New Year

I have no burning resolution to blog more this year.  I don't aim to tell people how much better I will be this year.  I don;t think last year sucked particularly hard, but I always hope the new one will be better.  I'm just tired of reading people's self-righteous rituals for the new year. 

This new year I played cards with Michele for about 8 hours.  We got pretty nicely drunk, crashed my neighbour's party for half an hour or so and then retreated home.  I peed in the snow.  This was a huge improvement over last year because A.  I was wearing rubber boots not the Rue Paul spangly porn shoes, B. there was snow, C. I didn't try and wear pants, I just took off my tights and bare-assed it.  So yes, I wrote my name! 

Clear as day, isn't it?!  Check that off my list of things to accomplish in 2013.

Doesn't that make you feel better about your life?  I didn't pass out at the top of my stairs this year so I think that's a good start to the year.

Big girls don't cry and the five second rule

Stardate 10 Mar 2012;  Alliston

I remember why I have always hated team sports - I can't believe it took this long.

It's the selection process. Not making a team is one thing. Being picked last - that's the kicker. I even read a blog post from a girl who bemoaned the day her coach made them pick teams for a scrimmage and I still didn't make the connection.

Until last practice.

Alliston lineups - they premade lines for the games and we practiced them. I'm on one line. Great. I guess so are a bunch of people, and a couple of people are on two lines. I think I played about half as much as anyone else. WTF?

Now, I have no illusions about my skill level but I'm not awful. Or not the worst, I don't think. And even if I was, don't I deserve equal track time, especially in a practice scrimmage? No, people were coming off the track beat and being sent right back out. W. T. F????

I almost cried. I almost got annoyed and made snarky remarks (OK, I made one to Rosa). Nope I did the me thing and bottled it up inside and pretended it was alllll OK. Don't fucking cry!!! I brooded about this for hours. In bed, at work... I vented to barb and we agreed we were fucked up to still get upset about this shit at our ages but what can you do? Once a loser always a loser. I contemplated emailing the coach and asking what was wrong with me, what I need to work on to get played more, but then I thought... really, you know what your weaknesses are better than anyone. Do you want to seem like you think you're so awesome and should play every line when in reality you think it's a miracle that you actually are playing at all? Not so much.

I went out for lunch, had fried chicken, scalloped potatoes and a ton of chocolate. I spent the afternoon reading some derby blog posts and got some perspective.
a. suck it up. This is your team, bitchiness isn't going to help anyone, least of all yourself.
b. the lineups *should* be fair, but who knows what happens in the heat of the moment - YOU know best how much you've played so say something (nicely) if you want more time. I'm sure there are gals who are dying for a break.

I felt much better. Angst eats me up inside and makes me useless. I gotta have some inner peace.

I got home and there was an email from our coach about the lineups. I'm still only one one line, but so are most people. A few are on two. Whatever. So they're better than you - most people are. Practice more. Look behind you ALL the time. Stay with your team.  Develop a sense of urgency - bust your ass to get that girl then get right back to your line. Practice more. Get lower. Pay attention. Use your head. Get LOWER.
Derby is so totally a mental game. I've helped us win the game 27 times over in my mind. I thought about paying attention to the jammers. The 5 second rule (I love that rule)*. I think it helped a lot and I feel better  But maybe it was the fried chicken and the chocolate.

So what are you going to do? Go out there, play your ass off every jam you get. Be ready to step up when there's a hole in the line. And SAY something if you're not being played enough. She said it was OK. If you don't do this, you get a smack in the face from me and forfit your right to feel an iota of anger about it. If you do and they don't use you? Suck it up, but it might be worth a discussion on you apparent lack of skill. At a later time.

*The rule is, when the opposing jammer leaves the pack: You have five seconds to get your jammer through the pack.
You have been relentless, but something happened and the opposing jammer broke free from the pack. From that second, that “OH-SHIT-SHE-GOT-AWAY!”-moment, that’s when you start counting.: Five…Four…Three…Two…One…and back to BLOCKING THAT JAMMER!
Five. Find your Jammer
Four. Who is holding her hostage?
Three. KEEEEL THEM!
Two. KEEEEL THEM MOOORE!
One. FORGET THEM! Where is the opposing jammer?

Number one.

A new year - we're restarting the dating numbering.  The first contender for douchbag of the year is from OKC.  We shall call him Yappy since he talks more than anyone I've ever me.  Long, rambling stories that go off on wild tangents.  In his defence, he is fairly interesting; his stories don't make my eyes glaze over.

On the negative, he doesn't really seem to want to listen to me talk about derby.  That's a problem.  But he's tall, dark and somewhat handsome.  Not fat, not thin.

Texted him afterwards and got nothing, so I figure he wasn't interested, but he sent me his email address last night so I guess he is. I suggested a ball gag next time so I'd have a fighting chance at contributing to the conversation.

No money, though.  Not that I have any issue about paying my own way but going out with someone with no money could could get old really fast.  Say what you like about douchebag, but he was well paid in his self-employment, and very generous.

________________________________________________________________________________

In related news, I think I find out what derby team I'm on tonight!  I can't believe I may actually be on a team...

White Russians?  These should be for entertainment purposes, not heavy drinking.  I wasn't even drunk last night and I feel wretched today.  Stupid Kahlua. Or maybe it was all the crap-ass food.

My SILs mom died.  Thank goodness, I was afraid she might linger for ages.  So sad, even more sad that my brother didn't tell me like he was supposed to.  Idiot.

At the risk of jinxing myself...

2012 is already shaping up better than I could have expected.  OK, I haven't quit eating chocolate (or cookies) but I have *tried* to cut down.  And I have been running. and I think maybe I didn;t swear twice when I thought I was going to.  Little baby steps.

Also - I finished a sweater.  And bought the zip.  (Let's not discuss sewing it in right now.)  I knit Calvin a new pair of socks.  I knit a legwarmer or two.  I acquired two new knitting machines I don't need (I think we'll sell one to fund the rest) along with some amazingly cool accessories.  I do love knitting machines so.

My dick of an ex has problems with details like who has the kid when.  Whe he thinks he knows what's going on he doesn't reach back into his memory and think: "hmm...  the last three time I thought I knew what was going on I fucked up, maybe I should confirm if what I think to be true actually is true."  Nope, not him.  He just assumes he's right.  He is a man, after all.

So he assumed we'd swapped weekends.  Permanently.  I've had the kids every other weekend for the past year.  It's a recuring appointment in my calendar.  I KNOW when I'm supposed to have them.  Anyway, when I picked up the kids and they told me daddy was supposed to I figured it was happeneing again.

To make a long story short, I don't care.  This, in fact, is awesome and if I had thought about it I might have asked for just this.  Now every single weekend I have a derby event, I DON'T have the kids, instead of just the opposite.  Cosmic karma in my favour for once.

Montreal Training Camp, here I come!! 

2012 - you're my bitch.

Argh, it's been an age.  I've been busy on my other blog, Lifestyles of the Self-deluded and Dysfunctional.  That's over now.  In no uncertain terms.

So let's move on!

Let's talk about next year, 2012.  Oh, it's going to be so amazing!  So much better than this year.

Not that 2011 was all bad - it brought roller derby to my life.  Oh derby, how do I love you?  New friends, new muscles, numerous new injuries, a whole new relationship with my physiotherapist.  It taught me that balance in your life is important, that you are not always right (especially when drunk), and the value of a heartfelt apology.

I kissed a girl and I liked it but it didn't really do anything for me.  More's the pity.  Maybe I need to try harder, or be less drunk.

But 2011 broke my heart.  Not in the way the douchebag 2010 broke my heart (which wasn't really broken, just stunned).  Really broken.  And I'm really hoping it taught me - finally - to listen to that inner voice inside of me.  Not the one I *want* to hear; the one that really is speaking from a place of knowledge.  I want to be able to listen, to be able to accept when it tells me the 411.  Because it knows, it really does, you just have to LISTEN to it.  You have to want to listen if only because it will save you from looking like a pathetic idiot.

Philosophy 101 - the answer to your question lies in the question itself:

Why doesn't that man love me?
That man doesn't love me.

and no matter how much you think it isn't true, thinking it doesn't make it so.

Anyway, 2012 is going to be better.

Better derby.  Games, even.  I live in hope.  I also want to play with my friends again.  Not sure how that will happen but I miss them so.  Less crazy derby partying.  Nuff said about that.

I will date.  I will try.  I will message people and reply - unless they weigh 300 lbs or are ancient, in body or spirit.

I will spend less money on crap.  I will have less money so this will be a given but I gotta try at least.  Less lunches.  More knitting from stash.  Maybe go back to sewing and sell something?  And get paid for it?  Follow up,baby.  You're in charge.

Knock off those 15 lbs and do it fast before they get squatter's rights.  It don't look good on you.

Smile, don't snarl.

Patience.  Patience.  Patience.  Your life isn't even half over, there's lots of time for good things to happen.

Adios 2011, you mechant, mechant, mechant lou.

ps.  how could I forget?  I will get the damn attic done, I SWEAR on the derby rule book.
xo Clammy

Falling apart

Yesterday my lovely little monsters came back.  I miss them a lot now that they're gone a bit more, and they miss me.  Not much we can do about that, I guess.

Anyway, I set about making them dinner last night as I discussed homework with Calvin.  Slapped the pot on the stove for boiled eggs, cranked it up, fought over the journal and what constituted an acceptable entry (note: one partial sentence is not an acceptable entry).  I look up after a few minutes and notice the kitchen is FULL of smoke.  I had turned on the wrong hotplate and the wool pad that had been on that hotplate was transmogrified.

Mental note:  don't leave shit on the stove.  It is not a storage space.
Mental note 2: it's true, wool doesn't burn.  It just... carbonizes.  It only burned in the exact spot it was resting on the hotplate.  So dress your babies in wool and they won't be tragically disfigured in the event of accidental burning.

It stunk to high heaven.  I had instant flashbacks to the tragic stew incident of my childhood, where we went to the mall leaving the stew on the stove on high and came back to a house FULL of disgusting smoke.  I swear it took months to get the smell of burned flesh out of our coats.

Also - my smoke detector didn't go off.  OK, most of the smoke was in the kitchen and the detector is down the hall at the bottom of the stairs.  I'm wondering if this is a bad thing or not.  It doesn't go off every time I burn the toast, which is good.  If the house actually was on fire, the smoke would have to go past the detector to get upstairs, which would wake us up.  But maybe it would be better if we got a bit of advance warning before the whole bottom storey was filled with smoke?  Hmmm.... I think not having it go off with every cooking malfunction might win out.

I know this won't come as a stunning revelation to anyone with an ounce of sense, but my kids like it when I pay attention to them.  We've been drawing, playing games (Calvin is kick-ass at chess.  He castled!), playing Lego... and they are much much much happier, spend less time fighting with each other and don't feel the need to bug me every 20 second to play computer games (we're down to every 5 minutes, but it's an improvement).  Ah, parenting.  Why can't you be easier?

Homework for two kids?  Check
Calvin punching me in the arm?  Check
Jack throwing a shoe at my ankle?  Check.
25 Lego dudes unearthed from the bottom of the bin?  Check.
Whinging bouts averted?  Check.

Both kids are finally peacefully asleep in bed, the laundry is finishing up it's cycle and the horrible sound of grinding, gnashing metal bits erupts from the washer.  Again.  Once can be explained away, twice needs attention.  Stupid front loader - I don't have a clue.

On the plus side, I've managed not to to send emails that will get me into trouble.  Not like I haven't written a few but I have managed not to send them.  So far.

Plumbing

I think I can do anything.  I look at a project and say to myself "That's totally doable.  Even if I run across a snag or two, how bad can it be?"

Now, my house was built in 1914.  I am convinced that for the first 50 years of it's existence (and most houses of it's era) all the work done on it was done by the well meaning but somewhat inept homeowner.  That's just the way it was back then.  In some houses (mine included) this trend seems to have been carried on throughout it's entire lifetime.  Electricity wired with no logic, though fully functional and seemingly safe.  Plumbing that snakes its way around in bizarrely random patterns.  There is no project that doesn't encounter a snag, no matter how hard you try to anticipate the problems.

So when I volunteered to do my friend's sink plumbing, I thought "How bad can it be?"  I looked at it, tried to imagine all the possible problems, though, though and thought again.  ANd then jumped in.

Her hot tap had been dripping, then running, for a while.  First order of business was to put in a hot water shutoff.  She had got compression fittings rather than solder on ones, not my fav but I thought hey, why not branch out?  Besides the fact that I had a hell of a time getting them to not drip, it seemed relatively painless. (I suspect they are still leaking a tiny bit, but WAY less than before and hopefully snugging them up will fix that.  Hopefully.)

Then we tackled the cold side.  Now, I had previously noted that the old galvanized iron pipe had been replaced from the kitchen upstairs, in a fully accessible place to attach new copper to the basement.  Peachy, right?  What I failed to consider was that A.  removing the ancient sink fitting from the stupid galvanized pipe would be, to put it mildly, a fucking nightmare and B. that getting to old supply lines out would be just as bad.  So we run the new copper supply line from the basement, cut the copper from the old pipe and all of a sudden I realize we can't get the old pipe out and thus can't get the new stuff in. 

Fuck.

After some serious contemplation, liberal application of WD40 and swear words, and a halfhearted attempt with the pipe wrench (I loves me a pipe wrench.  Sexiest tool ever.) I abandoned hope of removing it that night. (Did I mention we started about 6 pm?  Ha.)  So... how to get the plumbing at least functional for the next week or so?  Paper plates and takeout is fine but you gotta do da business somewhere.

So we decided to bypass the sink for now since the old pipe was talking up all the room needed to run the new supply line and shutoff and just reconnect the cold water lines with new copper pipe.  Then when we figured out how to get the old pipe out we could just add in the sink supply line.  Sure.

Except that the lines in the basement wouldn't drain properly so we had a bitch of a time getting them to seal.  M had left for derby practice leaving poor C with me to help.  I am eternally grateful to her for her patience with my ineptness, and her excellent, thoughtful suggestions.

To make a long story short, we tried three (four?) separate times to get the stupid lines to seal - in various configurations, adding in little drains, over and over.  Every time we turned the water on there was a leak.  The last time, with our last set of connectors (don't ask how many we wasted) as I dried out the pipe with the torch I said let's just shove some more flux in here and see if that helps.  And it did.  It fucking did.

It sounds so anticlimactic as I write it, but it was 10:30, we had no more fittings and no prospect of getting the water back on if this didn't work.  We were elated.  Overjoyed. 

Now we just gotta figure out how to get the stupid galvanized pipe out.  The rest will be easy. 

Stop laughing.

(Oh, and it leaked in a different spot and I had to go back and fix it, sick child in tow.  Not fun.  There may have been a hissy-fit involved.)

Drinking the Koolaid

Roller derby is a force to be reckoned with.  It is a fantastic way to stay in shape, meet new people and have a hell of a good time.  But it can quickly spiral out of control.

It's the drug that fixes everything for me.  It takes away my hangover, my cold symptoms, my bone-deep fatigue, my angst about my kids and my personal life...  I notice none of these things while skating.  Yes, it can be frustrating when you're tring for the 27th time to weave through cones and you're sure you'll NEVER get it.  When you want to jump in the air and your legs refuse to cooperate and actually bend.  But the speed, the hitting, the sense of control - the adrenalin rush is a potent, addictive drug.

The social aspect is something else entirely.  Derby culture is like a cult.  Before you know it, you're going out after practice on a Wednesday night, rolling in at 1 am, and dragging your ass back out of bed at 6:30 to go to work.  Two days later you're out until 3, hammered.  and maybe the night after that too. 

And it's not just the lifestyle, it's how the attitudes of these women rub off on you so quickly.  If you had told me a year ago that I would be taking the subway dressed in a pair of holey tights and a running skirt that barely clears my ass I would have laughed uproariously.  Now my only concern is that I don't freeze to death.  I'm not saying this is a bad thing - I'm all about havng a positive body image but it sure is different, especially for me, suzy conservative.

And then there's the sex thing.  Derby girls have a reputation for being, um... skanky hos.  This is coming from men.  I think they have there wires crossed as most derby girls aren't even interested in  men, and those who are have a hard time finding men to skank with, so filled with women are the venues we tend to frequent.  But the woman-on-woman action is unbelievable.  I don't want to generalize either lesbians or derby girls, but most of the women I have run across have a very broad sens of what is acceptable behaviour.  Now I kind of like this.  I think it's refreshing that they can do pretty much whatever they want and not be judged for it.  (I'm going to assume that there is some sort of understanding between partners about what is or is not acceptable.)  I used t be very uptight and moralistc about "relationships" and what constituted "acceptable" standards of practice, but this has changed a lot lately.  (It's not all to do with derby and there is a lot of stuff I have come to believe that I would never discuss with my "conventional" friends as I know they'd think I was nuts, but I have changed a lot.  For the better, I think.  Theory is one thing - I might have to see what happens if it ever gets put into practice.)

Anyway... the point of this is that your perspective tends to get skewed after a while.  Throwing women into the mix as more-than-friends is weird.  No longer is there that safe space of friendship, when women (notoriously judgmental bitches) only judge you on your looks and attitudes and shoes, now it's on your potential as a prospective hook-up as well.  You start to think that you have to have good hair and clothing around them, not only when you're looking to impress the opposite sex.  What a chore.  And it makes conversation (difficult enough for someone as socially stunted as myself) even more difficult.  Who needs that?

This is so high school, I know.  And for someone of my age it's ridiculous.  Still, it sneaks up on you and you don't realize how far of the path you've strayed until all of a sudden you've humiliated your best friend and are making out with a virtual stranger in a dive bar.

Reality check, dudes.  There is too much of a good thing.  I'm sticking with the sport and camaraderie aspect of derby and leaving the rest behind me.  

Not to mention the fact that anything non-derby tends to get the shaft when consumed by the obsession.  Housework, hobbies, OTHER FRIENDS.  You did things before derby and you can do things as well as derby.  There's a reason you don't put all your eggs in one basket.

But I have improved my ability to apologize, something I'm not very good at.  I guess that's a good thing.  I'd rather improve my ability to relate to people, to deal with adversity, so I don't have to apologize so much.

Crazy dude.

Just for posterity, I think I should record this here.  In case y'all think I don't love you, this is what I put up with in the name of research and entertainment.  God knows I don;t get much out of it, SOMEONE should...

Went for drinks, dude likes to talk about himself.  We had nothing in common, but I got somewhat drunk and managed to chit chat acceptably well.  He just talks about how smart and cheap he is and the car his sister gave him and then he sold and she was pissed and he doesn't know why.   Had no interest in derby - just said soccer is a much better sport.  Why would girls want to hit each other?  dude...  I shoulda bailed then.

Then he says lets go get some lamb and cook and make salad and bread and wine and I agreed since it's so much easier, and I was still contemplating fucking him for research purposes.  Then we're half way to the store and I say - no I don't want to do dinner.  And he says Oh, I was just going to say we have a good vibe - I haven't invited anyone up to my place before (riiiiight - cuz you're a crazy mofo and they all run away first).  And he starts grilling me on why I changed my mind etc etc.  So I agree to a drink at his place.  I'm a pushover.

So we go to his place and he keeps filling my glass up to almost the rim and I'm half in the bag and he tries to teach me to dance and the music was AWFUL.  He just listens to stuff from Youtube - no actual music.   Black dudes sorta rapping with half naked chicks crawling around on the screen - seriously?  And he plays the same few awful songs over and over.  The dancing was sorta fun in a completely uncoordinated way.  Then he starts going on about what do I want to do for fun and he'll take me anywhere and he will pay and I say no - I want to go see my friends.  I only have so much free time and I want to spread it around and he says can I come and I say no (surprise).  So by now I just want to get the fuck out but then he kisses me and says there wasn't that good?  Which it wasn't - he sorta ate my face too much tongue and teeth and dude - SUBTLETY please - you don't have to ran your tongue down my throat!!  So then he tries again to convince me we should do something together and I say no about 20 time and finally I just say I gotta go.  And he's obviously pissy. 

So I make my escape and he calls me 3 x before I'm 100 yards away and I don't pick up and then he texts me to say:

• you made me feel like sort of a jerk and I kindof liked you
• but sorry please lose my number
• please lose my number as you are fake

to which I reply:

Dude - get a grip.  not wanting to spend the whole evening with you is not fake.

and he sends texts 4,5 and 6:

• sure please lose my number is that too much asking I know ur kind (?!?!?!! wtf does that mean????)
• no offense good luck
• just lose number please

Gosh, I guess you don;t want me to call you again?  Like I would, you crazy psycho freak!

Oh, and he MADE me wash my hands when we got to his place.  He WATCHED me put soap on and said Oh, I guess you do know how to do that.  What, WASH?????  And when I tried to change the music on his computer he was all - oh I'm a computer guy, you probably can't figure out HOW TO USE YOUTUBE let me help.  Dude's obviously been dating driftwood.

So then I went and got even more trashed with my friends.  Good times!!!

Oh, and he smokes.  Seriously?  Did you think I just wouldn't notice???

Enthusiasm`

When was the last time I approache my kife with any enthusiasm?  Someone on the street today said I was having a mid-life crisis.  Could be, but it's a crisis which is making my life a hell of a lot better.

Tried longboarding today.  Think skateboarding on a big scale - boards 3-4 feet long.  SO.  Much.  Fun.  Borrowed a board from a friend while the kids are away and wow.  I feel moderately competant already!  It's a very cool feeling leaning into the corners and carving the hill.  Loosened her trucks WAY up - hope she doesn;t mind.  Now you actually turn when you lean (thanks, derby!).

And derby.  Sigh, how do I love thee?  Went skating in High Park on Sat, ostentably with the derby/cardinal gals, but really just me and Miko and Rosa.  Did a controlled crash on my way to the park (read: steep hill, out of control descent, turned corner onto corrugated sidewalk, chose to bail out rather than flame out) resulting in some minor road rash/bruising but otherwise was AWESOME!!!

The main road loop around the park is pretty short, but hilly.  Oh the hills.  What an adrenalin rush.  Once I found out there was nothing at the bottom of the hill (no stops etc.) I just tucked and went.  Could have done it a thousand times.  Down the hill, up a bit, down another, around the corner and back to the beginning fairly flat.  Repeat until you can't stand.

Chose to take my skates off rather than risk a repeat performance on the sidewalk on the way back.  I think I made the right decision.

Keep in mind we're moving in this pic...

You can't teach an old horse...

Ha.  So much for the new me, able to deal with uncertainly, to relax and let things slide.  You know why?  Because that person is a DOORMAT and I don't want to be a doormat.

Notice I'm not saying I *won't* be a doormat - just that I don't like it.  God, that would require me taking a stand, being confrontational, having a backbone.  My problem is that I had a backbone at the beginning, we discussed this shit and sort of resolved it and now I am not doing anything about it.

Problem - as usual - communication.  I leave it all up to him and then get all hinky when things don't proceed as I think they should.  So stupid, though.  He's not psychic, he hasn't done anything wrong, it's just that I won't man up and say I have an issue.  And of course we all know why - because I don't want him to walk away.  Yes, I know, if that makes him walk away I don't want him in the first place but it's so easy to say and so hard to do.

So I'm going to set myself a time limit.  You can enjoy (?) the two weeks that the kids are away, make the most of that (if anything even comes of that - I have a long history of spending my free time alone) and then see how things are after that.  If you pull the plug after that you won't feel like you chucked away all that potential action (mmmmm... action).

Remember, being a doormat is not attractive.  Really.  And he likes you, he really does -  you're just taking his issues and turning them into an opportunity to be the old passive sappy you.  DO something, then you can blame him if it all goes to shit instead of taking it all on yourself.  You are awesome.  It won't be your fault if this doesn't work out, and as you have discovered it's not your only opportunity for good sex.  Good sex is 80% in your mind and 20% a competent partner.  Yeah, so you like him.  Do you want an inevitably on again off again drag me through the rosebush relationship?  Nope, I didn't think so.

Screwing a 35 yo dude?  Not sure how I feel about that.  Screwing a 35 yo dude who's never been with an "older" woman?  Could be a psychologically traumatic experience for yours truly.  Only if he's as asshole, though, and I should be able to figure that out before we hop in the sack.

Retrospective

Remember this? 
Haaaaarrrgghh.

What F-PERT means to me:

Oh, the injustice of it all

It sucks being a chick sometimes. I have raging PMS this month.  I wish I could figure out what made it worse.

• My boobs rival Dolly Parton's and they are about 10 degrees hotter than the rest of me.  Great in this weather, eh?  And the pain! 
• I ate my own body weight in sugar yesterday.  I think I would have chewed off the arm of anyone who tried to stop me.
• I went from total adoration to screaming banshee at my kids yesterday.  Can you say "mood swing", Billy?  Sure, I knew you could.

When does my biological clock run out???

The view from here

What exactly is the view like  from out of your arsehole?  Fuzzy with hints of brown, I suspect.  My wretched brother has his head shoved so far up his ass I'm surprised he can see at all.  Do you think he will realize the universe doesn't revolve around him at some point?  I've cut him more slack than anyone and more that he deserves, certainly, but I've had it.  He can either discuss his shit with me and we can have it out or not.  Frankly, I've lost interest.

Hollywood version:  He calls Monday to ask if he can bring his gf's teenage children up to the cottage.  Now, I knew this was coming since she facebooked she'd been invited a few days before and my umbillically-connected nephew told me, so I was prepared.  It's my vacation.  My time to chill out and relax with my family.  Not to have to deal with strangers, to have to worry about not wearing a bra, changing out of my swimsuit, etc etc.  So I said no.  He said that wasn't fair to him, Darcy went on vacation with him and his kids all the time and he should bring her kids.  WTF?  Not my problem!   I said it was MY vacation and I wanted to spend it with my family and only family.   You're my family; Darcy isn't.  I barely know her, let alone her kids.  And he said:

But Orly came up.

Um, and Orly is not A. the mother of my niece and nephew? B.  My friend??
Don't even start to compare her with Darcy. 

Anyway, I said I wasn't going to argue with him, I'm not comfortable sharing my vacation with strangers and that's that.  He said then he wasn't going to bring Darcy either.  Whatever.

The he sent me a pissy text saying he wasn't coming at all.  Fine, eyeroll.  I let him think about that and he remembered he had to collect his children from me.  He shows up with the van, three passengers, proceeds to pack everyone into the car (six people, five seatbelts).  Calvin cried, Jade wasn't pleased but would never question her dad.  Ari didn't care as long as he had wifi.

Tit.

That is all.

It's official...

I'm a member of the Divine Viper Assasination Squad.  Frankly, I'm terrified.  Tales of split and blackened eyes abound.  Still, that's what makes life exciting, isn't it?  Maybe I can earn some of my injuries now instead of them all being self-inflicted.

Outdoor skating only till Sept, though .  I'm away for the next week, then the league is moving to a new facility which isn't ready.  Then no practice in August.  I have no desire (let alone hope in hell) of being drafted.  I just wanna play on the D-VAS until I am marginally competant.

25 laps in 5 minutes.  I am way pleased with myself.

Well *I* didn't have internet, at least.

A week with these two:

...has actually been fairly delightful. 
Lots of this:

 

And this:

 

Even Chester had and good time:

 Didn't wash my hair for a week.  Awesome.

Home for derby with children (curses) due to unexpected tragedy not at all related to me.  Still, if you didn't have internet and didn't discover it for a few days, how would life be different?  You'd get a few more days of blissful vacation, oblivious, and the person would still be dead when you got back to the city.

A list (not A-list)

• I am on vacation for two glorious weeks.  No internet.  Good for my mental health if nothing else.
• The kids are gone for the long weekend so I can pack, clean, relax.  Even better, they went up to the cottage with steve so I get to drive alone, oh joy.
• I should be shopping/packing but am, as usual, procrastinating.
• Skated on the lakeshore path yesterday with Miko and Michelle, who rode M's bike - it was awesome.  I refuse to give in to my fear of obstacles, rough ground, railroad tracks, potholes, traffic, gravel, and falling in front of cars, but I categorically refuse to skate through standing water and/or mud.  Did some off-roading as a result.
• Why don't you spell obstacle like testicle?
• The smell of sewage off the treatment plant is truly DISGUSTING.
• I drunk texted dude (who is an M, btw) and was called a lush for my efforts.  Very true.  Will try not to do that again as he threatened to turn back the clock
• Sucked back more vodka and tonic that a body should be able to handle.  Derby is a bad influence on my drinking  habits.
• Had a coughing fit in the car and I couldn't breath in.  Thought my companions would have a stroke since I was driving at the time.  Fun times.  Stupid cough.
• Dude listens to Ray LaMontagne, in case anyone doubted he was perfect for me.
• The Ray tee shirt I got, which is a women's large, fits Calvin who is a skinny 9.  What is wrong with clothing manufacturers?
• There is no rule that said I couldn't stalk him.  I just can't talk to him.
• Six days is forever, six months is eternity.  I hope it gets better.
• Everyone thinks I'm fucked and no one will let me talk about it.  Hence this.
• I put my hands in Bruiseberry's pants.  No, not pants, underwear.  I was drunk. My friends were baiting me.  I am an easy target - they said she had my phone, lying bitches.
• I was box manager for the clam slam!  Most stressful hour of my life.  Tell me again why I do this?  Oh yeah, because it's fun and no one's yelled at me yet.  The day that happens I WILL cry.
• Did absolutely nothing to celebrate Canada day.  I am an apathetic Canadian.

Clams

In case you're interested in why I picked Free-Range Clam over some of the other options...
Free-Range implies slutty, which I aspire to, and describes my parenting style.
Clam is... well, a clam - always good in a sport dominated by lesbian women.  I can hint that I might swing that way and fit in with the cool kids.  Also reflective of my emotional ability, according to some/many.

During the year, the free-range clam tends to stay close to it's own territory, though will occasionally venture into the west end in search of a mate.  During the summer, however, the free-range clam lives up to it's name and wanders all over the countryside.

The free-range clam has been known to slam it's potential mate repeatedly against a hard object to determine his suitability.  It seems obvious that the clam is selecting for hardy genes, although this behavior has also been noted in clams outside the reproductive age.  The clam seems somewhat bloodthirsty as it will often, in the throes of mating passion,  ingest the blood it has drawn..

Am home nursing snot bubbles, trying to kick this stupid chest thing before a. I go on vacation and b. I lose my mind.  Isn't it weird how my doctor will give me a prescription for antibiotics over the phone, based on a few questions the receptionist asks, while some won't even refill a Rx for insulin needles?  My doctor will also see you the same day if you want, while hers takes six weeks for an appointment.  D'ya think you might die in those six weeks?  I think there should be common standards.  When I rule the world things will be better.

Six hours, six days, six weeks, six months.

Momentous

On the advice of my trusted adviser, Dr. Morrison, I ended it with dude today.  It was mutual.  We both recognized it was not viable as is.  Both equally reluctant to end it.  Both knew we had to.  I'd been pushing and pushing and he was so kind and good natured about it, but in the end he was right.  We're done.

On a note that will send Dr. Morrison through the roof, we agreed to get back in touch (if I want to) in six months and see how things stand.  I find that reassuring.  Not that he'll be there waiting for me all fixed and available, or that I will be waiting.  Just... reassuring. 

He is a truly lovely man and I am so sad and sorry that things couldn't work out.  God, I've tried so hard and waited so long for someone like him and then when I do find him, he's "unavailable".  Fix your baggage dude and lets move on.

In other news:

I am now Free-Range Clam #666.  It's not the most popular choice but I love it.