Men are Pigs

While waiting at an intersection for the light to change I see 5 teenage girls on the corner. Each holding a to go box in hand as they had just come out of the corner diner. I thought back (way back) to my teenage years and I don't remember being able to go out to eat on my allowance or babysitting money. Lucky girls hanging out with their friends over pancakes and bacon!
I look up , the light is still red. Its a busy morning, lots of traffic so my eyes drift to the drivers as they navigate the intersection. For the most part every driver was male and every one of them turned to look at the girls. It was more than just a look it was a gawk, it was a full turn of the head and then a check back in the rearview mirror for one last look. Ewww! I thought! These men were old enough to be their grandfathers! One guy even pulled the arm across his wife's chest to get a better look at the girls.
Or maybe just maybe they were all looking at the to go boxes because after all men are pigs.

I've waited at a green light

My world consists of no stop lights, nothing blinking and no waiting for the green arrow. When I take my SUV off and we are deposited into the melee we are ill equipped. As I navigate thru the parking lot out to the side street ever so cautiously as to not run over any pedestrians, inching out, slowly, merging in with the others. I approach the stop sign and stop. Yes a full on stop, no coasting thru here; this is the real thing. The first road brings me to quite the dilemma-"I need to get across". That is to say cross over to the far side; which requires a break in the traffic. No relying on the kind driver to stop and let you go - oh no! Its everyone for themselves! So buckle up!! (well actually its the law). Once safely across blinker flashing ,yielding onto the main through fare the adrenaline builds with the rpm's. The habit of looking into the approaching vehicles to wave at a familiar face is a hard one to lose but by the time I reach the rotary I understand that I do NOT know everyone in a Toyota Tundra. The rotary is an adrenaline junkies dream, its the Speedway! You rev your engine as you wait your turn to enter, he who hesitates ends up in the junkyard! You hit the gas and punch it! Side mirrors, rear mirror and blinkers are all getting a turn here; pull the wheel hard across into the lane, hold your position and make for your exit. I can feel the sweat under my arms and my heart beats just a bit faster; its the big time now! We are getting on a major highway!! Speed traps! Passing on the left! Cruise control! Coffee in hand I am ready, turn up the radio!
Its here where the road rage begins. My fellow travels rushing up behind me so close I can't see their license plates, swerving around me and roaring on past, beeping and gesticulating as I sip my D&D and humming along. What's the problem here? I feel like the world is flying by as I move on down the road every so often looking in my rearview for any cops looking for speeders. I cast a glance to my left and see the tufts of grey hair on a little old man as he cruises by- go get em' grandpa! Its then I look down at my speedometer and realize I'm only going 50! Hey when 20 is plenty, 50 feels like your breaking the sound barrier!
I'll keep to the right!

I'm An Addict

Hi My name is Heather and I'm an Addict. Yup. There I said it. I'm addicted to triathlons. The problem started 3 years ago in June when a co-worker suggested we put a team together for an Ironteam race; a local fundraiser for Big Brother Big Sister. Sure! Why not. I can run. I chose the 10K the 6th and final leg of the race. I started my training, participating in the towns weekly 5k, steadily improving my time. I would take to the streets with my hot pink ipod shuffle 3 to 4 times a week increasing my distance each time. The desire was growing with each lacing up of the sneakers.

Race day finally arrived and I waited till my time arrived to head out to my exchange point. I waited anxiously for a girl I had just met that morning to arrive on her bike (after a 20 mile ride) and hand off the chip. The butterflies were fluttering and the constant urge to pee occupied my mind. There she was! I recognized the purple and white she had said she'd be wearing. The team leader was there to help with the exchange of the ankle chip and I frantically tried to get my ipod on. Then it was time. I'm up. Its my turn. Off I go! The adrenaline is coursing through me and my legs try to find their rhythm.

The excitement heightens as we (my friend rides along side me on her bike) near the finish line. I can hear the loud speaker and the music blaring. Neighbors and friends line the street cheering the runners in. I turn the corner and see the finish line and kick it into gear flying up the hill and under the time clock- good enough for 3rd place! We go on to compete in the next 2 years races finishing 2nd and then becoming the reigning champs! We have all agreed to tackle the event solo next year. Gimme more!

I had become an addict. Signing up for races fast and furious. Now I'm what you call an "age grouper" I compete against others in my age bracket. We use lingo that had at one time been a foreign language but is now part of my vernacular. Tempo run. Time Trial. At the top.... My magazine rack is full of triathlon specific reads and catalogues for bikes parts and lycra apparel. My friends are triathletes (thats what we call ourselves) and we swim, bike and run together in our spare time. Its what we choose to do. Its what we live to do. Its what we love to do.

Because we are all addicts.

Attention Span

..are you still there??? I'll make this brief. Where has our ability to concentrate on something for more than 5 minutes gone? I think it all started with the loss of the art of letter writing. Remember that ancient form of communication, where you'd actually sit and put pen to paper to catch up with friends and family. Everything now is fast, to the point and hey you never have to leave the comfort of your own home. First it was e-mailing , but why type when you can text, and then why text when you can tweet.

Its all about multi-tasking;download books onto your ipod and listen while you run, watching tv while on the treadmill, hands free cell calls while driving. We are even doing double duty while sleeping, not only getting our zzz's but burning calories and rebuilding muscle. (I'm watching the Olympics, making dinner and blogging at this very moment).

I guess it's not who dies with the most toys, its who gets the most done in the time we have.

Personally I am going to slow things down. Look for something from me in the mail.

SSSS

Super Stop & Shop Stress

I'm not part of this young tech savvy generation nor am I old. I can cut, copy and paste on my laptop and pat myself on the back when I can actually download a song onto my walkman-oops I mean i-pod. Texting has become my primary way of communicating with others. I have even gotten the time of day to stop flashing on my VCR. So as you can tell I can make my way thru the world today just fine (and hey there is always my GPS if I get lost). or Tom Tom-whoever the hell he is.

The one thing I can't get is the self check out at the grocery store. Now let me make one thing clear, I used to be the head cashier at one of these said super stores. I could scan with the best of them and was a professional when it came to bagging. I knew where every UPC code was on your overly processed food packaging. PLU's for fruits and veggies I could recite forwards and backwards. And I could spot a coupon scam artist a grocery aisle away. Don't even get me started on my ability to gather the discarded grocery carts strewn all over the parking lot!

Then along comes the Self Check Out! Yay! We shoppers rejoice! We are now in control. No more waiting for the teenager who is NOT "happy to help" as their aprons and pins claim; to painfully slide your organic cage free eggs across the scanner. Nope, no siree! We can do it ourselves! No more listening to Jane the cashier tell Barbara the bagger about last nights adventures. Or the agony of when they want to discuss your purchases. "So how do you like these 100 calorie cookies? Cause I'm doing the pb&j diet and its just not working for me as they had promised...." Oh if only I had a screaming kid in my carriage so I could block her incessant chatter and use child as a way to get this process sped up.

But now WE can do it ourselves! Just scan your card and away you go. Simple. right? There I am armed with my money saving card which never saves me anything, but I scan it anyways. Now the fun begins! Scan, beep, "Garelick Farms 2% Milk $3.99" please move item to the belt. So easy my nephew could do this! Banana's (quick PLU look-up) weight check and move to the belt.... and so on. Then there is a bit of a build up in the "bagging area" and suddenly your food is moving back towards you, not to those god awful plastic bags (that will be another blog) and the automated voice is telling you "please remove items from the belt" I run to the bagging area and start loading things into the carriage all the while my items are reverse rolling up the ramp, running back and forth a sweat is starting to break out, the voice keeps repeating herself "please remove....." I'm removing , I'm removing! SHE has no patience and then the flashing light goes on overhead and the teen in charge comes over to see what all the commotion is about.

Food is flying, I keep having to wet my fingers to get the plastic bags separated,all I can taste is the hand sanitizer they have conveniently located at the end of each aisle-can never be too careful, the bags rip when you put anything in them with a corner, my oversized purse is constantly falling off my shoulder and getting in the way (but you can't leave it in the carriage-every week you read about some poor customer getting their wallet stolen), my chic new bangs keep getting in my eyes, I keep pushing them back and now the sweat is pasting them to my forehead. The teen is eyeing me suspiciously as if I were trying to slide some lean cuisines by the all mighty scanner. Its then I see the bags of cat litter under the carriage. "um I just haven't gotten to that yet... there isn't any room on the scanner..." he continues to stare, while putting his key in and punching a bunch of #'s. Then I see Barbara the bagger coming my way... Please, NO! I have it all organized. Stuff for the fridge in one bag, cleaning supplies etc... I now find myself in the retard zone. Teen finishes scanning my food, Barbara happily opens the cheap plastic bags and deposits my milk right on top of the toilet bowl cleaner. I bend down to get the cat litter to hand to Billy to scan- the pocketbook then spills all its contents onto the floor... pennies roll away from me. I gather up my crap and hand my cash over (again showing my age- who pays with cash anymore). I curse my hairdresser as I push my carriage to the car, really who am I trying to kid with these bangs- they don't cover the crows feet.

Next time I think I'll hit the Espanol button and after scanning the food just throw it directly into the carriage.

My affair with the homeless man

His name is Melvin.

Well at least that's what his crinkled cardboard sign says. He hasn't told me differently-but then again we haven't actually spoken. We've been dating about a month now- he isn't actually aware that we are dating but we are. Our first meeting took place as I approached the traffic light- it was turning from yellow to red and there he was in the median strip. Perched on a milk crate holding up his placard. I was drawn to him, with his perfectly manicured beard and sparkly eyes peering out from beneath his hooded sweatshirt. He was visibly shaking as the temperatures were in the 20's. As the light turned green and I pulled away, I was already planning for tomorrows encounter.

Living in the northeast I have the prerequisite supplies in my little SUV. The ice scraper, my yak tracks, water-gotta keep hydrated!- usually some sort of sports goo is in the glove compartment and a snuggly fleece blanket- mine is red. I had big plans for the next days "date"; I would make a grand gesture of my feelings for him- as I pull up to the light it will be red ( a sure sign) and he will be right there and I will pass him the red blanket out my window and insist he wrap himself in it. I go on in my head with daily drops of food and drink, toothpaste and soap and other lovely tokens of my affection.

The next days commute arrives and I have the blanket folded on the passenger seat. I am approaching our intersection and "oh NO!" the light is green! All my dreams of gingerly handing him the blanket out the window as our fingers touch are literally thrown out the window. How would it look if on our 1st date I THROW things at him? What would he think of me? alas I must wait for tomorrow.

Its the day! Today is the day! I have planned my approach- I will play the traffic lights just right as I approach to ensure a red, do not go, moment! I slow down my approach, I change lanes, I am in position. I am ready! What? Where is he??? Where is his milk crate? He has left me, no "Dear Miss" letter, nothing... just an empty median. I wait, deflated, for the light to turn. I park the car.

Heading into work I see him! Up ahead, he is out front of a fast food restaurant. ( I make a mental note to discuss the nutritional choices he is making). As I get closer he turns to me, his shoulders scrunched up against the bitterly cold wind; and I wish I had the red blanket with me. We are now just steps away from meeting face to face and I am aghast to see- he is talking on a cellphone! First off - my Melvin has a cellphone? and secondly WHO is he talking to?

I broke up with him right there and then. And to think of all we were going to share! Just goes to show you - MEN -you just can't trust them!