The Children of Mason Are Hilarious and Terrifying*

During those 15 glorious minutes of adult swim at the Mason pool this weekend, Ray and I took our lifeguard-given rights as adults and took over the diving board.

Instead of going to the snack bar and getting sticky popsicle goo all over their faces like normal kids, these kids remained lined up and (reluctantly) let us pass through while they waited for the whistle to unleash them into the pool again.

As the adults got on the diving board they chanted at us with increasing intensity.

Do. It. Do. It. Do-It. DO. IT. DO-IT, DO-IT, DO-IT!!!!!

It was a lot of pressure. And those kids are not shy about bragging either. As I waited for Ray one little girl turned to me and said, "I'm going to do a flip as soon as the whistle blows. Are you going to do a flip?"

I was afraid if I said no she wouldn't let me pass through. I am afraid of children. I think they are... feral.

No sooner did Ray hit the water than the whistle blew again. As I tried to squeeze past the lined up kids to make my way up the diving board one last time, they turned to me and yelled, "Back of the line!"

I am not kidding. It was like Lord of the Flies in that line. When adult swim is over, it-is-over.

So I went to the back of the line and waited.

As Ray was walking back the kid behind him boasted, "That's how you do a dive."

Ouch.

Ray was all, "Oh yeah, kid?! Well, I can drive!"

And kiss girls! Which probably doesn't mean much to this kid now, but it will soon enough.

Suck it, kids.

*Note: The children of Mason are not nearly as terrifying as their parents, who we watched yell at the kids for not being able to doggy paddle the length of the diving area and back. These kids were like, four, and they were doing a great a job getting to one end, but their parents (dad's mostly) would never know because they were too busy being disappointed and competing with the other parents. I felt like I should adopt all of them, even though they will grow up to boss people around on the diving board.

The Weekend in Photos

We spent a lot of time outside this weekend, specifically walking around eating street food.

First at Maifest.






And then at the OTR 5k/Summer Celebration. I celebrated summer by not running and having a Streetpop. I won.




The new Smale Park had its big grand opening this weekend and I can't wait to check it out (they rent bikes!), but we kicked it Ault style on Sunday for the glorious, glorious shade.






And then because it had been a whole two hours since we'd last eaten, we grilled. Turkey burgers topped with roasted red peppers and goat cheese. Damn they were good. Look out Memorial Day, we-are-ready.





*not pictured, the three naps I took this weekend; training for Memorial Day is hard.

Give It On Up to Homelessville!

Hi.

Does anyone have any boxes I can borrow? I am going to need them to live in.

It's not certain I will be homeless, but you know how you sometimes get the feeling you might be homeless? I have that feeling.

My lease is up in October so in theory I have plenty of time to find a new place, but whenever I look at apartments I get depressed. Because they're horrible and I hate all of them.

Ray keeps reassuring me we're not going to be homeless. He describes it as, "a little up in the air."

Which sounds a lot like "homeless" to me.

He should pay more attention to my concern here because he's going to end up homeless with me. We're selling/renting his downtown condo and I'm giving up the lease on my apartment so... welcome to HomelessVille, Ray! Population: You and me!

Last night we were browsing apartments and houses and I got so overwhelmed I had to sit down and eat my feelings (a pint of chocolate fudge brownie ice-cream.) I guess the good news is I still have a couch to sit on at this point.

When I said this to Ray he covered his face with the couch pillow and screamed. He's obviously just as upset about all this as I am.

About those boxes... Ray and I will both need large, fridge size boxes and the kitties will need washer/dryer size boxes. Each. (Hey, they're big boned, ok?)

Thanks.

 

Justin Timberlake - SNL - Give it on up to homelessville

Haters Be Jelly

It arrived! And it's amazing.

Training Is Stupid

I've highlighted the important parts of my MRI report, specifically the words "superior" and "right gluteus maximus muscle."

"This mean I have a superior booty, doesn't it," I asked my doctor.

"Well... not exactly."

"Like hell. It practically says, 'awesome bedonkedonk' right there."

When I proudly shoved these highlighted results in the faces of my coworkers with sub-par butts - Read it and weep, suckas! - someone said, "But you don't have an ass!"

I'd tell you who said it but that person is dead now, and I don't have time to go to jail this week.

My hip flexor has been hurting for ohhhh, five years? But over the last three months of preparing for the Pig, it's hurt worse.

Which means I can draw only one conclusion: Training is stupid. All it does is injure you and you're still not any faster because you're limping.



About a month ago the ol' hip flexor decided it'd had enough and it wasn't going to do anything for me anymore, so it seized up on a run. It felt like tearing, and I walked home in crippling pain. If you heard a rumor that I was also crying and went home and forced Ray to shove a tennis ball into my groin in a vain attempt to find the trigger point then that is... ok that is totally true.

When at-home trigger point therapy with a tennis ball didn't work I went to see the sports medicine doc that everyone in my office is seeing.

We are seriously the walking wounded at my workplace. There are calf tears, fractured big toes, IT band syndromes, strained hip flexors. This doc is making a fortune off our injuries. I'm pretty sure mine alone bought him a Rolex. I'd tell you who he is but my coworkers and I are taking up all his appointments soooo... too bad.



In addition to revealing the awesomeness of my backside - truly worth the MRI in and of itself - the radiology report also revealed my strained hip flexor (ding, ding, ding!) and a strained... butt muscle?

So in addition to being high and tight (like a Marine haircut), my butt is also strained. (It doesn't hurt so who cares.)

But I did get some steroids for the throbbing hip flexor. Exciting, right?!

Wrong.

You know how everyone praises prednisone as some kind of miracle cure?

You'll feel great and won't need any sleep! Your joints will feel like a teenagers'! Your cartilage will be lubed up liked a can of Pam! You'll be able to work out for like, ten hours! Hip pain?! Butt strain?! You'll feel so great you won't even know you have hips or a butt!

Well, those people are lying.

I took a weeklong medrol pack and didn't feel any different at all. Worse, I didn't get super huge, I didn't bench press Ray in a fit of 'roid rage or feel "inappropriately happy" at any point.

Disappointing to say the least.

The only mildly cool thing prednisone did was make me look really tan, because it caused me to flush all the time. Otherwise, worthless.

Needless to say I'm looking forward to hobbling through the Pig. I actually trained for the first time in years and yet this will quite possibly be my slowest, limpiest time yet. After Sunday I'm resorting back to my previous "training plan" of "not training." At least then I won't be injured and gobbling down anti-inflammatories.

My only goal for the Pig now is to wear a really cool tiger t-shirt. Hopefully it arrives tomorrow!

On The Hunt

Last week at physical therapy there was this woman wearing a t-shirt with a tiger head on it.

A giant tiger head. It took up the whole shirt. And she was a pretty big woman.

It looked something like this.



I knew I had to have one immediately.

She said she got it at Wal-Mart, so this weekend I went on a hunt for this shirt while I visited my parents. I figured if there is anywhere in the good ol' US of A with tiger head shirts, it's Marion, Indiana.

I went to Wal-Mart, Meijer and several other jank-ass clothing stores and came up tiger head shirt free each time. It was a real bummer.

Even Ray was dedicated to the cause. We were eating slices of square pizza from Pizza King (amazing) and he said, "This is great and all but this is time we could be spending looking for your tiger shirt."

So true.

But two days later we left Marion sans tiger shirt.

Sad.

But then my mom called me yesterday at work to tell me she went to the airbrush t-shirt shop in the Marion Mall and the guy working told her he could make her one.

"Gina, the woman at the kiosk next to the t-shirt store said he's a real artist. I had him put it on a gray t-shirt. I'm supposed to pick it up tomorrow at 11. I'm so excited!" she told me.

At first I was nervous. An airbrushed tiger on a t-shirt from the crappy airbrush store in the mall? I dunno... I really had my heart set on a screen print tiger on a crappy t-shirt from Wal-Mart.

Then I realized this tiger shirt will probably be more amazing than I could ever imagine. I'm convinced it will look like the Cheetos tiger.

I got this voicemail from my mom this afternoon saying it looks "so cute." Since I can't post audio (suck it, Blogger) please enjoy this "movie" I created with my mom's voicemail and a photo of us having tea this weekend.



Highlight: "And that thing's eyes look REAL."

She picked up the shirt this morning and rushed it to the post office because I need it delivered by Sunday. My plan is to wear it for the Flying Pig relay. I'm of course fearful that the fabric will be brutal - cotton so stiff it will slice me up. But I'm willing to take my chances, assuming it fits at all.

When I called her back she said the guy who did it is an "amazing artist" and she's going to go to him again if she needs anymore shirts airbrushed. Just fyi.

So now I wait until hopefully Thursday when it arrives. I can hardly contain myself. I feel like my face will look like something between shock and awe when I see it. I wish now I'd have had her put my name on it. Like, the tiger's name is Gina. Or, I am a tiger named Gina.

I'll post photos for sure.