Mama’s Girl

Yesterday my Mom informed me that my blog post was nothing short of “phoning it in.”

Her exact words were, and I quote “You call that a blog post?”

Mothers and daughters, a unique relationship if there ever was one. This past weekend was Mothers Day and this year I did real good: the card made it on time. My family has an amazing track record with holidays and birthdays: some years, you get a card. Other years you get a new car. You just never know! This year it was a card. Try again next year.

I say all of that very tongue in cheek though, because the fact of the matter is my Mother went from Daisy’s Number One Enemy to my best friend. CHEESE ALERT, I KNOW. But in high school she was the pits. A friend recently asked me how I made it through high school so well behaved and without any of the drama that seems to accompany modern teen life. My answer was simple: My Mom always waited up for me. So I never got away with anything.

It is true, there was not one night in high school that I came home and my Mom was in bed. This meant that I had to sit and talk to her for ten or fifteen minutes before she let me go to bed. We became very acquainted with the pro bull riding circuit, as it was the only thing on that time of night. I hated how much she mothered me, how much she cared, how dialed in she was on my life. I wanted to be 16 and do what I wanted…and I couldn’t. Because she was ALWAYS THERE. HANGING ON WITH PINCER LIKE FORCE.

Now I know that was my saving grace. It is why I stayed out of trouble, went to a great college, and love my Mom now. It is why we chat almost every day about books we like, television shows, funny things our dogs did. It isn’t important conversation to anyone but the two of us, but it is very important to us. My Mom is the first person I call with news good or bad, and at the end of the day, I’m proud to have her in my life.

Even if she leaves blog comments under fake names.




Hand to God, Y’all

Yesterday I was driving home from work, as I’m wont to do. I was under a large underpass on the Kennedy expressway when I happened to look over and notice a car (Escalade) on the shoulder with its flashers on. This particular underpass is a popular spot to stop on the shoulder as it is shaded and has a much wider shoulder than other stretches of the road, leaving ample room to avoid the person who you just rear-ended. I mean, I’m assuming.

Anyway. There was a person outside of the car & they were wearing:

  • riding boots
  • riding pants
  • a jaunty safari coat
  • a riding helmet
  • …..a beekeeper veil

This however was not the oddest part of the scene. No, the 6 foot butterfly  net in their hand was pretty odd.

But still, not the oddest part. The oddest part was the single, lone pigeon they were wildly chasing and attempting to catch.


I mean, were they chasing their pigeon? You know, a carrier pigeon so to speak? Or was this a wild pigeon? And if a wild pigeon, really, the side of a busy expressway during rush hour is where you are going to catch it? Are underpass expressway pigeons superior to, say, Michigan Avenue pigeons? I HIGHLY DOUBT IT.

Also, what was this person going to do with this pigeon? Take it for a ride in the Escalade? Roast it for dinner? I WANT TO KNOW.

I demand to know. Sadly I decided not to stop, because, man, this person seemed mentally unstable with a large luxury vehicle. Makings of a Lifetime movie right there.

Let’s Pretend We Never Talked About This

So, last night I rode my new bike 12 miles. I’d put an exclamation point on the end of that statement except in the first mile I tipped into a pedestrian while doing my whole “flail, push, ahhhhhhh yell ahh push clip into the pedals” routine and he had to shove me back upright while I yelled swear words and a rapid “thanks!” as I tried to keep going.

It wasn’t pretty.

But I didn’t die. Nor did I inflict a tiny yet deep stab wound in my shin  – nope, did that two days ago thanks and I went through about five bandages over the course of 12 hours before it stopped bleeding. I now understand why my Mom is constantly complaining about the combo of my Dad’s oozing wounds and her nice sheets. Dad doesn’t “do” bandages.

I’m not here to talk about my brushes with death though – we could be here all day. Instead I’m going to pose a super awkward question that we will not visit again. I’d ask someone in a cycling forum chat thingy but those women scare me. Mostly because I don’t think they refer to bike parts as “doohickeys” and “spinny things” nor do they yell “OUTTA MY WAAAAAYYYYYYYYY” when hurtling over crosswalks. (Listen tourists: pay attention.)

My question is about cycling shorts.

And what you wear under them.

You catch my drift, no?

I have been told that with the whole chamois thing going on and what not, you are not to wear another layer between you and the padding (which incidentally, would it kill them to add a little more??) but I find that…sketchy. To say the least. And yet I find products like these even worse and I don’t want to be adding to the issues that one encounters. Of course all these chamois creams have horrible names like “Button Hole” like HI WE KNOW WHAT YOU ARE GETTING OUT YOU SICK CREEPS. But since whole products are dedicated to this “issue” I’m wondering if I’m going to cause bigger problems by…leaving things on…come my long rides.

Please. Enlighten me. How does this work?

(Also, I have become aware that many women don’t wear anything when they work out no matter what. I’m still processing this.)

Also, don’t you think I need this?

Me too.

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