Lies of the WeatherBug!

I confess to being a TAD bitter at the prospect of having to wait a WEEK to pay some chick named 'MiMi' a dollar and a half ($150) for three hours of her quality time, but since I'm the veritable definition of patience I'm afraid that's what I must do. Apparently MiMi is a popular gal, so get in line cowboy.

You'll have to wait right along with me for the full MiMi report.

I'm riding some upright gym bike for an hour on Monday. Honestly, I don't know why, it just feels right. Of course the last time something felt right I had a kid but that's neither here nor there. I am so utterly without direction in the gym right now that I'm probably some twelfth level zen master. Still it would be unwise to seek wisdom from Zen Master Bill, case in point:

IronMan glances down at me from another upright bike, "So what did you do this weekend?"

My mind goes totally blank. I have no idea what I did this weekend. I can remember bits and pieces like hanging with the beautiful people at the home and garden show, but not much else.

Geoff and Mary Alice (back left) of Ace of Cakes sign my daughter's autograph book, she was thrilled!

I'm sure I did something...

Whatever. I think in someways those are the best weekends, they flow by in a comfortable daze until Monday starts banging on the door like that weird ponytail dude lecturing me that I have to do something (like give him money and sign a petition) about the mining in West Virginia, wrecking it for everyone.

I know I was trying to figure out how to summon megaGiraffe, my totem, but not having any luck. I hope he visits me in a dream soon saying something profound like, "Do more squats," or "Don't trust the WeatherBug's lies."

And as shocking as this may sound the WeatherBug does lie! It told me Tuesday's low would be 44 degrees prompting me to pump up the tires on my commuter and lay panniers all over the bed in some feeble attempt at recalling how to pack them for work. As I pondered the various combination of forty pounds of things that needed to be crammed into the panniers just to make Bill functional for eight hours at work I was starting to feel pretty full of myself. I began imagining the envious stares of fellow coworkers as I causally dropped into the conversation that I biked in today, I proudly mentioned what I was doing to my family. My wife promptly sank my dreams like the Brits did the Bismarck. She was boring on and on about since it was already 34 degrees on Monday evening there was no way it would be 44 degrees by Tuesday morning.

"But the WeatherBug tells me otherwise!"

Her piteous stare follows me into the bedroom where I sullenly packed the same old gym bag with the same ol' stuff. When I got up this morning and stared at the thermometer's 30 degrees I was glad (even though she'll be insufferable now) that I heeded her advice.

Soon I should be riding, maybe I'll feel a bit more chipper then...