Watching the Bird Watchers

Our ALC/FAH training has reached an entirely new level.

Friday night started out with me feeling like a loser for having no one to hang out with. It's on the weekends that everyone I know seems to be out of town or busy that I miss having a TV the most. So, Sunny was out to dinner with some pals and I was at home cleaning my kitchen and just about to make some bread when she called asking if I needed to be rescued. I love her.

I said 'Yogurtland', which is Criqet for 'yes' and we were on our way.

Yogurtland had coffee flavor this weekend, and suddenly, everything changed for me.

We made a bet that if we walked into Blockbuster to rent a movie (yeah, people still do that) we'd take at least an hour to decide. We then made a bet that we'd both be asleep half into the movie anyway and promptly decided that it was still worth the effort.

Public Enemies. Wasn't very good. Sunny made it 25 or so minutes and I made it about half way through. And when I say that Sunny made it 25 minutes, I really mean that she and I spent the first 20 minutes of the movieinternet stalking Chesty McHotPants (not his real name). It was here that husband training took a turn for the worse.

Fast forward to Sunday.

Really, things are blowing up. Mostly, our tires. And by blowing up, I mean they are being blown up. My favorite part of this entire adventure might just very well be watching Sunny try and pump up our tires before our Sunday ride this past weekend.

Let me reenact.

Criqet: Ummm Sunny, I don't think this is wor . . . [loud expletive].

Sunny: What happened?

Criqet: I fail at pumping up tires apparently because there is now less air in this tire and I have a blood blister from pinching my finger in the pump.

Sunny: Move.

(Now Sunny is on the floor, vigorously pumping one hand on the bike pump forward and back between her belly button and the bike tire.)

Sunny: Is it hard yet? My arm is getting tired.

Criqet: That's what she said.

Sunny: [Mental expletive]

Criqet: This is husband training Sunny. You need to develop your stamina.

Tee-Hee.

I'll just openly declare now that this past weekend was one of the most beautiful weekends So Cal has seen in a long time. 80 Degrees. Blue Skies. No Haze. Fantastic Views. Just all around perfect for being out of doors and in of nature.

So, with our forearm muscles sufficiently tired, bike pumps attached to the bike, tire tube sort of secured in bike bag, paper IDs secured in plastic bags, water bottles filled with water, shorts on and sexy back . . . we were off.

We started in Culver City and made our way to the Ballona Creek Bike Path which took us again to the marina. You know you're close because the number of water birds increases along with the smell of rotten fish. At the marina we take a water break to admire the amazing view of the snow covered mountains. That's right. It's okay to be jealous. It's no myth. We really can go surfing and snowboarding in the same beautiful 80 degree day here, if we want to.

Once through the marina, it's all beach all the time. While I am in love with this beach path, I did discover that it's hard not to run over small children while you're focused on volleyball players.
Don't worry they are all fine.

It was along this path that Sunny and I began formulating our husband requirements list so if you happen to be a short list candidate for one of our husbands (haha) listen up.

1. You don't have to look like Chesty, or act like Chesty, or dress like Chesty, or lack-of-dress like Chesty. You don't have to be shinny and sparkly all the time from the glow of your fabulous tan. You don't have to have a full head of hair and you don't have to wear those Dbag glasses he wears sometimes. All you have to do is understand that some times when we are being "intimate" I might be thinking about Chesty and not you. You cannot take offense to this. And rest assured, it's not a double standard. I will understand that sometime when we are "intimate" you'll be thinking about Chesty too. We're human, after all.

2. As Sunny so aptly put it, our husbands have to "let us be us". Simple concept but I bet a fair number of couples fail at it constantly. Letting us be us basically means that when we're both retired we might decide to go halvsies on an RV and take off for a few months to wander the Canadian outback. You may or may not be invited because we may or may not just want some space to be giggly little girls. Our license plate will read CHSTYLUV. We won't be mad when you want to go fishing in Alaska with the boys either and we wont ask any questions when you name your boat Marylin. We might be mad if you decide you want to taxidermy your kills though . . . because we'd much rather eat them.

3. I don't think Sunny and I have talked about this one yet, but it's on my list so you should know. I'm going to teach my children to play with their food. Probably not intentionally, just because it's something I do and I'm sure they'll pick it up eventually. Okay, that's kind of a lie. I'm going totally going to teach them when it is the appropriate time to fling broccoli across a crowded restaurant. It's specific and they need to know. If this bothers you I'll probably teach them to throw broccoli directly at you.

4. You have to wear a helmet when you ride your bike. Guys that don't wear helmets do not make it on the husband list because we have to assume a less than desirable IQ. It's socially irresponsible to pass on such genetics. Note: to pretty cute emo kid who was near Dockweiler with the broken chain . . . we would have stopped to help (read: flirt and try not to make matters worse) if you'd only been wearing a helmet. Your loss.

Back to our ride . . .

Somewhere in Hermosa Beach we turned around. It was sad having to turn back this week because the views were so great and because it was downhill the entire way up until that point. Sigh.

Feeling pretty on top of the world by the time we made it back to the marina and our sweet mountain views when I learned something very valuable about myself. As much as I like to watch birds, I think my real hobby is watching other bird watchers. There was a gaggle of them standing next to us on the bridge with telescopes and other fascinating technology, talking bird talk, wearing nature vests, and I about peed myself with happiness. I could have stayed there and watched them for hours, but Sunny needed lunch and ice (don't worry she's fine) and I also kind of wanted to eat.

Fast forward to Culver City - like three blocks from Sunny's house . . . stopped at a stop light . . . when for whatever magical reasons involving balance and effort caused me to fall towards my foot that is clipped into the pedals and again flail around like a stunned octopus in a four wheeler (what?). This near death [by embarrassment] causes my heart to beat faster than it has all day and gets Sunny's ab workout in as per usual. Sigh.

And then we ate.

And there you have it. Actually riding our bikes in the name of training for the second time.

This weekend, the moon!

Smart and Awesome.

Okay, you may have noticed that there wasn't a post after our epic ride last weekend. That's because I'm lazy. I'm so lazy in fact, that I didn't even go on the epic ride last weekend. Neither did Sunny.

Everything was going just fine, actually. I woke up around 8 something and got on my bike (still needs a name BTW) and rode about 8.8 miles to Sunny's house. It was a nice leisurely ride over at least three million pot holes the size of a 1972 Volkswagen Beetle. It should be noted that my posterior region was loving this ride because I decided to try and make peace with my bike shorts and had them on. It should also be noted that my ladyhood was so insulted between the potholes and the shorts that I was in tears by the time I made it to Sunny's house.

Of course, Sunny has no patience for my tears. She told me to suck it up and let's get going. And I said, sure, I just need to put some air in my tires.

Enter problem. For some magic reasons that we'll learn about later, Sunny's hand pump (hehe) was discovered incompatible with our bike tire thingy ma jigs that you put the air stuff in through.

So basically our ride became a drive to REI, which really meant a drive to the beach so we could throw some disc until REI opened.

Here is a picture of me dancing (not falling over) at the beach.

So, post beach REI love sessions involved some amazing things.

1. Sunny was able to get her Camelbak opened. I guess she doesn't know her own strength because she had been trying to open it all morning. Then I tried to open it. Once both all our thumbs were sore and tired, we tried to open it with hot water, cold water, screw drivers, knives, and even considered waking up her neighbors, all without success. Only failure. And moderate pain. It eventually took two REI strong bodied male employees, 1 bike shop and 1 giant wrench to get the thing opened. Good work Sunny.

2. A bike tire. That's right, we now own 1 bike tire between us. If we both get flats at once, we're in a bit of trouble. If not, the only problem will be figuring out how to change a bike tire.

3. A bike pump that will actually pump air into our bike tires. It's sexy and beyond good for husband training. More on this later.

4. NEW BIKE SHORTS. The capitalization of these letters hardly does justice to the joy that has come from my decision to upgrade my bike shorts. My new pair is lovable and kind and sexy*.

5. And last but certainly not least, our trip to REI (we love REI BTW) yielded the critical knowledge that Sunny's bike pump would probably have filled up our tires just fine had we actually known how to use the darn thing. Sigh. Yes, we're smart and awesome.

So all said and done our nice 3 hour bike ride ended up being a beach trip and shopping adventure that totally prepared us for this week. Which I will write about later, because it's pretty epic and is going to take some time and I'm about to go eat some sushi.





*Sexy = completely unflattering and slightly hideous to wear but still I rock out in them.

Wondeful Video about the Joys of Condoms

Sent to me from a friend: this is one of the best ads for sexual health I've ever seen. Because we live in America and can't put things like this on TV (are you listening CBS?) I will classify this as NSFW.

I will also classify this as totally safe for your teenage and maybe even tweenage children . . .

http://attitude.adforum.com/top5/2010/01/27/aides-graffiti-tbwaparis/

It's not me baby, it's you!

Friends, a number of interesting things have happened since we last conversed.

Yes, we talk.

In fact, I talk to you often, imaginary and occasionally real friends of the intertubes. More often than not, I'm recounting to you the events of the past week and asking you to weigh in on which happenings and thoughts are blog appropriate and which ones are not. Most are not. The following story is censored because I'm still testing the blogging waters. If you want to know the full extent of my experience (and you can't infer for yourself) just ask me, Sunny or Diva Thin Muffin.

Now then. I have mentioned before that I love my padded bike shorts. As it turns out they love me back. Let's just say I had quite an experience with them in Spinning class last week . . . an experience I was not prepared for and did not consent to. Now, our relationship has changed and I am uncomfortable around them, can't look them in the eye, am not willing to return phone calls, etc. I don't know yet if I can take them back.

As a slight aside: I went with option B - not adjusting the shorts when Major Cute Guy is spinning directly behind you. In retrospect I should have gone with option A and just adjusted as needed because let's face it, Major Cute Guy is already staring at my padded ass . . . how great can I really look to him? I'm such an idiot sometimes.

Why does this matter, well, because Sunny and I actually started biking this weekend. Yes! We rode our bikes. After much ado about helmets and parking and being too good for maps and such, we got on our bikes in Santa Monica and rode for two and a half hours. For me, this experience was sans padded bike shorts. Not pretty. Seriously, there are actual physical ramifications for this decision. I took the bus to work today because sitting on my bicycle was UNfun.

So there you have it. Bike riding.

Here are my initial thoughts from the ride:

1. Being outside beats being inside. There is just no way around it. It felt so nice just to ride. It was a beautiful day. People were out on the beach and in the marina, just kicking it. Nature = critical to my happiness.

2. Planning the route is overrated until you realize that you might end up at Sunny's house and could have avoided driving to Santa Monica, parking, traffic, etc. in the first place.

3. The Los Angeles river is not a pretty river. Yes, there are like a gazillion species of cool ocean and river birds but there is at least ten times as much litter and muck. It's also made of cement. It's probably a stretch that it's even called a river. But seriously Los Angelenos, WTF? How hard is it to find a trash can? Is this some bigger social problem where you really can't see the beauty that surrounds you? Is the stock of Los Angeles so low that you actually think you live in a trash can? Are you freaking kidding me? Los Angeles is amazing and it's a privilege to get to live in this city. Take care of it you assholes.

4. Shoes and Clips. I bled from the ankle for most of the ride due to one minor run in with some sweet ladies out for their morning walk. I mean, Sunny didn't want to hit the ladies so she hit her brakes so I hit my breaks and so on. The problem with fast breaking when your feet are stuck to the pedals is that you fall over. I was warned of this and thus have been living in fear of falling over for weeks. So instead of taking the fall, I decided to panic and thrash so that when I did get free of my pedal I was able to slice my ankle open on my chain and thrust my frame into my "lady parts" to the tune of a 4 inch black and blue welt. Sigh.

5. Santa Monica Farmer's Market has a bike valet. That's not my thought. It's just a cool fact that I learned. Also, I purchased two new jars of honey while at the market: California Coastal Wildflower and California Sage. Freaking BOMB. Get ready for some tasty honey based breads in the next few weeks.

And of course, I should update you on the latest news in our quest for husbands, because really that's where all the comedy is anyway.

Sunny and I went to get some sushi in Lil' Tokyo last week. Ok, ok. We went to get Yogurtland but Sunny maintained that frozen yogurt does not a dinner make and thus forced me into sushi. It was going to have worked out fine too, because we were seated next to a totally cute boy who was all alone. So we sat down and maybe it's the pheromones or maybe I gave him a weird look . . . but he immediately got up and asked to move seats. Then he came back about 15 seconds later and said "Don't worry, it's not you!" What? Excuse me? Fuck you guy. Let me guess, it's you? Ha! It's fine though, he got what was coming to him when his amazingly beautiful date showed up. That will teach him.

What did we learn? Probably should avoid telling people "It's not you." Everyone knows it's a lie. Just be honest. It's okay that you don't want to sit next to two girls who will make your date feel totally inadequate. Just say that next time, guy. The proof of the pudding is the eating. (Yes, that's the accurate phrase and it's from Don Quixote. Now you know.)