I know the Superman Ride of Steel is old news around these parts, but I just had to share my thoughts. I've been down in Texas for the last 8 years so I missed its debut 6 years ago. I'm a total coaster enthusiast. Well, adrenaline enthusiast is more like it. I'll most likely do anything that puts you on the edge, though in my book coasters aren't really edgy – just plain fun. Right, well I must say it is a superb ride. I love great coasters without the restricting shoulder harnesses, allowing freedom of movement for my arms to shoot skyward and increase those gratifying moments of 0 G. No complaints with a first drop of 208 feet at a 70 degree angle! I broke into hysterical laughter as the 73mph wind was actually jettisoning tears from my eyes like a busted hydraulic hose! I am continually awed by engineering achievements in the coaster world. To think that in 1985 The Viper was a top dog looping coaster, today, it didn't even tickle my tummy in the slightest. I checked out the new Tornado water ride but thought it was a bust. Sure dropping down the shoot backwards was nice, but every time we hit the center whitewater I was tossed like a rag doll and my ass actually slipped through the raft. Ouch.

I'm heading out to Canada's Wonderland next month to check out The Italian Job stunt coaster. I think it was built just for me. I have a crush on the Mini Cooper S: electric blue, dual racing stripes, sunroof, and all the extras please! One day I'll own one and I'm going to re-label all my toggle switches to say things like 'ejector seat', 'acid slick' and 'rocket launcher'. I digress. To put a Mini Cooper S on a coaster track and have things blowing up around you...it's just what the doctor ordered for Lady Croft! Yes, I've been on my namesake coaster, Tomb Raider; my only complaint is that the designers seem to have missed the fact that some women actually have breasts. Lying on your stomach, squished in a 'chest area' fit for a 12 year old boy was, shall I be nice and say, unpleasant? However, I am a trooper, and I'm sure I will ride again. Oh, and I must pay homage to a great classic wooden coaster while I'm raving. If you're ever in NYC, take the subway out to Coney Island and ride the Cyclone. It's a master marvel built in 1927, well worth the $5 ticket!

Your name is important, whether you like it or not. It's an external identifying factor that separates you from the masses. Remember how excited you would get finding that bicycle license plate with your name on it? I don't. I never will. If my name is on anything it's because I put it there. My name is uncommon, and it wasn't until my late teens that I began to appreciate its uniqueness. As a child I faithfully watched Romper Room in hopes of hearing my name on TV. At the end of every show the woman would hold up this 'magic mirror' and look out to the viewing audience, she would then name all the kids she saw. I was front and center of my TV set, willing her to see me, just this once! But she never did. I would hear, "I see Brittany and Bobby, Jennifer and Jason", and I would think to myself, "Biatch – you said those names 3 times this week!" The point is, at long last there is redemption for Timika! I came across a posh hotel in my name, but it gets better. There's an airport called Timika and even an entire town named Timika, in Indonesia! Maybe my name is Indonesian. I was named after one of my mom's army buddies, but no one ever knew the origin. You might think I'm silly for getting so excited about it, but when you've spent your entire life defending your name, it's big potatoes. Now you might be wondering how it's pronounced anyway. The best tutorial I can offer without speaking it, not that speaking it guarantees you'll say it right either, is to think of combining the name 'Tim' with 'Micah'. Tim-micah. Timika. Got it? Ciao.

As I write this a part of me is dying. Just 3 hours ago I was outside taking a walk with one of my dogs, Twigi. We sat down under some trees and chilled for a while. As we started to walk back to the house she started vomiting. Not really a big deal, it happens. What's not supposed to happen is your dog collapsing. Just like that, she just kind of sat down and slumped over. I knelt down beside her and she let out a quiet groan. I stroked her a few times, tried to prop her up on her feet, and she just fell down. I scooped her up and rushed her into the house and called the vet...of course they JUST closed. I got the information for the nearest 24hr emergency animal hospital...20 minutes away. I drove like a bat out of hell. On the ride over she seems to be improving, her pupils less dilated, she even licked her teeny tiny teeth. I explained everything to the doctor. Her temperature was normal, he didn't feel anything abnormal, and her colour was good. I had hope. An hour after we returned home he called us. X-rays didn't show anything, but her pulse is dwindling, we can't do exploratory surgery. She's most likely going to die. WTF!!! One minute I'm enjoying a stroll with my pooch and now she's dying on some fucking cold table on Grand Island! As the tears burn my eyes I'm washed over with guilt...what if it's something she ate and it poisoned her and she's suffering because I made the choice to take her outside with me? UGH! Then to tell yourself, no, it's the way it is because it was meant to be. Meant to be. My cute little 5 year old miniature Yorkie, bouncing around at my feet and 30 seconds later slumped over in the grass. I'm a mess. My mom is on her way over to sign papers to put her down. My stomach is sick. I don't know that I believe in euthanasia. I don't want her to suffer by any means, but ending her life without at least trying for other options? Are our pets so expendable!?? Then I actually have to compose myself tomorrow morning and go to pick up her body!!!??? Life is so, so delicate. The balance literally decided in seconds. Oh Twigers, Twigerdito, Ye Mighty Twigster, Twigerdoodledoo...I love you so much my furry little munchkin.

I was depositing my check using the drive-up window at my bank. I had one of my dogs with me. Suddenly she began yodeling. Yes, yodeling, it's the only way I can describe the noise escaping her snout. It wasn't a bark, it wasn't a howl, and it wasn't a whimper....just a strange yodeling. The woman pops the drawer back at me, on top of my receipt is a milk bone! Bambi lunged out that window and snatched it up in less than a heartbeat. How cool is that, a milk bone for your pooch at the drive-up window. I love my dogs. Ciao.

bambi

I found this sweet retro Schwinn in the basement of my brother's new house, hosed her down, replaced the seat, pumped up the tires and took her out for an inaugural spin with a pal. We arrived at our destination just fine, but on the way home she got a flat. Apparently we had encountered glass along our route and it put a slow leak in her tire, and a halt to our ride. Walking a bike is always a bugger. We finally made back to base, and wouldn't you know it, my tire goes flat! But I go one step further...the glass had managed to wedge itself just right, so it ripped my tire a new one! Poor thing looked like a shredded chicken taco. Luckily there's a bright side. I've always been a mountain bike kind of girl and those smooth spindly tires were cramping my style. I'm going to see if I can pimp this green machine Lara Croft style and outfit it with more aggressive tires. Now we're talking business.

Speaking of bikes...Holy I almost creamed a kid on his bike last night Batman! I had to run to the market and took a spontaneous cruise on my way home. Sunroof open, windows down, stereo soothing my soul, the wind flirting with my hair – oooh it feels soooo good. I round the curve of the highway and there he is, the Kool-Aid kamikaze, heading right for me! He's in my lane, one hand on his bars the other clasping a large cup of sugary, grape flavored water...he doesn't even see me coming! Slow motion kicks in. My brain creates a horrific image: A joust. 10 pounds of aluminum at a velocity of 8mph VS 3,000 pounds of iron at a velocity of 60mph. Result: Kool-Aid and brain matter washing over my windshield and down through my sunroof and a new aluminum hood ornament. Barf! The kamikaze's wingman suddenly realizes the predicament and bellows a warning. I could actually taste grape on my lips as that cup passed inches from my driver side door.

I don't shake easily, but that was a bit too close for comfort. I head to a wicked cool graveyard and cop a squat under a particularly gnarly tree. The sweet scent of night blooming Jasmine fills my nostrils, helps to calm my nerves. The evening sky compares to an African sunset with its streaks of magenta emanating from a resplendent sphere of orange crush. The last of the rays are burning into the crumbling cross at my feet. Damn I wish I had my camera (and a beer), these shots are amazing! The sun dips below the horizon, nature's cue for me to head home. Graveyards are so soothing by daylight, and exaggeratedly creepy by moonlight, but I'd rather have a partner to share the shivers with. Ciao.

P.S. Yes, we read you (e:Thesimeon)! I gave you props for your cleverness!