As I’ve mentioned previously, Wifey is out of town for work and three hours behind, and B is at school an hour away in East Lansing, so I am home and very alone. This is probably why my posts have been rambling word salads that could have been reduced to a paragraph.
In fact, as I ate breakfast (a wonderful breakfast bowl of homemade hash browns, egg whites, and homemade turkey sausage) alone at the kitchen table today I tried to think of the people I have actually talked to this week.
So, I present to you an extensive list of conversations had since Saturday morning:
The Cashier at Ric’s Market: “Plastic’s fine. No, you can just put the milk in the cart.”
The Self Checkout Czar at Meijer: “Thanks, have a good day.”
Lola (the dog): “NO! Food? Treat? NO! DOWN! LOLA, NO! Good girl! Bad Girl! Lola, get out of the gahdamn kitchen! Lola, get in the damn house! Ready for a Second Treat? GOOD GIRL! Gotta poop? Lola, don’t lick the dishwasher! Go ahead, girl, go pee. Did you fart? You’re so cute!! Why are you at the front door? BAD GIRL! OK, girl, time for bed.”
Clearly, I talk more to the dog more than people, and I struggle to see that as a bad thing.
I digress.
We are in Day 2 of Fake Spring 2025.
What is Fake Spring, you ask?
Well, the sun is out, the temps have been into the 40s, and reportedly 50 today, a lake of melting snow is in the backyard of the Cul De Sac Shack, dirty snow and slush litter the sides of the roads and driveways, and a months worth of dog turds are blooming in the muddy yard.
So where does the fake come in?
[Cue voice like you are an “expert” with some sort of degree from somewhere on the Joe Rogan podcast]
It’s all fake, man! It’s a mirage, put here by that nasty woman Mother Nature and her gang of dirt-worshiping, feminist, ANTIFA, Pagan followers to make you THINK it’s going to be spring, but this is Michigan, and it’s not even March yet. We could get three or four more snowstorms before ACTUAL spring comes. So, don’t bust out the bug spray, don’t go buying that new thong budgie smuggler, and whatever you do, DON’T put the snow shovels away. You’ll see, it’s all part of their plan! Now sell me some soon-to-be-approved by the FDA testosterone-boosting supplements even though they are just placebos and dish out some right-wing “science” about chemtrails, Joe.
I joke, of course; no one digs that nasty woman Ma Nature and her gang of dirt-worshiping, ANTIFA, Pagan followers more than me.
I hope I’m wrong; I hope that I won’t need to shovel anything but the dog shit in the yard until next winter, but I am a realist, which is code for being a pessimist, which is code for being an asshole, which is code for being hard to live with, which is code for good thing you enjoy talking to that fucking dog.
I let Fake Spring run its course today and was back in the basement for 45 minutes and 11.5 miles of fake cycling on Whoosh’s Nomad Trail. I also went over 100 miles of fake cycling this year, which is about 50 more miles of indoor and outdoor cycling combined than I did all of last year. As Doctor Leo Marvin says, “baby steps.”
I hope to get back in the woods tomorrow and see what the trails are like. If they suck, I might do a Gravel Lumber.
Later.
SOILED FACT CHECK: Not long after scheduling this post, I talked on the phone with my sister-in-law. The post is RUINED!!! Ha!