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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:
This is how the tree at the side of our building looks at 3 am when I come home
~*~
Next time, promise promise: Week of a thousand movies!
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:
This is how the tree at the side of our building looks at 3 am when I come home
~*~
Next time, promise promise: Week of a thousand movies!
