I happened upon this one website, www.realage.com, and it calculated that my "real age" was over 10 years younger than my calendar age. What the?!!! Let's be clear, it takes more of an effort for me to climb hills on my bike than it did ten years ago. I cannot eat whatever I would like to, as I did ten years ago. Mystery aches and pains appear for no reason, unlike ten years ago. Unless I have a really bad memory, something smells a bit fishy around here. But hey, if that means I'm back in my 30's...I'll take it!
So the exit polls are showing a definite pattern in my life! It looks like in the categories of fat, greying or bald...bald is surging ahead. It seems that my follicles are having an extremely difficult time holding onto my noggin'. As I brushed my teeth, my skull reflected more of the bathroom lighting than ever before. A tragic turn of events. My scalp definitely did not look like this ten years ago!
It's okay, your grandfather on your mother's side had a full head of hair. Look at your father, he still has hair and he's 88. Don't worry, you have thick hair. Yeah, yeah, I've heard it all before, however at this moment, it looks like baldness is going to come upon me quickly.
Every time I eye suspiciously another gray hair poking itself out of the thinning Amazon known as my coiffure, I ponder if plucking the offending follicle is worth the additional thinning of my diminishing forest. As I cycle and my scalp itches, I wonder if scratching my head through the vents of my helmet, I am unknowingly carving a barren hole in my mop.
For all I know it's the cycling that is doing it. I have noticed lately that many of the top riders in the peloton seem to be hair challenged. Okay, for every receding hairline, skinny climber, there is a long-haired-mulleted Belgian stud. And although I may be just imagining it, it seems like a reasonable explanation.
Right on Paolo! The World Champ representing the Hair Club For Men!
I knew my gradually exposed scalp was noticeable when my friend Brian tried to console me. Now if you know Brian, you know that if you are his friend, which I am, Brian has no problem kicking you when you're down. That's something about his, uh, "charm".
Unfortunately, after first gasping, Brian said to me, "Hey no worries, hair loss is one of those things you have no control over!" What the?!!! That's the last thing I want to hear from B. I don't want him trying to make me feel better, I want him joking at my expense!
Hey whatever, all I know is I'm ten years younger than my driver license states and I have Sy Sperling's cell phone number handy...
As I looked into the clear blue sky, the cool grass surrounded me muffling the sounds of the squealing herd of children. I tilted my head weakly and peaked over to the playground hearing Soraya barking orders at Brandon, their movements slowed by my dreamy state. My legs were in the throes of rigor. The leaves rustled in the soft Western sea breeze. I was beat. Toast. Stick a fork in me, I was done.
Bonking. Cyclists' worst fear, besides crashing. And usually, it actually ranks number one on the hit parade.
I should have expected it. My legs were flat, there was no spring in them. I had only two pancakes for breakfast. Looking back to the night before, I, for some mysterious reason, skipped dinner. Prime time for fueling up for the next day. I was creating a monster and didn't even think about it.
Midway up the Big Basin climb my legs were struggling, but I was fooling myself as I passed cyclist after cyclist. It did not occur to my ego (and sound judgement) that they were an eclectic group of two-wheelists. Mountain bikes, Clydesdales (bigger heavy riders), girly girls (hey, I know there are certain female cyclists who can kick my butt all over the mountain...but not these ones...), backpack toting hippies, a varied cornucopia of bicycling enthusiasts. I did not care if they were 500 pound senior citizens on rusty Huffy's...I was passing them! Yeah, I was chasing fool's gold.
I crested the climb my head hanging, I had made it. Turning onto Skyline Boulevard, my speed increased. Hey!? My legs don't feel that badly?! Skyline Boulevard is a rolling highway that runs along the peaks of the Santa Cruz mountains. Usually I can keep a steady pace, but it didn't occur to me that I was out of my saddle more often than not. Not a good sign.
Page Mill Road signaled that it was time for me to turn downward and to zip down the Santa Cruz Mountains into Palo Alto. At the bottom of the decent was when it hit. When I realized I had made a serious miscalculation. I was bonking. I was bonking hard. Coming down Page Mill Road I didn't feel it, but now that I was turning onto El Camino Real and pushing the pedals I felt all of my energy flooding away from me. 20 plus miles from home, I was in trouble.
The Wikipedia definition of bonking: A condition when the athlete suddenly loses energy and fatigue sets in, usually caused when glycogen stores in the liver and muscles are depleted, resulting in a major performance drop.
A major performance drop?!!! Hell, I was crashing and burning.
Suddenly the flats of El Camino Real seemed like climbing Mont Ventoux. I was struggling. It was survival time, and I have admitted on many occasions that at times I question my mental toughness. Thankfully, this was one of those times that my will came through. Running out of water, I found a playground to fill my depleted reservoir. It seemed that in spite of my total planning disaster, Lady Luck was smiling upon me.
When I finally saw my garage, I was on the verge of tears. Tears of joy. I had survived. My legs could not have turned the pedals one more stroke. I could barely move as the water from my post ride shower pelted my neck and back. I groaned as I realized that I had promised Soraya and Brandon that I would take them to the park.
The kids screamed on the playground as they performed various acrobatic tricks on the play structure. I breathed deeply, my damaged muscles still screaming for oxygen. I bonked. I bonked hard. It was a great Memorial Day...
Between the barbecued ribs, the corn on the cob and the watermelon seeds we should remember that Memorial Day is about remembering. Remembering the past, so hopefully, we will not repeat it. To remember those who have given of themselves so we can enjoy this unofficial first day of summer.
I'd like to take a moment to remember the 442nd Regiment from World War II. This was a squadron that was primarily made up of Japanese-Americans that were trying to prove their loyalty to the United States after Japan attacked Pearl Harbor.
In February of 1942, Franklin D. Roosevelt signed Executive Order 9066, the internment of those designated as security risks. Although it did not single out those of Japanese decent, it readied America for the internment of Japanese-Americans.
Shortly thereafter, in June of 1942, two regiments of Hawaiian Japanese soldiers were sent to the mainland to train. The leaders worried about the loyalties of those two regiments training so close to Japan. Yet once on the mainland, the two regiments performed so well in training that on February 1, 1943 the U.S. government approved of a squadron of Japanese decent. The 442nd was born.
The 442nd was send to Europe to fight the Axis as the government did not trust them enough to fight the war in the Pacific. It was on the battlefields of Italy, France and Germany that the 442nd, whose motto was Go For Broke, became the most decorated unit in the history of the U.S. military.
A short list of their decorations:
22 Medal of Honors (The highest military decoration)
52 Distinguished Service Crosses (The second highest military decoration)
560 Silver Stars
4,000 Bronze Stars
9,486 Purple Hearts
There you go, the Reader's Digest version. Very cool...a good thing to remember as the U.S. continues its fight on terror.
I hope everyone has a safe and wonderful Memorial Holiday.
The Capsule Design Festival has shut down and the Hayes Valley Green is silent. Andrea had a very successful day and I must say, I am very proud of the returns on her investment, not only in capital investment, but time, emotions and just plain hard work. She did great!!!
But after setting Andrea up on Linden Street this morning, what were Soraya, Brandon and I to do to pass the time until the event was over?...First we drove back to San Jose and had a late breakfast at Tina's Diner, I think it's Tina's. Whatever, it was just an okay breakfast, and the kids kept telling me that I make better breakfasts. Well, I do specialize in breakfast if I do say so myself. So I must agree...
Then after a nap, because, dang!...I was tired! It was back on the road and on our way to the Exploratorium. If you have never been to the Exploratorium and you live in the Bay Area, get out and visit this educational, scientific museum. Although geared towards kids, it is great fun for adults as well. Just beware...TONS OF KIDS!!! It is an interactive museum that stresses science. Perfect for the geek side of me! What is very cool, is that the exhibitions are set up with the expectation that they are to be touched. Wonderful for kids and adults who have never forgotten what it's like to be a kid!
I love letting the kids loose upon this museum, as it stokes their imaginations, creativity and wonder in all things scientific. Not only are there the usual light and electricity exhibits, but there are many more that dive into areas such as gender beliefs, emotions, etc. Very cool. There was one demonstration where you would do poses that you thought was appropriate for the type of masks. It was interesting what emotions came through the kids' simple body language.
So we finally made it back to the Capsule Design Festival. I got to hang with the leetle ones and Andrea kicked butt...a good day had by all...
My interest in cycling road races began around 2000/2001. Lance Armstrong had just reeled off his second Tour de France victory and general interest road cycling in the United States seemed to be making a steady come back against its upstart cousin the mountain bike. All seemed good in the world of professional bike racing. Although there were whispers that incidents of doping, chemical or biological cheating, continued in the peloton, the shame of the Festina Scandal of 1998 was fading.
Flash forward to 2007...
With all the strides against doping and performance enhancing drugs that those involved in the Protour have taken, it seems that European peloton is in even a bleaker state than it was in 1998. The first major name to fall from Operation Puerto was 1997 Tour de France winner Jan Ullrich. Although he has maintained his innocence, bags of blood have been linked to him via DNA sampling...not looking good Jan.
Next came the 2006 Giro d'Italia winner, Ivan Basso. Although initially cleared by the Italian Olympic committee, CONI, Basso after much pressure has admitted that he was involved with Dr. Fuentes, the doctor at the center of the Spanish doping investigation. More discouraging than the revelation that Basso was part of Operation Puerto, was the fact that he had lied about it for six months after joining Team Discovery and then stated that he only "attempted doping", but never actually did it. It seems that Basso is used the same lexicon of excuses that Bill Clinton uses.
Basso with much unwanted attention...
All this time we were subjected to the trial of Floyd Landis, 2006 Tour de France winner, maybe. It seems that there were issues with his testosterone level after his miraculous win on that year's stage 17. Although tests showed that his levels were not abnormal, his testosterone to epitestosterone ratio was extremely high and above the allowable limit of 4:1. Landis' ratio was at 11:1.
Now, after an avalanche of confessions of past doping discretion's, comes the admission by Bjarne Riis, 1996 Tour de France winner, that he doped during the race. He has said that he is willing to give back his yellow jersey. How noble, how about all the prize money and secondary income that had come from his Tour win, gonna give that back too?
Hmmm...let me see the 1996 Tour winner, Riis, confessed to doping, Ullrich Mr. DNA Connection To Operation Puerto came in second and Richard Virenque who after two years of denying his utilization of doping tearfully admitted in 2000 to doping, came in third.
I am not sure what good all these sudden admissions of doping is doing. Are they volunteering to lead sessions with young up and coming neo-pros on the evils of doping? Are they giving back their earnings that have potentially inflated because of the performance enhancing practices? Or are they trying to clear their consciousnesses before someone else rats them out?
I love cycling. I love the feel of lactate acid flooding through my legs as I crest a climb. I love thinking my legs are pistons as I power over miles of flats. I love when the salty sweat slips into my eyes stinging them. I love watching bike races because I thought I knew how hard the effort was. Apparently I was mistaken...
So if you are out of ideas on what to do this Memorial Weekend, you may want to check out the Capsule Design Festival in Hayes Park in San Francisco. It happens this Sunday, May 27, from 11 a.m. until 6 p.m. The lovely Andrea of Dreams And Jewelry will have a booth there. (By the way will someone please click on her link in my Places To Waste Your Time section? Andrea's giving me a hard time that no one from my blog ever redirects to her website.)
Okay, yeah, this is a shameless plug for an event where Andrea is selling her wares. However, really, check out her site, www.dreamsandjewelry.com. I am actually quite proud of where she has taken this fledgling little gig...
So back to the Capsule event. She and a friend will be manning the booth. They will be in booth 29 on Linden. Your's truly will not be at the booth, but Soraya, Brandon and I will be playing roadies and helping with the set up.
First and foremost I must apologize to my friend Micheline. Her birthday was on the 20th and here it is the 22nd. Here's to the only other A's fan in the sea of orange and black!
HAPPY BIRTHDAYMICH!!!
Wasn't I just here? It was just a few hours ago I was gulping sake and cursing my insomnia. Now here I am sipping coffee trying to wake. That is the cruel joke about insomnia during the work week. One tries bitterly to get to sleep only to fight sleep the next day. Arggghhh...the last time I felt this badly it was the morning I was waking up in Disneyland...why is that such a wrong statement?!
Someone kill me and put me out of my insomnia and sake enduced misery...
Coffee, don't fail me now! Okay, this training I'm leading will be a disaster if the caffeine doesn't really kick in and last. I see myself struggling to stay awake, oh, around 2 p.m.
What the Hell am I doing up at 1 a.m. on a school night?!!! I hate when this happens, out of nowhere...*POOF!*...I'm awake. No major concerns cloggin' up my noggin, no caffeine before bed, nothing...I hate when I get a case of insomnia and there is no good reason for it. At least if something was stressing me out, I could sort of justify laying in bed staring at the ceiling.
To make matters worse, I'm trying to down a couple of gulps of way too old sake, my trusty bottle of Sho Chiku Bai. I'm just trying to take the edge off and get me back to bed. Unfortunately, egads, this stuff is nasty! It's time to replace my dusty bottle with a new one that has not been aging in my cupboard since the Clinton era.
Time to replace ol' dusty...
Great...tomorrow I need to lead an hour's worth of training for some very impressionable managers. And to make matters even better some of mine will be in attendance. Nothing's more impressive than your boss nodding off in the middle of his sermon.
Nothing is worst than peering deep into one's coffee storage and discovering that one's cache of the magical beans are but a few. I drink coffee every morning. In the middle of a Las Vegas summer when the mercury would hit 110 degrees on a consistent basis, I would down hot coffee every sun rise. It is a morning ritual. A few cups of deep black roast.
This morning as I was readying myself to make my usual eight cups of coffee, I picked up the canister holding my precious coffee. Opening it, I gazed in horror. I only had enough to make about four cups of coffee, and that would be risky as it could be watered down. I would almost rather drink a cup of Sanka, then have my coffee maker brew me a sad batch of tea-colored coffee.
I'm cruising down the aisle of our local Albertsons, and there, high on the shelf it sits, a gleaming bottle of Gerolsteiner water. I could tell you that I was searching for a natural mineral water that was bottled at the source, Gerolstein, Germany, but alas, that would be a lie. I pulled the bottle of Gerolsteiner off its resting spot and placed it in my basket because there is a bicycling team sponsored by the German Mineral Water Company.
Geez and they say NASCAR fans are gullible...
Anyhow that is how I ended my day of cycling.
My cycling day started with a slow climb into the Santa Cruz Mountains. I cruised through the downtown area of Old Saratoga and began my laborious assault on Big Basin Way. As I slowly climbed up the winding road I saw a cyclist ahead of me. Now that I am on a fairly nice ride, it is a requirement that I am able to catch and pass as many cyclists as possible. I geared down and pressed harder on the pedals.
After about fifteen minutes of chasing (Chasing on a bicycle takes awhile, unless one's prey's abilities are at a much lower level,) my victory was complete. I pedaled in his wake for about one minute then rose out of my saddle and powered around him. Take that Mr. Mid-50's guy!!! Uh, yeah...unfortunately, much of my victory was soured when I gazed upon the multitude of wrinkles on his face. Well...at least he was on a really nice bike, so there!
However along with all this chasing I realized that I was closing in on my true goal, riding from the Santa Clara Valley floor to Skyline Boulevard. I'd like to think it's about 3,000 feet of climbing, but I actually think it is more like 2,200. Oh well, it was a grinder.
I get a small bit of satisfaction every time I hit a new county when cycling. I think it's very cool the thought that my personal engine was able to transport me over county lines. Today was a three county affair starting in Santa Clara, climbing to Santa Cruz, descending to San Mateo and ending back in Santa Clara.
At the top of the climb I stopped to take the Santa Cruz County Line photo and after multiple attempts I finally got a satisfactory one. However, in the mean time, Mr. Wrinkles had caught up and was pedaling his way down Skyline Boulevard. I hopped on my Giant and soon had passed him for the second time. Not the coolest thing to do to Mr.Wrinkles, but not the worst...
Later I pulled over to a open space park to check out a map. I feared that I had missed my turn off and was zooming towards San Francisco. That would have been a bummer and required a call to my "team car"...my very grumpy "team car". I glanced at the road and who should be passing me? Hey it's Mr.Wrinkles!
I jumped back on my bike and slowly made my way through the gravel parking lot. As it turned out the road I was looking for was only a mile up the road. As I turned on Page Mill, I knew Mr.Wrinkles was only a little ahead of me. The road undulated through the hills and mountains and soon I caught Mr.Wrinkles for the third and last time. At this point I don't think he was amused.
Page Mill Road quickly dropped and spiraled downward towards Palo Alto. I have never been a fearless descender and this flight was no different. Soon Mr.Wrinkles had caught me and blew by. After ten minutes of futilely chasing the older wrinkled guy on the sweet bike he disappeared. Take that Mr.Jerk that passed him three times!
The road opened up and passed under I-280, as I crested the hill I realized I was near Stanford University. Egads, I was in Palo Alto. But amazingly I was feeling really fresh. I turned onto El Camino Real and began the ride home.
Now these final miles passed quickly and I did have a chance to redeem myself. There was a gentleman on a bike who tried to keep up with me. I allowed him to suck my wheel while I pulled for miles. I dropped him. Okay, once again maybe my victory was tainted as he was on a bike from the mid-80's and had a heavy messenger bag slung over his shoulder, but damnit...I dropped him...
Hmmm let me see...about three hours later, 50 miles under my tires and the following towns visited...
San Jose
Saratoga
Palo Alto
Los Altos
Mountain View
Sunnyvale
Cupertino
I think I'll pour me a cool glass of Gerolsteiner and munch on some Muesli...
Andrea worked a Jewelry show this past Saturday, so Soraya, Brandon and I dropped her off in San Francisco in the morning. This allowed the three of us to stop by one of my all-time favorite San Francisco greasy spoon breakfast joints, Al's Cafe Good Food! Yeah, I was about to subject the little ones to this nook.
Al's is located on Mission Street near the corner of 29th Street. I guess that would be the southern part of the Mission District. It is crammed between various little nondescript shops. From what I can surmise, Al's survives primarily on locals.
Okay, let's be clear, if you are looking for elegant or inspired dining, this is definitely not the place for you! There are times when I might even question whether it can indeed claim "good food"! Add to the ambiance that this is a dysfunctional family owned restaurant and they have no problem screaming at each other in front of the clientele, one has Al's Cafe. Yet, when I see the disparaging reviews on the Yelp! website, I can only laugh. Whaddya expect from this place ya knuckleheads?!!!
However, this restaurant does hold a special place in my heart. When Brian and I were roommates in San Francisco I remember many foggy-headed mornings walking down to Al's to sit at the counter and wolf down post-late night breakfasts. It was because of Al's really fluffy pancakes that Brian and I coined it's nickname, Fluffy Pancakes. The fluffiness was probably because of coma inducing amounts of lard mixed into the cakes, but mmm they were good!
Oh yeah...Neil's heart attack on a plate!
So this brings us back to this past Saturday...Soraya and I both ordered breakfast, Soraya scrambled eggs and a hamburger patty, I ordered the standard bacon and eggs over easy. I have found it wise never to order anything too out of the ordinary at Al's. Keep it to the basics and you're fine. Curiously, Brandon did not order anything.
Uh...yeah that white stuff was butter! Lots and lots of butter...
I hoovered down my eggs and bacon, but I was a good boy and limited my carbs by not eating too many of the hash-browns. Uh, yeah, who cares about the artery clogging bacon, but for goodness sakes don't touch those potatoes! Soraya made little hamburger and scrambled egg sandwiches on her fork as she made quick work of her breakfast.
Feeling sorry for Brandon, both Soraya and I offered B-boy Deluxe food. We encouraged him to eat a little scrambled egg, hamburger and bacon. I asked him what was wrong and he said nothing. Soraya offered up that his head hurt. When I asked Brandon he exclaimed, "I'm okay!"
A Tragic Miscalculation...
I probably should have noticed, but I didn't. I should have noticed Brandon silently sitting in the back seat of the Escape before breakfast. I should have understood when he didn't want to eat. I should have went straight home, but I didn't. After settling the bill and we bid adieu to Al's Good Time Cafe. Both Soraya and Brandon (for whatever reason) stated that they wanted to come back to Al's. Good Lord, I had brainwashed them!
We climbed back into Andrea's Escape and began the hour long drive home to San Jose. It was mostly uneventful as I believe both kids napped on the way back. After a greasy breakfast, I could have used one too!
Two exits from our exit, that would be Steven's Creek, on the 85, I heard Soraya scream, "Oh no!!! Brandon!!!" I turned to see it...Brandon trying to cover his mouth to keep Mount St. Helens from blowing. I understood then why B did not eat at Al's. Brandon blew chunks. Brandon blew chunks in Andrea's Escape. Brandon blew chunks in clean-freak Andrea's Escape. Brandon blew chunks in clean-freak Andrea's Escape right on Soraya.
The hard part, as an adult, is not to get angry with the child who just spewed Cocoa Pebbles, bits of egg and other random stomach acid filled rubble into the back seat and on to his sister. We pulled over in a parking lot and poor Brandon stood pathetically next to the car. The only thing he could whimper was, "Are you mad at me?..."
The anger quickly seeped from me and I could see all he wanted to know was that I still loved him. I sighed and told him that it was okay. I surveyed the damage and boy, did Brandon project. Poor Soraya was hit by some of the warm gooey schrapnel. Luckily, Brandon did think quickly and much was caught by his beloved Oakland A's cap. All I could think was, "Hell hath no fury like a overly-neat woman and her vomit filled car...."
Good catch Brandon!
We quickly drove home, windows open, Soraya now in the front seat. Poor Brandon shivering in the back, shirt off (had to take it off if you know what I mean!) asking if we could close the windows. We answered, "Hell no!" Five minutes later we were home, yes five minutes. I think this was one of the main reasons I was a little annoyed...Dude?! You couldn't hold out for a little while longer?
I made Brandon strip to his underwear in the garage and hop into the shower. Sighing I looked at the job I had ahead of me. The human explosion was all over the back seat as I searched the garage for Armor All. My nap was not in the stars this morning. Before he jumped in the shower, Brandon asked me, "Can I have a snack? Now I feel great!" Grrr...
Things I learned:
If Soraya says Brandon is feeling odd, listen to her.
If your kid isn't hungry, do not force him to eat Al's Good (Greasy) Food.
Dave Stoller was the lead character in one of my all-time favorite films, Breaking Away. I am not Dave Stoller just because he was a cyclist, like me. He was obsessed with the Italians, more specifically the Italian bike racers. Dave Stoller did everything that he believed to be Italian. He listened to Italian opera. He renamed the family cat Fellini and he spoke with a faux Italian accent. Obsessed, definitely.
So as I perused the aisles of Target I came upon the row that housed breakfast foods. You know, oatmeal, Cheerios, Muesli, Nutrigrain bars. I stop my shopping cart with the chattering front wheel. Muesli? Didn't I read somewhere that Le Tour cyclists make that part of their morning routine? Quickly I grabbed the box and tossed it into my cart.
A friend asked me once why I shaved my legs for cycling. I told her that the "official" reason was that when cyclists crash, not having hair on our legs make clean up and healing better and faster. The I leaned into her and whispered as if I was giving her the evil family secrets. The real reason was that when I struggled up a climb on my bike, I could look down to my thighs and see my muscles better. It gave me a source of psychological strength.
Now, if my friend only knew the real reason my legs are sans hair. Simply, the real reason is that cyclists are supposed to have smooth legs. Yeah, yeah, the corporate spin is just in case I crash and leave a portion of my thigh on the tarmac. But the reality is that it has been months since I last crashed (Knock on wood!)
When friends kid me about the farmer tan I cultivate each Spring, I chuckle feining embarassment. The truth is that I actually am proud of my funky brown limbs with the pasty midsection. These are my code of arms that signify that I am part of the clan. I am one with the bike dorks. Cyclists are supposed to have a farmer's tan for each limb.
As usual, I am obsessed. Not only am I enthralled with pushing the pedals on my bikes as many times as I can, but I am becoming obsessed with the lifestyle. The Muesli, the legs, the tans, they're all part of the bike cult. I have thrown myself into the cult. Yes sir, may I have another sir?
Time sure flies when you're having fun, eh?!!! Instead of a litany of great things about you, (Because there's way too many to list here!) I'll just stick with I'm super, duper glad you're my friend. Happy Birthday!
I'm sitting here posting with what sort of feels like a two-day hangover. It's not that I'm really hungover, just a little tired from a two-day down and back to the happiest place on Earth. We had a celebration for our top sales associates at Mickey's home this past Monday, so I hopped on a Southwest flight down to Anaheim.
Now there are two very different flights that I must always experience, one going to the function and one returning. Any time we have these gatherings, be they celebrations like this was or mere meetings, the nature of each flight always seem to be the same. For the flight going down I am almost always energized and excited for the coming event. I'm filled with anticipation and the flight seems like a blink of an eye as I travel to my destination.
Most attendees usually gripe and moan about attending these functions. However, when the adult beverages start flowing at night, after they let us out, all complaints seem to magically disappear. I tend not to whine so much about these get togethers. Of course I worry about the potential that my store will be a smoke infested pile of charcoal rubble when I return, but I need to trust my managers will know what to do if needed. I'll cross my fingers just in case.
The return flight is the one I rarely look forward to. This is the flight that I'm usually thinking to myself, "Sweet Lion of Zion! Just get my pointy butt home!" I'm most likely tired, grumpy and ready for the flight to land and get my happy self slumped into my car seat homeward bound.
These two flights were no different...flying down to the celebration, excited and pumped; returning, exhausted and hornery. Okay maybe the freely flowing lemon drops did not help. Uh, it's not that I partook in such deviant behavior, I'm just saying. Er, yeah, just saying. I will say that it is an odd feeling to close a bar at the Disneyland Hotel pool. There is definitely something wrong in that statement, "We closed down the bar at the Disneyland Hotel pool..." 2 a.m.-ish and still out and about in the Happiest Place on Earth. WRONG
James Bond made drinking and carousing seem so mysterious and glamorous. The reality is, at 2 a.m. at the Disney Pool Bar...I felt more like Norm.
Here is the recipe for a long, LONG, flight home:
Someone besides me is paying for the drinks
Close down the bar
Have a 6 a.m. wake up call
Hmmm...maybe there is a little carryover, but that was one Helluva long flight home...
I happened upon this one website, www.realage.com, and it calculated that my "real age" was over 10 years younger than my calendar age. What the?!!! Let's be clear, it takes more of an effort for me to climb hills on my bike than it did ten years ago. I cannot eat whatever I would like to, as I did ten years ago. Mystery aches and pains appear for no reason, unlike ten years ago. Unless I have a really bad memory, something smells a bit fishy around here. But hey, if that means I'm back in my 30's...I'll take it!
So the exit polls are showing a definite pattern in my life! It looks like in the categories of fat, greying or bald...bald is surging ahead. It seems that my follicles are having an extremely difficult time holding onto my noggin'. As I brushed my teeth, my skull reflected more of the bathroom lighting than ever before. A tragic turn of events. My scalp definitely did not look like this ten years ago!
