Unwashed and Somewhat Slightly Dazed

I had a doctor's appointment Tuesday with the delightful Dr. Lynn. Getting to said delightful Dr. is an undertaking that Odysseus would balk at. I left my eye rolling wife an hour before the appointment and got there three minutes late. It should have been twenty minutes max except they (yes 'they') are constantly building something on campus and have no time for patients. My blood pressure reflected my ire.

But that's in the ago, all I can say is I enjoy the time with Dr. Lynn, she's a hoot!

I swam upstream through the rest of the day with this angst hanging over me that something BAD is going to happen. It hasn't yet but the feeling is still there. The TOSRVS toyed with me about the morning spin class today trying to bate me into committing to no avail. They understand my twisted psychology, once I commit I will be there come hell or high water.

My mistress, a harsh wanty/needy dominatrix, would frown on me breaking our scheduled time together. Promising to fill the house with whines, yelping and caterwauling should I even consider leaving her dungeon before the arrival of the second shift. Her name is Layla and from 5-6am I am her bitch.

So I got to the gym around 6:30am unwashed and somewhat slightly dazed and decided that I'd do my 30min interval workout on the upright bike. This is broken down into a minute of 'work' on level thirteen followed by two minutes of rest at level seven.

About halfway through it I break. It was the darnedest thing. My legs just wouldn't turn the crank on the work interval, I had to dial back to the rest interval twice, just trying to heed goFast's advice and keep the pedals turning. I may babble about that more in the future. On the last work interval I managed (barely) to get through it at level 13 with a cadence in the 120s but sheesh!

Since then it's just been one hectic thing after another. Mostly with the Hell Hound Layla, who's actually pretty good for being Satan spawn. We took her for her first vet visit which lasted forever since it was her first visit. She has worms (ew!) but we're dealing with them.

As I sprinted home from work yesterday I glanced forlornly at my bike standing in it's bike stand. I'm not sure how to cope with that yet, not only is the dog causing adjustments but now work has managed to amp itself up into the redline like a GTO (remember those? Now they were 'smart' cars American style back when we built muscle machines) at a stoplight revved dangerously high while the driver (management) pretends they're not stomping on the gas and the car always sounds like this. So that's been distracting.

And we're putting in a new patio. My wife took a picture but mostly just observes from the window looking all dreamy, wistfully waiting for the new patio I'm sure. Once it's done and the crew has left I'll post a pic of it. But here's the work so far. Whatcha think?

Layla Shamelessly Shakes Her Booty Like a Lap Dancer Hoping for a Pat From Dusty

Fear Is a Man's Best Friend

By Sunday I had become a first rate ass, we all know that's not much of a stretch for me but there it was. It's been a rainy weekend and I had this need to get on my expensive bike and do something on it. So around 12:30 I get on the bike and go, attempting to do twelve miles before more rain hit.

I was such a TOTAL jerk that my son offered to go with me and I blew him off. I pray I don't ever make that mistake again! I'm pretty sure he didn't mind being let off the hook but still...

I drop by a buddy's house to see if he want to go and unclip incorrectly falling on my right side, skinning my knee in front of two giggling teenage boys. I deserve it, karma is not my friend at the moment. Anyway my neighbor declines and I head out.

I get about halfway before turning around when the rain starts to hit with meaning. I don't want to get my fancy expensive bike all wet and dirty. I know, could I be any more of a girl?!

I manage to make it home in a drizzle feeling a little better about things and trying to figure out how to achieve my goals with the bike and starting to wonder if they are goals at all. Self doubt is starting to creep in like a cancer. I enjoy wiping the bike down.

I noted that was the first time I ever rode the bike angry. Even though I had crappy stats with a 14mph average for the eight miles I rode I kept trying to push it and hammer the pedals to the best of my abilities. Call it the Layla Factor, my time is now compressed so when I can get out on the bike I had better make the best of it. Whatever 'it' turns out to be.

As I rode in I began thinking of the week ahead, I want to try and get on the bike in the evenings now, after work, even if it's just for this little ride. I spent A LOT of money on that bike and by golly I am gonna ride it.

Maybe.

I was feeling fairly proud of myself for going out at all this last Sunday and tossed up my route and stats on facebook. goFast countered with the following:

60 degrees, steady rain, a short hail, head wind in every direction, water streaming from the point on the front of my helmet, drivers gawking as they passed, and only one other rider in 20 miles.

I peep out his stats in that nightmare, 20mi @ 17mph avg.

I guess it shows what being some sort of cyclocross maniac can do for you. He dropped by my office this morning telling me he was a bit embarrassed by his stats for that ride.

REALLY?! I was watching the conditions outside during the time frame and I would have been grinning ear to ear with a ride like that in normal conditions. I shrug, it's on me, not him.

What do I hope to accomplish with that bike of mine?

Currently I don't know. I thought I did but now I'm questioning it.

I wonder if what I told my wife a month or so ago is true? I said, "I'm tired of being afraid all the time."

Can I use that bike to cowboy up?

PS: Vote Wiktor if you have time :-)

Hangin' Around

Layla and I are hanging out at the street corner, both of us kinda wondering how we got there. I'm in gym shorts, a baggy T and my Tilley having just finished mowing the lawn and eating dinner. Layla is snuffling about in that endless way of hers, "Everything smells so interesting!" ignoring my musical a cappella.

I been hangin' around this town on the corner
I been bummin' around this old town so long
I been hangin' around this town on the corner
I been bummin' around this old town for way too long
(everybody trip)

Right about the time Layla and I were gonna trip I see a red Fuji cyclocross rolling by. I'm pretty sure it's goFast but not positive. All bicyclists look pretty much the same in some chiseled cheekbone helmet wearing way. He suddenly slows and turns toward us probably recognizing the hat and the billowing T-shirt.

Yep, goFast.

goFast unclips, resting one foot on the ground looking all manly and sweaty. In short he looks yummy but not in a gay way (hurried Seinfeld voice, "not that there's anything wrong with that!") but from my perspective in an envious biking way.

I so much want to be on my bike worried about getting nailed by some irate driver, not unclipping in time and falling over in front of some crowd like the total dork I am, hating the headwind, feeling that creeping burn in the thighs, the first indication of sweat as my body warms to the task, the cottonmouth as you realize you're actually getting low on water, the turning of the pedals, what's my speed? what's my heart rate? the quiet, the rising sense of accomplishment as you near home knowing you're gonna make it, knowing you did it!

sigh

Yep I'm standing there holding indifferent Layla's leash feeling pretty envious of goFast on his bike. He went a different route having a third kid instead of a dog, she's what now five? Six? I bet she's potty trained unlike others as I mentally glare at Layla. We shoot the breeze for a bit before he heads off for home.

Layla and I head off on a new adventure into uncharted territories. Layla wants to play with everyone in sight, particularly dogs but is still too puppy to realize that everyone in sight might not want to play with her, particularly dogs. Silly rabbit. The objective was UDF but it was halfhearted and we didn't make it.

This morning around 5am I went out and dealt with Layla's whining by letting her out of the gosh darned cage. When she hears me in the bathroom the whining starts. Whatever, I'm resigned to my dog owning state of being. We just have to reach an accord on the bike riding thing, of course it's suppose to rain all weekend long so we get to worry about the I don't wanna go out and pee because it's raining thing instead. YAY!

I got to the gym around 6:40am and hammered out the usual 20min StairClimber atonement along with some minor lifting and stretching. It was good and I needed it since I was showing signs of Toxic Lack of Workout Buildup (TLWB is a killer!) so I hammered it pretty hard and feel a bit better at the moment, averaging a heart rate at 85% of max.

Finally, I have this buddy at work named Josh who's trying to kill me (in the spirit of Cato vs Clouseau). I managed to spare my worthless life in the bathroom today by spewing a pack of lies about it being "No Kill Friday" while simultaneously lacing his hand-wash soap with a major hallucinogen. I'm certain he's enjoying that at the moment. Anyway deciding not to waste his youth the way I did (yes he's smarter than me but who isn't?) he took a year off and went to China. I put the URL about his adventure on the sidebar but if you're as lazy as he is just click here. It looks like a pretty good read.

Death March Redux

There was no workout today ::glares at nothing::

This is the way of things at the moment.

We managed to get through yesterday accident free... well maybe... I having this nagging suspicion that somewhere in the house is Layla's 'happy' place.

::SHUDDERS::

But until that place is discovered all is well. One of the benefits of Layla is that my wife and I are working out on her together at lunch. I know my wife likes this and I confess to enjoying it too. We walk Layla until she does her business and then eat something for lunch and head back to work, both of us praying that Layla can hold out until our kids get home from school.

My wife has been reading about this breed (I have joined the Order of Cage Whackers and that's that) and apparently they're a sneaky breed. Disobedience bred into them. Oh they're all 'good' when you're about but the second that door closes they're all over forbidden furniture. It becomes a variation of Don't Ask, Don't Tell.

My son, wife and I reenacted yesterday's death march to UDF last night, my daughter was watching a friend at a high school softball game. My wife, who I suspect still holds out hope that there's a place with unicorns, pixies, and sedate dog walking, wasn't prepared for what ensued. Layla was interested in everything (apparently Schnauzers are sniffers) and there was a smorgasbord of activity going on. We finally made UDF and got our treats. Layla discovering these pod like tree seeds and repeatedly gnawing on them over our collective "NO!"s and what not. I'm convinced they contain a mild hallucinogen because she lost her mind on the walk home attacking rocks and trying to tackle pine cones for crying out loud! I mean how do you tackle a pine cone?!

Oh life is good for Layla.

By the time we got home we were exhausted, particularly my wife who sat on the couch bleeding stress. Layla laid on the floor keeping us in sight after we battled a bit with "blue" a toy of hers. So naturally when I awoke to Layla's whines ("Where are youuuuuuu??? helloooooooo") at about 5am (I was to be there by 4:30am) my wife elected to oversleep.

So here I sit, workoutless, hoping you're going through less tumultuous times.

After Effects of the Death March.

An Evening Death March

The saga of Layla continues. We almost made it through yesterday 'accident' free; however our dreams came crashing down around 8pm when our darling dog ::rolls eyes:: let fly with a stream of urine on the carpet. My wife was nearby and screamed, "LAYLA!" grabbed her and headed for the front door holding her like a super-soaker, Layla's legs splayed open, clearing the path in front of her.

I'm adding to the chaos by screaming, "Put her on the pad! PUT HER ON THE PAD!!!" But I was ignored in the heat of the moment.

We purchased these wee-wee pads that are suppose to compel Layla to whizz all over them. Layla prefers to lounge on them since they're not as cold as the tile, maybe gnaw on them a bit if the mood's on her. But pee on them?! Dude! That's what the carpet's for!

I was walking through our house yesterday, it looks like a war zone. Layla is definitely making her presence known. By the evening we had it back in some order. The battle rages.

That evening, after Layla had lost her ever lovin' mind and ran amok in the house with a toy in her mouth, flying up and down the stairs and grunting like a constipated geriatric, 'the collective' met and decided I was to walk Layla since American Idol was coming on.

Oh, and we have no milk, turning my evening stroll into a two mile, late evening errand. I got grumpy, harnessed 'Clueless' up and stormed out feeling put upon. All the little nick knacks we're spending on this dog is probably keeping the economy afloat so don't thank the current administration ::rolls eyes:: thank me. I'd itemize a list (harness, leash, etc.) but I'm traumatized enough dontcha think?

When it comes to walking, Layla doesn't mess around, setting some hellish pace and constantly glancing back at me with this, "What's the hold up OLD MAN?" look on her face until some interesting scent distracts her ("What's THIS?!") about every twenty feet. It makes for a weird interval workout.

By the time we reached UDF I was in better spirits but I didn't have a PRAYER of leaving Layla leashed outside. She was way too excited by all the people and activity. Fervently hoping that I could get the milk and get out, I pick Layla up head in, go straight for the milk, grab a gallon and approach the lady behind the cash register while babbling, "I'm sorry, I really couldn't leave her outside, we'll go right after I pay you."

She could care less saying, "She's beautiful."

Really?! Would you like to buy her?

We pay and head out, all the while Layla's head was swiveling like a tracking radar but she was good and not squirmy. That's for 'next time' I'm certain.

It's dark and Layla sets a sustained pace that's near a jog for me. She hasn't made up her mind on cars yet (Chase them? Yes/No) and I'm trying to dissuade her, yanking on the leash when she stops to 'study' them, she's fearless but will lose that battle. Nearing our house I see my wife approaching with a flashlight, checking on us and feeling bad about my mood. Layla has run that out of me so I'm good. We walk home together, Layla in the lead.

This morning all I could do was twenty minutes on the stair climber. It's something, I've shoved bike rides to the back burner of my mind letting it puzzle on it. Establishing a routine with Layla should help with getting those in. Just got to get the routine down.

Vote Wiktor!!!

I have a sweet four year old nephew in Poland who's trying to win some nifty new bedroom furniture, so he drew a picture and entered it into a contest, the arrows are to show where the slide is to reach Wiktor's bed.

Wanna help? If so vote for Wiktor's picture here. You can vote once a day until April 30th. Just click on the button 'Glosuj' ('Vote') and then fill out some anti-bot form. If you see "Dziękujemy za oddanie głosu." ("Thank you for voting") you've done it.

noNeed has sent a suggestion for dealing with Layla called, The Art of Raising a Puppy by The Monks of New Skete which sounds kind of hippie organic new age to me, based on the author(s) name. I'd have preferred The Art of Raising a Puppy by The Marquis de Sade or Force Recon, you know proven methods that work, but at this point in time we'll try anything. Plus we need some sort of unified front against what Ally McBeal accurately described (based off of one picture) as, Cutie – but the look in her eye says “devil dawg” all the way ;). So we need a manifesto, a bible, something to blame! when things go horribly wrong and I guess it's gonna be some dude in weird hat standing if front of an Eastern Orthodox church. At least I think that's what it is with those onion things on the roof.

Not wanting to be some trusting rube (not like last time!) I did some internet searching and was astounded to find out The Monks of New Skete were not a rock band or some PETA front but real live monks! So that dude wears that hat not to pick up chicks or pretend to be some ninja surgeon, but because his order tells him to or something. Maybe he likes it. ::shrug:: I confess I'm not up to speed on Eastern Orthodox Massachusetts Dog Rearing Monks. However they must know what they're doing since they've been raising dogs for thirty-five years. Anyway "I'm in" even though I haven't read the book. It's written by monks and although Layla is a devout Catholic and these are Eastern Orthodox dudes expert in German Shepherds what could go wrong?

My wife managed to get home at lunch yesterday and by that time Layla had broken free of her level two containment and pooped in my son's room. What she has against my son I have no idea, I don't think this is some puppy term of endearment but who knows? Maybe my son should return the favor... nah, it's probably illegal in this state. Both dog and son seem to like each other fine even if they can't quite get a read on the other one.

There was a whole lot of backsliding yesterday evening on Layla's part. I'm not certain what's going through her peanut brain but she's been merrily testing limits. It was a struggle to get her to 'come' and was capped off with her howling like a banshee when she was in her cage last night for bedtime.

This was when the monks came into play. My wife (God bless her) had tried the sitting next to Layla until she fell asleep thing to no avail so we moved on to the let the baby cry in her crib thing which only seemed to wind Layla up to full fledged howls, "I SAID I'M WHINING HERE!!!! HELLOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO"

My mood was dark already. I don't need this crap. I tell my wife, "I'm gonna try the monk thing."

She's tense in the bed, a tight knot of despair and replies, "It's not gonna work."

I'm snitty at this point, "And what you've been trying has?"

"You're only going to get more frustrated."

That's what single malt is for...

The monks are big believers of the crate/cage telling their acolytes that dogs, being pack animals like having a 'den' and that the cage can/should become their den.

Layla has been treating hers as such. When she goes into it we leave her alone and it appears she's making that association. She's just not real keen on when we close the door behind her. Which currently is only at bedtime.

So my son read to me the chapter on housebreaking the little poop factory. And there's all sorts of stuff we have yet to implement like feeding schedules but we're actually a bit ahead with the cage. I was a tad disappointed in their pantywaist ways when it came to discipline, no rack, no branding, nothing medieval at all I'm afraid. However they did mention that when the dog gets whiny in its cage it's perfectly acceptable to go over to the cage and whack it, creating a large noise startling the puppy into silence.

That was exactly what I intended to try as I lumbered toward the incessant yowler like the Angel of Death.

I myopically approach the cage, blurrily making out the demonic caterwauler whining within. There was to be no negotiation at this point. Bill doesn't deal with baying terrorists.

WHACK! I smack the cage.

Confused silence followed by some faint wailing feelers as I stormed back towards the bedroom that increased in volume and urgency the further I got away.

"I didn't mean for you to smack the cage, I meant for you to let me out. HELLOOOOOOOOOOOOOO"

Stomp stomp stomp I head back towards the cage.

WHACK.

Confused silence followed by, "I DIDN'T MEAN FOR YOU TO SMACK THE CAGE YOU CLUELESS NIMROOOOODDDDDDDDDD. HELLOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!"

I'm enraged, I mean look, who's the DOG here? HUH?! I can feel that I'm on the edge of losing it and driving the animal straight to the pound and neither one of us want that. We're suppose to be pals.

Filled with frustration I WHACK the cage hard enough to hurt my hand, bend down to the black, amorphous shape in the cage and snarl, "NO!"

Crickets.

Ah, well of course. As I stumble back to bed, all wound up and angry, I realize that to Layla having some sleep deprived loon waddle up and smack her cage before stumbling off might be a tad confusing. The command was the key. I lay next to my wife tense and upset, reading to calm down. I don't like whacking cages and yelling at our puppy anymore than you would.

I pray it works again tonight if needed.

This morning all was forgiven with Layla and me. She greeted me as I freed her from her cage with excessive wagging and licks. A truly fine way to start one's day. She deemed it too cold and 'yucky' to take care of her business at that time of the morning so I erected the stage two containment facility and sat with her in the kitchen. She curled up on her bed in her cage and dozed off. I read a book. Whenever I got up to get a cup of coffee or something she would would immediately get out of her cage and come over to the edge of the second set of barriers and suspiciously ask with a head tilt and body language, "Whatcha doin? You're not taking off are you?"

She'd return to her cage when I climbed back over the stage two barriers and resumed reading. She's obviously a people dog and wants us in eyesight.

I could only do some walking and some sit ups this morning since I got to the gym at 6:30am. This compressed schedule is going to be the new 'norm' for me and I'm going to have to figure that out (evening workouts?). I hope to resume bike riding at some point.

This Ain't No Disco...

After awhile you just have to say 'enough' and do something. I plan to post every day this week, even if it's a one liner. I need to write even if it's garbage. The Poland post is turning into Chinese Democracy and will probably take fifteen years to write. I'll continue to whittle on it but I wont promise a delivery date.

Saturday we got a dog finally completing my patient daughter's Christmas list. It's a four month old mini-schnauzer named Layla and she's turning out to be a handful.

Layla enjoys long walks on the beach and vomiting in the car...

We're learning a lot, like we don't have a CLUE on how to potty train a dog. This morning at 4:30am I nudge my wife, I'm about to do one of two things. Creep to the car with hopes of not waking the creature in the crate or waking said creature for her morning potty break.

My wife opts for 'B' taking Layla out into the 35 degree temperature with hopes that things will go better than yesterday's fiasco where Layla snuck off to poop in my son's room. So I suit up making sure the first thing we do is head outside for pee in an attempt to avoid yesterday's morning disaster where Layla peed all over the carpet about a foot from the preferred tile forcing me to pick her up mid stream and plop her on the tile.

So I have on my sweats and a coat when I enter the kitchen and I see two pointy ears pointed directly at me along with a quizzical, hopeful face. I greet her and the stubbed, tail wagging and DARNED GLAD TO SEE YA! body motions begin. I open the door to her cage and out she bounds. I then turn immediately to the kitchen door and we both trudge outside. Well I do anyway, Layla opts to remain behind so I pick her up and set her on the grass telling her to go pee. She sniffs about and finally pees after a minute or two and then goes and sits on the dry patio looking at me.

We head in and she's whining a bit at the second line of defense the child gate and I figure she's sick of the whole 'cage thing' and wants to check out the house while I make my coffee. She parades off with this Clydesdale's trot she has and I start making my morning joe.

It's too quiet so I go check on her and find her in the corner of the family room happily pooping under a chair the little darling!

I say, "Layla, NO!" but the damage has been done. I scoop her under my hand and take her strait outside tossing her in the grass and telling her to poop. She runs off around the side of the house for privacy (I hope!) and comes back a minute later.

We clomp back in. She's currently not a fan of the kitchen worrying she's gonna end back up in that cage so I keep checking on her (she's proven quite traitorous) while prepping the coffee. Then I sit in the big comfy chair, pick her up and sit her on my lap and while I drink my coffee she curls up into a ball and falls asleep. I doze off too.

Then my wife comes out of our bedroom eliciting a growl and a bark before being recognized and the stubbed, tail wagging and DARNED GLAD TO SEE YA! body motions resume.

Reeking of dog I head to the gym late (for me) and do thirty minutes on the elliptical and some stretching. I was thinking of the fourteen miles I did on the bike yesterday. I am so sincerely sick of headwinds, I did 27 miles in a pretty good one the previous week. As I was heading north plodding through some GALE I realized I wasn't enjoying this at all, and even though one is suppose to suffer on the bike (that's the point of the infernal device - this ain't no party, this ain't no disco, this ain't no fooling around) I'm too much of a candy butt to embrace a long sustained headwind. I cut the workout short at 14 miles instead of the planned 20. Later that afternoon a buddy dropped by wanting to see if I wanted to go out with him. He might actually train for the century with me, if I can figure out how to train for one.

So, new dog, life in shambles until routine is reimposed, how are YOU?!

Cramping is No Fun

My body thanked me for the reintroduction of exercise yesterday by treating me to three massive cramps in my left leg starting around 11pm. It was the usual sort of thing, everything's quiet, peaceful like and then Bill pulls his left leg up just a smidge and every single muscle in his left leg replies...

HOW DO YOU LIKE THAT STAIR CLIMBER NOW?! HUH???

I sat on the edge of the bed trying to figure out how to stand before giving up and asking my wife if she wouldn't mind getting me a banana and a glass of milk. She's been through this drill before (I seem to cramp fairly often) and quickly brings it back. I wolf down the banana and slurp the milk to no avail, sighing inwardly, I ask for salt figuring the relief is worth the risk to the BP. That seems to do the trick.

The next two assaults I manage to get through without waking my wife (I think). Needless to say I've had more restful sleep.

Due to rain and what not I drove into work and did some ABS, lifting and no cardio, tomorrow I hit that again. It's suppose to be colder but if it's over 40 then I should be back on the bike.

I'm gonna work on the Poland write up tonight. Here's a teaser...

Has Bill Been in the Mescaline Again? You Make the Call!

And We're Back...

... from Poland. Sorry for the outage if any of you are still about.

I have a lot to say about Poland but not today. Today is for catching up and what not.

I couldn't believe the temperature this morning, sixty six degrees? I rode my bike in hoping I built enough karma to avoid the projected afternoon thunderstorms. I'm also trying to do a reset on myself so I faced the big bad scales and that heartless bitch told me that I had put on eight pounds since last checking with her. I'm now at 213.

Call me butterBill.

I ride the bike in and it was very pleasant at 4:40am other than nearly getting beaned by the dude chucking newspapers out of his van. Even though I hadn't weighed in I knew the score on that so I did 20mins on the stair climber and had some mild excitement on the Garmin since I had reset the MaxHR to 174, well today it peaked out at 177 and the Garmin started this bizarre bleating.

Sweat is pouring into my eyes, I think I'm at level 14 (I'm doing the 'beginner' stair climber 20min workout - so whatever the highest level is on that one, I think goodMood warms up on it) and I have about thirty seconds left on that work interval. I'm confused, "What's up with the alarm?"

I look up at the device and it says, "ZONE 6" and annoyingly bleats again and then says, "Your heart rate is too high!"

Oh dear God I'm going to die! But I'm not backing off the level 14! I only have fifteen seconds left, I CAN MAKE IT! As I'm stumbling up the steps listening to the Garmin klaxon I'm thinking, "I didn't even know 'ZONE 6' existed... I'm some sort of GOD!!!"

It takes a minute or so for me to bring my HR back down to where the Garmin will shut up about it but I manage after dialing back the level at the appropriate time. Then I do my stretches, another goal of mine being that I don't have to lay my bike on the ground so that I can... how do I say this without sounding dirty?... mount it. Then I walk for fifteen on the treadmill before calling it a day.

IronMan was telling me how JRock and his daughter, returning from spring break in F-L-A gave him a new lunch box.

Grainy early morning iPhoto pic of IronMan's cool lunchbox!

Then IronMan tells me about a buddy of his who was having a 'Monday' though I'm not sure it was on par with ponyTail's Monday facebook status of, "3 words can summarize today: God Damn It! (just one of those days... oh well, tomorrow shall be better)" Anyhow IronMan was telling this guy about the blog and his nickname and what not trying to improve his mood which apparently it did. The next day IronMan noticed something new on his truck, can you spot it?

Grainy early morning iPhoto pic of IronMan's cool front of his car!

How cool is that?!