I went in to check my spam queue (that’s a fun word to type), and I found a comment on my “Just a Quickie” post saying they had missed the point.  It made me laugh and didn’t offend me at all because I very often get on here as a brain purge.  So there frequently isn’t a point other than I’m thinking outloud through my fingers.  So y’all are the lucky readers of my random thoughts, ramblings, gibberish, and all that whatnot.  Yay for you!  Anyway, I fixed the comment so it’s on that post (as well as another saying they agreed – I’m not sure if they agreed that they missed the point or if they agreed that it sucks that there aren’t Dairy Queens in the sort-of country or what, but it wasn’t spam so I put it where it belonged).  My point is (hey!  I have one!!!) that if your comment isn’t spam, I’ll allow it.  Unless you’re an asshole.  Then I just say it’s spam and delete it.  The spam filter on wordpress is pretty decent though, so it’s rare that I have to recover comments.

K, on to the good old random crap that I write.  I bought a new car, finally.  My old car wasn’t old, but it wasn’t really mine either.  See, when I got divorced, I was driving a Lexus that my ex bought me, but it was in his name.  He was supposed to get it put in my name, but never got around to it (it was a lease, so he would’ve had to buy it and then sell it to me which means he would’ve had the payments on the lease accelerated and due all at once.  Whatever, he can afford it).  Since I’m moving out of state, I wasn’t interested in bringing a four year old car which is out of warranty and not in my name.  So Munchkin and I went car shopping.  So not fun.  Oh dear God, please I really hated car shopping.  I ended up getting a Ford Escape.  I originally wanted the hybrid, but there’s like a nine month waiting list, and I didn’t have that kind of time.  Plus, you end up spending like ten grand more than I spent, and there is no way in fuck you’re going to recover that in gas savings.  I feel bad saying that because I wanted the hybrid more for the enviromental reasons than the gas savings, but you know, a girl has to be practical too.  Anyway, it gets the same mileage in a V-6 as my car did, so I’m okay with that.  My payment is the same, and this one I’ll actually own.  I won’t do a lease again.  I’ve named her Dori (like in Nemo because of “Es-cahp-ay”).  I do get a little sad when I see a car like my old one though.  And I’ll miss the weekly free car washes that I really never took advantage of.  Just cuz I’m lazy!

My house still hasn’t sold which is becoming worrisome.  I’m afraid we’re going to have to revisit price.  It sucks because the house is worth more than I have it on the market for, and I hate to reduce anymore.  Unfortunately the current market is calling for lower prices even in economicly strong places like Dallas.  We haven’t been hit as hard as say L.A. or Vegas, but prices are down about 3%.  Urgh!!!  D and I have decided to move my clothes here in mid-August and have this as my base of operations.  My house will stay furnished because a) houses show better with furniture in them, and b) why pay for storage when I can have it for free in my house?  We’ll bring my car here too.  Right now I’m in New Mexico with him for three weeks, and I have no car.  You want to talk about things that suck?  No car is at the top of my list. 

D ordered this and it comes this week.  He’s very excited.  We’re working on gun placement in the new house.  Basically he wants one within reach at all times.  I know the AK is going under the bed.  Oh, he and his dad started building the new one yesterday.  They let me help despite the fact that I broke the receiver on the last one they tried to build.  (Weird pointless rambling coming up: I was trying to find the post where I wrote about breaking the other AK, and I couldn’t find it so I went into total paranoia mode – “WordPress is stealing my posts!”.  Then just now when I started writing this parenthetical crap I remembered that it was in the comments section of a post.  A-ha!!!  But I figure linking to a post where my point is in comments is, well, pointless.  So I’m not doing it.  The point is simply that I broke a gun.  Oops, my bad!  And to Demission who wrote that comment – I’m just playing and having fun with it.  I hope I’m not upsetting you!  Assuming you came back of course.)

Okay, I’m going to go get ready to skate.  We’re working on my Swing Dance, the Hickory Hoedown, the Willow Waltz, and general technique and stroking.  Which means I’m getting yelled at a lot.  Oh, and getting called his Apathetic Adult.  He doesn’t actually yell, but his displeasure is easy to read.

 

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I was unfaithful to my hairdresser today.  Unfortunately, my hairdresser is also one of my best friends.  We’ve had our share of trouble getting my blonde just right, and I finally couldn’t take it anymore.  The back-breaker was when I lifted the top section of hair to blow dry the bottom and noticed striping.  That’s just not okay.  I’m very picky about my hair, and I can’t take that kind of screwed up shit.  If she sees me before I leave town again, I’m going to say D made me do it before the competition because my roots were so bad.

Which leads me to the competition.  We did the Edward G. Picken Pro-Am in Reston, Virginia.  Leading up to it, I kept hearing about how the judges were super-tough and we probably wouldn’t do well since we come from somewhere besides D.C. and aren’t used to their standards and it was going to be a bloodbath for us, blah blah blah.  Nothing like confidence-boosting.  D’s other adult that was going and I were in tears every day, ready to quit the whole sport since we apparently suck and shouldn’t be allowed on the ice with these magical East Coast skaters and all that crap.  Oh, also there would be eleventy billion of them, so we might as well get used to the fact that we were going to come in eleventy billionth.  I was in the car with D when he was on speakerphone with a former student who was talking about all this and asking if he had prepared us for this massacre.  Fucking awesome.  She’s so not my favorite right now.

So that’s the mindset I went to Virginia with.  Oh, and on top of that, the other adult D was taking has tested a level above me but since she hasn’t completed the level, she was allowed to compete at my level as well as hers.  So I figured she would come in second to last and I would be dead last.  When we got there, we found out there were only four of us competing at our level, but that they had had to combine age divisions to get that many.  So we were competing against younger people on top of everything else, but at least there weren’t very many people.  But still, as D would say, fuck me in the gonads.  Needless to say, I was rather unpleasant to be around.  I was going to come in fourth out of four and have some eighteen year old kick my ass.

We finally got to competition day, and I guess I was so resigned to losing that I was pretty relaxed during the practice session that morning.  D was pleasantly surprised by that – the relaxed part, not the resigned part.  When we got to the rink that afternoon for the actual competition, they were running behind schedule, so there was a lot of sitting around waiting.  Then I stood around.  Then I stretched for a bit.  Then I sat some more.  Then I said to fuck with it and put my skates on just for something to do.  Then I stood around some more.  Dude, that is a crazy maker!

Once our warm-up started, I got nervous.  Skating is a funny sport.  When you’re nervous, your knees don’t bend anymore, and if there’s one thing you need to skate, it’s knee-bend.  This always happens to me in test sessions, and then I really freak out and my legs shake.  It wasn’t as bad as my last test though.  I didn’t try to jump over the glass and escape the arena.  Anyway, I had to skate first, so I went straight from warm-up to performing.  I felt like my ChaCha was okay – there was stuff I’d have done differently if I’d been thinking straight, like put my head where it was supposed to be on the end pattern, but at least I wasn’t looking down.  For once.  My Fiesta Tango was pretty gross.  I screwed up the turn both times.  It was a nervous and scrapy turn.

I got to see the other skaters go, and at the end I felt like I had a decent chance for third place because the fourth girl was very very very nervous and it made her have giraffe legs and just overall she wasn’t very good (and now I’m going to hell).  I didn’t say anything to D about it and he didn’t say anything to me.  We went over the corrections (actually I told him what I wanted to fix, and he agreed), and then I changed into street clothes and went to Starbucks.  When I was in ballet, when you were done, you changed and left.  No big deal.

It’s apparently different in skating … while I was gone, I missed the scores going up.  It’s not like on TV where you sit in the little area (I REFUSE to call it “kiss and cry”.  That’s fucking absurd) and somebody announces them.  They print them out and post them on the wall.  I wasn’t even planning on looking at the scores – my original plan was to treat this like a recital and not worry about placement since it was my first competition and all that.  But since I thought I maybe had won third place, I went and checked.  D was on the ice with L and M getting ready for their stuff on Saturday, so I didn’t have anyone to help me read them.  It was very confusing since I skated first, and I kept showing up first, so I thought that that explained my name being up top on both dances.  The scores were done in ordinals, so you could see your placement from each judge.  That just confused me more.  Mine looked like this: 1 1 1 1 1 2 2 2 2 and 1 1 1 1 1 2 3 11.  I finally found a skater from Dallas to help me read the things, and she told me I won.  WTF???  And there was no-one to hug because they were all still on practice ice.  So I went to watch the rest of the day’s events.  When it was over, I found D.  He said, “Did you see the results?”  I said yes, and he said, “Here you go” and he handed me my medal.  I said Judge number 7 was clearly not a fan of mine.  Then we went back to the hotel and had sex.  I’m sure you wanted to know that!

Anyway, later on, he kept asking if I had called my parents, so I finally did.  My mom asked if there had been a medal ceremony.  Um, oops, yeah there had been, but I was at Starbucks.  I MISSED my damn medal ceremony!  It hadn’t even dawned on me that there had been one.  I was pretty appalled, but D said it’s no big deal at stuff like this – most people miss theirs.

So here’s how everyone else did:  In that same Pre-Bronze event, D’s other adult came in second.  She won her Bronze event, and she came in fourth out of 13 in the Open Willow Waltz event.  I was supposed to be in that too, but when I screwed up my knee, we pulled out.  Little M (she’s ten years old and has been dancing for just a couple of months, but she does do freestyle) came in fourth out of ten in her Pre-Bronze event and seventh out of eleven in her Bronze event which was really good because it was skating up a level for her and most of the girls in it should’ve been up a level or two.  D said that that age group gets really fucked up because girls won’t test until they find partners even if they are way beyond that level.  So we did pretty well.  D was happy with us.  It’s good for him too because it gets his name out there as a coach.

While I was there, the baby that my sister and brother-in-law are adopting was born.  The birth parents have signed the relinquishment papers and all that, so we’re in the waiting period with all the legal crap.  They should have the baby home by next Friday, but as Jason said, nothing has gone exactly as they’ve said it would, so who knows?  But they’re for sure getting her, so I’m an auntie now!  Yay!!!  Kim and Jason have been with the baby, and they met the birth parents and grandparents and all that.  The dad was having a little more trouble than the mom with the decision, but he said after he met Kim and Jason, he felt really good about it.  He was starting to scare everyone before that though.  My mom’s in Austin with them waiting out the waiting period.  They’re getting the nursery ready and all that.  I sent a box of clothes and diapers and other random baby stuff yesterday.  When Munchkin gets back from camp (he leaves Monday), we’ll go down there too.  The baby should be there by then for sure!

P.S. I’m having trouble with the ding-dang spell checker again.  Sorry for my oopses!

“Better fucking postures” was recently used to find my blog.  I don’t remember writing about better fucking postures, but I will say there are a few that hurt my back. 

Anyway, my house is now officially on the market.  If I never have to clean it again, it’ll be too soon.  I’d like to think I’m a fairly clean person.  I’m not fond of dusting because I’m allergic to dust (really, who isn’t?), but I love to vacuum and I do clean up after myself every day.  Well, over the last four days I have discovered that I’m a pig.  I live in filth and squalor and my mother would be less than proud of me.  I’m as messy as my sister, and if you knew her, you’d know that I’m truly disgusting.  Needless to say, I was horrified at what I found.  Dust bunnies the size of actual bunnies in the form of dog hair.  Questionable sticky messes on the kitchen floor which refused to be mopped and had to be shoveled off with my thumbnails.  An unknown substance on the wood floors.  I blame the dog for that – when he had a poo accident, it was there, ack ack ack (wow, that’s information I’m sure the people who buy this house would want)!!!  I’m not even going to say what I found on the windowsills, but ew.  So yeah, it turns out I’m gross.

While my house is on the market, I’m not going to use my shower.  That doesn’t mean I won’t take my showers (I’m gross, but not that gross) – I’ll just use Munchkin’s bathroom for that now.  But my shower is one of those glass enclosed ones, and they’re a bitch to clean and keep clean.  I won’t use my tub either because it’s also a bitch to clean.  The good news there is that I used Munchkin’s tub for a bath last night and it’s small enough that the hot water doesn’t run out before the tub is full.  That’s a very annoying problem with mine (also information I’m sure a potential buyer would love to hear).

I need to run errands and wash my car, but it’s raining like crazy here.  I wouldn’t bother with the car but it’s so dirty I can hardly see out the windows.  You know, I’m not sure why I think I’m a clean person when all the evidence is pointing the other way.

My house goes on the market on Tuesday, so I’m spending the next four days cleaning and getting rid of junk.  I can’t figure out where the junk came from since I didn’t take anything from the old house when I got divorced.  Crap just accumulates somehow.

Anyway, all this work is making me hungry for something very bad and snacky.  Like Dairy Queen.  Okay, I think we all know I live in Texas.  DQ’s are a dime a dozen here.  On top of that, I live in the country (sort of).  We have cows and alpacas or llamas (what’s the difference???) and sheep and real live ranchers and all that shit.  You know where the closest DQ is?  Nearly ten miles away.  In PLANO.  That’s a real city.  I don’t get it.  I thought all country towns were required to have a DQ.  I guess I’ll go to Sonic instead.

In the course of cleaning out my crap, I’ve discovered that I have lots of empty boxes that once had things like ceiling fans, I-Pod docks, routers, and other assorted stupid shit.  I can’t figure out why I’ve kept the boxes.  They must go away though.  They’re cluttering up closets, and quite frankly, closets are not a huge selling point on this house.  Must make them look bigger somehow.  Clearly the closets are fine for me since I’ve done nothing but junk them up with empty boxes.  Oh, and needlepoints.  I think I went through a phase where I thought I was a crafty person.  I have scrapbooking stuff too, and I’ve never even started one of those things.

Okay, I’m off to work some more.  I need to clean out my closet and get it down to stuff I actually wear which means about four pairs of jeans and a few v-neck t-shirts.  That’s about all I wear anymore besides skating clothes.

Is that even how you spell “jinx”?  I guess I’ll find out when I spellcheck which will render this sentence totally useless.  I’m hoping my ridiculously long absence will make you so happy to read anything I have to say that you won’t care if my sentences are tossers.  Heh.  Even Stephen King doesn’t have such luck.

Anyway, what I’m afraid of jinxing (is that a word?) is the house situation.  D and I found a house we both love in NM, and I had a realtor come by today (yep, on Mother’s Day.  I never said I was a nice person) to look at my house.  She wants to price it $20K above my best hopes.  Apparently tricking out the kitchen will pay off.  We’ll see, but I was pretty damn stoked.  She seemed to be too – I did a lot of upgrading to this house which just about excited the pants off her.  It’s good because the market in NM is much pricier than in TX.  I’m going to lose 1,000 square feet for a similarly priced and optioned house.  It sucks!  Texas is lovely in that way – everything is dirt cheap here.  I’m not sure where NM gets off pricing the way they do since I personally feel they’re the fourth worst state (1. NJ, 2. Miss, 3. Nev, and 4. NM – just my opinion and it’s based on the fact that people in my family are from these places and can tell you so.  Or in the case of NM, I’ve lived there and I know it’s a shithole.  We haven’t lived in Mississippi though.  They’re on my list because of their poverty and educational problems.  Sorry if I’ve offended, but honestly, if you’re from one of these places, then you of all people should know what a cesspool suckfest you live in).  I think NM sucks because it’s brown brown and more brown.  If you like rocks and dead looking plant-like things, go live there.  You’ll be very happy.  Also they have a state income tax and yet they still tax the groceries.  Texas doesn’t have a state income tax and we still don’t pay tax on food.  WTF?  The schools suck in NM and the drivers are all insane.  When I lived there before, they all went about ten miles below the speed limit.  It was like everyone was stoned.  They’re all on crystal meth now and they’ll blow by you going 90 in a 45.  Stupid fuckers.  And yet, I’m choosing to move there.  So I’m not allowed to complain about it anymore.  I’ll make fun, but I won’t bitch.  Yeah right!

I have a competition this coming weekend, so I won’t be around AGAIN.  It’s craptacular because I’m not online reading anyone else’s stuff or writing my stuff.  I feel pretty disconnected, but once things settle down and I’m not the traveling queen … well, it’ll be better someday!

I’ve been taking care of my mom this week since she had a face lift and laser resurfacing on Monday.  She looks like a balloon full of raw hamburger meat.  It’s every bit as attractive as it sounds.  I go over in the morning and then we go to the doctor’s office.  They check her progress and we ask all of our questions and take lots of notes.  We usually stop at Starbucks for some crack on the way home.  She made this huge Excel spreadsheet where we write in the medications that she’s taking and when she does her face washing and moisturizing routine.  She also has to do something called debrading (which I’m sure I’m misspelling, but whatever).  That’s just nasty.  It basically involves rolling a giant Q-tip over her face to remove the crusty yellow bits.  Urgh!  The whole entire washing, soaking, debrading, and moisturizing process takes 40 minutes and happens four times a day.  Major suckage.  And I can’t even be bothered to spend two minutes washing off my makeup at night!

So I’ve decided that I will NEVER EVER EVER have a face lift or any other elective surgery.  Jeez Louise, why put yourself through this?  I wanted a nose job for the longest time when I was younger, but never had the guts even though my grandmother kept offering to get me one (nice, eh?).  I have a bump on my nose from getting hit with a ski, but it’s not noticeable from the front.  The side is a different story.  Anyway, I eventually got to the point where I was like, “Hey, that’s my nose.  If I had a different one, I wouldn’t look like me.”  But every once in a while, I would think how nice it would be to have a lovely straight nose.  Yeah, I don’t care anymore about that bump.

The poor dog is about sick of this schedule.  He’s having to get up earlier than he wants to (think how I feel about that too!), then I leave for like six hours, then I come home and let him out and feed him and spend a little time with him, and then I go back for another four to six hours.  He gave me a crate refusal today which has only happened two other times in the past year.  I think.  There may have been a small phase, but I don’t know for sure.

Anyway, my mom is making good progress.  Each day is exponentially better than the day before even though she looks icky.  We joked about making a My Space page for her.  My dad was not amused.  I think he thought we were serious, goofball!

D finished his CHLclass this weekend.  After sitting in a classroom for about twelve hours learning random shit, much of which had nothing to do with carrying a concealed handgun (e.g., if you’re being forced to suck a dick, bite it off.  Seriously.  It kind of turned into a general self-defense/cornhole protection class), he had to sit through a basic “How to Shoot Your Gun” class.  You might wonder why people who are interested in carrying might need such a class.  You might assume, like D and I did, that people in the CHL class have shot before and have actually practiced for the shooting accuracy portion of the course (D got 100% on that part, by the way).  Well, you would be wrong.  There were people in that class who had never touched a gun.  That’s right.  They’ve never touched a gun, yet they want to carry one around on their person.  And to think, New Mexico is one of the stricter states on this whole issue.  I was shocked!  I don’t know how to fix it without putting actual shooters through hellacious hours of boredom and drudgery, but I think they should somehow separate experienced people (like D) from inexperienced people (like me).  Anyway, he wants me to take the class whether I ever actually use a CHL or not.  And he thinks I should carry a knife.  This class made an already paranoid man positively neurotic.  He and his mom were hanging out today when someone knocked on the door.  D answered it with a Glock behind his back.  It was UPS.  Duuuude.  But I guess after hearing all the stories about most home invasions occuring when you LET someone in your house (salesman, lady with a baby, gas company guy saying there’s a leak, etc), you might get a bit skittish.

Anyway … my mom had her face lift today.  This was not my favorite thing ever since she’s a transplant patient, but like I said to her, there are people much smarter than I am making the decision that this is an okay idea.  My sister disagrees.  My main worry is infection.  On Wednesday, I’m going to stop by and see how she and Kathy are doing.  Kathy is a close friend of hers who is coming over to take care of her, but Kathy isn’t so great with gross stuff, and this is really disgusting oozy gross stuff.  I’ll tell you all about it after I’ve seen it.  I will not suffer icky shit alone, damn it!  Thursday and Friday I have her on my own, and Monday I take her to get the staples taken out.  That makes me have to gag a little bit.  Tuesday I go back out to New Mexico to meet D’s sister and aunt and uncle.  I’m also starting my house search that week.

As far as moving out there goes, I hope that I’m doing the right thing.  I think I am, but there’s always that part of me that worries that I’ll get out there and he’ll change his mind and I’ll have moved for nothing.  He seems to be ready for it.  I think with guys that once they’ve decided they want to be with you (as D puts it, “I’m ready to not have sex with anyone else for the rest of my life”, heh), then that’s it, they want to be with you and the game is over.  It’s that old thing where guys operate in the black and white, and girls live in the gray.  It’s hard being away too.  The weekends are so trying.  I’m not busy and I have nothing but time to think and get worried and be sad.  I was watching Big Brother, and that idiot Jen wrote in Ryan’s letter something like, “Absence makes the heart grow fonder, but nobody tells you how much it will make your heart hurt.”  I burst out crying at that.  It’s so true.  My heart hurt so much this weekend even though D was calling me during breaks in his class and texting me and all that.  It just hurts my whole body to be away from him.  Thank God it’s the week now and I’m very busy!  Yep, so busy I’m sitting here on the internetz.  So I just have to get through one more weekend before I see him again.  Gak, what a baby.  Seriously.  I mean, think of all the women who have husbands away in the armed forces and have to not only be away from them, but have the additional worry of something happening.  I need to grow the fuck up already and just deal with it.