I'm a widdle sleepy.

Last week at the gym, I ran into one of my former coworkers, and we started working out together and talking about what life has brought us since we last saw each other. In discussing the various things we had experienced, she was very quick to tell me that I do not stand up for myself enough. I thought that was interesting, since I'm really the most obnoxious advocate I know for everyone else, but it's true-- I have difficulty doing things for myself.

Saturday afternoon, I went on a bike ride. These are opportune times for me to reflect on what life brings me, because after the first ten miles or so, the music in my right ear bud turns into background sounds and my mind escapes to a place of pondering. I was in this happy place as I was traveling down 89 through Springville when a van drove by and a 20-something male stuck his head out the window and let out a scream. I jumped (as much as one can jump while in clip in pedals) and nearly fell over, only to look to my left and see the 20-something male throw his head back and laugh. Just ahead was a fork where one road went to Spanish Fork and the other to Mapleton, where I typically head down to Spanish Fork and ride the back roads where there are cows (mmm, cows). The van took a right at the fork toward Mapleton, and then pulled into a parking lot of a pawn shop. I started to go left toward Spanish Fork, then thought about what my friend had said. Cyclists generally are not respected in most communities, and I'm constantly getting honked at and almost hit by cars when the law is on my side, so adding people being obnoxious on top of it was really overkill. I veered right and pulled up to the van in the parking lot, where the ever intelligent individual still had his window rolled down. To paint a better picture, I was wearing dark sunglasses and spandex. See: alien secret service agent. This is how the conversation went (oh, and imagine that I'm speaking like my angry mother):

Me: What part of that was funny?
Ape-man: (Mouth hangs open, stares blankly)
Me: Have you ever fallen off a bike?
Ape-man: (mumbling) No.
Me: Have you ever busted open your jaw and shattered all your back teeth?
Ape-man: (Shakes head)
Me: Are you going to do it again?
Ape-man: (still mumbling, possibly urinating) No. Sorry.

You know that episode of The Office where Pam decides she's going to be honest with Roy and not let people walk all over her, and she corrects the bartender and gets a lite beer instead of what he gives her on accident? Yeah, it kinda felt like that. All that weight lifting combined with my mother's tone of voice (see: satanic) made me quite intimidating. How liberating! No wonder people become violent dictators.

So while it may seem humorous to yell something at a cyclist or drive close enough to spank their spandexed bum (which my landlord apparently has done), you have to realize a few things first.

1. Had I fallen and hurt my bike, he would have had to replace my bike. You may disagree, but I know someone who got people to replace all of his gear because their dog chased him, he got scared, and fell off his bike (which I don't really agree with, but if that's all it takes, verbal harassment/vehicular assault will definitely get you to replace my bike). Retail of my bike: $3250.
2. Had I fallen and hurt myself, he would have been responsible for covering my medical expenses. Being the accident prone person I am, I am more than aware of how much a simple trip to the emergency room costs. Dental bills are really, really expensive, and because of my lack of grace, chances are that I'm going to land on my face and break some teeth. Medical bills from an accident (especially if that accident involves me) can get up to $10,000.
3. Had I fallen and hurt myself, he would have been responsible for covering my mental expenses. In a few short weeks, I will be graduating from BYU and will no longer be eligible for their free therapy, and I know for certain that I am a prime candidate for PTSD. I actually experienced it when I had my last bad crash, which is why Bobby bought me a really nice bike and then had to sell it a month later (ride=serious anxiety attack). He would be responsible for paying for the therapy needed to overcome my anxiety induced by the accident, and let me tell you- therapy is not cheap.
4. The settlement. Now, I'm not really a big fan of the idea of settlements and suing and all that jazz (some of it seems like a quick fix to get some extra cash), but I've been to the emergency room often enough to tell you it's one of the most excruciating experiences one can endure. When the shock wears off, you're just in pain, and then the stuff they inject into the site of the wound to numb the pain hurts worse than whatever it is ailing you, and if you're like me, you need new injections every fifteen minutes because your body absorbs it like a coke fiend. With that in mind, and the fact that I've had a lot of medical expenses (see: debt), I wouldn't mind a dumb person having to help me out because of his ignorance.

Cyclists are harassed often. So consider the four things listed above before being an individual that contributes to that harassment, because if whatever you do results in the cyclist getting hurt, they're probably bitter enough to not cut any slack. Some people on bikes are cocky and don't obey traffic laws, making life miserable for people behind the wheel, but there are those of us who actually do stop at stop signs, signal, and ride as close to the side of the road as we can, so remember us before you decide to take your hard day out on the crazy individual wearing spandex on a too-expensive bike.

Why I'm Pretty Awesome.

Yesterday, I completed a fifty mile ride. For those of you who prefer to see the actual number, that's 50. 50 long miles, and the last twenty of them were excruciating. It seems that the cleat on my shoes was a little to far up my foot, and too much pressure was put on my toes. Unbelievable pain. But hot freaking dang, I finished the fifty miles. I may have cried a little bit (see: a lot bit) for the last two miles, but I freaking did it.

My portfolio was turned in last Tuesday, which means that my last undergraduate social work assignment is complete. All I have left is one paper and a test in Book of Mormon, and I'm done. Done done done done. I'm starting my application for graduate school already, though it doesn't have to be in until December. I'm not completely sure what I want to study, though, hence the poll. Initially I went into social work thinking I wanted to do therapy with girls with eating disorders, but most of the facilities that offer treatment are not non-profit, and that's where my heart is. The nonprofit organizations seem to have a better employment atmosphere, and it's hard for my brain to adjust to the idea of greed and power within the field of social work (altruism, what's that?). I think there needs to be more therapeutic interventions for gifted children in the public schooling system, so I was contemplating doing something along those lines, but I really cannot stand small children (well, the obnoxious ones, anyway).

Job hunting has never been a favorite activity of mine. In a few weeks, I'll be a college graduate, and I had put off the whole hunt because we might be out of town until September. Our plans are up in the air again, though, so the pressure's on to find a source of income. It looks like I might be working at a less than ideal situation, though, because I'll be leaving in May, which means I need a job that has high enough turnover that they won't mind.

Peli had her second click-a-trick class on Wednesday, and she has learned how to spin, rewind (a spin in the other direction), and how to die on command. She's pretty brilliant. However, she's driving me a little nuts with the chewing today (what is her fascination with my bras?!?).

Yee haw. Back to cleaning.

I can ride my bike with handlebars.

Today, I completed a 40 mile ride. This is awesome for the following reasons:

• I started my ride at 10, and spent 10:30-10:45 at ScenicView to show off my new bike to my supervisor, who also cycles. This means I was biking during the hottest part of the day.
  
• I brought only one goo packet. I'm not sure what my logic was when I grabbed only one-- perhaps I thought I was going to be super fast, and only take two hours to get the ride done (my typical average speed is 15 mph-- I was feeling overly ambitious/confident?), and a goo is to be consumed for every hour on the ride. At about 2:15 into the ride, I thought my muscles gave up on existing.
  
• I didn't get lost. I have a tendency of doing so, so completing a 40 mile ride on my own is pretty incredible.
• There was a freaking snake sun bathing across the Provo River trail. I've seen plenty of dead snake bodies on the trail, but never a living one. And it was very long, probably about 4 feet. I thought I might poo myself, and I managed to stay on top of my bike.

Next week, I need to up it to 50, and 60 after that. If this is how it feels after only 40 miles, I'm probably going to sleep for a few days straight after the century next month.

A dog's fascination with cat feces.

Yesterday I started looking more closely at the application for KU's social work graduate program as a distraction from working on my portfolio. I figured looking at the application would be good motivation for working harder on my seminar's final project rather than just doing it to get it done, but the application does not require that I submit my portfolio. So much for that.

Last week, I got a couple of good rides in, though they were more eventful than I would have liked. Friday's ride was 26 miles, and at about 10 miles in, I observed an adult male pushing a large jogging stroller in the biking lane. I've gotten used to people completely ignoring the divided lanes on the Provo River trail, so I've given up on saying anything (never mind a cyclist actually broke his neck because someone was in his lane when he turned a corner). I slowed down and went to cruise around him, when just as I was passing him, he turned and spit.

Now, in case you haven't experienced it, guys usually do not spit with just spit. It's not like a bit of water-consistency coming out of their mouth. No, this was a mucous wad that coated my entire right arm, and it was instantly weighed down with the disgust and much too thick saliva. The guy apologized, but "sorry" didn't make the loogie disappear.

Saturday's ride was 30 miles, and it was quite joyful, especially since I managed to find some cows (oh, Kansas, I miss thee). I was headed down 89 toward Spanish Fork and had reached some pretty po-dunk back country. I was riding in the shoulder, and got to a place where a road turned off 89, so the shoulder became the right turn lane. When I got to this point, I looked at the off road and saw a lady in a large pick up wanting to turn left. I looked at her, she looked at me, and because I had not signaled and was not slowing down (I was at about 18 mph), I foolishly assumed she knew I wasn't turning right. I was actually halfway through the quasi-intersection, two feet from the front of her pickup, when she took her foot off the break and started to move forward. Thank goodness for Scott engineering for their women's bikes, because the brake was right at my fingertips and I was able to tap it a few times until the lady got the picture. After swerving and coming as close as I get to swearing, the lady gave me a really confused look and let me by. Ahem.

Yesterday's ride was uh MAY zing. It was only 20 miles, but while on the ride, I saw a mama quail with her little babies, eight squirrels (one baby) running across the trail, and in the middle of the trail at about mile 9, there was a young buck just looking at me. He let me get ten feet from him before he walked away. It was fantastic.

It's official: We're moving back to Kansas next May. Bobby's going to finish in Sport Science at the grand University of Kansas while I am in my graduate program. If all goes well, we'll be able to walk with each other the following May (three cheers for one year graduate programs). I'm not sure how Peli's going to like Kansas, what with her affinity for mountains, but looking at my graduate program instantly starts the butterflies in my tummy, and having Karlee and Trevor to play with every day will help her adjust more quickly, I'm sure.

Well, Bobby leaves for a race tonight after work, and will be gone tonight AND tomorrow night, so I'm going to pretend I'm going to actually be on time for my 7 a.m. weights class so I can leave a little early to spend time with him. As much as I love and adore Peli and Chuck, snorgling with them just isn't the same.

Hey, Sleepy Eyes.

Our anniversary was this past Monday, and it was the most wonderful anniversary you can have when you're a couple of poor college students trying to get by. I have to laugh when I say that, because we really are poor, so what are we doing with such nice road bikes?

After I was done with my classes and internship, we took a ride on said road bikes to a crazy old lady's house who insisted that someone from the bikeshop come take her bike off a trainer she purchased years ago. Bobby's kind of a pushover when it comes to old ladies (silly Eagle scout in him), so that was our destination. We rode to Orem, and then did some climbing to get to a street next to a bunch of sheep, and then headed home. We cooked some dinner, and then saw that "Baby Mama" is in the dollar theatre (which is now really the dollar-fifty theatre) and jumped on that good-times-train. I was worried about it being sold out for the time we were going, but fortunately for us, the Emma Smith movie was in the theatre and everyone and their dog was going to that. Not us heathens!

If you were wondering, "Baby Mama" is a pretty long movie (two hours) given its content (comedies tend to run shorter), so when the closing credits were running through, I was ready to hit the sack (the combination of marriage and my 7 a.m. class means I'm old like that). I was dozing in my seat as we were driving home (Bobby was driving, for those of you who were alarmed) when I noticed we weren't driving to our house. Instead, Bobby was hunting around the streets that go into the mountains and pretending like he wasn't getting lost. Eventually, he parked, and being the romantic I am, I asked, "Are you going to kill me?"

Instead, we walked a little to a cliff overlooking Provo, all lit up like a Christmas tree, and he set up his fancy new phone to play Anberlin's "Inevitable." It's pretty much the sweetest song I've ever heard, so if you're unfamiliar, it's a good way to win points with your spouse/significant other. Bobby took me in his arms and we slow danced, all alone in our own little world. He won a lot of cute points with that.

It's hard to think we've been married for a year already. Time's flying, though I still feel like graduation is eons away (five more weeks, five more weeks, five more weeks...). I'm very fortunate in the sense that I have a loving, fun husband, with an adorable cat who snorgles me at night, and a little dog who looks at me with the most loving eyes whenever I get home. The combination of the three makes dealing with depression a piece of cake. Now, if I could only stop playing with them long enough to do my homework. It's hard to pretend I'm motivated this close to the end.

You know it's the fourth of July when...

Bobby woke up in the wee hours of the morning to head off to the bike shop for the group ride that is scheduled for every Saturday at 7 a.m. When he walked out of the house, one of our neighbors across the street was outside yelling things at our Hispanic neighbors about how they "don't belong" and "don't deserve to be here." When no one showed up for the group ride, he returned, and when he pulled up he saw the same lady being cuffed and taken away. She was yelling something about showing her pride for her country.

On Thursday, my brand new bike arrived, and this morning, I get to go on my very first ride in a very, very long time. Sara is coming with me, which makes my heart happy. She informed me yesterday that I'm never allowed to leave Utah, because then she won't have any girl friends.
Perhaps I can convince her in the mean time that she would actually be much happier at KU. I had to laugh last week at the adoption event when we were volunteering, because this guy kept making loops around the store to where we were. Sara was convinced that meant he really wanted to adopt a dog, so I turned on the sales pitch and started talking to him about all the dogs we had there. Instead, his eyes were fixed on Sara, and he asked her what her necklace meant. She told him it was a cross, and he said, "Yeah, what does it mean?" He was very excited to have found a non-LDS girl in the Provo/Orem area, so I left the two of them to chat while I laughed at her awkward misfortune. Eventually, she found some way to bring up her boyfriend, and the guy quickly departed. Times like that make me especially grateful to be married.

Can I just take a moment to brag about how wonderful my dog is? We went hiking last weekend, and Peli spent the entire time off leash. We passed a lot of groups of people, and several of them had dogs. A lot of their dogs went nuts, barking and trying to run over to Peli. Peli listened to us, though, and never ran over to people or their dogs, and would only stop to sniff the dogs if we stopped. We passed a group of people that were holding onto a couple herding dogs, and Bobby stopped to pet them. He asked if they were Australian Shepherd or Heelers, and the person holding the leash said, "No, but could you stop giving them attention, because they're pulling." It wasn't a request, but a demand, as if it were Bobby's fault that her dogs were not listening to her. Peli goes nuts with everything outdoors because she absolutely loves being out there, playing and running and digging and rolling, but as soon as we call her, she responds. On mornings when we want to sleep in, she stays with us, snorgling with us the entire time. She's pretty much the best dog in the world. Three cheers for awesome landlords for letting us get her.