Why I Love the X Games

There is a new event at the X Games, it's called the Skateboard Big Air Rail Jam. Basically, there is a giant drop, then after a 50 ft jump, there is a long rail and a quarter pipe at the end.

The video is from last night's big air competition. You can see the drop (which is crazy dangerous!) is the same as in the video, only off the middle run, there is a rail for this competition.

It's the first time this event has ever been at the X Games. Competing in this competition, is Danny Way. He's a huge badass in the sport of skateboarding. He originated the Big Air competition (and took the sport's first gold medal). He has jumped the Great Wall of China. The.

Great.

Wall.

of.

China!!

Skateboard Big Air Rail Jam was his idea, too. He's a pioneer and has done a lot to really progress the sport.

Tonight, he dropped into the ramp with a bum wheel on his skateboard. Oh yeah, and his knee won't bend. For those of you not into skateboarding, when you fall, they generally try to fall so they are sliding on their knees. It's safer. It's why they all wear knee pads. Danny Way can't fall into a knee slide, so he's just got to slide on his ass and hope for the best.

And, if that weren't enough, he rolled his ankle. He bit it pretty hard on one of his early runs. Tony Hawk, who commentates for this event for ESPN, thought with Danny's other injuries that he might be done for the night.

But, no. Danny, who could barely walk, dragged his ass to the top for the winning run.

That's right. On a bum wheel, injured knee and rolled ankle, he fucking won!

After he won, Kier was interviewing Danny and asked him why, at this point in his career when he really has nothing to prove, did he come out here to compete in this event.

His answer?

He loves skateboarding.

It's inspiring to watch athletes who give their whole heart and soul to their sport, not for a paycheck or fame, but for the love of the game. They play through pain and injury, because they can't bear not to.

That's a beautiful thing. It reminds me why I love sports.

Mrs. The Husband

I got a birthday card from one of the husband's sisters today. It was addressed to "Mrs. The Husband"

Ugh. 

Really? Is this the 1950s?

I am not Mrs. The Husband.

Mrs. if you must, otherwise, it had better be me. 

Much love to the husband, but I'm not the little woman type. I don't fall in line and stand behind my man. My man can stand at my side or behind me!

Sigh. 

The husband just laughed when he saw the address label. He knows what's what.

Sometimes, You Can't Stop the Crazy

Here's the thing, my closet is very organized. There is a system at work, people. 

I have a U-shaped walk in closet with space to hang clothes all around the U and a place for folded clothes above it. There is also a tiny little hanging area at the entrance to the closet above the U. 

My pants are all folded. Jeans on the right. Non-denim pants and shorts on the left. Flannel and comfy pants at the base of the U. Gym clothes on the umlaut. 

My shirts are all hung up, arranged by color and sleeve length. 

My shoes are arranged so that winter shoes are on the left and summer shoes and commonly worn all-weather shoes are on the right. 

Each shirt has a specific type of hanger that it uses. When that shirt is in the laundry, its hanger goes on the umlaut. 

What?

I said I had a system. 

Tonight, after I got home from the gym, I was in the middle of changing clothes and for no particular reason I decided to reorganize the free hangers on the umlaut. They are now arranged by type (plastic with indents in the shoulders, plastic with hooks, plastic without hooks or indents, free hangers (the kind you get from the store that list your size on them)) and color. 

That's right. Tonight I stood in my closet, wearing nothing but my shorts and a sports bra with my gym shirt STILL IN MY HANDS, rearranging the hangers. 

About halfway through I realized how weird doing that was. Yet, I still didn't stop. It would have driven me crazy, at that point to leave it. Short drive, I know. 

Sometimes, I wonder if I have even a passing acquaintance with "normal."

Breaking Bad News with Baby Animals

After the Staff meeting today, Fargo came by my cubicle. Fargo's a pretty cool guy, but usually he only drops by to discuss business. Not today. Today was my lucky day.

He brought by a postcard book called "Breaking Bad News with Baby Animals"

This is fucking brilliant! Beware baby animals from now on people, because from this point onward, I'm breaking all my bad news with a baby animal.

Who could be upset by receiving a postcard saying "You don't matter", when it's accompanied by a little kitten? Mew. Mew.

"You're not the father", when it's accompanied by two adorable little ducklings?

Is there any bad news that can't be counteracted with the cuteness of baby animals?

One of my favorites was a bulldog puppy that says "You were a mistake" Fargo and I discussed sending that one through interoffice mail to a co-worker who really gets on our nerves and signing it "XOXO Love, Mom"

Of course since neither of us particularly wants to get fired, we're not going to do that. Um, it might be a little mean too. Especially since that particular dude isn't very bright, he might not realize it wasn't from his momma. Ha!

(That dachshund is so adorable, even if he does seem a little creepy pimpin' with that caption)

I seem to be writing about correspondence a lot lately.

What can I say? I like written correspondence. It's unfortunate for you that you'll never know if I'm going to pick you up or slap you down.

Am I going to tell you you're terrific or that I'm banging your wife?

It's like a mini-mystery in every envelope.

I like to think that it takes a lot of talent to make the mail scary.

Terrific

I think I've mentioned before that there is a Life's Little Instructions poster above my dentist's chair. Most of the "instructions" are pretty annoying, some... some I take to heart.

For example, "Send lots of Valentine's Day cards. Sign them 'Someone who thinks your terrific'"

I think that's a great/ridiculous idea, only I don't want to wait until stinking Valentine's Day. No, I'm going to implement this plan now. I'm going to buy a bunch of cards and send them out to people. No return address. No nothing. Just "Someone who thinks you're terrific" (I'm going to go ahead and spell you're correctly though, hopefully that doesn't ruin it) I may even dot an i with a little heart or add an exclamation point. We'll see. I've got to keep it real. 

If you know me and I know your address, you're probably getting a card.

If you read this blog and I don't know your address, leave it on the comments or send me an email (quartergoddess@yahoo.com) and I'll send you a card, too. Because, you're probably pretty terrific and everybody deserves to be told so every now and again.

Plus, I think it's funny. (Don't worry, I'll still mean it)

I thought about picking some random names out of the phone book and sending them cards. It seems like it would be nice to get a card out of nowhere that told me I was terrific. But, then again it would drive me nuts not to know who sent it. Plus, what if I accidentally caused some poor couple to break up because they couldn't figure out who would send their significant other a card about how terrific they are? 

I wouldn't want that on my conscience. On the other hand, they really should have a little more faith in their partner. 

Cards for everybody!

Signed,

Someone who thinks you're terrific

Naked Laundry

You know what's annoying about doing laundry? It's never done. I'm always wearing clothes which at the end of the day, go right in the laundry basket. 

Anybody else ever feel like just doing the laundry naked? You know, so when you're done, you're done. Every item of clothing in the house is officially clean. 

Please! You know you've thought the same thing. 

P.S. You may want to avoid my house on laundry day. 

Or not. Naughty bird.

Inappropriate Laughter

So, the thing is I hate feet. I think they are gross. My sister used to chase me around and threaten to touch me with hers. I hate her feet. They're not particularly gross or anything, but I don't want them touching me. Ever. EVER. 

But, sometimes when you practice yoga, you have to touch your feet. For example, today the yoga instructor had us doing the happy baby pose, supposedly it's good for your back. 

At the end of every session there is a period called savasana, which for those of you who don't practice yoga is at the end of class where you just sort of lie there with your eyes shut and relax. You're not supposed to think about anything but your breath. Today's yoga instructor likes to do what they call an "assist." It's basically where she rubs some aromatherapy stuff on her hands and she sort of pushes on your shoulders, moves your neck around and sort of massages your scalp a bit. 

It smells good and it's relaxing. Usually. Today, all I could think is that she touched her feet with those hands and is now rubbing my hair with them. Which logically should have grossed me out, but instead made me want to giggle. A lot. I'm pretty sure that goes against the enlightened, zen sort of attitude that we're supposed to take during savasana, so I tried very, very hard to keep it under control. 

And I was very nearly successful at that. 

Poor woman. 

Someday, I'll be a grown up and I won't laugh at inappropriate stuff. Um, maybe.

Cleaning Out My Closet

Finally! Finally, I got around to cleaning out my closet. It's been a long time coming. The herd needed to be culled. It didn't really take that long, but I was surprised at how hard it was. Not hard physically, hard emotionally. 

Some items were pretty easy: it doesn't fit, I never really cared for it all that much in the first place, into the Charity bag it goes. Bing. Bang. Boom. Done. 

Other items were harder. I bought that sweatshirt in Canada on a spring break trip with the husband. We had a really good time and were really happy. I wore that dress to Snoop and DaisyDuke's wedding. Sist-A gave me that shirt for Christmas. Those used to be my favorite pants, I wandered all over the U of M in them. I never thought I'd fit into them again. That was my favorite t-shirt. It made me feel good about myself at a time when I very rarely felt pretty. 

I've always been a bit of a sentimental type, more than most people realize. I wanted to put them back in my closet, so I could wrap myself up in those memories whenever I felt like it. That way they would never be able to slip away. 

But, that's ridiculous. They're just clothes, right? As I placed each sentimental item in the bags (there were far too many to keep), I kept telling myself, it's a good thing. This will go to someone who needs this. I won't wear it because it doesn't fit anyway. Let it go. This is a good thing. 

Even so, there were a few things I couldn't bring myself to part with. Not yet.

My high school track shirts, my prom dress, my Rainbow Falls jacket, a sweatshirt I got in Hawaii, a t-shirt I got when we went on vacation with mr. blume and manricor in Las Vegas, a red dress my dad bought me when I was a little girl. 

At the end of the day, it feels good to get rid of those things. I don't need them sitting around, gathering dust and taking up space. It feels cleaner and lighter. I can see all the clothes I actually wear now, and as an added bonus, the Great Hanger Crisis of 2009 is over. 

That's Super.

Today, I team taught a class for work. I taught the class with J.J., the self-proclaimed "third funniest person at {company where I work}". 

We're required, as instructors, to hand out reviews so that all the shiny, pretty people taking our class can give us feedback. 

From one girl in particular, J.J.'s feedback was, "funny, very informative"

My feedback from the same girl, "super funny, very helpful"

J.J. was a little distraught about this "super" business. 

It was a momentary setback though as he quickly decided that it was simply possible that I was the "first or second funniest person at {company where I work}". 

Doesn't bode very well for my company. 

So, I got that going for me, which is nice. 

That's Love

This is Milo. He's my dog. My littlest dog, my baby. We went for a walk together tonight. He gets so excited when he knows that he's going to get to go. His feet prance. It's adorable. 

He's a tough little bugger, but sometimes he gets tired when we go on walks together. Sometimes, he just needs a little rest. So, sometimes I carry him for a little bit. 

People may laugh at us, but that's what you do for the ones you love. You pick them up and carry them when they are tired. 

And, of course, when they wiggle their butts you know they're okay to carry on by themselves again. 

But, What Does It All Mean?

I heard this quote today, 

"You can't find the meaning because you're looking for it. Meaning isn't something you find. It's something you give."

I like that. I like things that put the control back in my hands. For better or worse, it's about the choices I make. It means what I let it, or perhaps even make it mean. 

My life. My choice. My meaning.

I like that. 

Roadkill

I have a 45 minute drive to work everyday, so I see a lot of roadkill on a day-to-day basis. Today, I saw a family of raccoons that had all been run over. There were three of them, they had all died within 2 or 3 feet of each other.

Makes my heart sad.

Score!

Mark your calendars.

Sunday, July 26th is the Demolition Derby at the Green County Fair. Boo-yah!

Happy birthday to me!

Just the Picture

They've added a glass balcony to the Sears tower. Just looking at the picture makes me a little queasy and makes my knees go kind of weak. Heights from airplanes don't bother me. Hell, jumping out of an airplane didn't bother me. The idea of standing on that glass ledge makes me want to throw up a little bit. 

Wait, what?

Over the weekend, the husband and I took a holiday to Milwaukee with the usual round of suspects (mr. blume, manricor, Snoop and DaisyDukes) We went to the Strawberry Festival in Cedarburg during the day and a dinner cruise at night for all you can eat tacos and margaritas. 

As a side note: This was the night I learned that all-you-can-eat means probably-don't-want-to-eat. And there is a vast difference between tequila and "tequila"

After a fun, but long day, Snoop, DaisyDukes, the husband and I headed over to our hotel to get some much desired sleep. (manricor and mr. blume shacked up with her sister)

You would think that this is where the fun ended, but you would be wrong. You would be so, so very wrong. It was where it all began.

The husband booked us for one night at the Quality Inn in Brookfield. (Should've stayed at the La Quinta?) I can't remember the time exactly, but I think we got to the hotel just past midnight. 

We had already called them earlier and told them that we would be checking in late, so we weren't particularly concerned at that point. There were two men behind the desk when the husband went up to check in. Once they looked up our reservation, the two guys exchanged a look. 

"Um, we just need to make sure that your room is ready," the first guy behind the desk said. 

Wait, what? It's past midnight. Why would our room not be ready?

The husband said as much, while DaisyDukes and I were laughing at the ridiculousness of the situation. I tried to stop because it seemed mildly rude, but seriously, why would our room not be ready? The first guy sent the second guy to make sure that our room was ready and assured us that "everything was okay." 

Summerfest was going on in Milwaukee last weekend, so there weren't any other hotels to be had. We really didn't have a better option than to wait for our room to be ready. 

While I was attempting to get ahold of myself, the husband was making conversation with the guy behind the desk who we learned was from Bulgaria. 

This is my favorite part of their conversation, to the best of my recollection:

Bulgaria: I like Wisconsin because it is social.

The husband: Yeah, like us right now.

(Note: Social - pertaining to, or characterized by friendly companionship or relations) 

Bulgaria: Um, yah. You can get free healthcare and cheap medication in Wisconsin. 

(Note: Social - pertaining to activities designed to remedy or alleviate certain unfavorable conditions of life in a community, esp. among the poor)

The husband: Huh? Oh, right.

Bulgaria: It's good, when you are poor like us. 

The husband, completely deadpan: I like free drugs. Do you like drugs?

After about 15 minutes of this, our room was finally "ready". Snoop and DaisyDukes might or might not have slept in a dirty bed on dirty pillows. (Happy Anniversary guys!) Plus, I'm not sure, but I think there might have been a family of Bulgarian refugees sleeping in our box springs. It's hard to fit in there, so it would explain why they needed so much time to get our room ready. 

But, when you're poor like us, what else can you expect?