Yearly Archives: 2012

One-Sixth Ironman

adventure
Terror on the High Seas

2,000 meters is a long-assed way to swim – especially outside the comforting lane ropes of a swimming pool, especially at the Marquee Triathlon Half-Ironman with a couple hundred real-live athletes who will swim over anything that gets in their way, and especially in the murky, 65-degree waters of Tempe Town Lake.

Yes, it was 65 degrees – and in a fascinating lesson in relativity, it was warmer in the water than it was on dry land (57 degrees). I just hand to convince myself of that fact before I took the plunge: Because what I really wanted to do was scream: IT’S 65 FREAKIN’ FREEZING DEGREES IN THE WATER! WE’RE ALL GONNA DIE – OR AT LEAST WE’RE ALL GONNA PROVE THAT WE’RE ALL CERTIFIABLY CRAZY!!!

Instead, what the Hot Chicks with Douchebag Triathlon Relay proved is that we’re one-sixth Ironmen – and we really are bad asses – finishing in the Top 20 among Half-Ironman relays in 6 hours, 57 minutes, 30.98 seconds!

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Just When I Thought It Was Safe…

adventure

… to go back into the (open) water (in my wetsuit), I asked myself four questions:

  1. Why exactly did I think it was a good idea to test my newly rehabbed shoulder by swimming the relay leg for a half-Ironman triathlon?
  2. In what world would sushi be optimal race-fuel for my first 1,000-meter training race in said wetsuit?
  3. Why did I wait until the week before the race to test-drive the wetsuit?
  4. What was I thinking when I signed up for a 90-minute yoga class two hours prior to said training race?

Exercise of course teaches us important lessons about ourselves, and the answers came during my 26-minute, 59.5-second sojourn:

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Man Up for Your Lady Friends

rage

If you have a Y chromosome and live in Arizona, pay attention:

(Aside to Ross: Having a Y chromosome means you’re a dude – FYI.)

The Arizona Senate is scheduling a re-vote on HB2625 – the bill that would allow any employer to opt out of covering contraception through their insurance plan for “moral or religious” reasons, requiring an employee (or their spouse) to approach the insurer directly with an affidavit showing the woman needs hormonal birth control for reasons other than pregnancy prevention, because the insurer of the morally objecting employer won’t have to cover contraception for pregnancy prevention.

Please note, Arizona already has a law on the books that allows religious institutions such as churches to opt out of contraception coverage when it is in direct opposition to their religious teachings. HB2625 would expand this exemption to any employer for any moral reason.

The bill was defeated 17-13 in the Senate on March 28 when seven Republicans joined Democrats in voting it down – but it’s not dead yet. Those seven Republicans need your help – and so do the ladies.

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Love is Love

rage

I married one of my best friends on Friday.

Actually, she married her fiancé, about 3 years and 3 months after I introduced them, set them up on their first date and then took them on their first date. On Friday, I just closed the deal – officiating their wedding ceremony in my new role as a licensed minister.

The Pastor of Disaster. The Sinister Minister. The Right Reverend of Wrong – I answer to them all, because I am – as of October 11, 2011 – a fully ordained, licensed minister, authorized under Title 25, Article 3, Section 125 of the Arizona Revised Statutes to perform a marriage ceremony in the Grand Canyon State.

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CSI: Coolidge Scene Investigators

carnage, dogs
The victim appeared to be a 110-pound Rhodesian Ridgeback

If you ever have to dispose of a body, do yourself a favor and don’t chop it up and transport it in the back of you car. Just ditch the car – wipe the prints and roll it off a mountaintop.

I can assure you: The trunk of your car will never be the same after it’s housed a dead body. The clean-up is long, loud and ultimately impossible. There will be blood – lots of it – and some day far in the future when you’re thinking you’ve managed to escape the long arm of justice, some crafty crime scene investigator or blood-spatter analyst will come along and bust your ass¹ for busting a cap in someone else’s ass.

I know this because Pat and I spent $354.31 and two hours last night cleaning up the aftermath of Coolidge Carnage™.

Those of you who are faint of heart may not want to read on or access our Gallery of Gore™.

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