Doomsday 2012

Well, I hear tomorrow is it.  We're all doomed.  The planets will align, and life will cease to exist on this earth.

And I know for a fact that this is true.  Want to know how I know this?  Allow me to take a few seconds of your precious time (we have a very limited amount left) to explain why tomorrow will be the end of the world as we know it.

Today, I had an appointment with my optometrist.  My vision has been incredibly blurry, especially at night.  So blurry that I cannot read license plates, speed limit signs, or road signs.  I decided I needed to do something about this, so I made an appointment and off I go.

When I go, the nice lady doctor examines my eyes, proceeds with some spiel about how my prescription hasn't actually changed, and then asks if I look at a computer or a book all day long for my job.

Why no, I do not.

I do not have a job.

But if you are asking if I ever look at a computer to study, that would be a positive.  And when I'm not looking at a computer, I'm reading.  And when I'm not reading, I'm sleeping.

Unless I'm on break.  I haven't looked at a computer much on break.  Checked my grades and email a couple of times, but that's about it.  Instead, I have been reading books for FUN.  What a novel word.

Anyway, as I was saying, the pretty doctor lady tells me something about how my eyes are spasming, blah blah blah (at this point, I'm thinking, "Yeah, I can just put down the computer and slowly walk away...  Not. I have to study, here, lady.).  Then, she says, "I don't think we need to change your prescription.  I think you need reading glasses."

...

Come again?

...

Reading glasses?!?!?

...

Probably the look I gave her

Yes, folks.  That's right.  READING GLASSES.  I am officially 90, and it's my time to go.  The world will end tomorrow.

That's not even all, though.

I went to my mom's work (I had to drop off a Christmas present for little miss Sophia that I had picked up in Knoxville).

Cutest thing EVER

When I stopped by, I told her the news...  I had to get reading glasses before she did.  Pitiful.

So then my oh-so-sweet-and-supportive mom (she really is) asks me if I'll need a chain to hook to my reading glasses so they can hang around my neck and I won't lose them.

My role model right now

All I need is to cut my hair off and drape a sweater across my shoulders.  Perfect.

Then my husband calls when he gets off works.  I tell him the news.  He asks if I want him to bring home some prunes and warm milk.

So tomorrow, when the world ends, don't say I didn't warn you.  Wisdom comes with age, and since I'm about a hundred, I would know.

(Another) Man-Eating Tarantula

What is it with me and spiders????

So I have a test on Monday, and I'm at my house studying fervently attempting to study being scared because I'm by myself (what a big baby) studying fervently (no, seriously!).

My eyes are heavy, and I'm pretty tired.  I notice something moving across the floor (or so I think--John has been watching a lot of scary movies lately, which leads to me seeing lots of things moving, especially when I'm home alone and it's dark outside).

The next song comes on my computer...  What is Love by Haddaway...  I decide that I must be seeing ghosts.  So I continue to study.

Until something moves again.

What is love?  Baby don't hurt me, don't hurt me, no more...

So I get brave and decide to move my computer to really get a look at what is moving across the way (surely I'm not hallucinating, right??).

Holy canoli batman.

Now let me tell you that this picture is deceptive.

No, no, it was truly as big as you think it is.

But I was not that close.  I only attempted to take a picture in case it killed me in the war of Jade vs. Giant Man-Eating Tarantula Part II.  But I zoomed all the way in on my phone.

I figured if I was dead when John got home, someone would think to check my phone, right?

Anyway, nobody else is home, so I make a decision.

I must go to war.  At this point, it's me or the spider.  One of us has got to go (and right now, it's about a 50-50 shot).  I can't risk the spider running away or hiding before John gets home, so I step up to the plate.

Batter up.

Now let me stop and allow you to ponder what's the worst that could happen.

I'll answer by saying that I'm still alive, so it wasn't that.

So now think about what's the next worst thing that can happen?

Cause it did.

My heart is racing, my blood pressure (I almost abbreviated it BP, but then I realized that non-masochistic normal people (read: non-med school students) may be reading this and perhaps I should keep the acronyms down to a minimum) is through the roof, my mouth is dry, and I've broken out in a disgusting sweat at this point.

Here it goes.  All or nothing.  Do it or DIE!

I swing my shoe with a force that you wouldn't believe.  I was Babe Ruth at my last at-bat.

WHAMMO!

Now scroll back up and look at that picture.

Don't worry, I'll wait.

Did you see what the spider is next to?  Yes, that would be a vent.

Once the dust settles and the damage is done, I lift up my shoe (yes, I dropped it like a little scaredy cat) to check the bottom for dead spider guts.  None there.

Yes, my friends, the spider has escaped down the vent.  I can only hope that I did enough damage to fatally wound it and it never, ever, ever getting back together (WHAT??) comes out of the vent.

As for me, you can reach me at my mom and dad's for now.

The Man-Eating Tarantula

So the other day, I got pulled over.

Yes, by the cops.  The po-po's.  The po-lice man.

Pulled over.

When I saw the blue lights, I checked my speed.  Nope, not speeding.  Much, anyway.  I was doing a steady 50 in a 45.  Okay...

So maybe it was my windows.  I mean, I've been pulled over for them before (never in Tennessee, always in Virginia, but I digress...).  They are a wee bit too dark, but is that really something to be concerned about??

Anywho, being the good, law-abiding citizen I am (can I say that right now when I clearly just admitted to breaking two laws?), I pulled over, rolled down my window, and got out my license and proof of insurance (both sit side by side in my wallet).  The nice police officer (he actually was super nice) comes up to my window and asks for my license.  I hand it over.  He starts to walk back to his cruiser, but then he stops.
 
He kinda looks at me funny.  He looks down at my license.  My hands are shaking, and I have profuse diaphoresis (for the world outside of med school, that means I'm sweatin' like a ho in church...  I won't get started on the topic of med school language...).  I'm going to jail, folks.  That's it.  I'm going to jail.  Probably because my license picture is hideous.  Or maybe because I didn't wash my hair that morning.  Whatever it is, I'm going to jail (anyone else have this intense fear of cops??).

He steps back up to my window and asks if I know why I got pulled over.

Okay, does anyone ever say they know why?  I could have been going 30 miles over the speed limit and I would have looked at him and said, "No, sir."

Now the first thing you need to understand is that I hate creepy crawlies.  The more legs something has, the more I hate it.

Snakes = no legs = not too scared.  I can coexist with snakes.  Live in harmony.  They really don't bother me.

Humans = two legs = a little scared.  I can coexist with most humans.  Tolerance, people.

Gators = four legs = a bit scared.  I wouldn't like it if there was a gator crawling through my living room right now.

Ladybugs/flies/termites = six legs.  Hate 'em.  They are gross, and I wouldn't mind if I never saw another.

Spiders = eight legs.  Enough to make me lose control of my sphincters.

Centipedes = 100 legs.  I will stroke out.

So now that you've got that down, just imagine...

I'm driving to school on a beautiful Saturday morning.  The sun is shining, there isn't a cloud in site, but I am tired.  Dog tired.  I have an exam in two days, and my stress levels are higher than the US debt.

I see something moving down toward my right leg.  I look down.  It is a SPIDER hanging off my windshield wiper bar.  It is small and colorless a gigantic man-eating tarantula.  To think I could have missed it crawling all around me on the whole way to school, well...

I freak out.  Panic.  Hyperventilate.  Almost black out.  How am I going to get out of my car when it's traveling 50 mph down the road and my seat belt is buckled and this is a disaster.  Chernobyl-sized.

So I use my doctor skills and think fast (okay, maybe not doctor skills, but I'd like to think this was some good thinking on my part).  I grab my phone from the cup holder and hold it under the spider.  At this point, the spider is mere inches away from my skin.  I'm literally about to pass out.

I finally get it to land on my phone, and then I take my phone, turn it over, and start beating it against the dash.  I mean I'm hitting my phone so hard against my dash that I don't know how I didn't crack my phone or the dash.

At the end of it all, the spider was successfully killed.  And I was probably mere inches from my death if the spider touched me.

Anywho, back to the cop.  He proceeds to tell me I was swerving.  Swerving.  Yes, swerving.

I opened my mouth to tell him what happened, but he says, "I don't really know what's going on--maybe you're just tired?"  I take the beautiful, heaven-sent escape route and say, "Yeah, I'm just soooo tired.  (Fake yawn...  No, really, I fake yawned.  What can I say?  I didn't major in theater.)  I just have a test on Monday (not a lie), and school is so crazy, and I'm just exhausted."

He proceeds to give me a look like, "You poor little dumb girl, you probably have to study for your remedial math 90 class that you've taken 100 times."  I take it, trying my hardest to look dumb, dumb, dumb.  He hands me back my license, gives me a speech about how I need to get a good night's sleep before I drive because it can be dangerous, and tells me to be careful on the way to school.

Yeah, as long as terrorists don't put any more gargantuan spiders in my car, we'll be cool.

My Snuggly Snuggies

Well, this is the longest I've ever gone without writing a post (I think--I'm not going to go back and make sure because I'm way to lazy for that).

I've been so busy with school.  Let me tell you, med school is no joke.  Which leads me to my reason for writing this particular post...

I have come to the conclusion that I am obsessed.

OBSESSED!!

I love them.  I think they're gorgeous.  I want to live in them (I practically did all last week while studying).

It is my opinion that they are best invention of my lifetime (and yes, that includes all the technology/new medicines/new innovations in communications/whatever else you happen to think is more impressive).

An exact replica of my Cheetah-print Snuggie

Let me tell you how I came about owning one of these marvelous inventions.

It was about this time last year, and my Aunt Patsy asked me if I would like to yard sale with her.  I said yeah (I mean, who doesn't have junk that they need to sell...  One man's junk is another man's treasure and all that good stuff).  So here we went to the bank to sell our crap really awesome, really good, practically new stuff.

Now, let me go ahead and put this out there...  The reason I should never go yard sale beside someone else is because I suddenly become interested in all their junk awesome stuff.  So as I was digging through her stuff, I found this...  This...  This AMAZING THING!

Yes, my friends.  It was the Snuggie.  Now, I had seen the commercials.  I had made fun of them.  I secretly wanted one.  But I decided to give it a try.

I took it home, slipped the glorious sleeves right over my arms, sat down on my recliner, kicked out my legs, and folks...  It was finished.

Since then, I requested one for Christmas.

I'm seriously in love with these things.  I'm thinking about starting my own personal collection.  Is that appropriate?

For example, I was thinking about how much I love football.  Would it be appropriate for me to wear a Snuggie to a game?  I mean, they're like blankets except way more practical (and awesome).  So it's really like I would just be taking a blanket to keep me warm...  Is that acceptable?

Or would you all make fun of me like I used to make fun of the commercials?

Anyway, I really recommend that everyone try one of these.  And if you don't like it, I think you are dumb.  And if you ever run across one at a yard sale...  Go ahead and pick it up.  Promise I'll buy it.

The Break Up

I hate to disappoint everyone, but this post has been a long time coming...

We have officially split.  Broken up.  Dunzo.  Kaput.

That's right, folks, you heard it here.  We are over.  I have ended my relationship with pizza.  And ice cream.  I'm done with both of those jerks, and I hope I don't ever see them ever again.

Let me tell you what happened...

Approximately two years ago (around July 13), I got married to this wonderful man named John.  I had been working out, watching what I ate, etc., etc., so on and so forth.

Then we went on an all-inclusive, amazing, beautiful, super-duper honeymoon to Sandals.  And yes, it was that beautiful.


So on said honeymoon, I ate.  And ate.  And ate and ate and ate.  I ate a lot.


So we get back home, and I continue to eat.  And eat and eat and eat.  I love pizza.  And ice cream.  So I ate a LOT of pizza and ice cream.

Not an actual picture of me, but close enough...

And then, it happened...  One of them got me pregnant.  Not pregnant with a human baby, mind you.  Pregnant with a food baby.  I really don't know how it happened.  John says I need to go on Maury.  But all of a sudden, I had put on a lot of weight, and my pants didn't fit.


So last night after I finished off my carton of Moose Tracks only to be followed by dinner of cheesy bread from Dominos, I decided to call it quits with both of them.


Even though I'm not sure who the father of this food baby is, I know one thing: I'm done with them both!


So from now on, if you see me out with pizza or ice cream, come smack me!  Don't let me cheat on my one true love (the clothes in my closet that are going to fit again) with either of those fools.


Thanks in advance for all your understanding and support.  This break up will be hard, but I know I can do it!!!

The Case of the Half-Eaten Dinner

Today's post is a special post.  It is a mystery story about...

The Case of the Half-Eaten Dinner

It was a dark, dreary night.  I had walked to the upstairs refrigerator at school to retrieve my supper and warm it up.  The upstairs was empty.  And quiet.  Perhaps too quiet...

All four plastic containers were still inside my plastic bag, but only one still had food.  I reached in for the container that still had food and opened the lid to place it in the microwave when suddenly...

I noticed that half of the food was (*gasp*) gone!  I searched around high and low for the culprit, but alas... No one was to be found.

I walked back downstairs and proceeded to tell my study group about the nasty rat that had taken my dinner out of my bag in the refrigerator and eaten half of my lunch (like I wouldn't notice).

What a scumbag...

So after I left school, I called my mom.  I was going on and on about this dirty, nasty, shabby, filthy, disgusting creature that took HALF of my lunch (not even all of it, like they started eating it and determined it was gross and stopped eating it...  And I know for a fact that it was not gross because I made it myself with tomato juice that my mama canned...).

Then my mom, ever so quietly asks...  "That wouldn't be the container that I ate half of the other night for dinner, would it?"

Ummm...  WHAT???

That's right, folks.  I had stayed at my mom and dad's house on Sunday night because John was gone to one of the Carolinas for some training something or other.  She was making fried chicken legs for supper, and we don't eat fried chicken legs.  So I brought some leftover macaroni and tomato for us to eat.  But apparently, she got the container out of the bag I was bringing to school for Monday and Tuesday's lunch and dinner instead of eating out of the container I had brought specifically for her.

The moral of this story is...  When you are calling someone a good-for-nothing, low down, dirty, trashy, filthy, nasty, terrible, horrible, no good, very bad, shabby, disgusting scumbag...  You had probably better check and make sure that it isn't your mom.

Thankful Thursday

Yeah, yeah, I've skipped a few Thursdays...

And today is technically not Thursday, but I wasn't sure that I could post this yesterday.  So although I wrote this yesterday, I was waiting for her to make the official announcement to post it!

Today, I am thankful for my friend Lauren Fox!  (Now that you've made it into my blog, we can be friends forever and ever!!!)

Here is my story about Lauren...

Lauren and I met on maybe the second day of orientation for medical school.  Since my rebel husband was with me on the first day, we had to sit in the back.  So the next day when it was just little ol' me, I was free to move to the front of the room like a good student attentive student slacker that wants to look like she's paying attention good student.  Lauren was sitting at the front of the room.

And then I said, "Hey, I don't know anybody.  You look pretty cool.  Wanna be study buddies??"  Or something like that.

So started our friendship.  And over the years, it has blossomed into a great friendship.

Okay, so I've only known her for one year.  But true story...

One of the first days of class, a professor stood up (I think it was Dr. Teitelbaum) and told us we would meet our best friends in medical school.  I rolled my eyes and said, "Yeah right.  I already have my best friends.  I don't need new ones."

Wrong.

Anyway...  Lauren and I started studying together...  Watching TV shows together (Hart of Dixie, anyone?)...  Having sleepovers before tests...  Eating cookie dough and drinking Diet Sunkist after tests...  And the list goes on.

So why, you might ask, am I thankful for her today?  Because today I received this in a text message:

YAY!!!!!  That's right, folks.  Lauren is officially engaged to the man of her dreams, Erik.  I have met him, and I approve.

So not only does she have a GORGEOUS ring, he apparently proposed in Spain next to a big, beautiful fountain (anyone else a little jealous?????).

Oh, and he's from Norway.  Just as a side note, when I told my mother this, she proceeded to tell me that when she thought of a guy from Norway, she imagined a big hunky man with blonde hair and blue eyes...

I think she was thinking of this guy...

Yes, Chris Hemsworth...  aka THOR

You know, I can actually see the resemblance...

Anywho, I am thankful today for my sweet friend Lauren (who has threatened me several times with ending our friendship if she didn't make it into my blog--she just didn't know I was saving up for something big!) and her engagement!!  CONGRATULATIONS (and let's start Pinteresting)!!!!!

The Big 2-5

So for those of you unaware, tomorrow is the big day...  The day I turn the big 2-5.

That's right, folks.  One quarter of a century.  At least 1/4 of the way done with my life (assuming I live to be 100, an unlikely event).

Anyway, to get on with the story, I've been feeling really sorry for myself lately.  I mean, 25?????  What.a.buzzkill.  I've just really not accomplished a lot.

I mean, when you're 5, you think you're going to have your stuff together by the time you are 25.  Have a family.  Your career.  Everything under control and planned out.

Well, not so.  No kiddo's for this gal (even though my biological clock has been ticking lately--but no worries, I'm sure it will tick for some time before I pay much attention to it).  No career, either.  I've had a couple of jobs, but let's be real.  I still don't know what I want to be when I grow up.

And as for having everything under control?  Planned out?  HAHAHAHAHAHAHA...  What.a.joke.

So while drowning my sorrows in a white chocolate mousse shiver laced with cookie dough, I suddenly had an idea...  An awful idea...  The Grinch had a wonderful, awful idea... an epiphany!

Why should I dread 25?  25 is just a number (I tell myself this daily about my weight.....), and how could I possibly be more blessed?  So I don't have it all figured out, but that's okay.  I have until at least 30, right??

I've met the love of my life...

Isn't he precious?

Oh yeah, and John.  I love him, too...

JUST KIDDING!!

In all seriousness, I'm so blessed to have met my soul mate, and I'm only 25 24 (let's not push it, here).

I have THE best parents a girl could ever ask for.  Yeah, yeah, whatever.  You only think your parents are better than mine.  I could prove it to you, but I know it.  And quite frankly, that's all that matters.

No, seriously.  Best.parents.ever.  I can't even start to describe how amazing they are and do them justice.

The best grandma ever.

This is not even up for discussion.

Because mine wins.

Every.

Single.

Time.

Best big brother ever.

And yes, this is a glamour shot.

You can just call him little Justin Timberlake...  lol

Aren't we freakin adorable???

The best family ever.

This is also not up for discussion.

Because I promise that my family is way, way better than yours.

The best in-laws ever (can I even call them in-laws???  I mean, I think I like them much more than the negative connotation that comes with the words in and laws.....)

Besides, how can you resist that ridiculously attractive mustache?????

The best best friend ever.

Even if she's terribly mean sometimes.

It's just her way of saying that she loves me.  :)

The best sorority ever.

Again, not up for discussion.

My sorority will kick your sorority's butt.  True story.

Best colleagues EVER!!!

Trust me, I would know...  I'm a doctor (well, at least, you know, almost.....).






I would be lying if I didn't say that I just spent probably the better part of a half hour looking through old pictures on Facebook...

And all it did was remind me how incredibly blessed I am.

So I believe tonight and all day tomorrow, I will be doing nothing but counting my blessings.  That will take me at least all night tonight and all day tomorrow.

Just don't forget to count yours, too.

BRING IT ON, 2-5!!!!!

An Update on Our House

For those of you who are unaware, I got a bike!

After my first ride

And yesterday, I rode my bike all the way across Clinch Mountain to work.  It was fantastic.

Anywho, as promised (back on May 3), here are some updated pictures of our house!

Our room with no furniture

My mother says this would make a great nursery.  In her dreams.

Sara's room

All you can watch on that TV is static--it isn't hooked up to anything.

And the guest bathroom.

Note the curved shower rod.  One of my favorite inventions of all time.

Upstairs landing area

Finally!  Carpeted stairs!

Our bedroom

Some furniture 

The bed, doorway to the closet, and bathroom

Master bath

His and her sinks

The half bath...  Filled with pictures of us...  I can't decide what else to put there (but rest assured that I will change it...  eventually...)

Pretty sure I already have a picture of the half bath sink...  But here's another one, just in case.

The living room

The view from the bottom of the stairs

Why did I take so many pictures of the living room?

Our pretty mantle

That's about it for right now.  I realize that I don't have any pictures of the kitchen, so stay tuned.  I'm really not sure why I didn't take any pictures in there just yet.

Preview to coming attractions: landscaping pictures from the front yard, adventures on my bike, and confessions from the cadaver lab!  Okay, so that last one probably sounds a little more exciting than it will be...  But working with such a lively crew, you just never know!! (See what I did there?)

Happy Saturday!!

Motorcycles, Part II

My husband and I were watching Terminator 2: Judgment Day just a few days ago when he told me about when he was Arnold Schwarzenegger (who believes I spelled that right on the first try??).  When he was about 8, he watched that movie and proceeded to put on his leather jacket, get his toy shotgun (which he sawed off, by the way), and ride around his yard on his little dirtbike.

Gah, my husband is such a bad, bad mamajama.

So I woke up Sunday ready to get this motorcycle class over with.  I had washed my hair the night before, but I didn't bother to fix it.  Mistake.

So anyway, I get to the range, and we're ready to ride.  First exercise of the day...  We had to make a u-turn in this box that was no wider than a car is long...  Not fun.

I actually was fairly unsuccessful at this exercise.  I've decided that if I ever have to make such a "slow, tight turn," I will just put my feet down and walk my bike around.  Dumb.

The rest of the exercises went fairly well.  We learned how to stop in a corner (straighten out the handlebars, and then press your brakes), how to accelerate through a curve, how to switch lanes (using your blinker), and how to swerve.

After lunch, we got to practice a little, and then it was time for the test.  I was more nervous than I usually am for a med school test.  I couldn't fail this.  That would make me a big fat loser.  So here we go...  Of course, the first test...  Making a u-turn in that sweet, precious little box.  Guh-reat.

My reaction when they told us we had to do the box...

Next, it's coming to a sudden stop.  They count off the tick marks.  I went past three red tick marks.  I don't know if that's bad or good.  The final exercise was to go around a curve, speed up, slow down, and make another curve, accelerating the whole way through it.  I felt pretty good about that one.  It's just that dang box.

So we retire to the classroom to take our written exam.  I've never felt so smart.  A 100%.  I literally gave my test to be graded and told him he might as well not bother.  It was pretty much...

Also found out I passed the riding exam.  Like a boss.

So came the time for graduation.  I graduated with honors with my motorcycle certificate to go get my license.  And (drumroll, please...) I received the coveted SUPERHERO OF SWERVE award.  That's right.  If there's one thing I'm not going to do, it's hit an inanimate object.  Cause I can swerve.  Like a boss.

So the next time you see a motorcycle zooming down the road...

Also, I have been looking back at my blog and just realized that I never posted updated pictures of our house.  Look for some updated pictures sometime soon!!

Happy Thursday!

Motorcycles, Part I

I'm such a little daddy's girl.  Until I got married, my dad ALWAYS took my car to get it serviced.  He would also usually put gas in it (especially if I brought it home with the light burning and accidentally parked it behind his truck so that when he went to go somewhere, he would just have to take my car.....).  So it always makes me feel like such a big girl when I'm able to do these things all by myself.

I made an appointment to get my car serviced last Friday.  And it made me feel like such a big girl that I just had to call and tell my daddy.  I think that kinda defeated the purpose.

So after I got my car serviced (and no, I will not forget to get my tires rotated in another 2500 miles, I promise, dad), I was on my way to Maryville for my motorcycle class.  First of all, let me just say, I felt (and probably looked) like a fish out of water when I parked my little Mazda in the parking lot with all those Harley's and walked into the dealership with my complete and total lack of tattoos and limited piercings.  After about six people directed me back to the classroom, I still got lost.  (Guh-reat.  There goes my plan for not standing out...)

Once I (finally) made it to the classroom, in I walked to meet my fellow classmates.  Except there was a boy.

Now wait just a dern minute.  I signed up for an all girl's class, right?????  (And no, this is not a joke about there was a woman that looked like a man.  He was actually a he.)

He turned out to be John (a.k.a. Joanna or "Happy"), and he had been riding for thirty years and just needed to take the class to get his license.  Okay, I guess he could stay.

So on we go.  Three hours of learning about the differences between a motorcycle and car (I was feeling pretty good right about then) and about the controls on a motorcycle and where they were (learned a few things here), we were done for the night and released to go home.  So off to my brother's house I went to see my two nephews.  I love them.

Jack

Bentley (Notice Jack...  lol)

Sweet babies!

So the next day, it was off to the range.  We were going to learn how to drive.  After my extremely nutritious breakfast from McD's, I was feeling quite confident.  But then I got to the range, put on my suh-weet leather jacket, strapped on my gloves, took off my gloves, zipped up my leather jacket, put my gloves back on, put on my helmet, took my gloves off, strapped my helmet on, and for the final time (before that run, anyway), put my gloves back on.  Then we mounted our bikes.

Mine had just a few dints and dings...  A by a few, I mean it was mostly silver with a hint of black.

At this point, I was thinking, "Sweet Moses, what have I gotten myself in to???????"

We started at 7, and that's a good thing.  By 9:00, I was sweating like a hemophiliac on Warfarin (probably not funny if you don't know what it is....).  I mean, it was HOT out by then.  So we do all these exercises, and I'm feeling a little bit better.

Lunch time (my favorite part of the day), and then it was back to the range.  After a few more exercises, it was classroom time.  After about an hour in the classroom, we were done for the day.  I had learned to start the bike, get it rolling, stop it, get it rolling again, go around a corner, and blow the horn (the most important part!!).

So it was off to my brother's house for the night.  They were out and about, but I opted to stay in and study HIV (I'm so cool).  I sat down on the couch and proceeded to study, study, study.  Jack was so good.  He just curled up next to me and napped.  Bentley FINALLY sat down for about thirty minutes and napped (he's a snorer).  Once I was done studying, I turned on Shrek and promptly fell asleep (being out in the hot with all that gear on not going more than 10 mph can be tiring...).  Bentley woke me up about 15 minutes later, his face about an inch from mine, just breathing.  And his breath...  RANK.  Not even Febreeze could have masked that.

So off to bed.  Tomorrow, motorcycles part II.  You'll get to find out if I completed the class (I'll go ahead and spoil that surprise...  I did.).  But you don't know what award I got or if I wrecked.  I'm just saying...