June 2007

My coach is out of town for a week, and our rink is shutting down for that same week to completely redo the ice.  To which I say it’s about damn time!  My gosh, the freestyle side is horrendous.  The situation is certainly not helped by the fact that nobody bothers to fill in their holes at the end of a session despite the lovely bucket of snow which is kept for this very purpose.  The dance side isn’t so bad, but the area by the benches is getting pretty cruddy from the coaches going back and forth repeatedly in the same little spot (lazy butts).  Anyway, it’ll be nice once it’s done. 

Even though we’re closed, I still have to work on Tuesday because the contracts for reserving ice sessions are always due on the third.  I think I’m going to take a Christmas stocking to work on because most people were getting theirs turned in this week.  I have to work with Nightmare Girl.  She’s just a few years younger than me, hasn’t had a boyfriend in eight years (reason coming up –>), and talks incessantly about her pet lizards, turtles, and foster dogs.  Plus she hangs over your shoulder and watches you work on stuff like (drumroll) paperwork.  That must be very exciting to watch.  I think we’ve been over my issues with personal space.  There is nothing that annoys me more than space invaders.  Get outta my face!  Urgh!!!  Oh, and I forgot to mention that she is constantly telling me when she last saw my ex-boyfriend (she’s a scorekeeper for hockey), and if he said hi to her, and what she said back.  I finally told her, “Look, I’ve erased him from my phone.  I’ve deleted him from my IM.  He could be dead for all I know, and quite frankly, I really don’t care.”  Harsh, yes.  Not entirely true either.  Also not really entirely untrue.  The point is, she stopped talking about him around me.  I hope they end up dating.  They’re perfect for each other!  Eeewww, does that sound bitter?

So in keeping with the title of this post, I’m not sure what to do about skating next week.  Duke said go ahead and take the week off and rest my ankle.  I got on the scale this morning though, and I know resting is totally out of the question.  When I finish my post, I’m either going to walk or run.  Actually, I’m going to start out walking and test the running at the end.  If it feels like jumping did at ballet this week, I’ll know to walk tomorrow.  If it feels okay, I’ll start running for real again tomorrow.  Skating-wise, I really want to find another rink this week because I just learned to twizzle (it’s like a travelling pirouette) and I don’t want to lose what little I have of it by taking time off.  Plus I want to work on double three-turns and spins.  So see, I have a plan for once.  The last time I took a week off, it was disastrous.  I went back and was like, “Uh, we have to start over from the beginning.  I can’t remember how to do any of this.”  A couple of days later, everything was fine, but it is super disconcerting.

I think the spellchecker is still non-functioning, so again, and until it’s fixed, I’m sorry!  Maybe I’ll start writing this stuff in Word so I can spellcheck it there, and then transfer it over.  That’s a pain in the ass though!


This is what I wonder about half the time I go to Starbucks.  I’m lactose intolerant, so it’s really important that I don’t get normal milk.  The repercussions are just too ugly.  I’m pretty sure I paid the forty cents extra and got screwed today.  Poor tummy! 

I finally learned to twizzle today.  Oh, they are bad right now, and I’m only doing a right inside single twizzle.  It shouldn’t be that hard, but my ballet self goes, “Oh, we’re turning.  Better turn that leg out.”  No.  No, I should not do that.  You have to keep your knee out front like a jazz turn or else you pull yourself off your axis.  I did a few of them right, but then I freaked out and didn’t end the turn correctly.  That’s fine – I doubt anyone has ever learned to twizzle perfectly in one day.  We also worked on spirals and Ina Bauers.  It was a pretty decent first day back after I took a bit more time off.  The only thing that was bad was in ballet.  It was decided for me that I’m not allowed to jump yet.  That’s fine – it was hurting too much.

Our rink is closed next week because they’re redoing both sheets of ice.  Everyone is going to Frisco instead, but I’m not.  They only have one sheet of ice and no dance sessions.  It’s going to be extremely crowded because they’ll have all the Frisco people plus all of us.  So I said forget it.  My coach said that was good and to rest my ankle.  I’m about sick of resting it, but ballet today proved it’s not healed.  So I’ll behave.  Urgh!

First the ankle: I am so freaking frustrated with it right now.  I skated on Friday, and it hurt.  So I only skated for the length of my lesson.  Duke said he wasn’t going to pick on me too much when I didn’t get far enough over on a right inside edge since that was what was hurting like a mofo.  The problem is that those inside edges are set-ups for an outside edge on the other foot.  So whenever I didn’t get a deep enough edge on the right inside, I was in the wrong place for the left outside (since we’re doing set-pattern dances, it matters exactly where you are on the ice.  If you’re in the wrong spot, they can flunk you as evidenced by the fact that I flunked the Dutch Waltz the first time through for my end pattern being “too flat”.  Bitches).  Basically, it was an hour of me putting us into the wrong spots on the ice because I couldn’t roll my ankle over.  What a waste of time.  Then the inevitable questions came.  “Are you sure you want to do this?”  Yes.  “Does that hurt?”  Yes.  “Does your doctor know you’re doing this?”  Uh, let’s not talk about that.  “I don’t want to do anything that’s against her orders.”  Then let’s just not talk about it anymore, okay?  What I didn’t tell him is that I made sure to word all my questions about resuming activities very carefully and did not include skating in any of my questions.  So while she forbade everything else for a week, she said nothing about not skating.  A mere technicality, yes, but it works for me.

Ramil (that’s a big guess on the spelling as he’s Russian) came by partway through to say hi.  We skated over to him, and he wanted to know where his hug was.  I gave him one which is the first non-family hug I’ve had since the big breakup.  It was a friend-hug, but hey, I’ll take what I can get!  I said, “I never get hugs from him”, pointing at Duke.

Ramil said, “That is because he is coach, you are student.  No hugging.”

“Nope, no hugging,” Duke said.  Well, I think this sucks.  I think I should get a hug when I pass a test.  Oh well.

Then Ramil looked at each of us and said, “No kissing either.”

Aaaaaaaaggggggghhhhhhhh!!!!!  My face grew hot hot hot, and I said, “Ramil!  Oh my gosh!  I think I’m blushing.”

I looked over at Duke, and he was cracking up.  We skated off, and I said, “Well that was embarrassing.”

He goes, “Yeah, yeah it was.”  And that was that.  More Fiesta Tango followed, and that was all for the day.

The coach/student relationship is a weird one.  I think more so in our case because we do occassionally hang out, we have a lot in common, and we talk about everything.  He gets to be my therapist sometimes, and I get to be his keeper.  I get this everyday: “Where’s Duke?”  That’s easy.  If he’s not at the rink, he’s home playing X-Box.  Duh, people, you should know this by now.  Even his coach comes to me looking for him.  Last season, I thought people would go to his partner to find him, but no, not so much.  Anyway, things would obviously be different if I were a child rather than an adult.  After we hang out, the professional shield does come back up.  Regrettably, but necessarily.

But back to me and my dumb ankle (have patience, it’s a long story).  Yesterday, Munchkin and I went to Bed, Bath, and Beyond for stuff to hang on the walls (his room is Hawaii, and they have cute stuff for that).  I thought we were looking for stuff for my room or bathroom too, but what I found was stuff for the powder room.  I found these large photographs of kissing people – one of that sailor kissing a girl after the war which I also have on a purse, and one of this man and woman on a street in Paris.  I liked this one because it looks like she initiated the kiss.  Her hand is on the back of his neck as if she’s pulling him to her.  Both of them (and my purse) are black and white.  The purse has a little more sparkle to it though.  Then I found these Nicole Miller bath towels and accessories.  Last but not least, I got black velvet curtains (before you think “Elvis”, think romantic and lusty and dramatic).  I wanted a rug for in there too, but the one I wanted was like $80, and the spending had to stop.  Plus the dog would eat it, so screw that.  Anyway, I was in the bathroom, putting all this stuff up, using a step stool to get high enough for the curtains, and when I stepped off the stool (luckily for the last time that day), I felt a big pull in the sprained area of my ankle.  Fuckity fuck fuck!  So I’m back to walking all gimpy with ice bandaged around my ankle.  I was supposed to start running again tomorrow, but I don’t see how that’s possible as I can hardly walk.  I’m going to get so fat.  It’s just depressing to sit on my ass with my ankle elevated, feeling blobbily useless.

I do wish I had a digital camera so I could post pictures of the bathroom.  Someday!

Okay, so onto the books.  I read the Mugglenet Harry Potter book which was fabulous.  They have lots of great theories and discussions.  I’m so excited about book seven, but sad as well.  I don’t want it to end!  I’m also just dying for the fifth movie to come out.  That was my favorite book so far.  July is going to be a huge month!

Then it was onto the Laurie Notaro book.  Hunh.  Well, let’s just say she should stick to the non-fiction.  The problem with her current book is that everyone in it has quippy sarcastic dialogue.  Not everyone in the world speaks that way, and the effect is that all the dialouge seems to come from one person.  It’s annoying, to say the least.

So I’m going to take Radical Mama’s (see blogroll) suggestion and read One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest next.

I’m not sure if the spellchecker on here is working.  Yeah, no, it’s not.  I wrote “dimond” for “diamond” and hit spellcheck.  Nothing happened.  Crap.  I can’t spell worth a damn, so I’m sorry for any annoying misspellings.  I’d fix them if I only knew!

So on Tuesday when I went to the doctor for my ankle, we also talked about my birth control pills.  After having three months or so of breakthrough bleeding on my old pills when my former doctor decided HE (stupid man.  Stupid stupid man) didn’t want me to take them continuously to avoid my period (mind you, everything had been fine until he made this testosterone laden decree), the lovely new female doctor switched me over to the generic Seasonale.  And I had seven and a half more weeks of bleeding, only this was more like a light period than random spotting.  Seven and a half weeks is quite enough for me, thank you.  She said I needed to switch to the name brand Seasonale because the dosage is a little better.  So I was supposed to stop taking the generic, have my period (really now, will I know when I’m actually having a period versus what has been going on???), and then next Tuesday, start taking the Seasonale and that should stop the bleeding.  Great.  Sounds like a plan.

But then I went to the pharmacy today to pick them up.  They said the insurance company wouldn’t cover the pills until July 4 because it was too soon to get them now.  I told them the whole story of what the doctor said and all that.  They wouldn’t budge.  So I sat there, right in front of the drug wench, and called the insurance company.  They said that this should be treated as a new prescription and it should be covered, but that I should have the doctor call and tell the pharmacy this.  Fine, so I did that.  And the fuckers still won’t budge.  They’re doing all their filing on the computer and it keeps getting kicked back because they’re filing it as a refill.  So with me, the doctor, and the insurance company telling the ding-dang pharmacy to fill it as a new prescription, they’re still refusing to do it.  Yo assholes, it’s not a refill!  It’s N-E-W.  Idiots.

What the fucking fuck is that all about?  Meanwhile, I am insanely hormonal and about as bitchy as I’ve ever been.  This is nice.  Lucky people who have to be around me, I tell ya.  And now my damn dog is eating the remote control.  Fuuuuuuuuccccccckkkkkkk!!!!!!!  Good thing he’s so cute.

My ankle is sprained.  They’re making me wear one of those ridiculous giant boots, but just for a week.  I feel like an idiot, especially when people stop me and ask what happened.  I’m like, “Oh, it’s really nothing.  I just sprained it.”  The next question is inevitably, “Does it hurt?”.  Uh yeah, yeah it does.  Otherwise I wouldn’t have bothered going to the doctor to see if I had a stress fracture.  Seriously last night, it hurt so bad I almost threw up.  Now I don’t say all that to the kind little old ladies who ask all this, I just say, “Yes ma’am, it does hurt.”  In the meantime, I’m going to be sitting on my ass getting fat.  Yay.  I’m so excited.

Anyway, somehow I ended up in the bookstore.  I don’t need any more books!  I’ve written about this before – I have over 100 books that I haven’t read yet, but I went and bought some more.  I guess this is what I’ll do until I’m allowed to run again.  I bought the following:

1. Mugglenet.com’s What Will Happen in Harry Potter 7.  I started that one as soon as I got home despite the fact that I’m currently reading Prep and Lipstick Jungle.  Hey, who doesn’t need to read three books at once?  That’s not at all confusing.

2. John Updike’s Terrorist.  After reading The Reluctant Fundamentalist, this one looked interesting.

3. Laurie Notaro’s There’s a (Slight) Chance I Might Be Going to Hell.  I got this one for a couple of reasons.  One is that she’s hilarious.  I mean, what’s not to love about a woman who writes books with such titles as We Thought You Would Be Prettier and I Love Everybody (and Other Atrocious Lies).  She is beyond funny.  The second reason is I thought for a moment that I was looking at the title of my own autobiography but then remembered I’ve not yet written it.

4. Tom Perrotta’s Little Children.  They keep advertising the movie on Video on Demand, so I figured I should read it before I watch it.  I don’t like doing it the other way around.

5. Vladimir Nabokov’s Lolita.  I’ve been meaning to read it for years.

6. Ken Kesey’s One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest.  I’ve been meaning to read this one too, and someday I’ll get around to watching the movie as well.

So see, I do have good reasons for conspicuous consumption.  Or at least I can justify it to myself.  It’s not my favorite thing about myself, but I never buy clothes so I figure it’s okay.

My right ankle has been bothering me, and I’ve been trying to figure out which activity (skating, ballet, running) is causing the problem.  This morning it all became clear.  It’s the running.  Urgh!  I didn’t want that to be the issue.  I need to run to fend off the fat.  Of course, I need to skate too.  Technically I don’t need the ballet.  I just enjoy it.

Anyway, my ankle is freaking killing me at the moment.  My coach suggested a few things.  1.  Take a couple of days off from running.  I said I already did that this weekend.  He said, well, you need to take a couple of more days.  2.  Lay off the salt.  That’ll help with the swelling.  And 3.  Shove a makeup sponge down my skate over the ankle bone.  That’s no joke; we’ve had to do this before, and it does actually work.  Exercise-wise, he said in the meantime to work on my abs.  Gaggers.  Abs are my least favorite thing.

My son is back from camp.  He left his brain there.  I’m trying very hard not to lose it today!  My damn ankle hurts and he’s doing stupid shit like leaving the back door open when he lets the dog out.  Hello, it is 115 degrees outside!  Shut the damn door!!!  When do children grow common sense?  Hopefully over their 12th year.  We’ll just have to see though.

 Okay, now I’m going to do laundry.  I have no space left on the ping-pong table to stack any more finished laundry, so I guess that means it’s time to put some stuff away.  Plus my closet looks sad and bare.  I think I might take a nap first though.  Yay naps!

We’re taking my dad out to brunch at a restaurant we’ve never been to.  Hmmm, change.  You can’t even begin to understand how freaked out my parents are by this development.  The place we used to go, Mondo’s, has closed and become a World Market.  Big suckage.  So we’re going to go to a place called Bronx.  I hope it’s good.  It’s so hard to get my parent’s to try anything new, so if it’s not good, it’s going to be a while before we have any new adventures.

Speaking of places closing, my sister and I went out with my coach and a couple of his friends on Friday night.  It took us until almost 11 to get anywhere because every place we wanted to go turned out to have closed down.  WTF???  This is Dallas, not NYC.  Places don’t close every five minutes here.  Well, I guess they do now.  There was a vodka bar we wanted to go to.  No.  A jazz bar.  No.  A Broadway bar.  No.  So we ended up at Cafe Gecko, and it’s not like there’s anything wrong with that, but it is just a regular bar.  Good music, but not so loud that you can’t hear each other talk.  And talk we did.  You know, Scrubs was wrong.  It doesn’t all come back to poo.  It all comes back to sex.  Every time.  Sex sex sex.  Which is great if you ask me.  However, the professional decorum between me and my coach has been completely destroyed.  And again, if you ask me, that’s great too.  I hate professional decorum.  If you can’t get drunk and say stupid shit in front of your coach who sees you at your best and at your worst on a daily basis, well, then life just isn’t worth living.  My gosh, he’s seen me cry over three-turns that a six year old can do.  He’s seen me cry (or almost cry) over my idiot ex-boyfriend.  He knows I didn’t shave my legs or anything else for a good week after the break-up (no he did NOT see – I just like to share).  I even made a 70’s porn star reference to my formerly Brazilianed, um, area (and thank goodness I don’t have to do that anymore for however long I am single.  Ouch!!!).  70’s porn star junk was very messy.  I’m kind of glad it’s a look that has fallen out of favor, but I’m also kind of glad for the low maintenance of it for now.  So what I’m getting at is it’s not like I ever behaved all that professionally in front of him.  I don’t have a lot of boundaries.

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