"Hey hon come look at these women's breasts," that's what Ron called from the living room in my parent's house. OK I thought, this whole thing about Ron considering me his "buddy" is going too far. I'll match beers with him, hang with his friends, listen to dirty jokes, but ogling women, I draw the line. However, he was watching an Ironman triathlon and wanting to get geared up for mine this weekend, I thought, why not.

Occasionally it happens that your life spews out onto your front lawn and flows into the street in one big volcanic upchuck that gives your neighbors a little lascivious peek into your life.

Just when you think you have it all together. When you've gotten back into your workout training and your baby is doing sleep interval training, but you can still suck it up and say "I don't need sleep. Sleep is for suckers. I'm not a punk."

Today I took the day off. I'm training for a triathlon. Yes, I said triathlon. No I'm not on crack. I don’t know why I did it, because I’m already busy as hell, but I felt I needed to do it. It was one thing I didn’t have to share with anybody. It would be my thing. My success or my failure with no one else to blame—or credit. Besides, Ron says I'm not built for soccer and he wouldn't even let me consider joining the Roller Derby team. (Oh come on, who's really surprised that I'd want to do that?)

Have you danced recently? I mean since your wedding? I used to go dancing with my roommate at least 4 nights a week when I was single. And I danced for at least 3 hours each night. And I was good. I was sexy. I was thin. I was totally hot. I don't go dancing anymore. Mostly because my husband hates it, but then there's the whole getting a babysitter thing, the some guy is hitting on me in front of Ron and he's getting mad thing or the some girl is hitting on Ron in front of me and I'm sharpening my claws thing. Plus we just dress too geeky to get in anywhere anymore.