The boys of summer

Ah, spring in Texas – and an unseasonably cool and temperate one at that – and a weekend warrior’s thoughts naturally turn to thoughts of mountain biking. My particular champion made his first assault of the year on the Hill Country last weekend. Seasoned campaigner that he is, he did not venture forth alone. He was accompanied by a small and trusted cadre of companions and fellow nrrds; hmm…

Captain Brian, bowed by the weight of command:

I think the helmet adds an air of gravitas, don’t you?

Commander Dave, either constipated or plotting mutiny:

He’s much more handsome in real life, but we don’t tell him that.

Lieutenant Will, recently married, caught in an unguarded moment:

Marriage has not yet damped his natural joie de vivre; considering that his wife is hotter than anyone has a right to be, this is not surprising.

Ensign Derrick, the redshirt, just happy to still be alive.

We don’t know much about Derrick except his propensity for Texas-themed casual wear and a general air of being a good sport.

Speaking of corporate wifehood…

… here’s my first outing, circa 1997. Of course, we weren’t married yet, so I suppose it would be “corporate chick-with-whom-he’s-shacking-up.”

Eyeliner, anyone? I had enough and to spare.

Corporate wifehood

I just realized: tomorrow is the spouse’s corporate Christmas party. I have things to wear, I have stockings, I have coordinating lipstick. What I don’t have: a voice. Once again my voice has completely disappeared at the tail end of a cold.

So it’s smile and shake hands, I guess. Not that big a difference, really.

(edited to add) Damn it, I sound like a bar hag.

(edited to add) Damn it all to hell, now I sound like a leaking balloon.

Off to Wurstfest

Which is exactly like Oktoberfest, but in November. And named for sausage. I don’t know why.

Inspired by Texasgurl, I am determined to take a camera along and whup this photo fear once and for all.

But first I will shower.

Quick post from the home front

*whispering* The Hub is on the last few pages of Ysabel, the latest from Guy Gavriel Kay. The protagonist in this one is a fifteen-year-old boy, and for the first hundred pages or so, I was thinking,”Beautifully written, of course, but a bit too coming-of-ageish for my taste.”

But then he got me, as he always does, and while I wasn’t dissolved in tears,* I wasn’t disappointed. And the last few pages made me say out loud,”Oh, you clever bastard.”

So I’m watching Brian to see how he reacts as he finishes. I can’t wait to hear what he thinks.

*as I was after A Song for Arbonne, The Lions of Al-Rassan, and Lord of Emperors

Marital bliss

Me: Hey, Marcel Marceau’s funeral was today. I didn’t know he died.

Him: Yeah, I remember. A few days ago.

Me: That’s funny. I never heard a thing.

ba-dum-BUMP!

And he has the grace and generosity to laugh. Now that’s an alpha male.

Conversation with the husband.

(while watching an interview)

Me: I would so do Jodie Foster. Given the opportunity. And if we weren’t married, of course.

Him: I know you would. So would I. Under the same conditions, of course.

How could I not adore this man?

One more before dragging off to bed

Never am I more grateful for the Hub than at times like this. He knows exactly when I’m full of crap and exactly when I really need him. Even if it’s just to tell me how full of crap I am… he’s there, no matter what. And today he was there with Tylenol Cold, sandwiches, icy Diet Dr. Pepper, and full-on toddler wrangling.

O what a beautiful moooooornin’!

The in-laws kept the Muffin last night; the spouse and I went to a lovely dinner at a restaurant approximately three times the age of our server – The Barn Door. I remember going there with my parents; the salad dressing selection hasn’t changed and neither has the decor. Those may be the exact same mummified hams dangling from the dining room ceiling that I worried about as a child: were they real? Were they securely attached? Were they ever going to be eaten or had those pigs died for nothing?

Anyway, a relaxed evening with my favorite person, a good night’s sleep, and stuff I’m not allowed to post about make for a very good morning indeed.

(edited to add) In answer to a rather surprised query from one of my 2.5 faithful readers, The Barn Door was my idea. Hunk o’cow is not my normal fare, it’s true, but every few years I have a craving and for some reason, Friday night was one of those times. Still, I could only manage half of a “lady’s filet” – that’s a filet mignon in non-Frenchie talk.

Life lessons: how to choose an anniversary gift for your husband

Steak and a blowjob. The steak is optional.