bitch and moan

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!


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.  

So remember the girl who hates guns and freaks out about them and was like all militant about not having them in the house, etc etc?  Yeah, well, I’m going to learn how to shoot on Tuesday.  D is going to teach me.  He’s a gun-toting maniac.  I don’t remember if I’ve mentioned this before, but he has quite the arsenal including an AK-47.  That’s the one that impresses me the most.  If I were a dude, I’d get a woody anytime someone said AK-47.  His favorite is his 1911.  I’m going to rent a girlie-fied 9mm.  That’s because I have skinny little arms and he doesn’t want me to have recoil freak-out.  He had considered having me use the 1911, but it’s got a little kick that he thinks may be too much for me.  Obviously we’re going to have a safety lesson and all that before I actually shoot anything, and hopefully that shooting will be limited to the targets.  God help that man if I shoot off my own freaking toes.

While we’re talking about D, I should go into why the little fucker is moving back to New Mexico.  One reason is that his mom is really quite ill, and he wants to be with her.  It has something to do with her lungs.  I asked if anyone had thought about a transplant (which is clearly the answer to everything), but apparently there’s too much other stuff wrong with her for that to be an option.  Basically they’re just trying to find the right combination of drugs to prolong her life.  So I get that – I mean, I lived in Albuquerque when my mom was sick before her liver transplant, and I would’ve done anything to get back to Dallas to be with her.

The second reason is a career one.  The dance market here is pretty much cornered by three big coaches, and so he’s having a tough time getting students.  Plus he has like no freestyle background because he pretty much started out in dance.  He can do a waltz jump, but then again, so can I (uh, sort of).  So that’s not saying much.  What that all means is that he’s not comfortable teaching freestyle so his student pool is quite limited.  He could teach the shit out of some footwork though.  Freestylers are so god-awful sloppy!  In New Mexico, they have the dancers, but no coaches (well, they have one, but she’s like eleventy billion years old and teaches stuff that we don’t do anymore.  She sucks it).  So he’ll have all the business he can handle at two rinks.  I get that too – we all want to make money and have good careers, right?  Oh, he knows he’ll have students because he has them when he goes to visit.  He’ll go for like three weeks at a time and do nothing but teach.  Apparently they’re all jumping for joy that he would be permanent.  I’m so jealous of those bitches that are getting my coach.  Urgh!

So those are the why’s.  I still hate this.  I was so awful to him during lessons on Monday and Wednesday.  Seriously awful.  I called him names, I refused to do stuff he was telling me to do, and I stood there with my arms crossed in the middle of the ice and wouldn’t look at him.  Wow, I am so fucking mature and really very proud of those moments.  He told me yesterday that he very nearly kicked me off the ice.  He said any other self-respecting coach would have and that my attitude was horrible (though in his accent, that word is “haaarrible”.  Also he kept asking me if I really wanted my lesson, which turns out to have been a warning that he was about to kick me off.  Oops, I took that as “Oh, I’m on the right track to pissing him off!  Keep going!”  I kind of wanted to see how far I could push.  I think if I had called him one more name, he would’ve booted me.  Yeah, I’m a big brat.  P.S.  My attitude was better today and I was nice.  There was no name calling.  Karma got me for being an ass by having my trunk hit me in the head when I put my skate bag in yesterday.  It was really windy!

We were texting the other day about my future coaching situation, and I told him I was giving Phillip six months to make me okay with him.  He would have to take me through a test session as well for me to really know if it was going to work.  I freak out during tests and I panic and shake and all that good stuff.  D is able to get me through it (he has a sister who has a lot of my same issues, and I think he just treats me like he does her).  I need to know that Phillip could do the same.  He’d also have to let me have some fun in our lessons because if I’m not having fun, I’ll quit.  Anyway, out of nowhere, D says he’s not sure if it’ll work with Phillip because of all the extra driving I’d have to do.  I don’t get that – if I’m willing to make the 90 minute round trip drive to go with the coach that my current coach is most comfortable with, then what the hell is the problem?  So I texted back that it was either Phillip or I was going to start packing for NM, it was up to him.  He said we still had a lot to talk about with all this, but it was too much to get into over text.  I don’t talk on the phone unless I have to, so we still haven’t talked about it.  We need to soon though, because when D goes to NM the week after next to finalize the details, I want to work with the possible new coach.  So yeah, I kind of need to know who it’s going to be.

I just don’t know how this is going to work.  I cannot wrap my mind around a different coach.  My intention was to be all Brian Boitano about it and have the same coach forever.  D knows how to handle me, and believe me when I say that I’m difficult (see the bratty paragraph for proof).  I’m very OCD, and if I get stuck on something and want to do it over and over, he’ll let me until he starts seeing the freak-show coming on, and then he tells me “No more.  You’re not allowed to do that anymore today, we’re moving on.”  I need that.  I can’t see how it’ll work with someone else.  Who else is going to put up with my bullshit?  I got very lucky in finding the right coach for me on the first try, and now he’s leaving.  Damn it all to hell.

I survived the ice show, but I think the fucking tykes have gotten me sick.  I couldn’t get any air at all today and my voice was on and off.  We had these penguins, and they were all like two to four years old.  For some reason that I’m unable to explain, they LOVED me.  I was like this sparkly toy to them, and they hung all over me, sitting in my lap, touching my hair, rubbing the glitter off my dress, and asking me to pick them up.  Then I started noticing that all the little shits had snot crust under their noses.  Um, that’s not cool.  I was like, “Okay, I’m out.  I’m not getting sick when I have a to-do list a mile long.”  That just made them love me all the more.  They’re like cats – you know how they find the one person in the room who can’t stand cats and rub all over them?  Yeah, that’s little kids with me.

I don’t understand the need some people have for procreation.  People are already annoying and they want to go out and make tiny annoying replicas of themselves?  I don’t get it.  And plus, just for a bonus, wee ones always have snotty noses and random grime all over their nasty germy little hands.  Yuck.  Yes, I’m aware that I have a kid, but you know what?  He grossed me out when he was little too. 

Now having said that, there were two penguins that I liked just fine.  One didn’t speak which is awesome if you ask me.  The other one just wanted to dance, so while we were backstage (aka on the ice but behind the curtains, we spun and shook our booties.  That was good times.  I don’t know, maybe they would’ve been okay if there hadn’t been so damn many of them or if they weren’t snotty or if I hadn’t been so nervous.

Speaking of nervous, I was so freaked before I left the rink that I a) puked (and I think we’re all aware of just how much I hate throwing up), and b) well, so as not to go into detail, let’s just say that those two girls and their cup have nothing on me.  Oh dear God.  So I went to the show completely devoid of food which may have contributed as well to my attitude towards the tiny people who, by the way, were all stuffing their little faces with Goldfish and Cheerios.  After the show, I went to an open house being held by one of the skater’s parents.  I drank one beer and was hammered.  That’s fun.  I couldn’t eat there because of the whole tooth issue.  When I came home, I was like, “Where is the fucking food???” and I seriously ate.  And then I felt sick.  Bummer!  But then I felt better so I ate some more.  Oink oink, yay me!

Performance-wise, I’d give it a shrug and an ok.  I’ve definitely done it better, but it could’ve been worse.  I didn’t fall or run into a tree and kick a squirmy kid in the head (tempting, but no).  My spiral wasn’t as high as normal because I felt a little wonky while I was tipping my upper body over, so my leg couldn’t get as high.  My spin was disappointingly slow.  The rest was fine.  It wouldn’t have killed me to look up into the stands more or to paste a grin on my face (the smile was sporadic), but since I’m new to this, I’m not gonna shoot myself over it.  When I danced, we didn’t grin – we were told to have a pleasant expression on our faces, but not a giant cheese-eating grin.  This is different since it was a show and we’re supposed to majorly play to the audience.  I’m not so good at that.

Anyway, I’m glad I did it because any experience in front of an audience is good practice, especially with that Pro-Am coming up this summer.  Plus I’ll probably have to test again before that.  So it’s all good.

My ex-husband is a douche.  I had forgotten that little tidbit because we had been getting along so well recently, but he’s up to all his old tricks again.  I can’t rehash it because I’ll get all pissed off again which will lead to more stomach issues and perhaps more zits in even more unmentionable places.  Though now I feel I need to explain.

Okay, so first of all, he’s getting remarried on December 1st.  This is fine – hopefully she will be able to fix a couple of these issues, but if not she’ll just be one more person on my list of people who can kiss my ass.  Whatever.  The problem here is the honeymoon.  I knew they were going on one.  Who doesn’t go on a honeymoon?  Oh right, I didn’t.  I guess that’s what I get for being seven and a half months preggers when I got married.  Anyway, with the wedding fast approaching, the other night I asked Ex if they were going on a honeymoon.  He said yes, they were leaving on the 2nd and coming back the 5th.  Okay, well, what about Munchkin and school and all that?  Oh, it turns out he thought that Munchkin would just stay here and I’d take him into school.  I’d have no problem with that if school started at, say, ten.  But it doesn’t.  It starts at 8:30.  It takes me 45 minutes to get from here to school when there’s no traffic.  At that hour though, I think it would take over an hour.  That’s fucking ridiculous.  So Munchkin is going to stay with his grandparents since it’ll take them five minutes to get to school.  I got pissed because he didn’t even ask me – I had to ask him, and he just assumed.  Don’t get me wrong – I would love to have the Munchkin all the time, but I don’t.  And I can’t ask Munch to alter his schedule to that degree.  He would be a miserable child.  He’s one of those kids that really has to have maximum sleep.  What I really want to know is when Ex was planning on informing me of his plans.  They affect my kid, and they affect me.  So that’s inconsideration number one.

Number two is that he keeps leaving me out of school stuff.  Like progress reports and activities and whatnot.  Somehow that information never makes it to my house.  Then, when Munchkin has another not-great progress report in English, Ex goes and makes a parent-teacher conference appointment without consulting me about it or finding out a good time for me to go.  So what happens is that he tells me at the very last second that there’s a meeting, and it happens to be at a day/time I can’t get to the school.  Thursday at 2 would’ve been fine.  Friday at 2 is not.  Really, how hard is it to say, “Hey, we need to meet with Munchkin’s English teacher.  Her conference time is 2.  What day is good for you?”  Duh!  It’s just so freaking inconsiderate, but it’s just like him.  He did this crap when I was married to him, and it’s like you’re blindfolded all the time and you have no idea where you are and you just keep bumping into shit and falling down.  It sucks so much ass.

Lastly, and this is the big one, he showed up here last night to pick Munchkin up, and he was dee-runk.  I could smell it coming off him from ten feet away.  I told him, and he said I was being ridiculous.  I was like, “Ex, I can smell it from here.  I know you’ve been drinking.”  Drinking is fine, but I’m not putting my kid in a car with someone who is clearly drunk.  He said he’d had two drinks.  That’s what people always say when they’re lying about how much they drank!  Always!!!  That was my mom’s favorite lie.  “I have two drinks a day”.  No, honey, you have two an hour.  All day long.  Anyway, I said I’d prefer to drive Munchkin back to his house myself.  Ex said, “Why don’t you just call the cops and have them arrest me?”  Okay, getting a little dramatic, are we?  He’s like that though – you’re either okay with everything he does and everything is fine, or he’s a big loser and you hate him and you want him in jail.  There’s a middle of the road here, and for me it’s this: You go ahead and run your ass into a ditch, but I’m not putting my kid in a car with you.

So he kept yelling at me in my kitchen about how I was trying to run his and New-Wife’s life regarding their honeymoon and how I was overly-sensitive about drinking because of my mom (guilty) and how that ruined our marriage and how I was just trying to start a fight, blah blah blah.  In myhouse he was yelling at me!  That’s not okay.  Meanwhile, I’m dumb enough to point out a few other issues like that Munchkin needs new shoes, that he wore dress socks with his falling apart sneakers to school because Ex hadn’t done any laundry in so long, how Munchkin needs a haircut, and how I found out Munchkin hasn’t been eating breakfast and it is the most important meal of the day, etc.  Really not the time or place.  Ex is supposed to take care of all the clothing and that kind of stuff since he’s primary custodian and he makes like ten times as much money as I do.  Sometimes I’ll do it and he’ll pay me back, but he doesn’t always pay me back, so sometimes I have to remind him of these simple care-and-feeding-of-your-child rules.  Jeez, I’m not asking for much.  The dude is freaking loaded.  I mean, he just bought a Mercedes GL 550 which is a $77,000 SUV, so I think he can afford to buy his kid a couple of pairs of sneakers.  It’s just not a priority for him.  I think that’s fucking retarded. 

In the end, all I’m asking for is that some pretty simple needs are met, and right now, I don’t think they are.  Hopefully New Wife will make sure the kids (she has one) eat breakfast before school, and that they look nice with decent shoes and haircuts and clean clothes.  Really, is that too much to ask?  I’ve thought about fighting the custody issue, and it’s the same problem as originally.  I don’t have the firepower that Ex has.  He can bury me in lawyering – all they have to do is drag it out, and I run out of money way before he does.  He doesn’t mind pointing that out either – “Go ahead and fight.  I’ll bankrupt you in a month”.  Fucker!  Power-tripping fool.  Gak I hate his sorry ass!  I am so freaking happy I’m not married to him anymore.

I was so upset last night and this morning that I had the grossest stomach problems, and I broke out on my chest.  Awesome, boob zits.  That’s nice.  They’re not really on my boobs, but close enough that the only way anyone is going to see them is if they take my shirt off.  That’s not happening anytime soon, so I guess I should be happy I broke out on my chest rather than my face!

It’s going to be 107 degrees here today (I knew we’d pay for the lovely wet weather we’ve had all summer eventually).  If I’m going to work out today, I need to do it soon, but I have a headache, so I’m hanging out on the internet instead.  What I’ve found so far is that the Runner’s World website is going to kill me because it’s so freaking slow.  I kind of want to throw my computer across the room right now.  I’m waiting for the shoe finder page to load.  See, I’ve had all these problems – I’ve sprained my right ankle twice, my Achilles tendon hurts, and my knee hurts (all on the right side).  I’m a little freak, so of course I’m an underpronater.  That just means that I hit the outside of my foot and don’t roll to the inside properly, so it’s hard on my knees and Achilles.  I guess that makes it hard on my ankles too, but the point is that it’s gotten to the point that I am no longer running.  I’m walking which makes me feel like a little old lady.  Unacceptable!  So I’m checking to see if I can find some shoes that’ll fix the problem.  My current shoes are Asics Gel Kayanos which are supposed to be awesome but are clearly not working for me.

Okay, so after eleventy billion minutes, my 26 pairs of shoes popped up, and one pair was for underpronators.  Nice.  So I will compare them to four other pairs that are for neutral foot people but which are highly rated.  Let’s see.  Okie dokie, it looks like I’d have to go with this one.  The neutral shoes just won’t work.  The nice thing here is that this shoe is $85 whereas the Gel Kayanos are $135.  Yay!  Now I’ll have to sneak in the running without telling my coach who has twice forbidden running.  He’s just paranoid about the knee and ankle issues.  I’m paranoid about fat.  Fat trumps bad knees, so I win!

This is a hello to the WordPress people even though I’m pretty sure they don’t read my drivel – your website is bugging me today too.  You know I’ve been having problems with the spellchecker for months now, and today I’m typing along, nothing shows up on the page, and then all of a sudden everything pops up.  It’s a little disconcerting, especially since I’m a horrible speller and who knows what I’m spelling when I can’t see it?  And no, I don’t think it’s my computer because the Runner’s World site is always slow (though it’s more annoying today than on some other days) so you can’t use that as proof that it’s me.  Plus this sometimes happens with your site.  Help help!

Here is what I need to do today – workout (walk, weights, and core), shower, go to Target, do laundry, vacuum dog hair (I don’t have carpet – I have a layer of dog hair instead, ick), and work with Magnus on sit and stay with lots of distractions which means take him to Petsmart and work with him in the treats aisle.  The fish aisle also works well because the tanks make a high-pitched sound that humans can’t hear but which drives the dogs bonkers.  I can’t find his leash right now though.  When I took him to the vet for boarding, I know they gave it back to me.  I just can’t figure out what I did with it.  Urgh!  He could use some new chew toys too.

Here’s what I want to do today: nothing.  At least until the headache goes away.  I’d like to go back to bed for a while, but I’m not so good at sleeping during the day.  Bummer!  If my headache went away, what I would like to do today is take a ballroom class.  The teacher at the rink sucks though.  That’s what I hear anyway.  Since I am currently partnerless, I don’t take ballroom.  My coach could take it with me, but since he’s also currently partnerless, he’s not taking anything he doesn’t have to.  He calls it a sabbatical.  I call it lazy butt (says the girl who’s sitting on the couch rather than working out).  Anyway, he says the ballroom teacher last year was much better.  He was Russian.  The one now is this older woman who treats everyone like they’re five years old.  Needless to say, when you peek in on the class, you see lots of eye-rolling and unhappy looking students.  I wonder if you have to have a partner for one of the ballroom schools or if they can hook you up with someone for the classes?  Ah, the answer is you don’t have to have a partner.  They just put you in private lessons!  Boo, expensive.  Maybe I’ll call later anyway.  This is something I really want to do.

Okay, that’s all for now.  I can’t deal with this website anymore today!

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!

Next Page »