tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-81180855331028567492024-02-19T22:55:04.108-08:00Training to be a Super HeroWritten for an audience possessing a sense of humor and quick wit. No humans, animals or any other inantimate objects were harmed in the creating of this blog - other than a few bruised egos from acts of stupidity.
Copyright © 2012 SUPER HERO, LLC. All rights reservedSuper Hero in the Makinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12221752535599193248noreply@blogger.comBlogger92125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8118085533102856749.post-38587592288952540712015-10-23T09:53:00.001-07:002015-10-23T09:53:19.273-07:00I'm calling for Eradication of Ants<div class="MsoNormal">
Never in my life have I considered eradication of a species
of any sort. But as I was sitting at my desk penning what would be one of the
greatest novels of all time, I began to scratch my noggin. Not in the – I’m
searching for the words to occupy the blank white page on the screen – kind of
scratch, but of the itchy scratchy kind. <o:p></o:p></div>
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When suddenly a visitor appeared on the interior of my left
eyeglass lens. Yep, for what did appear, but a tiny ant - crawling about my
lens as if it were just another Wednesday.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuQ-rCOQdzFreoxQWW0-PXGNsXkafL9BRUfccu9P3Lt7nn-gt61x6b0Q1D2fN-PiNBumscscUlmTAqUWeRl11gVXoGaQlUteb_nwPaa-JGY5E2E3ThbdnqAyQExPd9y8gLNKN1LV-DOwQ/s1600/angry+ant.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="178" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuQ-rCOQdzFreoxQWW0-PXGNsXkafL9BRUfccu9P3Lt7nn-gt61x6b0Q1D2fN-PiNBumscscUlmTAqUWeRl11gVXoGaQlUteb_nwPaa-JGY5E2E3ThbdnqAyQExPd9y8gLNKN1LV-DOwQ/s320/angry+ant.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
<o:p></o:p><br />
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Now, I don’t know about you, but this is the type of thing
that can’t escape your conscience, sub conscience, nor your nerve endings who
feel they have been violated.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My entire
being has now been taken over by phantom ants sitting on every cell of my body
– all because of one, rogue live little being.</div>
<o:p></o:p><br />
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I now would like to address whomever in the world has the
ability to rid humankind of these annoying little creatures. And, while we’re
at it – let’s obliterate wasps too. I was wronged this summer by one of those
botherations. Yes, that little needle butt nuisance found a way into my hair
follicles. And it jackhammered my head so hard that I was numb from my left
temple down to the base of my neck by the end of the week. <o:p></o:p></div>
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What possible benefit do either of these insects bestow upon
our beautiful mother planet?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Yeah, ants
dig tunnels, which aerates the soil. Blah, blah, blah. I already have an
aerator. It’s something I call lawn service, and they are not climbing into my
pantry searching for crumbs to take home. Did you know, there are literally
millions of ants for every single person on this planet? Really? Do we need
that many? Can’t we at least do with half that number? If everyone swore an
oath to aerate the land around them for the betterment of our dirt, can we
please just blast a few million of them away? I’m just asking. It’s already a
NO if I don’t ask.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8US_24yKeiE4gorC2twZf4-eQ2z0yRsN38TODr5JIJESYG50qAXwTSPm79-WKPwQoA2CfsRfR3uo0tAYxoQtLsDBn9vm8xrwt23_VdxDmcUhzvo_B23ySs3y1c_MI_UKctv3-pcP8BE0/s1600/angry+wasps.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8US_24yKeiE4gorC2twZf4-eQ2z0yRsN38TODr5JIJESYG50qAXwTSPm79-WKPwQoA2CfsRfR3uo0tAYxoQtLsDBn9vm8xrwt23_VdxDmcUhzvo_B23ySs3y1c_MI_UKctv3-pcP8BE0/s320/angry+wasps.jpg" width="151" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Not a face even a mother could love.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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So how about those wasps? I get the bee thing. I saw the
movie. Having bees is good. To not have bees is bad. Earth likey likes the
bees. Pollination, pretty flowers, green earth, blue sky is what we are
grateful for all because of bees. Got it.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Wasps, however, I’m not sold on. They are supposedly good
for pest control. The only thing they control in my yard is me, and access to
my Hummingbird feeder. The only time I’m happy to see a wasp is when I’m
refilling the bird feeder, and I find several of the drowned, gluttonous beasts
in the container.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Good riddance. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Please, please, please do not have anyone film
a story about wasps. They do not deserve the notoriety. They are attention
seekers and bullies. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Help!<o:p></o:p></div>
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Super Hero in the Makinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12221752535599193248noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8118085533102856749.post-24740570952807286252014-11-10T11:17:00.000-08:002014-11-10T11:17:30.985-08:00My Own "Cold" WarI want one dollar from every person in the world right now so I can start a vaccine research fund for the common cold. Seriously, the average adult contracts 2-3 colds per year with a longevity of at least two weeks; and children even more. I know this from my extensive research on the subject. Oh yeah, I went all the way to the couch, procured the laptop and promptly typed in CDC common cold. I will stop at nothing to end this "cold" war.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIMzC5tkV-BQyagRDcJj0-tGTOXZFnNpLYYUfnDO8dYMsI-GQZV9Qnm0WCYd5oyfRzwKuxNA0h1yu_3996rviuTgPxnj-iwazrJpaZxslbtrU0N6ebFl6YnMc3FtdAySg_1jztCZwltek/s1600/sniffles.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIMzC5tkV-BQyagRDcJj0-tGTOXZFnNpLYYUfnDO8dYMsI-GQZV9Qnm0WCYd5oyfRzwKuxNA0h1yu_3996rviuTgPxnj-iwazrJpaZxslbtrU0N6ebFl6YnMc3FtdAySg_1jztCZwltek/s1600/sniffles.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My best friend, Mr. Kleenex</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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Like a good, responsible member of society, I religiously partake in the needle of the Influenza virus annually. But people, where have we gone wrong? Where is the cold vaccine? Colds are annoying; people with colds are annoying; and because this affliction is not life threatening - some think it's just fine to share their virusy, nasty little sinusy/cold parasites with the world. I think the new word of the year now is "Quarantine."<br />
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This post may be a tiny bit self serving, because after a week of nursing my teen back to health, I've been reduced to the position of "wide-gaping open mouth" breather. Yes, that's what I get for not quarantining my daughter to the woodshed for a week. But, no, I have to go and challenge Mother Teresa for a sainthood by allowing my offspring to stay in her warm bed within close proximity to my immune system.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0f7Cy4C9x7pDDMkpzgG2RfytSc7nXwWg31efVMaQkUQT_vQf6TaVFEnT_7oqH7CVhDlJdDJOqdYhHM48k61Yd2Yox6ym-Wzb0de3-ReIeXwNgxTAizJvG6TG-EpLH2_mv9G4KwIBaWYo/s1600/Cold+war+pic.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0f7Cy4C9x7pDDMkpzgG2RfytSc7nXwWg31efVMaQkUQT_vQf6TaVFEnT_7oqH7CVhDlJdDJOqdYhHM48k61Yd2Yox6ym-Wzb0de3-ReIeXwNgxTAizJvG6TG-EpLH2_mv9G4KwIBaWYo/s1600/Cold+war+pic.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Why you should quarantine your teen.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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Okay, so back to my vast research where I've found there are more than one billion colds in the U.S. a year. Where is the civility? It doesn't take a rocket scientist - literally (I'm guessing it's some other kind of scientist) to figure out, we have an annual pandemic; and I'm beginning to believe nobody cares.<br />
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Now I'm going out on a limb here to make a statement I have not researched. But I'm pretty sure the common cold has been on our planet for-like-ever. Which leads to my next point. There have been years and years to study this bad-boy and still nothing. I'm not saying take the experts off of the killer infectious disease vaccine-making list, but don't we have some genius interns who are frothing at the mouth to relieve human-kind of this irritable nasal affliction? <br />
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I'd call someone and demand an answer, but for whatever reason my number seems to have been placed on every politician's and government agency's do-not-call-list. I have only the three of you who read this to rely on.Super Hero in the Makinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12221752535599193248noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8118085533102856749.post-12683465374581691652014-01-13T16:26:00.002-08:002014-01-13T16:26:26.440-08:00It's Too Hard to Train for a Sprint TriathlonI never would have accepted the assignment of a Sprint Triathlon I bestowed upon Big Red and me, had I realized training would be so annoying. You people do realize if it's iceberg weather, the only option for cycling, is inside on a one-wheeler traveling nowhere.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixQDqgqPTMl_KwibdbJvyDRLIGEouatFymlXih9QBGO-BxU1ZisHuuHq-o4Zz7kV4F-lkBDAuiG9pQSRWU1Jss1ufpcVPLmr61S6z638gcRssNai6uq98Yfv9hNMkicRVn2nySWRG-A90/s1600/bebe+and+my+thighs.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixQDqgqPTMl_KwibdbJvyDRLIGEouatFymlXih9QBGO-BxU1ZisHuuHq-o4Zz7kV4F-lkBDAuiG9pQSRWU1Jss1ufpcVPLmr61S6z638gcRssNai6uq98Yfv9hNMkicRVn2nySWRG-A90/s320/bebe+and+my+thighs.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Big Red alway flaunting her thighs</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Now, cycling was actually the least of my worries when I forced this commitment upon us. So as I started on my 45-minute jaunt, just knowing "I've got this - because at least I will be sitting during this little endurance exercise," I finally realized - THERE IS NO COASTING on a stationary bike. Nope. You sit, but your legs are in constant motion for 45 minutes. What? I'm sorry, but this isn't reality training. This just isn't going to work.<br />
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Let's talk about running, shall we? What I'm about to reveal to you should in no way be construed as something I'm proud of, but here it goes - I can now run 5k in 36 minutes. Yeah I know, you're grandma runs it in 20. Give her a medal, will ya?<br />
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Now, Big Red however is a different story. She runs at the pace of your great, great Grandma. And yes, I know, that particular Grandma is no longer amongst the living. Exactly. I believe Big Red has mastered one-and-a-half miles at this point; and I don't dare ask how many markings on the clock dial are passed by the minute hand when the task is completed. <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbLnJvo6DXNZfldVRqQhi6sQlmvuTM2OpRU70C11r7o1LobaplXAmesWDKGkdb_a5pxa72GdCNhc720EK8NWnkIT40uG8BQg92jrrPuaPP1bgSxOafo40QIvy1cB9pELNf_BA2j9YP9Bc/s1600/women+pulling+plows.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbLnJvo6DXNZfldVRqQhi6sQlmvuTM2OpRU70C11r7o1LobaplXAmesWDKGkdb_a5pxa72GdCNhc720EK8NWnkIT40uG8BQg92jrrPuaPP1bgSxOafo40QIvy1cB9pELNf_BA2j9YP9Bc/s320/women+pulling+plows.jpg" width="320" /></a>She is of German descent and claims her people are not runners - they are marchers. Now I see it a little differently. Big Red was born in the wrong century as far as I'm concerned. Her voluminous Herculean thighs are of the sort women in the 1800s donned after years of harnessing themselves to a plow in the potato fields. As time passed, these women were replaced by oxen.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPXj-lpwiZGqGy2QTeIxItUw-_gv_4RIGQt1FjlRkYjG0vuhyphenhyphenTnS9r5KU_GmHHUbQVJ63KGuUmBPsgA6s8r4Jn6VCxUxFvQihP_PTW0t51O_wj7k1MPqpjVOWiViVhdCgmO-W0NX9BnSA/s1600/Be-Be's+legs+out+of+the+car.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPXj-lpwiZGqGy2QTeIxItUw-_gv_4RIGQt1FjlRkYjG0vuhyphenhyphenTnS9r5KU_GmHHUbQVJ63KGuUmBPsgA6s8r4Jn6VCxUxFvQihP_PTW0t51O_wj7k1MPqpjVOWiViVhdCgmO-W0NX9BnSA/s320/Be-Be's+legs+out+of+the+car.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Big Red couldn't fit her thighs in the car.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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Now, for the swimming. Yeah, that's going to have to wait. It took a while to actually find a suit to fit, and our gym pool is very, very busy. Just haven't quite jumped in yet. It's very mentally challenging to want to take a plunge when it is 20 degrees outdoors. Yes, I know, we have an indoor pool at the gym. I didn't say it was impossible, I'm just saying it's mentally challenging. And most of you are aware, we are weak to such.Super Hero in the Makinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12221752535599193248noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8118085533102856749.post-49884572577075682832014-01-02T09:04:00.001-08:002014-01-02T09:04:13.898-08:00Whose Glutes Aren't Larger Than Their Neck? I Must Meet that Person.The first few steps to successfully committing to a Sprint Triathlon at the age of me, is: #1. Scour the planet for the easiest race in existence, no matter how far you have to travel. #2. Pay for it, or in my case, have Big Red pay for it, because she's so excited to be a part of it. #3. Buy, for the first time in your life, a one-piece swimsuit that fits like a Chinese finger trap.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyiDGhtFPwFskJFQzS7Ifk3XlkQ2fkaUIjKXrDkUamMiUHt339XEwxQa1HomSURaEa_YX0Lx7Ww1bCYyUQS-yjhxoIj7umuW-SjiaYAGSSVLi_AQMUHFGUkbnAwIrN6BDilAGoc9Hstrc/s1600/Chinese_Finger_Trap.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="202" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyiDGhtFPwFskJFQzS7Ifk3XlkQ2fkaUIjKXrDkUamMiUHt339XEwxQa1HomSURaEa_YX0Lx7Ww1bCYyUQS-yjhxoIj7umuW-SjiaYAGSSVLi_AQMUHFGUkbnAwIrN6BDilAGoc9Hstrc/s320/Chinese_Finger_Trap.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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So for any of you who haven't had the pleasure of shopping for "said" swimwear, I'm going to clue you in on the humiliation of such an event. Big Red purchased hers first and whined about the tightness in the shoulders, therefore she'd have to return it for a size larger. Okay. I get it.<br />
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So, with all that knowledge under my belt, I confidently walked out of the sporting goods store with a royal blue, sparkly, shiny suit - complete with racing stripes - in yes, a size larger than I choose for clothing. <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjS-zFXUOmCT9VofUL9GALXO7dBDWjarXIeJ1cxewg5kV7pLviaGDLRxCIbL0aV-ph3lo6aclQ0tNREpDsHOSxHR-grJ4e25FoxTCjG6dPULvHS7qbHqEEcNkvVBxJ_HDcQlOij5HDkl7I/s1600/old+fashioned+swimwear.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjS-zFXUOmCT9VofUL9GALXO7dBDWjarXIeJ1cxewg5kV7pLviaGDLRxCIbL0aV-ph3lo6aclQ0tNREpDsHOSxHR-grJ4e25FoxTCjG6dPULvHS7qbHqEEcNkvVBxJ_HDcQlOij5HDkl7I/s320/old+fashioned+swimwear.jpg" width="226" /></a></div>
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And then a couple of days later I decided it's time to give it a go. Now, I know, most people would perhaps have the gumption to actually try the swimwear on before purchasing. I don't disagree, except with the winter storm we just endured, I was bundled up as if Ralphie's mom from "The Christmas Story" had taken an interest in my well-being.<br />
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So, now I'm home and I approach the entry by cautiously looking at the suit from all angles, and quickly conclude there are no zippers. It appears the only plausible way to embark on this journey is through the neck of this contraption. Therefore feet first through the neck. Okay, so far, so good. All I can think of at this point is, my neck is way smaller than my gluteus maximus (which is why it's called maximus, not minimus), therefore how do these manufacturers expect I pull this suit up to my shoulders. FYI, this is not a stupid question after all.<br />
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It can be done. WARNING: If you're squeamish, exit this site right now.<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjApcZaliE2vCUoyzCEo4q0LML8kCW7Qsv2Pldks7E-ago2DSY8a7xbLjpEg43B9Z3Wc8YSBLbjhUaPpeGE684VcUYM_I-MEG_CeT2_zPbrJUDurcd0m74A2SiV1fB4JcENgsHtmCb6npo/s1600/straigh+jacket.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjApcZaliE2vCUoyzCEo4q0LML8kCW7Qsv2Pldks7E-ago2DSY8a7xbLjpEg43B9Z3Wc8YSBLbjhUaPpeGE684VcUYM_I-MEG_CeT2_zPbrJUDurcd0m74A2SiV1fB4JcENgsHtmCb6npo/s320/straigh+jacket.jpg" width="167" /></a><br />
All it takes is a contortionist attitude much like the magicians who find it fascinating to escape a straight jacket. Simply dislocate both of your shoulders; wiggle like a bobble head on a gang bangers dashboard; carefully insert arms through their designated space; and finally, slam your shoulders one-by-one into the nearest wall for perfect relocation.<br />
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Voila, success. Except, I looked like a ball of pasty, white dough stuffed into a narrow cylinder of chicken wire. Nobody needs to see this. So, like Big Red, I marched back to the swimsuit purchasing palace and traded that model in for another, only I chose one three sizes larger (not one). The gal at the counter was so sweet after I told her I clearly had a much smaller vision of myself with my original purchase. She quickly replied, "aren't you the one training for the triathlon," and after my nod, she said, "you can come back in a couple of months and fit into this one." I cried all the way home.Super Hero in the Makinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12221752535599193248noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8118085533102856749.post-59691188707379361182013-10-28T10:46:00.000-07:002013-10-28T10:46:18.460-07:00Go Out and Save a Face TodayThis unfathomable trend of men growing weeds on their face just to prove they can, has become exhausting. You see it everywhere, baseball, football, bowling (well, I guess it has always had a presence in bowling). And I'm not even going down the route of duck hunting. These are the men you expect it from. It's cold when you're all alone out in the wilderness. It also gives them something else to stroke with their free hand.<br />
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I have news for those who find it a recreational sport to randomly decide to challenge father time with the wicked speed at which they may be able to camouflage their pie hole. And do you know what that news is? You will enjoy a lot more alone time. If you're tired of your companion - now is the time to get that facial construction started. She'll leave after she awakes with pus oozing from her ulcerated, reddened dermis.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAu-XkPGIoT1A8vaKrzdgjHiuuaE4AlhJQlwc5JJGd5_kbr1gUE63Ww4QtxpY9TlhMQ_p0weectLKrXggQDoxQWA2Arwou2VTuWqs34xJcRNelWyfDmFFA6LL_p4sAxAzFD0asJ_43BW0/s1600/Adam+Levine.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAu-XkPGIoT1A8vaKrzdgjHiuuaE4AlhJQlwc5JJGd5_kbr1gUE63Ww4QtxpY9TlhMQ_p0weectLKrXggQDoxQWA2Arwou2VTuWqs34xJcRNelWyfDmFFA6LL_p4sAxAzFD0asJ_43BW0/s1600/Adam+Levine.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Bad example, cuz all<br />women want him.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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I may or may not know this from my own experience. It certainly hasn't been from recent experience, but this fashion direction has brought back horrid memories for me from a few years back. Remember the "two-day shadowed scruff" look? Yeah - nobody needs a human exfoliator. I now feel the need to reach out to those who may become victims of such. If I save just one face, this blog has been worth it.<br />
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Now, for those women who have been threatened by your loved one with a thought that he may take on this dastardly challenge - I advise the following response: Oh that's great baby. If we're going to relinquish grooming routines around here, then I can demolish the runway and commence reforestation. Who doesn't want to save the rain forest?<br />
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This Super Hero work is endless!!!Super Hero in the Makinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12221752535599193248noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8118085533102856749.post-70739715642331312013-05-25T09:42:00.000-07:002013-05-25T09:42:16.846-07:00Eight hours of Our Lives We'll Never Get Back <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhF9bLss42jzaYUj6LlEHuITVRLSd7RpaWkBwZggRz7ATSVDFkCRnWQgfLDNngY7NuLiM3sHRLwHg2-qpS_tKV5q-0NVTuUkg9tileYDEipV1cfl-GFrRKrz1PEfJDjnGIrR30n673vj_k/s1600/encuantro+das+aguas.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhF9bLss42jzaYUj6LlEHuITVRLSd7RpaWkBwZggRz7ATSVDFkCRnWQgfLDNngY7NuLiM3sHRLwHg2-qpS_tKV5q-0NVTuUkg9tileYDEipV1cfl-GFrRKrz1PEfJDjnGIrR30n673vj_k/s320/encuantro+das+aguas.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Rio Negro & Amazon meet but never mix.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
I'm resurrecting a blog I started back when I was on a Visa in a foreign country south of the equator with Big Red. So, please amuse me and pretend we're in the moment, as I'd like to continue with this escapade as if I were not currently in a country where springtime harkens to "enjoy the sun, if and only if it shines, because mother nature in menopause will rip those bright warm rays from you in a New York minute." <br />
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiawTp1ow5c5Oiv7g6HBDQhd35CmfDfwxQmy9fXvm6a1Qs_3qakzYIzroSIlLLCh1Sv5jrNuP2xcsK05u6st_UfXfxHbmTLcNoUOZERKHNteq9cxf9AaIBk3JcmyZOOD46VjOiNSWt_Lto/s1600/Brasil+2011+038.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiawTp1ow5c5Oiv7g6HBDQhd35CmfDfwxQmy9fXvm6a1Qs_3qakzYIzroSIlLLCh1Sv5jrNuP2xcsK05u6st_UfXfxHbmTLcNoUOZERKHNteq9cxf9AaIBk3JcmyZOOD46VjOiNSWt_Lto/s320/Brasil+2011+038.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">If we weren't larger than life - you' could see view. </td></tr>
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You may recall a time when I lamented, if you want time to stand still - hop on a treadmill. However, after today - I can one-up that. Visit an art museum in a foreign country with the native-speaking museum director, and time will not only stop....... it will grab you by the ankles and toss you back to 4th grade crying for your momma.<br />
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We arrived at 9:20 a.m. and I swear it was 8 hours before any semblance of food was anywhere near passing these lips. There isn't eight hours worth of anything to view on this planet unless it's the video of Big Red flying out of the golf cart when I topped the speed with a sharp left turn and she clawed her way back off the ground donning fresh sod in her choppers. Now loop that video, and it will never get old. If only the Vine application were available back then.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilsEgcl8iyUNEStKCfkfZmNRahLPvGeSNiWnu695n5Hi-LL_rZGaJ_m1upCEq5ZNUshBnPX3M4QZktBrRxQKkayFNAW8WPSFFqXZwZpCnPpJmSg7wpEo_eSA2EXq3N6apUBbnQkiJ5gQA/s1600/Brasil+2011+046.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilsEgcl8iyUNEStKCfkfZmNRahLPvGeSNiWnu695n5Hi-LL_rZGaJ_m1upCEq5ZNUshBnPX3M4QZktBrRxQKkayFNAW8WPSFFqXZwZpCnPpJmSg7wpEo_eSA2EXq3N6apUBbnQkiJ5gQA/s320/Brasil+2011+046.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Village Heifer in Amazon near Manaus</td></tr>
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjo0FT6-Our8dL_IFkZHIwbmhmKUEe1dkwyv02uTKhQmzcr2iRW_YBNZ_B9XBuF95NbKoZVet-x96rXW1wOY8cGqtQ32YkPWRaE2Xfp3FpUloHVM1JNoK-w377V3-otDzhcYJbbmrKrOeE/s1600/374131_10150396889932768_272348073_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjo0FT6-Our8dL_IFkZHIwbmhmKUEe1dkwyv02uTKhQmzcr2iRW_YBNZ_B9XBuF95NbKoZVet-x96rXW1wOY8cGqtQ32YkPWRaE2Xfp3FpUloHVM1JNoK-w377V3-otDzhcYJbbmrKrOeE/s320/374131_10150396889932768_272348073_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Beach gym in Rio (blackberry had no problem taking this pic)</td></tr>
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I'd show you pictures of the artifacts, however, my blackberry was as bored as I, and couldn't muster up the enthusiasm to record this momentous episode in our lives. FYI - this was in 2011, when I was still clutching to my own telecommunicative artifact with the global leader in wireless, Research in Motion. <br />
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I have, however, provided you with a few images reminiscent of our jaunt through the land of conflicting language. I know, they speak Portuguese, but depending on what longitude you are positioned, there are French and German influences in the speech. Just sayin.<br />
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As you can see we actually filled up a full frame in a photo, but we can't blame the travel on that. We arrived there in full body form. <br />
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I only posted these hideous photos of us, because I knew it would make Big Red's skin crawl. And.. well... that's fun for me. After all, she's lost a ton of weight.Super Hero in the Makinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12221752535599193248noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8118085533102856749.post-8917664294518242642013-05-19T09:39:00.000-07:002013-05-19T09:39:20.633-07:00It's how Super Heroes shower.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjci0q5nBhPPmGLLqaJJdtdCKiBe2lWBVFhsRtB8dQjfmd-NW0Pn6PObzGruZe2wprXgTU1oDZkIO2Du0FIA6o22sxN6fa3B-umo0TcRidG3Rz5ZtPM3yEwBgNtenOe8rFeGcybdeOx7AI/s1600/photo-48.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjci0q5nBhPPmGLLqaJJdtdCKiBe2lWBVFhsRtB8dQjfmd-NW0Pn6PObzGruZe2wprXgTU1oDZkIO2Du0FIA6o22sxN6fa3B-umo0TcRidG3Rz5ZtPM3yEwBgNtenOe8rFeGcybdeOx7AI/s320/photo-48.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Big Red, Super Hero Jr., and Yours Truly prepping for the race</td></tr>
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Our crackpot gaggle of girls has been asked to participate in an upcoming 5K Foam Fest! Yes an obstacle race with fun blow up toys to bounce, slide and tumble on. If you want us to run, you must entertain us every 20 seconds with a surprise, such as a Champagne break, or a water feature. We love distractions. The event organizers praise the race as the only obstacle mud run that doubles as a human car wash. Apparently there is copious amounts of foam thrown at the runners, because the event crew has an anal retentive need for cleanliness at a "MUD" run. Whatever!<br />
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This is not our first attempt as such an event. As a matter of fact I recently received praised by a workout guru for my dedication to fitness. Mr. Fit had noticed, via the internet diary we call Facebook, that I actually ran in a Mudder Race last summer. I didn't have the heart to tell him it was the Run Amuck, which although sounds a bit like a tough mudder - but was really more like a stroll through a carnival with a candied apple in your mouth. FYI, here is the warning from the race organizers: <b style="background-color: #fbf6ed; color: #ff6600; font-family: Verdana, Geneva, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; line-height: 13px;">2 Tips we encourage you to follow: </b><span style="background-color: #fbf6ed; color: #ff6600; font-family: Verdana, Geneva, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; line-height: 13px;">(1) Don’t drink before the race. Alcohol + masses of people + mystery obstacles = molotov cocktail. In other words, bad news. (2) Absolutely, postively no diving into the mud pit. Period.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhflMsz8FIzQUCGh8RpdHha-bicmaoDeJdKbS6VEctfu_IprXKdvGA2QBlCUO_iuTv4BUgW5H6mAUni4iT1aq1Acsk-SR4u3UlmJLvl3CUufyTbFcLJGRxf2Se3gSnBHP9wOKMeaC8SX6w/s1600/sponsor+of+run.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhflMsz8FIzQUCGh8RpdHha-bicmaoDeJdKbS6VEctfu_IprXKdvGA2QBlCUO_iuTv4BUgW5H6mAUni4iT1aq1Acsk-SR4u3UlmJLvl3CUufyTbFcLJGRxf2Se3gSnBHP9wOKMeaC8SX6w/s320/sponsor+of+run.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Our Event Sponsor Bosley</td></tr>
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So anyway, my team took this race very seriously as we prepared that morning for this annual event. We even secured a sponsor for the day - who supplied us with all our necessities for this arduous affair. It was a very hot day which required much hydration. Two hours prior to shotgun, we made sure we downed at least three beers and one Mojito. Whaaaat? We had two hours to twiddle our thumbs. We were bored.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgi44bkCMKWfFpOhhpomuTuGKx0keSNSA0pOIzqBQ8FsotCiCO5-VrilT5rHlwEFTcSuPApchS_vGZMUqf-qhAlyrK9srgXIl5qtkjp-joj-uuNpVSjg5VOcfP9zEfkslGb2DeTcS6qJtQ/s1600/after+run.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgi44bkCMKWfFpOhhpomuTuGKx0keSNSA0pOIzqBQ8FsotCiCO5-VrilT5rHlwEFTcSuPApchS_vGZMUqf-qhAlyrK9srgXIl5qtkjp-joj-uuNpVSjg5VOcfP9zEfkslGb2DeTcS6qJtQ/s320/after+run.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Aftermath. Alive and well!</td></tr>
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The way I see it, anyone can run a race sober. Where's the challenge there. But I have to say, there is nothing like a 3.1 mile run with obstacles to sober you right up after you end the race flying face down on the giant blow-up water slide. You know where we placed? Yeah I don't either.Super Hero in the Makinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12221752535599193248noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8118085533102856749.post-87481881779593319422013-01-11T11:39:00.001-08:002013-01-11T13:11:32.305-08:00I resolve to not resolve<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiatD9xYpwmmM1tHbqW67dyXYOTqVONswf6CaGA5WjgFClGshEa-EC9PII14Xr8jD8tVKP2TZd91eYiKEgRcekr634sRGwEjuyUi4UpXJbPe09LnOuLNNhmi17VHcdl90oouXz4W41m4NI/s1600/Angry+Sean.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiatD9xYpwmmM1tHbqW67dyXYOTqVONswf6CaGA5WjgFClGshEa-EC9PII14Xr8jD8tVKP2TZd91eYiKEgRcekr634sRGwEjuyUi4UpXJbPe09LnOuLNNhmi17VHcdl90oouXz4W41m4NI/s200/Angry+Sean.jpg" width="150" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>You don't want to see this face.</i></td></tr>
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As the new year has begun, all the talk around the table, any table, and every table I've been around (which are many) is about resolutions and positive changes some of us should make in our lives. I just learned yesterday for the first time in my 50 years and 11 months of life, my mother doesn't think I'm perfect. Oh, I know you are as astonished as I - well not surprised I'm not perfect, but earth-shatteringly devastated my mother doesn't think I am. <br />
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In her defense, and Lord knows why I'd be defending her right now. She didn't just come right out and say you're not perfect. No. That would just be cruel. Her words, "well no one is perfect." My response, "I beg your pardon." So, she's enjoying living in the hind quarters of the house. And not because I have her locked up back there. She's just wishing she hadn't produced a child with such prominent canines that sparkle when they are exposed. She's keeping her distance.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgKPC349zNr8QmOqGYUY4AY7KDdu08OXC5a9chl23pJ9oQtzNR6r-51K6S6yMAgGcjlKOQufomh9_WqzgL3wmJvhvj2bOaxdW8B0GaPtdL7P5j7BlbvrGqW_IfkAl41odsshaw_TWwoE0/s1600/Linear+in+DC.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="152" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgKPC349zNr8QmOqGYUY4AY7KDdu08OXC5a9chl23pJ9oQtzNR6r-51K6S6yMAgGcjlKOQufomh9_WqzgL3wmJvhvj2bOaxdW8B0GaPtdL7P5j7BlbvrGqW_IfkAl41odsshaw_TWwoE0/s320/Linear+in+DC.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Not the group listed over there->, but we're at a table.</i></td></tr>
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Anyway, back to others, who by the way, aren't perfect either. Yeah, she lumped all of you in there - so take it and like it. So as I sat at lunch with Rower Girl, Big Red, Diva and Mr. Capitol Hill last week, there was discussion of giving up drinking from midnight to 7 a.m. Yeah, that's kind of absurd if you ask me, because everyone at that table had a mimosa when they woke up that morning. <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2x-mNmbRe_y0bJ4I-Pso66b0vlPyz8FmGcBiLADa3tIq1g4KYA9tSDtK9YQCtbNZYVU9bItAvPHJZa_SqmLLcEdUfIF0c2bsAkPBx_XvuPJuDrovG35Fz7UGNIHytdX4_-tVR7Zn68Kk/s1600/Estee.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="189" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2x-mNmbRe_y0bJ4I-Pso66b0vlPyz8FmGcBiLADa3tIq1g4KYA9tSDtK9YQCtbNZYVU9bItAvPHJZa_SqmLLcEdUfIF0c2bsAkPBx_XvuPJuDrovG35Fz7UGNIHytdX4_-tVR7Zn68Kk/s320/Estee.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>We are not giving up Mark Estee. CAMPO, I mean CAMPO.</i></td></tr>
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There was the typical workout promise of not missing more than two consecutive days of exercise. I won't say who, but that has already been broken - which, by the way, is what resolutions are for - to challenge you and make you feel like a total failure when you prove to no one but yourself - you can't do it.<br />
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My personal favorite is that of Big Red's. She has decided it would be a good idea to eliminate a word from her vocabulary, which I find completely admirable. That is a tough thing to do once you are committed to such. Now mind you, I'm sure you believe there are several words you could give up from your colloquialisms, but the one word, yes only one - not two or three words Big Red is most offended by is "Amazing." Yes, of all the words she knows - okay sorry - that made it sound like she has an extensive lexicon. Of the words she knows, this is the one she's challenged herself to never utter again. I kid you not. Super Hero in the Makinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12221752535599193248noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8118085533102856749.post-62904631990008904812013-01-01T08:31:00.000-08:002013-01-01T08:31:55.556-08:00Making the Little General blush<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9gSAbq6w2Vn2b6kCqOlgFZHI2p2-0hRex-nJZP5VkkBmmcNWfM3hZrd10KUmHVk98fUg5mCg-bGFRVQIIJ2jTdL-ph3UKKics_8PuZn1bh0jrhWrPyBAjh5UizXIBSrKN3k0yNrfLWFk/s1600/Coach+and+Brandon+Wimberly.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9gSAbq6w2Vn2b6kCqOlgFZHI2p2-0hRex-nJZP5VkkBmmcNWfM3hZrd10KUmHVk98fUg5mCg-bGFRVQIIJ2jTdL-ph3UKKics_8PuZn1bh0jrhWrPyBAjh5UizXIBSrKN3k0yNrfLWFk/s320/Coach+and+Brandon+Wimberly.jpg" width="239" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Coach and Brandon Wimberly at Hawaii</td></tr>
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For whatever reason, Big Red and I have been summoned to Cashell Field House at Nevada's Mackay Stadium upon occasion to displace the Little General's attention from the spherical object he's so obsessed with; and give him a reason he's grateful for his lot in the world of football.<br />
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We'd remind him of the really important things other than winning. Like the boosters who travel with the team would appreciate a section on the plane, similar to a smoking section, where cigarettes would not be allowed, however libations mandatory. We've taken a poll, and the weary travelers all agree such an amenity might help with some of the long trips home after a game that ended like, I don't know - Notre Dame.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCvJGyF9x65Jlb18OHDDRqaolXh7KRXeC7lG5u0seGvJOi9ZT8FxPdpYY5EN3CwuBQYoQnvndlwOHwoHcOn4y1NSLRDCc_DetCrag4SSekgLxXjazuSrQsrolXbRtEag9qCB9ETcJ2aFs/s1600/Coach+inspiring.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCvJGyF9x65Jlb18OHDDRqaolXh7KRXeC7lG5u0seGvJOi9ZT8FxPdpYY5EN3CwuBQYoQnvndlwOHwoHcOn4y1NSLRDCc_DetCrag4SSekgLxXjazuSrQsrolXbRtEag9qCB9ETcJ2aFs/s320/Coach+inspiring.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Inspirational speech to Cody Fajardo at Hawaii</td></tr>
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With every visit we would regale the coach with stories of the community antics of inappropriate behavior, and report with whom anyone might be cavorting. As the stories began, he'd shake his head, place it between his hands like a vice, and look down at his desk. Intermittently he'd raise his head with the look of bewilderment on his face - and at that point we'd say, "You didn't hear that from us." Now coach isn't someone who cares much for gossip, but our job was to try to save the staff from the black cloud that may have been hovering over the field house at the time.<br />
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Sometimes we'd whisk him away to lunch where he'd announce his insistence on paying the bill, which is a bigger than life offer. We know this because when he actually pulled his wallet out, the leather crackled like that of an aged person's arthritic knee when trying to straighten it. The real shock was the spider crawling from the cobweb like material that had accumulated in the billfold. I'm sure if he were ever on the pay scale behooving his talent, that wallet would have been so greased it would have landed on the table on its own.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiq1ku74otSxglsw8KBqOpNrYeQxarqpixVgx0AECmFwSHj4K5CaCiz3RFBdJNW9r3oK_axioRZ96RYY0jt2QhDovgYe8Zzrw3PfQ8lXYSn327YLpfzwnNTkpTfjFlHCQjpLe1Cgevi4mc/s1600/Coach+Ault.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiq1ku74otSxglsw8KBqOpNrYeQxarqpixVgx0AECmFwSHj4K5CaCiz3RFBdJNW9r3oK_axioRZ96RYY0jt2QhDovgYe8Zzrw3PfQ8lXYSn327YLpfzwnNTkpTfjFlHCQjpLe1Cgevi4mc/s320/Coach+Ault.jpg" width="214" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Thanks for keeping the cannon Coach</td></tr>
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I must confess I don't really think Coach actually looked forward to our visits, but it took time away from his boisterously vocal and colorful speeches he may have been offering to every staff person within earshot. As a matter of fact at times he'd walk us down the hall to show us something, and it was oddly always near the exit door. He would even try to duck into the restroom thinking he could shake us. One time he actually jumped out of his window. No, not really. A long time ago the staff moved the window locks up high so he couldn't actually attempt such a feat.<br />
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Everyone has their own opinion of our pistol creating Coach who has, by the way, changed the game forever. But you need to know, beneath his hardcore, crusty exterior - his blush meter is in full working order. At the end of our last visit, we departed with "Hey Coach, as always, we've got your back............. Oh, and your front." As he turned on his heel to get the paperwork filled out for the restraining order, his face was so full of blood, that I'm not sure how the remainder of his body functioned. <br />
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So I think it's safe to say, the happiest moments in Coach's life have been his view of our backsides exiting the glass doors of Cashell Field house. We will forever love Nevada's icon for his incredible sense of humor and his wonderful dedication. Super Hero in the Makinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12221752535599193248noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8118085533102856749.post-84936022493293472052012-11-23T16:33:00.000-08:002012-11-24T20:49:45.774-08:00I'm a pork belly thinner after literally eating pork A wise man recently told me I should write when I'm angry, because everyone writes better when they are angry. So I thought to myself. I do this often, because I can't read anyone else's thoughts, therefore I'm stuck with mine. It was now imperative to bring out the inner anger in me; and I knew I had it. I can tell from reading some of my past Facebook posts. <br />
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Well what has really chapped my hide in recent weeks is the plateau I've been sitting on, while Big Red slides into home base with her goal weight completely intact. And I quote, "I'm at my goal. Oh, wait today I'm a pound under my goal," in her best Gidget voice. Well gosh. I couldn't be happier for you. Well you did have a lot more weight to lose than I. Oh snap!! And I'd go on, but as we all know this blog is about me.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwq05c06uHvh73y_tTYiZS88Lisb7HiuYIr3pw48ou7wTUVAct28hQcb6vxp6kITYtU9UryFR29lvYnfjK8LxqOPcSfLo4iv3Kc9B7B802QslMov2ZkkSNMoIXI6QfmcxvXqoYe07pjWY/s1600/Thanksgiving+day+128+lbs.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwq05c06uHvh73y_tTYiZS88Lisb7HiuYIr3pw48ou7wTUVAct28hQcb6vxp6kITYtU9UryFR29lvYnfjK8LxqOPcSfLo4iv3Kc9B7B802QslMov2ZkkSNMoIXI6QfmcxvXqoYe07pjWY/s320/Thanksgiving+day+128+lbs.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Thankful for 128 lb.</td></tr>
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I am delighted to report I busted through that final plateau on Thanksgiving morning. That's right, no matter how many times I stepped off and on that scale during the five-minute victory dance, it read 128 lbs. Now you wonder what did I do differently the day before to finally shake off another layer of pork belly. <br />
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Here's the trick: First of all, go to lunch with a lush (in my case it's "I've reached my goal" Big Red) and order the fish they have on special, because this means they're trying to get rid of it before it stinks up the joint. Choose a lovely wine approved by your lunch lush, because this will be all you'll consume due to the one week-old grouper staring at you from your plate's vantage point. Then later in the day, say around 5 p.m. meet the same lush and second lush (Gucci) for an informal meeting with a Museum executive, where you should eat the guts of one BBQ Pork slider; and you must drink all your vodka.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtdHe-UwHFP7bSFLj5kyeTisu4mxPK3vOWHPL2_SorvQaPMkjTguBtbuyrOHfdEuj5IZRII6fduvoFDbIGu0KcUWGXmKegQ6jbGVv88n3h4rhJJnONa_lc87fj6XClCEBS6wll30Ql4fA/s1600/Fantasies+in+Chocolate.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtdHe-UwHFP7bSFLj5kyeTisu4mxPK3vOWHPL2_SorvQaPMkjTguBtbuyrOHfdEuj5IZRII6fduvoFDbIGu0KcUWGXmKegQ6jbGVv88n3h4rhJJnONa_lc87fj6XClCEBS6wll30Ql4fA/s320/Fantasies+in+Chocolate.jpg" width="298" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">From left: BFF, moi, Raiderette, "I'm under my goal" Big Red, and Tahoe girl.<br />
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="text-align: center;">And the</span><span style="font-size: 13px; text-align: center;"> </span><span style="background-color: white; line-height: 19px; text-align: center;"><span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;">Pièce de résistance<span style="font-size: x-small;"> </span></span></span><span style="text-align: center;">is to skedadle on down to your favorite Italian feeding trough at the very moment they are slicing the premium portion of the Prosciutto, and nibble on that with the crust of a tiny slice of bread - and drink all your wine, and maybe a little of someone else's. This my friends was the magic formula for careening my body through the tortuous daily reading on the scale of (you're still a loser who is such a loser, you can't even lose another pound.)</span></span><br />
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You all do know that I'm no fool, which is why I hid the scale last night so not to be tempted to climb on for the day-after-Thanksgiving reading. I like the ignorant bliss of knowing just yesterday I was at my goal; and as far as I'm concerned - I'm still there. No scale has any proof otherwise.</div>
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Super Hero in the Makinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12221752535599193248noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8118085533102856749.post-56624803073555761482012-09-05T10:12:00.000-07:002012-09-05T10:12:51.553-07:00Carnivorous Acts of Experimentation <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwNbRMd7KwcVQcDe0U5JiTtHC4p0hQ7PebutwyT1Q9H5Zc4hsfx4_FHilThLG4txdU76o7sX7HFCXrICWOGJFMnmzj8qnKCy_alvhDsq5BG39N7kN-2mGYyr24ZvSdFXNmqZAsn-y08Bs/s1600/Ribs+in+my+mouth.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwNbRMd7KwcVQcDe0U5JiTtHC4p0hQ7PebutwyT1Q9H5Zc4hsfx4_FHilThLG4txdU76o7sX7HFCXrICWOGJFMnmzj8qnKCy_alvhDsq5BG39N7kN-2mGYyr24ZvSdFXNmqZAsn-y08Bs/s200/Ribs+in+my+mouth.jpg" width="150" /></a></div>
I was recently volunteered by someone to go to the Best of the West Rib Cook-off to indulge in the guiltless act of slathering my face with a couple of dozen carnivore delights, each accompanied by their own palate pleasing liquid elixir. So, because I'm a giver, and because I refuse to compromise my road to Thinville without jeopardizing everyone else's trip to same destination - I brought in recruits.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi203QuD4M07BuCw3NJQHHVFPRfesFxLsoi7Qj0aX416xQglX_3n7UQJPlCe3s2iL6qNm81IqcPQiL0nkQShxjm_7aA98_xY9UQOfsM1KUCyp_rSFOk85VcxjcZra2iRY-xF-vXuXyq5GI/s1600/Be-Be+and+ribs..jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi203QuD4M07BuCw3NJQHHVFPRfesFxLsoi7Qj0aX416xQglX_3n7UQJPlCe3s2iL6qNm81IqcPQiL0nkQShxjm_7aA98_xY9UQOfsM1KUCyp_rSFOk85VcxjcZra2iRY-xF-vXuXyq5GI/s400/Be-Be+and+ribs..jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Big Red knows no boundaries.</td></tr>
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As a non-expert in... well.... everything really, I was surprised to have been put in a position to actually give open judgment on such an important event. So, I did the best scientific experimentation of tasting that I could muster up. Big Red and I filled the table with the most judgmental people we know including BFF, BFF's Banker (aka her husband), Gucci, and two 20-something girls who I shall call "Too Young & Hot to be our friends (TY&H).<br />
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So the results are: the TY&H twins hated everything. I think if you are a size 2 and want to remain so, it is actually a requirement to be repulsed by any smell, let alone flavor. They're fired.<br />
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The only testosterone at the table, BFF's Banker, gave his thumbs up to The Texas Outlaw ribs. I never really retrieved an opinion from BFF, because she was elbow deep into a mound of ice cream on a stick. God help us if anyone creates rib flavored frozen creamsicles.<br />
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Big Red and Gucci were of no use to me, because neither of their palates have ever discriminated against any type of vittles on a bone. The Bone Daddy ribs put a sparkle in Big Red's eye, but I can't cleanly ponder the purpose of that.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwz3jpx4wEM-BRbf1R8QcmoO8KBiVF3XZL_OuNjLKOKOABlgWE9-qqOrc8cWGnRB4dlkgs4QQp1TFAG_bb2Gh_e156VBWz_ntpbI9AePc-ppDzAMB6XIrPBT2tLK935LXa44wSm0WBRmw/s1600/sipping+sauce.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwz3jpx4wEM-BRbf1R8QcmoO8KBiVF3XZL_OuNjLKOKOABlgWE9-qqOrc8cWGnRB4dlkgs4QQp1TFAG_bb2Gh_e156VBWz_ntpbI9AePc-ppDzAMB6XIrPBT2tLK935LXa44wSm0WBRmw/s320/sipping+sauce.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My favorite sauces were Desperado and Back Forty</td></tr>
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Now back to me. I took my role in the Rib Lab very seriously. I tasted every morsel up until it all started tasting the same. So after careful review of my notes, I noticed the Carl's Jr. like monster sauce drip next to the Back Forty entry, which can only conclude I was overcome with emotion at this very moment. And, you may ask, who the actual winner was of this grand festival. I shall tell you the prize was claimed by Chicago BBQ, which may be the only ribs that never crossed any of my crack pot group of taster's buds.<br />
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<br />Super Hero in the Makinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12221752535599193248noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8118085533102856749.post-80510669665736071022012-08-27T08:41:00.000-07:002012-08-27T08:41:01.039-07:00Jurassic Park is a Paleo Buffet.As a new member of many who are experimenting with the Paleo diet, I have some advice for you. Do not leave the Doctor's office without an actual Caveman who will shadow you during your first week. Each time the feeling of gut-wrenching hunger overtakes you, you'll need him to actually hunt and gather the next morsel that passes your lips. Why? Because you will be too weak and distraught from lack of starchy carbs to use the side of your brain that actually communicates with your ambulatory body parts.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVW6d4pB-pviqG9ps2ugD66fA7adOM1RWcUdhg1Yw8sIZkB3uDi5rqTvpJRJC-7S_U0qfCQlopLAc00_5WtRAMmwlS5P2fblVDn3bGEuYEXjQoQx0jxMeULriDIWkSYtDxNQZZmcJi0Qs/s1600/fat+loss.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVW6d4pB-pviqG9ps2ugD66fA7adOM1RWcUdhg1Yw8sIZkB3uDi5rqTvpJRJC-7S_U0qfCQlopLAc00_5WtRAMmwlS5P2fblVDn3bGEuYEXjQoQx0jxMeULriDIWkSYtDxNQZZmcJi0Qs/s320/fat+loss.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">2 weeks of fat loss between us.</td></tr>
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As a victim of a Big Red abduction after a lovely lunch on the patio of a favorite summer dining establishment, I found myself in a waiting room (My energy level is at the point I may be hallucinating - I first wrote "weighting" room - this is no joke). Okay, moving on. After filling out a five page dossier in a near honest manor on my levels of eating, drinking, health, and exercising habits, I was rewarded with a B-12 cocktail shot in the derrière. <br />
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So now you're wondering why I went along with this, since I clearly had not calendared in to restructure the chemistry of my body for a fad diet on this particular day. Well I asked Big Red the same. Her answer, "You know I can't do anything without you." That does it. The next stop is a Shrink, because from what I understand Codependency, although cute, could be borderline psychotic.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwgF3BF8beuimknvuF0RIrsM6Hf7MGS0yTcaaVekJVaZva1xhUmHcJRmWQ0-t5XLwSRH1c_sTCm_4G0paftaHbQYJ0mu5knc1RIgpY__-bBSWx_4Ioz4LzHQ2Cw97ooJ0GYxFONC8oUSU/s1600/6+weeks+Paleo.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwgF3BF8beuimknvuF0RIrsM6Hf7MGS0yTcaaVekJVaZva1xhUmHcJRmWQ0-t5XLwSRH1c_sTCm_4G0paftaHbQYJ0mu5knc1RIgpY__-bBSWx_4Ioz4LzHQ2Cw97ooJ0GYxFONC8oUSU/s320/6+weeks+Paleo.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">6 weeks of Paleo and now at Blondie's wedding.<br />
Wearing the same dress, but that is not the<br />
codependency I swear. </td></tr>
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<br />Super Hero in the Makinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12221752535599193248noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8118085533102856749.post-54085540940295055472012-06-20T08:58:00.000-07:002012-06-20T08:58:25.846-07:00Self Deprecation sometimes has an Accomplice in the form of a Devil TeenAt my ripe old age I learn daily that training to be a super hero isn't just physical. The mental beating we take while learning about our ego is resounding. All you need is a teenager in your home to make sure you never feel secure or safe in your own skin. <br />
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Why? You say. Well here's why - I say. For instance, my teen has an iPhone of her very own, yet she is inordinately fascinated with mine. If I leave it for a second or more - it is immediately in her clutches. I never know what has changed on it while out of my possession, but I rest assured something has, once it is back with its rightful owner.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsMUMO5eX-NjW8NPRPTg5ypttF0yp_nxXlP_tI0Axrqe1c-p72ve8bHbXuTiJZ67KoJiyrZEEKNF5lkJ5M_g9OTCuXonFDOKX01go0pDFqMUxGQyJxCg4r8yCdj6BkOu-8WZ46oBnu2wE/s1600/Devil+Halloween+photo.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsMUMO5eX-NjW8NPRPTg5ypttF0yp_nxXlP_tI0Axrqe1c-p72ve8bHbXuTiJZ67KoJiyrZEEKNF5lkJ5M_g9OTCuXonFDOKX01go0pDFqMUxGQyJxCg4r8yCdj6BkOu-8WZ46oBnu2wE/s320/Devil+Halloween+photo.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Devil Teen</td></tr>
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With that said, as I was enjoying lunch yesterday with Big Red and discussing our plans for an upcoming event with a group of folks while reading responses on my email from them - Big Red asks, "what were those little emoticons behind 'Casper's" name on his email address from the blast email you sent out?" Okay, so first I must explain Casper is new to the Super Hero scene and can't be categorized in the BF department at this point. I think an appropriate way to put it is - we are both still interning for the BF and GF positions. Or at this point I might say "were" interning.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTgMf5nlURefDf_5VoHpxxyVZBjfltfbcMzRi5lFvgoXT_370Uwd3w934-Dc3P1VAvql0KKheRI2XmLEat527BwPZsZq1xSef0-alZ_Sdq1VMZCPgOxrI8hd71wa7GjV4hvjNLzWNvOiA/s1600/Angel+photo.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTgMf5nlURefDf_5VoHpxxyVZBjfltfbcMzRi5lFvgoXT_370Uwd3w934-Dc3P1VAvql0KKheRI2XmLEat527BwPZsZq1xSef0-alZ_Sdq1VMZCPgOxrI8hd71wa7GjV4hvjNLzWNvOiA/s320/Angel+photo.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Princess Teen</td></tr>
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So as someone who rarely is paying much attention to Big Red and usually tuning her out while I'm entranced in whatever is striking my fancy at the moment - I suddenly lift my head and slowly turn towards her with my full, undivided attention - and say what anyone with a semi-extensive vocabulary would say: "Hu?"<br />
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She said, "You know those little hearts behind Casper's email address?" Now, Big Red describes the major organ in my body as a cold, black heart. I must tell you, the sound of said organ falling to the floor creating a near earthquake by the impact, was enough to drain all the blood out of my face. <br />
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I immediately grab my iPhone and start looking through my contact list. The cute little teenager of mine, who I used to refer to as Princess, has carefully placed emoticons next to a variety of contacts which apparently show up in their email addresses. So, remember when I said Casper and I were interning for a future position? Well now I'm pretty sure the Intern gig is up and my label is the psycho-middle-aged freak who uses emoticons to amuse herself. <br />
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Even better is, since my little Princess and Big Red have a continuing battle as to which of them should receive the majority of my attention, the Princess gave Big Red's contact page a face lift with bright red devil-faced emoticons. I've got to say this kid has a sense of humor. It's a shame she will be sharing it with only her four walls of her room the rest of the summer.Super Hero in the Makinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12221752535599193248noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8118085533102856749.post-38661622148643195482012-05-10T10:53:00.000-07:002012-05-10T10:53:18.138-07:00Big trip to the east for the Derby GalaI was on my way to the Kentucky Derby one Saturday when I was kidnapped and held hostage at a private country club in east Reno. You see, BFF, an east coast Debutante and west coast Junior Leaguer, had a fantasy of creating an event to remind her of the days when she actually lived with her fabulously wealthy family and socialized with only the elite southern class of the U.S.
(<i>Pic below with Big Red and BFF</i>)
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Well who were we to squash her dreams of yore? So we put on our BIG girl britches, our Derby worthy frocks, and the most unbridled headdress we could pluck from Minnie Pearl's price-tag-laden hat collection.
Having the sense of humor she does, BFF christened Big Red and me as the Bonnet adjudicators of the Derby and we adopted a third party, who I deem Mr. Martini due to his choice of liquid Valium to work his way through the day.
So we swept through the room with all our vigor and glory to crown the most stylish headcloth. After which, Big Red proudly stepped up to the microphone to parade her Mint Julep induced southern drawl for the announcement of the winners.
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The mic couldn't have been yanked from her at a more opportune time, because at that point she had decided to let anyone know who was listening (a couple of people) that this duo is for hire to host parties. And I say, "Um, no we aren't." I'm sure at that very moment the Kardashians and Paris Hilton were shaking in their stilettos for fear of losing their next Vegas gig to a couple of middle - no strike that - 3/4 aged loud mouths.(<i> To the right is some MMA fighter, Attorney Girl, moi and Big Red</i>)
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyc_dU2RfRMFGplJeaOCQwW-zZMlwm6c3yo1YLf3RV19FQTUM08kw_IMSRhGbfPXST82FqsOtqwGcTnSChdN_i9O6xfLxtRtT1RWUaQcUlcGKJjuHsYR0IA4JxbfTpAB9Zk4TMQWsHGwA/s1600/Ginger+at+the+Derby.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear:left; float:left;margin-right:1em; margin-bottom:1em"><img border="0" height="269" width="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyc_dU2RfRMFGplJeaOCQwW-zZMlwm6c3yo1YLf3RV19FQTUM08kw_IMSRhGbfPXST82FqsOtqwGcTnSChdN_i9O6xfLxtRtT1RWUaQcUlcGKJjuHsYR0IA4JxbfTpAB9Zk4TMQWsHGwA/s320/Ginger+at+the+Derby.jpg" /></a></div>
And just my luck, as we wandered to the outdoors for a photo op with a Rose wreath-adorned horse who has never seen a race track, I run into an ex-BF while I'm gussied up in all my Southern regalia.
As my friend Ginger so eloquently put it, "God hates you and you are going to H. E. double L." To which I reply, "Duuuh!" Has anyone ever had a BF take on the sudden urge to attend mass after being in your presence for a couple of hours? Yeah, me neither. But if that had ever happened to me, I'd say that BF may have had some good instincts.
(<i>Ginger, my prophecy, dolled up in all pink is to the left</i>)Super Hero in the Makinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12221752535599193248noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8118085533102856749.post-50783772099712776212012-05-02T12:05:00.000-07:002012-05-02T12:05:09.321-07:00We went to St. Louis to get fat and it worked.Big Red and I recently embarked upon a trip to St. Louis, a city that has never had the opportunity to entertain us, until now. Our first outing started with a stroll down "The Loop," which has no resemblance to a loop at all, unless walking straight down a sidewalk then crossing the street and walking back in the opposite direction constitutes a loop for you. I've renamed it "The Rectangle." <br />
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We quite possibly burned about 35 calories before deciding we need to imbibe in an Anheuser-Busch territory beer tasting. We had a line up of blonde, pale, dark, light, etc. <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaezlWUbF9nIiRfK8Jox_J7QBRYq0dH5FDjFc9BWdjjKu0i9UUHnWe1cWVIeHogcPl6tPSTS6UBgqTOIpjCZ4_234BWNf3bSjkO4b-GoWIbzcKp6uVlAV7tOHX_GyxeYZFF8_hckAo1_o/s1600/Late+night+St.+Louis.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear:right; float:right; margin-left:1em; margin-bottom:1em"><img border="0" height="320" width="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaezlWUbF9nIiRfK8Jox_J7QBRYq0dH5FDjFc9BWdjjKu0i9UUHnWe1cWVIeHogcPl6tPSTS6UBgqTOIpjCZ4_234BWNf3bSjkO4b-GoWIbzcKp6uVlAV7tOHX_GyxeYZFF8_hckAo1_o/s320/Late+night+St.+Louis.jpg" /></a></div>This was an exciting moment for us. We're in the land of foamy golden hops and barley. It took a total of two sips to remind us - WE HATE BEER. So off we went our arms swinging with the determination to get back to the room to gussy up for the evening ahead.<br />
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(<i>Ciroc was the alcohol of choice with no Champagne in sight</i>)<br />
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Our divalicious gal-pal from the home of the Gateway Arch whisked us away to Playboy Cappuccino to have our first culinary experience. Upon our arrival I must note there was no Hugh Hefner sighting, and there were NO Cappuccinos, lattes or espressos within miles of this gin joint. <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAXgfSHDwDeps-LuvBiUo1X4o0VqfRxecy02ShhZCjBzycfToeZOjst2cGhqUfJf6Wm61niyjrRU06i8AQGPVPu58rqJSa7d0LRJzwd9wzEh7ozeHq2SZg4vd2L8RTgiyfsbrCGs39ZVQ/s1600/St.+Louis+Playboy+Cappuccino.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear:left; float:left;margin-right:1em; margin-bottom:1em"><img border="0" height="320" width="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAXgfSHDwDeps-LuvBiUo1X4o0VqfRxecy02ShhZCjBzycfToeZOjst2cGhqUfJf6Wm61niyjrRU06i8AQGPVPu58rqJSa7d0LRJzwd9wzEh7ozeHq2SZg4vd2L8RTgiyfsbrCGs39ZVQ/s320/St.+Louis+Playboy+Cappuccino.jpg" /></a></div><br />
After months and/or years of training our muscles and body to understand we are on the journey to thinner, healthier vessels - a large shiny paper plate of deep fried chicken, deep-fried shrimp and double-fried steak potatoes landed on our fold-out table next to the wooden bowl (not bucket) of ice. You say, why is there a bowl of ice on the table? Well naturally if we wanted our drinks cold, we were going to need this accoutrement. The only other food option was deep-fried Tripe delicately placed between two starch WHITE pieces of Wonder bread. I haven't had white bread, let alone the polka dot wrapped gooey brand since Black Oak Arkansas had a hit song, well, a song anyway.<br />
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(<i>Woman in the far left corner of this pic said, "white girls dancing, scare me." I told her I scare myself.</i>)<br />
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I apologize ahead of time for what I'm about to describe. But if you, like I, have taken the oath of whole grain style carbs, then you need to know - once you bite into the above mentioned sandwich - the remainder of your evening is spent thrusting your tongue to-and-fro at the rooftop of your pie-hole in an attempt to scrape off the residuals of this White Wonder. I'm beginning to think this might be the end to my weight problem. If I make this selection for every meal, I'd never get through it - and I must have burned 150 calories peeling off the fresh plaster of dough. <br />
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Oh, and after a night of debauchery in the greasy, nasty, yummy, luscious deep-fried department - don't bother seeking refuge in a Jamba Juice the following day, unless you want to buy the space and open one up yourself.Super Hero in the Makinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12221752535599193248noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8118085533102856749.post-39750742924044648062012-04-06T09:25:00.000-07:002012-04-06T09:25:08.979-07:00I share the same awful affliction of that humble British girl.Always the sympathizer, I totally understand this poor British woman's plight and struggle with beauty. Not everyone has a full understanding for someone with such assets.<br />
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Big Red and I, long ago, came to terms with what this victim is enduring. Oh its not the bounty of beauty we are burdened with, but the haunting gift of intelligence. Yes, people have an affinity for disdain towards us due to our wicked smart nature. Much in the way Ms. Brick's beauty is hidden, well..... I think you understand my point.<br />
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It is probably difficult for most of you to see with the naked eye, and those of you with a good set of ears are probably tilting your head in wonderment as well. Try not to tweak your brain to see it - just go with it. <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTq0VWENPg-YGkwjzo5icZa38w8Y5tog99S25lzuWScEDdtdIZ85gPVSSAxBG97HCO7sNsg8zYyg07Wt6cLzZBHhb8aRXfrGkPo2jjcsIqFqTEqAByA2GpITffaf43KmvZXZKDP1Bf0_s/s1600/Rio+de+Janeiro+Big+Red+and+the+bull.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear:right; float:right; margin-left:1em; margin-bottom:1em"><img border="0" height="240" width="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTq0VWENPg-YGkwjzo5icZa38w8Y5tog99S25lzuWScEDdtdIZ85gPVSSAxBG97HCO7sNsg8zYyg07Wt6cLzZBHhb8aRXfrGkPo2jjcsIqFqTEqAByA2GpITffaf43KmvZXZKDP1Bf0_s/s320/Rio+de+Janeiro+Big+Red+and+the+bull.jpg" /></a></div><br />
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We can't blame you for not noticing it sooner. You see, Big Red and I have learned the art of cloaking our cerebral prowess due to our ostracism from "normal" society. <br />
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This is where Veuve plays a huge role in softening our sharp intellect and giving us the freedom to feel just like the masses, who, and I quote, "don't know how lucky they are," according to Samantha Brick.<br />
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I blame my mother. You see I was merely 21 months old when President Kennedy was assassinated and I was placed in a playpen a few feet from the Black & White with 24/7 coverage of the events on that day. So not only did I grow up thinking we were related to the Kennedys, but I already had a history lesson under my belt before exiting the diaper stage. Word is children thrive on repetition, as it assists in the learning process. Well yours truly here is living proof that a child's brain emblazoned with continual newscasts for 120 hours, not only can't forget, but feels as if she were in Dallas that very day.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFAj8OvLgsfbUnIVjp0bSgmMxckvN4PTnoScsi6w7JqCUJ1Y0NbGiXyffbd3BqEGS18BSpO7uwydnQFOury43HIehEjtwt__qkH_0ws0PaDhs7PySWdE-eqiP7MaCvtQiALpWh1Cn94uU/s1600/cloaking+my+intelligence.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear:left; float:left;margin-right:1em; margin-bottom:1em"><img border="0" height="240" width="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFAj8OvLgsfbUnIVjp0bSgmMxckvN4PTnoScsi6w7JqCUJ1Y0NbGiXyffbd3BqEGS18BSpO7uwydnQFOury43HIehEjtwt__qkH_0ws0PaDhs7PySWdE-eqiP7MaCvtQiALpWh1Cn94uU/s320/cloaking+my+intelligence.jpg" /></a></div>Imagine how severe my curse of intelligence could have been had mother run Einstein's theory of Relativity all those days. I'd have no friends but lab rats. Wait, oh never mind. That's another blog.<br />
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Now Big Red's erudite nature came to her through basic solidarity. She was entertained mostly from her imaginary friends leaping off the pages of her fantasy novels. Being the daughter of the Vice Principal did not gain her many allies in her journey to, well, who she is today. <br />
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So please try not to judge this pitiful British gal who is fraught with the stunning looks of the likes of Kim Kardashian, Angelina Jolie and Jennifer Aniston. She's not cocky, she just loves herself. Sorry Kelly Rowland, I couldn't help myself. I'm too smart to know better.Super Hero in the Makinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12221752535599193248noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8118085533102856749.post-83367807592331902162012-03-11T18:25:00.001-07:002012-03-11T18:27:50.821-07:00Making CABO a Better Place for Everyone to Visit. We are Givers.Cabo at 50 is a lot like it was at 40, except for the part where everything in my bathing suit has dropped an inch or two; and my ability to remain in the vertical position much past 9:30 p.m. is pretty much up to anyone who wants to prop me up and staple my hair to the wall.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFVdltgRtiFD4XxJKOeIDWsq13hE_SIigIl8kzlte_7VDra9U-TEMEmcz-uye7PxPggYsYP33OcjmHA6r94AR-yA2dBpscdyGZ8XW6w8OJs6IvhRR0RSXcfXUuDjxsylrJnf4yUepKzOM/s1600/Big+Red+and+New+Mexico.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear:left; float:left;margin-right:1em; margin-bottom:1em"><img border="0" height="240" width="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFVdltgRtiFD4XxJKOeIDWsq13hE_SIigIl8kzlte_7VDra9U-TEMEmcz-uye7PxPggYsYP33OcjmHA6r94AR-yA2dBpscdyGZ8XW6w8OJs6IvhRR0RSXcfXUuDjxsylrJnf4yUepKzOM/s320/Big+Red+and+New+Mexico.jpg" /></a></div>(<i>This is Patron Love between New Mexico and Big Red</i>)<br />
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I must say my staying power outlasted that of Big Red on a particular evening when she made it all the way to the ripe hour of 4:30 p.m. before a 15-hour retirement from consciousness. We were iffy on letting her nap, because when she exited the SUV - much to all of our surprise - she had once again attempted the art of flight which landed her pretty much splayed out on the garage floor. This happened so swiftly we weren't sure whether or not she landed on her head, which would be a NO NO for a nap. However after careful inspection it was clear her entire right side of her body reached out to save her noggin from any further damage she could have possibly done that day.<br />
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<i>(BFF Patron love in her own way)</i><br />
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This is possibly due to the long, arduous hours we put in at The Office. Upon our arrival Diva, New Mexico, Ginger, BFF, and Big Red decided that while in Mexico they should partake in the Margarita ritual. Well your Super Hero here who is fully aware of the number of calories bobbing around in the pool of said sweet bliss, decided the smarter order would be a shot of Patron Silver and a beer back. I could get the same rotted-gut buzz without sacrificing on actual edible-type calories for the day.<br />
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Now, even though it was not lost on the remainder of the aforementioned crew that they were swilling a beverage with three shots of Tequila already packed into their afternoon Mexican Punch - they thought it unfair that I partake in a shot all by myself. So shots for everyone!!!!<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwLNf7a4YiDKzKKJRs_zlqEEZHdqNCh24oCrjdkwyLhw8oVbnRRKyy-tABnMztLFD-2Ir_ggwiiYcl-jgEfdhO0qCXhm2rlwWzYs_AwV1wSLhonbCyl5dTpT6i_FeCqGr_ek345NRPAPM/s1600/Ginger+with+a+Pina.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left:1em; margin-right:1em"><img border="0" height="240" width="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwLNf7a4YiDKzKKJRs_zlqEEZHdqNCh24oCrjdkwyLhw8oVbnRRKyy-tABnMztLFD-2Ir_ggwiiYcl-jgEfdhO0qCXhm2rlwWzYs_AwV1wSLhonbCyl5dTpT6i_FeCqGr_ek345NRPAPM/s320/Ginger+with+a+Pina.jpg" /></a></div><i>(Ginger is very Happy with her choice.)<br />
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At this point the waiter decided he should make it clear that each shot had an extremely high price tag. But like most of the world, after swimming in the hooch for a couple of hours, there is no one smarter, funnier, and apparently no one with bigger check books than our bevy of borrachas. <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTfrWZ1VxDo9FDWcfW7Dx6lkZp9VqK9lRLZ24-6tvY2-famJAUpG8p390RQxrCMGDJsqx1y3TLyPSRpPDiya3Ic9ei5aApmAAYJnbTdlKvS8AgmekFkjxOuTbKh7wn20ZaY3L3SsKReaQ/s1600/Patron+shots+are+a+show+at+the+Office.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left:1em; margin-right:1em"><img border="0" height="240" width="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTfrWZ1VxDo9FDWcfW7Dx6lkZp9VqK9lRLZ24-6tvY2-famJAUpG8p390RQxrCMGDJsqx1y3TLyPSRpPDiya3Ic9ei5aApmAAYJnbTdlKvS8AgmekFkjxOuTbKh7wn20ZaY3L3SsKReaQ/s320/Patron+shots+are+a+show+at+the+Office.jpg" /></a></div><br />
I think it important that I mention how our visit to Cabo also created a better vacation spot for every other future visitor. We are directly responsible for the dramatic reduction in the mosquito population in the region. Between the six of us we were hit pretty hard with an army of these little blood suckers. And we may have left with a few red bumps, but those pestering buggers all died of liver failure. Yep. We just want to know when we should fly back for our Humanitarian Award. Lay it on US.Super Hero in the Makinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12221752535599193248noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8118085533102856749.post-13918981438445849152012-01-30T10:37:00.001-08:002012-03-09T07:02:29.363-08:00Big Red's last date is full of holes.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPfE-Lk6pC4xvkPr5OxlORnuaVVslc-m_zh1PhYQ_Fy6yN4G8TSVpZstFbKbw1YOUzUSmsW0cTIvfoGSmllyaitUMHmuP4T4GEYM2x8KDvINlLYOuyCG2LNInsOb75ZhSRmL3Uj84z32I/s1600/SWAT+Big+Red+with+boys.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear:right; float:right; margin-left:1em; margin-bottom:1em"><img border="0" height="240" width="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPfE-Lk6pC4xvkPr5OxlORnuaVVslc-m_zh1PhYQ_Fy6yN4G8TSVpZstFbKbw1YOUzUSmsW0cTIvfoGSmllyaitUMHmuP4T4GEYM2x8KDvINlLYOuyCG2LNInsOb75ZhSRmL3Uj84z32I/s320/SWAT+Big+Red+with+boys.jpg" /></a></div>We recently had the opportunity to spend a day with 18 men from the Metro SWAT unit - and it totally did NOT suck. Upon our arrival we were introduced to the top weapons used by Metro for special ops jobs. We were allowed to touch and explore at our leisure. And then they actually let us handle their arsenal of munitions too, but only after careful placement of the necessary protective gear.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgF55pO3IleLw_6fR8rhp26KcKHPgPDMF6FgdNbzmI176Qaf-tvyXxl0ff5yUlybtfsENy0GMHx-kzE-spJDat330KPdJDcuMFGGEUEGKwBxrVsrtaWJlyCEp0lrlZqP8KPRvM5aZeI4G0/s1600/SWAT+Big+Red+and+shell.tif" imageanchor="1" style="clear:left; float:left;margin-right:1em; margin-bottom:1em"><img border="0" height="240" width="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgF55pO3IleLw_6fR8rhp26KcKHPgPDMF6FgdNbzmI176Qaf-tvyXxl0ff5yUlybtfsENy0GMHx-kzE-spJDat330KPdJDcuMFGGEUEGKwBxrVsrtaWJlyCEp0lrlZqP8KPRvM5aZeI4G0/s320/SWAT+Big+Red+and+shell.tif" /></a></div><br />
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We had the pleasure of feeling the full power of open-fire with, pardon the highly technical terms, M-something's, MP-somethings, automatics, semi-automatics and my particular favorite - the Sniper rifle. Oh yeah baby. Normally it is Big Red who excels at any activity in the horizontal position, but this is where I'm afraid I realized I have a future if this lobbying thing doesn't work out.<br />
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As I took my stance to annihilate my ink-drawn silhouette PERP (Yeah I've got the lingo down) with one of the aforementioned weapons - some crazy woman to my left was screaming maniacally as her shells were flying past me. You guessed it - Big Red was in her element, and the only thing missing after her satisfactory aerobic exercise in domination, was the post euphoric drag of a cigarette - but she doesn't smoke. It's funny this is the first guy she's been somewhat close to in a while (albeit cardboard) and he's riddled with bullet holes after their first date.<br />
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Our limo for the day was an enormous armored truck affectionately name Bear, which has no resemblance to the paddywagons you may fondly remember from the nostalgic days of being escorted to Juvi from that raging Kegger-party. Nope this Boulder on wheels means business. It was a liberating experience to finally ride in a law enforcement vehicle sans handcuffs. Just kidding, Big Red and I have actually once before been in a police car without handcuffs - thank you Miami. What? He wanted to buy us a Cuban sandwich.<br />
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Copyright © 2012 SUPER HERO, LLC. All rights reservedSuper Hero in the Makinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12221752535599193248noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8118085533102856749.post-35756958820288551942012-01-09T09:17:00.001-08:002012-03-09T07:02:49.321-08:00When President Clinton speaks - I simply wonder what I'll be having for breakfast.I'm here to tell you, when President Clinton talks, people listen. And I know this shouldn't be of any shock to anyone, except - I watched an over-packed room of intelligent societal figures breathlessly attentive to him, although they hadn't the faintest idea what he was saying.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiV8WHJzP7MgmFIYGQgfRGOnSciu4xPAsM49OKQXN1dFfStAQvzrTFDhX1L2JhOUJJH-9c1k9Zp4t9-B6eSsbiVYSt_qb85lyzZcsMYPJhnI7tGmWEUHMaBVbb4P3EaL5fODGAvMYwCbDE/s1600/Girls+at+Clinton+event.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear:left; float:left;margin-right:1em; margin-bottom:1em"><img border="0" height="239" width="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiV8WHJzP7MgmFIYGQgfRGOnSciu4xPAsM49OKQXN1dFfStAQvzrTFDhX1L2JhOUJJH-9c1k9Zp4t9-B6eSsbiVYSt_qb85lyzZcsMYPJhnI7tGmWEUHMaBVbb4P3EaL5fODGAvMYwCbDE/s320/Girls+at+Clinton+event.jpg" /></a></div><br />
At one point I glanced over at Big Red. And I had really tried to avoid eye contact with her during this painstaking journey through G-Nomes; sub atomic particles; and measuring light like a GPS, because I was convinced her head had surely exploded already, and I was not in the mood to clean up a mess.<br />
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So what I witnessed was the following, not only from Big Red, but from 99 percent of the people in the audience. Think of the times when your dog is looking up at you as you speak to him. And he stares at you in wonderment, ears perked up - turning his head to and fro - hanging on every word, while waiting for you to say anything he understands. "Wait, did she say ball, I think she said ball." "OMG I think she said Go for a walk, Walk?" "Snack? she said snack." And tail wagging commences once rewarded with a familiar phrase. <br />
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So needless to say, the only actual wagging at this event were the tongues of every woman who had that doe-eyed puppy dog look as they gazed into the President's eyes, knowing he would single them out to reward them with a word they might understand, "Treat?" <br />
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Don't get me wrong. I totally get the presence he commands when he enters a room; and his energy is all encompassing. But the moment he started talking of a parallel universe - my mind wandered to what I'd be eating for breakfast in the morning. <br />
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I would be remiss if I didn't tell you, the President sat a mere 16 inches from me (we were back to back) while other people were on stage talking about subject matter I actually understood. <br />
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However, in between Big Red and me was the President's carefully placed Secret Service Agent. Yes, we were in a 10,000 square foot ballroom, yet the staff thought it prudent to place the President's security detail practically in our laps. They will rethink such positioning next time, because as it turns out - we might be a little distracting.<br />
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<i>(Big Red and Secret Service dude)</i><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXc2fwZlFpeoCTdjZJ_yvpuj0t19XM_nRUdq08fQGFufC7MiDMWx5QHT5hRwA5qY5G091hplaRaqWAAT46atQQRbqhAaNudCQZhA86Q5SDPX_lAvkhgWQFD5aV9LGgtaAz2B88NB24jDM/s1600/Big+Red+and+Secret+Service+for+Clinton.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear:right; float:right; margin-left:1em; margin-bottom:1em"><img border="0" height="240" width="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXc2fwZlFpeoCTdjZJ_yvpuj0t19XM_nRUdq08fQGFufC7MiDMWx5QHT5hRwA5qY5G091hplaRaqWAAT46atQQRbqhAaNudCQZhA86Q5SDPX_lAvkhgWQFD5aV9LGgtaAz2B88NB24jDM/s320/Big+Red+and+Secret+Service+for+Clinton.jpg" /></a></div><br />
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We were made aware of this when one of the President's Aides stopped by our table to ask the Agent if he was going to flirt all night or protect the President. Who knew he had a choice? I thought that was very liberal of them. Apparently in our effort to make the Agent feel at home - he was remiss in blocking a throng of people accosting the President during his Vegetarian delight.<br />
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Copyright © 2012 SUPER HERO, LLC. All rights reservedSuper Hero in the Makinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12221752535599193248noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8118085533102856749.post-45223555007959682552012-01-01T15:19:00.001-08:002012-03-09T07:03:19.629-08:00Chaz Palmenteri is not invited to Cabo with us.Well it is a new year and once again I have to start it with the threat of a Cabo trip encompassing a gaggle of girls. You see, I will hit a milestone in February of the ever-so-grand age of FIFTY. Yes you read that right. I'm on the other side of the mountain now. <br />
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I will be accompanied by a Diva wrapping her head around the thought of SIXTY. And then there is Big Red, who'll (Yaaawwwn) be kicking her tires to Forty-nine. Whatever. Did you read the part where I'll be FIFTY? And we'll have some tots in tow which include BFF, Blondie and New Mexico.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-X_iRiqrzMWMaXIgTHPcoMFnmBmB1lVEZD4CM_b0OTGcg3tCmVFHrb9U6ZYoyx4Zk3hG4E1PBjd3oiP1Wb_ge0HHHoKWVgAD0WMR1dTGURJKEkr1VBQPFDZApkFtqAJURbw6I-s28IB8/s1600/gilrs+and+Chaz+Palmentari.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear:left; float:left;margin-right:1em; margin-bottom:1em"><img border="0" height="240" width="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-X_iRiqrzMWMaXIgTHPcoMFnmBmB1lVEZD4CM_b0OTGcg3tCmVFHrb9U6ZYoyx4Zk3hG4E1PBjd3oiP1Wb_ge0HHHoKWVgAD0WMR1dTGURJKEkr1VBQPFDZApkFtqAJURbw6I-s28IB8/s320/gilrs+and+Chaz+Palmentari.jpg" /></a></div><br />
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<i>(To the left is 5 of the 6 heading south with the exception of Chaz Palmenteri)</i><br />
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So for this trip BR and I haven't agreed upon anything except a flight schedule, but I was considering tiptoeing around the thought of curtailing our lunching, dining, and liquid consumption to a manageable three days a week. <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgp53iGajce0kdrRFhm2zIu4PygERObntZGkpe1UrhS6v9iETKZPC2DptCXVM_6ojPXtY7oOlre6d-V7wa4oPsJePXAkGhBGUeHqwHCVPJ7H1OdLKeeXitnyyJa4cpMt-PO4kCkYcsL90A/s1600/IMG_0790.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear:right; float:right; margin-left:1em; margin-bottom:1em"><img border="0" height="240" width="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgp53iGajce0kdrRFhm2zIu4PygERObntZGkpe1UrhS6v9iETKZPC2DptCXVM_6ojPXtY7oOlre6d-V7wa4oPsJePXAkGhBGUeHqwHCVPJ7H1OdLKeeXitnyyJa4cpMt-PO4kCkYcsL90A/s320/IMG_0790.JPG" /></a></div><br />
<i>(Couldn't leave BFF out of the photos to the right)</i><br />
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What? That's 3/7ths of what we do now. That could be an enormous impact. All you math wizzes can reduce that 3/7ths to some sort of recognizable fraction I'm sure. I would..... but I can't. <br />
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So more importantly, BR and I have a mission in mid-January for SWAT training, which we have to prepare our vessels for - even if for nothing more than honing our flirting skills for our lengthy time with our HOT instructors. We're not very smart - so this could take hours. <br />
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Afterall, BR and I both have untarnished records for saving lives in Mexico. That's right we're each one-for-one, which equals two lives saved. I was always pretty good at the problem solving math. Anyway, it could happen again.<br />
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Copyright © 2012 SUPER HERO, LLC. All rights reservedSuper Hero in the Makinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12221752535599193248noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8118085533102856749.post-75598529681115699582011-12-26T14:55:00.004-08:002012-03-09T06:58:50.700-08:00The only weight gained during the holidays is probably the growth in our livers.So Big Red and I were discussing how today commences the 12 days of drying out. But my thought is why go crazy? How about ten days? Or I don't know maybe six. Okay FIVE and that is final. FIVE days of drying out. Afterall, New Year's is around the corner. So we'll just ring ourselves out a little. Then after New Year's we can definitely find some time for the full furnace blast heat dry.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8m1ZLrFmlj5syae7KCONI0_hKG3sh1zsFeqh2_k5Eh5tsmPwFOIgnICynW8iBkEFwqKLKh-YrOcosgmLZRB1w1Ru_H5QDYSbeAPjJYrBWMNCcjsB9XZp2DgUdWzQ_KU_stMplc31bHhY/s1600/Big+Red+and+her+BFF.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear:left; float:left;margin-right:1em; margin-bottom:1em"><img border="0" height="240" width="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8m1ZLrFmlj5syae7KCONI0_hKG3sh1zsFeqh2_k5Eh5tsmPwFOIgnICynW8iBkEFwqKLKh-YrOcosgmLZRB1w1Ru_H5QDYSbeAPjJYrBWMNCcjsB9XZp2DgUdWzQ_KU_stMplc31bHhY/s320/Big+Red+and+her+BFF.jpg" /></a></div><br />
There is always something to screw this up though. Things happen that absolutely must be celebrated - like your third cousin's acquisition of a new patch for Boy Scouts. Or when Doris finally lost her last tooth; and I mean the adult teeth, because Doris is 89. And especially the time Big Red found out the nasty rash she was sporting was simply from a razor burn. <br />
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This small time-out is a must for so many reasons. One of which is the fact that Big Red was lamenting she's obviously been drinking way too much coffee, because her teeth seem to be stained a bit more during the holiday festivities. Yeah BR. That's it - way too much coffee. It has nothing to do with the former contents of the bottles inhabiting the Green recycle bin - which is in an overflow capacity at the moment. Therefore we must halt this madness, because clearly BR needs to regain the reasoning portion of her brain.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgG4YslthVh0RD3PU1V_P9pCwcTivULGdBUAwdm6fKqixK_TScH8yp8ujxSnojJvN9c_Nm_Srv2fxW9_AdS4rm9NtWB6UAxeH364HlQo8lKFUszxKudNxPMCS1oO_hAynXdu-NLOI11SiM/s1600/Girls+and+champagne.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear:left; float:left;margin-right:1em; margin-bottom:1em"><img border="0" height="240" width="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgG4YslthVh0RD3PU1V_P9pCwcTivULGdBUAwdm6fKqixK_TScH8yp8ujxSnojJvN9c_Nm_Srv2fxW9_AdS4rm9NtWB6UAxeH364HlQo8lKFUszxKudNxPMCS1oO_hAynXdu-NLOI11SiM/s320/Girls+and+champagne.jpg" /></a></div><br />
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(Photo)Moi, Jenny McCarthy, Big Red and BFF - okay not Jenny McCarthy, we'll just call her the Engaged One.<br />
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Copyright © 2012 SUPER HERO, LLC. All rights reservedSuper Hero in the Makinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12221752535599193248noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8118085533102856749.post-40606146740883555082011-12-13T13:55:00.001-08:002012-03-09T07:04:01.135-08:00Making Big Red invisible isn't ImpossibleA devoted reader brought an interesting fact to my attention today. According to the Daily Beast - a news organization I follow daily (hence the name) reported a 15% increase in Champagne sales as the holidays approach. So Big Red, Blondie, Diva, NM and I say, "You're welcome America." <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1RA9yH7Uv9oiOSLNeXiNKB6IKHgDOPzpcgPSpkTndRTMrq5H_DENriD-u5N8P3uo17S3xfLshiOITdmL3j2zYCSDjl0nJE49kXLlkJ4dtGEdlBVb8IBcgif01mdHeunkPinVvRivJHlQ/s1600/Hawaii+super+hero+fun.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear:right; float:right; margin-left:1em; margin-bottom:1em"><img border="0" height="240" width="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1RA9yH7Uv9oiOSLNeXiNKB6IKHgDOPzpcgPSpkTndRTMrq5H_DENriD-u5N8P3uo17S3xfLshiOITdmL3j2zYCSDjl0nJE49kXLlkJ4dtGEdlBVb8IBcgif01mdHeunkPinVvRivJHlQ/s320/Hawaii+super+hero+fun.jpg" /></a></div><br />
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Frankly, I was shocked the number wasn't higher until I realized there was a slight increase in sales outside the U.S., which may have been where we were recently. Yes, we don't just designate the U.S. for Champagne consumption. <br />
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Children learn language through necessity to communicate their needs. Well as adults we become artfully multilingual for anything we desire. Actually, for Champagne it really only requires changing your accent and saying it with a question mark inflection. Champagne? Champon? Champagnya? The pop of the cork sounds the same in every language.<br />
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So in said "foreign" country the laws are very lax as to liquid carry-ons for domestic flights. How lax? Well I wasn't sure, but we were willing to find out. As it turns out Big Red and I had to race from our hotel early one morning to catch a domestic flight, but may have accidentally frozen a fresh bottle of Champagne in our room. It's the first time I've actually seen a freezer function in a hotel. <br />
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So, in all our logic with two hours of shut-eye behind us - we grabbed the bottle and threw it in our carry-on. After all, it is technically not a liquid at this point. We're hoarding a solid. We may have been asked by a few people in line what we planned on doing with it. Um "Drink it when it thaws, duh!"<br />
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One would think I might be more concerned upon approaching security in a foreign country where they so kindly offered Visas to us. I'm here to tell you, when you really want something - serendipity comes a knocking.<br />
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Then, it happened. Opportunity slapped me in the face so hard, my cheek is still red. A group of diplomats was being detoured around security screening and we figured; what's a couple more people? It just so happened Big Red and I were all dolled up in our professional attire, so can you say BLEND IN? Yes, I kid you not. My cloaking powers worked. No one ever thought I could make Big Red invisible. To this day we still don't know if the chemists in security would have spent time arguing solid versus liquid, but we weren't willing to miss our flight to find out.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvrNgtcjxw9xPwMS6srho8hiO1obZSHi5cSqx_ddUAxslVIF5vwFjWRrIKnO0X0yUhX59hdmn8uXgd8p0M-MypBh47ttIEQIJqr_5bgyBw1RUGsU8o8LhuPUTFp3SlVYUn1UJIXB9aXuE/s1600/Sao+Paulo+Brazil.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear:right; float:right; margin-left:1em; margin-bottom:1em"><img border="0" height="240" width="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvrNgtcjxw9xPwMS6srho8hiO1obZSHi5cSqx_ddUAxslVIF5vwFjWRrIKnO0X0yUhX59hdmn8uXgd8p0M-MypBh47ttIEQIJqr_5bgyBw1RUGsU8o8LhuPUTFp3SlVYUn1UJIXB9aXuE/s320/Sao+Paulo+Brazil.jpg" /></a></div><br />
And in case you're wondering, by the time we checked into our next destination - the Champagne was at the perfect temperature.<br />
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Copyright © 2012 SUPER HERO, LLC. All rights reservedSuper Hero in the Makinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12221752535599193248noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8118085533102856749.post-64067008040432878882011-12-11T09:50:00.004-08:002012-03-09T07:04:25.819-08:00I gave up a bout of Depression to only contract Tourette's SyndromeHello people. Remember me? I used to actually print words on a blog and send it out. If you are wondering where I've been, I can't really tell you. But, as it turns out, I've apparently been depressed. However, I've been laughing so much I failed to notice.<br />
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So now I must diagnose the cause of this state-of-mind. Is it due to the failed marriage of Kim Kardashian and Kris Humphries; or the fact that I miss Charlie Sheen on Two and a Half Men? It may have a lot to do with Southwest Airlines not serving Diet Dr. Pepper anymore. I've been upset about that for a long time; and every time I board a flight with them, I'm flooded with the memories of what used to be.<br />
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I'm sure it isn't because of my recent reunion with a gal at MY gym who has shed layers of pounds; and is sporting a body load of muscle after a year of training. I could never be resentful of such a thing for a fellow human, because I know the hours of hard work it takes to get there. Jello shots were probably not part of her training.<br />
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Except, you should know this is how the short conversation transpired when I bestowed her with accolades for her accomplishment.<br />
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<b>Me</b>: OMG Girl, you've been working hard. You look great. <br />
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<b>That woman</b>: Well YOU were my INSPIRATION!!!!!<br />
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So, there is more to the conversation, but I must stop now and say to those of you who are reading this: <b>NEW RULE!</b> If I inspire you to work out - <b>DO NOT</b> - I repeat - <b>DO NOT</b> outdo me. Really? You want to come in here with your size two, ready for beach volleyball body - transformed from your robust size 12, and tell me - <b>I</b> was your INSPIRATION? <br />
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She said some other words after that, but I couldn't hear them, as I was in a cold, dark vacuum - muttering nonsensical, Tourette's Syndrome-esqe obscenities under my breath. <br />
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In my fog, I may have said, Oh that's great. You look amazing. You've really outdone yourself. Hey, when does your membership expire here?<br />
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Copyright © 2012 SUPER HERO, LLC. All rights reserved<br />
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Copyright © 2012 SUPER HERO, LLC. All rights reservedSuper Hero in the Makinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12221752535599193248noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8118085533102856749.post-13129110198675401012011-11-04T14:38:00.003-07:002012-03-09T07:00:10.451-08:00What's worth trading for a $10 Hooker?So I've always said I wouldn't blog while drinking. I mean, it's a no-no in every other facet in life. No drinking, driving & texting; no drinking and riding a bike; no drinking and stealing tigers; and the no brainer - no drinking and tipping cows. But I'm on a gazillion hour flight with Big Red, who thank God made it to first class this trip. I can see the relief on the flight attendants faces, NOT! <br />
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Anywhooo, we only made it as far as Salt Lake City without incident. Yeah well, trouble tends to follow Super Heroes and their.... well, whatever Big Red is. Some guy had the audacity to walk too close past me - when BR and I spotted in his hot little hands a Fedora that would fit perfectly on my tiny little pea-brain. <br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj15Gp4MgEHAXP1ZPUxBsSIUjYI4VRBJjTeHcawuqklpnzsE1hidqAXso4PNvuOTyPBKEliLwWLjNCy5sznEeFuJofEoBo0z4lbLTrr3eFX0W_MhzSdXtSusjFMOIPQxRFbBaNNj4XrWn0/s1600/Pin+head.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear:left; float:left;margin-right:1em; margin-bottom:1em"><img border="0" height="150" width="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj15Gp4MgEHAXP1ZPUxBsSIUjYI4VRBJjTeHcawuqklpnzsE1hidqAXso4PNvuOTyPBKEliLwWLjNCy5sznEeFuJofEoBo0z4lbLTrr3eFX0W_MhzSdXtSusjFMOIPQxRFbBaNNj4XrWn0/s200/Pin+head.jpg" /></a></div><br />
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It's true, I have a pinhead. My mother who is all of 100 lbs, maybe - must have made some pact with God when I arrived into this world, because finding hats for me is as easy as finding a virgin anywhere near a Volcano. That may go over some heads, but people my age and Tom Hanks will get it. <br />
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So Big Red says hey that's a cute Fedora. To which Stingy-guy says, "It is my wife's." Well my natural reaction was, "Can I have it?" He replied, "How much?" As you can imagine, my response was that of, "Oh I usually just make-out for things as trivial as a hat." His response, "where are you sitting?" It was funny until I realized he didn't want to make out, he wanted to trade for my first class seat. At that point I knew the hat must have been cheaper than a $10 Hooker. His poor wife. He's not even sitting in first class.<br />
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Copyright © 2012 SUPER HERO, LLC. All rights reservedSuper Hero in the Makinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12221752535599193248noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8118085533102856749.post-61925016506434133912011-10-31T13:31:00.001-07:002012-03-09T07:04:48.571-08:00Have you ever spanked your Chauffeur?Just when you think you've been a pretty good parent - aside from a few setbacks - someone has to show you up by bragging at the liquor store about their 9-year-old kid who can drive. <br />
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Where have I gone wrong? I was so caught up in her grades and social life, I completely forgot one of the basic needs on this planet. DRIVING Her momma home from a night out. I've been putting her on the bus at 7 a.m. everyday, while I dart off to Super Hero training. As it turns out - all this time she could have been hitting the snooze button and chauffeured her own pigtails and nursery rhymes a couple of miles down the road for her scholarly upbringing.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-kFyaWWIwuK-yVGkWjQr1kSyCvLQjgLIQYgFNPiqO2BsnePeD03Qvx8MHZwif_kD9vjuIIp68CjMqIaIEqNp2JfeqQAr37i0qvqvvhTp5E5cF40gfv8EA2JNKk0J4XyK7FLpQIDjSNao/s1600/More+Grape+swill.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear:left; float:left;margin-right:1em; margin-bottom:1em"><img border="0" height="150" width="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-kFyaWWIwuK-yVGkWjQr1kSyCvLQjgLIQYgFNPiqO2BsnePeD03Qvx8MHZwif_kD9vjuIIp68CjMqIaIEqNp2JfeqQAr37i0qvqvvhTp5E5cF40gfv8EA2JNKk0J4XyK7FLpQIDjSNao/s200/More+Grape+swill.jpg" /></a></div><br />
Well I haven't failed completely as a mother. For example, one evening Big Red, BFF and I had a hankering for some wine and cheese. However instead of patronizing the wine dump that actually has both of the above mentioned items, we chose to go to a locale offering the grander selection of grape swill - even though they clearly have an adversity to supporting the dairy industry.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUV6PLu1xbbNGgZLRnoEyKMoGTNLxgO-72LkxsRFIWzJ0oK0xhN9YzYOr6Ni4FG505dguvRNE6g1N86OZbMFdMI9k_XACDJYMhmRrreomF-yG_aNDvTxg3EhmZWAvnJOAwJI2057squ00/s1600/Lake+Tahoe-20110812-00187.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear:left; float:left;margin-right:1em; margin-bottom:1em"><img border="0" height="240" width="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUV6PLu1xbbNGgZLRnoEyKMoGTNLxgO-72LkxsRFIWzJ0oK0xhN9YzYOr6Ni4FG505dguvRNE6g1N86OZbMFdMI9k_XACDJYMhmRrreomF-yG_aNDvTxg3EhmZWAvnJOAwJI2057squ00/s320/Lake+Tahoe-20110812-00187.jpg" /></a></div><br />
Therefore this requires packing up a few things to satisfy Big Red and BFF's lactic cravings. As my loving little heiress observed from across the breakfast bar, I began to pack a dazzling Arthur Court cheese tray, several cheese cutters, napkins and other snooty accoutrement before heading out to the market for the assortment of snacks.<br />
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Upon my arrival to our favorite bottle shop, we began to set the table with the carefully selected items from my bag of tricks, only to find at the bottom of the bag a little something my daughter contributed to the picnic - A BIBLE. Maybe she can't drive, but she packs a powerful sense of humor.<br />
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