What's up with spring?

I returned Margaret's skis today.

We had rented them for the season ... and the season is over now.

But we made it up for the last day and the conditions were pretty darn good. There was powder, not too much ice and sun (OK there was wind, too, but the wind could suck it).

And while I'm a bit bummed about the end of the ski season, I'm excited about the beginning of biking, hiking, camping season.

Plus we scored a sweet, used bike rack for my truck.

Yeah, I know we already have a bike rack for my truck, but that bike rack in on top of my truck and getting my heavy cruiser up there takes more Herculean effort than I care to dispatch on a regular basis.

Plus, Bill's uber-long cruiser didn't fit on it, so we'd have to cram that in the back of my truck and the chain would inevitably get grease on the seat and Margaret.

So now we have a sweet rack that fits into the receiver hitch, swings away so you can open the back of the truck and fits all of our bikes. Woot to people's old stuff.

But I wrote more and posted pictures of our fickle spring, so click here would ya?

Markel Farkel Friday

Alright already

OK, OK. Alright! I'll do it, but I don't like it.

A bunch of you have been asking me to post a picture of myself and my stupid face.

I realized that only reason that I haven't is my vanity.

Vanity isn't funny.

My skinned up face is.

So without further ado, here's my face in all it's glory (or lack thereof):
Of course, don't forget both of my palms are skinned and bruised and both knees as well.

I can certainly jack myself up but good.

Wordless Wednesday

A little clarification

So I hiked and then I fell down.

I didn't fall on the hike. I tripped over a step while running for no good reason.

I'm bringing this up again, because every time someone asks me what happened to my face (a question that I truly cannot hear enough) and I say I tripped, they inevitably ask if I was drunk.

Actually my mom said, "Robin, it's time to lay off the booze."

Honestly, I'd love to blame my trip on being drunk. I wouldn't even lie about it.

But I wasn't (yet. Falling on one's face is a great reason to drink a bunch of Crown and Bud Lite Lime ... not mixed together, people, that would be awful ... or would it? I must try that next time).

As I said, we hiked and then went back to Scott and Laurena's house to barbecue and eat cake. There was beer and I had a couple, but was totally within normal limits (well, as normal as my limits can be).

What happened is that I had a Robin moment.

See, I'm clumsy.

Very much so.

I've always been that way. Grace is not my strong suit — OK, it's not even in my deck of cards.

I remember one family vacation when I was around 9 or so, my family started calling me "Ouch" because I hurt myself constantly.

So falling down, tripping, knocking myself in the head, stabbing myself in the hand with my own fingernail, poking myself with the edge of the microwave, burning my face with a curling iron ... these things happen all the time — without that aid of alcohol or anything else.

I have long legs and chunky thighs that cause me no end of trouble. I have a hard time not tripping over my own giant feet. The fact that I've never fallen down on stage while playing my guitar is a miracle (and something that I fully expect to happen at some point).

In short, I'm awkward.

The other day at work, I tripped over a floor mat that is about a quarter-inch thick and I've both fallen up and down that stairs here (one time I was distracted by a coworker opening a door and sprained my ankle).

So I fell on my face while running and I wasn't drunk (yet). Why does this surprise anyone?

How I spent my Saturday

It was Scott's birthday Saturday.

First we hiked the Mt. Garfield trail. Because that's what Scott wanted to do (hello, crazy).
Click over here to see more photos and find out whether I was able to drag my flabby ass all the way up those two excruciating miles.

Then there was Scott's birthday barbecue complete with custom cake designed by Bill. It says "Happy Birthday Boom Boom, Director of Bands."

Then I had to go shopping for some Diet Coke. It's a good thing Aaron was there to keep me company (this picture may just prove why no one will shop with me after the first time).

Then I tripped over a step in Scott and Laurena's back yard and skinned my face.

What? No picture?

No. You can just imagine what it looks like. Think cheese grater on skin.

Awesome.

Happy birthday, Scott. I hope it was worth it.

Markel Farkel Friday

Finally stories more jacked up than my own

I just discovered F*** My Life.

Oh it's so awesome. People tell their life's woes in a couple sentences. Short, to the point and way worse than the stuff that goes on in my life.

Here's an example:

Today, I was watching this TV show where a man was describing how much he loved this woman, how he made every opportunity to see her, and how he loved her in a way nobody else could. I smiled, because that's exactly the way I feel about my crush. Then I realized the program was about stalkers. FML

Posted using ShareThis

Wordless Wednesday

Anatomy of a St. Patrick's Day celebration

Sayin' something nice

Because Cari was nice enough to design earrings for me.

It's my blog and I can shamelessly promote my talented friends if I want to.

A birthday wish

Happy birthday, Cy. You're welcome in our backyard anytime.

Spring is in the air

Friday afternoon in our back yard.

Markel Farkel Friday

But he still wears his pants all droopy

Click over here to read about Sean's recent cosmetic surgery.

Go on click, there's even a gory picture.

Wednesday Facebook meme punt

A - Age: 38

B - Bed size: Too small for me, Bill, Mar, the dog and too many cats.

C - Chore you hate: Anything that involves scrubbing.

D - Dearest Friend(s): Bill, my mom, Laurena, Scott, Kelley, Tracee, Markel, Special K, ... I'm a lucky girl because I could go on and on.

E - Essential start your day item: For work days, it's a shower. For non work days, I prefer to let the day start without me.

F - Favorite actor(s): Good ones that don't squint too much. Unless, it's Clint Eastwood, then he can squint all he wants.

G - Gold or Silver: Platinum.

H - Height: 5'9" (at least that's what I tell everyone, but it's really like 5'8" and a quarter).

I - Instruments you play(ed): Guitar and the clarinet in the 5th grade.

J - Job title: Assistant to the publisher (but we don't have a publisher anymore and the title has very little to do with that I actually do).

K - Kid(s): 1 girl, 1 man-boy

L - Living arrangements: Uh, we live in our house that we like to pretend is ours.

M - Mom's name: Shirley

N - Nicknames: Rob, Robbo, Mama, Honey, Dillweed, Dumbass (oh wait, those are the nicknames I call myself).

O - Overnight hospital stay other than your birth: Margaret's birth and uh, that one time I was in the hospital while in grad school. The professor I was assisting that year had someone bring exams to my hospital room so I could grade them. Really.

P - Pet Peeve: Close talkers, people who don't share their candy, having to touch people that I don't know very well.

Q - Quotes you like: "That which does not kill you makes you stronger."

R - Right or left handed: I write and stuff with my right hand. But my left hand can do stuff, too. It's getting pretty good at playing the guitar.

S - Siblings: 1 older brother whom I have forgiven for all the mean things he did to me as a child.

T - Time you wake up: On work days, after the third snooze alarm goes. On non-work days, when I smell bacon.

U – Unfinished business: Losing the rest of this stupid weight.

V - Vegetable you dislike: Tomatoes, but only raw. If they're cooked and you can't see the seeds or interior tomato slime, they're just fine.

W - Ways you run late: Lately every day, mostly due to that late third snooze alarm.

X - X-rays you've had: Kidneys several times when I've had kidney stones (not really that much fun even with all the narcotics).

Y - Yummy food you make: Oh, that smokey, chunky chili and the tomatillo chutney my mom and I invented.

Z - Zodiac: Gemini — both of us.

At least I look good at the resort bar

As I suggested Friday night, I got myself a brand, spankin' new set of skis, bindings and boots.

I wasn't in the market for my own gear, but I can't resist a killer deal — and really, did you see those skis? They're gorgeous and way nicer that I should probably have (considering my propensity for breaking and/or losing my stuff), but "75 percent off" is a discount that should not be passed on willy nilly.

Thank goodness for local sporting good retailer Gene Taylor's. They are head and shoulders better than those big-box chains whose employees clock in and clock out. At Gene Taylor's you get customer service and a good price. Plus did I mention 75 percent off, because what bargain hunter can resist that?

And it wasn't just me scoring killer deals, but our dear friends, Scott and Laurena jumped on the great deals, too.

So we were thrilled that on Friday and Saturday our local resort got a couple inches of the white stuff which we dutifully skied Sunday.

Margaret had an epic day on the mountain.

Her first run down the bunny hill saw her on a path through the trees that ended in a smallish bump, off of which she caught air ... and landed. On her last ride up the lift she was "clomping" her skis together and one fell off. But worry not, she ended up getting a ride down the hill on a snowmobile.

Both of those things and most of the stuff in between delighted her to no end. I don't think I've ever seen Margaret grin ear to ear for so long before.

The only sobering part of the day is that I came to the realization that my 8-year-old is now a better skier than I am.

At least my skis are nicer!

It's over, but the fat lady hasn't yet sung

Last Thursday was the last official weigh in for my office's Biggest Loser challenge.

I kicked ass, lost 17 pounds in 8 weeks and didn't win. I'm still one super happy camper.

The gal that did win worked just as hard, if not harder and totally deserves the win. I did get an honorable mention and a 50 gift card to the mall, but the biggest reward is my droopy pants.

I have to wear a belt with my of my pants and my gut isn't nearly as poochy nor jiggly as it used to be.

The depressing part is that I still have three asses — although smaller asses.

So while our office challenge is over, I'm still working just as hard to shed those pounds. It's been satisfying to see the scale move down and down each week (except for the one week where I gained a pound — but I'm just pretending I had too much iron in my system that week).

As I mentioned over here, I'm hoping all this work means that I'll finally be ready for swim-suit season this year.

New skis

I love end of the season clearances.

Check out my new skis.

Markel Farkel Friday

You MUST click on the above ad and read the copy. Fer reals, yo. This is proof that there were way too many drugs being used by ad writers in the '70s.

Bill takes the challenge

Yesterday when Markel forwarded me this Markel Farkel Wordless Wednesday image, I replied, "What do you think it will take to get Bill to do this?"

That was a stupid question.

All I had to do was show him the picture.

He's already mapping out his manscaping plans.

Horrible disturbing pictures to follow, I'm sure.

Markel Farkel Wordless Wednesday: Manscaping edition

I whine, therefore, I am

I'm a big, fat whiner. I'm all, "Wah, I'm tired. Wah, I stressed. Wah, I hungry."

And you can read about it all over here.

That which does not kill you, makes you stronger

Several times in my life, I've reminded myself of that Neitzsche quote: That which does not kill you, makes you stronger.

But still, sometimes it all gets to me. Yesterday was one of those days where I felt that I might actually die from it all, but I didn't and today I'm stronger.

Of course, swearing a whole bunch helped.

I left work a little early to get Mar to her piano lesson on time only to be reminded that the school was having a reading event from 5:30 to 7.

5:30!

Jeez, talk about sticking it to the working parents.

I knew it was going to be a time crunch. Bill was working late (or so I thought — the fact that he was actually at home and hadn't picked up the kid is going to remain uncommented upon at this juncture solely for the reason that it still makes my blood boil), I had 35 minutes to finish dinner (we'd put on curried short ribs in the slow cooker in the morning ... hello yummy and thanks goodness for Cooking Light), send Mar off to piano, feed her when she got back and get her to her school event.

Needless to say, my already hectic work day (filled with new tasks) piled with the home-life stress made mama want to cry in her basamati rice. Instead I said the "f" word to myself about a million times while I finished cooking.

(The whole fact that I'm cooking actual delicious recipes is weird to me. I've make a name for myself throughout my marriage as the non-cooker. I guess people can change. Huh.)

As Mar was scoffing down her dinner, I put on my shoes and prepared myself to act like a proper parent in front of the other families at Mar's school — no swearing, no drinking, no stories of drinking, etc.

That's when Bill sauntered in and asked Margaret if she was ready to go. And off they went. Leaving me behind.

It was probably the right thing to do, considering my horrific mood, but still ...

Oh the frustration of it all.

Luckily, I took my frustrations out on the dirt, sticky floor and cat hair.

I guess I should modify Neitzsche's quote to say: That which does not kill you, makes your house cleaner.