Monthly Archives: April 2011

Imaginary Discussions Over an Irish Car Bomb

My grandpa, the man who raised me and against whom I have measured all people, let alone men, died 21 years ago today.

I have spent the day with my littlest and secretly happy that the weather has kept us snuggled up indoors.

On Friday, The Sass and I selected the perfect azaleas to plant to honor my grandfather at our home.

My heart cries that she will never hear the sound of his happy voice as he sung every day when he walked through the doors…

…whistling a tune or simply lighting up a room with his awesomeness.

She will never know the magic that I knew and it saddens me.

That said, she will also likely never feel the emptiness that I have felt for 21 years hoping to come across another human so amazing and special…

I realize that I never will.


I also realize that my life is filled with other spectacularly wonderful people who although are different, are not less.

I am going to focus on that.

I have two ridiculously extraordinary children who astound me every day and leave me speechless.

I have the love of friends to the degree that I had never imagined a “bastardly non-human” like me could ever deserve…

…and I am humbled.

If my grandpa were to visit with me today, I feel confident that we would laugh at the path my life has taken, and laugh harder at the things that I have done.

In the end, I believe that he would appreciate my ability and willingness to accept the monumental mistakes I have made and foremost applaud my ability to “never let the bastards grind me down”.

I think he would be more amused than shocked and more proud than disappointed and in the end, that is all we can ever really hope from anyone.

I believe he would buy me a Guinness and I would force a compromise and turn that into an Irish Car Bomb…

Post chug, we’d both raise our generous eyebrows and ponder whether or not the Jameson was really necessary…

(I say, “no”.)

We would drink up, I would pass him a cow bell and he would ring it for me from wherever he is, no matter how messy I got.

Today, on a day that is religious to some, I feel blessed/kissed/lucky that I have the awareness at a pretty young(ish) age to realize what true love and acceptance are…

…and I feel prepared and willing to pay it forward.

I didn’t know Jesus.  I knew my grandpa…and I know that is what he would do.

As I Lay There…

As I lay there, the smell of her long hair danced in my nose while she peacefully slept, making her peaceful sighs…

I snuggled up to her and allowed her warmth to comfort me.

I closed my eyes and considered the day.

I must have let some of her contentment jump over to me.

I realized that I was happy and loved and lucky and the morning was not as difficult as it could have been…


Yurbuds in my ears and listening to The Smiths.

When this happens, it is generally a sign that things are magical and horrible all at once.

I had the snot kicked out of me in corporate hell today and wish I was the type of kid who ever (EVER) believed in fairy tales and magical places…

(I did not.)

I am an awful, raised-eyebrow type of realist.

I oft wish that for more than a moment I could imagine a fantasy…a dream…

I oft wish that I could sometimes just simply believe.

I do not.

I have a semi-fairy tale being presented to me at the moment…and I am about to just do it.

Go for it.

Hell be damned.

These are the days that it takes silence and my old non-boyfriend Morrissey to serenade me into peace and logic…

I am tempted at the moment to beat the snot out of logic and just go with it…

To let go…

To be…


The Del-puke-alous Crit


Because I want to race the Tour de Grove, I jumped into the Delmarvelous Crit at the Tour of St.Louis today.

Racing a crit one month after a radical hysterectomy is not advised…to most people.

I however, am not most people.

While I obviously sucked as there was no dirt or barriers and have not done one interval in over a month…

…I was able to figure myself out and pull it together.

(I sometimes forget there is no hole shot in crits. My bad.)

I resisted the urge to bunny hop the many potholes, but I thought about it.

Psychologically, this was a good experience for me.

Physically, my incision was not yet ready for the pull of me being in the saddle in such a way yet.

I puked, as usual…but at least it was after the race and not during the race.

I did not cry…even with the added estrogen in my system.

Will I ever be a crit racer?



…But I’m happy that I got out there and proved to myself that I’m at least not afraid to race crits.

…And I didn’t hate it.

The next month will be very “interesting”.


Simplicity & Fortune Have a Baby

A lot has been going on for the past few weeks and I have made some HUGE decisions regarding my life.

I believe that I am the happiest that I have been in many years and certainly in the past decade.

I am truly grateful for the absolute shit, pain, agony, suffering, and loss that I have experienced in my time…because I believe I have been afforded remarkable clarity as to what is happy and what is not.

I have had the luxury of having much and having little and know that few things can even crack me and only 2 things would break me.

(That says a lot when you put into consideration the position I hold in The Court of Clutz.)

I have had a very fortunate, adventurous, rewarding life for which I feel kissed by the universe on most days…

(…unless I am on a road bike with a number pinned to my back racing in a circle…  At those times, my soul/mental tongue morph into something resembling a love child created during an orgy at which Satan, a truck driver, a West Virginia mountain dweller, a sailor, a drag queen, and  a Roman Catholic nun were the only attendees…but that’s another story for another time zone because the Midwest can’t hang in that mental scenario…even on the interwebs.)


I have accomplished the things in my life that my family never imagined I would (both good and bad) and have even surprised myself.

I have paid my dues as a corporate whore, much to the shock of my mother who likely assumed I would end up a crack whore living in Santa Monica…

Ha, Mom!  HA!  Dream/prediction FAIL!

I have experienced enough in life to have held several superficially impressive job titles…and in the end there have only been two which have made me proud…

“Mommy” and “Friend”.

I am moving forward at this time to focus on those two fantastic projects and although I will still hold employment, it will be at a different level and lesser time investment so that I may focus on my health and making sure that I see Sass’ childhood come to fruition…and let’s face it, I’m going to have to stay around even longer to take care of her dog(s) once she leaves for college.

Sooooo anyhooooo…without an ounce of panic, I have decided that I will be purging the material/superficial items from our home (the latter is changing as well).

(Ummmm…the bikes, furniture, art, and dog are staying….as is my materially fantastic college student…)

Chanel, Prada, Gucci, Luis Vuitton, Coach, Kate Spade…all go “ba-bye”.

Shoes, purses, jewelry, clothes…etc.  Going.

I am keeping a few sentimental pieces and truly artistic pieces and the rest is going.


I am not packing it and taking with me, so it is being sold.

(I have to figure out my best plan for how to accomplish that, but it’s happening.)

As I sit here on this day, wrapped in a blanket with my littlest, I feel very excited about my new professional mentor, the time I will soon have to spend with my loved ones, and the potential of improved health, and increased fitness on my 2-wheeled “boyfriends”…

This is my new baby…

The simplicity of actually LIVING a life instead of going through the motions…

…and like any new baby, it will not be “easy breezy”, but like my other babies, it will be beautiful, celebrated, and ridiculously rewarding…

…and this mama is just happy that the “due date” has arrived.

*raises celebratory glass*


The Imagined Hour

You left me.

You left me here to do it all, fix it all, take care of it all.

Just like that.

You’re dead.

I have never refound my footing.

Most days it feels like the best part of me died with you.

I have spent a huge portion of my adult life without you and wishing I could experience that love again.

Wishing you could tell me how to do all of this, because I really don’t know.

Everyday is a mine field that I somehow get through, but always with the knowledge that tomorrow holds yet another.

You left me alone to do it all alone.

Alone. Alone. Alone.

No words to tell me what the fuck to expect.

You just fucking died on me and today…this day…for the first time…I am really angry at you.

I need an hour with you.

Just an hour.

To look into your eyes.

To bury my head in your chest and cry.

To hear you tell me that I am doing fine and not making a mess.

To hear you tell me how to be brave.

To have Ty and Sass look into your eyes and see the part of me that is missing.

To hear your voice; see your smile.

To hear you tell me that you have listened to me all the times a babbled to you since you died.

I have never wanted something as much as I want that hour.

The disappointment will haunt me forever.

I miss you.

Just Saying It

My recovery has been a roller coaster.

I purposely stayed off the bike so that I could conserve all my energy for the mediation that occurred on Wednesday.

Out of the hospital, one day off, and back at the office prepping for an insane case that never should have gotten that far.

Crazy hours, stress, pressure, and in the end…satisfaction and victory.

That said, setting aside this week, this surgery, this whatever…

I am effing sick of being sick, being cut open, being raw, exposed, drained, and “inspiring”.

I hope to dog that no one ever does the stupid shit that I do, like take one fucking day off from work after a major surgery that comes with the recommendation of 4-6 weeks down time.

After the mediation, I got back in the saddle…

…knowing that I was getting sick and that my body was hitting a wall.

I had to.

The psychology of not being in the saddle was screwing with me.

Two weeks off the bike and without good (or solid) food was messing with me.

Today, I took a recovery day.

I slept.


…but still not enough.

I have made the decision to bail on a MTB race that I had agreed to do this weekend because let us just face it…racing a MTB race 2 effing weeks post-op is just plain stupid…no matter the alleged void I was trying to fill within myself.

I am tired of being sick and cut open and weak…and to not be those things…or to at least have a better likelihood of not being those things, I need to take care of the very peculiar vessel I have been given.

I haven’t been doing that the best way that I could.

I started writing this out of frustration as the pain ripped through my stupid incision and mu core muscles attempted to repair themselves, and realized that for the love of dog, God, Allah, the Universe…or whatever…I really, TRULY, do not want to EVER (EVER!!!!!) have another surgery in my life.


OK.  That is all.