Ross and Kady vs. the World

I've been planning another big trip for a while now, and am very excited to report that my cousin Ross quit his job and will be joining me. A travel buddy? Yes please! We bought our tickets to London today! We leave September 14th for a super may-juh trip that will take us to most of Eastern Europe, Greece, Turkey, Sri Lanka, India, Nepal, Japan and Hawaii.

The only problem is we are going to have to get T-shirts that say "I'm With Cousin" and an arrow and "...But We're Not Romantically Involved" or something, lest anybody think we're "blocked". We have the same last name, which only serves to handicap us further.

My life's about to get interesting again, folks! And y'all? Well, you're gonna have to endure a few more 'Cousins Pictures':

Helsinki, Finland

Fjords, Norway

Preikestolen, Norway

Oslo, Norway

Steaming Human Stew, Iceland

Tallinn, Estonia

2012 Lifetime Fitness Triathlon

I did it! ...and I beat my time from 2008 by 17 minutes!

Final results:

2012:
Overall: 1 hour 43 minutes
Swim .25 mile: 9 minutes 43 seconds
Transition 1: 4 minutes 5 seconds
Bike 15 miles: 53 minutes 47 seconds
Transition 2: 1 minute 38 seconds
Run 3 miles: 34 minutes 17 seconds

2008:
Overall: 2 hours 0 minutes
Swim .25 mile: 17 minutes 16 seconds
Transition 1: 4 minutes 59 seconds
Bike 15 miles: 1 hour 2 minutes
Transition 2: 2 minutes 57 seconds
Run 3 miles: 32 minutes 36 seconds


Click here to read about 2008.

I'm not sure how she thought she was going to swim in that, but...

They write your age on the back of your leg.

I have to say, seeing people's ages on the backs of their legs is kind of a blessing and a curse. As you pass them, or they pass you...all you can do is look at their age and either congratulate yourself or beat yourself up. If somebody who was older than me passed me I was like, "aw HAIL no". But if a younger person passed me, I was OK with it.


This is what you get when you ask Summer to take photos for you:

Thank goodness I beat the 10-year-old.

...and the best part?

THE MEDAL IS A BEER OPENER!!!

A big thanks to my best bud Summer of HoboSiren for getting up super early, taking photos and cheering. It was great to see your face along the course, Ma.

Sunday Favorites: "Blonde" Hair

New to A Lady Reveals Nothing? You've missed SO MUCH. Not to worry. Every Sunday, I dig through the archives to repost an old favorite. Mostly because I'm too lazy to come up with new content every single day. Enjoy! This story originally appeared on December 27, 2010 when I lived in Central America:





Some of you may be surprised to hear this, but I use chemical products to change the color of my hair. Here is it's natural color:

See how ugly it makes me look?

And so, I dye my hair.  The problem is maintenance.  I can get away with about 8-10 weeks between dye jobs, but at the 10 week mark, it's kind of urgent. 

The next problem is, in Central America, it's tricky to find a stylist that understands how the blonde-haired Norwegian woman's hair works.  Or more correctly, I told myself it would be difficult to find a stylist that understands how the blonde-haired Norwegian woman's hair works.  Based on my experience in Malaysia. 

And so, I decided to do it myself.  I did the first inch of my hair, or the grown out roots.  And I forgot how badly bleach burns when you apply it directly to your scalp.  Your sunburned scalp.  I was only able to leave it on for 40 minutes.  Then I reapplied for another 40 minutes.  But it only lifted to a nice orange shade.

Like this:

So, I wasted $10 on the box.  In Panama I went to the mall and bit the bullet for a dye/cut job.

The result was super nice color.  Love it.  Dude did a great job with the color.

BUT: Now, in the back, I am supporting a lovely 90's mushroom cut I would have killed for in 6th grade. It's OK. I will just have to face everyone for the next month.

Oh, Uncle Lionel.

Last Sunday, Uncle Lionel Batiste died. He was 81. 

I fell in love with him when I lived in New Orleans.

His hand. On my knee.

Cool as cool Uncle Lionel Batiste in action:

Triathlon? More Like Tri-crass-lon

I signed up two weeks ago to do the Lifetime Fitness Triathlon tomorrow.

DUMB. (I haven't trained.)  Oh well.  Would you like to read the story of when I did the same Triathlon four years ago?

No?

Too bad:

So, on the Friday night before my triathlon I needed to be at the Minneapolis Convention Center to pick up my race packet by 8:30. I figured if I left Rochester by 6:30 I would have plenty of time. On a whim, I called a friend and asked her to get me exact details about location, etc. I found out that the packet pick-up closed at 8pm. I was exactly 90 miles away and had exactly 90 minutes to make the trip, get downtown, park and get my packet. I drove like a madwoman and got to the Convention Center at 7:59. As I was running in flip flops to the pick up area, I saw another girl running. "ARE YOU LATE TOO?!" I screamed across the room. "I WAS JUST COMING FROM ROCHESTER, WOW! I THOUGHT I WOULD MISS IT! AHAHAHAAAA" No response.

Thus began a weekend of me trying to strike up conversations with everybody and being met with only blank stares.

Where's Waldo?

• I arrived at the swim staging area and about 5 feet from shore there were several people, seemingly crouching down and all I could see was like 15 people, just from the shoulders up. So I go, "IS THIS THE BATHROOMS? AHAHAHAHA HA HA! ". No response. Then I got in and there was a drop-off and I realized that the people were standing, not crouching.
• During the swim, rounding the corner, I screamed out that the bouie looked like a "BIG ORANGE HERSHEY'S KISS!" Nothing.
• While I was biking, a woman and I were passing eachother for a few miles. The last time when I passed her I said, "IT'S LIKE WE'RE DANCING!!" Crickets.
• They wrote all of our ages on the backs of our legs so you could see people's ages. I passed another 31-year-old on the bike and yelled out, "GO 31! WOOO! 1977!". At least she gave me a pity, "Right now I feel 100."
• Then I passed a 64 year old guy and sang the whole way past him, "WILL YOU STILL NEED ME WILL YOU STILL FEED ME, WHEN I'M 64!" He said nothing. That one made me feel really dumb because it took me longer to sing the song than it took me to pass him, so I was still singing it for a while after I was already ahead of him. And then I thought, What if he thought I was being mean? Think about it. Will you still need me? Will you still feed me? Embarrassing.
• Everytime I passed a cheering section I would yell dumb things like, "CAN I DO IT?" And some would say "YES YOU CAN!" But most of them looked at me with a big question mark.

Lesson of the day?
I think my main problem is that I don't give people a chance to realize that I'm talking to them. I just approach talking all loud and "in your face" and they just don't hear me because by the time they see I'm talking to them I'm already done saying what I had to say. Right? It can't be because I'm annoying. Right? Mom, you still love me, right?

The reason you don't see any other bikers in this photo is because I was totally winning.

Summer-isms, Vol. 36

"I can't even remember the last youthful moment I had."


"...And then I puked up the amazing dinner I had just eaten.  It was like watching $12 go down the drain."


"She has very inconsistent sanitation guidelines."


"Oh that's right - I did puke yesterday." 

Am I Going to Jail?

I once said an incredibly inappropriate thing to a young Jeffrey Dahmer-type kid who I witnessed trying to flip a chipmunk around by its tail:

"HEY! Don't do that! How would you like it if I grabbed you by your tail and flipped you around? Where's your tail? Oh. It's in the front."

*I don't think he heard that last bit...he started running away when I started yelling at him.*


Which reminds me of a story.  And by story I mean another adorable video from our 2010 trip up north for Girls' Fishing Weekend.  Check this one for images of my mom and dad and our old house in International Falls.  *tear*

Once again, filmed and edited by the completely brilliant Shash.




Girl's Weekend in I-Falls from marble fawn on Vimeo.

Mom's Favorite Hexum Kid Quotes

Kim: 3 years old. Running fast. "Mommy, Mommy, Daddy needs some paper toilet. For his other leg."

Keri: 3 years old. To my mom's girlfriend, who was nursing her baby: "HEY LADY!!! He's bitin' your apple!"

Kelly: 3 years old. In grocery cart, being pushed by cute uncle Aaron. Expresses her love. Aaron tells her it's not to be. She replies, "But who will know, my Lovely?"

Pete: 4 years old, barging into the bathroom just as my mom heaves her 9 month pregnant belly (me inside) out of the shower. "Mom! I think your baby's standin' up!!!"

Kady: 3 years old. Insists on being called a new name every day. To neighbor friend, who asked what my name was that day: "Junius."

Kasey: 1 year old. (She was the baby. Everything she said or did was adorable. This isn't a quote, but it's pretty funny.): Kasey walks into room, walking like a duck. Diaper looks funny. Mom opens it up, finds maxi pad. Sticky side up.

We all peaked at about three years old.

The Headless Americans

When I got my drivers' license, one of my chores was to deliver dogs across Minnesota and parts of Canada for my dog-training dad. He had a friend outside of Winnipeg who lived on a dairy farm with whom he frequently traded dogs. This friend had children similar to our ages and we loved going up there. It was on this farm that I learned where cow's milk came from. (SPOILER ALERT: It's from cows.)

Anyway, on one particular delivery Kasey and I decided to make a little vacation of out it and stay a couple of nights. One night, one of their boys wanted to take us on a four-wheeler ride.

Marko hopped on one four-wheeler and Kasey and I hopped on the other, with me driving. Off we went, into the Canadian Nothing. Past the dairy cows, past the fields, and into the woods. Since we had just turned 14 and 16 and we were stupid teenage girls, we didn't pack for a trip to a farm -- we packed for a trip to visit boys on a farm. So we were wearing our new cute matching GAP outfits. Oh my goodness, they were so cute. Pastel short-shorts with striped button-down sleeveless shirts and matching striped pastel Keds. (It was 1993 after all.)

We ended up at a huge mud patch and Marko SPRAYED us with mud. We were supposed to SPRAY him back, apparently. But I was so focused on the ruining of my new outfit I just sort of didn't SPRAY him back. I shrugged my shoulders at him, like, 'What? Come ON. New outfit!' and then I think Marko felt bad and we started heading back to the farm. What a bust. Poor Marko. 

On the way back I felt so bad for being such a stick in the mud (pun intended), that I started racing Marko down the path. We were going back a way we hadn't come and it was a perfect stretch to race. We raced and raced and laughed and laughed and then suddenly we were winning!

Marko was left in the dust and Kasey and I were hootin' and hollerin' like a couple of city girls who just showed up the farm boy.

Kasey was wondering how far in the lead we were so she turned around to look. Marko was a hundred yards back, stopped, waving his arms and acting like a darn fool. Kasey poked me in the shoulder and I turned around. It seemed like he wanted us to stop? So I stopped.

Marko caught up to us frantically. Not ten feet in front of our faces was an electric cow wire, hung neck-high.

"Hey? Uh, Hal? Yah, your daughters are dead, eh?"

Sunday Favorites: "Hi"

New to A Lady Reveals Nothing? You've missed SO MUCH. Not to worry. Every Sunday, I dig through the archives to repost an old favorite. Mostly because I'm too lazy to come up with new content every single day. Enjoy! This story originally appeared on October 30, 2008, when I was on my way home from South Africa and had a lengthy layover in New York:

7 hour layover.

Called mom and dad.

Ate.

Walked around.

Shopped for stuff.

Bought a coffee cup.

Read my book.

Went to the bathroom, where -- and I am not kidding about this -- (stop reading if you're a proper person with manners or a human being) I pooped the word "hi", lowercase, complete with a dotted "i". I couldn't believe it. I reached to get my camera to take a picture, but the automatic flusher thought I was done and flushed it all away. And then I cursed technology forever.

Goodbye New York with your fancy toilets with unforgiving motion detectors.

'Merica

Every fourth of July weekend. my girls and I go on a "fishing trip" up north. Please enjoy this little video from last year, filmed and edited by the brilliant and beautiful McShash:

Girl's Fishing Weekend 2011 from marble fawn on Vimeo.

Sunday Favorites? On a Wednesday????? ...A Day at the Farm

Today is the 4th of July, 2012. I'm back at the farm, wrastlin' up cattle. I decided to repost the story from last year.

From 7/3/2011:

My dad and I went to a friend's farm to participate in a hundred-year-old tradition of getting the calves innoculated and tagged and other necessary torture tactics (castration).  It was such a fun experience to be a cowgirl for the day.  My dad looks super handsome in his cowboy hat, no?

My first calf.  Liza took it down and I had to help hold it down.

Awwwwwww...

There's some good-lookin' dudes on this ranch.

My partner and me.

I took this one down...I kind of had to roll it on top of myself and then get out from underneath it.

This is Ted.  You might remember him from the Granada 6.  We both lived in Costa Rica at the same time.  Turns out he has been helping with these calves for years.

Full of crap.  Literally.

Facing fears...here I am fileting a "Rocky Mountain Oyster"

EW!  Erica was screaming: "it's dripping! it's dripping!"

Afterward, we went for a ride through the pasture to check on the calves and make sure they were doing OK.

Minnesota...I love ya.

Bringing the burro in the house to see grandma is an old tradition.  She fed him some Cheetos.

Hal-isms, Vol. 26

My dad and I have a tradition. Or we tried to have a tradition. Last year we got really into the Minnesota State Flower, the Showy Lady's Slipper. It was a pretty exciting time. We drove around and stared and pulled over and took pictures and bonded over these beautiful orchids, which grow plentifully up by my parents' place. I swore that for the rest of my life my dad and I would share this every summer. But this year I got lazy and couldn't get up there to see them. Oh, the phone calls! Please enjoy Hal-isms, Volume 26, which is basically a transcription of one phone call in which he berates me for not driving 14 hours in one weekend to see him the Lady's Slippers:

Sorry, Dad.

On my recent trip to Mount Rushmore. "Kady. You drive out to see the president but you don't drive up to see me. It's a stone. And then I go to see a coyote and people say 'ugh'."

"I would sit on the sharpest stick for you. Four feet long. Wait- that would come up under my heart, wouldn't it?"

"It's not ethnic groups. The prejudice that I have in me is city people versus normal people."

"Ignorant isn't a bad word. It just means you don't know."

"My prejudices are more toward...you people from the city, from the big town. You're the problem."

"I'm going on facebook to talk dirty like the rest of you kids."

"I stopped the tractor and I look around. And I'm six feet up. Oh my God, Kady, there are HUNDREDS of lady's slippers on Butch's field. Not five. Not ten. HUNDREDS."

Then I asked how he could possibly burn out Butch's field. "I can't do it. It would be like murdering a Kindergarten class."

"You have to come now, or be one of them dummies. One of them city people. Look at your cement blocks. Look at your empty cans of beer. The money. And go clubbing. And don't worry about the Lady's Slippers. Why worry about it? Right?"

"Kady there's an old expression. You've never heard it. It goes: Stop and Smell the Roses."

"There's more to life than cement buildings, and crime and people who don't have a clue because they've never driven up to the lake and looked at the stars through a telescope where there isn't so much light."

"I knew a guy who was a walking thesaurus. Well I'm a walking encyclopedier."

"Why don't you look at another cement block. And say, 'I don't think I've seen that one before.'"

"There's more to life than not having mud on your shoes, Dear."

"Tell 'em I apologize for misconstruing their perception."

"People say, 'save a whale, they're all dying'. And so I go, 'oh no! the whales are all dying!' Well there's a bunch of whales and they're not all dying."

"It just came to me today. As I'm sitting out looking at my pristene view. Kady, I gotta tell you. Can I change the subject?"

The Steam Room

When my sisters and I were traveling in Austria, we stayed at a fabulous hotel in the mountains which boasted a spa that included several kinds of Turkish steam baths. As prudish Americans we were given pause at the "NO BATHING SUITS" sign as we entered the spa. We got seriously confused. What the?! Why? OH!! But you can wear a towel!...OK...we can just wear our towels. Phew! We started in the eucalyptus room and moved to the lemon room, never opening up our modesty cloaks towels. After that we kind of separated and started trying new rooms on our own. We were pretty much the only people in there, and when I ended up alone in a sauna, I couldn't help the urge to try something new *wink*. I stationed myself on an upper bench and opened up my towel. How dangerous! How luxurious! How exciting! The decadence was short lived, since not three seconds later I heard the door open. I quickly shut my towel. In walked a completely naked European man who lay down (face up) across the room from me on a lower bench.

I didn't know what to do. I couldn't get up and leave, because I had just arrived, but I was seriously uncomfortable. I was terrified that I was going to 'look'. I lay there, trying to decide what would be a rational amount of time to decide to leave a sauna after you enter. I gave it five minutes.

When I got up, I sat up too quickly and BANGED! my head on the ceiling. OW! How embarrassing! I made eye contact with the man. Then-I-looked-at-his-thing-and-then-I-panicked-and-so-I-looked-back-at-his-face-but-got-nervous-and-then-looked-back-at-his-thing-and-then-back-at-his-face.

And then I got the heck out of there.

Yah right, dudes. No bathing suits allowed.

Sunday Favorites: Makeup and a Dress

New to A Lady Reveals Nothing? You've missed SO MUCH. Not to worry. Every Sunday, I dig through the archives to repost an old favorite. Mostly because I'm too lazy to come up with new content every single day. Enjoy! This story originally appeared on December 17, 2011 when Summer and I were working on water meters in Arizona:


The other day at work, we were sitting in the car finishing up some paperwork and an older gentleman came out to the end of his driveway and stared me right in the eye. I shrugged my shoulders at him but he kept staring and so finally I rolled down the window.

He said, (in a Native American-slash-Canadian-slash-Mexican accent),

"To be honest with you I wish there was a problem here all the time so I can see beautiful women like you."

"Damn. You know?"

"Both of you are pretty."

"The way you are right now? I can imagine you in a dress and some makeup."

"I've been watching you work, and I thought, man, she can look like a movie star. You know?"

"It's incredible."

Summer was on the phone and I was talking to this weirdo and writing everything he was saying really fast. She wondered what all the hubbub was about and ended her phone call. She leaned across me and asked him what he needed, and he said,

"Don't believe who hired you.  Believe a stranger.  Don't believe whoever hired you.  It's not correct to hire beautiful women.  You know what I mean?  Do you understand what I'm saying?"

We had to take a picture of ourselves.  Because we could look like movie stars?  You know?