G and Pat stories

Last Wednesday, when working out at ASA, G came up to say hello and visit with me. Kris and I haven't seen him in forever (also known as two months), so it was great to see him. He's been working overtime at Cabrillo, and had to cut back on time at ASA. Sucks big time for us. But things have been going well for him. He has a potential job offer as a head coach, one where he can actually play, too. How cool is that?

I asked him about Pat Frost, too. Pat was one of the other trainers at ASA. He was working at ASA while he was training for spring training. Pat had a walk-on tryout with Kansas City as a pitcher.

Well, it turns out he pitched really well, and landed a contract. He goes out in spring training to pitch his first game ("all excited like," says Kris). Throws a pitch, and *ow* he tweaked his shoulder. The doctors looked at his shoulder and, yep, sure enough, tore his rotator cuff.


The good thing is that he had a contract, so his medical expenses are covered. The bad thing, it's his rotator cuff. So, Pat's back in the Bay Area.

My first moblog!


My first moblog! This is going to be fun.

Kris bought me a new phone last week and I'M PRETTy excited about it. Though I seem to have fatter fingers than I thought I did.

We'll see how this goes. I have a camera phone so maybe more impromptu pictures. Or maybe not. I am sure I'm going to need to streamline my blog entry process though. I can't even find the freaking comma key.

Update! Kris found the comma key for me! blob-M. Whoo!

Sometimes you have to share

Sometimes you take a picture that is so bad you just can't delete it.

I've taken many of me, that's for sure. I average one good picture out of seven of me, with 2 really bad ones in that 7. The others are just eh.

But this one. This one! Oh, this one is one of the funniest I've seen in a long time. It's just too bad to delete!

So, I had to share.

Normally, Bella takes good photos.

No, really.

She's alive! Alive!

I have a friend who is currently suffering with a severe case of depression. His issues are family-related, but the effects of his depression are no less severe for knowing the cause. I've asked him to let me know if there's anything I can do to help. He hasn't asked. I don't know what else I can do for him at this point. I hope he reaches out.

I, too, have been feeling blue for the last week, but not as bad as my friend. The easiest analogy is I feel as if I've been standing on the end of a deep, dark abyss, looking down. The wind is blowing my hair all around; the sky is a stormy grey. Every once in a while, I notice the ground is unstable, and gives way a bit. I turn back away from the abyss, clawing my way back up, stopping my downward descent into the abyss.

When depressed, the best thing to do is exercise. Other than drugs, it's often the only positive action to take. It's also very hard to do. Not because exercise is hard to do, per se, but because when blue, any action is freaking hard to do.

Fortunately, I'm incredibly lucky with my circle of friends.

Kris is my rock. He's the stable part of my chaotic life.

Working with Mike keeps me constantly focused on what needs to be done. He keeps me on track and moving forward.

We've recently employed Chris Doyle, who is working on features for me while he learns PHP. Since he started working with us daily, at the end of the day, we've headed out to throw. We've been doing 100 throws a day, plus a few. A year ago, throwing nearly daily with Ariel Garza seriously helped my throwing skills and, more importantly, my confidence in my throws. With Chris' enthusiasm ("Wanna throw? Wanna throw?"), my throws will be rocking!

I finally went back to ASA to workout. Exercise: the great blues buster! My plan was only an upper body workout, which is a good thing, because I spent two and a half hours there. The great thing is that I finally caught up again with Geno, who Kris and I haven't seen in nearly two months. Ugh. Too long!

The workout was great! Feels so good to be moving again.

Time to climb away from that abyss.

Playing in traffic

After I left college, I dated John Schmidt. John was my second boyfriend in college, having dumped me for a senior, Nicole (who has since married Gaylon Lovelace). John and I lived with his older brother Dave, who has only 3 of his 9 lives left, is one of the luckiest men alive and keeps his guardian angel quite busy. We all lived in a one bedroom apartment in Monrovia, and later moved into a 3 bedroom house in Arcadia. Although the end of the relationship was hard, the beginning and middle were pretty darn good.

I have a lot of John Schmidt stories.

Some of them good.

John had a friend who was in many motorcycle accidents. His main mode of transportation was his motorcycle, so he rode a lot. Since more time on a motorcycle means greater exposure in traffic, he was at a greater risk for accidents.

When John first started spending time with this friend, he thought he was just one of the unlucky people who balanced the great cosmic scales with his amazingly lucky brother. The guy was in three motorcycle accidents, each time having been hit by the other driver, and survived each one. Sure, he sued the insurance companies, won each time as the other driver was clearly at fault, and had his medical bills paid for. He was hit three times: that was three times he could have died.

Just an unlucky guy, right?

John and I each purchased motorcycles soon after we started dating. We took the Motorcycle Safety Foundation CC Rider Safety class, learned safe riding, rode defensively. John enjoyed the experience more than I, and would ride more than I. He would often go riding with this friend.

One evening, John came home in a fit. He threw down his helmet (not really), and talked in a huff about his friend and his riding style. Turns out, sure, the friend always rode the speed limit, but he didn't ride in a safe location. He would ride in other drivers' blind spots. Or he would approach a car from behind at high speeds, not giving a driver a chance to see him. He would assume the other drivers saw him, instead of assuming they didn't.

So, sure, the accidents were technically the fault of the other driver, but the friend could have driven in such a way to prevent his being in a dangerous position: he could have prevented the accidents if he drove differently.

Last night, Kris and I were walking the dogs along our normal route. As we approached an intersection, Kris stopped at the corner with the dogs. The girls aren't allowed to cross the street without being told it's okay, so Kris always stops at intersections with the dogs. I often continue walking, as the three of them will always catch back up.

I started crossing the street, noticing a car approaching the intersection from the right. The intersection is a four way stop sign, so I think little of the car. It was approaching the intersection fast (25, maybe 30 mph), but it started slowing as it approached.

Slowing, but not stopping.

The car went right through the intersection.

Straight through.

Towards me.

I was still crossing the street when I heard Kris cry, "Watch out!" I planted my left foot and spun around, pushing off as hard as I could.

The car missed my back foot by less than 8".

I turned back around and screamed some completely unintelligible curse words, raising my hand up in an angry gesture at the red Acura with a license plate with a 4ND in it. The car screeched to a stop a short distance down the street.

The driver didn't get out of the car. He did see the angry woman gesturing menacingly at him. No one was hurt, he drove away.

Kris hurried up to me, to see if I were okay. The adrenaline rush was fading, causing the sick, tired feeling in my whole body. I was fine, just a bit shaken up.

The incident started me thinking though. Is there something I'm doing, or not doing, when I walk that is causing drivers to just not see me? Do I need to walk more defensively? Could the problem be that I force my pedestrians-have-the-right-of-way right-of-way too much, or in situations where, sure, I have the right of way, but if I'm dead, it's small consolation.

It was funny at 1:00 am

Last night, after watching another episode of Ultimate Fighter, a nominally bad, "mixed martial arts, reality, sports, non-event" series on Spike TV where 16 guys compete for a contract with the Ultimate Fighters Championship in Survivor-like challenges and beat-the-shit out of each other elimination rounds, Kris and I cleaned up the living room a bit. Note, I say, "nominally bad," but I watch religiously every week, Kris watches it with me, we'll be watching the finals on April 9th and don't think for one second I'm not paying the $40 Pay-Per-View fee to watch Coture and Liddell beat the crap out of each other in the Championship showdown on the 16th (go Coture!).

Whoops, side-tracked there.

I had recently rearranged the furniture and moved several pieces out of the living room, opening it up, making it look bigger. You could see the rugs in the room, for the first time in a long while.

While wandering into the space, marvelling we had so much:

Me: "Wow, look at all this open space. I think I should fill it."

Kris: "Therein lies the problem."

Kris then proceeded to show me just how nice having the extra space can be. He arranged a few of the couch pillows on the floor, and, stepping back, ran across the room, and took a flying leap into the pillows.

Although the first shot is my favorite, Kris was determined to get a good picture of himself completely horizontal.

I haven't laughed so hard in months. My stomach is still aching from laughter 12 hours later.

Not Even a Way-fa Theen Mint?

Last night, I went out to dinner with Heather. We ate at the New Krung Thai restaurant in San Jose, very close to Santana Row, actually. The food there is excellent and highly recommended.

The dinner was great. I love hanging out with Heather. We talked about ultimate (of course!), work (going well), life (also going well), cars (not ours!), food (yummy!) and the like.

At the end of dinner, while we were waiting for Kris' meal as takeout, I signed the bill, grabbed an after-dinner mint, popped into my mouth, and started talking about my dream to have a company large enough to support an ultimate team, most likely a women's team.

Basically, the idea is the employees would work 5-6 hours a day, then play ultimate (as part of their job) 2-3 hours a day. How good would that team become? Could you take a group of strong athletes but inexperienced players and make them rock stars? Conversely, could you take good players and make them amazing athletes? How far would this team go? Would the external pressures on such a team become too great, or would they fail under their own internal pressures? Or would they become so good, that the rest of the players would call for their disbanding, on the grounds they're professional athletes with an unfair advantage?

And so on.

It would be a great experience and a great experiment. Just how far could you get?

Near the end of the conversation, I looked down at the wrapper from the mint. I had been playing with it for a while. When I looked down, I stopped, and nearly groaned out loud.


Heather looked startled. What?

The mint was a tic-tac. A tic-tac.

As in sugar-free.

As in aspartame-ful.


I've long avoided aspartame. I started avoiding it religiously when I realized it triggers my migraines. I haven't chewed gum in years because I get sick from the aspartame that is in even sugarful gum like Juicy Fruit or Double Mint. The first thing I look for in any new, packaged food is the warning Phenylketonurics Contains Phenylalanine, because that's the biggest, clearest indication of apartame, and guaranteed misery.

Well, we agreed, nothing to be done about it now, except for vomit up the meal I just ate, and even that wouldn't be guaranteed to solve the potential issue. I avoid aspartame, but had I really done a thorough investigation? Was this my chance to confirm my aspartame-migraine link?

3 hours later, I was blind, half numb, slobbering on myself, unable to speak clearly, in considerable pain and desperate to escape this world into blissful sleep.

Did that tic-tac's aspartame cause it? Yeah, it did. This experiment is complete. Migraines suck.

Summer of 2004


For years, I had been talking about hiring a recent high school graduate to work for me, doing all the chores around the house I needed done. I'm not talking laundry, dishes and windows, I'm talking painting, digging, building, smashing, carting, gardening and the other project that I've been meaning to do for the longest time. If said person could program, too, well, then, so much the better.

This past summer, I was fortunate to hire Kyle Smith for the whole summer. He was returning from France, where he had spent the previous 6 months teaching English in a French school, maybe high school. Because of the timing, he was unable to find a "real" job in his chosen profession (aerospace engineering), so my summer job offer was sufficient.

I have to say, the summer was quite enjoyable having Kyle around. There were certainly the many jokes about my cabana boy, including some about how I made Kyle prance around in a leather thong, fanning me all day. It wasn't quite like that, though (darn it).

Kyle helped me with the garden. I returned the favor by poisoning his family. He built a walkway for my side garden, and a fence around the main garden. He knocked up concrete, painted the ceiling and living room trim, dug up the front yard fence, planted a few trees, walked the dogs, learned to program, researched open source e-commerce packages, developed a stock market watcher, and listened to me rant about things.

He also made me laugh on quite a few occasions. At one point, Mike, Kyle and I went to some restaurant in Willow Glen in San Jose, where Kyle decided to eat the 2 pound sandwich. Mike was excited to see him try.

Kyle was unsuccessful in his conquest.

Memories to write about


Caltech interview
ultimate for the non-gifted athlete
mental game

An email from a high school boyfriend


I received an email from a high school boyfriend tonight. It was one of those non-committal, probing emails that opens the doors to reunion while still leaving the possibility of non-action, should contact not be desired.

When I saw the email in my inbox, I was quite surprised. Oh, sure, my email address is out there on the 'net. I try to keep my site off most search engines (doesn't always work, judging by the spiders that crawl my site), but the only email addresses that are public are the one on my resume, the one on the about page and the one from the BAYU (Bay Area Youth Ultimate) site, off the SFUL site.

In other words, you can find me if you try, but you have to try a little.