Did I just Mess My Shorts?

Not the Best Biking Wardrobe

What do you do when you mess your pants and have nothing to change into? Easy. You rock it! . . . Ok, let me explain. I didn’t really “mess” my pants. First off, it was shorts, and second it was mud not mess. I knew that but strangers didn’t.

Brady and I took a day trip to Decorah, Iowa last Saturday for an adventure. Most people would say, “Decorah? Iowa? What is there?” Well, you will have to go and find out, but we saw Dunnings Springs, had pizza at historic Mabe’s, ice cream at the Whippy Dip, and, the best part of the trip, biking on a trail that was in no way meant for biking—this is where the short fiasco comes into play.

It was much much colder and rainier than expected, so I had to put on every article of clothing I brought along, including my fashion scarf, black Sergeant Pepper inspired jacket, and my neon yellow running shorts over the top of my compression pants. Yeah, I was such a hot mess every local knew I was an out-of-towner, but that wasn’t the icing on the cake, or more like icing on my butt rather. It was so muddy on the non-bike trail that I took a digger only one minute into the ride. Brady’s response to my fall: “Did you just fall over?” like I had faked it. And, then he laughed. (This is not where I messed my shorts. I’m just trying to let you know how muddy it actually was. It was really muddy just to make my point one more time—cement muddy.)

We only lasted about 10 minutes on the “walking trail” when we saw that it took an upward route that would have been barely manageable hiking much less biking. It was then we stopped. It was then Brady starting laughing again.

“What?”

“It looks like you pooped your pants,” he said.

Yup, there it is–bright yellow inspired.

“What?” I tried to turn to look at my backside, but I had too many clothes on to really maneuver to get a good look, so what did I do? I had him take a photo, and sure enough, it looked like I had an accident. A thick target-like brown line ran up and down my short crack.  I didn’t have a fender over my back tire, thus each speck of mud found a home and settled in my backside’s crevice.

Did I change when we got to the waterfall where a group of locals gathered to take family photos with the help of a photographer? Nope, I haven’t purchased clothes for almost 6 months, I could rock a muddy it-looks-like-you-messed-your-shorts crack, and I did rock it with my own style, which is called “I give up.”

I can only image their family photo shots with Brady and me in the background hiking up the falls with my muddy crack flashing in neon. “Did that girl poop her pants?” little Susie will be asking her father.

Magical New Shoes Not for You

The Pumas were not a hit. Next.

Every fall our mother would buy us three new items: a pack of Hanes socks, an even bigger pack of Hanes underwear, and a pair of shoes to begin the school year. Socks and underwear, well, those were boring buys for a child, but shoes that was just magical. Ahh, the feel of new shoes that were just too white so white you needed to go and get them dirty to make them yours.

That feeling has changed though. Now, I have so many shoes that my bookshelf also serves as a display rack for my footwear in my bedroom, and I probably only wear 5 of the over 30 pairs that I have. (Ladies, you know what I’m talking about.)The magic was gone. The trick revealed until Jon, my boyfriend, brought it back.

Since starting my clothing fast in January, I haven’t really even tried on a pair of shoes in the store. What is the point when I can’t buy them? I’m not going to totally torture myself. However, that doesn’t mean I can’t have someone else try them on. . . . No, Jon did not try on women’s shoes for me. He did something even better, and it all started when he said, “I think I may need some new shoes,” while we prepared salmon and salad for supper last weekend.

“Really?” (Insert a silly stupid look on my face as if I just found out I was going to get a pony. Oh, and I’m eight not twenty-nine.)

“Yeah.”  He stopped sprinkling seasoning on the fish and looked down at his shoes. “They used to be white.”

I dropped the knife I had been cutting tomatoes with on my washing machine (My house is so tiny the laundry room is in the kitchen.) and jumped and clamped my hands together. “Yes!”

Jon laughed. “Why are you so excited?”

“I love shoe shopping!”

He smiled, but it was not an excited smile, more of an “Oh, no, what have I said?”

“Let’s go tomorrow! And, you can’t just try on one pair and be done like you did with your glasses.” That’s a whole other story, check out “Shopping with Clark Kent.”

The next day, Jon was a good sport, going into over six stores and allowing me to live through his shoe shopping experience by letting me analyze and pick apart every shoe he was interested in and then say, “Well, they are your feet, your shoes, so you should get what we want.” Women couldn’t be more unclear.

Jon came out of the mall with more shopping bags than me.

What did he ultimately decide on? At the end of the day, he toted a simple yet stylish pair of low gray Vans from Zumiez as well as a shirt and tie from Express. Yes, we even got to go into Express too; I was living it up even though I couldn’t buy anything.

So, now, Jon has new shoes, but the excitement is still not over. Why? Because he hasn’t worn them yet! They have been sitting in their box untouched, un-peeked at for four days. If they were mine, I would have slept in them that night.

Jon, when are you going to wear your new shoes? You’re killing me!

Women, am I crazy? When you buy new shoes, don’t you wear them within at least 12 hours of purchasing them?

Does a Wet Suit Stretch in Water?

Surfing in Bolinas (Before the Fall)

I was so excited to try on my new California vacation outfit: a used but chemically-cleaned seal black wet suit. However, the outcome was not what I expected. I was thinking I would be able to re-enact the ship scene from Titanic.  You know the one I’m talking about “I’m the King [Queen] of the world” as I rode the waves like a real California pro. But, of course, I’m Jodie Liedke; I trip when I walk; I’m accident prone, so this foreshadowing was merely just a shadow and nothing else.

First off, I could barely walk in the darn thing. You have no idea how tight a wet suit is until you put one on.  It was like trying to fit into my middle, not high school, jeans again, and then once I had it on, after much pulling, tugging, and tucking later, I was like, how am I going to paddle?  I could barely move my arms. I was having flashbacks to A Christmas Story—“I can’t put my arms down.” Perhaps it would loosen in the water? (I would be proven wrong again.)

Ian our surf coach made the attire look easy, but then again it belonged on him.  He had Cali growing all over him: salty blonde hair, cracked lips, and skin that couldn’t get enough of the sunlight waves. He showed us how to get up, stand and balance, and even how to fall back before we even put a toe in the water. I thought I had it all down. I just wanted to get in the water and become Leo, or perhaps Rose would be more fitting and take on the surf.

Well, it wasn’t long before I got my chance. And take it on I did for about 15 minutes. Jon, who I found was more of a seal than a human, made it all the way to the shore his first time up. I, however, did get up, stay up, but not for too long. If Jon was a seal, I was more of Bambi at times in a tight black leotard—yeah, picture that. I did get the chance to think I’m Queen of the world though.

My fourth time up, I wobbled, I fell, I hit the water, I drank the water, I felt my left shoulder slam into the sand and crunch in two feet of water. For all those who have never dislocated their shoulder trust me you don’t pop your shoulder out of place it crunches. Ripping pain shot through my arm. I knew what I had done. This was probably the sixth time. The majority of the time a game of basketball or soccer would do the trick.

Jon aka the Seal Surfing

I babied my arm to the beach, dragging my surf board with me that was still attached to my ankle by a noose. “Are you OK?” Ian asked me. “Your arm looks funny.” Funny it was and also stuck out of place.  The wet suit was so tight it didn’t have room to move back into place like it usually did.

So, what did I do for the rest of my surfing experience? I sat on the beach, sheltered my arm, and watched Jon become the King of the waves as my shoulder slowly slipped back into place. I wasn’t about to ruin his experience because of a fall and a tight wardrobe.  Besides for the rest of the trip, he had to let me wear his clothes because I couldn’t get into mine, and he had to help me get my seal costume off afterward, and let me tell you, it was way harder to get off than on with a broken wing. Yup, there is another image for you.