grrgoyl

We had Christmas four days early this year, because we're grown-ups and can do as we please -- and we got socked with ten inches of snow, Tery took a four-day weekend, and wanted toys. 

So I'm writing this on my new tablet.  It's pretty damn awesome, like my phone but three inches bigger; and after a few short hours playing with it, my phone already seems comically tiny and I can't imagine how I did anything on it (just now Tery brought it in from where it had lain forgotten under today's mail, and I cried, "Nobody wants a Charlie-in-the-box!") 

Not to mention the wi-fi network I had to set up to get online with the tab is pretty sweet, and surprisingly painless to establish, considering my adversarial history with all things wireless.

So maybe we can expect to see more updating from me in the future.  Merry xmas to all of us.

My second-best present was the book "Harry Potter: Page to Screen," which is gorgeous and truly so enormous we might need to add a new wing to the condo just to house it (you know those corny fantasy films where the wizard leafs through a spell book the size of a coffee table? This book is about that big.  If you were reading it before bed and fell asleep with it on your chest, you'd be crushed instantly).  Still, for all its girth, it took a full five minutes of paging through before I found one picture of Snape.  >:(

Tery enjoyed her presents as well, being as they were mostly running-oriented.  So I would say the Christmas of a Thousand Dreams (as I've been marketing it all month) was a roaring success!

Unless you count my cynicism bordering on anxiety about certain recent  political developments--I'm referring to some very scary legislation that you'd never think stood a chance of getting passed in America (NDAA and now SOPA. Look them up if you think I'm overreacting).

Not helping my near-hysteria in the slightest was the arrival of an email from my dearest friend H, an isolationist in the best of times who now sounded like his paranoia had reached critical mass in the six months since our last communique.  His email was peppered with links supporting his thesis that "the internet has been compromised" (hence my protecting his identity here).

I'm including here my response, because I think it sums up pretty well my present feelings, and my blog, in addition to entertaining me, has proven to be a great source for future historical references.

"Once upon a time I would have said, 'Oh, H, my adorable conspiracy theorist.' Not any more.

I didn't click on any of your links because frankly, I already know too much. I don't want to know these things I know, and I damn well don't want to learn any more. I want to go back to being angry about stupid things like picking up Tery's socks one more time, or that every time I go for an oil change it costs me $500 (forever finding maintenance jobs to do on my 14-year-old car). I don't want to think of my government as sinister, and I don't want to live with the fact that the people we're hoping will fix things are a very big part of the reason things are the way they are in the first place.

I want to live in the Fox News bubble, or no-spin zone or whatever they're calling themselves these days. I want to point at Occupy and say "dirty lazy hippies." I want to read my Snarry, play my Angry Birds, watch my Netflix and imagine that none of this has anything to do with me.

I want to tell Morpheus to give me the blue pill, please, and I want a steak, medium rare.

I sign online petitions. I signed about a million of them to try to stop NDAA, and now I'm signing a million more to stop SOPA. And I've written to everyone including Obama about both. All I get back are dog-and-pony-show form letters, and I know it's a fucking waste of time, but I feel like I have to do SOMETHING. And I can't march with Occupy because they have their big actions on Saturday when I always have to work, and anyway I don't want to get pepper sprayed and/or end up in Gitmo one day.

Everyone says the answer is to vote out all the incumbents. But November is 20 years away, and anyway MyFriendDeb asks "and replace them with who?" And she's right. Which of them can we trust? A lot of Occupiers say Ron Paul, and I know he's on the right page for economic reasons, but his position on the rest of the issues kind of sucks.

If I could have a Christmas wish this year, it wouldn't be for world peace. It would be for everyone to behave, for the politicians and the bankers and the 1% to stop thinking of themselves and their secret agendas and to just give a shit about their fellow human beings for a fucking day. It would be for America (and the world) to go back to a place I'm not scared to live in."

That's my naive little wish.  Naive because H is convinced there's a far bigger end-game, somewhere down the road, and all these little grabs of power and erosions of our rights are quite, quite deliberate and straight out of some tyrannical playbook. 

It isn't just the two of us. Check out the mad ramblings of Rick, the radical refrigerator repairman, a full two years ahead of his time. Perhaps not so radical anymore?

I've already said too much.  Happy Holidays everyone!

Posted via LiveJournal app for Android.

Tying up loose ends: The Wii Cyberbike has arrived and it's actually pretty fantastic. Only works with Gamecube compatible games, but it provides a fairly intense cardio workout ("Need for Speed: Nitro" damn near gives me a heart attack) that flies by because you're concentrating on the game and not every passing minute of pedaling that you could be doing something else. Oh, and the reason it sold for $50 less than new was because the left handgrip was missing, which I suspect the seller knew and conveniently neglected to mention, because it's like new otherwise. I was offered the option to return it, but Tery said nonsense, got some PVC pipe, wrapped it with electrical tape, and Bob's your uncle...problem solved, and I still saved $50. I just ordered some used Gamecube racing games dirt (and I mean DIRT) cheap, so I say let it snow, let it snow, let it snow!

~*~



Tery's medical director had the nerve to confide to her that she suspected me of getting on Facebook on her computer overnight at the hospital. While this accusation isn't as absurd as it once might have been (I'll admit, I've drunk the Facebook Kool-Aid, and now actually get on it before LJ in the morning), the truth is I spend enough of my work day at home on it (mostly following up-to-the-minute Occupy news) that I'm all social networked out by 5 pm. Besides, Tery pointed out to her, if I REALLY wanted to get on at the hospital, I would rather use a) Tery's computer or b) my smartphone. And, I added, I'm also clever enough to delete my browsing history behind me on the rare occasions I do go online at the hospital. She should point her finger at almost every other employee whose lives literally revolve around Facebook.

Speaking of Facebook, it has driven the final nail in the coffin of my friendship with Ryan. Well, Facebook/Occupy.

As a reminder, I announced I was more or less done with Ryan way back in September when he blew me off for John. I had continued to "like" things here and there on his FB page, the kind of casual, noncommittal friendship the internet makes possible, but I was by no means ignoring him completely while not really interacting like I used to.

I was kind of shocked last week when he posted a pic of a GI holding up a note explaining how he earned everything he has through hard work and not whining in the streets for free handouts. The pic was insultingly captioned "A young soldier has posted the truth!" Even my Libertarian brother-in-law has laid off the Occupy comments for the most part (or wisely blocked them from me), and has even stopped waving pom-poms for Herman Cain (which I find really freaking funny).

But back to Ryan and his criticism of Occupy. At this point in the movement I thought our concerns about the corrupt government and banking industry had been heard loud and clear, and the only people who still thought it was only lazy kids who didn't want to pay back student loans were Fox News viewers (and their children, which Ryan evidently falls into this category). I couldn't let it pass, and I left him the comment "Do you even know what Occupy is protesting?"

A few days went by with no response, so I figured either he didn't know or didn't care enough to debate it with me. Until a couple of nights ago when out of the blue he texted me asking why I had said that, and "for your information honey, your comment pissed me off royally!!!" I naturally assumed he was drunk (he's a mean drunk) and didn't know how to respond that wouldn't quickly become ugly, so shrugged it off.

The next morning I logged on to FB to discover that he had continued his attack. He answered my question "Your mom told me it was all about her so I joined in (Author's Note: VERY mature). Haha. Of course I know, don't underestimate me, I'm way smarter than u think I am. Honey." Followed by "What is your problem w me anyway? U don't call and when u write, u always put me down (Author's Note: Alcohol-induced paranoia. I've never put him down, always taken pains to remain coolly civil). I don't need any more of that in my life." Drunk Facebooking. Friends don't let friends do it.

The repeated condescending "Honeys" got to me a bit, so I let him have it. I set him straight on the finer points of Occupy that he might have missed from only watching conservative media, then went on to remind him that I haven't called him since the John incident and "I don't need any more of that in my life, so please don't play the poor innocent victim with me. Honey." Let me tell you, that felt too damn good.

Without another word, he unfriended me from FB. Not sure if it was the reminder that he's an asshole too sometimes or the evidence that he's been spoonfed lies by his parents that did it, but there he went. I didn't bother to return the favor, implying that I don't care enough about him to complete the process. However, the Ryan Reynolds issue of "Entertainment Weekly" I've been saving for him since June is going straight into the recycling bin, fuck you very much (pre-June is the last time we hung out together, just as an indication of how deep and meaningful his friendship has become).

Then he went on to unfriend Tery, who had had absolutely nothing to do with any of this. I mistakenly thought FB was also used by grown-ups and not just high school kids.

According to a fellow mutual ex-friend, we're only the most recent in a long line of friends he's managed to alienate after slights real or imagined. So I hope John is being a very, very good boy, because he'll literally be the only person Ryan has left in the world at this rate (oh, and his parents. He'll always have mommy and daddy, and that might be part of his problem).

As promised, I have returned from my trip to New York, and I bring stories. I was going to try to write in bullet points in an effort to keep it short, but as usual my wordiness got the better of me. So ( ::for your scrolling pleasure:: )

And that was it! Back to my dull, Alan-less life for the foreseeable future. Although I'll always have "she sucked my balls."

How do you argue with someone who isn't interested in facts?

And because I despise people who post cryptic things on Facebook in a ploy to force their friends to ask what's going on, I'm going to elaborate.

(And M, I deeply apologize if you're reading this, but I'm so frustrated.)

I had to filter Tery's brother-in-law off my FB because I could not stand one more day of his irrational and constant vitriol against Obama. He's not Republican but Libertarian, something I'm starting to suspect is even worse -- from what I can tell, their only solution to the country is no government at all, crazy as that is, and any other more useful suggestion is met with a blank wall or cries of socialism. So, for the sake of my blood pressure, filtered.

I should make it clear that, apart from this, he really is quite a sweet guy.

I had cautiously decided to unfilter him recently because he seemed to be laying off the political content. That is, until Occupy Wall Street.

Yesterday he posted this link to the "proposed demands" of the movement, some really batshit crazy stuff that truly is a "hippie's utopia," along with a predictably snide comment: http://occupywallst.org/forum/proposed-list-of-demands-for-occupy-wall-st-moveme/

If you're too busy to click, it includes among other things across the board debt forgiveness, a minimum wage of $20/hr, and guaranteed income whether someone is employed or not.

You'll notice today the page contains a disclaimer at the top that wasn't there yesterday, confirming that it's bogus.

I did some Googling myself and came up with this page of much more reasonable demands, most if not all of which I wholeheartedly agree with: http://occupywallst.org/forum/proposed-list-of-demands-please-help-editadd-so-th/

If you look at the urls, they both come from the movement's official page, but they're both in the forums section. Neither of these are the official list.

Do you think pointing this out to him made the slightest bit of difference? Nope. He never even responded to me, and all his smug friends continued commenting on his link and ignored mine. This must be what it feels like to appear on Bill O'Reilly's or Rush Limbaugh's show.

I know, pumpkin. Facts are inconvenient, and it's so much easier to sit around pointing fingers and criticizing than offering actual solutions. So, for the sake of my blood pressure, filtered again.

Today's home was actually the last one we saw on day four, but I thought I'd separate it out as the most spectacular of the Parade. It's no $6 million property (actually think it's "only" going for $550,000), but it's an exciting new eco-home, ultra green and efficient, and of course super modern.



( ::Parade of Homes 2011: Green Cube:: )

Final verdict: Works as a life-sized coffee table book, but for day-to-day living? I simply can't picture it. Not terribly cosy and inviting.

And that concludes this year's Parade of Homes! Sorry it was sort of lazy, but the houses were kind of generic and tended to run together. Blame Obama and this economy.

( ::Parade of Homes 2011 Day Three:: )

Tomorrow: Day Four

The good news is I FINALLY have my Parade of Homes posts sorted. I'm dividing them into five days so I don't deluge you all at once. You're welcome.

The REALLY good news, in case you missed my previous post, is I got tickets to see Rickman on Broadway!!! They went on sale at midnight (10 pm to me) and I was on the site at five minutes of. I got front row seats in the most expensive section we could afford, which unfortunately is the rear mezzanine, but still, front row!

My excitement over this development is only slightly (okay, pretty heavily actually) marred by my morning-after realization that the date I chose is the precise date of my period that month. I was so prepared three months ago that I got an app to plot my periods (don't roll your eyes at me -- they're not always the same length and I'm still not exactly clear when you're supposed to start counting the 28-day cycle, and anyway my last day isn't as well-defined as my first as they just sort of gradually taper off, and gentlemen, I apologize at this late juncture if all of this is TMI). Then in the heat of the moment I panicked that all the best tickets would get bought up quickly (you can imagine how Tery snorted at this) and the thought of my period just evaporated into thin air. Ironic, considering I'm actually on it right now.

So on my sister the nurse's advice, I'm seeing a gyno for medication options, because I'll be damned if I'm spending the day traipsing all over New York with a backpack full of maxipads and needing to find a bathroom every two hours. Dear Alan Rickman: I'm willing to chemically mess up my hormones for you. Call me!

~*~

Okay. Without further ado, the Parade of Homes 2011!

Sorry. A little more ado. Because I've been promising kavieshana for so long, the tale of standing up to MyFriendDeb: I've complained about this before, but as a refresher course, Deb has this peculiar habit of never being ready to go on time. I mean ever. And I mean I'll call to say I'm on my way right now (this is usually after calling 30 minutes previously to establish that I was starting to get ready). She lives ten minutes away. She KNOWS she lives ten minutes away. And without fail, I'll knock on the door and be greeted by the sight of her lagging woefully behind in preparations. Like, with no shoes on (big deal, you say. Well it wouldn't be if it didn't take her ten minutes to get shoes on, and don't ask me what in God's name she's doing that whole time to draw it out like that). Or still finding a coat. Or in this instance just starting in on what appeared to be lunch (and the woman eats like a bird. She can make a meal last 45 minutes).

I would estimate over the course of our 15-year friendship, I've spent a solid month standing at her front door watching her get ready (keep in mind we only hang out once a month or so). It's inconsiderate and selfish, and I doubt she's even aware she's doing it.

This time I had even deliberately stalled after making the "on my way right now" call, KNOWING this would happen. I sat in my car and fiddled with my phone's mp3 player a good ten minutes before leaving. I knew she would still make me wait, and I thought of what I would say if I had the balls.

Well, it turns out I DO have the balls, although I swear I hadn't made the conscious decision to actually use them. I took one look at her starting her meal when she knew I would be arriving at any second, and my mouth opened and I heard myself say, "Don't take this the wrong way, but my dream is to one day show up and have you actually be ready to go when I arrive."

She took it exactly the wrong way and I could feel her bristle. She mumbled some excuse that she had been ready, but she sat down and lost her momentum, which of course didn't explain why a loss of momentum would involve initiating a meal, but whatevs. Her excuse is she has no excuse, other than the fact she's lived alone for so long she's forgotten how (or perhaps never cared in the first place) to accommodate other people even minimally. This is Deb, and I doubt my statement will make a bit of difference next time, but at least I got an iota of anger off my chest.

I diffused the tense atmosphere with an observation that there was a single sneaker sitting on top of the carport outside, we laughed about it and the fight (and believe me, for us this was a fight) was forgotten.

So, NOW without further ado ( ::Parade of Homes 2011; Day One:: )

Coming soon: Days 2-5

I've got this year's Parade of Homes on-deck, but frankly it was even more lackluster than last, and my heart just isn't in it. So first some smaller news:

The good news is I got a notice from a collection agency that I owed the remaining balance in full of nearly $200 on my hospital bill. This was confusing to me, as not only have I been paying them faithfully $50 a month, they've been taking it automatically so I KNOW I haven't missed any payments. I was even more confused because, by my reckoning, I actually owed them close to $500.

I reluctantly called the number to get to the bottom of it. Long story short, it's another case of "pay X amount now and we'll forgive the rest of it." Tery says sometimes they just want to "clean up their books" or something, though I can't see why anyone would walk away from money rightfully owed to them, particularly money that was actually being paid. But hey, pay $200 to save $300? Groupons never has deals so good.

So, another $86 to the ambulance company and I AM DONE. Maybe they'll tell me they'll settle for $20?

~*~

We have a new neighbor below us. Nice quiet nonsmoking Kara decided she wanted to live with her boyfriend (so she said; we think she was tired of listening to the still ongoing Feline Wars every morning at 3 am. For that matter, so are we).

It took surprisingly no time for her replacement to move in, considering how many other units seem to sit perpetually empty in the complex. I met him one morning returning from my bike ride -- Mike, a heavyset, 50ish, meek-looking guy. Not unlike the ill-fated Kent, of never making a peep before dropping dead of a heart attack fame.

Mike has been here about two weeks and so far I've been positively beastly to him. In our first conversation he won me over instantly by starting with "I haven't rented an apartment in about 20 years, so please let me know if I'm making too much noise." I asked him to do the same for us, explaining he really only had to contend with our cats racing around at all hours. "Oh, I have two golden retrievers back in my house in Pine Valley" (I think that's a housing community south of us). "If you have a house why are you renting an apartment?" I asked, a fair question I thought. He suddenly looked really uncomfortable and confessed, "My son just went to college and my wife, ummm, wanted to make the most of her empty nest syndrome."

Well, what the hell does THAT mean? I interpreted it as, "The kid's gone and I want the whole house to myself now." Without thinking I said to him, "That seems kind of harsh." He turned a deep red and we went our separate ways. I felt bad, it seemed a really embarrassing detail to share with someone you just met 30 seconds ago, but he needs to come up with a better cover story, it seems to me.

The next time I saw him we said hi, then for some reason I couldn't just drop it there. I said we had been admiring his satellite dish (a fancy 3-room jobbie with HD) -- and couldn't drop it THERE, adding, "Seems a bit excessive for such a small place." He blushed and shrugged helplessly, and closed his door. I simply shouldn't be allowed to speak to this man ever again.

Just tonight a new theory occurred to me: What if he's a serial killer, but also a really bad liar, and this "empty nest syndrome" was the best he could come up with on short notice? In which case I must be at the top of his list by now. Notify the authorities if I don't update within a week or two. But so far he is very quiet and doesn't smoke, so it's all good.

~*~

Suddenly fall is upon us. You're probably wondering what became of all my mountain biking adventures. I am too.

Tery's new Toyota suffered a crazy amount of hail damage in one of the last storms of monsoon season. Her car looked like a tinfoil Jiffy Pop cover, with thousands of little indentations. Fortunately insurance was covering it. Unfortunately we just went with the first shop they mentioned, a place called Global Collision.

My insurance company offered multiple times to set us up with a rental car, but Global said it would only take three days. We thought we could survive for three days using my car. Then three days turned into three weeks (Tery insists it might have even been a little longer). Every time she would call for an update she was told it would "hopefully" be ready by such-and-such a day. "Hopefully." As if she was their first client and they had no idea yet how long the process took. I don't know what game they were playing, but she was told on two completely different days a week apart it was "going to paint."

I was getting steadily more and more furious, but Tery hates confrontation so my fury never made it past her ears. We went together to pick it up FINALLY, and I sat and watched as she inspected their work and gratefully shook the salesman's hand as he gave her the keys. "You sure gave him a piece of your mind," I commented when we got home. "He never knew what hit him."

Thankfully she was a bit more honest when USAA called for a follow-up survey of her satisfaction. Which doesn't change the fact that GLOBAL COLLISION STOLE MY SUMMER.

Not helping the situation was the few times I made it to the mountains it was with Tery, who is still struggling to gain some confidence on the trail. I've been patient with her, god knows I didn't start out as the fearless daredevil I've become since last season, but it's really, really difficult to find a trail that doesn't have any technical sections (translation: rock pits, tree roots or anything else that might create a bump in the road) or steep hills to climb (these are still mountains, don't forget), and she ends up walking her bike almost the entire way.

We tried Elk Meadow ("It's a meadow. You can't ask for easier than a meadow" -- well, only a teeny tiny part of it is meadow. The rest is a lot of climbing and, of necessity, descending, which scares her the most). Last weekend we did Meyer Ranch in Conifer, parts of which she liked quite a lot. That was only 4 miles though, so we were going to also hit nearby Flying J Ranch (a trail which Singletracks.com describes as "Adrenaline junkies should go past the first entrance, go past the second entrance and then just keep driving until you find a different ride" LOL) but opted to head home instead.

Meyer Ranch was actually a consolation prize from the previous weekend, when we set out in search of Buffalo Creek Trail in Pine, CO. Following the directions from my book "Bike With a View: Easy and Moderate Trails in Colorado" (published 1994) was our first mistake. We followed a sign for the Buffalo Creek Rec Center which sounded promising, but after driving for 20 minutes on what seemed to be an incredibly long, bumpy dirt road and seeing nothing, we stopped at a random trailhead, set out, and within ten minutes decided this particular trail was too difficult (for Tery. I still might have tried it on my own) and headed home -- after I stubbornly drove for another half an hour on the main road convinced that the stupid trail had to be just around the next bend.

(We didn't see "nothing" exactly -- we stopped to ask for guidance from a family setting up their campground. The parents were off doing something else, so I approached the grubby 9-year-old boy who just stepped off the Deliverance set. He looked wary of me, so I kept it brief. "Is there anything in that direction?" I pointed down the road. "Oh yeah, there's plenty down there" he answered. I thanked him and ran back to reassure Tery.

"Oh, I'm sure there's plenty," she snarked, "Plenty of bears, plenty of trees, plenty of..." I don't know why she was so snippy -- I saw plenty of what appeared to be biking trails disappearing off the sides of the road, but as I said, she can't handle just any trail.)

So Meyer Ranch was something we noticed on our very disappointed drive back to town and went back to a week later.

However, the first trailhead we saw upon turning onto the dirt road was called "Little Scraggy." We didn't want to risk exploring it at the time (still hoping for the Holy Grail of Buffalo Creek), but it did look intriguing to me; intriguing enough to want to return Monday on my own, which I damn well did.

WELL. As it turned out, this trail was exactly what I've been looking for for Tery. Super smooth, literally only two or three rock pits in the entire 8 miles I rode, and really gentle, no major elevation changes. One minor complaint would be that about 45% of it was covered with loose gravelly sand, but other than that an absolute dream ride. Little Scraggy was only the first section. It soon joined up with the Colorado Trail (I'm beginning to suspect every trail in the mountains does; it's apparently 483 miles long, according to Wiki), and farther along the branch I took, the Shinglemill Trail.

This trail winds through the site of the Buffalo Creek wildfire, which I remember happened in 1996, the year we moved to Colorado (we're pleading the fifth). The area is slowly recovering, but still very much characterized by blighted acres of blackened fallen trees, which sounds horrific but actually is kind of beautiful in its own way. Definitely makes for great biking as you can see in every direction for miles upon miles.

Unfortunately this trail goes downhill first, which means you're lured into going much farther than you probably should before remembering what goes down must come up. I never wanted it to end, it was so incredibly fun coasting down the mountain on twisty, rollercoaster-like turns (Tery could do it I was sure, just maybe not at my speed). But I eventually hit the dirt road at the bottom and reluctantly decided to turn back.

No, up wasn't as fun, but it was really just lung-busting more than difficult. I could ride the whole way, but had to stop often to catch my breath. It being a Monday, I was the only one out there, and it was so eerily quiet. There was no wildlife living in the burned out valley. No black devil squirrels crossing my path, no birds, not even any insects really. I forgot how much I enjoyed being so utterly alone.

By the time I got back to my car I had gone 8 miles in about 2 hours (the slow return climb had made it seem much longer than that). I headed back to town exhilarated in the knowledge that I had found my new favorite trail -- just in time for the end of the season (also just received my last batch of cycling jerseys from an eBay seller in England yesterday, naturally. Guess these puppies will have to wait for next year to see any action).

I bring photos. This one is my favorite, I think.

I hadn't planned on a work rant, but I just have to get this off my chest.

Last weekend someone had written on the message board a big list of "Please don't"s. Unfortunately that same night it had once again become relevant for me to add my $.02 about not dumping food in the sink.

Maybe I shouldn't have written "(27th time asking)," except it was, and as most parents raising children will hopefully back me up, I'm getting pretty fucking tired of repeating myself. Maybe I shouldn't have written that garbage cans don't get backed up and require expensive plumber visits, but I hoped that, like with children, if I provided the rationale behind the request (even though I feel it should be fairly obvious) it would drive the point home finally.

For whatever reason, the following night I got the phone call from my day shift liaison (I'm hesitant to call anyone "friend" anymore in this place) about whether or not I was needed to come in, and to my surprise she asked if there were any problems the prior night. When I said no, she launched into a laundry list of complaints from the staff about things they thought I hadn't done, each more petty than the last. Coincidence? I doubt it.

The one that stuck in my craw was the accusation that the cats' water bowls were empty. It was also empty for me, which is why I put an extra one in the cage. So a) you expect me to believe the cats drained two bowls in the space of two hours between shifts? b) even if they did (they didn't), what the animals do after I leave is hardly in my control, and c) even if they did (they didn't), isn't the point of giving them water for them to drink it? It's not a decorative measure.

I made sure to set her straight on this point, but she didn't sound convinced. So why were all the other "please don't"s fine but mine pushed them over the edge? Probably because I made them feel stupid. Well, I'm sorry, but they're a little stupid, and not likely to get smarter by coddling and tiptoeing around their porcelain feelings. I firmly believe there would be a bit less stupidity in the world if more people were taken to task for it. This is just my public service.

~*~

In Tery's news, she ran her second triathlon a few weekends ago. It went much better for her, in part because she knew what to expect, in bigger part because we arrived much earlier so she had more time to get settled in.

No, the two big highlights of the race were MyFriendDeb came to keep me company, except when I asked her to videotape Tery running she refused, stating "people waste so much time with a camera stuck to their face they miss the actual event right there in front of them." It was only much later I thought of the comeback I should have made: That we weren't there for ourselves, we were there for Tery, and perhaps she'd like to see herself in the race. Whatevs. Next year I just won't ask her.

More exciting, Tery has decided now that she's "officially" a triathlete to get a tattoo to commemorate. I can't let her have all the fun, so I'm getting one too -- a bike chainring on my left inner forearm, because the only thing I love more than biking is tattoos with circular motifs. We still have to find a parlor and extra money, so it won't happen for awhile yet. I'm just thrilled Tery wants one too.

~*~

Biking, biking, biking. Probably no one else cares, but I do so here we are. I'll hide it behind a cut because I'm nice that way and I fully expect no one to read it. But feel free to prove me wrong. But since (practically) no one is going to read it anyway, I might as well put it here as anywhere.

( ::Don't you dare come in here...:: )

~*~

Last but certainly not least, swankyfunk drew me ♥ Severus Snape ♥! (reposted with permission):



She's made of all kinds of awesome.


COMING SOON: Parade of Homes 2011 and my review of The Room

I had hoped last weekend would be the beginning of mountain biking season. Well, actually I had hoped LAST last weekend would be it. Tery and I went to Elk Meadow, which I remembered being pretty easy apart from the half a day I spent trying to climb Bergen Peak. But alas, Tery was even more nervous on the bike than she was last year, and it was a lot of me racing ahead a half mile or so, then waiting while she walked her bike to catch up.

She apologized for holding me back, but I remember very well that I wasn't so different this time last year, just starting out before I learned to trust the bike. I had the benefit of doing it alone with no one watching me though.

Last weekend was to be Lair o' the Bear with Ger again, until he wussed out at the last minute, asking for a street ride instead. I didn't mind since it meant more time with Mamba. He took me straight across the city on this one trail, eventually wending up Mount Carbon in the foothills. It was for the best that we avoided the Lair, as good ol' Ger barely made it up the very smooth uphill portion of our paved trail (in his defense, he still works the evil inventory job so doesn't have the luxury of a regular exercise schedule).

To make up for his performance on the mountain, he raced back on the return leg at an average pace of 20 mph -- heedless of the fact that I didn't know all the turns and was in danger any second of losing him. Heedless too of the other many pedestrians and bikers using the trail, resulting in more than one hapless girlfriend or toddler being yanked out of his path at the last moment.

So THIS weekend I'm going to the Lair alone, and have done with it. As with everything else in my life, if I want something done I have to do it myself.

~*~

Of course, I also had the advantage because I've been biking extra hard, 20+ miles a day, so my get-away sticks would look good for Laura and Tyler's wedding, where I planned to wear a kilt.

I was looking forward to the wedding, except for Tabby. If you'll remember, when we last left Tabby she had proven what kind of friend she was by doing such things as pretending to be too busy working to offer Tery a smidge of support after her marathon; going behind Tery's back and bitching to her boss because Tery had the nerve to not work 13-hour days so she could train for said marathon; and showing my completely not-work-related texts asking why everyone was ignoring Tery to the medical director (who mentioned them to Tery), hoping to accomplish I can't imagine what.

So, in answer to the question of what kind of friend Tabby is, evidently the kind who would sell her grandmother for a pack of smokes.

To top it off, despite Tery's instructions that she was on vacation and really, really didn't want to be bothered unless it was absolutely, positively unavoidable, on day two she got a text from Tabby: "Washing machine broke. What do we do?"

Really? This can't possibly be handled without Tery? Here's a little multiple choice quiz. See if you guys, who don't even work at the hospital, can pick the right answer:

A) Just try your hardest not to dirty anything else and let the pile heap up until Tery gets back in two weeks.
B) Buy a washboard and tub. The Amish have gotten by without washing machines for centuries.
C) Call the damn repair company, for whom there's a file in Tery's desk very clearly marked "washing machine."

Or better yet, ask the medical director, who isn't on vacation and who in theory also manages the hospital. Apparently it's just too much to hope that there's a single other grown-up working there that can make decisions in Tery's absence.

Tery wisely ignored the text, and when I went in last weekend there were a series of notes on the board documenting the process of someone finally calling the company, underneath which someone wrote "My hero!" Do you think any of them once called Tery their "hero" when SHE called them? I'm willing to bet this week's paycheck that's a big fat no.

So I was dreading the wedding because I was afraid I would be stuck at a table with Tabby, with all this anger and resentment between us. I came this close to emailing Laura to explain the situation, but Ryan wisely stopped me, thinking she might have more important things to worry about.

It all worked out. There was no assigned seating apart from the immediate family -- Tyler said they "didn't want to be responsible for people fighting" (he's a joker, I don't necessarily interpret this to mean he knew about our petty squabble) -- and Tabby and I spent the evening in an elaborate dance of avoidance. Which was almost comical at times, since Ryan is her friend too so she had to come close to me to talk to him, but we pulled it off.

I mentioned something to Kay about how glad I was not to be stuck at a table with her, and then had to go into why without dredging up everything. Kay, who fortunately escaped a relationship with Tabby (though not amicably), was surprisingly generous and said, "Well, Tabby's going through some stuff..."

I see. When TABBY'S "going through stuff" we should all cut her some slack and be nice to her. When TERY'S "going through stuff" she's expected to keep a stiff upper lip and soldier on. Except, given Tabby's love of drama, I guarantee you there's an 85% chance her "stuff" is of her own making, so it's a little hard to be sympathetic.

Say what you will about my rages, but at least when I'm angry with you, you know it. I wish everyone were so refreshingly honest.

Like Dr. N, who was also there and ended up sitting with us. Dr. N is very nice, very friendly and pleasant, to your face -- but Tery says she stirs up trouble behind the scenes, and doesn't hesitate to stab people in the back. We suspect she was the mastermind behind reporting my Heely video to the medical director, as well as part of the contingent complaining that Tery dared to devote some of her energy to her personal life and not the hospital. But she's good, never leaves a trail, so for now all we have are (very, very strong) suspicions. Still, it's hard to look at her smiling face and not see the snake in the grass behind.

Fun wedding!

No really, it was.



( ::more photographic evidence inside:: )

There was one truly funny moment at our table (apart from the rip-roarin' hilarity of the tiny plastic goblets). We had all chatted politely over dinner, wondering where Tyler and Laura met, what Tyler's previous wife was like (I put forth the bold theory that she was Asian. "You think?" almost everyone answered), etc. Then they cut the cake to the song "When I'm Sixty-Four" by The Beatles. Dr. N. asked out of the blue, "Are they divorced?" meaning Paul McCartney and whoever he just divorced. We all assumed she was continuing the prior questioning about Tyler and his previous wife and said, "God, I hope so!" Maybe you had to be there.

Ryan and I left about an hour after the dinner, so apparently got to miss Chris getting utterly shitfaced again, boo. We spent almost the entire drive back drooling together over Tyler. I love having a gay best friend.

~*~

Ah hell, as long as I've got you, we went to the Chalk Art Festival again this year. Here are some more pics:



( ::inside:: )

Finally, my own humble contribution to the art world:





~*~

Next time, promise promise: Week of a thousand movies!