i sure do love that novocaine

If you are going to eat while half your face is still numb from the dentist, I would not recommend yogurt. I am trying to eat yogurt right now, and while I am doing an admirable job of keeping the yogurt in my mouth, only half my mouth can feel what cold is, and the other half thinks I am eating hot yogurt. It's really disturbing. HOT YOGURT.

On the bright side, I got to see before and after pictures of my own teeth blown up to massive proportions on a big plasma screen.


slow-cooked bacon

Yes! I am alive! I have stories, I've just been too lazy to blog them. I'll gradually reacclimatize you to my blog with a Random Anecdote. A long post might shock your system too much. Like jumping into ice water. Or something.


This morning I was driving to work on 94 when all of a sudden traffic got really, really slow. Turned out there was a state trooper going well under the speed limit, and by God, if he was going to go that slow then so was everybody else. Every time someone started to inch past him, he would scoot over into their lane to block them and flash his lights for a second, then go back to his own lane. Eventually, to avoid the wrath of the power-tripping trooper, everyone got into the middle lane behind him and paraded slowly down 94. The cop changed lanes; everyone behind him went with him. We all drove sedately down the interstate behind him until he got off at my exit and went to a gas station. Perhaps he was almost empty and had heard that 55mph is the most gas-efficient speed. Or perhaps he just thought he was really friggin' funny.


this is what suck looks like

Race Report: Hopkins Crit, July 9, 2006

So this one sucked. Partly self-fulfilling prophecy, I suppose, since my teammates and I were discussing strategy on the way over and every time my name came up I was like "yeah, right, if I'm even still there." But I suck at crits, and I know I suck at crits, so I'm not sure how much positive thinking would have helped me.

What would have helped me is not getting myself stuck at the back of the pack from the very beginning. The course was a plain rectangle with nice wide, smooth roads, so there shouldn't have been any sketchy stuff in the corners, but there was. My theory is that since it was so wide open, people figured they could take whatever crazy line they felt like taking. Anyway, I was stuck behind them all, and with people all over the road like they were, I never felt like there was a safe time to move up. Gap after gap opened. I sprinted around people to close them, but after a while I had closed one too many gaps and dang it, I was tired. So I fell off and rode around by myself for a while. It was like last year all over again!

Then June from NV caught up to me at about the same time as I caught a GW girl, and the three of us worked together for a bit. I could see the main pack not too far ahead of us, so I sat on for a couple laps to rest and then attacked hard from the back. Unfortunately I think I picked a prime lap (ice cream primes!) to try and bridge. The pack had been SO CLOSE, it should have been easy to get on after those rest laps, but when I came around the corner expecting to see them, they were long gone. Curses! Foiled again! I tried to TT my way up there for a couple laps, but it wasn't happening so eventually I sat up and waited for my two pals from the original chase group.

The three of us worked together for a few more laps (but apparently we weren't radiating cooperative enough vibes to stop spectators from yelling "WORK TOGETHER!"), until going into turn 3 there was some sort of crazy spaz-move from GW girl and next thing I saw she was stopping at the side of the road. June thought her leg had cramped or something. I didn't hear a tire blow out, so it's possible. Anyway, it was me and June for the rest of the race, and after minimal cat-and-mousing I sprinted around her at the finish and snagged myself the prestigious honor of 11th place (of 17). Woo freaking hoo.

Fortunately, my dismal performance wasn't enough to bump me out of my spot in the CMR series, which had slipped from 3rd down to 6th after I had to miss the Northfield crit. The series is now over--Gilby easily kept her lead with a second-place finish on the day--and I ended up 6th and scored some more schweet schwag. Which got even sweeter when Alix decided that she didn't need her third-place frame pump and traded me for my Pedro's seatbag and pink-striped socks! I just lost my frame pump a few weeks ago (ok, longer ago than that, I haven't actually seen it since the Withrow time trial), so between that and the phat cash ($20) and the two cases of Luna bars, I made out pretty well. All you cat 4 women who elected not to participate in the series, you are now on notice. Show up next year! Look what you missed out on!

And then we all went to Sascha's for a Tour-watching party, and I brought a raspberry pie, and now Sascha, Gilby, Special K, Jojo, Equipoise, and nonbloggers Alix and Holly can ALL vouch for the deliciousness of the pie! Which they'd better, or I'll kick their asses.

Here is a picture of the pie.


it's not just for breakfast any more!

Guys, I really like pie. I don't know if I have talked about my deep and abiding love for pie on the blog before, but now you know. In college I used to make my roommate who had a car (I didn't) take me to Bakers Square ALL THE TIME to get a big slice of triple-berry pie, warmed up, with ice cream and triple-berry sauce. And if they forgot the triple-berry sauce all hell would break loose. Generally I'm not much of a hell-raiser at restaurants -- I'll eat whatever they bring me even if it's wrong (except for that other time at Bakers Square where I ordered the rhyming Fajita Pita and they brought me shrimp cocktail sauce instead of salsa). But the triple-berry sauce was important. Also, it may be telling that I have about eight dollars in my checking account and will be living on rice, beans, and baked potatoes until my next paycheck a week from now, but I have all the ingredients for pie in my kitchen. Including the ice cream. Priorities, people.

Anyway, one of the best things about the house Nate and I are renting is that there are huge raspberry bushes all along the fence, both red and black. I think they used to get trimmed regularly, but the first time the landlady tried to trim them I put a stop to that right away, and now the bushes are more or less taking over the yard. It's fabulous. I already got one pie out of them before I left for Vermont last Thursday, but when I got back on Tuesday night they had exploded. You can pretty much hold your bowl out and shake the bush and instantly have enough for a pie. So many berries have fallen off the bushes that my dog leaves raspberry-juice pawprints in the kitchen when he comes in from outside. Wednesday night I picked berries until I couldn't stand it any more, leaving millions and millions still there. Thursday night I baked a pie (instead of riding my bike) and put the rest of the berries in the refrigerator. There could easily be two more pies before the weekend is over. And no, they are not for you. I am not going to tell you where I live.

On a related note, I am REALLY FAT right now. I weigh the same as I weighed in JANUARY, which even noncyclists know is not a good month for fitting into your pants. The difference is that in January nobody expects you to pedal your big ass up hills at top speed.

I'll start my diet after pie season raspberry season, though.