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ysobelleSo. Levi Leipheimer made a HUGE run at the top yesterday, but cracked in the end, and dropped straight back to 10th. Not too shabby, but he essentially expended enormous amounts of energy for absolutely no gain, and we have YET ANOTHER mountain stage today. Then a time trial.
Floyd Landis was NOT a happy camper. And I'm guessing the whole strategy of letting the breakaway get over half an hour on him the other day now seems to have been a less-than-brilliant idea. But again, see above, re: more mountains and a time trial. They were saying he probably went straight to the hotel for IV fluids and massage. We'll see how he is today. And if you already know, and you tell me, I'll kill you with my shoe. And I'm wearing light little mary-janes, so I guarantee it'll be a long, painful process. Then I'll ressurect you and kill you with my other shoe, just for fun and practise. yesterday, I opened my news.google page, and for once, Tour news was right in my face. Bastards.
Some of my coworkers brought in bagels and cream cheese and cookies and brownies this morning for a farewell breakfast for me. Makes me feel guilty about walzting in fifteen minutes late. Ooops.
Also, one last note about Rets. The owner's friend called me last evening. He told me that the owner and owner's daughter had called the SPCA several times, only to be told each time that no, no dog of that description had come in. Of course, they'd held the dog a week, and then he'd been destroyed. The friend called me because I'd asked him to call if he found anything out, and he wanted to keep his promise to me. He was sad, but very nice about it. I'll assume the owner must have called me right after finding this all out. I took the high road and said I'd gotten a message, but he hadn't said what, exactly, had happened. I asked the friend to again express my sympathy, and thanked him. I may have said something like, "Oh, if only he'd had tags...." But I don't precisely remember.
Sigh.
ETA: Yes, as![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
surlywench pointed out, he called, but he didn't go up there. The very first thing the SPCA told me was that I should come down and look in person. Jesus Christ, if it'd been Clue? I would have been camped on their doorstep. The only reason I didn't go myself last week was because I didn't think I could set foot in there for anything less than my own dog. It's just too fucking painful to look into the eyes of all those animals I can't save. The only time I did go in was to make my adoption of Simon official-- I'd gone on an animal therapy volunteer trip with him, and I knew he had to come home with me. It was well kept, and fairly shiny and new, but...G-d.
Floyd Landis was NOT a happy camper. And I'm guessing the whole strategy of letting the breakaway get over half an hour on him the other day now seems to have been a less-than-brilliant idea. But again, see above, re: more mountains and a time trial. They were saying he probably went straight to the hotel for IV fluids and massage. We'll see how he is today. And if you already know, and you tell me, I'll kill you with my shoe. And I'm wearing light little mary-janes, so I guarantee it'll be a long, painful process. Then I'll ressurect you and kill you with my other shoe, just for fun and practise. yesterday, I opened my news.google page, and for once, Tour news was right in my face. Bastards.
Some of my coworkers brought in bagels and cream cheese and cookies and brownies this morning for a farewell breakfast for me. Makes me feel guilty about walzting in fifteen minutes late. Ooops.
Also, one last note about Rets. The owner's friend called me last evening. He told me that the owner and owner's daughter had called the SPCA several times, only to be told each time that no, no dog of that description had come in. Of course, they'd held the dog a week, and then he'd been destroyed. The friend called me because I'd asked him to call if he found anything out, and he wanted to keep his promise to me. He was sad, but very nice about it. I'll assume the owner must have called me right after finding this all out. I took the high road and said I'd gotten a message, but he hadn't said what, exactly, had happened. I asked the friend to again express my sympathy, and thanked him. I may have said something like, "Oh, if only he'd had tags...." But I don't precisely remember.
Sigh.
ETA: Yes, as
surlywench pointed out, he called, but he didn't go up there. The very first thing the SPCA told me was that I should come down and look in person. Jesus Christ, if it'd been Clue? I would have been camped on their doorstep. The only reason I didn't go myself last week was because I didn't think I could set foot in there for anything less than my own dog. It's just too fucking painful to look into the eyes of all those animals I can't save. The only time I did go in was to make my adoption of Simon official-- I'd gone on an animal therapy volunteer trip with him, and I knew he had to come home with me. It was well kept, and fairly shiny and new, but...G-d.