Sawaboof

Mom: Do you have plans for Easter?

Me: I don’t know yet. That’s the weekend the new season of Doctor Who premieres.

Mom: You’re joking, right?

Me: The Doctor trumps Jesus.

I’m just sayin.

Common sense is not so common.

When I was in 4th grade, our school playground had these giant tires we would climb on and hide inside during recess. 

It didn’t take me too long to find another use for them.

Those tires heated up pretty quickly in the summer. If you laid your head against them long enough, you could get your temperature up just long enough to be seen by the school nurse and have her call your mom to bring you home. Feverish little girls don’t get to go back to Weekly Readers after recess.

This happened at least once every 1-2 weeks. 

I’m pretty surprised no one figured me out.

I sure got away with a lot, back in the day.

Sawaboof: Using intelligence for evil since age 9. Probably sooner. 

I love riding my bike. I don’t do it for burning calories. I don’t do it for racking up miles. I just honest-to-god love riding my bike. 

Right now it’s cold and slushy and windy and I’m a baby. So I’m not riding. It’s hurting my little heart, but I’ve seen too many cyclists almost die this winter to become suddenly brave and adventurous.

Sometimes I go to the gym. I don’t hate it, but I’m not particularly fond of it. Sometimes I feel like going. Sometimes I don’t. It’s quite simple. I’ve been feeling like maybe it’s something I should feel like I should do but, you know what? I’m tired of gym guilt. No. It’s not even gym guilt. It’s guilt for not feeling guilty about not going to the gym.

I grew up Catholic, by the way.

So, here’s my new plan. Sometimes I feel like I have some free time and I could read my book on the elliptical. Sometimes I will then go to the gym. I pay for it. It’s there if I need or want it. That’s all I really care about. I don’t count calories. I don’t weigh myself. My pants fit or they don’t. I have a lot of pants. I have a lot of skirts and dresses. I’m not riding my bike for my health or for some delusional dream of weight loss (let’s remember my last major bike ride ended at the brewery). I do it because I enjoy it. Why should the gym be different? If I don’t feel like going, I hate being there. That’s not fun for anyone.

I eat ridiculously well. I get plenty of activity throughout my day. I think I’m pretty ok without adding a feeling of obligation to my life. 

When it gets a little warmer out, I’ll pick up my rides again. Right now, I like going for walks and I like going to the gym when I feel like going to the gym, and I like making people smile on dailymile. And I like craft beer.

I like enjoying my life, and nothing is going to guilt me out of that. 

A Government of the people, by the people, for the people, in which the people do nothing but sit around and bitch.

No, I’m sorry. That’s called “raising awareness” now.

Stay classy, America.

Do you think, if you wish hard enough, people could get hit by cars?

I hope so.

Me too.

On my fifth birthday, my parents took me to Disney World. 

My brother was newly 3, and my mom was pregnant with the other brother. I had my dad all to myself while they found preggo/toddler-friendly rides, and we were going on Space Mountain.

The line was long. Really long. We waited for days, probably. Slowly inching our way to the front. Finally, finally we made it. Almost next in line and we hear the words “too short to ride”. 

I am pretty sure I cried. On my birthday. My magical fifth birthday I spent crying at the happiest place on earth. 

Oh, but let me tell you about my dad’s temper. He had one. I don’t remember much about what happened but I know someone gave my dad a paper to sign. 

On my fifth birthday, I went on my very first roller coaster. Ever. With my dad. And I screamed and laughed all at the same time and it was the beginning of a life-time love affair with high speed rides that could probably kill me at any moment. 

Meanwhile, my mom and brother went on Dumbo the Flying Elephant.

…was spent with some of my favorite people in the world. Beer and wings at Buffalo Wild Wings, hugs and drinks at Mo’s Irish Pub, an out-of-this-world amazing performance by the Decemberists, with special guest Sara Watkins and opening band Mountain Man, and ending with craft beers at Palms Tavern.

It was a pretty darn perfect Saturday night. 

I try not to get too upset about politics. I’ve figured out the basic idea. Someone does something, the next person undoes it. Lather, rinse, repeat. People fight about it.

“If voting changed anything, they’d make it illegal.” -Emma Goldman, my Anarchist Role Model. 

I let myself get sucked in anyway. Not to what’s going on or not going on, but to the ideas that get tossed into a ring of voting politicians. I hear about them, I read them, and I think I see what you’re trying to do here, but I can do it better. I could actually change things. And people would like it.

And that, ladies and gentlemen, is why I should go into Policy Development.

But I won’t because my tiny little Bachelor’s degree won’t get me too far, and the thought of actually going back to school for some kind of Master’s degree in Healthcare Administration or something just bores me to tears. I may love learning but I am completely done with school. I also don’t have mafia connections I’m allowed to discuss.

Maybe there is a League of Extraordinary Policy Developers somewhere. With scouts. I’ll just sit here with my brilliant ideas, and wait to be discovered.

I am not an Anarchist. By the way.