Different Perspectives: Smashings on the Greenway

Wednesday, June 27, 2007

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It's closing in on One Year since I decided the South produces the foxiest men in the nation. In honor of native Georgia boys, manners, and staying fit-- I give you: A Difference in Perspectives: Smashings on the Green, by Moi. (Please note: Any resemblance of these events or peoples to actual events or peoples is purely coincidental, of course.)

It's a stifling Hypothetical Wednesday around 4 p.m. and our main character, lovely in spite of her name, decides to make use of a free evening to rollerblade at a public trail. The pavement is smooth, the company is mostly studly male bicyclists, and the trees provide ample shade to ease the burden of the heat. Yerbua basks in a few hours free of pasta and lattes and rolls along at a medium pace.

About 3-quarters-hour through her trek, Yerbua hears the buzz of a motorized vehicle (which turns out to be a normal bicycle moving at warp speed) and stays extreme right on the trail. One of the studly male bicyclists mentioned above veers far left and yells the polite "Left" as he passes on the curve. Yerbua begins to yell a greeting and *SMASH*-- a biker in yellow happens to be taking the curve coming the opposite direction and the two men collide. In order to calculate the force of this impact, I'd have to use this formula:

F = (M/g)*[(Vi**2) - (Vf**2)]/(2*deltaL)

Because I skipped physics in high school, I'll move along with the story. They were solid guys, moving about 15 mph, and they hit almost head-on. The uber hot Blue Man flew into the grass while the Yellow Man fell to the paved trail. Yerbua didn't know what to do. Word to the Soon-to-be Wiser: Don't talk to biker dudes unless they're parked. Distractions do not become them. Yerbua asked if everything was ok, checked to see if anyone needed CPR, and moved along. Not being a bike mechanic and having no muffins or lovin' for these guys, she didn't feel she could help. As she rolled away, Yerbua heard Yellow Man say, "She came out of nowhere, huh?" Hmmmm... yeah, Did I leave out the part where Yerbua took a break and went kudzu swinging in the woods only to jump out in front of Blue Man at "just the perfect time"?? Maybe that didn't happen. Or maybe I left out that part where Yerbua parachuted down from a helicopter fully rollerbladed and landed in the perfect spot?? Nope, that didn't happen either. Came out of NOWHERE. Wow. Just like magic.

About 25-minutes later, on the return haul, Yerbua passed the scene to find the men still trying to make repairs. Here's where the interesting impasse occurs in our story. Please observe the conversation:

saying---Hey, Is there anything I can do to help?
thinking- Wow, this sucks for these guys...maybe I can make a phone call or help carry something or...?

Yellow Man--
saying--It's a little late for that. *sneering* Maybe you should watch where you're going.
thinking-- We are experienced bicyclist men wearing tights and we cannot be faulted when there's a woman involved who must be at fault.

saying--Hey, (bolded words have been edited from original hypothetical event to ensure readability and make Yerbua look better in the story) studly old biker chap, this wasn't my fault.
thinking--I cannot believe Blue Man is taking no responsibility for this and Yellow Man is being such a scum sucker.

Yellow Man:
saying--F.U. (maybe a university in Florida?)

At this point in our story, Yerbua should have said:
I don't think that would solve your problem, little man.

Instead, she wheeled around, fell on her clonkus, recovered, and rolled away, wondering how many times The Pride of Man will kill good things in her life.

Blue Man, couldn't you have tossed me (errr...Yerbua) a hypothetical bone? You knew you were riding the left shoulder on that one. I know, easier to let the girl take the blame than lose face in front of another male, pro biker... but c'mon, save the lady when she needs saving. Don't throw her overboard.

Where the HECK are the men wearing their big boy pants? errr... or biker shorts? I could use a little more of them in my life. fo shizzle.

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Grunt, Grunt, Grunt

Thursday, June 14, 2007

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Listen up, men of the world:

I've been trying to call you "stupid" all night. Why? I used to think men made more sense than women. I might not always agree with them, but I could track their logic...whereas sometimes my OWN logic was lodged under my blow-up mattress with that missing sparkly sock. REVELATION: Men do NOT make more sense than women. Sometimes, their logic is like that thin strip of Scotch tape that you just can't get a stinkin' handle on.

Yeah, you know what I'm talking about. Don't ya?

BUT, as much as it would be easier for me to label you all "stupid" and go to bed tonight with half of the world's problems solved--- I can't do it.

I'll probably erase this later....but cheers to the good stuff. Some of my faves (in no order whatsoever because I'm practically too tired to count)*clink*

That dad who took his 4-year old daughter out to dinner and listened to her chatter for an hour as if her rantings on "the color green" might really have an impact on his life. mmmmmmmmm

That guy I know who once came by in navy blue. If I could have navy blue in one place...and one place only....and navy blue in all other things turned to grey, I'd give it to him. He could be my only navy blue and I'd be totally content with that. mmmmmmmmmmm

That sweet walk in SC. Park benches. mmmmmmmmmmm

I wish I weren't quite so tired...there's so much more..
cheers to the guys w..

must sleep...

ho are careful with the female heart. Cheers to the ones who cut the bull and refuse to play stupid games. Cheers to the guys who don't try to pass girls off to their friends. argh.

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Happy Birthday, Baby!

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You are freshness and giggles and I love you.
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Home, comfy slippers, and chamomile

Tuesday, June 5, 2007

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There's something about a pillow that's smooshed in all the right places.
There's something about a worn out welcome mat
destroyed by friends' shoes.
There's something about that spot on the carpet
red wax?
There's something about having a place to unpack after a long trip.
There's something about that coffee shop on the corner...

There's something about planting a flag...
and knowing the wandering is finished.

My heart is at home with Christ. The rest, you can find in Atlanta. ;)

Love. Calm. Gypsies.

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