Babysit Mom

Opening email from the home unit means doing so in full view of whomever may be sitting in the living room. Depending on the day and time of day, that means in full view of the actor as the living room his room since he is temporarily in residence.

A few nights ago I opened a  message with the subject line: friends?

The body of the message was a photo of a voluptuous woman, dressed rather provocatively, sporting a tat on her right tit of a trio of roses. Beneath her photo was the query, "do you want to be friends?" I must have made some kind of noise for the actor looked up from his reading. His response was to merely shake his head and return to his reading.

The daughter chose the next few moments to come out of her room. The noise making must have still been going on for she decided to come see what was UP. After taking in the scene she shrieked, "what are you doing?" turning then to the actor, "Aren't you watching her? You're supposed to be watching her! You can't let her just . .    She doesn't know . . .  Why aren't you watching her?"

All I could do was shake my head. 

Self Portrait Friday*

 If you look closely you can see my brand new haircut. I did it myself!  My shoulders have been aching for several days. NOW I know why. Welcome to the Weekend.

*for my friend, eb ef elf

Same Lyric, Different Song

If you've ever heard a rap performance* you'll recognize the familiar call:

Throw your hands up in the a-ir. Wave 'em like you just don't c-are
I hear the line (and the hip-hop melody) in my head three, four times a week; not due to any feelings of nostalgia for rap days gone by, but rather as accompaniment to the near misses suffered at the hands and feet of various motor vehicle operators.

Four out of five of them throw their hands up in the a-ir and wave 'm like the just don't c-are.
                                                                                                                      
As in, "I'm sorry I nearly creamed you with my car."

The most recent culprit, operator of a silver Hyundai Sonata was so intent on crossing three lanes from her barely stopped at the stop sign launching pad that she not only didn't see a body (mine) in the crosswalk she didn't even imagine one (in this case, mine) would deign to cross a street, in the crosswalk in keeping with the traffic laws of the land and right of way sensibility.

She saw me a split second after I saw her, which is a good thing because I could be dead. Or seriously injured. After slamming on her brakes, she threw her hands up in the a-ir and waved 'em like she just didn't c-are and mouthed, "I'm sorry." 

The hyperbolic rage was automatic but also mostly in my head along with the hip-hop melody and call to arms. And while I did fix the Hyundai Sonata operator with a steely stare there was a note of forgiveness in the tone, for I've been through this before--threee, four times a week, in fact.

Still, once I saw her hands come up in the pleading, "I'm sorry" mode amd the familiar refrain danced in my head, the very next thought was the finish . . . somebody screeeeaaaaam!

*granted, mostly from memory as I haven't followed rap performances much since the actor was a teenager.   

Bike to Work Week

Today is the second day of my bike to work week. I didn't start at the beginning of the week because my transit pass didn't expire until Tuesday night. I decided not to buy a new pass and plan to ride through the end of this week and through Tuesday of next week. From that point, it will be a day-to-day decision.

Well, point of fact, it is a day-to-day decision now because if the weather is at all disagreeable, I won't be biking. But, I won't buy and activate a pass, I'll just add value to a transit card thus, pay by-the-ride. I expect to biking more than taking public transpo for what is left of the season. That outcome is positive for my wallet as well as my waist-line. Hopefully, the weather is agreeable and my overall health holds.

I decided shortly after turning the clock on fifity-one to stop, start, change, and more a bunch of stuff. Birthdays will do that to a body; making one all refelctive and shit all that whizz. I'm still processing most of it because frankly, it gave me a pain in the neck. But, overall I think it is a good thing.

Speaking of my birthday it was full of eating, drinking, and some merry making. There was cake (there is always cake) and meals. The first, dinner (at a Greek restuarant) included a slice of tiramasu, which was simply devine. As was the Greek Mojito. The second meal featured slice of vanilla bean cheesecake and a traditional Mojito. Oh. So. Yummy. And finally, the "Happy Birthday Deborah" cake Mom ordered for me to pick up and enjoy at home, which we did. Along with the martinis and margaritas thanks to gifts vodka and tequila from a co-worker.
 
Mom wrote me another note. It was the story of the day of my birth. Or rather, how miserable she was (due to the excessive heat) on the days leading in and the actual day of my birth. Enchanting story. Anyhooo . . .

Speaking of bike riding, I saw several young women along the route back and forth yesterday and a few on the way in this morning riding in skirts. Various skirt styles; long and flowing, short and not so flowy. Both seemed quite a cumbersome (and in the case of the flowy skirt, dangerous) way to ride a bike from my point of view.

But, back to my own bike riding I feel pretty good after four consecutive trips (spread over several hours) for a total of about sixteen miles--which is the most consistent riding I've done all season for one reason or another. I'm not making great time, but hopefully that will improve over the next few trips, provided the weather remains agreeable, provided I stick to the plan and stop making excuses. My wallet and my waist-line would be most grateful.