bellydancing spaceman

I am closing in on the end days of my sixth year as the World's Worst Teacher. This has not been one of my better years. I am profoundly disappointed in my time management, and my deep, deep procrastination reflex has never been exercised quite as much as it has this year. Of course, I have an automatic: this is the year the marriage sprung a leak, foundered and sunk. Still, I'm going to need to rise above it sometime, and that's going to have to be next year, I suppose. Next year I will have to learn how to balance the single mum thing, the teacher thing, the crafty thing and the dancer thing with the venerable closet intellectual/weekend goth thing. I think I'm going to have to get one of those books on how to sleep less at night.

And yet, I haven't done too badly this year. I had grave doubts about my ability to deliver term marks before exams were written (because marking term work and exams together is hot, crispy death), but it happened. All I had to give up was lunch yesterday, and while I am not one of those people who can skip meals without noticing, it all came right in the end. I was able to go to my exam supervision with a clear conscience, and once the whanging headache subsided, I had an awesome evening that included two dinners. Sweet.

Last night was a costuming session for my troupe, and I was all ready to skip it on the grounds of not enough good health and too much the Blake (who was not misbehaving, but who is not a kid you can safely park in a corner while you do something else). As Blake and I left the house to run an errand, a tiny bell clanged in the back of my mind. Hadn't I promised...something? To Juuki? About giving her a ride tonight, oh crap. So I went to her house, drove her to the meeting and was prepared to turn around again when Blake asked if we could go in.

"Just to say hi," I said, thinking he'd lose interest quickly. After all, he hadn't eaten dinner and we were on borrowed time. I hadn't counted on the amazing attraction of a new male friend, all to himself, in the person of Jessamyn's husband. The two of them played video games in the basement while the troupe ate freely of the potluck feast (to which I hadn't contributed, of course, not that it stopped me from eating away) and worked on our costumes. Blake was awesome for two hours, and the only reason we went home is because it was my bedtime. By this point, Blake had tried on my skirt and demanded his own so that he could dance with us.

He definitely has moments when his cuteness threatens to overwhelm existence and snuff out life as we know it.

Labels: angst, bat masterson, dancing

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- Rocketbride's adventure of 6/18/2008 02:34:00 PM -

 
once you get a dose of kaydoe…

Last night I got on a bus with 13 other teachers, various snacks and a tonne of booze. Destination: Niagara Falls. Purpose of visit: Ladies Night. It was completely unlike me; I was way out of my comfort zone, not to mention wearing a low-cut grey dress and a push-up bra. And yet I had a brilliant time.

Poppy came over to my house early, and we chatted while I did some last-minute tidying that I hadn't done because I was busy recovering from Drunken Knitting. Poppy is such a great friend that she immediately joined in, and between the two of us we had the place sparkling within a half-hour. So completely awesome. Then it was time to put on my owl dress…which wasn't zipping properly…and led to the last minute substitution of the grey dress. So instead of being quirky and childlike, I was busting out of this slinky grey thing. Shit happens, I suppose.

Trixie came to the door when I was in my underwear, so I rushed down to let her in with a dress held over my front. Good thing we take yoga together, and the sight of my granny panties is a familiar one. We quickly primped and prepped and the three of us stepped out the door with our potluck goodies, taking my wedding boa for good luck.

Our cocktail hour was kind of rapacious, as none of us had eaten supper and we fell on the dips and snacks like wolves on the fold. There's nothing quite like a room full of beautiful, ravenous women set loose on a buffet. It's humbling. We also started the night's drinking in earnest, me with Orangina and rum and the others with more grown up drinks. What can I say; Preacher has ruined me for more sophisticated mixed drinks.

By the time the party bus pulled up, we were more than ready to be let loose. The ride to the falls was marked by laughing, dancing & drinking. We made good use of the pole, let me tell you. This was my first real surprise of the night, that I would have so much fun lurching down the highway, dancing and giggling and getting down in a 3" wide aisle. Reminded me of the C*8 improvised punk dance floor, in the best possible way. When you gots to dance, you gots to dance.

Trixie wouldn't let me take my knitting into the casino, so spent a profoundly bored 45 minutes staring at people who looked like they just came from Arby's for a brief stop at the slots. It ain't no fun to be wearing a tight evening dress when you're in a crowd that could be at the mall. Things picked up when we got into the nightclub, which was packed tighter than a rubber brick. I can't even imagine what it would have been like back when they let us smoke indoors; we were asses to elbows (thanks, b-girl!) and I grew desensitised to strangers brushing up on me at all times. In 2 ½ hours of dancing, I didn't recognize a single song, and was tremendously amused to be the only one in the crowd not singing along. I made this comment to a stranger, and he was incredulous. "How can you not know this song?" Because I live under a rock, buddy. Or, more accurately, because I live under a shifting yarn stash. It muffles the sound of your popular music.

I spent a goodly chunk of the night talking to some tall guy in a sweater who kept telling me how innocent I looked. I liked hanging out with him, but I was absolutely blunt. "I'm a single mom. I'm a cynical goth. I'm on a bus with 13 other women. I'm not getting picked up tonight. I like talking to you, but if you want to go find some other girl, I won't be upset." He stuck around for awhile, his arm around my waist, and we yelled minimal conversation in each other's ear. At one point he said that he wanted to kiss me, so I let him. Why? Because he was sweet, and because it wasn't going anywhere, and because I didn't really want to know his name or for him to know mine, and because it was Ladies Night. There was no making out, just a few random kisses, and then he went away.

I heard about it on the way back. "Who were you making out with?" "Nobody," I said, and kept eating chips. That's just as true as anything else I could say.

oh, what a night!

Considering that I saw Blake for a grand total of 4 hours today, it was a pretty damn fine Mother's Day. When the Boy dropped him off for church, Blake held out a five dollar bill. "Happy Mother's Day!" he beamed.

I looked at the Boy and smirked. "You are a class act."

"It's for the spring concert ticket!" he protested, but the damage was done. Highly amusing.

Pixie and Scout dropped him off for supper, waking me from a long nap of doom in the late afternoon. I didn't know that they were coming over, and I was really glad to see them. The Boy has been stiff and uncomfortable this past week, so I'm just as happy to see two friendly faces, especially since I haven't seen Pixie since last summer and I haven't seen Scout since she came by to move over a load of the Boy's stuff.

I'm glad to know that I still have sisters, even if I may not have a husband.

Labels: bat masterson, blake, dancing, family, outfits, outings, the boy

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- Rocketbride's adventure of 5/11/2008 04:15:00 PM -

 
straight outta my pc

The best part about living on my own is that on mornings like this morning, when I go to do a load of Blake's pee-smirched bedding and find that the dryer and the washer are full of loads I can't remember putting in, there's nowhere for that frustration to go. So it just goes away. Having made the mistake myself, I deal with it and move on. There's a lot to be said for shared chores, but I'm really starting to prefer this total responsibility model.

The worst part about living on my own is that on nights like Thursday, when I'm completely exhausted and want nothing more than to go to sleep early, there is no one to take care of Blake if he doesn't feel like quietly going to bed hours before his bed time. That was a bad night, and not just because he pooped his pants at 5 and peed the bed at 2. I made it worse than it had to be, simply because I was at the end of my tether. He is one of the chores of which it is good to be relieved once in awhile. But I love him madly, and I know that our time together is better simply because I don't have the option of ignoring him. We rub along pretty well most days. I only wish he could be sent out to the movies once or twice a month. At most.

Juuki has decided to take a sabbatical from teaching, so my lesson nights are suddenly free. They wanted to transfer me to another belly dance class, but I don't really want to screw myself up at this stage in the game by trying to absorb another style of bellydance. So I think I'll try to transfer to African dance or Bhangra or something like that. It can only help and totally not confuse, right?

Also, I'm still crafting like mad. I'm trying to figure out a way to consolidate my knitblog with this one so that I can give it the mercy killing it deserves (poor neglected knitblog) (poor audience members who don't like hearing about knitting!). Any ideas are welcome. Especially ideas that involve creating imaginary punk nights with band names that Mason & I made up. Although that might not be helpful with this particular problem, it's still fun!

rocking word 97 like a girl from the suburbs

Labels: blake, dancing, house rich, imaginary bands, on-line diaries

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- Rocketbride's adventure of 5/10/2008 12:04:00 PM -

 
lots of things

What have I been up to?

A little crafting

a little socializing with the knitsibs and knitsiblettes

and a little belly dance costuming for my troupe, with a great deal of help from the cool Family Studies Teacher, who does this to her horse's mane. Five minutes after this photo was taken, I was cutting the Manos del Uruguay yarn out of my hair. Cut about an inch out of my hair as well. D'oh.

meme via notanartist

What we have here is the top 106 books most often marked as "unread" by LibraryThing’s users. As in, they sit on the shelf to make you look smart or well-rounded. Bold the ones you've read, underline the ones you read for school, italicize the ones you started but didn't finish.

Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell Anna Karenina Crime and Punishment Catch-22 One Hundred Years of Solitude Wuthering Heights The Silmarillion Life of Pi : a novel The Name of the Rose Don Quixote Moby Dick Ulysses Madame Bovary The Odyssey Pride and Prejudice Jane Eyre The Tale of Two Cities The Brothers Karamazov Guns, Germs, and Steel: the fates of human societies War and Peace Vanity Fair The Time Traveler’s Wife The Iliad Emma The Blind Assassin The Kite Runner Mrs. Dalloway Great Expectations American Gods A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius Atlas Shrugged Reading Lolita in Tehran : a memoir in books Memoirs of a Geisha Middlesex Quicksilver Wicked : the life and times of the wicked witch of the West The Canterbury Tales The Historian : a novel A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man Love in the Time of Cholera Brave New World The Fountainhead Foucault’s Pendulum Middlemarch Frankenstein The Count of Monte Cristo Dracula A Clockwork Orange Anansi Boys The Once and Future King The Grapes of Wrath The Poisonwood Bible : a novel 1984 Angels & Demons The Inferno (and Purgatory and Paradise) The Satanic Verses Sense and Sensibility The Picture of Dorian Gray Mansfield Park One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest To the Lighthouse Tess of the D’Urbervilles Oliver Twist Gulliver’s Travels Les Misérables The Corrections The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier and Clay The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time Dune The Prince The Sound and the Fury Angela’s Ashes : a memoir The God of Small Things A People’s History of the United States : 1492-present Cryptonomicon Neverwhere A Confederacy of Dunces A Short History of Nearly Everything Dubliners The Unbearable Lightness of Being Beloved Slaughterhouse-five The Scarlet Letter Eats, Shoots & Leaves The Mists of Avalon Oryx and Crake : a novel Collapse : how societies choose to fail or succeed Cloud Atlas The Confusion Lolita Persuasion Northanger Abbey The Catcher in the Rye On the Road The Hunchback of Notre Dame Freakonomics : a rogue economist explores the hidden side of everything Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance : an inquiry into values The Aeneid Watership Down Gravity’s Rainbow The Hobbit In Cold Blood : a true account of a multiple murder and its consequences White Teeth Treasure Island David Copperfield The Three Musketeers

Labels: crochet, dancing, friends, outfits, silly

- 1 comments/foxes -

- Rocketbride's adventure of 5/04/2008 09:31:00 AM -

 
the natural ornaments of the season

Tonight I was supposed to have a night in with Blake, but he decided to have a sleep-over at Camp Grampa, leaving me free. Then Scherezade called to invite me to a party celebrating the completion of her first semester back at school, which seemed heaven-sent. But by 6, I realized that if I had just drank an entire can of Diet Coke with supper and still felt the urge to crawl into bed and sleep for a year, then driving an hour to get to a party might be a bad idea. So I opened a new bag of sunflower seeds and set up four different books on the back of the couch for when I finished my current novel (Flashman and the Angel of the Lord).

It's been an odd week. As spring rushes upon us, I'm still feeling beat down and ill; there's this charming rattle that sneaks into my laugh whenever I'm really enjoying something, and it makes me sound like my Grandmother. I'm not ezzactly sick, but neither am I ezzactly well, and an early night of pure indulgence seems just about the perfect cure.

Last night at my troupe practice I discovered to my joy that Juuki does not need to be there to rally her troops. I was afraid that with Juuki at the belly dance conference, the rest of us would be too retiring to run an effective practice. Last night may not have been as focussed as it is when Juuki's running the show, but we are far from passive and today I was feeling it in my knee and my arms (who rebelled at the amount of blackboard writing I required of them).

I'm really glad that we are pulling together as a troupe. Even if I'm not the dance dervish everyone teases me about, I don't want to be a star. It's better than awesome to be a part of such an enthusiastic group of ladies.

Today Mason finished the wrap-around sweater he's been knitting for his wife for almost half a year. (Too bad they split up two weeks ago, but it's a hell of a sweater. I'd take it if I were her.)

I was so proud that I took the long ends of Suri yarn and had the cool family studies teacher braid them into my hair. She is used to decorating horses, so this came easily to her. I had an immediate flashback to the Animal Farm musical, and took care to remember that if I were obedient, I'd not feel the whip.

pretty ribbons in my mane…

In other news, it's spring!

Labels: blake, dancing, friends

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- Rocketbride's adventure of 4/25/2008 09:57:00 PM -

 
pur belly

Now that I'm in my second session of belly dance, I find myself much more at ease and much happier with the dance. Last night was my second class of the second session, and I noticed that some of the other women were getting a bit uptight about their difficulty with the steps. Juuki handled it well, of course, but I privately decided to help as much as I could, so I made sure that when we were playing the games, I went straight to the most vocal critic and fairly beamed positivity. I got her smiling by the end, which was awesome. Next class, a new grouch. And the best part about it was that there's another repeater in this session, and she's sharing my self-imposed cheerleading duties. (And she lives on my street, and she's coming over to my house to dance on the weeks when Juuki is at the belly dance conference. I drove away last night trying to figure out how I landed a BFF. It's cute.)

Labels: dancing

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- Rocketbride's adventure of 4/16/2008 05:47:00 AM -

 
she's got ants in her pants and she's going to dance

When we last spoke, I was in full-on rant mode about the Boy's stuff. By the time he came by to pick it up on Monday, my attitude had softened considerably, and I tried to apologize for being a bitch. No response. So I went to hang out with Blake while the Boy loaded his crap into the car. Since I was feeling reckless and light-hearted, I mentioned that Blake had ratted him out*, and I knew about his special friend. (This is what I didn't want to share a few weeks ago.) Instant aloofness. I even tried to kiss him, which he dodged neatly. I walked into the house with a smile on my face, waiting until the door was locked before dissolving into sobs.

There is just something about sending the degree and the R2D2 Phone that betokens a finality. The kiss was my last desperate stab at denial, and I myself was denied. I called Scherezade, and choked through the sobbing: "Can you tell me that part about how it's inevitable that I'll be loved again?" She did. Eventually I was even able to stop crying.

* I was towelling him off after an unfortunate soiling incident, and he looked up brightly.

"Daddy has a new friend."
"What's her name?"
"B----."
"Does she sleep over?"
"Yes."

Egged on by the ladies at work, I looked her up at the Boy's school. I'm being supplanted by a kindergarten teacher. I should have known those nasty primary-coloured sluts would be at the bottom of this.

True to form, when my life starts sizzling, I get too busy to write about it. Good thing I have these long periods of boredom contemplation to sift it all into words. It's been a good March Break, despite my house-bound frustration of the first weekend.

On Monday I kicked around the house, deeply into my kid-less fester. (Who knew that it would take separation to catapult me back into Ferg Life?) I was so bored I even marked a set of papers. But since I had a date, I wasn't prey to the same restlessness as the day before. At the stroke of eight, I changed into my dancing pants and drove down to the Bloor Theatre to meet my favourite Stacy. First there was No Country for Old Men and a lot of good popcorn; then there was Shannon at the Dance Cave. Stacy was celebrating her last freelance week, and was more than happy to dance with me till the wee hours. The only hitch came when we got there and I was shedding layers, only to discover that I'd never bothered to put on a bra. I guess I really was committing to partying like it was 1998, what with the PVC pants and the lack of supportive undergarments. On the spot, I resolved to avoid Prince songs, having found out the hard way what happens when I dance to Prince without benefit of a bra. Some guy did eventually try to pick me up (during Gloria Gaynor, of all weird moments), but he wasn't too impressed when I told him that I wouldn't be available till the summer. Well, it's true.

There was much beer and much soul-deep girl talk and lots of dancing (I am too sexy for this shirt, you know.) When they kicked us out we hugged Shannon goodbye and walked off into the cold night. I drove Stacy home and went home myself, and by the time I went to bed on the first day, it was 3:30. Rock and roll.

The next day I got up at 10:30, the absolute last time I could get up and expect to shower off the dirt before meeting Scherezade at the mall. I was almost on time, too. We met at a big Toronto mall with the idea of getting sassy jeans for me. Boy, Yorkdale was happy to see me; between the H&M binge (3 dresses, 2 blouses, 1 blazer, 1 pack of underwear), 3 shirts at Jacob Connexion and 3 pairs of jeans, I dropped a tonne of money in that place. Even Scherezade was taken aback, as our traditional model consists of talking our way through many many stores while she buys the occasional item and I look on cautiously. My new model is entirely driven by the consciousness that I will not get back to a store twice in a season, so I'd better buy it now. I got back home at 6, ate my take out bbq pork in front of the teevee, and passed out cold. And the night and the morning were the second day.

On the third day I got up rather late and looked around to fully grasp the mess I had made in nearly a week of neglect. I was barely able to make a start on it when the doorbell rang with my the Blake. He nibbled his way through lunch while I figured out where the dirty dishes could go for a few days without stinking up the kitchen, then we packed up, got in the car, and went to K8rs' house for a sleepover. It was pretty much the perfect time for him: a lot of new toys to play with, a lot of climbing and rolling around in the gorgeous snow, Kraft Dinner for supper, and then a sleepover with K8rs. (Marc tells me that when he went in the following morning, Blake was leaning on K8's bed like the Fonz, Miles the dog was sleeping in Blake's place, and K8 wasn't wearing pants. Good times.)

It was also the perfect time for me, as Andrea & I were able to discuss all aspects of everything in the universe while following the kids around, then go to knitting in the evening. This was my third night of cathartic girltalk, and I was feeling pretty comfortable in my skin as we rolled into Lettuce. I've discovered that there's nothing quite like indignant girlfriends when a man has done you wrong. I know, I know: I'm a little long in the tooth to have this revelation, but in my defence, the last break up I had was clearly my fault and Scherezade (my only girl at the time) is not about lying to me to make me feel better.

I fell asleep in Andrea's basement, confident that Blake would wake me up in the morning. And this restless night of strange rockstar dreams was the beginning of the third day.

Andrea and Marc did a full pancake and bacon breakfast the next morning, so my tossing and turning of the night before was mellowed by delicious bacon, hot tea and cloth napkins. (Don't ever think that I can't be soothed by good living, because I can.) Blake didn't want to go, of course, but we were due at our next social engagement. Opera Sarah & I had talked about the zoo, but the weather was hostile, so I figured that the best thing to do would be to go over and just hang out. Of course, then I parked in the wrong place, got stuck in the unplowed snow and had to call a towing service to yank me out. Fun fun fun. By the time that was sorted, I really wasn't going to the zoo. So I hung out in the apartment, proofread Leo's flyer, knit a bit, and watched Blake slowly succumb to the sleep he had missed whilst talking K8's ear off. Eventually I packed his resistant body into the car and took him to the Children's Storefront to meet Opera Sarah, Hestia & Persephone for the afternoon. I used to go there when Blake was wee because it's right close to the Midwives' Collective, and I've never forgotten how stimulating it is. Blake had a great time with the other kids, and we frittered away the afternoon until it was time to caravan back to my house for supper.

My parents had asked us over for supper so they could see Blake as soon as possible, but they were more than ready to bring supper to my house, and we all ate happily in the dining room. After my parents left for the night, Hestia and Blake played around while Sarah and I got progressively glassy-eyed, then we forced the kids into bed. My guests slept in my bed, Blake slept in his bed, and I slept in the basement. And the night on my old futon and the early morning were the fourth day.

Tossing and turning on the futon, I heard a little voice from upstairs. "Mommy?" "I'm down here, sweetie." "Mommy, Hestia didn't sleep in my bed with me." And he burst into messy tears. Aww.

We made oatmeal with many fixings for breakfast (walnuts, yum!) and festered while my dad took the car away to fix the part that had been ripped off by the towing (did I mention that towing is a damn good time?) Then it was a whirlwind of dressing and brushing and packing and we were all off to the sugarshack. First stop: pancakes. It was just the sensible thing to do. When we got outside, Hestia and Blake ran around the snowy paths while me, Sarah & my dad followed at a sedate pace. So much better than the zoo – cheaper admission, more room to roam, the possibility of many snowballs, and the smell of boiling sap. I heart the sugarbush, even though I was thoroughly worn out from my marathon of fun and sincerely regretting wearing my new jeans to slop around in the snow.

When we got home, Blake & my dad puttered around while I went to pick up some paperwork and a few more Flashman books in downtown B-ton. And then came the best part of my day: I got to lay down for an hour. Bliss.

Conversation in bed:

"Mommy, when I grow up, I want to have big breasts like you."
"Do you want to be a girl?"
"No, I want to be a boy with breasts."
"Well, they don't just happen when you're a boy."
"How do they happen?"
"Um. Hormones and drugs and surgery. It's a lot of work. Why do you want breasts, anyway?"
"I want to nurse babies."

All together, a la Scarface: First you get the breasts. Then you nurse the babies. Then you get the power.

At 4, my dad came back to pick us up, and after dropping them off at his house, I went on to my bellydance teacher Juuki's house to pick her up. She had expressed an interest in Drunken Knitting, and I am nothing if not a world-class enabler. So we travelled down, chatting away, and she got her first introduction to the high stakes world of pub knitting. You know the one I mean, the world of, um, girls who knit. And who talk about knitting? While they drink?

Ok. It's not a high stakes world. But it is a high-larious world, and we did it up. Between planning the Unemployed Girls Road Trip of July 08, accepting yarn from Laura (more swatches, mule!), and trying to chivvy Lisa into dating my brother, I barely had time to knit three different things. Somehow I managed.

On the way home, Juuki remarked that it's hard to feel at home with a large group, but she'd never felt like an outsider. Thanks, ladies, y'all did me proud. I collapsed into bed at 12:30 with a book of patterns, and the night and the morning were the fifth day.

Saturday was supposed to be my relaxing day, but somehow it wasn't. Blake was perfectly happy at Camp Grampa, so I took the opportunity to meet Opera Sarah and her neighbour Briar Rose at the annual Balfour Books sale. Hestia was also spending the day at Camp Grandma, so we ladies were free to book shop, eat crepes and drink martinis (Briar Rose, that is), and exchange money for church-lady-created Easter eggs. (I have a connection, yo. It's, um, my mom.)

I also hooked up with Ian three different times, starting with busting into his apartment as soon as I'd parked the car in order to use the bathroom. (And did I act like obese Homer trying to get a ride to the Power Station? Yes I did.) Ian coped well, considering he was in his pyjamas playing video games with the shades drawn when I frantically hunted him down. He even groomed himself to join us at the crepery before disappearing to find his wife. I found him for the third time when I went to the apartment, and I was able to spend the better part of an hour lying on the couch, watching other people play video games while I did sweet f-all. Only my cat allergies kept me from insinuating myself into their dinner plans. I visited two separate yarn stores for a few vital errands (it happens, shut up), double-parking at both. The lady at Romni not only remembered my weird project from the last time I went there, she even made a joke about the inevitability of double-parking when one requires double-pointed needles (only she didn't make it sound pretentious the way I just did). People always complain about Romni, but I've always received service that ranges from adequate to exceptional, so I'll remain an apologist for them. I do so love to be unconventional.

I came home in good time, then went to my parents for dinner. Blake came home with me, we put on pyjamas, and I made him go to bed. And the night and the morning were the sixth day.

Today has been tidying, church and marking. I didn't finish all of my Mark Break homework, but I've done a sizable chunk. I'm proud. Also freaking exhausted. Remind me that I don't get to complain about not having a life, would you? I'm going to lie down now.

Labels: dancing, friends, knit, outings

- 3 comments/foxes -

- Rocketbride's adventure of 3/16/2008 06:38:00 PM -

 
the lion and the lamb ain't sleeping yet

Listening to a lot of music these days, as always. I've been unusually pleased with the albums I bought two weeks ago, and I think I figured out why this morning. I finally have something that the Boy doesn't know about. In some ways the worst aspect of our separation is that he started keeping secrets right away, while he was still living with us and our lives were open to him. Now that he's gone, I'm curious about all manner of things. Is his bathroom as filthy as it was when we dated? Is he cooking real food or stir-fries and pasta? Is he already dating? Is he thinking about dating? Does he spend as much time thinking about us as we do thinking and talking about him?

These are questions I won't ask, nor would I trust his answers. (See above, re: secrets.) Music was/is a big part of what we have in common, and there is something about having music he's never heard that makes me feel a little less vulnerable. I suppose that moving on needs to start with the feeling that I don't need him to enjoy Arcade Fire with me if I'm to enjoy it at all.

Aaaaand speaking of music, I suppose we're all wondering the same thing: how did the third night of the Brampton Indie Arts Fest go? Well, fabulously, of course. I went home for a bit after school, then went to my parents' for dinner and Blake noodling while I waited for Nic to come home. He was an hour late (which I should have expected but somehow didn't) and I had to drop him off at Kenny's house before driving myself to the theatre. There was barely time for a driveway dance-party before he was into the house and I was gone.

The main stage was late, so I saw a bit of Courtney Lynn's set and bugged back to the main theatre in time for the beginning of that program. I caught all of Dan Griffin's set, which was so lovely that it felt instantly familiar, and so intimate that he could hear me boo'ing when he asked if everyone had had a good Valentine's Day. (Hee.) Somehow I managed to get a free copy of his CD (no, not by stealing it, thank you) and will be passing it on to someone else who will love it.

Back to the Secondary Stage for David P. Smith, a quirky solo accordion player from B.C. who isn't Geoff Berner. He was a lot of fun, and there were so few people in the theatre that I could stretch out on the floor in front of the stage and pretend I was at StanFest.

Back to the Main Stage for Dr. Steve Mann's States-of-Matter Quintet. I love the hydrophone, but it was kind of disappointing seeing it so far away after last year's up close experience. Not that I played it last year, but I liked that I had the option.

Intermission! I did something I never ever do: buy and drink a regular Coke after 10. It got the job done, though, and I went back in for Becky Johnson in considerably better spirits. (Weird, spastic, funny monologue about an agoraphobic with social anxiety accepting a write-in election for school president.)

The next act was billed as "A Celebration of Canadian Beards: 50 of the GTA's finest beards will swarm the stage of the Rose Theatre," and I was beard-spotting all night, trying to figure out who I would see. Only one beard was present, and though it was a great beard, I can't help but feel cheated.

I went to the lobby to complain to Nic and stood around chatting to him and Kenny and some of their friends. Kenny is an old friend and old bandmate of Nic's. He has a moderately successful music career and knew enough about tech to get he and Nic employment as teenage roadies at a variety of festivals and concerts when we were all in highschool. Kenny is also probably the weirdest functioning adult I've ever met. As a kid, I found his company hectic and unpredictable in the extreme, but he can also be as charming as Satan, and this was the side on display Friday night. I think we made a playdate for him and Blake.

nic and the gross bald spot he's shaved into his head

his eyes shut under the radiance of his own sneer

I went back to the theatre for Maypole, a film inspired by a Joel Giroux poem and scored by Gavin, another old friend and bandmate of Nic's. The follow-up was Dorit Chrysler, an awesome blonde sex-kitten theremin player. She was poised and talented and kind of spooky in a way that totally fit the sound of her instrument. I liked her a great deal, even though the Coke had worn off and I was getting sleepy again.

Two more films: Golden Age, a hilarious animated short following the later lives of various imaginary candy and cereal mascots. Then, Nic's film: A Day or More in the Life of a Russian Furniture Maker! A Grade 12 story that had received a 60% was produced by Kenny into an OAC project that got a 90%. This was that film. Silly and clumsy in parts, but fun and weird. After it was done, Kenny got into the puppet booth to chat with Curtains, the puppet MC. (He and Nic had been talking about doing it, but only Kenny had the guts when all was said and done.) Somehow, seeing Kenny as a puppet only made me like him more, especially when that puppet plugged my brother.

Because all enjoyable experiences need a palate cleanser, the next act made me want to tear out chunks of my hair to distract from his voice. No names, because I don't want him to ego-Google and get sad. But it was the first time I truly understood what it would be like to listen to Vogon poetry. Ugh.

The festival closer was an outfit called Samba Punk Sound System, a group of percussionists somewhere between a marching band, a drum circle and a house party. They encouraged dancing, and when they started up, I knew that all my time in the hippie dance circles of StanFest would compel me onto that stage. I waited until two girls ahead of me started dancing up the aisle, and did a different dance behind them so they would know that I wasn't biting their style. We got onto the stage, joined the guy who was already dancing up a storm, and started the wild rumpus. At one point during that frenetic first dance, I opened my eyes and saw my brother and Kenny playing drums at the other end of the stage. I danced over, one of the two girls following my lead. Nic caught my eye and grinned. And then I danced until the drums stopped, at which point I realized that I had lost my breath some time ago and could taste blood at the back of my throat. So when the next song started, I got up and danced some more. Absolutely glorious.

When it was over and we had shaken hands all around and gone back to our seats to watch I Met the Walrus, I tried to catch my breath. The endorphins were still sizzling, and I found that I didn't care much about anything. Even the lingering cough didn't bother me (although I decided that dancing had somehow given me the TB, and delighted in accusing the other dancing girls.) When the film was over, I caught up to Nic and Kenny in the lobby. Kenny held his palm up. I high-fived it, smiling.

"I have got to thank you. You took it up a couple of notches."

I smiled bigger, wondering what this was about.

"I was sitting there with Nic, trying to get him to go up. He was complaining about his wrist. And I said, how can you stay here when your sister is up there, owning the place?"

Like I said, charming as Satan. And I, for one, welcome my Satanic acquaintance.

Labels: dancing, family, festivals, friends, music, the boy

- 2 comments/foxes -

- Rocketbride's adventure of 2/18/2008 03:36:00 PM -

 
three step gallop

Today was the first day of the new semester, and the less said about that, the better. The brightest spot of my day was the return of Mason, who is now doing behavioural stuff all day (or, as he likes to call it, 5 periods of prep). Unfortunately, there wasn't a lot of time for knitting & chatting, but there's always the rest of the semester. And speaking of segues, here's Sage, the cutest baby of 2007:

sage-in-a-pot

sage models a tart hat

sage gets ready for cake!

Tonight after my dance class, my instructor asked me to stay after. Uh oh, I thought. I think I'm cut. Maybe she was going to refund my money as long as I promised never to take another bellydancing class. Instead, she asked me to join a student troupe she's forming. It's not based on ability (which is obvious, considering that she picked me) but personalities. I suppose there's something about the sight of me playing the finger cymbals with my eyes closed, weaving backwards and forwards through the otherwise-orderly rotation of dancers that caught her eye. Or maybe she likes that I knit my own dance socklets. Either way, I'm thrilled. This could be the start of something shimmery.

Labels: bat masterson, dancing

- 0 comments/foxes -

- Rocketbride's adventure of 2/04/2008 06:38:00 AM -

 
the sun is a mass of incandescent gas

My work day has been immeasurably improved ever since I downloaded the TMBG clock radio. I listen on headphones, of course, which only makes it weirder when I start giggling to something no one else can hear. I was driven to this wonder by my officemates' liking of light pop radio, which has the opposite effect on me. I am the girl who can work to anonymous grinding industrial, but give me 'The Girl Can't Help It' and I'll start chewing my cheeks in irritation.

Some lovely things happened last night at my belly dancing class. First of all, I was the knitting avenger, avenging all situations in which knitwear is required. Which I suppose is a grandiose way of saying that I finished my 2 day dance socklets in time for class, and I lent out my wristwarmers to a girl with chronically cold hands. The socklets are for a little bit of slippage to aid my turns. They are my answer to buying a dance half-shoe or cutting up a pair of whole socks; when I can just knit a tube of any length with materials laying around my house why should I take scissors to an innocent pair of machine socks? And the wristwarmers were just sitting in my pocket, but I certainly felt like a hero when her hands were warm and sweaty at the end of class thanks to my knitting. Plus, I was wearing my provocatively worded knit t-shirt, so I had a uniform and everything.

Besides the yarny stuff (or perhaps because of it), I made a breakthrough. I've been grumpy for three weeks, a classic Type A response to my clumsy dancing. This week I started to nail the chest lifts and it felt like someone else was moving my body. I don't think I've ever stared at my rack with so much admiration. I'm so happy. With a small victory, I can keep hopeful that one day I'll be able to bust out to The Ubiquitous Mr. Lovegrove and no one will laugh. (Not that people usually laugh during a goth dance-a-thon, but it could always be the first time. Wouldn't that be a terrible claim to fame? I was the girl who broke through everyone's studied facade - with hilarity.)

and now for something completely different: my new hat!

Labels: bat masterson, dancing, knit

- 5 comments/foxes -

- Rocketbride's adventure of 1/29/2008 07:16:00 PM -

 
sitting feeling sorry in the thirsty dog

One of the things you may not know about me: I'm thirsty. When I started this journal I pretty much stuck to the Diet Coke at all times, not realizing that I was further dehydrating myself. When I started teaching, I switched to gigantic bottles of water, often carrying two 1L bottles on either side of my backpack like a mule. Now that I've been teaching more than 5 years, I find that I'm still not smart enough to drink water on the weekends – and switching from 1 – 2 litres a day to nothing is hard on the body (no wonder I'm so cranky). The problem is that I come home from work thirsty, and having drank water all day I search for something that I can drink that won't keep me up all night. I've been plugging this hole with beer, but I'm afraid that's not going to cut it now that I'm going to be the only parent around at night.

I guess it's time to start fooling around with those fruity teas. Sigh.

Sorry for the boring; it's just this or a pointless lament on the effect of seeing all those Phillip K. Dick books gone. I always kind of thought that he loved them more than me. It's tough to have that confirmed.

Or I could talk about the talent show. Today was the last day of school, which means that it was time for the Bat Masterson Non-Denominational Concert. This year distinguished itself from last year in two major respects: 1) the audience was not filled with drunk, surly misfits, and 2) some of the staff did a number -- that was all dancing. I felt remarkably similar to how I once felt as a camp counsellor: impossibly proud to be a part of these people, and sad that I hadn’t the guts to participate. Next year for sure.

Labels: angst, bat masterson, dancing, health

- 1 comments/foxes -

- Rocketbride's adventure of 12/21/2007 07:17:00 PM -

 
knit drink dance eat sing hold swim

I've got a backlog right now, and the farther I get from it the less I want to write about it. So maybe we'll do this the way my kids always want to write: point-from style, bebe!

Friday:

• still grumpy and unsettled and full of confidence-eroding guilt.
• met Poppy & the twinz for a 'romp' in the park; romp was conducted by Blake while I got some twin boy time.
• alone with the Blake for most of the day, and happy.
• dropped him off at Camp Grampa at 5 and headed east for bright lights & excitement.
• continued grumpy streak at Betty's, where I could not get food or drink fast enough.
• knit a very tiny bit; mostly showed and told about my crazy patterns.
• Jendricks effectively boosted my spirits with her funnel/g-string comment, which will not be committed to print
• unintentional shirt twinz abounded! Including me! Good work, Old Navy.
• piled Sophie, Michelle, Nad, Lisa & Jacquie into the Purple Lassitude and prayed that we wouldn't be stopped. But then again, we couldn't be stopped.
• goth primped at Michelle's convenient condo. I pulled out all the classics: the Dress, the Fishnets, and the current pair of 'vogs. Too bad my hair sucked.
• saw Stacy & Death outside; chatted for a half hour until guilt kicked in, then ran upstairs to be with my abandoned knittas.
• hit Savage, danced like stompy fools, laughed at each other and everyone else
• left at midnight and laughed when Michelle gave me the look of perfect disappointment. "Don't give me that look!" I yelled over the band, "I invented that look!"
• drove home, tired but happy.

Saturday

• packed up the car & went to KW
• watched the Boy impress his whole family with the accordion, and watched the accordion become an indispensable part of the campfire sing
• ate way too much layered dip and way too much everything else
• egged two family members into attempting the 6 over 60 cracker challenge; both failed
• let Blake pretty much do what he wanted for most of the afternoon; this entailed running wild with a pack of cousins older than he
• listened to one of the Boy's uncles do an unintentional reinterpretation of "If I Can't Smoke or Swear, I'm Fucked"
• was surprised twice; once when the same uncle turned out to have taken accordion lessons decades ago, and next when a cousin joined me and the accordion on the one verse of "Halleluia" the Boy could be coaxed to play
• held Blake in my arms next to a campfire until he fell asleep
• drove home, tired and happy. We couldn't stay the night because backyard renos have eliminated the fence around the pool, thus taking away the barrier between Blake and the sweet arms of Death. The kid can work dead bolts like a pro; a tent zipper is no barrier. (When I explained this at knitting, Michelle suggested I tether him to the tent. "That way, when he drowns, you can all drown with him!" And we laughed, mostly because everyone else at the table was horrified. It'd make a *great* Smiths song.)

Today I started decluttering and getting myself in order. I also started Blake's "gradual release" swim lessons, by which I mean, total release swim lessons. We've always done swim lessons together, so I picked a class that would work on getting him slowly to the point in which I could go up to the observation deck & knit. Today I took him to the poolside and was summarily dismissed. It was kind of sad – I was in my bathingsuit, still damp from the shower, and completely redundant. No knitting either. So I went upstairs with my parents and watched Blake from afar. I think a 2:1 class ratio is exactly right where he's concerned.

Labels: blake, dancing, friends, knit, outfits, outings

- 0 comments/foxes -

- Rocketbride's adventure of 7/16/2007 09:07:00 PM -

 
beautiful girl, love the dress

"Beautiful girl, love the dress, where she is now I can only guess."

Morgan, who's been gone so long that I had to look up her pseudonym, came back to party on Monday night. She alerted Coraline & Little Spider, who alerted me (thanks to Coraline's strong associative link between partying on Monday night & me). So we had a Ladies Night.

I need a second for that to sink in. I, the girl who doesn't do female friendships all that well, had a Ladies Night. (Oh, what a night.) Weird.

The night started at Future Bakery, where we smoked cigarettes, drank beer and gossiped. I was surprised to see Little Spider, who was grieving the death of her grandfather. (I gave her fresh banana bread, not because it would make everything alright, but because everything is better with banana bread breath.) We all talked about Facebook, and the people we've met (and rejected) on it. So right away, the night started with a satisfying amount of cattiness. And I found out a few new people to add (ok, it was just God In An Alcove. Don't judge me; this is what Fb is for.)

By the time we got into the Cave and checked Morgan's wheeled suitcase (and after Coraline had a chance to sing the theme from Midnight Cowboy as interpreted by George Costanza), the place was starting to cook and Shannon was the heat under the grill. It's been a sweaty pig of a season, and I had been helping my dad clear away brush on the fence line earlier in the day; yet I sweat more on that dancefloor than I had all week. And unlike clearing-brush-sweat, I revel in dance-sweat, which was a good thing because I made an awful lot of it. My usual early warning system (i.e. I get so winded that I start to black out) wasn't operating; I have to conclude that a year of yoga has sculpted me into a lean, mean, retro-dancing machine. Honestly, that may have been the best part of the night, because I haven't had this kind of club stamina since my early twenties.

But probably the best part of the night was the way that all four of us enjoyed ourselves completely unselfconsciously. We sang along at the top of our lungs and bopped in place when the song needed it, we danced like dervishes when that was required, and we met the other people during periodic social smoke breaks. (Hey Pixie, Jeff M. was there. He continues to be batting zero on remembering me, which meant that I got to play with his head. Again.) Favourite songs: "Gone, Daddy, Gone" (of course), "Raspberry Beret" (the first time I've ever danced to a Prince song in that club without some stranger attaching himself to me for the duration), "Girls" (there is nothing better than hearing the whole club yell "checking Mike D to my dismay") and the classiest anthem ever, "Baby Got Back."

"You don't understand," I yelled across the booth when Morgan laughed at me, "if there's one thing my husband wants, it's for me to dance to this song!" And so I did.

Morgan broke out the air guitar during "I Love Rock & Roll," an activity that she felt required a footnote. "Thanks, Morgan," I replied, "if you hadn't told me what you were doing, I would have wondered how you got a whole guitar into this booth." And she laughed. She was in great spirits that night, as always. She and Corona finished the night drunkest, with LS pretty immune to the beer (most likely due to sorrow) and me stone cold sober.

Surprised? Under strict instructions to keep the drinking to an absolute minimum, I instead focused on smoking, making sure to sample the packs of all the other ladies. This, plus the fact that they were drinking light beer which minimized the booze every time I took a sip from one of their drinks, left me far more sober than I have been after any recent outing. Hey, look: I'm getting my responsibility back! Ain't it grand?

I got in at 3:20 in the a.m., later than I've ever approached the new house and late enough that the ladies' incessant talk of pizza was making me ravenous. (I drove them from the Cave to LS's apartment, and I had to state unequivocally that I was "busy driving the car and not the drunk-girl pizza-getting machine." Which is an awesome claim to make. Try it and see.) When I got home, my pizza options were slim to non-existent, so I made myself a midnight picnic: feta cheese, hot yam soup with cold sour cream, a toasted bagel with cream cheese, and my lovely new copy of The Neddiad. I guess this must be heaven.

"Somebody leave the light on, just in, just in case I like the dancing, I can remember where I come from."

Labels: dancing, friends, outings

- 0 comments/foxes -

- Rocketbride's adventure of 7/11/2007 04:05:00 PM -

 
tying one on

Last night I tied one on with my co-workers. That's how I kept pitching it all week; are you coming to the Maddy after the staff lunch? I'm going to tie one on and you should, too. Luckily, seven thousand staff members were leaving, it was Mason's birthday and my department head is Irish, so what could have been a very sad exercise in the continuing series of "Rocketbride proves she's still got it!" became a royal raving bender for a number of people. (I'm talking like I made this night up or something. Actually, it was the girl who took me aside who was the main power behind it; I was just along for the ride.)

I wasn't even sure that I could tie one on. Ever since I had the Blake, my aging mamma body turns small amounts of alcohol into party-killing nausea. Sometimes I just can't drink fast enough. Fortunately, within the first 20 minutes of my arrival, my department head ordered a round of Bushmill's shots, so I was well on my way by the end of my token salad and first pint of Steamwhistle.

I spent a great deal of the night with Mason, which is pretty much how our relationship runs in or out of school. As the two of us were loaded (he more than me, I must point out), I pretty much dropped the pitiful charade I try to maintain, the one in which he's not my favourite person on staff. There was probably a little too much hand-holding, but when I woke up this morning wondering if I'd embarrassed myself, I remembered that at that point in the night, the table was filled with people who were leaving Bat Masterson. And of the ones who were staying, I was never going to be understood by gym teachers or the tech guy anyway.

I had made a backup plan with Dirk, as I couldn't imagine myself wanting to close down the Maddy; the idea was that I would tie one on with fellow and former Bat Masterson teachers until club o'clock, then hook up with Dirk and dance to some stompy beats until sober. This was a very practical plan on the face of it, as the Boy couldn't be both designated driver AND babysitter and I had to find my own way safely home, hence: dancing until stone sober. The fatal flaw in the plan was something I should have anticipated sooner, i.e. that Dirk would fall asleep. Because that's never happened before, has it?

When I found this out at 10:15, I had been wrecked for almost 2 hours, and was faced with the prospect of sleeping in the car to avoid my own messy death. So we did our best to sober me up with cold water and hot tea ("we only have it iced!") and dancing to the jukebox in the upper room. I discovered that Alan the LTO (who endeared himself to me by trying get everyone to go to the Dance Cave along with the two of us) is not only an old friend of Tania I. and a closet Spider Robinson fan, he's also a cool dancer. He's on my list for my birthday dancing due to our shared inability to stop dancing once we'd started.

By 1 a.m. everybody else was ready to go home, so it was be sober or be homeless. I most likely shouldn't have driven, but I was sober enough to watch myself very carefully for signs of sloppiness, and I kept it frosty all the way home. I was surprised to find the Boy still up when I got in, but very happy all the same. It's hard to snuggle into someone who's sleeping when you're still coming down from tying one on. We had a chance to chat before I went down into dreams of the night just passed, only more extreme. At least, I don't think Al V. embroidered his initials on my pocket, and I'm pretty sure they wouldn't have let us bring sleeping bags into the Maddy.

Labels: bat masterson, dancing, friends, outings

- 0 comments/foxes -

- Rocketbride's adventure of 6/29/2007 11:14:00 AM -

 
ten years

Two days ago, my tenth anniversary of this online journal quietly came and went. No cake, no cards, no fireworks, no telegrams…just me and my slippery memory. But since that's what I started with, that's enough.

What I find most amazing about this milestone is that I am one slender month away from celebrating it where it all began: in my parents' basement. Back then, the basement had silver reflective wallpaper in hexagonal patterns and orange shag carpeting halfway up the walls, and it was always at least ½ full of my dad's stuff. Now it's suave and sophisticated, with blue walls & new blue carpet, finished with white moulding, plus a sunshine yellow bedroom and a functional kitchenette. Now, 2 weeks before Nic moves in, it's so empty it echoes.

I started this journal because I was very nearly completely alone, my social life having noisily exploded that spring when the Poet-Ophelia-me-Alexi thing wound up. I was wracked with guilt over what I had done, guilt that was even more intense because it had all come to nothing in the end. I could only blame alcohol for so much; the rest I had to take home with me. And it was social China Syndrome. The only people who wanted to see me on my 21st birthday were Dirk, Scherezade & the Lawyer. I was out of the city and home for the summer, working away in my parents' house for next years' tuition and eating my heart out with solitude. I wanted new friends, and the Internet seemed as good a hunting ground as any.

Also, since I was 8 I wanted to be a writer, and I hadn't given up on that dream at 20. I thought that this would be a good chance to write something that other people would read. The Internet was less saturated with personal writing then, and I could still stand out with my white-on-black website and my picture of myself in Ophelia's PVC dress and my grandmother's fishnets.

It was good for me, it really was. I got feedback and praise from strangers, which boosted me out of that dark place for at least a few hours. My writing improved and improved and improved, until I got to a place where I could read my own entries without wanting to jump out of my skin with embarrassment. I met Stacy, I met Javina; later I met moms in the same boat and even later, knitters. I love that so much of my life is available to me, and I can search out little stories and moments to give myself whenever the present seems overwhelming.

I also love that I am a happily-ever-after story, at least for now. I've dated, married, graduated, moved, given birth and changed jobs, all in the time I've done this project. I've travelled from sitting alone in a psychedelic cellar to sharing an office in my new house with my sweetie and pausing my sentences to zip a pre-schooler into a Buzz Lightyear costume. There is less dancing, and no sleeping away the weekend on Dirk's couch, but more snuggling and far less unhappiness. It is a very good life, la dolce vida to be sure.

Thank you for being with me for some or all or none of the journey. I owe at least a piece of my happiness to you, my readers, for just doing what you do and for letting me into your lives for the space of a few minutes. You make me very happy. You always have.

And here it is: my first post in all its ugliness. Enjoy if you can.

Labels: basement, blake, dancing, family, friends, house rich, nostalgia, on-line diaries, the boy, threshold experiences

- 5 comments/foxes -

- Rocketbride's adventure of 6/16/2007 07:23:00 PM -

 
let's get ready to ruffle!

So, following hot on the heels of the pig incident, Mason managed to lose one of my knitting bags yesterday. I had lent it to him last week with the barely-started second kimono because I wanted to hook him on the project (he's not knitting right now; I need to not knit a second kimono right away or I will seriously lose my knit). It’s not a proper knitting bag, rather, it's a baby bag Theresa gave me that's a bit awkward when loaded up with baby stuff, so it lay unused for years until I resuscitated it as a knitting bag. It's made of Nova Scotia tartan and it has no tag, so there was no possibility of replacement.

I wasn't too worked up about it; between the shame-guilt of my unfinished weekend marking and the new house, I don't have many grey cells left over for random sadness. Mason thought I was being overly accommodating (hiding rage, he supposed), but my real response was, "how is this about my house, now?"

Anyway, the bag resurfaced with one of my yoganaut friends and Mason feels better. This is the best thing that's happened to me in two full days; that alone should tell you how crummy my week has been.

Bridesmaidmania was a big corsage of excellent this year. I was afraid that it would be like last year with big gaps in the fun and the conspicuous lack of dancing (until the end). Turns out that was mostly due to the tiara; without it, I had a blast. (I don't look any better, but what can I say. It's been a bad year for my physical appearance: lots of stress-eating and an unbroken string of bad haircuts. Plus, the pimples of my adolescence seem to be returning, one at a time.) Cyn and Mike were the special Bride & Groom this year, and knowing a big chunk of the participants helped me feel comfortable without Dirk.

(Oh, yeah. Dirk bailed on me. He spaced on the date and made alternate plans in another city, leaving me with a week of "should I stay or should I go" type decision-making.)

I also made some new friends, relying on my special combo of hideous dress, brazen conversation, and funky dance moves. Plus, this crowd loves the fact that I'm a teacher and I can surf on that fascination endlessly. It's the kind of event where you can discuss everything under the sun, and then move to a new conversation at will because there's just so damn much going on. Because of the extreme busyness of this weekend, I had asked the Boy to pick me up early; when he did, I was sorry to go.

I didn't, however, leave with my reputation intact:

More photos here.

Labels: bat masterson, dancing, friends, house rich, outfits, outings

- 0 comments/foxes -

- Rocketbride's adventure of 5/08/2007 08:08:00 PM -

 
the milk was low-cal, but what did it matter?

In the past 36 hours I have attended the following events:

1. The local Green Home Expo
2. Free Comic Book Day at the Beguiling
3. Bridesmaidmania IV
4. Church, and
5. the annual exhibition of a local Quilting Guild

I have fallen asleep wearing smeared makeup, a string of Cinco de Mayo beads and a candy necklace. I have escorted my son to every public toilet on the planet and chased him all through both Value and Mirvish Villages. I have flirted with the idea of expanding my crafting (I tend to be pretty monogamous when it comes to the pointy sticks. It's like tarot cards: if you're untrue to the knitting, the knitting turns on you.) I have seen surprisingly few friends but made a number of fun new acquaintances. I have seriously considered buying an accordion. And, unlike my usual social calendar of late, none of it has involved knitting and some of it has involved fishnet stockings. Cooool.

I'm going to see Daniel Johnston tonight (whoot!) and I have about an hour and a half of marking to go, so I'll pick this up tomorrow. First the writing dries up for lack of event, and now the events are crowding out the writing. Ironic, that.

Labels: blake, church, comics, dancing, friends, music, outings

- 0 comments/foxes -

- Rocketbride's adventure of 5/06/2007 04:26:00 PM -

 
colons: a lazy writer's crutch

Thursday was…weird. Two weeks ago I was quietly pining for a night on the town, 1997-style. On Thursday night, it happened. Originally, I was planning on dancing with Dirk in honour of his birthday (a.k.a. Dirktoberfest). But because of that dratted Book of Faces, Seth had a chance to invite me to "party like it's 1995." I convinced Dirk to check it out for a half-hour before moving on to Velvet; thus it began.

The crowd at Sneaky's was a wash of half-familiar faces, many of whom I had seen at St. St's wedding last fall. They were all overjoyed to see Dirk, somewhat less enthusiastic about me (oh well), but I found conversation immediately. I recognized three girls from my first year at Ferg, none of whom said a single word to me the entire night (so much for thinking that they had liked me then, either). So I talked to the boys, which is my MO anyways. And I tried to hide my embarrassment at the fact that I could vividly remember the last time I had seen a few of them, and what I remember of my behaviour was neither respectable nor sober. Eeep.

I employed my usual tactic when dealing with social awkwardness: I started drinking. Dirk took my keys & promised to drive until I sobered up, which meant that I had pretty a free hand with the circulating pitchers. (Ahh, the good old days.) The edges melted. The room warmed. My volume increased.

And by contrast, Velvet was incredibly understimulating. I'm not fond of sitting by myself in goth clubs, even if I'm too tipsy to really work myself into a temper. So I persuaded Dirk to take us back to Bloor Street and the Dance Cave, where we rejoined the 90's party.

The rest of the night was spent sobering up, dancing, laughing, dancing, shouting a few words of conversation, and fighting through the enormous crowds to find the bathroom. I was hit on during a Prince song (happens every time I go to the Cave) and I stood listening patiently while an old acquaintance confided that he was tired of picking up women in bars. It was a completely satisfying experience.

Best of all was the fact that I was there with Dirk, and that it was more like old times than it has been since we came back from Nova Gothic. In fact, it was better, because the camaraderie was overlaid with a level of maturity and understanding that's hard to describe. I felt more solidly connected with him than I have in a long time, and that mostly comes from the fact that he is almost healed of his long illness. Also indescribable is my relief at this simple fact.

It was the best Dirktoberfest ever.

Labels: dancing, friends, outings, res

- 0 comments/foxes -

- Rocketbride's adventure of 4/07/2007 07:54:00 PM -