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If you take a moose to Maine, he’ll probably NOT get muffins with some of your mother’s homemade jam. Instead, he’ll likely get a .375 right between his lil’ moosey eyes. And then the hunter, most likely a white Republic in a red flannel shirt, will haul said moose carcass to the taxidermist. The taxidermist, also a white Republican, will mount that moose head. He won’t mount the moose in a sexual way, though, because that’s a tad twisted and that’s just not how Republicans roll. Instead, he’ll saw the moose’s head off, preserve it using some magical taxidermy supplies, then attach it to a board. That’s good, clean all American fun, right there.
I tell you this cautionary tale because Mr. Moose and I are on our way to Maine this weekend. And we REALLY don’t want to get mounted, at least not by a taxidermist. Our plan is to be gone about a week, so if there’s no new post after that you really might want to investigate. Call Lisa Ling and have her haunt the area around Bar Harbor, Maine. Please do NOT let Loose Moose and Mr. Moose become wall trophies/hat racks. ‘Cause we hate it when that happens.
Incidentally, I know that Glaven is chomping at the bit right now. He’s got to be more than a bit jealous that I’ll be in such close proximity to the recently relocated Teh Marcy. All I can promise, Glaven, is that I’ll keep my eyes peeled. And I’ll warn Mr. Moose to wear a protective cup to guard against any sneaky Fauxlipino meat punches.
I’ll try to run whilst in Maine, but I’m not promising anything. We’ll be going on the motorcycle so I’m already anticipating a sore ass. (NB, Glaven: This is NOT anal induced soreness. ‘Cause it’s not even our anniversary for another two months or so.) So a sore ass coupled with the mountains of Maine might mean that I wuss out on the running. There is this big ass mountain in Acadia National Park that I’d love to run, though. Mr. Moose and I rode up it on our honeymoon, back when I was a sedentary Veinessa-free nonrunner. We saw a few runners going up that mountain and I remember thinking to myself that they were CLEARLY not right in the head. I still think that, but I want to run up that mountain just the same.
On another note, J., Boy Moose and I just returned from the weekly Fun Runs sponsored by a local running club. The runs occur at the same location as the River Rat 5K/10K and follow the same route. But I don’t know why they persist in calling them “fun” runs because it was just agony. It was 86F and humid this evening, and the 10K route that I did in 46:29 on Saturday I now did in 50:07. And what is fun about sucking that hard? – That is what I would like to know. It’s kinda like those “fun” sized candy bars. There is absolutely no “fun” in denying me 90% of my original full size candy bar, leaving me with just enough to get a taste for more. NOT fun, people. Decidedly un-fun. I’m thinking that if you have to add the word “fun”, you can pretty much count on something being full of suck.
Okay. Off to Maine soon – I’ll be thinking of you all as I eat my weight in lobster and then do little to burn it all off.
Fondly, Teh Fun Loose Moose
Yearly mileage: 713
