Flavor of the Month -- August

Yeah, I know... this would mean so much more if I actually did it on the FIRST of each month. But hey, better late than pregnant never.

If you're a regular around here, you may recall that I am trying to keep FOTM no more than two years younger than me. You see, June Cleaver A6P has a wonderful feature called Monday Swoon. And I was feeling a mite self-conscious about how much I was enjoying it every time she featured Robert Pattinson certain young un's. Especially since I remember being younger and out in the world and wondering if every older married man at the office was an on-the-prowl dirtbag or just most of them. (George, you always maintained my faith in MANkind!) I started to feel like I needed to make up for my Cougar-ish ways with some small cyber-gesture.

And so, without further yammering... FOTM for August:

Lance Armstrong.



Mmmmmm HHHHmmmmmmmmmm...............




What can I say? I grew up attending marathons and triathlons. I came of age around people built like this. I never went for the football types. But a cyclist tan?


Hubba hubba. (is it any wonder that i fell for a guy who disappeared for weeks every summer during our long courtship in order to bicycle across either our country or someone else's?)




But Lance has made the month of July so exciting and fun for so many years now. I mean honestly, who doesn't enjoy watching the Europeans get their undies in a bunch over an American (a Texan, no less! extra giggle for that) come over and open up a can o' whup-ass on them in their own event?


And you see that crowd? How scared would you be to ride through that? Especially in a country where the locals loathe you? Where you regularly receive death threats? Where your (now ex-) wife spent a lot of lonely time when she and the kids lived there with you because people wouldn't talk to her? BTW, he is spit on regularly in these situations. Classy, huh?

And let's not forget the part about facing death and by some miracle saying a giant "up yours!" and recovering.

And if you happen to have a copy of his book It's Not About The Bike handy, check out page 136, where the director of the Cofidis racing organization came to the hospital to fire Lance. His words were, "... this is a cultural thing, and people in France don't understand how somebdy can get paid when they're not working." I know. I have a really hard time keeping a straight face over that statement, too. His friend and manager literally said, "F*** you" to the guy.

So how beautiful is it that he went on to win the Tour de France, wait, how many times?

And so Lance has recovered his health and his career. He's also started the LiveStrong organization, one for which my bicycling-crazed brother and nephew have raised at least a few bucks (SIL's family keeps getting hit with cancer). He seems to have a genuine and heart-felt passion for forwarding cancer research. God love ya for using your name and energy towards the cause and for looking so good doing it, Lance!

Now, all that said, let me clarify that I have tremendous, endless respect for Lance professionally. Even patriotically.

Not so much personally.

Really, Lance? If It's Not About The Bike, then what exactly IS it about? 'Cause I'm thinking that leaving your wife and three kids to chase rock stars and actresses is not so much what this second chance at life is about. Especially after you're too old to crush your Eurotrash opponents in the mountains of France. (geez, i do love it when he does that) And I guess that Sheryl and Kate figured out that a guy willing to leave his wife and three kids maybe ain't no special treat after all. And I don't get the BabyDaddy thing with the new girlfriend. Call me old-fashioned and out of touch that way. Or maybe they were surprised that he was firing live rounds fertile again? Don't get me wrong -- at least he's taking more responsibility than his own father did. I admire the fact that when his own father surfaced in the hopes of reclaiming the winning lottery ticket that he threw away, that Lance sent him right back on his way. I love that he takes such good care of his mother, who had him at the age of 17. But I also have a schizo fantasy in my head of Kristen Armstrong sitting by her pool in Texas admiring Julio the Pool Boy and fetching another $100 bill out of the big bag of divorce settlement money and using it to blow her nose.

I'm such a girl that way. I admit it.

But Lance, for all of the shades of gray that you present to me, I still thank you for making so many summers so much fun! Congratulations on another great race! I hope you raise gazillions of dollars for cancer research. And I hope that at least a few of your professional competitors have bald patches on their heads from tearing out their hair.

So, see ya next July?