Motorcycle Mayhem

I love motorcycles.  It's a lot of fun riding around on one, especially when the weather is particularly nice.  I have several friends that ride, my husband rides, and both my parents ride.  And I ride too.  On the back.  Deep down inside, the Wild Child in me wants to be brave and ride too, but the real me is just such a chicken.  It's not like learning to ride a motorcycle is something you can take in baby steps.  You have to learn how to balance, how to turn by leaning and not actually turning the handlebars, and then there is the whole clutch/gears thing going on too.  Oh, and of course remembering not to sear the skin off your leg by accidentally touching the pipes.

I was nervous even when learning how to drive a car.  I would barely creep along the road and was still an anxious wreck, knowing that at any minute some other car, person, animal or thing was going to jump out in front of me and I wouldn't be able to stop.  Or I'd lose control of the car while racing down the road at a blistering 10 MPH and crash into a building/ditch/tree and we'd all die in a massive, flaming ball of death.

Thankfully once I got comfortable in the car that phase didn't last long.  But even knowing that, the thought of trying to learn to ride (drive?) a motorcycle still freaks me out.  At least in the car I didn't have to worry about whether or not I'd fall over and crush my legs under the weight of the bike, or that I'd skid out when trying to make that tricky right hand turn.  I have enough trouble with balance while standing on my own two feet, or with walking around a corner and not hitting my arm or shoulder on the door frame.  (Stupid things keep moving on me, I swear it!)

But this week, the day before Thanksgiving, my husband decided I was going to learn.  Or at least try to learn.  So when we got to my parents' house we borrowed my mom's bike and my husband attempted to teach me how to ride a motorcycle.  I have to admit I did better than I thought I would, but it was still pretty terrifying despite the fact that I never went over 12 MPH and would not turn.  When we got to the end of my parents' street my husband would take over and turn the bike back around so I could try again on the straight section.  He's not nearly as timid as I am of course, so after a few runs with me not falling over or causing anything to burst into flames he decided I was ready to try a turn.

I'm sure you've already guessed by now that this didn't go well.  For one thing, I wasn't comfortable enough yet to get up to a high enough speed to turn efficiently.  And while I know you are supposed to lean to turn, I'm so scared of falling over that my body just automatically leans the opposite direction out of pure self-preservation.  So here we are creeping down the road and the closer we get to the turn, the more panicked I get.  So much so that when I decide to abort (if I could have abandoned ship entirely without killing myself or my mom's bike, I probably would have), my brain function had shut down enough that I could barely remember how to stop.  Thank goodness the clutch slows down the bike significantly - otherwise my mom's bike would probably be decorating the neighbor's living room right about now.  It slowed the bike down sufficiently that I could calm down enough to remember how to brake. At this point I was so overwhelmed by everything that I started to cry.  No one will ever accuse me of being brave or courageous.  Daredevil, I am not.

But despite the dramatics, it really was fun, and I was pretty proud of myself for the part I WAS able to do!  I'm certainly willing to keep trying.  By this time next year, I may even be the proud owner of a Motorcycle Driver's License! Anything can happen, right?

Not Eaten by Zombies

Hi everyone!  I think it's a pretty good sign that I've been a total slacker with blogging when a blog-buddy posts a comment about my absence.  And then my mom reads that comment and suddenly worries that something is wrong with me and maybe she'd better check up on me to make sure I'm still alive.  True story. 


I'm happy to report that I am still alive.  My brain was not eaten by zombies this Halloween, although I'm pretty sure some little idea-stealing demon may have been amongst the kids begging for treats this year.  Because I've pretty much got nothing. 

Photohunt: Orange

Some bright orange and yellow Canna lilies from my garden.

Orange and pink Hibiscus flower in Maui.

Job Hunting Is Depressing

I've been out of work for over a year now, and there is no light at the end of the tunnel so far.  I swear the available jobs are getting fewer and farther between.  I keep hearing that new jobs are being created, but I'm just not seeing any of them.  I wonder where they are going, and what kind of jobs they are.  Any of you others out there who have been out of work having any luck?  I'd had plans to try to get into teaching art and had been accepted to start my Masters in Education to go with my Art degree, but then I couldn't get the financial aid I needed.  I couldn't justify taking out $18K in students loans when there is no guarantee that there would even be any art teacher positions available, much less that I would actually get chosen for one.  Having $18K in debt and still not having a job?  No thanks.  If anything does happen to come up for an art teacher position, I can still apply and if I'm hired I can have a temporary certification through the PACE program, so it's not completely off the table.  My PRAXIS scores are supposed to be good for 10 years I think before I have to retake them.

It's very discouraging to apply to job after job after job and not even hear anything back from most of them.  I'm overqualified for so much of the work that's posted, and not nearly qualified enough for the rest of it, it seems.  I obviously can't get a job in medicine, and it's surprising how many of those types of positions are open in this area! A vast majority of the job postings I see are medical, sales (over my dead body), military recruitment, or "business opportunities".  Ugh.   This sucks.

Another Backyard Friend

I had some towels drying in the sun earlier this summer, and a huge dragonfly stopped by for a visit.  I couldn't believe how close it let me get without flying away. 

The Garbage Disposal of Death

I really hate it when the little plastic caps from soda bottles fall into the garbage disposal.  I usually don't even know they're in  there until I turn it on and hear the familiar sound of plastic bouncing around in the blades.  It sounds particularly unnerving when the blades actually happen to snag the sides of the cap and attempt to chew it up.


Every time I have to stick my poor, soft, easily-mangled hand in there to pull the offending cap out, I can feel the skin on the back of my neck start prickling. Visions of The Amityville Horror flash into my head as I remember the scene where something gets dropped into the garbage disposal (an engagement ring probably).  They dutifully use duct tape to secure the garbage disposal switch into the off position - Safety First! - and then the guy heroically shoves his hand in there to retrieve the ring.  And then I watch in horror as the switch powers through the duct tape and into the on position and said guy is now sporting a massive trauma from his stump of a wrist.  Blurgh!


Do I really need to get that cap out of there?  Maybe if I ignore it, it will just go away.  It's not really that noisy is it?  Maybe no one will notice.  I can always just turn up the volume on the TV, right?

Exercise is Dangerous to My Health

A few weeks ago I started back up with an exercise routine. I'd been way too lazy for way too long and it was really working out nicely this time. Instead of doing everything on my own and getting bored or in a rut, I started going to a friend's house. He and several of his friends had already been working out regularly in the evenings and I joined in with the group.

Sam is in great shape and really loves working out. He really ought to be a personal trainer. He leads our group and we never know what to expect when we show up in his garage. We do it all: weight-lifting, circuit training, sports drills, kickball, yoga, running, etc. I'm usually lucky if I can move the next day. But I love not having to decide myself what to do, I love having such a large variety of activities, and I love that I know Sam won't ever let me slack off. The time just seems to fly by, no matter how badly I'm pouring sweat and huffing and puffing!

But sadly, today turned out to be a not-so-good day. Today was "game day" which meant we played a game of some sort. I voted for Frisbee, which I love with a passion. It ended up being Frisbee Football, which I totally suck at. Somewhere between the transition from plain old Frisbee to Frisbee Football, I managed to pull a muscle in my right thigh. At least that's what it feels like. I don't even have any awesome story to go with the injury. It's just a sad little statement of fact. It happened during a sort of running duck walk attempt to snag the Frisbee as it hit the ground a few feet in front of me. How lame! But I did manage to get a touchdown with said injury, although after that it went from a fairly mild "maybe I can just stretch it out" boo-boo to a "holy crap, that hurts!" boo-boo.

I'm now reduced to hobbling around the house. Although "hobbling" implies a level of mobility I'm not quite in possession of at the moment. I'm hoping ibuprofen, BioFreeze, and an ice pack will have me back to normal by tomorrow's evening workout. Renee's got Turbo Jam DVDs and I want to play too!

Anybody got any miracle remedies?