It's Thursday night, Mandy. Do you know where your pillow is?

answer: no. i haven't been sleeping much. my east-coast work schedule (read: wake up at 530 or 6 and work for 6 hours) coupled with a west-coast ride and social schedule = no sleep.

on another note...here's some shameless self-promotion.


okay, end self-promotion.

sleep well, america. i'm off to berkeley tomorrow to rediscover hippie culture, drink some peet's coffee, ride my bicycle, and hang with the vanderkitten kittykrew. it's gonna rock!

on a less-related note: while standing in line at rite-aid yesterday (be sure to shop there: they sponsor a pro cycling team!!!!), i saw that the national enquirer has the first published photos of hell. this makes me feel better. at least i know what my destination looks like. now i can decide if i want to change my behavior to alter which side of the heaven/hell allocation i deserve. if it sucks (like yuma, az), then perhaps i'll join the nunnery after all. anything to avoid yuma.

Letter to the Yuma, AZ Board of Tourism

you guys have to do something about the smell. here i was, minding my own business on I-8, rocking out to madonna's "hey mr. dj" and my nostrils did a double-take. the air for 40 miles preceding and proceeding your quaint (i'm being generous here) hamlet is foul beyond belief. therein lies the reason nobody just "hangs out" in a pit toilet. it's awful! i felt like i was locked in one for40 minutes in the middle of summer. thank god i had madonna to keep me company. it's the desert, people. how in the hell does smell travel that far and linger so long? what, pray tell, are you growing? and please tell your friends in el centro, ca; to light a damn match. horse poo isn't what i want to immerse myself in on a tuesday night while my cell phone is dying, madonna is singing, and i am trying to get to my sister's house in san diego for some g.d. shut-eye.
sincerely,
mandy lozano
alarmed one-time (and only time) visitor
/end rant.
on a totally unrelated note: people sometimes ask me how i became a professional cyclist.
it's the things pictured at left. my abnormally long (for a girl) femurs. sure, heart and grit and determination and enthusiasm and stick-to-it-iveness and spanish genetics and gargantuan calves (thanks mom) factor in. but mainly it's the femurs.
aren't i awesome at photoshop?

Bumper stickers seen while riding in Tucson

"Everything about her spelled trouble, but it was dark, and I thought it spelled 'truffles'."
"I pick my nose in traffic"
"Where are we going, and why am I in this handbasket?"
"God loves Missourans, too"
"Animals and trees are dying to make room for your fat ass"
"Coke is it"
any more?

Myerson is God

so, there seem to be some rules to blogging that i do not know, as pointed out by adam myerson, the guru of all things related to an effective presence on the web. i didn't sit through that class.

rule 1. apparently, i must keep a healthy distance between myself and my readers by NOT commenting on THEIR comments within my own comments section.

i tuned out rules 2-47. potato potahto, whatever. myerson is so last week.

i promise to have a better entry tomorrow. really scraping the bottom of the barrel here, letting myerson lecture me and all...

Think you can one-up me?

funny vignette: i was on a ride the other day with some buddies from raleigh. it was beautiful weather, fine company, and a great route. we met up with a really nice guy who i will call john dohickey. he and i started talking and it turns out that one of his dreams in life is to have a ranchette and raise cattle. naturally, hick mandy emerged and we began to discuss breeds of cattle, cuts of meat, etc.
i didn't really notice at the time, but it was pointed out by another ridin bud that dohickey and i were engaged in a subtle game of "i see your knowledge of bovine genetics, and i'll raise you to..."
funny stuff for a wednesday morning ride: animal husbandry one-upsmanship.
so, moral of the story: do not engage in a battle of wits/knowledge with the species countrygirlicus mandycus because she will win. the record will come to a screeching halt when you find out that she knows how to castrate a bull calf. NO GUY who is not a blood relative of a cattle rancher or married to the daughter of one will know how to do that. no matter how much of "hobby" cattle ranching is. if they aren't the real thing, they don't know.
and i win.
so there.
now, if only i could win at yoga.
ps: i'm in tucson, riding with these cats. much fun-ness.




and hoping for a sighting of:

Mandy's To Do List

-fly to tucson at 330
-finish some projects for targetraining
-ride my bicycle for 3 hours
-drop the integra off at tommy's for a timing belt change
-stay on my carrot juice diet
-save the world
-recover from the aftermath of riding with mr. curtis staples yesterday. that guy rocks. he is a constant stream of southern expressions. but what i am referring to when i say 'recover' is staring at his unc tarheel cycling shorts. i hate the tarheels.
i know, i'm about to start a war with that one...
i'll update y'all soon. like when i'm sitting in the airport.
oh, here is a new pic of me. it's old, actually (from a modeling shoot of years past). but i thought it'd be better than too much lycra.

New personal record

so, yesterday being new year's...i logged a whopping 14 hours of sleep. that was soooooo cool and much needed (and put my sophomore year hangover napping to shame). my awesome mandibular lymph nodes have receeded a bit in the swelling department...though i still want to sleep for a few more days.
and i didn't even drink.
at the stroke of midnight, i was distracted and someone stole my pimpin, rockin, warm, long-suffering faux fur coat. wtf? how does that happen...at a brewery, no less? i would understand if i was at a biker bar...but a brewery full of yuppies? i am pouting. i got that coat from my phi delta theta big bro, mike miller. yes, i was a sorority chick once upon a time.
sadly, my new year's wish did not come true: i woke up today and W was still president.
time to fire up the road bike again. wish me luck. 3 hours today in the southern sunshine; so i won't look like this: