Armed Rabbits, Crazy Mice & Country Music

I highly recommend stretching out your birthday. Especially as your birthdays get higher in the digit count.

My latest, for example, has been a full two weeks. My work might have suffered and I've definitely benefitted from extra caffeine in the mornings but it's been pretty fun. Fun at work, fun on Facebook, fun with Book Club, fun with friends. It's been long and glorious.

But before I get to that, I think I have to talk about rabbits. Armed rabbits.

Yeah, yeah. I know what you're thinking. But you're wrong. There's no squirrel stew or gravy in this story.  This animal story is a gym story.

As my friend Adam Wire knows, I have a strict policy at the gym of getting in there, getting my work done and not making eye contact with others. I'm in the gym not for fun, but to fight the battle of bulge. I've burned through at least 500 trashy novels as I kept my head down and sweated in this never ending, never winning war on driving under a wide-load sign.

My policy counts at the work gym but is doubly true at the Jordan Y, the gym I visit when I can't fit a work-out in during the day. Karin and I used to ogle a certain gentleman there back  when we worked out together, but we never (gasp!) talked to him.  I tended to read rather than chatter while we worked out. Going solo, I barely speak beyond pleasantries getting through the front desk.

I have plenty of friends. I'm not looking to turn sweaty strangers into soul mates. Not that I'm rude. Oh. Hell. Let's just say I'm a quiet, focused spadex-covered person and leave it at that. So there I am, sweating on an elliptical machine with Suzanne Brockmann's latest SEAL novel as two guys next to me are on treadmills.

I don't know if they were there when I hopped on the stairs or if they came later. No eye contact, remember. The one closest to me was a chatty Kathy like you can't believe. I blocked him out using my newsroom skills and concentrated on the action going on in my paperback.

But then, I hear, "Man, I know it ain't no fun when the rabbit's got the gun, but you gotta get back out there."

The other guy demurred. The first guy kept it up. My pace faltered. I tried to go back to the book but these guys were hilarious.  I slowed, turned to my left and apologized for interrupting. "I'm sorry. Did you just say, 'It ain't no fun when the rabbit's got the gun?'" I asked.

As you may remember, I grew up in the country and am familiar with about 10 million expressions involving animals and actions that may or may not be anatomically or otherwise possible. This one, however, was a new one.

Larry -- turns out the first guy is named Larry -- laughs and admits it, telling me he's trying to help his friend Harrison get back in the game. But they're men of a certain age and the dating game is harder now. He  tells me -- silly girl that I am -- that they weren't really talking about real bunnies or actual weaponry.

That made ME smile, but I kept my heart rate up as I asked, as politely as I could, if it were possible these rabbit hunters were plying their craft in the wrong woods. Were the rabbits in their sights possibly too young for their, somewhate aged, guns? 

Sweat still flying, we quickly became friends. And then I told them of the virtues of armed, older rabbits. 
So now I'm hunting rabbits for them. I have Harrison's phone number and Larry's gratitude. 

This is what happens, Adam, when you break your no-eye-contact rules.  

So, ladies, if you're single, not interested in breeding new rabbits, please hit me up. Harrison is a funny guy. He has a good job, works out and isn't at all Elmer Fudd-like. I'd go out with him if I didn't have a mighty fine rabbit of my own at home.

Crazy Mouse

When Alison was small, she loved the Crazy Mouse roller coaster at the Indiana State Fair. No matter which of her Day Nursery friends we had with us -- or if it was just the three of us -- we had to take a turn on the Mouse.  This year, it was Alex and Breanna.

"No. I am NOT going on the Crazy Mouse," Alex insisted. "No way."

They were already through their first set of tickets after  Jeff and I had Ieft them on the Midway in all their teenaged glory. The girls each had a stuffed animal. Alex had a couple tickets left and Jeff was at the counter re-supplying them. They'd gone through the bigger rides, no one had thrown up, but the girls were sure it was time to keep to tradition.

Alex was having none of it.

"I'm with you man," Jeff says to Jeff. "No way I'd stand in that line either."

Yes he would. And so would Alex, who has a perfect record of being my favorite male friend of Alison Reed dating back 12 years when we first met him. 

As she dives deep into high school -- she is loving Herron High School -- I'm bracing myself for a wider circle of friends.  Amy Tokash and I decided a long time ago that if we could keep our kids to the friends they me in Day Nursery, our lives would be perfect. Sadly, they're growing up, meeting new people and expanding their horizons. I can accept that -- as long as Jenna, Breanna, Alex and Hannah remain solidly in the mix. As in the most important of their friends. 

Like I can control that. Sigh. She's been pairing her school uniform with combat boots lately. It's a really cute look but one that sends both Jeff and me into instant please-slow-down mode. He's already decided she's going to have to wait for college to get contact lenses.

Sleepover Book Club

When I say my birthday started early, I really bogarted Karin and Julie's birthday. This is year two of what I hope is an August tradition where our book club books a hotel room and we spend the afternoon and evening at hotel pool. 

We always have fun at book club. But summer birthday book club is the best.

  

Country Music

Friday night when Jeff took me to a Jason Aldean, Cole Swindell and Tyler Farr concert, Ali opted to stay home alone rather than have a friend over or go somewhere herself. Like me, she likes her alone time.

In between sets, I texted her to see if she was doing OK.  "Yes I'm fine and breathing," she texted back. 

I replied that she might be a bit of a smartass.  

Now, we're liberals, but we don't let her curse. We don't curse at her, and we try not to curse much around her. So of course, she texted me back, asking if I was drunk. I pointed out that I could still spell.

"Cough, auto-correct, cough" was her reply text.

I think I might have over-armed my little rabbit. At least in the witty repartee department.

Sent from my iPad