The Natural

Wednesday we arrived around 12:30pm. We sat down to a very well cooked southern meal. Best greens I ever had, real mac & cheese, biscuits, ham, etc.

After lunch, we dressed up in hunting gear: brush pants, shirts, orange vests with pockets full of 12-gauge shells. We left the cases on the jeeps, so we could get more (and boy did we). We split up into 2 groups with 1 guide each. Our guide was fully aware that it was my first time hunting. He didn't know it was my 2nd time holding a loaded gun, but maybe it was better he didn't! I was pretty afraid I was going to shoot a person, dog, or get shot myself.

Basically, when hunting quail, the dogs sniff out "covets" of birds. Quail are about the size of a baseball. Once the dog gets a hit, they freeze letting us know that there is a bird, usually within 2-3 feet, often times well under 1 foot away. We position ourselves on either side of the guide as he stomps, flushing the bird. The bird flies up and *POW* ... shots fired.

It rained on us pretty good Wednesday afternoon for about an hour. Thursday the weather was perfect. The lodge facility was really nice. Almost like a resort! We had the whole place to ourselves.

It was a very interesting experience. Shooting was fun, the hunt was fun. Killing, not so much. I picked up one bird that I knew was completely toast. It's guts were hanging out, and when I picked it up I could feel the warmth of its body. After that, I just left the picking up of birds to the guide and the dogs. If a bird wasn't dead, the guide would snap its neck, or whack it on a tree.

In any event, all told, we shot over 200 birds in a day and a half. The preserve processes them, so we left with bags full of vacuum sealed skinned birds, just like they came from the grocery store.

I would have had more fun shooting skeet. I did have a good time overall though. They said they were impressed that I was such a good shot for my first time. Our guide said I "sure could knock 'em down." I explained I practiced by playing duck hunt.

-Dude

Animal Puss

One of my neighbors got the animal a toy for the holidays. It's basically a little monkey that plays an audio clip when you push a button.

I should really record it and upload the song. I think it's comparable to what they play in standoff situations to drive the combatants out of their minds. If you couldn't tell, I live on the extreme edge of sanity, another hour of this and I'll be pushed over.

The best part is, for the neighbors dogs, I got one of those silent squeakers. This is some kind of sick fucking joke. I'm going to hide this shrieking fucker in the closet, so I don't have to deal with a crying dog who will stop at nothing to get this little monkey.

-Dude

I Shot a Gun Once

I was raised to be afraid of guns. In my mind they're like dynomite, highly volatile, could go off at any moment. Death weapons.

A few years back, at least 3 or 4+ now, a coworker of mine took me to the local gun range. He had a .22 rifle, and it was actually pretty fun. I came home wanting a gun, knowing it wasn't right for me. Never acted on it.

If I had purchased a gun at that time, I probably would have shot one of my cycling friends, but that's another story alltogether.

In any event, in a few minutes a coworker and I are being picked up to go quail hunting. I was coaxed into agreeing about a month ago. At the time, I figured I'd check it out, hang with the boys and get a few days off work! I'm mixed on the subject. I eat meat, I love the shit out of it. I think my reservation comes from seeing an animal die. Watching it twitch, take its last breath. I get hungup on that. I hear that the dogs usually bring back the birds dead.

This is probably MORE humane though. Animals that didn't spend 100% of their life in a box. They'll be used 100%, no waste. This is a good thing, if I can get over it.

One of my biggest fears is that I'll like it. My coworkers hunt deer, quail and turkey. Rifles, shotguns, bow & arrow. Any excuse to throw up the cammo and head out to the woods. I hope I don't turn into a redneck. I did drive the truck in today though, for effect.

Oh well. I'm pretty good at paintball and counter-strike. I even practiced a little old school nintendo duck-hunt online yesterday.

-Dude

Lazy (Holi)Days

Bah humbug!

Ahhh. Now that I've got that out of the way. I don't like big holidays or birthdays. Instead, if I'm allowed (as in no one all over my shit) ... I like to disappear into a little cocoon of nothingness. Me, the animal, some chinese food, ice cream, and TV on the couch until I pass out.

Is that so wrong?

My family has never been big on gifts and that's the main reason for the holidays, right? And some guy was born, or something, ahhh it all gets lost in translation.

But I do loveeee saying:

Happy Merry Chrismahanukwanzikah!!!

-Dude

Riding Is Dangerous - Life is Precious

There's a local cyclist email group that I'm a member of. This morning one of them posted the following link: http://www.mokahousekills.com.

Nineteen year old Kyle Forth was killed just 12 days before his 20th birthday. He was killed when Len Kowalewich turned left, obstructing Kyle's forward momentum. Len has never shown any remorse, nor has he offered his condolences to the Forths.

Life is not to be taken for granted. We have it now, but for how long is anyone's guess. I wrote to the Forth's:

Duane and Ann,

Just wanted to write and send my condolences and let you know that your link made it down here to [Here], FL on a local cyclist [...] group.

I hope in the future lawmakers and policicians around the world will wise up and make taking the life of a cyclist a more serious offense.

Sincerely,
-[Dude]

I thought about not sending it ... but if I lost a child, I would want to know that they were being remembered. The link made quite a trip; over 3000 miles. Kyle's father wrote back:

Hello [Dude],

Thank you for your kind words.

I did not then, or even still now, grasp the full implication, but Crown Counsel (prosecutor) said to us as we were leaving that in his judgement His Honour (Judge Quantz) had in effect created a new law that could come to be known as "Kyle's Law". I could be wrong but the gist as I understand it is that since cyclists are so much more vulnerable than drivers, drivers owe them greater consideration than other vehicles and if they deny them their rights the penalties would be stiffer.

That something positive could have come from that trial is a huge surprise and somewhat heartening.

The only thing that saved Mr. Kowalewich from the max penalty was his relatively clean driving record. It sure wasn't his remorse (there wasn't any, and because of that my opinion of him being human garbage was strengthened).

Ride Safe
Duane

May your children never pass before you do.

-Dude

Epiphany Again

Last night, after I got home from WORK at around 10:30pm, I called up Nipples. She was waiting for my call, as we had a serious game of cards to finish up. The gauntlet was thrown earlier in the evening after I cooked her dinner and scored 215 to 40 in single round of rummy. I should have bet a bj.

In any event, the occasion for dinner was her brand spankin' new job offer. Nice little raise; more money is always nice. I am constantly reminded: I have not had a raise in almost 3 years.

WHAT THE FUCK?! Maybe that's why my work ethic is so piss-poor. Maybe that's why I spend all day reloading CNN, various blog sites and stuipd forums. I should be making at least 10-20k more than I do. I used to be ahead of the game, above the clouds, the little fucking prodigy with the real job, real money, real head start. Oh how the tables have turned, now I'm underpaid and everyone else is advancing. I've been spinning my wheels for 3 fucking years.

I even get offers from friends sometimes; "Hey man, you gotta come check out this gig, I can get you in, big bucks, and in your area of expertise." I always blow it off. I'm stuck spinning my wheels, in that fake comfort zone.

But really my work ethic isn't piss poor. I'm a perfectionist. My shit don't stink. Maybe it's --- I don't know the word. Basically I come in and procrastonate, but when I lay the smack down, things get done. The other day a coworker was working on something for just over 2 hours. He finally asked me for help and I fixed it in 30 seconds. So the way I see it: If I work for 2 minutes a day, that's the equivalent of his 8 hours. Bada-bing!

Ahhh fuck it's 11:30 ... suppose I should put a real 1/2 hour in before lunch!

-Dude

Bored.

I need a new career.

I'm sitting here, in my own office ... the room is a funny ass shape, but it's about 14x10. I have a bad ass dell PC, sporting dual 19" LCD's ...

I have a bottle of tupelo honey, a shitload of bazooka joe comics from all the gum I've been chewing recently ... a sweet, blue LED binary clock ... a little plaque with my name on it, some bad ass coasters and a shelf system full of books I've only ever seen the binder of.

Basically, I've got time, sweets and stature. I've got unrestricted internet. That in itself would make most people cream in their office.

I don't get much done. Sure, I'm smart, I know what's up. I'd fire my ass. I need motivation. My boss isn't motivated for himself, for his company ... why should I bail him out?

I really just think that last year when I was working over 10 hours a day between two gigs, I totally burned myself out. I was laying the smack down and it was pretty fucking sweet. I was bangin' shit out left and right, and making a KILLING $$$$$CHA-CHING$$$$$.

Ahhhh 11:15 ... lunch can't get here soon enough.

-Dude

Wicked Pissa

u·ri·nate (yʊr'ə-nāt') pronunciation
intr.v., -nat·ed, -nat·ing, -nates.

To excrete urine.

Aka: make, piddle, puddle, micturate, piss, pee, pee-pee, make water, relieve oneself, take a leak, spend a penny, wee, wee-wee, pass water

I have to pee like a race horse; but I won't. I'm not gonna give up that easily. Sometimes when I have to drain the ole lizarooski, I like to hold it as long as I can. I've been warned by a seasoned medical professional that if you run into some trauma (eg Car Accident) with a full bladder, it can pop. Which of course we all know is a VERY BAD thing.

In any event. Right now I have to piss something fierce. I'm going to force myself to hold out for at least another 10 minutes.

When I drink, I hate "breaking the seal." I'll wait all night if I can. By the time I finally let it all hang out, it's almost orgasmic. Maybe that's why I'm doing this. I like it?

Ahhhh I'm gonna go piss now. Yeah baby, yeaahhhhh!

-Dude

Hair Be Gone

Veet is by far the best hair removal product I have used yet. Expensive shit when you're removing hair from 4 extremities once a week. I found the mecca of hair removal though: Veet 3 pack for $13 at Sams Club.

Oh how sweet it is. $19 worth of Veet for $13!? Yee-fuckin-haww. Recently they decided to stop carrying it. And now I can't find this little golden nugget anywhere. I'm going to have to write Reckitt Benckiser and ask where I can get my fix!

I'm not sure if I'd get my arms and legs done, but I would pay just about anything to do my back. Yeah, I'd probably do my arms and legs anyways, just 'cause it would save me a lot of time and money in the long run.

Midge got the area right around her freaking butt-hole done. I thought that was a little over the top, but hey, she's a crazy bitch anyways. I don't think I'd ever trust anyone with a laser around my anus ... but wow.

What I really need to do is drop 80k on one of those laser machines, do myself, then open a hair removal salon and PROFIT! Maybe tomorrow.

-Dude

Migraine? WTF

My uncle gets migraines. My ex used to swear she'd get migraines. When she felt one coming along, she'd close herself in her room, lights off, and burrow under the covers. Next thing you know I'm being volunteered to go get soda, or ice cream, or pizza, whatever. But that's another story; How I Got Fat. *smirk* Clownface fucker.

That's all in the past. Today, around 11am, something in me snapped. I got a little vertigo, not uncommon, happens to me a few times a year, often in front of the computer. Then, out of nowhere, I get a headache. It's growing. It becomes out of control. My left eye feels like it's going to pop out; sooo much pressure. I'm neaseaus. Fucking A, this is what a migraine feels like.

I suck it up for about an hour, hoping it will all pass. Maybe I'm low blood sugar. After some canned green beans and a cookie ... I'm still knockin' on death's door, from the inside out.

Maybe it's a tumor. Yeah right ... it is not a tumah. Nah, it's a migraine, and it's still killing my spirits.

On my way home, I pickup some excedrin for migraines. I'm talking with a dude and he's explaining that it could be sinus pressure. After the weather yesterday, and my slight congestion today, he's probably right.

All I know is, 2 excedrines and 3 hours on the couch later ... I'm a new man. I still feel light headed, like you do when you stay home sick ... but the pounding and pain is gone, and boyyyyy am I thankful.

Pussy headaches are enough to piss me off anyways, the last thing I need is another migraine.

-Dude

Post Secret

I'm addicted to post secret. I check it first thing every Monday, and that's if I don't sneak in before I go to bed in the wee hours.

This is my mom. No I don't think my mom sent it in, she's probably never seen the site.

BIPOLAR: About 10 years ago now, she flipped out, in a good way. Real spiritual, talking a ton of nonsense. Adverse reaction to a prescribed "cocktail" of medicine. Ten years and one additional "relapse" later, she's working, and life for her is as normal as it's going to get.

She's not my mom anymore. She's this blob of a human being. She can get up for work. She goes to work. She comes home and watches TV or reads, or sits on the computer.

She was so beautiful, and medicine has her thoughts reduced to nothing. Sunday, after the race, I'm riding around cooling down, thinking to myself how fortunate I am, about how much I take for granted. Monday morning, after reading the post secret, I'm humbled even more. It's really not fair how some people experience life different than others for better or worse, with no rhyme or reason.

-Dude

Let's Play A Game Called I WIN ... Again

Sounds like rain.
Nahhhh, probably just palm trees in the wind, like last time.
hmmm.
Must just be the humdrum of the freeway. Yeah, the freeway.

Shit. Rain. This is gonna----ROCK!!! I duck out the room onto the wet pavement of the 2nd floor walkway. Throwing jabs left and right ... *jab*jab*duck*jab* ... Let's do this! I'm running around in my boxers talking to my race-partner ... getting jacked up.

You really have to get pumped to succeed. Accomplishment is a result, the road to success is a string of results chained together by determination and persistence. A lovely day in Florida, low 50's, rain. Time to step up Dude.

The rain stopped as we arrived at the course. It was getting cooler. The race starts. I'm so glad that it's the last race, but I can't show my excitement until after I clench the title.

The first lap is always tough. About 3 miles into it, you start to realize that you're dying and that it's only 1/6th complete. Fifteen more miles of cold hell. Suck it up pussy.

The course was brutal. Killer climbs, mud, rocks, the usual stuff most jerkoffs don't expect to see in Florida. They've never been on this course.

Second lap, about 1/3 of the way through, I need some help. I reach down and remind myself how powerful the human mind is. My mind tells me that I feel pain, and I convince my mind that I do not feel pain. The pain is gone.

My mind wants me to give up, I convince my mind that I need to intensify my efforts.

I am a surgeon. The bike is my scalpel. Countless hours of training and preparation have led this moment, I am operating. This is my race, my season, and no one can take it from me. Back to reality for a moment: I'm going just over 15 mph darting through the woods, weaving back and forth like it's nothing. No pain, no heavy breathing.

Out of the corner of my eye, I catch a lady standing on the side of the course. She's cheering me on. I smile, not sure of my recent volume, who cares, bitch, I'l beat you too. A few minutes later I pass a rider on the side of the trail. He's nursing a flat tire; I've been there. Sucks for you. Zip*Zoom*SeeYa!

With just under 3 miles left, I reach one of the toughest parts of the course. I crest a monster climb. As I weave around, I see my competition. He can't be more than 30 seconds back. I need to intensify my efforts.

We wrap back and forth a few times. I'm going to get in his head. "Yeah [buddy] let's finish this, let's hammer home for a strong finish dawg!!!" ... or some bullshit like that; it just flows from my mouth. It's encouraging right? I'm a good guy? Not so much, he now knows I'm over 30 seconds ahead, I'm un-winded enough to yell at him with a calm, loud, fully enunciated voice ... and there's little he can do to reclaim that in the next 2 miles. I put another minute over him. I'm a surgeon, my mind and words are my scalpel.

I cross the finish line and collapse. When do we eat!? It's still cold, worse now because I'm so sweaty. Steam is pouring out my jersey and off my head. Reminds me of my hockey days, but that's another story.

It's finally over, again. Hard work pays off sometimes; savor it. While others may congratulate you, the effort is for yourself. You did it, you earned it, you deserve it. YOU should enjoy it. Training starts again in two weeks.

-Dude

May I Speak With The Manager Please

Before a race, you need consistency. Some people have a ritual. They eat the same things, the same way, at the same time, before every race. Lucky socks and unwashed bandanas. Whatever.

So this weekend we're at Olive Garden, again. This is our 4th time at the same location this season, we're VIP by now. OG isn't the best, but their chicken parm is damn decent when you're out of town for a race; consistent. We sneak up to the bar because you can get food (and drinks) ASAP instead of waiting in the 45 min line.

There's an African American woman eating alone one bar-table over from us. We're talking about this 'black' rider that we saw today on the pre-ride, that we hadn't seen in a long while. About 20 minutes later, the solo-diner is ready to leave, and as she pays her bill, she asks to speak to the manager. I'm sure the waiter loves this part of the job. I'm wondering if she's going to complain about our RACIST remarks. Of course, we just identified her as the black chick, and were talking about what a GOOD rider she was, but whatever, suppose it's my guilty conscience.

Manager rolls around about 15 mins later, at which point I figure the real carnage will begin. And she explains to him that she had wonderful service and just thought he should know.

WTF?! No complaint?! No $ off the bill!? NO FREE MEAL!?!?! That was awesome. We should all find ways to give praise more often. The world is full of too much negativity and loathe. Shit-for-brains and I usually leave our praise in the form a tip, but sometimes hearing it means so much more.

-Dude

Ladies and Gentlemen, I'm an Asshole?

Sure, I'm a dickwad around my friends. I don't take a lot of things too seriously. On the other hand, sometimes I do take things too seriously.

Yesterday at work, one of the guys made a comment about how I only care about myself. I was a little flabberghasted by it. He's one of my best friends, a member of the inner circle of trust. He's as stubborn as I am most of the time, but we're good friends. How could he say that?

I don't always talk about myself. I listen once in a while. I give good advice (except with stocks eh Fish). I am genuine, and can honestly say that I care about the well being of others. Fuck, not considerate of others. I have a conscience, more so than most people.

But to hear one of my best friends say something like that, then stick to his guns when I laugh like he's kidding. That was fucking cold. Don't hate my ass 'cause you stopped cycling and gained weight while I marched on through to 2 fucking championships. Don't get mad at me 'cause I spend all my money on biking shit while you spend yours on 12-gauges and deer sausage processing. Eat my asshole fucker.

The thing that sparked it was a fucking amazing email I got from a writer who's been following the series. It was beyond flattering. I was floored, speechless. After I gained my composure, I strutted around the office like the damn stud I am. I think that's when the jealous crew pitched a tent in my parade.

I'll write about the awesome email some other time. I don't want to taint it with this bullshit.

Off to make dinner. Yeeha.

-Dude

I'm An Ass.

People want what they can't have.

Dinner Tuesday was good. We went out, ate, drank a little, had a good time. What's missing? I don't know!?! I always thought she was pretty, and was somewhat intrigued by her (especially after I nicknamed her Nipples). Of course now that I know she jocks my shit, and I can woo her, I'm scared.

Scared that I'll hurt her. Scared that I'll get sucked into a committed relationship.

Isn't that what I want? Someone to travel with, enjoy new experiences with, lay in bed next to on a rainy day; a companion, a partner.

I'm afraid of commitment. That's for sure. I knew I was afraid of rejection, since I rarely set myself up for it. Of course once I get passed the fact that I'm not going to be rejected, I realize I'm afraid of everything; rejection, messing up a good thing, and commitment. I'm screwed.

Every time I tell myself I'm going to adapt back to my completely single, content lifestyle, I do something stupid, like get some chick hooked on my goods.

I'm going to go with the flow, but I'm pretty apprehensive.

-Dude

Most Crazy Dream Ever

BEGIN CRAZY DREAM
----------------
I'm driving my truck. It feels like I'm in South Florida, maybe McNab heading East, somewhere between SR7 and Powerline, it's a long straight stretch of road that begs for speed.

I'm about 200 yards from a stop light, there's plenty of traffic. Suddenly from overhead, a HUGE object catches my eye. It's a plane. It looks like the tip of the tail is missing, and it's coming in very slow, East bound. The tail end is down and to the left, surely it's just far away and it's going much faster than it looks.

Next thing you know it hits the ground and there's a gigantic explosion. I'm not sure what the other cars are doing, I'm focused on what I can't believe is happening. The fuseloge somehow has "bounced" (this is a dream, physics does not apply) and is coming back in MY direction. I maneuver the truck off onto a sidewalk, I swear it feels like a close call as the huge flaming fuseloge flies by. I breathe a sigh of relief. I still can't believe this.

Next ... two nasa-like-booster rockets come down about a mile away in perfect sync, smashing into the earth and resulting in another huge fireball. My stomach and chest tense up like on 9-11-2001. I'm in such shock I don't know what to do.

Then, a big green flameball shoots straight down from the sky, way off in the distance, and lets off a gigantic glowing green flash, it lasts about 2 seconds.

Now for the unbelievable shit. It gets dark and I notice that the moon is visibly moving. It gets faster and faster, still traveling in orbit. Then I realize, there's about 8 moons now. All very large, normal looking. All are speeding up and begin to move pretty good. I reach for my phone to call Kitty. He's in another state, so I was going to be like "do you believe this shit bro!?!" ... but of course my phone wasn't working too hot. At the same time, my truck shuts off and all the street lights go out. This is bad.

Next thing you know, the front of my truck starts raising off the ground, we're goin' 0 grav baby. Then my alarm went off.

----------------
END CRAZY DREAM

Ok sure, I had a little short number about non-existent movie with Matt Damon and Dennis Quaid. I was following Matt like a camera, then somehow I am in his shoes. I'm in Paris, France ... good ole Quaid is my pops, and we're eating dinner. He's a real clown. Next thing you know I'm in 3rd person mode again following Damon as he runs away. Ahhh that's what happens when you catch the tail end of "In Good Company" before bed.

-Dude

Confused? Of course yesnot!

People who know me know I rarely date. Mostly because I'm a complete whimp. I'm not sure if it's a fear of rejection or what. I really just don't even know what to say most of the time when I'm interested in someone.

So I hit a rare moment. In a moment of sheer comedic brilliance, I ask a female, a real, human, damn decent looking lass out for drinks, and holy fuckballs, she accepts! Two real eyes and no walker!? I pinched myself a few times for effect, but I didn't wake up, I wasn't dreaming.

We meet up, out, for drinks. Everything seems cool, have a good chat, talk about this and that, good eye contact, little playful exchange goin' on both sides. She's comfortable, I'm getting there. For a system that never gets used, it seems like it's all go, full steam ahead. She says she's having a great time. I get a hug, and basically feel like I just got laid.

Rather than wait the ole 36-48-72 hours (not to be confused with 36-28-38), I go for gold, since it went so well and all. I call and leave a boneheaded message. Typical. As I try to re-record, I get flustered, or something, I can't remember exactly. Next thing you know the answering lady is saying "goodbye." #!$%#$!@##@!!!!! Ahhhh I'm having a moment. It's over, nothing I can do. I'm pretty sure I left one, but who knows. Shoot me now, no now, yes and now again. Once more, make sure this horse is dead.

Moving along, almost a week goes by, and nothing. WTF mate!? As I relive the evening over and over, it turns from great, to good, to ok, to eh, to not-so-hot to oh shit. Ahhhh fuck it. I'm the fucking man, the dude, the king cheese and the guy in front of the guys who are behind the guy (that's me again). I'm a fucking stud, and there's no way this bitch isn't gonna give me the time of day again. She must not have received the message.

I email. I did it in a moment of despair, hence the stench of wuss oozes from every letter. Ahhhh 24 hours later she writes back. I know she got it within the hour, she's online all damn day; but who's counting. I got the blowoff email. She might be going out of town for the weekend, yada yada, no suggestion for another time, blah blity blah blah. Ego ... shrinking ...

I reach for help. To the grand master. With his player brainwaves, and my English skills ... I whip up a little ditty and fire off a much better email. She won't be able to resist. It's fool proof. I don't care if the world IS full of idiots, this will work. I puff out my bird chest and we're back to the races baby. I saw her that night (long story short there's a community event we're both required to attend).

I'm my usual self: funny, obnoxious, .... uhm ... funny, obno---whatever. I was on fire. Another chick invites everyone out for drinks after. A few of us go, Ms Muffet says she'll be there after a quick errand. She never shows. Bleh. While out, we're talking about singles in the group, and another guy suggests she's tainted goods. I'm all ears, since I'd like to play cops and robbers with her.

He says she just got out of some long term relationship, and she's damaged goods. She didn't elude to this, but hey, I'm getting insider info.

It's 4 days later and I still haven't heard mierda (that's shit en espanol). Ahhhh ... why is it that when you can't have something, you want it more?

She's not even all that; decent looking, smart, funny, never speaks, can't cook worth a lick, probably just lays there on her back, for all of about 5 minutes before she asks if you're almost done. Never speaks at our meetings, daddy'$ girl. Though smart and cute, she's not self made.

I wonder what it is about me. That's what it comes down to. I knew before we went out we're not long-term-compatible. I knew enough about her already to make that decision. But for cryin' out loud, let us come to that conclusion together, humor me. Call me back. What was it!? I didn't burp, fart, embarass you, nothin'. I'm a NICE GUY. That's what you're looking for ... the guy who goes "that's her" ... well that's me! YO!

Femalse are confusing little beasts:
Take chances. Tell the truth. Date someone totally wrong for you. Say no. Spend all of your money. Fall in love. Get to know someone random. Be random. Say I love you even though they may not say it back. Sing out loud. Laugh till your stomach hurts. Cry. Apologize. Tell someone that they are your entire world. Let someone know what they are missing. Live life to the fullest. Live in the moment. And remember that life is all about chances... So you might as well take them.


They post about this and that, when you are sensitive, all you attract is emotional salvage titles. Who wants a salvage title?

So I'm changing my ways. I'm not going to be so uptight about these types of things. If she ever calls or emails back, so be it. I'll see her now and then, won't avoid it, won't act weird, but we know, I know (that she's stupid, duh). I'm going to make a concerted effort to be more approachable, and do more approaching. I'm going to play scenarios on women, and see how they react. I might get bored after a few weeks, but I owe it to myself to try it. I'm rambling.

I'm goin' out tomorrow night, and it's gonna be a good time. Even if it isn't, at least I'll enjoy a nice meal and some sangría, should we get white or red? Eh, fuck it, I figure a pitcher of each will do nicely.

-Dude

The Secret To Winning Bike Races

Well, not so much. They actually say that most of the power is in your quads & hamstrings. I pedal toe-down though, and my calves are fan-fucking-tastic. I get made fun of for showing them off ... I just think everyone else is jeaous.

If you look closely, you can see where I got attacked by a shark last year ;)

Back to another Manic Monday.

-Dude

Clean Cut

I don't have any piercing or tattoos. Never have, never will. I'm the kind of person who goes balls out in whatever I do. If I were going to get a tattoo, I'd get something ridiculous; huge, colorful, unique, and HUGE HUGE HUGE ... like my sister did ^^ ... but like I said, I'm not going to.

I've always been more into scars. My current favorite is a bad ass chain-ring-bite on my left calf/heel. I was hauling ass on a night ride last year, and *bam* all of a sudden I'm on the ground looking at the stars. Apparently my left foot hit something, came out of the pedal, and went under my bike as the sudden stop threw me (and the bike) end over end. I should take a picture, it's pretty cool, and pretty big. I've been telling people (non-bikers) it's from a shark bite. I'm hardcore like that.

And as far as piercings, I think they're silly. Anyways, come to find out, this chick that digs me has a few unique ... decorative thingamawhoozies in her haha's and hoho ... It really put her in a whole different realm now. I'm like intrigued, apparently I hadn't figured her out. It's kind of a turn on.

S'pose I'll post how dinner goes.

-Dude

Second Round First Rate Beating

I race mountain bikes. I could stop there, but no; I don't have to be modest. This is my Internet, and I can say whatever the fuck I want.

I'm a champion. A two-time champion (not to be confused with two-timing)). I have taken my 3rd season by the reigns (for the 2nd time), and it's almost over, just a couple more weekends on the road, and I'm done for a while. It's been fun again. In some ways it was more fulfulling than others, and in some ways not so much.

I didn't have the mechanicals that plagued me last year. Sure, I snapped another frame, but it was worth it. I'm really looking forward to having my weekends back. I don't even know what I'm going to do with them, but they'll be mine ... ALL MINE!!! muahahaha!

Sometimes I get pretty emotional, I think it's the heat. I remember my final race last year, fighting back tears the last mile of my race, thinking to myself "fuck, I earned this, I trained and pushed and maxed out, here I am, about to take the season, I've earned it." This year, while it hasn't been so emotional, just the mental challenge to step up to the plate, and point out into left field, then actually follow through and make it happen. It takes commitment, determination, strength, power ... apparently somewhere deep down, I actually have these qualities.

In the end, it doesn't really matter who I beat or how I ended up where I am, but rather, that I made it ... and the journey is complete, and I had a great time along the way.

I wonder what kind of schwag first place gets this year!

-champ

Just Another Brick In The Wall

I get one of my friends started blogging, by introducing her to a couple GREAT blogs (waiterrant.net, postsecret). I re-read a few of my old posts, and realize, "hey, they're not so bad." Well, who am I kidding, but whatever.

SO I think about making a post, but I realize I enjoy reading other people's pathetic shits so much more than I enjoy writing about my own pathetic shits. Typing it out is like making me re-live my futile existence.

SO fuck it. Twelve hours later, here I am. Writing. It'll last at least another 10 minutes.

-Dude