Floor Turkey

Def: when your husband is carving up the turkey he deep fried and just as he puts the last piece of carved turkey on the serving platter the massive quantities of grease combined with the forward motion of the carving knife cause the platter to slide off the kitchen counter and on to the tile. The turkey that touches the floor is referred to as "floor turkey." The rest of the turkey, that doesn't touch the floor, is referred to as "edible."

Although if you're me, you follow the old 3 second rule. A little warm water rinse and... Voila... Floor turkey is now edible.

An early Christmas gift, for the dog

This is what the dog got for Christmas.

It's 250 Vitamin K pills.  Because she helped herself to a tasty treat that was supposed to be locked up in the garage, where she couldn't get to it:

So what else did Chloe get for Christmas?  She got to vomit and go on a car ride to the emergency vet.  Oh, and of course the $300 worth of pills.  Merry Christmas dog, it looks like that's about all you're getting for Christmas.  Except maybe a lump of activated charcoal in your stocking.

Oh, yeah, and this is the same dog that eats one teeny tiny blade of grass and then five minutes later pukes it up all over the house.  But when you're trying to get her to vomit?  Feed her 8 tablespoons of hydrogen peroxide and she may foam at the mouth but she will manage to resist vomiting with a strength of will you didn't know she had.

Until you get in the car, that is, where she will vomit so silently on the car seat that you don't even know she did, and end up paying the vet $100 to use their fancy vomit-inducing medicine only to come back to the car later and find out she did vomit after all.

But it really was a pretty cool gift as far as she was concerned.  She had no idea what was going on.  This was her night:

1) Yummy green square!  Nom Nom Nom!

2)  Nasty drink.

3) CAR RIDE CAR RIDE! (vomit) CAR RIDE CAR RIDE!

4) NEW PEOPLE NEW PEOPLE!

5) Vomit.

6) MOM AND DAD!  

7) CAR RIDE CAR RIDE!

8) Playing with my bone!  

But the good news is she'll be fine.  Lessons learned?  Dogs are dumb, but we are probably even dumber for assuming she wouldn't eat rat poison if given half a chance.  We'll stick to the non-poison methods from now on, thankyouverymuch.

Craigslist vs the Yard Sale

If Craigslist and a Yard Sale were to duke it out over which one is the better way to get rid of old crap that you don't want anymore, Craigslist would win hands-down.  And here's why.

Getting rid of your stuff at a yard sale:

1) Poll all your neighbors and friends to see who wants to go in on a yard sale with you.

2) Give up on convincing your neighbors and friends.  Go to an office supply store and buy neon signs, magic markers, and duct tape.

3) Make the signs.

Crappy old filing cabinet but everyone wants it if it's free!

4) Post the signs.

5) Put an ad on Craigslist.

6) Get up really, really, early to move your crap out in to the garage/yard

7) Hang outside all day and be forced to haggle with weirdos and keep an eye out for the shoplifters.

8) At the end of the day, count up the $30.50 that you made, subtract the $8.00 you spent on signs and markers.

9) Go take down all your neon signs.

10) Haul all the crap you couldn't sell back into storage.

Getting rid of stuff on Craigslist:

1) Take a photo of the item(s) in question and post it immediately to the "free" section of Craigslist with your smartphone app.

2)  Go about your business and notice that within 20 minutes all your old crap is gone and you didn't have to lift a finger.

Overall:

At the yard sale, yes, you came out about $22.50 ahead, but you also had to sit on your front lawn for 8 hours. Not to mention the time you spent making and posting those signs.  True, you didn't make any money with the Craigslist post, but you also didn't have to babysit your front lawn all day.  And let's face it, your time is worth more than that.

Big city shopping

So this past weekend, my husband and I went on a date.  Like, dinner and a movie and some quality time together.  It was super.  The only weird part is that the movie theater is in the mall, but it's not one of the mall anchors.  It's, like, smack dab in the center of the mall.  So you have to walk through the mall to get to your movie.

In our case, we parked by the Wal-Mart and walked in to the mall.

Also, does anyone else think it's weird that the mall has a Wal-Mart?

Anyway, as we were walking back past the Wal-Mart after the movie let out, my husband made a comment that he and his brother, Frick, went to a two-story Wal-Mart when they were running errands.  Now Frick had never been to a two-story Wal-Mart, and to hear my husband tell it, was utterly fascinated.

Which reminded me of my own introduction to my first two-story Target.

"I remember when I first moved to Los Angeles," I confided to my husband.  "There was a two-story Target and I was completely intimidated by the shopping cart escalator.  I never did figure out how to use it, so I always had to shop on the second story first.  I could only buy as much as I could carry down the escalator."

"You really shouldn't tell me these things," my husband replied.

"Why?"

"You know I'm just going to use these little facts to make fun of you later."

"But you're my husband and you love me and doesn't that mean I can tell you things in confidence that you won't use against me later and tease me in front of all our friends?"

"Not really, no."

Holiday Cheer... and a subtle warning to the neighbors

I saw this in the craft store, and thought it would be the perfect holiday gift for our neighbors... you know, the ones who let their pet peafowl run wild and poo all over our backyard?

Just saying.

Sprint Car Racing

The husband and I went to lunch with our boss last week.  The restaurant had those TVs that are mounted to the ceiling, and at one point my husband and my boss were distracted by a NASCAR-type race.  Only instead of NASCAR cars racing around the track, it looked more like matchbox cars with trays mounted to the top of them.

We watched them for a bit, as they took a series of continual left turns, until I decided to ask a question.

"There aren't actually people in those cars, are there?"

I could tell immediately from the look on my husband and my boss's face, that this wasn't the most astute question I could have asked.

"What was the question?" my husband asked me.

Alarm bells were going off in my head, and I knew it was a bad idea to repeat the question, but I was already committed at this point.

"There aren't any people in those cars?" I asked again, trying to make it sound like I knew the question was ridiculous and was just testing them to see if they knew.

They weren't buying it.  Chris's eyebrows went up.  "Yes, there's people in them."

"Can you actually fit a person in those cars?  They look so tiny."

"How do you think they get around the track?"

"Um, remote control?"

The Office Football Pool

Our office, like many across the country, has a group football pool.  And doesn't it always seem like it's someone's random girlfriend or wife that seems to win?  It's not the dude who lives and breathes football and can recite every team's stats by memory.  No, its that dude's roommate's girlfriend's best friend from college, who knows nothing about football, and just put her $5 into the pool on a "whim."  The win comes out for the week and everyone's like, "Katie?  Who's Katie?  Does she even work here?  Didn't she win last week?!"

I, also, know nothing about football.  And yet, somehow every week I am suckered into putting my money into the pot.  I don't win very often.  Or, like, any week this season except for the first one where I was just eeked out on points at the end of Monday's game.  But I also did once win the office March Madness pool, for the whole season, so my theory can't be all wrong.

So here it is, the big secret.  How people who know nothing about sports pick the winners for the office pool.


Rule #1: You always pick your all-time favorite team to win.  No matter what the odds.

Rule #2: You also pick any team from any city or state you've ever lived in.
-- If two teams from the same state are playing each other, then you pick the one with the prettier uniforms.
-- Unless one of those teams is the Raiders.  You NEVER pick the Raiders.

Rule #3:  If the quarterback of one team is dating a celebrity, then you pick that team.

And finally... if in doubt, google the game to check out the odds.  Then pick the one with the best odds.  Except every once in a while, pick the underdog.  Because it's nice to root on the underdog.

Good luck, and happy playing!

I'll let you know if I win this season.  Although so far, it's not looking good.  That darn Katie.

Salton Sea

It's not that there's nothing exciting happening.  It's just that most of my life right now consists of : get up, go to work, go home, go to bed.  So I give you just about all I have right now - a pretty picture from last weekend.

Here is the Salton Sea at sunset, from 9,500 feet:

Monsoon Season, Part 2

It may have looked ridiculous when our shade awning was secured to the patio with ratchet straps, but it worked. 

As evidenced by what happened when we took them off and another storm blew through...

For the (humming)birds

Okay, it was cute for a while.  Our rental house in California has about 4 or 5 hummingbirds that hang out at the two feeders on the back porch.  Previously, I had been buying that red stuff you can get in the store but then one day I ran out and decided just to make my own sugar water.  Plus, I head the red dye is hard on their tiny little livers and I felt bad.

Two days later, I walked out on the back porch to find a dozen hummingbirds hovering around the feeders and the sugar water about half gone.  Apparently, I make the good sh*t and they told all their friends.

Last friday night, the feeders were again about empty.  I made a new double batch of hummingbird food (that's 8 cups water and 2 cups sugar - just enough to fill up a 2 liter bottle or 2 large-size hummingbird feeders) and filled both feeders to the brim.

By Sunday evening, they were empty again.  That's right, EMPTY.  Those two-dozen tiny little flying things had managed to consume 2 liters of sugar water in less than 2 days.  I mean, they're cute and all, but they can't manage to keep up at this pace, can they?

Who kills the spiders around here

Whenever there is a spider in the house (or scorpion, or just about any living creature except ants), I am not the one who kills it.  I rescue it and set it free in the great outdoors.  I just can't bring myself to kill it.

There was a tiny spider crawling across our kitchen yesterday.  Chris was barefoot, and since I was wearing shoes, he asked me to step on it.

ME: No.

CHRIS: Why not?

ME: I can't kill it!

CHRIS: But why not?

ME:  Because it's just hanging out minding it's own business.  It doesn't deserve to die for that.

CHRIS: It's a spider, when does it not mind it's own business?

ME: When it's crawling across my face, that's when.  Or if it bites me.  Then it is all up in my business, and then a spider gonna die.

How I spent “Power Outage 2011”

Yesterday afternoon there was a giant power outage.  It affected people from Yuma, AZ all the way to San Diego, and as far south as Baja Mexico and as far north as Orange County, CA.  This means there was no electricity.  Also if you had Sprint or AT&T cell phones you had no bars.  However, if you had Verizon, like I did, people were still calling you about work stuff.  You would think the advantage of a blackout would be that you get to leave work early.  I was not so lucky because my work has generator backup and my stupid Verizon phone was working like a charm.

At first, if you took a poll of the office, these were the primary concerns that people had:

1.  The bubbles for my fishtank won’t work!  My fish might die!
2.  Am I still going to be able to watch football this evening?

Later, people realized there were more important concerns, like:

1. My tank is on empty and none of the gas stations can pump gas.
2. How do I get ice and water?
3. What am I going to have for dinner?
4. Where can I find a generator?

Since I happen to live with a bunch of rednecks, ahem I mean boys who are very skilled at construction-type stuff, it turns out that I spent the power outage quite pleasantly.  The boys hooked up the generator and we listened to music while we grilled bacon-wrapped asparagus, potato skins with cheese and onions and cilantro, and bbq chicken wings.  We also had plenty of ice, coolers, water, and beer.

So I spent Power Outage 2011 surfing the internet on my phone, listening to music while sipping on a cold beer, and actually talking to my roommates and friends instead of zoning out on the TV.

Next time, however, we need more beer.  We only had enough to last us the first night.

Swimming Pool Not Included

Apparently the women and the hammock are included.  They just couldn't fit a pool in such a tiny package.

The tortoise goes off the deep end

Sleepy and Mrs. Sleepy get their revenge for the Prank of the Century.

Dishwasher FAIL

So, we recently moved from Rental House A to Rental House B in San Diego, because House B was a bit nicer and also had a fence for the dog and our lease was up at the old place.

Anyway, some of the last items we moved from House A to House B were the cleaning supplies, because we needed them to clean up after all our stuff was moved out.

So here we are, one of our first nights in the new house, and the dishes were dirty and I wanted to wash the dishes.  We had no dishwasher soap because it was still at House A with the rest of the cleaning supplies.

We did, however, have some dish soap.

Now, I haven't been around for 30 years and not learned that dish soap and dishwasher soap aren't the same thing.  But I thought -- yes I DID think this through - that if I just put A FEW DROPS (okay, it was more like a teaspoon) of dish soap in the dishwasher, it would be okay.  I thought that it would get the dishes clean and not explode great sudsy bubbles all over the kitchen floor.

I thought wrong.

So I guess it goes to prove you're never to old to learn that even a few drops of dish soap are a few too many.

Prank Of The Century

… because that’s what good friends are for.

We recently had some tenants vacate our rental house in Phoenix. Which is a very special story and deserves a blog post of its own, but what you need to know now is that, amongst the grime and broken furniture and non-functional cars and other trash that they left us, there was one really cool present:

A giant stone tortoise.

As in, this thing weighs like 300 pounds of poured concrete, tortoise.

Well one of our friends, we call him Sleepy E, he secretly liked the tortoise and wanted it for his backyard. So we told him we had already promised it to Frick’s significant other, St. Yvonne.

And then we began secretly plotting how we could give the tortoise to him in the most inconvenient and annoying manner possible....  Because that’s what good friends are for.

Here’s all you need for a good prank:

1. A giant stone tortoise (or turtle, for the non-biologists amongst us)
2. A very tall ladder
3. A pickup truck to transport the very tall ladder
4. An orange bandanna borrowed from Payson’s wife to “flag” the end of the ladder where it sticks out the back of the pickup bed (for safety!)
5. Someone to run the video camera and 5 strong men of questionable intelligence 
6. It also helps if you have a full moon, but that one is optional.

The big unknown that could throw this whole plan in jeopardy was that Sleepy E and his wife have some dogs that like to bark at strange noises. We were very concerned about how we were going to accomplish this prank without alerting the dogs, who would then awaken the household with their barking.  Well, it turns out the neighbors were having a very loud party that night, which easily drowned out the sounds of the prank-in-progress.  Prank completed successfully.

AND NOW I GIVE YOU…..

Giant Stone Tortoise on Rooftop:

P.S. Sleepy and Mrs. Sleepy -- THERE'S A GIANT STONE TORTOISE ON YOUR ROOF.

Las Vegas is trying to tell me something

I spent the past weekend in Vegas with my husband and some of my good friends.  Although we had a fantastic time, I noticed a few changes from the Vegas of my early and mid twenties.

I present to you:
The top 5 signs that you are getting old(er).  Sin City edition.

1.  They stop having to verify your ID card with their supervisor.  In fact, they stop carding you all together.

2.  During the cab ride, you don't bother asking which casinos have the best mile-high margaritas and which after-hours clubs are the most happening, you instead discuss with your cabbie the merits of renting versus buying a home in the current economic market.

3.  You contemplate ordering "Water for Elephants" from the hotel TV on a Saturday night.

4.  After a whole weekend of gambling and pool partying, and dinner and drinks you only have 3 photos on your camera.  And they are all of Vanilla Ice.

5.  You come very, very, close to stomping over to your neighbor's hotel room door at 2:00 am on a Friday night, banging on it until the music and the screaming/drunken giggling pauses, and yelling, "WILL YOU KIDS KEEP IT DOWN OVER THERE?  SOME OF US ARE TRYING TO SLEEP!"

I love cats

We've talked about this before.  About how I would totally have been the crazy cat lady had I not met my husband and thus had to follow his strict 2-cat maximum policy.

As a child, we had the sweetest, most tolerant little Abyssinian named Asha.  She loved me, she truly did, and I loved her back.  Although sometimes as a child I did not make the best decisions in favor of our friendship.  As in Christmas of 1991:

Also, I was really ahead of my time in terms of "pet fashion."  I'm pretty sure that before celebrities started wandering around the country with tiny dogs tucked under their arms, you couldn't just go to your local Petsmart and pick up a cute little outfit for Fido.

But I was resourceful.  Cabbage Patch kid castoffs would do just fine:

And, really, if all else fails, just use the cat as an accessory:

But she always forgave me.  That is, until the next time we needed a stand-in for a reindeer.

Hairstyle choices of the 1980s

I have a very clear memory of my 4^th grade picture day.

I wore my best dress, the black one with the white lace ruffles.  It made me feel grown-up and sophisticated.  And I knew exactly how I wanted to style my hair.  However, I had to enlist my mother’s help to compete the coiffure.

So there we were, my mother and I, standing in front of the bathroom mirror.  She was poised behind me with a comb and I held the hair band and white lace ribbon at the ready.

“Are you sure this is what you want, honey?” my mother asked.

“Yes, mom, I’m sure!”

“But do you really think that this is a good hairstyle for your school picture?” She paused for effect, trying to let that sink in.  “I mean, wouldn’t it look much prettier if you just had your hair down and we put a pretty barrette in it?”

“No, mom, it won’t.”  I rolled my eyes.  “Now will you please help me?”

Oh, yes, the side ponytail is a timeless classic that will never go out of style.  I sure showed you, mom.

The Hidden Staircase

Some highlights from my 4th of July weekend.  And also, a bit of making fun of myself.

We played tourist with some of our good friends.  This included, basically, visting the four corners of the San Diego region.  It was awesome fun, with a few minor inconveniences.  As in, no one in their right mind should expect to find a parking spot for less than $50 on a holiday weekend in Mission Beach.  We drove around for a very stressful hour before we looked at eachother and said, "does it mean we're old if we give up now and just go back to the house?"  We decided that did mean we were getting old and lame and so we stuck it out long enough to find a parking spot that might cost us under $20.  Then we ducked into a bar on the beach and looked around us at the crowd of drunken, young, twentysomethings doing beer shooters out of a cut off whiffle ball bat and felt old anyway.

However, Karma came back to us when an impromptu drive to La Jolla resulted in a parking space within 0.2 seconds of arriving at our destination.


A vist to La Jolla's "shell beach."  Don't be fooled by the name, there aren't any shells.  Just a lot of rocks.  But it's still cool, and there's tidepools and such.

And we snagged a seat at one of the only rooftop bars in La Jolla (trust me, we looked... I mean, what is life if you can't sit on the beach and completely ignore the beautiful view while you scrunch your face at your smart phone and search through online reviews for a good dinner venue with a rooftop view?)



We had to wait a bit, but when we did get seated it was perfectly timed to watch the sunset

On the day of the 4th, we opted for the more laid-back Ocean Beach neighborhood.  Now we have arrived to the part of this blog where I have to admit to certain things that I am a bit embarassed to admit.

Exhibit #1: The Hanging Lantern

We ate breakfast at this cute little cafe on the end of the Ocean Beach Pier.  Although I use the term "cute" a bit loosely, as it has somewhat of a sea-crusty atmosphere and I am a bit dubious of the "A" rating that was displayed.  However the breakfast burrito was very delicious.  And there was no waiting for a table.  All bonus points in my book.

So as we're sitting at our table, admiring the ocean view and maritime decor, and Chris is staring aimlessly at some point behind my head. 

"What are you looking at?"  I asked, innocently.  To which I think he responds, "The lake."

I look at him in confusion and reply, "No, honey, that's the ocean." 

Chris gives me that it's-a-good-thing-you're-pretty look and points at an object anchored to the wall behind me.  "No," he says, "I'm looking at the light. I'm well aware that we're at the ocean." 



The light

And, finally, I saved the best for last...

Exhibit #2, The Hidden Staircase

We had a date to watch the fireworks from the bluffs on the south end of Ocean Beach.  The streets here are elevated above the water, and you walk to a staircase which leads you down on to the bluffs.  There's a section of the bluffs about halfway between the street and the water that, during low tide, have room for walking, sitting, laying down, etc.  They also have a great view of the fireworks on the Ocean Beach Pier:

Getting ready to watch the fireworks show on the bluffs

To get to our spot on the bluffs, we walked down the starcase and then across on the bluffs for a ways.  To exit, we had to take the same staircase back up, which involved walking away from our car and all the way back to the stairs.  We were hoping to find a closer staircase so we wouldn't have to backtrack so much.


So anyway, we watched the fireworks, they were super.

Upon leaving, we made the treck back towards the staircase.  As we were ascending the staircase, I happened to look back over to where we had come from.  And there, clearly illuminated on the cliff face, was a staircase full of people walking up it.

"Chris," I said, "how did we walk right past that staircase and not notice it?"

There is a very pregnant pause while Chris and my friends digest this comment.

"Um, Krista," my husband said gently, "that's not an actual staircase.  That's our shadow outlined on the cliff walls."

Monsoon Season

How to protect your hot tub awning from blowing over in a dust storm? 

Two words:
Ratchet straps

Interwebs FAIL

Revealed: The Thing That Lives In My Lamp

Well, sort of.

I know have a photograph of The Thing That Lives In My Lamp, but I'm still not really sure what it is.

California Sweet Corn

In case anyone is wondering how the sweet corn in our backyard is doing:

Falling through the sky

Because apparently the Warrior Dash wasn't enough adventure for the month of May, Chris and I, along with 10 or so of our friends, signed up to jump out of a perfectly good airplane.

This is the conversation that was had about two weeks before The Event.

Co-worker:  Oh, you guys are going skydiving out at that place in Jamul?
Us:  Yes, that's the place!
Co-worker:  My buddy used to work at that place, I know it pretty well.  Lots of people around here skydive there.  In fact, do you know that older guy who works for one of our clients?
Us:  Oh, yeah, we know him!  He skydives?
Co-worker:  Yeah, he's a certified instructer even.  He's been on thousands of jumps.
Chris (to me):  See, there's nothing to be nervous about.  That guy's been on thousands of jumps and he's still standing!
Co-worker:  (clears throat) Well, technically, I suppose he is.  He does have two prostetic legs.  From a mid-air collision while skydiving.

In the end, however, we went and we jumped out of  plane and we had a blast.  I would totally do it again some time.

Warrior Dash-ed

So at the beginning of May, Chris and I participated in the Warrior Dash, along with some good friends of ours. To put it mildly, none of us had really spent much time on those things that people typically do before running a race, like "training" and "eating healthy" or even "stretching."  Except Payson's wife, who happened to do all three.  We had a friendly bet amongst the four of us.  It was girls against boys, and whoever lost had to cook a fancy dinner for the other two.  The winners got to dictate the menu.  Now, who won the bet?  Read on...

But first note that I learned a valuable lesson that race day, and it was this:

When jumping off the hood of an old rusty car onto a pile of tires, be careful to land properly so that you don't blow out your knee.

Here's the breakdown of how the race went.

You check in, get assigned your numbers and your tracking button, and prepare.

Costumes are encouraged, as you can see from Frack and Payson's outfits.  Although someone probably should have warned the guy on the far left in the background there -- kilts are acceptable, as a type of Braveheart-esque warrior gear.  But if you don't have a kilt in your closet, and you are a dude, then don't think that just any skirt will do.  You will look like you should be featured on the People of Walmart website, not wielding an ax on the battlefield with blue warpaint on.

Next, you stand at the starting line and pretend that you don't know the crazy looking guy with the afro wig and painted-on mustache who claims to be married to you.

After the starting gun goes off, you race for about 1.2 miles before you hit the first obstacle.  After a while, the boys fall a bit behind the girls.  You take a moment to photograph the racers behind you, so that later you can go nah-nah-nah-bo-bo.  If you look really, really, closely at this photo, you can just see a faint red blob at the very back of the photo.  That is the boys.

You approach Obstacle #1.  You are feeling cocky and self-assured.  You are master of the junkyard cars.

Epic FAIL.  You find yourself suddenly with a lot of time on your hands to take pictures, because in your haste to jump off the cars you landed funny on an old tire and hyperextended your knee.  You wave off the EMT and try to look brave.

The boys have now caught up.

After a while, your knee feels better enough that you can walk.  You can't run or jog or climb things, but you can walk - slowly and carefully.  And gosh darn it YOU ARE GOING TO FINISH THE RACE!  Because you can walk without limping (right now), you get lots of funny looks like people think you are just being a wimp.  When really the slightest wrong movement makes it feel like your kneecap wants to slide off your leg and you would go down like a lead balloon.  (That picture, by the way, is as close as Phoenix gets to a "river run").

And then comes the second-to-last obstacle, the part where you are supposed to leap over a burning flame.  Twice.

You take a moment to contemplate how you are going to leap over the flames when you can't get a running start and you only have one workable leg with which to push off and land.  In the meantime, the people on the sidelines are cheering you on, not understanding the reason behind your hesitation.

But by golly YOU ARE GOING TO LEAP OVER THE BURNING FLAME.  TWICE.

Although the second time doesn't go so well and your knee buckles as you land and you almost fall down (but don't!) although the organizers offer you EMT assistance and you can hear someone in the crowd wonder, "what is wrong with her?"

However, now your knee is really smarting and you are supposed to get down on all fours (yes, that's right -- your hands and knees) and crawl through the mud.

You crawl through the mud.  Some what awkwardly, of course.

THANK GOD.  It's the finish line.

Then it's time for the "warrior showers."

After which you get to redeem your race button for a nice cold beer and relax and listen to some music.  Assuming, of course, that you brought a change of clothes so you aren't completely muddy and/or soaked.

And that, ladies and gentlemen, was the Warrior Dash.

A special thanks goes to:

Payson's wife, for being an encouraging team mate even though I crapped out less than halfway through the race;

Frack, for being a good husband and staying by my side for the remainder of the race;

and Payson, for agreeing with Frack that the boys would pay up on our friendly bet even though there was no clear winner due to my injury.

Next year, however, I'm going to train beforehand.  And be a little more careful on the obstacles.

 (Note: this is not the size of the free beer.  This right here is a $20 beer.  Although you get to keep the mug.)