So freaking bored.  It’s Saturday night, and I’m sitting here at home with my dog.  Pathetic!  Which is not to say that I didn’t try.  I got semi-dressed up (meaning black jeans and a nice shirt) and went down to the Chili’s which is pretty much the only thing out here in the sort-of country.  What I found is that Chili’s in BFE is not so much the hoppin’ joint I’d hoped it would be.  Blech.  So I left after twenty minutes.  I could’ve driven twenty or thirty minutes and found plenty of people and fun, but I didn’t want to drive that far.  So the low-motivation portion of my boredom is totally my fault.

I have a story that I’m not sure if I should tell.  Then again, not being one for censorship, why censor myself, right?  I just hope none of these people, one in particular, read this thing.  I’m 99.999% certain that they don’t though.  Okay, so on Thursday, we had our first softball game which we lost.  I had an RBI, yay, but I also had numerous fielding errors, boo.  Afterwards, we went to Friday’s for drinks, and J asked if I wanted to go to this country bar with some of them after.  Of course I wanted to!  They got to change clothes, but since I live so far away, I had to go out in my softball uniform.  And yeah, I still had cleats on.  Lovely!  Note to self: pack a change of go-out clothes and put them in the car just in case.  Okay, so off we went to the bar.  The band was really good – I’d say who they were, but I can’t remember the name.  Anyway, I ended up in this conversation with R who basically wanted to know why D and I weren’t having sex.  What???  Yeah.  Holy shit!  After picking my jaw up off the floor, I explained to him that it would just be too weird.  It could possibly mess up ice dancing stuff, and I can’t have that.  Um, and there’s also the little issue of a 14-year age difference.  That’s with me being the older one.  With that said, I do look waaaaaaay younger than I actually am, and quite frankly, I act much younger than I actually am.  It may have something to do with being around teenagers day in and day out at the rink.  Possibly.  Or I could just be in denial about my actual age.  I personally don’t see any way that I am over 21.  In actuality, I am 37.  How the fucking fuck did that happen?  Anyway, yes, the math makes D 23.  Is that icky?  Does that make me like Monica on “Friends” when she was doing the senior … in high school?  I don’t know.  Nobody else seems to think that the age difference should matter.  “It’s a state of mind,” they kept saying, and “Older women know things that younger ones don’t.”  Well, that is true for sure.  I don’t think I like being categorized as an “older woman” though.  The next thing I was told was that the last time we all went to this particular bar in this particular grouping of people, the guys spent the entire time telling D that he and I needed to be having the sex.  Holy crapping hell.  What is with these people?  I had no idea that anything like that was going on that night.  I’m not even sure when it was that they were talking about it!  Can’t figure it out.

Anyway, I managed to end that conversation by needing to pee (stupid beer, why do you unleash the bladder so?).  When I came out of the bathroom, I found the girls and was hanging out with them.  The guys were in the bathroom too.  Forever.  And for even ever.  It was ridiculous.  When they came out, we decided to go to this other country bar that’s next door.  On the way over, D told me that they were practically dunking him in the toilet (I believe the term he used was “swirlie”.  God, somebody’s going to google “swirlie” and read this.  Please don’t let it be one of these people; I would just die!) over this whole issue.  I have no recollection of what I said, but it was like there was this understanding that we both knew everyone was trying to get us in the sack.  Jeez, this is beyond tacky.  Then R grabbed me and said I needed to grab D’s ass.  And then J started in too.  Well, I was tipsy and it seemed like a good idea at the time, so I did it.  I am still beyond mortified, but I gotta say, nice ass!  I’m such an ass girl too.  There is nothing like a nice ass on a guy.  And this is skater ass, so yeah, you can imagine.  Yum!  Oops, I should not be saying such things!  I told him I was sorry though – it was really inappropriate.  I was pressured though, so it had to be done (see, kids, this is why you have got to stand up to peer pressure.  Look at the idiot you can make of yourself if you don’t).

Okay, so we got to the new bar, and D paid my cover which was very nice.  I bought him a drink inside.  See, not a spur of the moment date.  It was all fair-ish.  The cover was more than the drink.  J pointed out the beer wench’s boobs and we decided we ought to go over and tell her how nice they were.  Drunken me is a fan of the boobs.  I think it was while we were on the way over there that he told me he had told D that we could borrow his spare room that night.  Seriously ridiculous.  I just laughed because D was designated driver (despite the one or two drinks, but he could handle it, so it was fine) and I knew there was no way in hell that his judgement would be impaired enough to think this was a good idea.  Or mine.  I don’t know if there’s enough alcohol in the world for me to find any of this a good idea no matter how very very very tempting it is.

On the way home, we got a little lost and ended up somewhere on Harry Hines which is well-populated with hookers, though we didn’t see any to my great disappointment.  The other stuff on Harry Hines is cheap motels and sex shops, the latter of which is where we ended up.  Um, I have never in my life seen such shockingly large anal plugs (great, another charming googleage to end up in my stats).  Seriously, what kind of worn out asshole would you have to have to fit a plug that had to have been six inches in diameter at its widest point?  I’m not easily disturbed by sex stuff, thanks to my porn-loving ex-boyfriend, but good goobies, that’s a big plug!  They did have some cute lingerie though.  I didn’t try any on and do a little show.  See how magnificently restrained I was?  Yeah, I’m impressed with myself there.

We finally headed home, and as we were driving up to J’s, he kept saying to D, “You’re coming in, you’re coming in.”  And D kept saying no.  It finally dawned on me (it’s true, alcohol does kill brain cells) that what J was actually saying was “Both of you are coming in and you’re going to have some sex.  Great success!”, and D was saying, “No way, man, it would be way too weird.”  So we got dropped off, and I was getting in my car when J walked over.  And this is where all of this gets beyond bizarre.

J said, “I’m trying.  I’m really trying to convince him.”

I said, “I know.”

“He just worries that things would change between you guys, and he doesn’t want that.  I keep telling him nothing will change though.  I told him ‘She’s cool, man, don’t worry about it.'”  Lol at that!

I said, “Yeah, I worry about that too.  I also don’t want him to get in trouble.”  And perhaps here is where I should further explain what all the issues here are.  I’m talking about my coach.  Getting involved in a coach-student relationship is an extraordinarily bad idea.  It would change everything, no matter what J thinks.  There’s just no way that things wouldn’t change and get freaky and all that.  One thing I left out up top is that R even asked me about that – two questions actually – he asked, “Would anything change tomorrow?  I mean would he still be your coach and all that?”  And I said nothing would change, he would still be my coach and he would still be paid like normal for that since it’s a totally separate thing.  See, I’m not Jerry Seinfeld looking for free maid service or massages or whatever the hell it was.  And then he asked, “Would you be in ice dancing without him?”  And I said no.  I’ve made this very clear before – I will not be coached by anyone else.  It wouldn’t be the same at all.  The trust wouldn’t be there like what I have with D.  He knows a lot about my personal life, and I can joke with him, and I can be provocative and inappropriate (to some degree) with him, and I don’t think I could do that with a different coach.  That’s part of the fun I have with him in a lesson is being obnoxious.  Good times!  But D has also been very good about keeping that “professional shield” up which keeps us from being too naughty.  We can talk about all sorts of stuff, but no touching (except apparently for when I grabbed his ass.  Oh, where is a hole in the ground???).  So when these charming people were teasing us when we were all together, D kept saying “professional shield”.

Anyway, I went on to say, “Besides, if anything were to happen, our boss would know in like five seconds.”  I also work at the rink, so we have the same boss.

And J said, “Oh, she already knows.”

Excuse me?  What the fuck?  She already knows???  Oh my gosh, does this mean what I think it means?  And what I think it means is that it is apparently common knowledge at the rink that D and I are “supposed” to be having sex.  I just have this vision in my head of everyone there talking about this just like they talk about everything and everyone else.  Can’t you picture it?  Fifteen people in a circle around the front desk taking bets on when D and I are going to do it.  Nice!  Seriously, where is my hidey-hole?

I went on to say that I thought that the age difference and the fact that I have a twelve year old son kind of freaked D out.  J agreed.  Which makes me think that they’ve had this conversation kind-of in depth.  Which freaks me out.  Here’s the other thing that freaks me out and is the big huge main reason that I better be right about these people not reading my blog.  I’m not interested in just sex.  Seriously, what are you supposed to do?  Have sex with your coach the one time and ruin your entire favorite hobby and your relationship with one of your favorite people?  I think not.  As stupid as a coach-student relationship would be, that is even dumber.  But how do you date your coach?  Well, you don’t.  That’s the answer to that.  I gotta say, it’s not my preferred answer.  Unfortunately, that’s just the way it is.  Like our Russian friend said a while back, “He is coach, you are student.  No hugging.  And no kissing either.” 

Incidentally, I told my ex-husband this story today, and he said, duh, he’s known forever that I’ve been crushing on D.  Does it get anymore appalling than this?  He also said that he gives us two weeks before we’re doing something.  Which I totally disagree about – I don’t think D will do one single thing about any of this and things will remain the same.  We’ll get teased relentlessly, but nothing will happen.  I know I’m right about that because we had a lesson on Friday morning and it was perhaps the most professionally either of us have ever behaved.  There was not a single mention of any of this stuff!  I mean, we both talked about how tired we were, and I said I wouldn’t be doing any spins thanks to my rather delicate condition, but we didn’t talk about any of the OTHER stuff.  I’m sure the other skaters ignored the big ol’ elephant in the room too!

By the way, and after this bit, I will finally be done with the longest post in the history of ever, I know it’s beyond silly to revert to initials at this point in the game when I have used my coach’s name in this blog before, but if he happens to be a self-googler (as much as I doubt that), I do not, under any circumstance whatsoever, want this entry to pop up.  I wouldn’t ever be able to come out of my hidey-hole.