mud-burrowing bivalve mollusk

I forgot to mention I'm going to drop everything and dedicate my life to the noble art of painstakingly creating penis-shaped handmade crafts.

That's right. Your eyes do not deceive you. Back in April, when I returned to Washington to prove that one can indeed move to the Midwest and not become the stereotypical overweight American who subsists entirely on fast food although sometimes cheese curds and tater tots do not help for Annie's bachelorette weekend, I convinced everyone that making felt geoducks was a great way to spend the afternoon.

Because, you know, a geoduck is just so PNW.

And of course we all had to pose with our handiwork because sewing these puppies took a lot more effort than we originally thought. (Especially when you are simultaneously drinking margaritas.) Also: Who doesn't want a photo with a hand-stitched felt penis?

The scary part (besides my Twins sweatshirt and its grim reminder of how horribly atrocious the Twins are this season): I didn't pose like this on purpose.

(And if you're interested in making your very own felt penis geoduck, you can get the pattern and instructions here. You're welcome.)

really important life thoughts

Today I got invited to a "baby shower barbecue." And my immediate reaction was: "Are we going to be grilling babies?"

Clearly, this is why I have cats.

Although recently I've found myself questioning the idea of "owning" cats. "Own" just doesn't feel right. I like to think of our relationship as much more mutual. (Or mewtual. Mewtual! See what I did there?)

I also like to think of myself as a completely sane, reasonable person.

Anyway, tonight I swam and it wasn't as painful as Monday's swim, so it's possible I may be recovering from my cheese binge. Either that, or I've accepted pain as a part of life and stopped fighting it and instead welcomed it as another glass bead in the kaleidoscope of human existence.

I really hope it's the former.

praise cheeses!

You know how people go on vacation and get all wild and crazy and then come back pregnant? That's pretty much what happened to me, except my baby is made entirely of cheese. Swiss cheese. Gruyère. Appenzeller. Emmentaler.

Mmmm.

I was in Switzerland recently with the mister and his family for about a week, and then we did a two-day layover in Iceland on the way back. When I wasn't marveling at the mountains, I was stuffing my face with cheese. Fondue is one thing, but dear god, have you ever heard of rösti?

It's a freaking hash brown smothered in cheese and topped with a fried egg. In other words: Pure genius on a plate.

So now I have a giant belly full of cheese, and my swim tonight was slow-going, and I'm a little bit worried that I've totally undone the teeny-tiny shred of fitness I've been trying to build over the past two months. But whatever. It was worth it. Because this:

fine evening for an ass-kicking

I rode with the local tri club tonight. Although "with" is a strong word.

I suspected things were going to be challenging when I put my kit on and immediately thought: This is not what this kit looked like last fall. That observation was then followed by: I feel like a stuffed sausage.

And then only three other women showed up for the ride. Everyone else was a guy. And these guys all had massive legs. Like their thighs were Groot.

And it was windy. And there were Louisville-style rollers. And this was my first time taking Minivan outdoors since Ironman last October.

I got dropped immediately.

Thankfully, one of the ladies circled back and kept me company. Which involved me working as hard as I could to keep up with her, while she coasted along and pointed out parks and lakes and farmland and beautiful scenery. And I would've participated more in the conversation, but I was pretty much trying not to pass out and die. I'm still eternally grateful she didn't leave me, though.

I came home and lay on the floor. And no wonder -- my Garmin stats said I had reached a maximum heart rate of 182. Which is beyond anaerobic capacity. And my average was 162, which is my Zone 5.

I seriously don't know how I'm not dead.

Clearly the cats are wondering the same thing, as the slowly circle and wait to eat my corpse.