Life with Blood Thinners

It's about the same, actually.

I'm no longer having pain, and only the occasional swelling, mostly after running at the gym. I'm being careful with myself so there hasn't been any bruising.

My sexy stockings give me thigh high muffin tops.

HM is being good about not pushing the alcohol.

My mother keeps calling to make sure I'm okay.

The Dr bills are starting to roll in. The ER visit is going to cost me thousands. Thousands for sitting there and watching Pawn Stars. For a warm blanket and a short ride in a wheelchair. For the occasional nurse to come in and feel up my leg.

This is after insurance discounts. It does not include the cost of the blood thinner clinic, the doctor, the Urgent Care nurse, the ultrasound tech, follow ups with my PCP, or my visit with my OBGYN to discuss my reproductive stuff going forward.

Don't even get me started on the insurance topic. Despite the fact that I have it, it won't kick in until I have paid $3000 out of pocket. After this, I'll reach that. But it's December. Which means that will reset for next year in just a couple of weeks. 

I'll be looking at secondary employment. I'm going to try going back to Bucks. I had fun there and have experience. It's only temporary, right?

Part 7 - Only I can milk a few days of shopping this long...

After my local gigantic sporting goods store yielded higher prices than I was willing to pay for logo gear to a school I did not attend, I went back to Target, figuring that I could wear a compression bra to make the shirt fit better. Take away my boobs, and I suddenly don't have a pin-head and I actually look slender. I always wondered why anyone would want a minimizer bra...

Since the day before, when I was there last, Target had shirts in my size. I went for the jersey style and bought a warm shirt to layer under it. My friend Countessa had already offered to loan me her parka from when she played softball for the college and I had picked up some leggings at the Old Navy Outlet for a very reasonable price to wear under my jeans.

FINALLY satisfied with my prize, I headed home.

The game better be good. In fact Nevada had better win it.

Although the process was REALLY frustrating, I am kind of glad I went through it. I'll be thinking twice before I buy something, and checking the fabric and the seams a little more closely. I work to hard to throw away my paychecks on garbage.

Part 6 - Seriously? Part 6?

I did what any other person would so in my situation, I bitched on Facebook, and received a few welcome suggestions on where to pick up a shirt in town.

I hit the hospital near my work. While they had a great selection, their prices were high and shirts, while better quality, were thin. Even the outerwear was thin. If the wind is going to blow right through a fleece jacket, you may as well not spend 50 bucks on the fleece jacket. I was less angry with the purchasing agents at the hospital because, it's a hospital, not a clothing store.

I returned to work where I had my epiphany.

I'm no longer going to spend my hard earned dollars on mediocrity.

I thought that should be big and bold. Because it's important and I hope more people adopt this philosophy. We buy a lot of crap, us Americans. And by buying crap and accepting low quality, we are telling buyers and manufacturers that this is acceptable. Suddenly, all we can get is crap and then we bitch about it.

I know this means that I will have to pay more for what I want. That there will be less impulse buys of stuff because it was cheap. But I also fail to see why that is a bad thing. I think I will save money in the long run because I won't have to replace crappy stuff AND when it comes to clothes, I'll feel better about myself because I won't be worried about whether you can see my belly button through the incredibly thin shirt I am wearing. Self confidence is worth a few more dollars.

Meanwhile, in my own products, I will have to ensure that what I produce is top notch. I already have standards, but I think I need to raise the bar if I am going to expect other producers to raise the bar as well.

This also means I'm going to have to quit talking about it and dump AT&T as my internet provider because the service I am getting from them is sub par.

Yes, I am totally calling out brand names and big companies because I know they have web crawlers out looking for this stuff. And good. I hope they are listening. I know for certain that AT&T didn't hear me when I told their CSR that their service was unreliable. I know because it is STILL unreliable.

Part 5 - An Angry Shopper can be dangerous

I arrived at Kohls hoping to find what I was looking for. Although they did have some cute shirts in Women's sizes, and I did try one on, I just couldn't bring myself to buy it.

The quality was poor. Really poor. "This won't survive my washing machine" poor. And tissue thin. There's snow in the hills right now. These shirts, would be better sold in the desert. The Sahara Desert, not the high desert of Nevada. Suddenly I was cranky all over again, because they were trying to sell me a shirt, which was very inappropriate for the climate where I live, for $25, which, having handled the logo merchandise for the Reno Roller Girls for over 5 years, I knew cost $2. Maybe less. They buy a lot more of them than I could ever afford for RRG and I was paying $10 per shirt printed (Women's. Men's shirts are WAY cheaper) . For WAY better quality. (I'm a big fan of District Clothing by the way, if ever you are looking to get something printed) I said it on Facebook, and I will say it again. Russell Athletics should be ashamed to put their brand name on such a low quality garment. And the buyers at Kohls should consider the quality they are putting in their stores. If the quality had been higher, I would have paid the money.

I stomped around the store a bit to see if I could do better, but was unable to find anything suitable. I left and returned home, having visited 4 different stores without finding a shirt I could wear to work or the game, which was rapidly approaching.

Part 4 - The longest shopping story ever

Back to Target I went, this time hitting the OTHER Target. I returned the too-small shirt intending to exchange it but there was no XL. In the shirt I wanted. I briefly considered going for a jersey style shirt, but they were a little more expensive and they didn't have an XL in that one either.

To Wal Mart. The selection there consisted of Men's shirts or Juniors sizes in bright pink. I don't wear bright pink, and I know for a fact that HM won't be seen in public if I am wearing that color. Hell, don't blame him, I won't be seen in my HOUSE in that color.

Now, I am cranky. I'm angry with the buyers at these major shopping chains who don't do their due diligence in discovering the popular sizes. I'm angry because the options are limited if you are a woman, and quite frankly, it tends to be the women who do the shopping for these things. I could have chosen a shirt for HM in five minutes that I am confident he would like, but for myself, there was nothing. Unless I wanted something ill-fitting or age inappropriate.

I'm really trying to class it up. I've been retiring some of my tighter, low cut shirts in favor of better fit and less cleavage. I know, that sounds completely unlike anything I have said before, but truthfully, while that stuff was okay in my 20's I'm in my mid thirties now. I don't want to be that old lady with her boobs hanging out everywhere all the time. (Derby doesn't count.) It's past time for me to aim for Ann Taylor instead of Anna Nicole Smith.

I headed to Kohls, already bordering on irate.

Part Three - The Journey Begins

Knowing that I was going to be needing some Nevada logo gear and also knowing that I needed a gift for my favorite twins, I headed over to Target.

While there, I found birthday cards, neat stuff I didn't buy, no presents for the twins, and a shirt. Score! mission accomplished at the first store. WOOHOO!

They didn't have a large selection, but they had a few things in Junior's sizes that were okay. The Women's cut shirts looked like they were better off in the rag bin. Very low cut, cheap material and not at all cute. Whatever, I can wear a Juniors cut as long as it's an extra large. The shirts available in this cut were better quality, not low cut, and a reasonable price. All they had was large.

Okay. Well, I've been working out and eating better (shut up Top Ramen) so perhaps I can wear a large. I headed out and across the street to Total Wine where I found gifts for the twins and plenty of my favorite vodka for me.

Upon arriving home I discovered that I could not, indeed, wear that shirt.

Damnit.

Part two - Gauntlets have been thrown

Last Friday, I was sitting at my desk in my favorite white oxford shirt (I can't help it. I feel a little more classy in a white button down with jeans instead of a sweater or a tee shirt) supporting my local college team by wearing the right color, when our courier came by.

Sometimes, if she has a bit of time, we chat a little.

She asked me where my Wolf Pack Logo Gear was and I explained that even after 6 years of living in Reno, I don't have any.

Oh boy. Wrong answer.

I learned that this is not acceptable. That I need to head down to my local ANY store RIGHT AWAY and pick up a tee shirt. I've always thought it is a little silly to wear the logo gear of a school you have not attended, but when in Rome, you do as the Romans do. It turns out, I would have to go shopping.

Not long after, my friend came along and offered me tickets to an upcoming game. I took them with the caveat that I would return them if I wasn't going to use them, and I called HM.

When HM learned that I did not have any Nevada logo gear, he announced that he wasn't going to be seen with me unless I was wearing some.

Now I REALLY have to go shopping. But I didn't mind, I had seen those shirts all over the place and wasn't worried about finding something suitable right away.

Boy, was I wrong.

An intro to the football shopping saga

I live in a college town. A college town without an NFL team. A college town without an NFL team that LOVES some football.

I like football too. On Sundays, I can be seen wandering about my business in my Chargers tee shirt (I have to buy them down south because up here, it's all about the Niners and the Raiders and while the Niners are okay, I won't even TOUCH a Raiders tee because I'm not a thug and I don't want Raiders cooties to rub off on me.)

I like football, but HM LOVES football. I'm learning a lot about the game from him and, while he has his favorite NFL team, Nevada tops his list of college teams, so he goes to the games when he can and tailgates and does all those things you are supposed to do at all football games, but I thought were exclusive to NFL games. I don't think I know anyone who goes to SDSU games. Maybe they do but don't talk about it. I don't know. I really only started getting into football when I was living with Poo because, Cowboys.

I have learned in the years that I have lived in Reno, that you are either a Nevada fan, or, shut up. This even bleeds into work where, on home game Fridays we are allowed and encouraged to wear our fan gear with jeans and show our pride. Pride in the Wolf Pack (which, interestingly, was my High School mascot as well. This caused some confusion when I moved here. With all those Pack stickers on people's cars, I thought I had moved to a hotbed of West Hills Alumni) but nobody else.

A couple of years ago,  I unknowingly wore a red shirt on homecoming weekend. I thought my coworker Rob was going to blow a gasket. I was ignorantly wearing the other team's color. Reno and Las Vegas have a pretty strong rivalry and there's something about a cannon that gets painted depending on who wins and gets to take it home. I don't know. Still learning.

Until last week, no one really said anything to me as long as I was wearing white or blue (not red!!). Last week, things got a little crazier.

I can't win this game

If you know me at all, you know that I am not one of those fashion conscious sorts. I think about it, but typically decide that the current trends are too expensive, OR better suited to a 12 year old.

With the advent of Pinterest, however, I get so see all sorts of outfits that I would wear if I had the money to buy them. In the meantime, at work I wear work appropriate, at home, it's jeans and tee shirts.

The other night, I was advised not to roll my pants. You see, I am too tall for "short" pants and too short for "regular" so sometimes my pants are a little long. I HATE walking on my pants so I will roll them up once to keep them off the floor. I am admittedly too cheap and lazy for hems, but appreciative of the occasional fashion advice.

Today I was thinking that I would like to upgrade my look which means shopping at places like Banana Republic instead of Wal*Mart and Target. I'm okay with this, I need to start dressing like a grown up instead of a street urchin in hand me downs. I FEEL BETTER about myself when I look good.

I went to the BR website, and then to the Gap where it turns out that current style dictates that I should be rolling up my pants.

Nice.

Of all the habits for a ghost to have

I was sitting in my living room the other night, watching Bones, of course, when I was overtaken by an odor. The front door and windows were closed.

Suddenly, my house smelled like pot.

I'm certain that at some point in the past, I have ranted about how much I dislike the drug and the smell of the drug and anything that has to do with the drug.

You can speak to me all day long of medicinal properties, and while I will admit there likely are many, I still don't like it. Yuo aren't going to change my mind. This is a lifelong hatred with many levels of reasoning behind it and quite frankly, I don't think I need to fix it, I'm fine with hating pot.

I went outside, and sure enough, there was an odor out there too, so it's very likely that the smell came in through the back door, which is actually close to the front of my house.

Which means that either someone was smoking pot close enough to my house that I could smell it at my front and back doors and along the path in between (without me hearing footsteps or alerting the dog) OR my ghost has a very unwelcome habit.

They just don't get it

I have a friend who is frightened of clowns. I don't mean that she doesn't like them, or even that she hates them, I don't mean that she would rather not meet one in a dark alley.

I'm saying that the mere sight of a clown will cause possibly-pee-your-pants paralysis.

I would hate to see what would happen if she DID meet one in a dark alley, but suffice to say, she's extremely healthy and would probably survive the massive coronary. Probably.

In the 5 years that I have known her, I have tried my best to protect her from the clowns. They are everywhere. I have learned to scope out the garage sales before she gets out of the car so that I can tell her where not to look until I can turn pictures around or hide dolls. We don't go to the circus. No haunted house at Halloween (the year we worked at one, we knew where the clown was and she was mostly able to avoid it) Parades are a frightening ordeal. In fact, she put on the next parade application that we need to be as far away from clowns as possible because we were RIGHT BEHIND them last time and she almost had to leave.

I'm one of the few people who gets it.

Most people are assholes.

Here's the thing. It's one thing to know someone doesn't like something. It's a whole other thing to intentionally expose them to that thing. And when the thing in question is an outright phobia? It's downright cruel.

I've seen scary clown stickers left on her car windshield. The kind with brightly colored noses and long pointy teeth placed in a manner in which she cannot help but view it upon sitting down in her car. I've been there when people have sent text messages with clown photo attachments. They get posted to her facebook wall, emailed, you name it, people have made sure that she has exposure in every creative manner you can imagine.

Clearly they haven't seen her crouched in fear behind a pickup truck trying to avoid visual contact. Clearly they have not witnessed the reactions, the frozen fear, the sudden intake of breath.

Imagine people exposing you constantly and intentionally to the one thing that terrifies you most.

People don't get it. People can be assholes. I expect this sort of behavoir from children who have not yet learned that other people are people with thoughts and feelings too, but not out of adults. Especially adults who like you.

This is not a woman who offends easily. The things she jokes about would make a porn writer blush. She loves a good prank and can take a joke.

I don't think this is a laughing matter. As I pointed out to her last night:

Would you put a clausterphobic in a coffin?

I didn't think so.

Dear Lady on the Freeway behind me this morning

Hi. It's the Soapgirl in front of you. Please note a couple of things before I begin.

First, the sticker on my back windshield will likely give you the impression that I am involved with The Reno Roller Girls. This is true. It means that I like to skate. And I like to skate fast. So I'm not really going slow to piss you off.

Second, I drive a 12 13 year old 4 banger. This means that although I like to skate fast, and I also like to DRIVE fast, sometimes it takes my little jalopy a bit of time to get there. Especially when there is a slight incline. yes. Slight. My Honey has never liked hills, even when she was a new jalopy.

As we moved out of the traffic at what is known around here as the Spaghetti Bowl where, not far from the interchange there were at least two accidents, I noticed that you were riding my butt. Wow. You were close. My speedometer said just less than 65, but I was working on accellerating. I would have accellerated sooner, but, there was traffice stopped on the freeway which means I proceeded with caution. And boy, you were riding my butt. I didn't move over.

I wanted to move over to get out of your way, but you see, I learned in High School Physics that matter cannot occupy the same place at the same time. I think that's Newton's first law of dumbass or something, which, I'm guessing you didn't learn because you were doing your best to meld with my car. I will be a little crass and tell you that my car doesn't like to take it in the rear.

As soon as I passed the semi truck on my right (putting plenty of distance between us so that I didn't cut him off), I put on my blinker, checked my review (oh my! you are even closer!), checked my sideviews, and then checked over my right shoulder because my darling car has lots and lots of marvelous blindspots and I want to live a very long time.

Then I started to move over so that you could go on your merry way. BUT WAIT! This was not fast enough because by the time I started moving over, you sped up and got over to the right and started to overtake me.

Thankfully I saw you and swerved back into my lane and also got to see you give me a dirty look as you passed me up. If I hadn't swerved suddenly to the left, your left front fender would have been hit by my right rear quarter panel resulting in a pretty ugly accident that we both would have been lucky to have survived given the velosity and the angle of impact which likely would have put me in a spin and given my high center of gravity, maybe a flip, which would have REALLY sucked because we were on an overpass.

Did we hypothetically live??

No we didn't. Because at freeway speeds, there is no way that semi truck would have avoided hitting our cars had we avoided going over the railing. On a two lane overpass, even if one of us was in each lane, someone would have been hit by that semi. And maybe, because those things are WAY more delicate than they show in the Cannonball movies, he might have jackknifed.

As you drove off, weaving through traffic, I hoped that wherever you were going was worth your life and possibly someone else's, because by the time you left me in the dust, I was going about 70 mph and you were passing everyone else, which puts you at 90 to 100 mph.

Just wanted to bring it to your attention that your extreme driving techniques nearly killed me and maybe you.

You're welcome for the physics lesson, asshole.

A sense of entitlement

I met a new fellow the other night, a new friend who, in the course of conversation, said something really interesting. And really true.

He said that he dates a Japanese girl because he got tired of American women's sense of entitlement. (I'm sure she is lovely and wonderful in many other ways too) He mentioned with emphasis, that she is very respectful.

I don't think that this is the sort of man who expects a woman to cower and bow, I truly think that he just appreciates that she treats him nicely.

I don't think he is wrong.

There are exceptions to every rule of course, and I hope that I am one of them, but I do agree. American women sure seem to have a sense of entitlement. I hear them talk. I get the encouragement from people I know.

"He needs to do this or that for you"
"He better be taking me out for a nice dinner"
"I/You deserve a man who..."

It's not that I think that women should settle for a man who doesn't treat her right (which sounds so wrong coming from me given my history. There are many untold stories here). But when I consider what is "right" I think of the running list of things in my head that I DON'T deserve. For example,

I don't deserve to be treated like I don't matter.

I tend to think though, that this basic human kindness. No one deserves to be treated like they don't matter.

But back to the topic at hand. I don't think that there's anything wrong to desire a man who showers  your with gifts and dinners and his undivided attention if that's what you want. But I don't think it should be expected. Because no one really deserves it. There's a huge difference between wanting and deserving. American women really need to remember that. We don't deserve things because we were born women. We shouldn't expect things because we were born in a country where our worth is not measured in cattle. How is that any different than measuring a man's worth by the size of the diamond you made him buy you?

Lie to me

It's rare to meet a person who isn't going to lie to you. I can generally tell if someone is fibbing, I just won't say anything. 

Like that guy I dated who lied about just about everything. I knew that his stories didn't line up, but I like to trust people. However, despite my head-in-the-sand mentality, I knew something wasn't right and when the truth came out, I wasn't as hurt as I would have been otherwise. Suddenly, the stories made sense and I was able to see that the entire 5 month relationship had no foundation. I was glad I had refused to meet his kids. A few days later, Chango lay his little puppy head on my shoulder and I lost my heart to a far more reliable male. Dogs will never lie to you. Also, if you give away their children, they don't get upset.

I've learned to trust that instinct. That doesn't mean I always act on it, sometimes to my detriment, but I recognize it and take note. File the information for later use.

That is not the point of this story.

Last night, my gym lied to me.

When I signed up over a month ago, they told me that I would have to meet with a personal trainer whether I wanted to or not. Unfortunately, the soonest available time I could attend a meeting was a month out. I wrote it down, but still forgot. Dangit! The trainer was supposed to give me the little scan card I need to get into the facility instead of having to check in manually with reception every time. Annoying.

Last night, I went out of my way to attend the gym where I signed up so that I could go ahead and get my card. The receptionist told me that only the trainers have them and that I'd have to make another appointment with the sales guy in order to get it.

Let me make this clear. I do not want to pay a personal trainer. My experience with them has not been good and I can generally rely on myself to kick my own butt. Also, I don't need someone to tell me I'm fat because I have a high BMI. While I do need to lose some weight, I'm not actually fat, I'm dense. I do not float, I sink. Most trainers don't want to hear these things, they just want you to buy their services. And I get that, but I'm not interested.

So, after my 45 minutes on the arc trainer, I showed up dripping, to my sales guy's desk. I waited for him to notice me (I love sales people who don't need you after the sale. jerk. Clearly my "he just wants your money" instinct was right on there.) and asked to make another appointment. He responded that they can do that up front. I casually let him know that they had sent me to him and (played a little dumb) announced that I'd go make the appointment with them.

Back up at the front desk, I spoke with the first girl. I told her that Joe had told me I could make an appointment with her. She looked a little baffled. Then opened a drawer and said "Oh look! We have one left!" and produced a scan tag. Then she acted all conspiratorial as she got it assigned to me. Like we were getting away with something.

All I could think was, if you're going to lie to me, at least try to hide it. OR be so obvious about it that we both undertand that you're just following protocall, you know?

Please treat me like a lady

I've been rolling this around in my head like marbles in a glass jar since last night. Not only am I not sure how to approach it but I am not sure if perhaps it is just me. If maybe I missed something (else) in my upbringing that said that this is normal and that I am not. But I don't think so. I don't think so because it's upsetting and makes me feel icky. And in that case, I can generally say with certainty, that it's not me, I'm just the one who is calling out for change.

By the way, I know exactly where my marbles are. My purse, on the other hand, is still missing.

I'm talking about the way I am treated by men. Not all men, mostly men my age. Some that I have dated, some I am not interested in that way.

I look at myself and ask how I can possibly be inviting this, and I really don't think I do. 

Last night I got into a conversation with a fellow through the game I am allowing to suck my time away on Facebook. Within half an hour we went from "how's life in NYC" to "Maybe I'll cook you breakfast sometime" There was no innuendo. There was no discussion on what we were wearing. Sure, we might have been talking about cooking, but I'm more interested in trying out his recipe for chicken marsala than finding out if he makes good pancakes.

Breakfast. I know what that means. I'm not an idiot. How nice that you want to sleep with me, but really? I've never met this man in my life and you are talking about cooking me breakfast? Then you ask about my "tits and ass"? REALLY? Do I have them?? (I replied that I'm a woman I have them.)

I'd write it off as "this guy is an asshole" but honestly, I have been running into similar things for many years. And it was underlined by another fellow I was talking to last night who is just a friend, but in the process of trying to make me blush; he brought up a couple of things that I didn't think was appropriate in a platonic conversation. I brushed them off, but...

Why in the world would a man make a reference about me riding lawnmowers like I would a man? What does it matter what kind of underwear I wear?

What makes it any one's business what I do beyond closed doors? I try not to talk about my sex life (except in reference to not having one, but even then, not so much), it's no one's business - as far as anyone is concerned, I am neuter unless I choose to tell you otherwise. I think of you the same way unless I am sleeping with you or hoping to.

Is that it then? Do men only talk to me because they are hoping to sleep with me? Was the last boy correct when he said that people only talk to me if they want something? That was not the world I was brought up in. In my family, we talk to everyone. It's hard for me to understand that every person who approaches me wants something from me. And that idea makes me want to retreat into my shell and stay there.

Except that it's not just acquaintances and men on the Internet. (who seem to think that if I am talking to them that I want to sleep with them.) There are a couple of men that I have dated who, in hindsight, treated me more like a bit of meat rather than a partner with boundaries. Like the one who tried to grab a handful of hooha in the middle of a party. And the one who, recently, sent me text letting me know that he had an erotic dream about me. We haven't dated in awhile. He has a girlfriend. I still haven't mentioned that it's over between the last boy and I, so as far as he's concerned, I still have someone in my life. Ok, that's the same guy. But there are other examples with other people where I look back and I think, wow. He didn't respect me at all.

We watch TV shows like Mad Men and marvel at how chauvinistic the men are. We are amazed at the blatant sexual harassment that occurs in the workplace on that TV show, but as soon as we walk out the door of our workplace, suddenly all bets are off.

Perhaps I am wrong. Perhaps this is the manner in which men and women are supposed to interact. Perhaps my dislike of it is what keeps me from being in a lasting relationship.

It just seems to me that men and women should be able to show interest without making the other party feel dirty and used. It seems to me that I should be able to have a conversation with someone without sex entering the conversation. My mind is as dirty as the next one. And in the proper setting, I really let loose sometimes. Not to strangers. Not personal things. More along the lines of "That's what (s)he said" and other one liners that appeal to my inner 12 year old.

I suppose the trouble is, that I am looking for men to behave like gentlemen. And yes, I do think a woman should act like a lady. I try to. And I expect to be treated like one. 

Why do I fear that I am going to continue to be disappointed?

Communication is key

I try not to complain about my job (here) because this IS a public forum and I would like to keep my job. But the following conversation is happening RIGHT NOW and it illustrates that clear communication is important. And a time saver. Mind you, the information I need is currently less than 5 feet away. But asking her interrupts her work flow. I can look it up, but that is causing me extra work that could have been communicated in less than 50 keystrokes.

coworker: Can one of you pick me up at the airport?
me: are you there right now??
(insert very long pause)
Coworker: No, tomorrow.
me: what time?
(I am still waiting for the answer to this)

She could have saved us a ton of effort and emails had she simply said, "Can one of you pick me up at the airport tomorrow at 8:30?"

I run into this a lot. People assuming you know what they are thinking and in the process send messages in a manner that is truncated. Or that since the information is availbale somewhere, you chould just go look it up.

For example, I might ask, "Do you want chicken or fish for lunch?" and you reply, "Yes."

This sort of thing makes me want to start drinking at work. Unfortunately, I would get fired. See above.

Sigh.

It's been more than 30 minutes. I'm still waiting to find out when I am supposed to pick her up.

Later...

It's been three hours. I just sent another message which said, "I will happily pick you up at the airport tomorrow but I need to know when your plane lands"

I did check her calendar (nothing) and I do know when she is supposed to land, but really? She needs to tell me when to come and get her. Principle.

The next day...
Pickup went great; her phone had died. BUT I made sure we are all set to get her back to the airport and have confirmed date and time for pick up again next week. I'm a planner. It's what I do.

Censoring my inner asshole

I need to remind myself that just because I can be an asshole in my head doesn't mean I need to share it with everyone. I understand that this makes for some entertaining or conversation provoking blogging, but that doesn't mean that is who I want to be.

These things are being written because the last couple of days I AM being an asshole in my head. And I DID share the assholery with Bratty... and those things that were coming out from my mouth? Sounded even worse verbalized. Partially because she belongs to the demographic I was ranting against. But she? Tends to get a pass because I love her.

So since I didn't get the relief I was looking for from her, I came here and started typing it out. Yanno what? the assholery grew. It didn't get better, it grew. I don't feel better for having shared it, I feel like I should feel guilty for feeling the way that I do.

Not a good way to spend the day. In the end, the more I bitch about it, the more I am the bitch. I am reminded that I need to stop expecing a cookie for being part of the village, and for doing my job. Goodness knows, thats a behaviour I don't accept from other people, why should I accept it from myself?

I'll just plan my own damn marathon.

My coworker in the next cube, you know the one, with the rock garden, also likes to run. And by running I mean that she trains for marathons and actually does them.

I find this woman to be particularly inspireing because she isn'e like your typical marathon runner. When I think of marathon runners, I think of really skinny men in tiny, tiny shorts and socks and running shoes bursting through a ribbon with a look of well, a picture is worth a thousand words.

photo from http://www.oregonlive.com/

I don't think of Debby who looks like a normal person of her age and has a granddaughter on the way. She looks like I imagine I will look when I am her age. (I hope I also have her attitude.) She isn't old, just, you know, not 20 and musclebound. I don't think...

ANYWAY

Several months ago, she told me about the Nike Half marathon where women go and run around San Fransicso and handsome firemen present them with Tiffany's. Apaprently, this event is so huge you have to get into a lottery to hopefully get in. I think my cousin did it last year.

I thought about training for it but then I got Netflix.


Debby came around the corner today with her pouty face on. She didn't get in.

Now, I don't know how you could not want a Debby, but apparently there just isn't room for her to oogle some fireman and get sparklies. I like sparklies. They don't have to be Tiffany's, but I do like the color of the box.

So I have decided that i am going to host my own dang marathon. I'm going to have a marathon and hand out... sequined pasties.

Does anyone know how to host a marathon?

My own damn fault

Do you want to know my new secret to not spending money?

Accidentally double paying my mortgage so that I am rediculously overdrawn.

damnit

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.