Boogity Boogity Boogity

Black bars for privacy but I am the one in the mom jeans
and muffin top head

Ahh race day. Up before the sun (The supermodel loves this as you can imagine) To go meet at the Dub Dub’s to pack into our tour van for our Sunday tour of ‘Dega. We were at the track by 7 am with no real hiccups and were all dressed and prepped for our half marathon. My literal days of training were about to be put to the test. Let me paint the picture for you. An empty NASCAR super speedway with grey overcast sky and 600 of my closest friends milling about in the garage row. To say that it is larger than it seems on TV is silly and trite but there I said it. HUGE I tell you but, we will get back to that. The usual pre-race jitters, lines for porta-potties, and milling about took place. A team photo was taken and we lined up to race.

     To be honest, I wasn’t terribly worried about this. I mean who can’t go run/walk for two or three hours? Most of you reading this could finish the distance. I knew I would finish. The question was time. My respectable time would have been to finish by say Tuesday and anything short of that would be acceptable. The others in my team as you can guess by the photo were a bit more ambitious. So I get my muffintops squoze in about halfway through the pack and take off after the race gun had been fired. I am guessing this is true. I never heard the gunshot which really is telling. I should never move to a war-torn country as I would be shot a lot.

     The race began with a half lap of the track then moving to the apron of the track. This is the portion outside of the crash fence bordering the track. So half on the track half on the apron we have done a lap. This gets us 3 miles. What the what!? This is a big eff’ing track. Luckly at Mile One the light of the lord shone down upon the track and placed a group called the Hash House Harriers at the water stop. I knew little of these people but they had replaced the water in the water cups with beer. One shot of beer down and I felt ready to go.

Thank you google image search

     My orthopedic shoes did their job beautifully and I didn’t even need sugar socks. (Although they are quite in mode and were everywhere) No shin splints to speak of on race day or even now. (I wish my knees were so lucky) I hoofed it around the course, touring the campsites around the stadium where in a few weeks the plumage of the NASCAR fans will be out in glorious color showing support for their drivers and hoping to procure mates of similar phenotype. We turned and ran back down the streets of natty to the tunnel leading to the grandstands. We then toured both the grandstands on the main straight of the track and then the back straight of this magnificent tri-oval. I jest mostly. I knew before the race standing in the inspection bay just how incredible it was to be granted this kind of access. I mean for God’s sake Mr. The King once stood here.

Jokes aside, pretty cool being where this guy once was

After touring the seating for the proletariat we re-entered the infield by way of a tunnel. This is around mile 9. I was feeling great. A tour of the infield where commenced where i witnessed the first person being put in an ambulance. Okay maybe everyone can't do this. Maybe I am one of those people. At mile 10/10.5 we return to the track to finish out the race. 1 lap. This is where the wheels came off. 

My siren

I won't lie. I was beat. Dr. Mr. passed me and gave me the appropriate man greeting during sporting events in which you need to step it up. That is to say he slapped me on my very sweaty ass as he ran by as a way of encouraging me not to be the next person in the Health and Safety Van. The only think keeping me going was knowing that I would pass the Hash House people again and get beer. This happened at mile eleven. I grabbed a beer on the way into the station and one on the way out just after being handed a chocolate moon pie. Now I know what you are thinking. "two shots of natty light and a moon pie aren't race appropriate." Guys I am an eater. Come by it honest. My dad is an eater. His dad and his dad before that. It was the most delicious moon pie ever.

Switch the toilet for a trash can on pit row
and the Clown for... well the clown is pretty close

I soon died. The mile between there and number 12 nearly killed me and 12 to 13 only happened because i knew the end was close and people would see me crying and cursing my hungry hippo nature. Needless to say the last 2 miles were not pretty. But, I did finish. 

I soon there after became nauseated and collapsed. I tried to eat some delicious looking bar-b-que but instead went outside to explore what was at the bottom of a trash can while evacuating the contents of my stomach. I never saw the moon pie come back up although I may have seen my shoes. 

It has taken me a few days to recuperate and I look back on this event fondly and would gladly do another. My teammates were awesome and we all had a great time. I hate that I was so dehydrated and sick afterwards but oh well. Also, this being my second one of these I can say I have a new personal best of 2:28 and shaved 30 minutes off my last time. I am speed!

Schmancy Nights Out!

I'm totally not racist! 

     Big weekend around the house. Friday was a dinner with the people from church and what will become our Sunday school class. Should have been brilliant. Met some nice people and then were cornered by the craziest guy I have met in quite some time. Scientist who wants more focus on research and money for it at UAB. Works on AIDs. All seems like our people. Then he berates us about every right wing talking point he can think of from freedom of speech with no bounds to why Ole Miss  should still sing Dixie and fly the Confederate Battle Flag at football games. Needless to say, “we had to get home because we told the babysitter we would be home early.” I really don’t want to relive it. The Russian supermodel kept it together for the most part and didn't hit him and only swore once. I on the other hand was very bothered by the whole thing and can feel myself getting all fired up again so I will drop it.

     Saturday was a lazy around the house day with Mr. Fabulous, the Stay Puft baby, and Son number 1 (who needs a better title).  We had a dinner scheduled with my running team at a fabulous restaurant in our little city which we had only heard wonderful things about. My half-marathon was on Sunday morning so 2Pop and Biggie kept the progeny for the night. On the way to drop them off Mr. Fabulous swore we missed the turn. His mother assured him that we didn’t. He insisted that we had and asked where Magellan was taking him. Fearing mutiny from the backseat and having no time for walking the plank, I told him Florida. The supermodel relayed our plans to leave them there to fend for themselves.

   Son number one immediately slipped into Cast Away mode. He told his brother “Yeah! It’ll be awesome! We will have beards and be out in the ocean and see a fish and be all ‘let’s catch this rascal!’ it’ll be so much fun!” (He speaks only in run-on sentences.) The supermodel lost her mind laughing. A deep, good for the soul, belly laugh. She pictured them being there 30 minutes, draping Spanish moss on their faces and chanting. I picture lord of the flies. Mr. Fabulous and Wilson (New name for Son 1). Best of Friends and in rare form. We opened the door booted them out and left a baby on the doorstep of a very nice couple who we hoped were my parental units and were out! A first night at home without any children for quite some time and an Ab Fab dinner!? Stop it and what would you expect this to cost you? Your soul? No just a 13 mile run. So simple.

Made it home. Danced the happy dance and prepped ourselves for a delicious meal at Gian Marco’s in Homewood AL. Highlights included delicious stuff fig app, whatever that sauce was that the clam app was cooked in(my guess bathsalts, heroine, and tears of virgins), my dinner was amazing. I don’t know what everyone else thought but I had a fantastic evening and realized that having friends like dub dub family and the Falacia/Dr. Mr. Other guy family make me very lucky. We always have fun with them and if it weren’t for them the supermodel and I wouldn’t have any grown up friends in town we can hang out with.  A friend of the supermodel and I keeps a blog (http://www.hawkeyegirl.blogspot.com/) and shows off her kid-free, care-free wining and dining all around town and I hate her for how much fun she goes out and has but Saturday night made it better.  So we ate, drank, and were merry. All our single friends should be totally jealous or not.. http://myfriendsaremarried.tumblr.com/ There ended the easy part of the weekend. We went to bed early and set our alarms for an obscene time… to be continued. 

the Miseducation of a Minion

New minion in my lab this semester.

Standard first question is, what type of music do you like? This is to pull up pandora and have some music so that lab work isn't so terrible. Her reply was, "Soul Music."

I thought "Great! We can listen to The Reverand Al Green or Otis Redding or Bill Withers or Teddy Pendergrass...." This was not to be.


People, for the record, Beyonce isn't soul. She is a lot of things to this generation. A soul singer she is not. I wanted to cry when the new minion said, "You know new soul like Beyonce."

I asked if there was anything else and she said no.

I immediately put down the pipette and dialed up some Al Green to educate this poor minion. Nothing will add some soul to your life like The Reverand.

I didn't get all technical and take her to Stax (Soulsville USA) with some Otis, Booker T, Issac Hayes or the like. I just wanted her to have something other than Beyonce. Nothing against her yonce-ness but come on.

Yes we did get lab work done as we progressed from Stevie Wonder,  Sam and Dave, and the walrus of love (Barry White) to their contemporaries. Joss Stone maybe? Erykah Badu and Jill Scott definitely. I hate to mention it but the girl had never heard the Miseducation of Lauren Hill even in parts.

By the end of our time together she was walking out with a better understanding of DNA replication and extraction while humming "you better call tyrone." A teachers work is never done.

As an aside if she goes and makes a playlist of Earth Wind and Fire's "Love Holiday" and Teddy's "Turn out the lights" and spontaniously blows up or has 8 boyfriends, I claim no responsibility.

"Dad is great..."

A complete breakfast

Yes, I fed the boys chocolate cake and this is the clip that justifies it. There are eggs and milk in chocolate cake. Thank you Bill Cosby for making me the boys latest hero. Mr. Fabulous thanked me for waking up on the right side of the bed. If today ends up being anything but a 10 for those boys then I blame their teachers. 

You aren't watching the video are you? Take 9 minutes of your life and watch it. Your life will be better for it.

Mr. Fabulous the Anchor Leg(horn)

     The work week has begun to return to normal. Lectures are coming back to me. The timing of my very poor biology themed jokes is back and my students eyes could not roll further back in their heads. I hope they stick that way. “A mushroom walks into a bar….” is a great joke. A “fun-guy”? Come on that’s hilarious. I have begun acting as envoy to all things extracurricular. I got to watch Mr. Fabulous compete in a relay at gymnastics in the giant pit of foam bricks.

Basically the same as the pit at gymnastics

    Two teams of two boys each makes up the event. You must jump in, swim through the foam, drag yourself up and out of the pit, turn and come back, and finally do ten push ups. The next member of your team then does the same. Mr. Fab-a-lus was the anchor leg for his team and hit the pit in second/last place. He then tried to throw bricks at his competition and hold their leg so as to level the playing field on the return trip through the pit. It failed miserably. He then jumps out of the pit moments behind and begins his 10 push-ups. I honestly cannot do his form justice without visual aids but I will try. Picture a boy in the push-up position sticking his booty as high in the air as possible (or maybe it’s just that big. Boy has some junk in his trunk.) He then with arms extended, checking to see if anyone is looking, begins to bob his head up and down with his mouth slightly agape. Calling out the integers 1 to 10 as quickly as possible, he was doing his best chicken neck. Picture a chicken on Adderol trying to eat off the ground as quickly as possible. He was the exact same but his arms never bent so, he was just straining his neck and bobbing his head feet from the ground. He still lost and it was hilarious to watch.

Son 2 does love to preen and crow first thing in the morning

Afterwards, I locked the doors to the car and wouldn’t let him in until he did 10 proper push-ups. 

Whipoorwill!

    When the supermodel and I moved to the ham, there was no welcoming committee sent by the chamber of commerce to welcome us to the city. No neighborhood block party to embarrass myself at. No pies dropped off by June Cleaver. Now, to my 1950s sensibilities, this was a grave oversight on the part of the city with or without their current issues. She is a supermodel and is moving to your town. Cough up some pie people.

     

Reenactment of our move
from Mississippi

The supermodel had it brought to her attention that a friend of a friend was moving to our fair city so, on Sunday after doing our chores, we loaded up the welcome wagon and prepared to smother us some ex-pats (ex-patriot fans, They moved from Boston) in southern charm. She had put on her Betty Crocker finest and baked up a hearty kid pleasing (well our kids anyway) meal (see link for details) complete with frozen chocolate chip cookie dough for baking later and a bottle of wine. We didn’t know anything about these people other than their names, address, and need of a welcome wagon. Never one to turn down a chance to be nice, we loaded up baby and off we went.

    

The only couple more perfect and
cute than our hosts

Needless to say, these were some of the greatest people we have met while we have lived here. They are on the list because she was charming and could not have been more approachable and sweet. He is Mr. Perfect. Fighter Pilot? Check. Brilliant Businessman? Yes. Most importantly though, gracious and laid back. He is new to the South and has settled into the pace of life and humidity like it was a favorite easy chair. As a point of reference, while there he was discussing his desire to purchase seersucker as soon as possible. Their three children were adorable, precocious, and at times near nude. They could not have been more endearing. 


     Also, they didn’t show up at my house at 7, require me to run 10 miles, and suggest that I wear sugar socks. Although to be fair, the running club contains my closest friends in Birmingham and I wouldn’t trade them for the world.

    We were there to drop off a meal and welcome them to town and were invited to stay for a dinner that they cooked for us (been in the house three days and already entertaining) and her brother and his family and her sister-in-laws parents. We sat on a back porch listening to the children play and getting to know one another. Several of us had spent time in Oxford, MS so there was the obvious discussion of where did your child have RSV? Who was your OB? All of which were points on which the supermodel and the sister-in-law had points in common. All this time my daughter, stay puft, sat in the grandfather’s lap hanging out. With stay puft in one hand and a scotch in the other, he endeared himself to us.

    After we left many hours later, the supermodel and I continued to discuss just how wonderful the evening turned out. We had created a sneaky system of signals for use in case we needed to escape. I feel okay sharing our safe word as it will never be needed. Remember the Three Amigos? One word… whippoorwill.

    I am still amazed and grateful for the evening we had. Let’s review our Good (Southern) Housekeeping handbook shall we? Welcome new emigrants to our community? Relax on a porch at dusk during the summer with a drink? Sure there wasn’t seersucker, mint juleps, or warm apple pie but, there was a wonderful group of people enjoying what I think was one of the South’s quintessential summer nights. 

Sugar Socks

     Long weekends should be long for all the right reasons however, it seems that I have found a way to make mine fly by and yet maintain the exhaustion of a fun filled weekend.

     Sons 1 and 2 were escorted to Cuba to meet their father for a weekend full of what son 2 called “activities.” Hearing Dr. Toilet talk about “activites” makes me more nervous that Iran discussing nuclear “power.” On the way home, plans were made to go and help 2pop, my father, and biggie, my mother (who hates her pseudonym but how can you have a 2pop without a biggie?) prepare for their regression from fully-functioning kitchen to dorm. I arrived home to find that prior to going to their house I would be joining friends for a jog around the neighborhood at 7. This is before FomF/Chubby Cheeks/Baby Stay Puft arises in the morning. No boys to wake us up. No work. Sleep in? No chance. Simple solution, I will back out and no one will be worse for wear. Nope, we are meeting at my house. It’s okay, I am a fatty and it will be good for me.

cutest smile ever! 

      Now, our running team/club is an amalgamation of everyday super heroes. We will start with the local celebrity, Rick. He is the reason for the running. I was duped into a half marathon. It will be good for me and I am excited and Baby Stay Puft gets it from her daddy so I need a run. His wife, Dub Dub Goose/Jay Dub Jay, is the runner among us and could drop us like 3^rd period French whenever she felt like it but is slumming it among the people and keeping her pace reined in. Third member is Warren who is currently plotting with me to undo the Coachification of myself. Plan is this, dress him in drag (his idea), take him to practice Thursday, and introduce him as my partner Felacia (his stage name). He assures me that this will preclude me working with large groups of young boys. Finally, there is Felacia’s partner John. John is a member of the group that makes the pinnacle of the nerd community.

I'm the one on the left. 

     Nerds versus Geeks is a debate that rages amongst member of both sides. Nerds include scientists, computer programmers, and statisticians. Geeks are comic book collectors, gamers, and attendees of comic-con. These two groups are not mutually exclusive and frankly overlap quite often. Geek hierarchy may have casual gamers, and comic book readers at its base and moving up you reach Cos-players who dress as increasing obscure comic/game/sci-fi characters and attend Cons. At the peak of this I would place LARPers: Live Action Roleplay. These are the young men (sadly this is male dominated society as I have experienced) who dress in chain mail and fight on the green spaces of local universities. These are the Geek Gods. Sure Ren Fairs or Cosplay at Cons could be included but I will never speak ill of an opportunity to ogle women (read as: Botanist at Illinois Natural History Survey) who choose to dress in increasingly complex boned and laced apparatuses that package their bits and bobs and parade as wenches, maids, and ladies of the court for a day.

    I digress. Nerds are a different beast. I put physicists who work at the sub atomic level near the top of the heap here but they will never surpass John. He is a physical chemist. I have the greatest respect for this field and for him for doing it. I view p-chemists the same way I view salesmen. I am glad someone is out there doing it and doing it well but I would starve if its how I had to make a living. Seriously its hard.

    So everyone shows up at my door at 7 (except Rick) and off we go. Ten and a half miles later I realize that my shoes are so big and dopey looking  that they make me look like I would run in circles without them. Dogs that lack back legs and have an ass-chariot to drag their back end look like they have more business running a half marathon than I do in these shoes. I think that the real problem is shoe envy and Dub Dub, Felacia, and John all have shoes that would get lost in bag of skittles and make them look more Usain Bolt than Usain Dolt. 

I am speed!

   Couple this superficial personal issue with shin splints and I am worthless. The bones of my shins are worthless and spongy. The solutions to this are to run more often at shorter distances, rest and stay off of them until they heal, or wear compression socks. Don’t get the idea that I will look as sporty as Allen Iverson in his compression sleeve. No John was quick to call them Sugar Socks. Diabetic Socks are the perfect complement to my shoes. 

Lingerie for Handy-Capable Runners

    2pop and Biggie's kitchen is functional and their range doesn’t contain an eye of shame (mine does and it could burn water or freeze it depending it’s mood). The parental kitchen is however not appropriate for the amount of progeny my sister and I have acquired in the last year through marriage/miracle of medicine/old fashioned baby making. My role in this is to help pack and put away kitchen into boxes (large boxes) which then will be carried along with all of the furniture away. Stairs were involved. The dining room furniture is seeking palliative care on craigslist as it will soon be the much less formal eat-in portion of the kitchen.

During all of this a student guilt-ed me into attending a football game in the rain. When the highlight of the day is standing in the rain alone watching football, you realize sugar socks aren’t the end of the world. I returned to 2pop and biggie’s to watch Bear Bryant’s boys beat up on Michigan while Stay Puft continued to charm the family with smiles and then hex them with her growls as soon as backs were turned.

Big Saturday: Usain Dolt in Sugar Socks moving furniture and standing in the rain. It’s no wonder the supermodel adores me.