Saturday, April 22, 2006

I broke my arm today.

Did I frighten you? I don't have an Adjustable Rate Mortgage (ARM) but if I did I would refinance right about now. Of course drawing equity for some new tri stuff at the same time.

Remember when you were failing college calculus so you wrote a letter to your parents telling them you were pregnant, writing just enough minutia for the shock to sink in, only to pull a reverse at the end informing them that you weren't actually pregnant but that you were failing calculus; look on the bright side, things could be worse.

So, shocking you with I broke my arm today seemed like a suitable cushion for the real news:

I got a job as a stripper today.

Not the four minute floosy Durham type of stripper, no this is a performance for thousands. The really unique part of this stripping job is that you get to pull the rubber off of your friends. Friends like Iron Wil and Trisaratops and Spandex King and Chivalry Chris

Actually, Trihubby and I will be stripping together. On the shores of Lake Monona in Madison. On September 10th. I promise it will be a great show. Particularly because we won't be the main feature.

We'll be handing out refreshments from 11-3 as well. So, if you're in the area, stop on by.

On the home front, Buck Naked Boy's baby is doing fine. Hyphen Girl is giving me a little grannie warm up. For the next week I will be the proud grandmother of a ten pound bag of sugar. It's "Sugar baby" week. When I was in high school the psuedo baby was an egg, my how things change

We had the Festival of Fools to attend last night. The year-end mayhem of a school carnival where the Tribe, horribly over indulged, play midway games to earn stickers to trade in for yet more junk. The most coveted prize last night was the bottle of blue "invisible" ink. Ok, I admit, that was pretty cool. You squirt the girl you've been secretly in love with all year but have really just pestered to distraction because you are too young and immature to connect feelings with words, so you just bug her, and now squirt her, and she squeals and runs off to tell her gaggle of friends that cute boy squirt her and they all scream in acceptable delight and run off to play more games to earn their own bottle of ink to tag their future puppy love interests and by the time they have earned a bottle the blue streak across their back has turned into a mere wet spot.

Why can't all stains be formed by invisible ink? I think it's the Tide conspiracy. They really could make a fabric that turns all stains to water, but Tide continuously prowls for tinkershop patent aspire-er and secretly buys them off to keep said fabric from market place. Lord knows the entire cosmos would kilter if moms didn't spend 17.2 hours a week washing and folding laundry. Tide saves the universe. And I for one thank them wholeheartedly.

The gaming of interest for BNB was the cake walk. One ticket entitles you to circumvent a cake laden table, stepping from number to number, prod along by muzak blaring from radio speakers long since compromised by playing at concert level volume in teens room. Continuous looping of The Beach Boys "I get around" sung through a wax paper covered comb. Five minutes and 1.7 dizzying miles later, when volunteer dad returns from his distracted gazing upon the wonders of modern surgery displayed by Plastic Mom, the music halts and 24 feet scurry to find a number to possess. "say 5, say 5, say 5"


Oh, we didn't win. Again.

"I can't leave until I win."

So back in line, back in circle.

"I know why it's called a cake walk. Because you walk in a circle and someone wins a cake"

Well that makes the tuition payments worthwhile. Seven tries. Eight tries. Trihubby wanders in with Standing Long Jump. I coerce them into joining us with the hope that our occupation of four of twelve spots would assure a victory.

Say 7,8,9,10. Say 7,8,9,10

4 Little pony tail girl who has already won twice goes to pick out her third cake. I resist the urge to trip her as she saunters by.

I knew we should have employed a random scatter strategy. Odds are diminished in sequential selections.

Just when I began to feel like a deranged inmate on "The Midnight Express" we heard


Wonderful, glorious 12. We won! We won! I'm free! I'm free!

BNB selected a six pack of cupcakes that would not leave his hands for the next two hours. Smile and swagger: priceless.

Spring cleaning and ten mile run today. Riding the Liberty 70.3 course tomorrow.

Have a great weekend.


Habeela said...

Trimama's a stripper! And your blog is still a family friendly blog! That takes skill! ;)

Bolder said...

i broke my ARM last july, and never regretted it.

breaking your ARM is quite common, when you sell your house.

a lot of it has to do with not getting what you had hoped. and jumping off the top balcony.

i think the couple that strips together, stays together.

'specially when it is volunteered.

Nancy Toby said...

Stop scaring us!!!!

Chris said...

Stripping is a lucrative career... I mean volunteer job. I did it in Florida a couple years back for IM and it was a blast! Be warned: you're going to get about 1000 people coming through in 10 minutes. You should wear your HRM because it's definitely a workout!

Hopefully, I'll make it to you guys in under an hour this year. I'll keep an eye out for you two and try and hit your station. :)

Tracy said...

Trimama gets to strip me?? Now all of my dreams have come true...

Kewl Nitrox said...

Yikes, you did scare me. I'm sure you will make a good stripper - STRIP WITH PASSION!

Are they into sugar babies now? And how is that fragile like the egg?!?!

Susan said...

Arm breaking and stripping - Sounds like a wild tri-mama to me . . . just keep it rated R.

qcmier said...

Ohhh, can't wait to have my rubber pulled off by Trimama. Where do I stick the bills?

Trisaratops said...

WOO HOO! Trimama is my stripper!!!!

That's hot.

Comm's said...

I again am very impressed with your prose this week trimama. I was not only fearful for your arm but tantilized by your sexual subtlety. You little minx.