Someone (Keith and herself) did not think that thru.

But, I would probably have done even worse in that situation so props to her. Actually, I'm sure I would have appropriately changed the lyrics to "I want to kiss a boy" and that might have started a small riot. I don't know. I'm sure she'll never forget that opportunity though!

There was also this moment wherein Keith ran into the audience, jammed on his guitar for minutes, and then pulled out a Sharpie, scribbled his mark, and gave it to a child. Holy dollar-signs-in-my-eyes I wanted that guitar! But alas, he didn't magically apparrate to the tippy-toes of section 223.

Lame.

Keith is a great entertainer, should you get the chance to see him. His concert didn't start until after ten and it delighted me hook, line, and sinker, all the night long.

I was in such a great mood and cheering my loudest as they drove him and his band out of the arena. The night had been a hoot n' hollerin' ole time.

But then my iPhone was stolen, remember?

Ah succotash.

Have a great day :-)