Hilariousness will follow

NG came over for dinner with Wifey and BFIL last night. It was nice to get to know him a bit although I fear I drank too much and talked a bit more than I intended. I look forward to seeing him again (likely Tuesday). Learned a little more about him; he only owns 1 house (which is really enough for anyone. I misunderstood and thought there were two) and will have his kids over the summer. he speaks with them often. He also gives nice hugs.

I forgot to call my dad on his birthday. I am a bad kid. How many years did I complain that he forgot mine?

I found this at Jester's place...

I will be posting it...um...everywhere. Don't get me wrong, I love this song, but the video deserves what it got.

Angels and Demons

Despite my broken picker when it comes to men, I have excellent taste in friends. (Actually, all but a couple of the men I have dated turned into wonderful friends. My mother would say that I am a good person and therefore attract good people, but she is my mother and therefore biased.

Nevertheless, I am blessed with a life full of wonderful people.

One of them, I call wife.

Ours is connection brought on by a love of all things Muppets and 80's. Ok most things 80's. It has grown into the kind of friendship most people don't get to enjoy as adults. We giggle, we laugh, we spend far too much time phoning and texting each other. It's like being in Jr High. With cars. And a distinct lack of parental guidance. And booze.

The definition of a Derby wife as written by the ladies who developed the concept is a lot longer than I care to describe here. there are things on the list that I hope Wifey never has to deal with. Mostly, jail time. And puking. I can't guarantee that there won't be puking if I keep drinking like I drank last night. ahem. there are things on the list that she has dealt with.

Wifey accompanied me to the hospital the other night. Truth be told, I likely wouldn't have gone if she hadn't gone with me.

I sprained my knee in the February bout. I didn't realize I was even hurt until I had pain later. It took over a month for me to ask my chiropractor about it. I followed his instructions and forced myself to skate light for awhile. For me, skating light means no falling drills or anything that might knock me over. then, one night, I did a turn that sent me to the floor. It didn't hurt my knee as badly as it hurt my head when IT hit the floor. I saw stars. I was dingier than usual after that. Not a good sign but I (obviously) survived. And stopped doing drills and just skated in circles for a few weeks.

It's now crunch time for our next Bout. (JUNE 27th!) My team, the Bang Bang Betties is skating against Wifey's team the Mafia Mollies. I hit the training hard. If I want to be in shape for bouting, I can't hold back. It's the way I am made. I reinjured the ankle, but skated anyway. At least, the knee was getting better.

Until Wednesday night when I tripped over Faithtality and went down hard. My knee made a bad noise and I breathed through it. it hurt bad enough that I cried. They helped me take off my skates and pad and led me off the rink. Ice was applied, as was laughter. I am greatful for Faith's stories as they kept me laughing when I wanted to cry. I don't like crying. I am NOT a pretty crier. Seriously.

When I mentioned that my toes were feeling a little numb, Wifey decided that it was time to go to the ER.

Hot Doctors make it all worthwhile. Note my phone. the texting and twittering never stopped.

Neither did the laughter and the fun. Or the making fun which is why we are indeed going to hell. But we will be in good company. And I will consider myself blessed, even in hellto have her company.

I'm sprained again. With a vicodin prescription that I haven't filled yet although people keep asking me for one. (NO) (BTW, not impressed with the vicodin. it wired me up and then I couldn't sleep. And while my knee wasn't hurting, the ankle still was. What kind of pain pill only cuts one pain-spot?) I don't know if I will be able to bout; I don't want to injure myself further. And it's gonna suck to watch my team skate without me. i suppose it doesn't hurt to pray for fast healing. But I am already blessed in so many ways...

Still truckin'

I met a man the other night. A single man. An interested man.

It's a good thing, this. I am interested too. Torn between old habits and new possibilities, but interested. He's attractive, but not SO attractive that I am afraid to talk to him. THAT is also a good thing. Divorced, of course, as most men around here are, with 4 kids that live in another state. (it's possible that I misheard the other state thing. 4 kids came through loud and clear) He was introduced to me by a mutual friend who spent the whole evening going back and forth between the two of us getting the scoop on what we think of each other and passing along whatever information she thought important. I thought it was funny and plan to get to know him on my own and make my own opinions. I think she was enjoying the job of matchmaker.

Old habits, unfortunately, keep whispering CNR in my ear. But the truth of that matter is that we are friends and he's either not really interested in me that way or he just has too many other things going on to take on a woman too. I respect either situation. I have a tendancy to wait, when I think there is some sliver of a chance at a future, and I don't want to do that again. I've spent too many years waiting. I also tend to get hurt when whatever man I have been waiting for walks through the proverbial door with a woman on his arm and it isn't me. I don't know what the future has in store.

Which means I have to do what is right for me right now. Because there's a surprise around every corner and I am looking forward to getting together Friday after next with BBQ Man (who needs a different name, but that in time MAYBE). You just never know.

on lockdown

once again, there are things I want to say, that I would like to discuss but I can't. It's driving me crazy. The last thing of this sort never turned into anything, but it still might. 

Today, one thing has nothing to do with me but I am somehow involved, the other, everything to do with me. It may turn into a good thing, it may not. Crossroads where I have to be silent drive me crazy, but without the anonymous status I enjoyed when I began writing here, I have to keep it. 

My wife is out of cell phone range. sigh.

Summertime, and the living is easy...

Every so often, someone asks me what my favorite season is. After thinking about it for a moment, I will generally tell that person (or facebook quiz) that I don't have one. that I like them all for different reasons.

Fall for the crisp air and abundance of pumpkin and spice. Halloween and leaves.

Winter for the weather. in SD it would get chilly and rain. In Reno I have snow. not a lot of snow, but I have learned to love watching it swirl like little ghosties across the road. Impromptu snowball fights, anow angels, hot chocolate.

In the Spring, the flowers bloom. Things seem to come to life. I get to daydream about planting a garden and watch my daffodiles come up. Suddenly, a sweatshirt is warm enough and I can feel the sunshine on my skin.

This morning, though, I realized that Summer is when I come to life. Each day I can look forward to hours by the pool. tubing down the river. sitting out drinking lemonade and talking shit with my friends. The puppybutt and I can be at the park until 7 or 8 and still have light. I wake up each morning to the sunlight on my face, gaze at the tree outside my bedroom window and pretend just for a moment that I live in a treehouse. Each day feels full of the promise of fun. There is plenty of time to work and play. The garden I planted in the spring is starting to bloom and I know that I will soon have peas to shell on the porch. Then squash to grill and finally pumpkins to carve as we head back into fall. I feel energetic and excited to meet the world. I can't wait to sit minipool-side and eat popsicles. To curl up and nap on the concrete with my dog. Or on the couch with wifey's dog; which is how the three of us spent many a summer afternoon last summer. There's talk of camping at the lake. Strawberries, blackberries, raspberries, cherries. Homemade ice cream and BBQ'd ribs.

Today, I think Summer is my favorite. I may change my mind when Autumn comes.

Slam!

Nevada is a funny place. Not just the people, but the weather too. We appear to have slammed directly from winter into summer. hot, sticky, summer. Which is great! I bought a pool! I started a tan!

But it hit a little faster than I expected so I am sweating while I pull off the three quilts, the fleece farting dragon blanket, and the DOWN COMFORTER. As I rip off the flannel sheets in lieu of nice cold Egyptian cotton. (I have ONE set. they are glorious. But I might put on the blue ones instead)

With my luck, it will likely snow on Memorial Day.

Happy HNT-Cougar Edition

For the record, I'm over it. yesterday. Now I think it's funny.

Kitty update

I called. He's adoptable. I tried to arrange to foster him but have not heard back. We will see. i still have his file number.

On Cougars and Kittens

No woman wants o think she's getting old. I was 27 when T told me I was "No Spring Chicken" (as he broke my heart) but at the time I was able to shake it off. Three years later, I freaked out about turning 30.  I got over that too. I'll be 32 this year. I'm ok with that. I'm in better shape than I was in high school (not counting my freshman swim season) I only weigh 5 pounds more than I did when I graduated. I am, understandably, proud of where I'm at physically. 

The other night though, I was met with a rather harsh reality. I'm getting older. It hit me like a slap in the face and I'm not really sure what to do about it other than remind myself that in a few days, I'll be laughing about how it ever bothered me.

They called me a Cougar.

A blow to the ego, it was, and the first person who said it was referring to the leopard print trim on my itty bitty dress. But Cougar. Typically an older woman who chases around after much younger men. I think of women in their 40's. MID 40's, not early thirties. Older women hitting on men in their early thirties and twenties. It's not just a noun. It's a verb. A man can be Cougared. I don't hit on men, I only embarrass myself.

Of course, the same fella that said it also called me "easy" a couple of hours later (I've been spreading THAT rumor for years.  but it's not quite as funny when a stranger says it) and although he was playing, I had to walk away. Laughing, but I still wandered off. He had trouble written across his face. My picker isn't THAT broken.

I don't have a picture of the dress. Yet.

Today, there was kitty drama. One was stuck up under one of the shipping trailers. We pulled it out and discovered that he had a crushed paw and a gaping wound. I named him Lefty and took him to animal control since he was a stray and I can't afford the surgeries he will need. He can't have been more than 8 weeks old. We have no idea how long he was under that trailer. I have his case number. I will be calling. I don't need another animal. But he needs a home. And I have a soft spot for broken boys  three legged critters. I worry though. I worry that they will put him down. After all, they don't really have the funds to fix every broken kitty that comes in. And while I think the paw will likely have to be amputated, there is still recovery, antibiotics, the cost of putting him under. I also don't know what else was wrong with him other than the fact he was REALLY dirty. You would be too if you travelled under you car. 

Remember that guy?

I walked into the bar last night after our bout, and was pulled aside by Wifey. She informed me that the fellow behind the bar was indeed B's ex wife's evil ex boyfriend. 

Shit. I don't want this man to know who I am and he already asked Wifey her name and eliminated her from his list. MY name tag didn't have my name on it so I thought I could sail through the night undetected.

Silly Monster.

I had to give him my card when I ordered my drink. Then the girls put me at the Mic to promote our next bout since I knew when it was and I was the least drunk. And I introduced myself, of course. (Actually, I think I might have been shouting into the mic. Bad. I know better.  Anyway...)

Vindictive had asked me what I would do. She offered to back me up if I needed it. I sent a text to B letting him know and he warned me to be careful. I promised both that above all else, I would be a lady. 

I didn't have to worry about it. Apparently, he's damn scared of me (as he should be) and every time I walked up to the bar, he booked it the other way. The other bartender was more than happy to get my drinks, and honestly, his were tastier; if rum and coke can be tastier. Remind me to stick with SoCo and Seven. .  I ignored him and plan to do just that anytime he happens to work one of our parties. I have nothing to say and no kindness for him beyond what I would give to anyone serving my drinks. He has a job to do, and I respect that.

Sometimes, it's kind of fun to be a psycho bitch.

On another subject... or two...

I have spent the better part of my weekend cleaning house. Vacuuming nooks and crannies, making it home again. Since the puppybutt tends to make  mess out of everything while I am at work, it has become extra difficult to keep it clean. Add to that my unbalanced lifestyle, and it's amazing that the house hasn't fallen in upon itself. 

I'm going to change that. It's a big part of my attitude adjustment. I've been spending too much time (again) worrying about boys and focusing on derby that all the other things that are important to me have fallen to the wayside. I think I have mentioned this recently. As many times as I have to say it in order to fix it is what it will take. I'm thinking that I need to evaluate how I spend my time and make sure that I am spending reasonably equal time on the things that are important. Like making sure my kitchen is clean and my laundry done. Spending less time on the computer and more time making things. I need to get me back on track. 

Meanwhile, I had an interesting conversation with a friend of mine last night. She believes that our society is too dangerous to allow children to run about the way we did when we were children.

I don't agree. I think that the world was just as dangerous then. Pedophiles, drug dealers, speeding cars all existed back then, but we still ran fairly free. We knew our boundaries, we knew when to get home. We might have Watchdog.org now to tell us where the sexual offenders are lurking, but that doesn't mean that they weren't in the neighborhoods we grew up in. 

I think as a society we have become overprotective in many ways, and underprotective in others. I agree that sites like MySpace and Facebook offer a whole new dimension to children's lives, but I also think that it should be up to parents to monitor what children do on the net. Block those sites (My cousin cannot email anyone not on her safe list) watch what's going on during homework time. Teach them that not everyone online is safe just as we were taught not to get into strange vans or take candy from strangers. 

I think we do children a great disservice by locking them in the house for their own safety. I don't think I would be the person I am today without memories of forts among the trees and hours spent riding my bike up and down the street. Of jump rope on the sidewalk and walks to and from school. 

Perhaps I will change my tune as my niece grows older or if I should have children of my own. But I hope not. How can a kid grow without sunlight and fresh air?

Taking a deep breath

And working on an attitude adjustment.

I need one. 

But, what if I go sleeveless?

I wear my heart on my sleeve. Or, at the very least, don't own a poker face. Except maybe sometimes when it comes to men. Then I am an actress like no other. What was it E said to me once? Stoic. I had to look it up.

I hail from the philosophy of, if I'm hanging out with you, I like you. (Also if I bake you cookies and such. see below) But actually SAYING anything about it? that borders on terror.

I'm pretty sure that the fear of coming out of the "I like you" closet stems from 7th or 8th grade when I dropped the note on Evan's desk. Let's hop into the way back machine for a bit, shall we?

It must have been 8th grade because I was just starting to become aware of how other people percieved me. I started reading YM magazine (my sister subscribed). I made a new friend. Then three. Taking my total up to 4. (one fell off when she found a new clique) I read that boys liked long nails, so I stopped chewing mine into ragged stumps. I read that if you liked a boy, you should tell him.

I saw Evan for the first time in 7th grade. We had PE together. He was cute. Big blue eyes and a nice smile. I was not a blip on his radar. I always did get along better with the boys so in PE, they were the ones I hung with. Evan and I had a mutual friend, Eric (Eric is now a commercial Airline pilot with kids of his own!) I got to know Eric because I kept up with the boys when we ran the mile. I think I had an 8 minute mile back then. You know, before my boobs grew.

By eighth grade, I still had my crush. And on the advice of YM Magazine, I wrote Evan a note. I wish I had a copy of it. It would be a facinating read almost 20 years later.

It could have been worse. The note could have made its way across the school. I could have been made fun of, he could have been mean. Instead, he ignored it. But I'm pretty sure Eric told me he didn't like me back. At the very least I never heard whether anyone was making fun of me, if I did, I have forgotten.

It doesn't take a whole lot to send me back into hiding. It was years before I approached another boy, preferring to sit back and hope they noticed me instead. Sometimes, I would reach out only to get slapped down.

Even now, I fear that rejection. When it comes to men, I'm still a wallflower in many ways. I tend to try and be a friend first and interested second so that if the man in question isn't interested, then I haven't made a complete fool of myself.

What is the point of all this? I'm at that crossroads again. Of needing to know what is going on and trying so hard to build up the courage to ask, regardless of the consequences. I'm at a point where I'm getting mixed signals and very likely giving them too. Because I'm hiding behind a mask of indifference and I don't know how to stop.

I watched him dance

a vendor came into my office a little bit ago. My office is in the warehouse approximately half way between the East and West walls. the Fish department is directly behind and takes up the other half to the East. I am in a small modular.

A vendor came up a bit ago and popped his head in my door. He has been working on the HVAC system in Fish.

"there has to be a closer bathroom than the one across the building to where I have been working!" Said he.

"Um, there's one in the fish offices"

I gave him approximate directions. As I started explaining, he started dancing.

"Ok! gotta Go!"

He headed back to the Fish department.

I hope he made it...

I don't think I've ever seen a 50 some odd year old man do the peepee dance before. Especially at work...

I don't get it

The topic of conversation the other night turned to my love life and the frequency in which thing simply don't work out.

My friend Krystal said something that confused me greatly, not because it didn't make sense, but because I don't understand why it does.

"You", she said to me, "Might be too nice."

Which underlined my sister Wendy's comment once at a club when she said that I need to learn how to be a bitch. I spent the rest of the evening alternately practicing my emotionless bitch look and giggling at the absurdity of it. It must have worked because I managed to lure a fella about my age away from my little sister (she thanked me for it) on the dance floor where I proceeded to boogie and he played the air flute. Sure enough, once his fingers were tired, he politely invited me to the bathroom. I replied that I just went but that it was right over there.

I um; never saw him again. It wasn't until later that I realized what he was up to.  

I digress.

Apparently, I am too nice. If I want to keep a man interested, I need to be mean to him. 

It looks like I'm gonna live a pretty lonely life. I consider it a perk for any man I date to enjoy my goodies. I certainly can't eat all those cookies by myself (a portion goes to my wife, of course).  I enjoy being helpful. And I'm not going to sit at home alone so that I don't appear to be too available. If I'm going, he's invited. If I'm staying, well, he's invited to do that too. Cooking? Eat! I like to buy presents. I like to treat to dinner. I once volunteered to help a guy clean so I could spend time with him. Er... That was a mistake, but he was weird anyway. It's better that it didn't work out. 

I think he's the one, actually, that taught me that if I am mean to someone, it means I don't want to be around him. We fought all the time about really stupid stuff. I try not to be overwhelming, and I curb many of my nicey-nice temptations but when I catch myself being less than kind, even in my head, it tells me it's time to move on. If I haven't already been declared a "cool chick" and a "really great friend", I start plotting my exit. 

How am I supposed to reconcile the urge to be nice with the apparent dating requirement of being mean? Suppressing my nature hides who I really am and um, isn't that false advertising? I can hear it now...

"I can't date you anymore. I thought you were a bitch but you're actually nice. I just can't hang. I mean, you're a really cool chick and a great friend, but I'm looking for someone who will treat me like dirt..."

Oh wait. I think that may have already happened. Just not in those words.

So it looks like transient relations for me. At least until I find a nice guy who's had enough of the bitches.

S'allright I got plenty of yardwork to do, books to read, and yarn to spin.

A title can't explain it

I was sitting in between the two men having the following conversation today. They were standing up. As a rarity, I am using real names. Monikers just won't work this time.

Glen: Jason! Zip up your zipper!

Jason: Glen!

Glen: What?

Jason: You too!

Me: HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA...gasp...HAHAHAHAHAHAHA wait... (looks down) Ok. I just had to check.

it still makes me giggle. things have gotten far too serious around here.

I start to worry

I haven't heard from my dad since right around Christmas when he called to get the low down on my darling niece. 

I was happy to hear that he and his girlfriend were finally living in a house, not on the street and that he was not only working, but clean and sober. 

Generally, my father is but a fleeting thought on my horizon. Usually, I have some forewarning that he's going to come back into my world whether it's to check in or to call asking for money (which he hasn't done in a little over a year since I had to tell him no, that I was also unemployed)  The forewarning usually comes in the form of little signs. A copy of Leroy and Stitch (A sequel to Lilo and Stitch where Stitch's evil brother Leroy comes to wreak havoc) at WalMart for example, sent me directly to my cell phone with a warning to my Seester, "he's going to pop up again"

It's been a couple of years since the major dramas but it's hard for me to forget the past and the hurts. I'll never forget that I love him.

Last week it was the odor of cigarettes and faint cologne at work. One of my coworkers, at that moment, smelled just like Daddy. 

Yesterday it was a friend who missed seeing his son. 

It brought back all the late visits. Of sitting by the window waiting for him to show. Of getting a call from him that he wanted to visit before his six months home was over. That he was leaving the next week and he wanted to see us before he went. Of the time I asked to go fishing with him and he turned me down. Or the time I knocked on his door only to hear him shush his friends inside. The door never opened. He had security cameras. He knew who it was. 

I really do try to forgive him all the things. I haven't seen him in over a year and I dreaded that Christmas day. I didn't want to go. I WANT to want a relationship with him. Except that I have worried and stressed over him for so many years that I dread picking up the phone when he calls. 

Despite the fact that he feels that way, I know Daddy isn't forever. I dread that call most of all. I know he isn't in good health. The years of hard living have taken their toll. I know I should call. Be better about keeping in touch even if only to make myself feel better later, but... But. Always a but. It's so much easier to live in my little world 500 miles from his and pretend that he will be there when I am ready for him to be there. 

I try to focus on the positive. Hours spent at the Swap Meet. How he used to take me treasure hunting on the cliffs. Lobster fishing off the OB Pier. Holding on to his powerful shoulders as he swam with me around the pool. 

There have been too many little indicators. He will be popping up in my world again. I will pray that it's a positive thing. There isn't a whole lot else I can do.

what happens?

My last roommate is following me on twitter. This means that if she hasn't already. She will find my blog.

I have mentioned often, especially in recent months how this is a place where I go to get things out. I thought about hiding it again, like I did when my father called to learn where to go to see pictures of me skating, but I realized that things said can't be unsaid. I have to own up to the things I say. I have to support it when I discuss what I percieve as the truth. I can't go hiding every time someone's feelings might get hurt.

If I don't want people to find it, to read it, I shouldn't write it here. there's a lot i don't write here. My blog is NOT anonymous. ginamonster is a moniker I have been using for a lot of years. A LOT of years. I'm pretty sure you can find me if you know my name at all. I've forgotten all the places I have placed links to my blog.

I'm sure that my perceptions of the time my last roommate and I lived together are completely different from her perceptions. I have admitted openly that some ofthe issues that I had may have been caused by my own attitude.

I have to learn to be okay with what people think. They might get angry. They might get some feelings hurt. Things I know are likely to cause issue, I write down elsewhere. I still keep a written journal for that stuff. You know, the stuff I don't want people to know right now. There is plenty.

I guess the point of this ramble is that I learned something today. I'm still here, and I will deal with the rest.

A warm fuzzy after such sad stuff

Things for which I will never be ready

My family moved a lot. By a lot I mean that I will always envy a little the people who grew up in the same schools, in the same house, eating lucky charms for breakfast (real ones, not the store brand "magic stars" with the effed up marshmallows which still tasted damn yummy). Pictures on the walls, grow up lines in the doorways. We moved every three years. Almost like clockwork. 

Not down the street, although we always stayed in San Diego, but usually across town. For me, this meant leaving old friends behind and finding new ones.  Generally, I never saw the old ones again. (I say generally because San Diego is a small town for a big city and I ended up running into old classmates over the years. But not until I was an adult)

The summer after 6th grade my parents did the unthinkable. They moved us to the boonies. The concept was cool. 5 1/4 acres of oak trees and rocks to climb. A playhouse for me (the inside was insulated but not finished so it turned out that I wasn't allowed to play in there because of the fiberglass. Sometimes, my friend from down the street and I played in the chicken coop instead. We didn't have chickens, just a coop) I started 7th grade in a school where almost everyone had been together since kindergarden. My sister had it worse. She was in 11th grade and had to leave a boyfriend behind.

I like to joke that I only had one friend. The truth is that I had two. I had trouble making friends for the first time in my life because I was new. The cliques were formed. I had all the wrong (hand me down) clothes and lived on the wrong side of town. The wilderness my parents moved us to had colonies of crack houses. People disappeared down there. We didn't know that then. I knew that the houses where the school bus picked us up were run down. I knew that the kids who lived there were a little dirty. That became prime real estate when the drug dens were cleared out by the fires of 2003. 

My sister and cousin though, thankfully, made some friends. One of them had a car. Much of my 7th grade year was spent in the back of that car. A Camero. It made me want a Camero. Robbie would come pick us up before and take us home after school. I felt like hot shit riding around in the trunk. (I did say the back of the car, right?). The car was soooo cooool. I was hanging out with older kids even though I knew it was only because I was the little sister. Rob would make the rounds dropping us all off. Sometimes he would hang out at our house. There would be rubber band fights and all around silliness before he went home. It was fun. It was good times. There weren't a lot of good times in that house. 

I didn't see him anymore after he and my sister graduated. The last time I saw him he was the best man at a wedding and he had a black eye. And a story to go with it. 

I think you know where this is headed.

Seester sent me his obituary tonight. 35 is too young. Somehow, I think someday 85 will be too young too. I know from talking to my Nana that I will never get used to this. It's one thing to say goodbye and never see someone again. It's something else to know you can't ever see them again. I don't know what happened. That town is still a small town and I'm sure we will find out. Seester keeps better in touch than I do. 

I'll never forget though, how Rob treated me like an equal instead of his friend's little sister. How he'd carefully close the glass lid over my head each morning. And drive me home each day after school.

I dreamed a dream

I don't often chronicle my dreams because well, it can get very boring to read. But this one was very realistic and indicative of the things going on in my life. I will place my comments next to the discussion so you can see why I found it important to mention.

In the dream, I was living with my Aunt and Uncle. The ones that live in Carson. My mother was visiting. (I don't usually see my Aunt and Uncle unless my mother is visiting. I have been having issues with this over the last couple days because they went to go meet my cousins in Santa Cruz for Easter and no one thought to let me know. This happens a lot, actually.) Chango lived there too. Suddenly, more dogs started appearing. They were lost. I felt as though I needed to post "found" ads on craigslist and get them back to their homes but I didn't have time because I had things to do. (I am feeling a little overwhelmed by life. Especially where it correlates to Derby. Between that and life, I feel like I have so much to tend to that nothing is getting done) Then, the kittens I have pledged to foster had been dropped off too. And they pooped on my bed. I only had myself to blame because they weren't box trained and I hadn't given them a box yet. I left the room.

When I returned, I discovered one of the kitties in a tub of cold water. I had been giving her a bath and forgotten about her. (Apparently, I dropped the ball. I am also nervous about fostering another litter after losing Tarzan last year. That still hurts. a lot) I picked her up and snuggled her close in a towel. I had just started to worry about whether she would ever warm up again or whether she would stay cold and die like Tarzan when my phone rang. 

It woke me up. I don't remember who called but she was surprised to find me still in bed. (It was one of the girls. She was checking to see if I had picked up her BF's hoodie last night. I am lost and found. Things tend to remain lost in my keeping for a very long time. I get frustrated because people don't keep track of their shit. Then I lose stuff and am humbled.) Last night was a late one; I didn't go to bed until 2. I woke up feeling extremely achey and tired. I found it difficult to get up but I knew that I needed to feed my critters and those of a friend who is out of town for the weekend. 

I still need to do my business taxes. I have to be at work again tomorrow at 5:30 am. Then I need to scan those pictures. There is something else too, but I don't remember what. Oh yeah. Chiropractor. Practice tomorrow night, board meeting Tuesday. Event meeting and practice on Wednesday. Maybe I will skip practice tomorrow. I don't want to. Practice is keeping me on the downhill slope to a size 6, among other things. As always, something needs to give. As always, I fear it's my sanity. Or my health. There were things I was supposed to do yesterday to prepare for last nights event. I blew them off and went to the dog park instead. Aside from the twinges of guilt for not following through, it felt GOOD to get outside. GOOD to sit and chat, or not chat while the dogs rolled about. NOT GOOD to get peed on. (embarrassing, but kind of funny if you don't think about how gross that is)  GOOD to tend to myself and Chango's needs instead of other people's wants. 

I'm at that point again. I'm not sure what to do. If I had known three years ago when I first showed up at the rink that I would end up wondering if Derby was worth my sanity, I probably never would have guessed that it would go this far. With that league, I don't think it would have.  This one is needy like a spoiled child. I think it always has been. The skaters want all the wonderful things that derby brings but they aren't willing to work for it. There is a very small group of us who does. We all say the same thing. "I'd love to be able to just skate, but I can't not be involved." "It would be so much easier if I could trust people to get it done." There may be people who will. I need them to step forward. Soon.

Delving into the past

D sent me a text today. Not completely unusual, although I have been hearing from him more in the last week or so than I usually do in a year. No matter, the point is that he was wondering if I had any old pictures. 

Old pictures of him, and surprisingly, pictures of us together. It's been close enough to ten years since the end that I don't really remember how many years it's been. He's never asked for pictures. Of COURSE I told him I would dig, scan, and send.

I started digging in the usual spot. The flowery box where my pictures go to rest. So many photos. Friends, family, pageants, pets. Very few exes. Considering D and I were together for 5 years, I really expected more pictures of him. 

Suddenly, I felt strongly how little of a life we had together. A wedding we attended; he's not in a single picture. I remember now that he chose to wander outside instead of joining the festivities. Camping trips, ski trips, Vegas...nope.

Then I remembered the X Box. It was created for the very reason of cleaning D out of my intimate world. It's grown since then. Not in size but in contents. Tonight, I had to make a difficult journey into it. Difficult because D isn't the only ex in the box. The momentos are varied and sometimes strange. Letters between C and I. E's phone number, written on a gift card Stena gave me one year. Rocks, jewelry, a chunk of wood. The tiny flower on a pin that was on my plate my first date with T. Pictures. Lots of pictures. Mostly of D and of C. I pulled out the best of them (including a shot of me eating my first bowl of pho!) and a couple of other things, newspaper clippings he might like a copy of, his old business card from when we first started dating, his first headshot. Things that if I know D, he will want to see. 

It was a strange trip down memory lane. Upsetting at times (I should shred those letters but I can't) but I don't see harm in it as long as opening the box doesn't become a habit. It's not. I have no wish to go back. My life is different now and I really am enjoying the present. After finding the pictures, I still maintain that D and I lived very different lives and in our years together, we grew apart. I've never questioned that we make better friends. Like anyone in the box, we weren't a good match. Some were better than others, but all ended for a reason. It felt good to pack the box back up and put it back in my closet. 

Tonight, I shall dream sweet dreams of the future.

Trying to get back on the horse

I'm a crafty bitch. Period. We all know it. It's a universal truth. I must make stuff.

But I haven't been. I don't remember the last time I sat down at my Sewing Machine. The last time I knit something. (January, actually. For both, now that I think about it) The last time I spun a good yarn. Or a bad one for that matter.

Sure, I've been baking like crazy, cookies, muffins. There just hasn't been any craftyness since before the roommate moved out. 

I'm not blaming her. At all. She didn't make it easier with her gross out over my fibers (even the dirty ones are only as dirty as a dog that's been rolling around in the dirt all day! And most of them arrive clean and ready to spin) and her constant interruptions, but I was crafting with her here. 

The point is, that I ned to get back on it. No more excuses. Sam gave me some fiber to spin up for her and by george, I'm gonna do it. Like, this week. Maybe right now. Outside. In the sunshine since it's beyond lovely out there.

Lets hope Chango doesn't try to eat it while I spin it...

inevidable

It was bound to happen eventually in a small town such as this one. But these things never happen where and when you think they will.

I was out with Derby folk last night, drinking well whiskey and fruity shots when I glanced over and noticed a familiar face.

He worked there. In that evil place I don’t even like to look at as it towers alone in the middle of the valley, garishly lit with purple lights, half of which are burned out and have been since before I worked there.

I’ve been dreading for a year, since I walked out of the building, personal effects in hand, my head held high, determined, above all, not to cry as I wondered if my dreams of owning a home were dashed just as I had finally gathered the courage to put an offer on one. Wondering where I would work in a town where I knew no one except my boss who resigned by the end of that day.

Worse, it was his mother who pulled the biggest betrayal of all. Forcing me to attend meetings with spreadsheets that were incomplete, only to be told by the CEO that I was wasting his time. Telling me what a wonderful job I was doing; befriending me during long meetings in her office that I attended off the clock in order to get the job done, then whispering in the ear of that same CEO that I didn’t know what I was doing, and taking credit for those same spreadsheets, now complete.

She wasn’t the only one. I dread ever running into the other two.

I’m not sure if he recognized me. I’m sure he did, we worked fairly closely together at one time. It doesn’t matter. I didn’t acknowledge him. In my mildly intoxicated haze I didn’t know what to do. Not that I would have if I had been sober, but by the time I reminded myself not to blame the son for the sins of the mother, he was gone.

I tried to explain it to CNR. I imagine it sounded lame, but he doesn’t know how that situation devastated me. Not just financially, but it shook the foundation of my belief that people are inherently good and that those things only happen on TV. How could he know? He didn’t know me then. He hardly knows me now, and as time passes, the details of that story grow fuzzier. When people ask me now, how I ended up on Reno, I tell then that I came here for a job and that it didn’t work out. I rarely say where. I tell the story even less.

Life is so much better now. I’m glad I stayed in Reno. I’m glad I was fired. I’m sure I will always feel negativity towards that place, but there is nothing there for me. I do not miss walking through that building. I’m happy with the job that I have, have grown accustomed to making less money but also going home after 8 hours paid and knowing that as long as I do my best, I still have a job. As far as I know, no one here feels threatened by me. No one here undermines my ability to do my job. As far as I know. I think I will always be a little on edge about that. I wake up every morning, and I don’t dread going to work. I don’t have to give myself a pep talk about how it’s going to be a great day because I already know that it will be. My biggest issues these days are whether or not I remembered my lunch. (I forgot it today…)(Except for that one thing which is eating at me; more about that as time progresses) There are days when I laugh so hard I cry.

I hope that the next time I run into someone from there I have the presence of mind to at least smile. Wave. I don’t have to be friendly. I don’t have to hang out. I don’t have to be buddies. I want as little connection to that place as possible. The occasional text messaging conversation with the maintenance dispatcher or the increasingly rare telling of the story. That doesn’t mean I shouldn’t be polite to former coworkers. They are people too and chances are; they are just as unhappy as I was.

Um...

Have you ever had some bit of information that eats at you and you can't talk about it and it makes you uncomfortable and there's nothing you can do about it and it makes you think in run on sentences?

uh, me either.

I'll talk about it when I can.

AHHHHHH

After all that crap earlier, I feel much better. The rest of my day went pretty well and I headed to Home Depot after work for some gardening tools. 

I spent too much (hello. it's home depot. what did I expect?) and came home to find that Chango didn't tear apart anything today. YAY! 

Then we spent a few hours gardening. My yard isn't what I think it should be. The front isn't bad, but the back is all dirt and a poor neglected apricot tree. A few weeks ago I sectioned off an area and created a planting area for all the stuff I planted in little peat pellets. Most of them didn't grow or died. But I still have a few including peas that I will plant. I love fresh peas.

Today, I aerated the planter area, watered the lawn, aerated around the apricot tree and fertilized, planted my raspberry bush (after hanging the trellis behind it) shook my neighbors hand with dirt all over mine, replanted some bulbs from the back to the front, and aerated another area where I was going to plant cotton but I think I will put peas instead. (I'm excited about the peas). I'm also thinking that I might be a "throw the seeds in the dirt and they will grow" kind of gardener as opposed to the kind that plants in fussy little peat pods. I mean, if you can use them GREAT! I like how they grow when you add water. But, um, they've never worked for me. I might joke about having a brown thumb, but gardening runs in my family. I can't be THAT bad. 

I didn't aerate the lawn like I intended, but I can do that tomorrow. 

Right now? my hands are killing me. I have blisters. I'm dirty and sweaty. I have more chores to do. It feels good, though, to have spent some time outside in the dirt, just me and my puppybutt. 

Having one of those days

Do you ever have those days where little things go wrong or bug you to great degrees? I’m having one today.

Puppybutt did as I asked and tried to get me out of bed early this morning so I could play with him. I opened the bedroom door and let him out and snoozed a little longer. So he got into my purse. I’m as surprised as you that he did what he was told, he’s been sleeping until I get up. I’m sure it was coincidence.

I forgot my lunch (thankfully there is leftover KFC in the fridge. Not nearly as good as the Havana chicken I WAS going to eat for lunch, but, food. And, free.)

I was on time today!! YAY! (need to insert the positive)

Popped in and caught up on CNR’s blog this morning. Suddenly, I feel weird about reading it. This is a person I want to get to know better. I think I am going about it the wrong way. I can’t get to know him through his blog! Sure, I have gotten some insight into his person that way, but isn’t it better for me to learn direct?
Plus, for some reason, reading it today brought back memories of the time oh so long ago when I looked up E’s blog. And read his very graphic sexcapades. I remembered how it made me sick. And how I read about his many phone calls trying to cheer up another woman when he didn’t have time to call me on the days when he said he would. It hurt me and made me angry. It pressed my insecurity buttons. It did make it easier to end things though. I never looked at his blog again, fearing to read more graphic depictions. Fearing to see myself in his stories, even non graphic ones. Less about the fear though, and more about the health of my mind.
I’m not going to pretend that I will be able to resist the temptation to read CNR’s blog again, he knows I do, just as I know he reads mine. Instead, I am going to tell myself that I should get to know him in the usual way. By talking to him.
(PS. I know that CNR is not E. Their personalities are completely different and I cannot imagine him ever sharing the type of personal information that E dispensed with astonishing detail and sordid gusto)

My team captain sent me a message this morning asking if I would be able to attend the extra team practice at the skate park this evening. I replied that I didn’t know. That I had been out every night this week. That I needed me time and that my puppy needed me time too. She responded telling me what we would be working on and that it would be really good if I were there, even just for an hour.
I had a mini meltdown. (ok. The meltdown was entirely in my head) I’ve felt cranky about the team thing ever since I got placed on one. I am certain that I have a bad attitude about it even though I do my best to put on my smiley face and skate the best that I can.
Derby takes a lot out of me. Physically, mentally, and time. 4 hours a week of skating. Board meetings, planning meetings, research on merchandise and trips to the silk screener. Add team meetings, occasional trips to the fabric store for uniform ideas, extra practices…I’m tired. I need time off. These last couple of weeks have been hell between the bout (the week before a bout is always hectic. Even the night before, which I swore I would do nothing Derby was spent making signs for the teams with wifey.) and my family coming into town.
I sent her a message when the feeling of stress came over me letting her know that I wouldn’t be able to make it. I explained that I haven’t sat upon my couch in a week. I haven’t turned on the TV in longer than that. I mentioned being on the brink of meltdown. Her response? “Hahaha. Ok”
Which really wasn’t ok with me. I can’t figure out what could possibly be funny about someone else’s stress level being that high. Yes, I am aware that I bring a lot of activity into my life. There are definitely people out there who have more responsibilities than I do. Work, kids, school. Not all of them have another parent around to help them.
But then I think about my wonderful little puppy, acting out lately from a lack of snuggle time (last evening he wouldn’t eat until I cuddled him a bit) and my business, slowly dying from neglect. I have two friends that married each other this week and I wasn’t there. I missed two evenings with my mom to be at practice. One more hour. (not counting getting dressed and driving) One more hour was just too much. That’s why I don’t attend to the gym on Thursdays. One more night is just too much. It’s not her fault for wanting me to be there. And I’m sure the laughter was not intended to be cruel. It just added to the general frustration of the day.

I ran out of clean jeans today. I live in my jeans. I wear them constantly. Or, at least enough that I started buying dresses with the hope that I would put one on eventually. Since I was out of jeans, I pulled a pair of pants I haven’t worn since I left the last place I worked. I forgot that I am down a size since then. My shirt also decided today that it is worn out. I am feeling shabby. I hate to feel shabby. I imagine that most people would tell me I look fine and to get over it. But I don’t feel fine.

I think I need a nap.

The punishment for being nice

I am, I have to say, a little too nice. In wifey's words, I'm a doormat. I know that. She's one too. we support each other in trying to get up offa the floor and be mean.

Not really mean, but not doormats anymore.

I am becomming addicted to the word "no". seriously, the word "no" has been giving me a little bit of a high lately.

When the former roommate called me on Saturday to see if she and the dogs could come stay with me for a few days? I said no. It's no longer okay for me to have 4 dogs in the house. Plus, I just spend mad money on all new bedding and a lot of time on cleaning carpets and walls and such. No. I felt a little bad, but I have to look out for my own comfort now.

The guy who contacted me on messager while I was happily chatting with CNR the other night? (Back story. Many many moons ago, before B, this guy found me on the internet and wanted to chat on messager. I wasn't interested in him but agreed because I didn't want to be mean. then I decided he was strange. And funny how I was always too busy to talk to him. Or I would hide behind online invisible status. Finally, I deleted him for my contacts and didn't hear from him again. Until the other night when his green rainbow writing popped up asking for a messenger invite) I told him no. I told him that I decided that we have nothing in common. That my instincts were telling me that I didn't want to have contact with him. He still didn't get it. He suggested that we meet face to face so I could make up my mind for reals. No. I hope he finally got the hint. He certainly sent a pouty face.

Today, I walked into work knowing I had a lot to do. A LOT. I sat down and put my nose to the grindstone. Now, ordinarily I bend over backwards to make sure that my guys have the things they need but today, I'm busy. So when one of them asked me to head up to HR to get everybody a badge clip, I said no. I announced that it was just as easy for him to go do it as it is for me. And funny, how I didn't really feel guilty.

This is becomming a habit. My wife will be proud. I realized that the punishment for being nice is that I am inconvienenced a lot for other people's happiness. I WANT people to be happy, and I want to help them. Generally, I have no problem doing so and in many cases will look for ways to BE helpful. But my back is getting tired. I can only bend over for so long.

I'm sorry, how old am I?

Sometimes I forget, in my hurry to get the madness of the moment out of my head, just how public my blog is. How easy it is to find it, how easy it is for anyone to read my neurosis.

That has been the fun of the blog thus far. The ability to expound into the blogosphere (mostly) all madness I want.

Every so often, someone I know trips on it. Sometimes they tell me, sometimes they don’t. Sometimes, they leave cryptic comments letting me know that I know them but not enough info for me to figure it out. Yes, I look up IP addresses, that doesn’t always do the trick and FYI, I once was able to follow the trail all the way to a picture of the person’s house. I didn’t recognize it. I also didn’t research further.

Other times, the comment makes it quite obvious who it is and I want to sink into the floor and wish die because I’ve run my fingers off in such a way that I am now embarrassed.

Sometimes, that has been a good thing. When C stumbled across my blog, and read my frustrations about him, even though this was started nearly a year after he changed my life completely; reading it, and him confronting me about it healed our friendship in ways that time didn’t. And I am grateful.

As far as I know, it’s never been a bad thing. I have censored myself over the years, knowing that splashing details all over the internet isn’t the best way to maintain a healthy relationship. There were, for instance, a lot of issues I had with Biker Bob that I never mentioned because I knew he was a reader and while I really wanted to mention certain things, I knew they were too private to mention and the things that weren’t may have hurt his feelings. I never knew whether Louie read, and I doubt it, but I censored myself there too.

I don’t complain about work, knowing that it could get me fired. Hell, I won’t even mention what company I work for even though I generally give enough hints that it can be discovered (ahem. Buzz.). But even that last place, the one I hated, was safe from my complaints on the internet. I’m sure they read what I was up to. It was that kind of company.

But certain things, well, this blog would not be the same without them. Crushes on coworkers and such. General silliness and my adventures in internet dating. Tidbits about my relationships and the heartbreaks when they end. I have been accustomed to telling these stories. Used to being able to discuss with whomever might stumble upon me details that do get shared with the people in my life, but for some reason I need to share with strangers. Even if it embarrasses me later.

I’ll be hiding under my desk if anyone needs me. I have to admit though, that’s what I get for forgetting that I’m not in Jr High anymore even though socially, I haven’t quite matured that far.

Wass happinin hottt stufff?

Not much, really. 

Some derby drama. It comes and goes. Crushes, they come and go too. Current one is holding steady even though the ageist voice in the back of my head is yelling that I am plotting a cradle robbery EVEN THOUGH I would totally date someone the same amount of years older than me and we don't seem to have a problem talking to each other online through the evening. 

What we do seem to have a problem with is holding a conversation in person. Which is a bad thing and the insecure voice in my head tells me that this fella has lots of female buddies and that I may be getting primed to be another one. 

Which would be okay. Like I said, crushes come and go. And right now, event hough he's online, I'm playing the "I'm not contacting you" game because I don't wan to feel desperate. And as I write, the pop up pops.

My family was in town this weekend, and I didn't get nearly enough of them. There just isn't enough time in the day to play with my sisters and snuggle my niece and take lots and lots of naps. What there was time for was really bad pictures of me. Seriously, I need to take my new haircut and do something besides pull my hair back.

New hair cut. Layers. Still long.  not a very exciting piece of information. Sorry. Its the newest thing.  

Bad

I have been admonishing myself for days via twitter to NOT develop a crush on the CNR. It's not working. Especially because we spend a lot of time chatting. And he's cute.

Damnit. When will I learn?

Tired and Sore

The Mafia Mollies kicked our butts last night. Badly. Despite everything and I have to admit that I complained about a couple of major penalties that weren't called (one of which could have been ugly.) The simply out skated us. They work better as a team. Hopefully we can work past that.

Meanwhile, I didn't know that bruises could be turquoise, and my left hip, knee and ankle hurt.

BUT I closed the bar last night after the after party just sitting there talking with one of my girls and the cute new ref. Then I took them home since I was sober. Then I went home. And got to bed around oh? 5 am. I am tired. 

Relaxation and revelation

My roommate has moved out. Although it has only been a week, it feels like much longer.

We got along really well in the last week that she was here leaving me to think that my attitude was the bulk of the problem. I can accept that. As I resettle into my home though, I find little things that drove me crazy and I am reminded that I need to not repeat that experiment. 

There are also little things I miss. I am thankful that she was able to be at home with Chango so much. I didn't lose much in that first week. And I kind of miss how she would turn on the bathroom heater if she knew I was going to go take a shower. I love the bathroom heater.

Chango remains the best puppy ever despite his love for getting into precisely the things I want him to stay out of. I have learned to bungee cord the office door knob to the bathroom one.  I have also  learned to pick up my crap. It took a puppy to get me to be tidy(er) wow.

I've also been going through a purge period. To date, over the last month or so, I have taken two giant tubs of stuff to the thrift store, given away 1 pair of rollerblades, 1 microwave, and 1 pair of wrestling shoes (they were almost brand new. I had been lugging them about because I didn't want to get rid of a practically new pair of shoes. They are now a spare for a local high school wresting team. The school is in a fairly "poor" area. I'm super pleased with the outcome) I'm enjoying the freedom of giving things away to people who need them. There's still a TV on the table...

The bitchiness continues

We all knew it was coming. Being as I am peeking at men again, I am bound to post a conversation or two. I think I mentioned that one about the trucker. This one is not as scary, but my response is maybe a little too far on the B way. BUT since I have been referred to as a bitch twice in the last month or so, I think I am simply allowing myself to embrace my inner bitchiness. Wendy would be proud. She was trying once to to teach me the way, but I kept giggling.

Here tis

He:

Not Looking for a Happily Ever After

I am looking for a happy after. =)
You are seriously a roller derby chica?
That rocks hardcore.
If you have a brain (sorry, but your profile does not say one way or the other) I would love if you messaged me =)
I like strong chicas. But intelligence reigns supreme. =)

Me:

I'm not certain where in my discourse you questioned the existence of my brain, I had hoped that the brief mention of quantum physics and the fact that I consider it enough to make mention would suggest that I am more than a meathead on skates. I wish you all the world's luck in finding your happy ending, I don't think I am the woman you are looking for.

hee hee. I said happy ending and I don't think he will get what I meant. Maybe I don't give HIM enough credit. Come to think of it, that went beyond necessity and I probably shouldn't have sent it, but it's too late, I already did.

 

It's about damn time I dispensed some puppy butt cuteness

You see this spot? Right here? in this picture? (I'm a genius for taking this photo, by the way) This is Chango's favorite place. Right between my feet. 

Latest update

Life is about the same. Haven't chatted with any more crazies online; actually, I deleted the profile on forgotwhichonethistime.com, which my roommate convinced me I should go on. I just don't see any reason to pay $50 bucks a month to talk to the same yahoos that are on okcupid for free.

I'm enjoying my free time and my puppy. I'm looking forward to Thursday. A lot. 

That's about it. 

Mooving right along

Things are going good and I feel as though I am bouncing back nicely.

B and I are talking, not about a future, but trying to be friends. Yes, I am watching with a wary eye, and no, I am not spending any time with him. 

Instead I have jumped back into the internet game where I have found one handsome man who contacted me back in Nov. but I ignored since I was seeing someone. He hasn't responded to my message, but it's nice to know there is someone attractive out there. And another guy who I have exchanged a couple of messages with.

We won't talk about the trucker who invited me for a ride...To his house for a threesome with his wife. (ok. he invited me for a ride. his PROFILE talked about the threesome!) I told him I don't take rides from strangers. 

Then there's the cutie boy at work who suddenly became a lot more interesting when I discovered he can't possibly be 12 as originally thought, and you know, I'm suddenly single. (Is that like Suddenly Seymore?) 

And the new ref who is also very cute.

The girls are stepping up and trying to hook me up with... anyone. It's sweet. I feel loved. 

Puppy butt is... Cute. And a little bit naughty. He got into my yarn yesterday and I KNOW! Pictures...

Introducing Alcohol; The depressant

I'm really trying. And for the most part, I'm doing an excellent job in keeping a smile on my face. It isn't easy. But I know I will pull through. After all, it's been two days even though we both know that things were sliding rapidly in this direction for about a week. 

Last night, I went with Wifey to a party. Just a small one, really. BF-in Law was suggesting that I make a move on the Hostess's brother, and everything felt back to "normal"-The inlaws trying to set me up with any single man who came along, and me giggling and saying I wasn't opposed to trying. In my mind I was saying, "It's too soon".

I had two drinks. Mike's Hard Lemonade, figuring that I wanted to sleep in my own bed and didn't want to find myself passed out somewhere weird this morning. About 9:30, the weepies threatened. And I wished I had my car so I could go home. And for some reason, my hip was hurting (Still does. Im thinking delayed onset soreness from a fall I took Wednesday Night) I found myself quietly sitting on the couch.

Wifey must know me better than I thought because as soon as she saw me there, she offered to take me home. I accepted and here I am.

I'm still a little mopey. The Roommate has the next door neighbor changing her spark plugs. I am invited to the mechanics party but since I don't really ever talk to Tom, I don't feel right about it. I would rather pay a stranger than take advantage of a neighbor. Plus, I don't feel like driving the 10 blocks or so to the auto parts store. I would have to comb my hair. put some pants on that reach my ankles. leave the house. 

It was nice this morning, as it is most Saturdays, to get up before everyone else and start doing some chores. Chango and I had some quiet time with each other without al the dogs bombarding me for attention. I meant to drive to Mammoth to be with my family today, but that will have to be tomorrow. I'm sure I will feel better tomorrow. 

Working through the storm

B and I have been texting (who the hell allowed this to be a word? I mean, really? and yet, I use it...)  all evening about the quagmire we find ourselves in. No, this doesn't mean we are trying to fix it, but it has really helped me to discuss what we (ok, mostly me. He's just sorry and regretful) are feeling. We both know that it's not fixable. That the trust is broken.  He contacted me, I wasn't expecting to chat all evening but it's been a good thing excepting the fact that I forgot to eat dinner. Which really isn't that odd, I tend to neglect food when I am upset anyway. And, well, although I know it is not a viable way to go about it, I HAVE been holding steady over at Shrinking Piggies...

Sigh. This crap is never easy... That's life I guess!

Having a broken picker hurts

It’s over between B and I.

It turns out that he was lying about a lot more than just the ex wife living with him. Among other things, he is a pot smoker and anyone who knows me knows that is one of the biggest deal breakers of them all.

But he lied to me. Whatever reasons he gave, it was all a lie. He looked me in the eye and he told me a lie. He said were no more secrets. That he had come clean with everything. Apparently, there was more.

And once again, I feel like a fool. I don’t want to stop trusting people I don’t want to think that every man is lying. I wanted to believe him. And that hurts too.

I ended it over email, which I told myself I wouldn’t do ( I also said I would never pull a fade away because I know how much it sucks) but, as I told Wifey and Seester, I can’t sit across another table drinking coffee and hearing him promise that there are no more lies.

I told him I had no more understanding or forgiveness. I think I have had more than I should have. I told him I didn’t think we should try to be friends. I told him goodbye.

I’ve always hated goodbyes.

I deleted all of his text messages. Put all his remaining emails into a folder to be deleted later. I pulled him out of my contacts. Off my phone, and will be un-friend-ing him on Facebook. I’m not even sure how to do that but I guess I will learn!

But the funny thing is, that the universe brought a boy into my life last week. It takes good care of my feelings, providing comfort when my heart gets broken. I thought he slipped away but our relationship was cemented on Monday. And that one? Is a keeper. Pictures to come.

Later:

I wrote this right after the emails went back and forth, goodbye, goodbye. I managed to keep it together all day at work and all the way home. When I opened my facebook page, the first thing I saw was a poke from B, something that we used to joke about, something that between us was more than a friendly gesture. I lost it then. I still haven't found it and deleting him from my friends proved to be more difficult than I ever imagined. Without a doubt, I did the right thing. But it still hurts. I know, the end usually does, and I keep reminding myself of all the cliches. When one door closes, another opens. There's one out there for me. He wasn't the right one. There's plenty more fish in the sea.  I have heard them all. I have comforted myself with them more times than I can count. It still hurts. All day I kept expecting an email or text. That's normal too. I've been there before too. Too many times. You get used to that constant communication. I got used to Louie's all night text fests, I got used to the Cowboy's nightly calls and my weekly visits with him. I was accustomed to T's constant emails, after it was techically over between us (yet I still held onto hope)

I wanted a future with the man I spent my time with over the last six months. Really, the one he presented to me in the first place. He had 3 kids and an ex wife who lived healthy and happy in another house. His kids were well adjusted and he was drug free. He treated me kindly.

He never really stopped treating me kindly. He was just lying the whole time about most of it. That hope was dashed when I got that message on myspace. I knew in my heart that it was likely the beginning of the end but i wanted to try. I wanted to know that I gave it every chance. That I wasn't giving up at the first sign of difficulty. But truly? I also know that the first signs started months ago. The man I was presented was not the truth. Regardless of what he tells me he was never the truth. I have never (that I know of) been lied to like that. Small fibs, I'm sure. Those happen. There were even a couple I knew were lies but I kind of understood so I let it go. This is big stuff. The stuff that came out last week, invaded my every moment, especially on Saturday when every time I looked at him I thought, he lied. I think he knew what I was thinking. There was a tension that wouldn't go away. Maybe he felt that too. 

The evil ex? succeeded in his plot to make trouble. But I cannot blame him. He wouldn't have had any ammo if B had not lied.

How it turned out

B was an hour late for which I was pissed but slightly more forgiving on account of the flowers he brought. I know. I am a woman though and I can be bribed. I don't deny it. They're pretty.

Dinner was delicious and we worked well in the kitchen together where possible. It's a very small kitchen; really only built for one person at a time. I did my best to stay out of his way. Working well in the kitchen together is a very important point for me. 

Roommate stayed gone until 9 or 9:30 and only chatted at us when she came home, then out of her room to make popcorn, and I think one other time. Sadly, B was not feeling well and had to get home to the kids so he did not stay the night.

On the bright side, I am REALLY enjoying my clean house. And I started my garden today. YAY! AND I am enjoying looking through some old design magazines at ideas for redecorating the office when I take over the larger of the two spare rooms and turn the office into the spare room.

On the nerve wracking side, I think the roommate overheard me telling Wifey about how I refused to go out to her car in my slippers to get her phone for her. Even for a dollar. Two. Two fifty. She thought I needed the money. I already had shoes on (I have SLIPPERS on. White fluffy, fuzzy slippers. My slippers don't go outside. Especially when it is snowing out. It was just as easy for her to go put her shoes on and get her phone as it was for me to do it. It just wasn't worth the money. AND I am tired of doing things for money for her. Like yesterday when I put her clothes away for ten bucks when I was supposed to be cleaning the rest of the house before B came over. These are the things that stress me out. And make me ashamed that I agree to it. I am a whore...) So I'm talking to Wifey on the phone in my office-the door to which does not close all the way because I have shoe organizers full of yarn hanging on it, and I hear a noise. I'm not sure how long she was out there, I didn't hear her bedroom door open, and I really shouldn't care...

Valentines Day in my house

B is due to come over in about half an hour which means that I need to quit writing and get in the shower- I have been cleaning all day. For about a half an hour, my house did not smell like dogs.

The plan for the night is that he will cook me dinner, something he has not done yet despite his former incarnation s a cook. I will put a fresh clean sheet on the couch and we will snuggle up with a movie, something we have never done on the couch but last week tried in my bed with the portable DVD player. It was interesting, and fun to watch a movie in bed on a 5 inch screen, but I think I prefer to watch on the 48 inch. You know, because it's easier to see. 

My roommate has left to go to dinner with a friend of hers, promising to return no earlier than 8 pm and assuring me that she will go strait to her room and turn the TV up or, if we are in my room, camp out in the living room since the walls here are paper thin and she doesn't want to hear anything. 

We have, two hours to have a romantic and private evening. We still have to pick up the makings for dinner. I'm thinking she will be back in time for us to sit down for dinner. I wonder if she will decide to camp out in the living room or go to her room?

28 days

Update 6:40 pm

B fell asleep with the kids and is running an hour late. I'm eating anything I can find in the house because I am hungry. I am expecting to sit down to dinner at about 10 pm. 

Moving forward, backward.

 Monday was at best, a difficult day. I checked my email first thing to find a message had been sent through the Reno Roller Girls MySpace from the ex-wife’s on again off again boyfriend.

 I knew that there was trouble so I contacted B. Indeed there had been trouble the night before and he begged me not to call him.

 Of course you know that I did. Using very colorful language and doing my best harpy imitation I told him in no uncertain words to leave us alone. That he wouldn’t use me to hurt B.

 B was kept apprised of the situation and begged me not to contact him again. I promised. And I will hold to it.

 I knew that the trouble was not over, however and I was right, as a few minutes later a text came over the line. According to the poisonous prose, B and his ex were still living together and sleeping together.

 Once again, I checked in. And didn’t hear back for a long time.

 It’s true, apparently, that she is living there and has been for about a week, which explains why he was suddenly able to spend more time with me. It’s not so much that she is living there that hurts me, but that he didn’t tell me.

 I also learned that she has lived there most of the time over the last 6 months or so that we have been seeing/talking to each other. And all the little holes in the stories suddenly filled in. So, apparently, has the ex boyfriend. Both of them, staying in his house, allowing him to support them since neither of them tend to have a job. B allowing it since he won’t turn out the mother of his children.

 I met with him last night before practice to talk about things. He assured me that the stories would all be true henceforth. I told him I would need to think. That I don’t know what the right course of action is. 

 Part of me says to walk (RUN!!!) away. It says I should have done so long ago. It calls me a fool and an idiot for knowing things didn’t add up and believing him anyway.

 Part of me says that I can’t let the bad guy win even though the good guy wasn’t truthful.

 But I get hung up there. It’s not the bad guys fault B wasn’t truthful. And while I don’t want him to succeed in making him miserable and “ruining his life” I’m also not sure that I can have a relationship with someone who deliberately deceived me. In my head, that makes him a bad guy too. I told him in the beginning, before we even met in person, not to lie to me. And it has happened more than once. I thought we had gotten past that. It makes me wonder what else he has lied about and suddenly, I feel Dirty, Sullied. A fool, once again, despite his assurances that all of the untruths have been uncovered.

 Regardless, I know that the drama is not over. Ex Boyfriend is threatening a restraining order against me as he says I threatened him. I think that part is funny since he’s all of 6’2” which means I come up to oh, his belly button or so. And, I’m pretty damn sure I didn’t. But, you know, I was busy screaming like a harpy, which was actually kind of fun. B and the Ex wife are supposedly getting one against him. I have held up my end of the bargain and not responded to any of this.

 Apparently, I am also a psycho bitch which give me no end to the giggles.

I don’t generally do drama. I don’t need it or want it. But I tend to invite it somehow.

 B and I are trying to work it out. I am aware that I will constantly wonder what is true and what isn't, and that spells doom. But the thought of ending it made me feel REALLY sad. I'm still in "we'll see" mode.

In other news, Last week or so, an old coworker contacted me. I was a bit surprised because we had never been close. We chatted a few times and talked about making a custom soap basket for his fiancée, but that’s about it.

 I responded, of course, to his email, I don’t have a problem with him. Let him know the basics on what I have been up to with Reno and Derby and all that.

Monday night I got a message from him that disturbed me greatly.

 Apparently, I and my assets have been a subject of his fantasy life for years. I didn’t mind the part of the message that said he had a crush on me, goodness knows; I develop a new work crush every week. But when he asked if he could ask some personal/naughty questions, I yelled in terror and ran away from my computer. I finally responded, that I was not comfortable answering such questions from anyone but my boyfriend who would appreciate knowing there was a distinction. He apologized and I have not heard from him again. 

 How do I attract this?

 

facebook faux pas

as this has become my day of laziness, I was uploading all sorts of pictures to facebook.

In my travels through the histories of my pictures, I came across one from a friends wedding where we were dancing and I was looking especially great in my not-appropriate-for-a-jewish-wedding dress.

Upload, tag, post, forget.

She commented. I had hesitated only a moment before posting, and she pointed out the things that made me hesitate. The reasons why I should never have posted that picture.

It was 180 pounds ago for her. And she left that man in a rather painful ending to that marriage.

I deleted the picture and send her a note apologizing. But truthfully? I should never have posted it in the first place. 

I hope she forgives me.

How old are we again?

I'm not entirely certain how to properly relay the following story, so you will have to pardon me if it does not flow.

Last night, we had our first bout of the 2009 season. Weeks of planning, working lunches, meetings and errands culminated in one evening of roller derby madness. I even got sent to the penalty chair, 'Ole Dirty, for beating up my wife. I think it needs a good sanding, I had splinters in my butt. 

A few of the skaters from the other team in town showed up to watch. This is not unusual as we have been trying to foster a better relationship with them. We respect them as skaters and derby sisters and our skaters will occasionally attend their bouts in a show of support. It is an understood fact among those of us who have been skating with the Reno Roller Girls for any amount of time that they have a different philosophy on skating and therefor the oft suggested merger would not work out well. We don't want to be them, they don't want to be us. 

This time was a little different though. We have caught on tape, in the past, the sound of them bashing our style and skill. Last night, they actually approached one of our skaters and suggested that they come in and coach us. She was flattered and brought it to my attention, a bit on the excited side that they would want to help us. 

The sad thing is, they weren't looking to help. The offer was a condescending attempt at insult. I am not a member of the coaching staff and do not get involved with coaching matters, so I told her that she was welcome to bring the offer to the table at a league meeting. I knew it wouldn't go over well, but didn't think that the middle of the bout was a good time to bring up past injury and hurt, especially when we have been working so hard at mending the tears that occurred before and during my tenure with RRG. 

Fast forward to the after party, and the two skaters from the other team showed up and cornered one of our skaters in the bathroom. They insulted her, telling her she wasn't good enough to skate banked track, that she should stick with flat, that she was a crappy skater. That they have been trying to recruit her and blah blah blah...(I'm guessng that the blah blah blah was somethingt o the effect of she would get better with them, but it was a noisy bar and I have sucked down my SoCo and Seven like it was mana from heaven) My girl is one who has been working very hard in the year that I have known her to control her temper and I am very proud of her that she didn't try to fight them. She told them that her heart is with RRG and that she has no desire to switch teams. 

So they went and cornered another girl. And another. Threw drinks. Got punched. And kicked out of the bar. This was the point at which I returned, having left with Wifey to get some Jack in the Box since it was right next door and I hadn't eaten much that day. I saw them getting into their truck and overheard them saying something about how we were staged or something. We learned about the drama after we got back in the bar. 

Amazingly enough, they returned later and started more crap. And the glorious Mz V took them both on. I pulled her off and took her back into the bar; she has a kid at home and doesn't need to go to jail or deal with an assault charge. She was pretty fired up. The two skaters? I only got a good look at one of them. Of the two, one had a familiar name, but I don't know who is who. She is notorious though for having a little too much say in who gets to skate with her team. Rumor has it she will push you out if you are a better skater than she, although, she is, apparently pretty damn good. She is known for just this sort of drama.

What I don't get is why. Why would you come to someone's party and talk shit? Why would you come back knowing you are outnumbered? What is the point of insulting a group of people who really don't have any interest in you at all? I know some people just need drama. But this was just silly. I told Wifey she needs to call the president of their team and talk to her. Because, this is not what derby is supposed to be about. Friendly rivalry? Sure. But this was out and out insult. At our bout and after party. They PAID to get in and do this. (they don't get into our bouts for free as would any other team because the rink owner won't allow it. There is bad blood there. In return, we pay to get into their bouts) They deliberately undermined the goodwill that we have been trying to foster over the last 6 months. That sort of behavior can get you kicked out of my league.

I don't get it. I hope I never do. 

EDIT LATER

Wifey was finding out who the president of the the other league is so that she can discuss with her the behavior of those skaters, and  it turned out, that WAS the president. Wow. Not what I would want in a leader.

I grew some

Finally.

That's all.

The NEW WOMAN

I had an experience last night I don't think I have ever had before. 

B and I were heading out to dinner and stopped by the pharmacy to pick up a prescription for him. He walked up to the counter. I was wandering in the vicinity; that's what I do when shopping, I can't help it. I heard the pharmacist ask, "Oh, is this for (insert the ex wife's name here)?"

And I felt strange and awkward. He told her it was for him, but I still felt a little dirty and out of place. 

They knew him there, he's been going for several years, and it's only natural that they would assume he was picking up something for her. It's not likely that he has told him he is divorced. It's very likely he still picks stuff up for her because he's nice like that. 

But it still made me feel a little funny. I walked up and stood close. Human reaction; "He's not her's anymore, he's mine."  I imagine in their eyes though, I was the interloper. They may even think him a cheater. I know it doesn't matter what they think, if they thought anything at all (um, this is a small town. Everyone thinks something, trust me.)

I was glad to get out of there. Bound to happen, I know, I'm sure it won't be the last time. But that doesn't mean I liked it. 

Passive Aggressive Theater

I am currently trying to make sure that in the history of stubborness, mine is legendary. LEGENDARY, I tell you.

Each day, I grow more and more frustrated with my living situation. You know, the one I said I wasn't allowed to bitch about anymore. I can't help it. Especially knowing that her departure date is now sometime between March and April. 

How did two months stretch into nearly four? Hw is it that I have not said anything? 

I have learned that I can be bought. Not only did I put myself in this situation for the love of money (really, it was so I don't have to live paycheck to paycheck because I don't have any cushion, but as long as we are being dramatic...) But I have stayed in it because of that sweet golden carrot. 

One more month? sure, I can suck it up. Except that the assumption is that she can take her time getting out as long as I am paid for my time. And I have not corrected her. 

I need to. NEED TO REALLY BAD. I no longer want to be at my house. The smell of dogs hits my nose as soon as I walk in. It isn't because the place isn't vacuumed all the time, it's because there are TOO MANY animals in this house. Words I never thought I would say now exit my mouth every day. 

Friday night, I got home and the house was empty. For the first time in months, it felt like my house. And I knew I needed, for my own sanity, to tell her it's time to go. The first part of March. I need my space back. 

Have I done so? Nope. Instead, I do little things to try to annoy her. The turtles need more water because the tank is too loud? I'll get to it eventually. Dining table is a little too piled with my paperwork? I will get to that eventually too. Same with the dead flowers on the table. Eventually. 

She asked me to clean up a bit the other day. Eh. It looks fine.

This is not the way to handle things, I know. And I need to be a grown up. But I don't feel like it right now. It's so much easier to just be messy...

Broken

I have been diagnosed with a broken picker.

While that sounds like a fancy way to say that my finger is broke, know that the diagnosis didn’t come from a doctor, but from my supervisor who, after 8 months of hearing stories about them men that I do and have dated, decided that I just don’t know how to pick good ones. My picker is broken.

Following hot on the tails to this announcement, Tony, a coworker who has been nicknamed “The Angry Mustache” by another coworker, announced that he could tell me where to go pick up good men. According to his daughters, construction sites, apparently, NOT bookstores are the best places to find good guys. After all, only geeks hang out in bookstores.

Never mind that I have a boyfriend and although he has his issues, he treats me well and we enjoy each other’s company. I have my issues too. But should it so happen that it doesn’t work out between us, I’ll be sure to head to my nearest construction site to strut myself and maybe catch myself a good man who doesn’t spend time in bookstores.

Worth every ache

The other night, B came over for a visit. We decided to hop in my car and see where the night took us. (we rarely spend time at home since the only quiet places are the bedroom and the office. Well, and the bathroom but who wants to hang out in there?) We stopped for dinner and then got on the freeway.

B mentioned casually that he really wanted to go to the batting cages sometime but that he didn’t know where they were.

It just so happened, that I got lost one day and found them. So I showed him where they are. (It’s a really cool spot, cages, food, beer…) And we decided to hit a few. Or, I should say, he hit many, and I swung a lot. Mostly, though, I just watched.

I don’t think I have ever seen him ooze that much joy. His face? Was lit up. He looked 10 years younger in that batting helmet. (Not that he looks old by any means) It had just been too long since he indulged in a good batting session.

We’ll be going there again. I would gladly learn to actually hit the balls, and I want to encourage him to do the things he loves. I’ve been trying to get him back on his skateboard but he says he’s too old. I say, at 34, there’s no such thing. That’s what pads are for. I’m even willing to go to the skate park with him. I can skate there too. And yes, B, I will wear bootie shorts and fishnets. It’s good practice for me to get off the rink and play on the ramps. It’s something we can do together. And it’s good for his soul to do the things he loves.

I think it’ll stop making him feel so old…