Be Careful What You Mock

I rode over the Golden Gate Bridge this morning and into Sausilito heading toward Fairfax and beyond.  But was turned back by the flooded bike path and the rising high tide and the dark clouds and the Tsunami warnings.  Oh, yeah, and the thought of going over the top of my handle bars again and into the brink and repeating the swim I took a few weeks ago.

No thank you.  So I rode back into the city.  I realized a couple of things on my ride back.  First, that I was in better shape than I realized.  The first couple of times I rode over the bridge and back I was utterly exhausted and taking the ferry back into the city seemed like a really viable option.  There was no thought of the ferry today.

Second that I should be careful what I mock.  Meaning, what I criticize or make fun of, I later end up doing.  As in, I will NEVER wear bike shorts.  I was not only in bike shorts, I was using clip-less shoes, I had gloves on, I was wearing arm warmers, leg warmers, a bike helmet, a bike cap underneath said helmet, and a hot pink and fuchsia jersey, topped off by a bicycle shrug.

And I should confess, my shorts, weren’t really even shorts, they’re a freaking unitard.  I was in a unitard.  How did this come about?  And, perhaps bordering on too much information, I had butt butter on my ass.  I picked it up at the Sports Basement in the Presidio the last time I did a ride.  I prefer not to have any chaffing in my nether parts, thank you very much.

This move from the girl on the one gear cruising around the Mission to the woman on the bicycle flying past tourists on the bridge truly astounds me.  Even more so, remembering how a few years ago, three, my friend Calvin insisted I should get a bike.  I never thought I would be a bicyclist.  Never thought it was in my future, and boy did I poke fun at the people in their gear.

Well, after a couple of rides in blue jean shorts and Converse tennis shoes, I was more than willing to look “silly.”  I was unbearably uncomfortable.  And although I had cages on the bike pedals, my legs were so sore I could hardly walk after my first ride over the bridge and back.  My friends made me stop in Tiburon and we had brunch at Sam’s, apparently neither of them thought I was going to make it on the Tiburon loop.  They were right.  I couldn’t have done it.  I had a hard enough time getting back up the hill outside of Sausilito.

And now, 25 miles feels like a breeze and I’m ready to get back into the saddle and I feel phenomenal.  And sexy.  Ha!  I did not feel that way at the beginning.  I felt like a little sausage, a little pink and grey sausage, my friend Andrew helped me get gear at the ReCyclery in San Anselmo  and Christine and Thomas paid for it, and it just so happened to be hot pink.

The pink doesn’t bother me anymore and I actually have been having fun slowly building up my wardrobe with pink items.  So, I’m really careful now what I mock, who the hell knows what kind of costume get up I’ll be in next year.  Until then if you see anything pink, let me know, I’m going to need a new pair of bike shorts soon!

Decaf Coffee

I am an adult who realizes that she should not drink caffeine on a school night (aka I work the next morning) after 5:30pm.  So why is it that I feel slightly ashamed and sort of dingy when I order decaf at a cafe?  And I feel like I need to qualify the order.  Like the counter person gives a fuck.

I remember when I used to run a bar and when the bartenders were late or the bouncers, they would bring me a coffee.  I once got four double lattes at 10:22pm.  And I drank them all and I did not worry about getting up in the morning.  Of course I probably chased them with four or five beers at the end of my shift.  So perhaps the balance was shifted enough for me to sleep.

I can’t fuck with my sleep cycle.  I can’t. I just can’t.  Sometimes I will stay up late with my boyfriend (doing what?  Hmmm, I think you can guess) and I know that I am going to have to compensate for it the next day.  But I’m ok with that, this usually happens on the weekend and I can catch up or down or what have you.

Week days ain’t gonna happen.  I need to be fresh on my feet when I walk in the door.  Or I will be dealing with pee on the floor.  R still needs some time with the potty.  He’s getting better, but there are still times when he misses or forgets or soaks the pants through and I have to be ready.  I watch this kid like a hawk and still accidents happen.

I cannot imagine the sea of pee I would be swimming in if I didn’t have a full nights rest the evening before.  Especially as R. has recently realized that the more he drinks, the more he pees.  And peeing on the potty is exciting stuff.  We do dances and we sing and we get to flush the toilet and wash our hands and run around playing with our junk.  This is good times, which means, let’s drink some more so we can play some more.

Which then translates to more chances for accidents.  And he just doesn’t want to wear the diaper when he goes down for a nap.  This makes sense to me, we have just spent the entire morning talking about what a good “big” boy he is for not wearing the diaper and he wants to be a “big boy” in his “big boy bed”.  So he takes it off and pees on the bed.

Now I’m trying to work on timing.  If I can restrict fluids prior to nap time for awhile then maybe he can go down without the diaper.  But J., who is pretty much potty trained, should not have to go without fluids and if she’s got it, he has to have it.

They are like little miniature alcoholics running around screaming “MINE!” and I cannot imagine the ruckus that would happen if I let her drink and not him.  I just got goose bumps of horror thinking about it.

And the other issue with R is that although he no longer goes down with a bottle, he still likes warm milk to do naps with.  So I get a sippy cup and some warm milk and then of course, he has to wear the diaper, because he’s going to have to pee.  Heck, I’m 37 years old and there are times I don’t want to get out of my nice warm bed to use the bathroom.  I can’t imagine a little boy of 29 months holding it.  So, naps with diaper it is.

Until he takes it off and wets on top of the bed.  Then screams for milk.  I hate to break it to you, kiddo, but you don’t get it both ways.  Or do you?  Because what ended up happening today is that he never even took a nap.  Nap time was interrupted so many times that by the time he was finally situated, with fresh diaper and fresh milk, J. had woken up. And man oh man, there is no having J.  up and not R.

So he’s up and crazy.  I know how I get, but ever watch a two year old have mood swings?  It’s worse than a sensitive woman having intense PMS watching the Lifetime movie of the week.  One second smiles, next screams.  I could not win.

So, decaf.  I’m sitting in Martha’s up in Noe Valley drinking decaf.  And I didn’t explain to the counter help.  I didn’t care.  For the first time I didn’t care that I was ordering decaf.  She has no clue what I’m up against, but I do, and damn it if I don’t need a solid eight hours of sleep.  I have no desire to sail the seas of pee tomorrow.

Potty Time

If one more person tells me it’s “good practice” I’m going to shove their face in some poo.

Of course, I should know better.  I am a nanny.  I knew that potty training was coming up, but it’s one of those things that you sort of just put on the back burner.  Until you realize that your boiled eggs have blackened, it’s all good.

By 10am this morning three poops.   Only one in the potty.  One on floor, blue and ghastly green–I know somebody who was eating sidewalk chalk yesterday, guess who?  And one in the pants.  I wanted to let R. go pants free today, but dad mentioned that he should be getting used to pants.

I hope dad can get used to a heavy water utility bill from all the extra laundry I’m going to be doing.

Four pees.  Once in pants.  Not bad.  And J.  who normally is super awesome good about using the potty, pooped on the bathroom carpet.  But, sweet thing, she decided to help and cleaned it up, with her blanket.  Which she then gave to me with the most precious smile ever.  Sort of like the cat that proudly brings you a dead vole.

Sigh.  I had had it by 10am.  I called two friends and texted my nanny friend in Alameda.  Everyone had me laughing.  I got to hear all sorts of wonderful pee and poo stories.  My day definitely brightened.  I resolved then and there to go to the park.

We made it!  No peeing, no pooing (of course it had already been done, but you never know, they are eating a lot these days and growing so fast).  I whipped out the travel potty at the park, pointed it out to them and let ’em loose.  J.  immediately sat down and peed.

I was overjoyed.

The admiration/awe of the dad with a girl about J’s age certainly helped.  “Oh my god, did she just pee in the potty?”

“Yup,” I said, has there ever been a prouder moment?

“Wow.”  The dad was absolutely awe struck.

And R. peed before we left, in the potty! I was doing the dance of joy.  I took way too many pictures from my phone and sent them all out into the world to be happily received by the parents in their e-mail boxes, who would later forward them on to siblings, aunts, uncles, and grand parents.

Poor R and J.  I shudder to think who may have the dreaded potty in the park picture moment with their future prom date.

There will be accidents.  I know I will lose my patience and enthusiasm.  I will spend a lot of time breathing deeply.  But for right now, all is well with me and the charges.  Of course, they’re napping right now.  In diapers.

Lip Balm

Although it has been said many times that the urban legend regarding lip balm addiction is just that, urban legend; I beg to differ.

After spending a half hour last week searching through vast internet sites I finally found my baby, my favorite, never to be replaced, lip balm.  It is made by Rachel Perry and is called Lip Lovers.  I have been wearing it ever since my mom put it in my Christmas stocking when I was seventeen years old.

Meaning I have been wearing it for twenty years.  I call this brand loyalty.  Maybe it’s because it was one of the few times my mom ever got me anything resembling a gift I liked.  Maybe because there is some secret ingredient that the Rachel Perry people dope up their balms with. Maybe because of the awesome response I have gotten whilst blowing a boyfriend while wearing the Mint Tingle balm.

Who knows.  Really, the problem is not the balm, I don’t care about being “addicted” to this product, one of the only ones that I don’t care about! What I care about is that it is apparently not being made anymore.  What!?

Do not take my Lip Lovers away you fuckers.

I used to buy it at the Soap Opera in Madison, WI.  Then I moved to San Francisco and couldn’t find it in any of the stores I looked in.  So, I ordered it from Wisconsin.  Then I found it in a little health foods store in Hayes Valley, bought them all out.  Then the Soap Opera discontinued carrying it.  Around this time I discovered that Rachel Perry is in Van Nuys CA.  Ha! And I’d been having it shipped out from the frozen tundra.

Then I found it once in a little natural emporium outside of Hallowell, ME, two Christmases ago, I bought them all.  The clerk looked at me with a smirk, but I did not care, I was cold and they provided a lot of solace.  Recently I discovered it in a little shop in Noe Valley, Common Scents.  Bought their last ones.  Now I am left with the internet.

Ebay-nada, unless you count the fools bidding for two pots of the stuff for over $2o.  Or the one pot of Grape that was being sold for $22. C’mon folks, I’m insane, but not that crazy.  Amazon, got the last pot they had.  Searched and searched and searched and then discovered a place, not going to tell you the name, that had it in stock.

Man was I getting tired of seeing discontinued and out of stock.  I pulled out the credit card and bought ten.  And they sent me ten free! Oh my.  I just opened a box with twenty Rachel Perry Lip Lovers.  I am in heaven.  But now I want to hoard.  Oh yes.

I know that sometime in the relatively near future I will be forced to try all the alternatives, Carmex, Blistex, Lipsmackers, Burt’s Bees, and all the various other brands out there.  But I have tried most of them in a moment when I had unexpectedly run out of my own flavor.

Side bar-if I can find Cantaloupe or Tangerine Dream Lip Lovers, it will be like getting uncut flake Peruvian.

Stopping to re-apply.  Flavor-banana coconut.

So, I’m about ready to go pop back over to that site and see if I can order out there stock.  But my best girlfriend has me worried, what if it goes rancid?  Do I freeze it, do I put it in the fridge.  I don’t believe it will go bad but she’s advising that I cool it and not buy something that’s going to spoil.

And like a good little addict, I’m not listening.  I have already calculated my paycheck and I can spare a little for some back stock.  So what if the boyfriend wanted to get Wicked tickets, he can wait a little longer, I need my fix.

Things You Don’t Want To Hear At The Bike Shop

That was you?!

Yes, that was me.

Really?  My friend, the one in the hip waders saw you go in!

Yes, that was me.

So much for casually dropping off my bike at the shop and asking them to just replace my bike chain.

Dude, your fork must be fucked up, I heard how hard you hit.

Argh.  Yes, I hit hard, yes, I sailed over the handle bars, yes, I dove into two feet of water.

This is what happens when you say, “Fucking pussies,” to the six men in tights, um bike shorts, straddling their very expensive road bikes indecisively along the side of the Tiburon bike path that has flooded from heavy rains and high tide before you take the plunge and go bicycling through the water.

It must have looked spectacular.  For the first time ever I wished that some one had been there with a camera, I’d like to see this on YouTube.  And I did feel like pretty hot shit you know, I’m not afraid of a little water, I’ll show you.  And I did, until I hit a curb that was hidden underneath the water and flew over the handle bars. Kersplash!

I was lucky, I am lucky, I didn’t break anything, bruised yes, wet, oh hell yes, but really hurt no.  Blew a tire, fixed it, thanks Carlos! Ate a hearty brunch, damn fine corn beef hash, at the Dip Sea Cafe while my stuff dripped all over the booth.

So, I’ve ridden to work the last couple of days and I knew I was going to have to take it in to the bike shop, just isn’t riding right.  But I figured it would just be a new chain.  Not a new fork, what the hell is that? And a new set of handle bars.  And a new chain, possibly de-railer.  Frogs!

What sucks is that this isn’t even my bike.  It’s a loaner from a friend.  A loaner that I have already sunk about four bills into.  Argh.  A loaner until I could afford my own new bike.  A loaner, people! Double frogs. At this rate I’m not going to be able to afford my own bike.

So I’m riding the 19 Polk to work in the morning.  If I can bear it.  I may well spring for a cab and pretend that I didn’t have the conversation with the mechanic at Pedal Revolution, his friend didn’t really see me, I mean what are the odds?

I just need my chain replaced, that’s all.