Here I Go Again...

...just not on my own this time. I had almost forgotten about this fun little blog...at least the new and improved one will be! More to come soon...

If At First You Don't Succeed, Tri, Tri Again

So far, so good with the repeat guy...I'll call him Tri Guy. He's training for a triathalon and, well, the rest is self-explanatory. Still cute and funny. I'm trying to discern whether he has all the intangibles, but I'm enjoying the emails so far. He even sent me one this morning to tell me to have a good day- love that! That's something I always did for my guys, so I think, for once, I'm going to sit back a little and enjoy being wooed. Long distance, of course, but what the hey. I still can't figure out what it is about me that attracts triathletes. I need to add that to the list of questions to ask my friends to figure out what is wrong with me since it never works out.

Now, there is the issue of a SMOKIN' hot, world champion, Italian kite-boarder living in Miami who has emailed me twice. Twice!!! Only problem is, without a subscription, I can't read what he said, or email him back. I'm thinking it might be worth the $15! Holy moly, he's hot.

And, of course, Bachelor #2. What would a good start to a romance be without him popping up? I'll start calling him The Counselor. Of course, I'll forgive him since he said Stephanie Seymour reminded him of me except I have a better ass. Damn right, and I also have the upper hand since I never slept with Axl Rose. Heh. The poor boy loves me and just won't admit it three years into this nonsense. Oh, well, c'est la vie! Onward and upward! I hope?

A Horse is a Horse, Of Course, Of Course

I, along with millions of other sports fans, was seated in front of a television on Saturday to watch the Belmont Stakes. Unlike most other folks, though, I certainly didn't think the outcome was a mere finality. Big Brown's trainer, Rick Dutrow, Jr., had simply mouthed off too much. Where I come from, we call it 'your mouth writing a check your ass can't cash'. Simply put, everyone, human animal or other animal, has a bad day. How many times have you seen a pitcher come off a 3 hitter and get shelled in the first inning on his next outing? Receivers win a game one week and have butter fingers the next? Cyclists simply blow up and drop out after winning a stage in the Tour de France? Me, have a fantastic workout one day, feeling like I could climb Mt. Everest (or at least leave all the chicks in the Friday 'Housewife Circuit' Class panting in the dust), to wanting to curl up in a non-exercise ball and die the next morning?

People have bad days. Dogs have bad days. Horses have bad days. Anyone with eyes and half a brain could see Big Brown started badly and never hit his stride. He fought the jockey, danced all over the track and simply didn't want, or need, to run. And Kent Desormeaux, the jockey, knew the race was over and pulled the horse up so there was no danger of injury. While I do think running those horses in that kind of heat is a dubious practice at best, I think even PETA would have to agree there was no doubt that Desormeaux had Big Brown's best interests at heart. The trainer? Maybe not so much. I think there was a little matter of the debt his mouth had incurred. While Dutrow has backed off his statement that the loss was the jockey's fault, he might want to keep his mouth shut until Big Brown's next race on August 23rd. It might cost more than he bargained for.

My Heroes Have Always Been Kobes

3 words...Kobe Damn Bryant. An absolutely transcendent player, he was brilliant in every way tonight but making free throws (except when it really counted, of course). Ran the offense, kept the team up and focused, played hard defense, drove the basket, got the fouls, and was even humble in the post-game. But not too humble. He's Kobe Damn Bryant.

Fun Playoff-related fact: 2 summers ago my youngest son and I played the bumper cars with Kevin Garnett and his kids at Santa Monica Pier. Super nice guy, with a gorgeous wife and a beautiful, polite family. And hysterically funny looking in a bumper car.

Ex Marks the Spot...and It Is Permanently Stained

Okay, now I've read everything. I just read an article on how divorced people found love through their exes in different ways. And, yes, a couple of these people were actually introduced their new loves by their exes. Wha??? After over 7 years of being divorced, I just want MY ex not to call at 7:30 a.m. on Saturday or Sunday morning when he KNOWS someone has slept over. This is courtesy of snooping by my wife-in-law (his wife) as she drives by my house on the way to play tennis. Geez. They get dates, I get cock-blocked. I'm not asking to be Bruce and Demi, Lord knows. I don't even like the guy, much less want to hang out with him. Even though I can definitely picture him being Bruce-like; not in a cool, 'Die Hard' way, but in a Seagrams Wine Cooler/bad blues singing kind of way. I just want him to get a hobby other than trying to make me miserable. Please.

Can You Say Shrinkage?

Okay, here's a perfect example of why I'm no good at online dating. The site I had the most luck with (and that is dubious at best) was a site that matched people interested in fitness. Mainly because the guys on the previous site I had tried didn't quite understand what an athletic body type is. That doesn NOT mean your dominant hand is all buff from all the channel surfing.

Anyhoo, when I did my quick look through a few days ago, I guess I showed up as active again and have been getting some emails, which I can't even read because I haven't subscribed. I can see the pictures, though, if they have one posted. Other than the one I mentioned that I am cautiously excited about (and who still has my personal email), the rest range in ridiculous to downright hilarious. Please...no more body building pictures! I swear I'm going to put that in my profile. I just got one from a guy whose username is HugeDavid. And, judging by his Hulk Hogan getup (now with more stupid skull caps to hide your baldness!), I'm guessing the 'roid use means not the good kind of huge, if you smell what I'm steppin' in. He looks straight-up WWE. I am howling...not to sound snotty, but what in the name of sweet, sweet Moses makes him think I would remotely be interested? I'm not interested in any pile driver from him, my friend.

A Dying Breed

I hope the rumors that Paul Newman is facing terminal cancer aren't true. While at 83 he has led a long, happy, exemplary life, we as a nation, and particularly a culture, are going to be much less for his passing. While he isn't perfect, as no humans are, he has always displayed a strength, class and dignity sorely missing among the Hollywood stars of the last couple of decades. He has managed to enjoy a long, happy marriage with Joanne Woodward without sex tapes or jumping on couches. He has pursued his hobby of racing cars without turning it into a paparazzi sideshow and photo op. He has quietly donated millions and millions of dollars to charities through his Newman's Own line of natural and organic foods without feeling the need to call a press conference or calling attention to himself in any way. He has simply always, for the most part, chosen to do the right thing. He is such a class act. I was incredibly saddened by the death of Sydney Pollack recently for the same reasons. He was successful, funny, brilliant and a genuinely good guy who made significant contributions to our culture in a quietly dignified way. Our lives were truly enriched by these gentlemen, and our culture will lose much as we lose them.