tell me about your big but

Battling a low-grade spring cold and a heavy conviction that I won't manage to finish out the teaching year in good form. Two weeks to finish Catcher in the Rye and all I want to do is lie down. With a book that isn't Catcher.

In my last entry I think the emphasis came through in the wrong place. I wasn't so much complaining about my impossible child as I was coming to the realization that I need to make things a lot less tough on myself. It's my stubbornness that makes things so damn hard for both me and Blake. It's this feeling that I'm doing him a disservice if we bring a wagon, or if I buy him an ice cream in the afternoon. I need to stop taking such a hard line about everything and try to be happier, lighter and more present. I need to stop worrying about the future Blake (the soft, spoiled kid I'm afraid of creating) and start enjoying the weird, energetic, sweet boy I have now.

Last night I participated in one of the most fun ideas ever conceived: a blend of Rocky Horror and Pee Wee's Big Adventure called "Pee Wee Herman Picture Show" at the Bloor Theatre. Nic, Mason, Pixie, Pixie's husband and a few hundred others came with me and were transported. Unlike the Rocky Horror Experience, in which you are encouraged to hate the characters on screen, we all love Pee Wee. I know the movie well from my younger days, and I think I scared Mason a little with the depth of recall I could command once the Danny Elfman score started to unspool. By the time we staggered from the theatre, I was voiceless from two hours of laughing, singing, and cheering along. Mason, Nic and I all agreed: if we hadn't had to work today, we'd have turned around and bought a ticket for the second show. I hummed the theme all the way home. Oh, and that this was Pixie's very first time seeing the movie. I couldn't have picked a better way to show her.

And there was something about being in a theatre full of happy people that made it better than Rocky Horror in which you throw contempt along with your toilet paper. Everybody was there for Pee Wee, and a number of them brought their kids to share in the fun. It still makes me grin, just thinking about the screams during the Large Marge scene.

"You have to watch it! You're 30!!" - nic attempts to be sensitive to my anxiety

I had promised Nic Ethiopian food that night, and after listening to his hissy fit when we went to Chippy's before the show, I decided to take him out for some fermented fun after the show. Unfortunately, Nic was a little too sick to enjoy himself, so Mason & I sipped drinks and tried to resuscitate our voices while my brother morosely shoveled food in his pie hole. I went to bed far too late for a school night, but so very happy that I had made it down.

Labels: blake, family, friends, health, outings

- 1 comments/foxes -

- Rocketbride's adventure of 5/30/2008 06:20:00 PM -

 
what are you implying?

One of the things I forgot to mention about Mother's Day was that I hosted a barbeque for my family. Very low stress; just my parents, Nic & the Blake (who fell asleep before eating his burger). My mom even picked up the food, which was a blessing in my post-party-bus state. It was one of the good nights; Foreman-grilled burgers liberally garnished with tonnes of loud conversation & laughter.

dad: "I thought your feet were bigger."
nic: "what are you implying?"
me: "you know."

In contrast to my other weeks, it's been pretty quiet around here. I took Monday as a sick day, and spent it watching videos and eating salty snacks. My parents took Blake that night, meaning that my triumphant return to work on Tuesday was made as easy as possible. I'm having trouble establishing a consistant night routine, what with all the interruptions in service. Almost every night I spend with Blake includes the inner question, "so, what should I be doing now? And when?" When I can get him bathed and into bed before I pass out, I'm doing real well.

On Wednesday my mom & I went to North Gomorrah to see "My Fair Lady." I like spending time with my mom, and I like going to the theatre and I tend to like musicals. Unfortunately, these were the best parts of Wednesday. Eight p.m. on a school night is not a good time for something to begin, at least in my dozy world. I spent most of yesterday craving my bed, and I couldn't lie down fast enough once I got home. My dad, who was over to fool around with my fence, was incredulous that I would want to lie down. Just because I don't do my lying down in front of a teevee doesn't mean we're not alike, Dad.

This weekend is the first one with Blake in a while. I plan to celebrate with a trip to see the local fair and possibly a quest to the grocery store. I am an exciting single mom! Ka-pow!!

Labels: blake, family, outings

- 0 comments/foxes -

- Rocketbride's adventure of 5/16/2008 04:30:00 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

- 2 comments/foxes -

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

 
worn out with the knitting and the baby snuggling

This is my second weekend off, and true to form, I've stayed up too late, overslept, and hardly touched my professional work. I did get a lot of domestic stuff done, though, and in my defence my dad was over at the house for close to 5 hours. I love my dad, but he's kind of lonely now that he's in retirement. When no one else is around, he often comes up with a project for my house, which is extra fun when I've been awake for 10 minutes and being asked about programmable light switches. I ended up cooking dinner for the two of us, as the alternative was each eating alone in our quiet houses. I figured that I owed it to my mom to feed him at least a few times.

(Why, yes, the Boy did cite feeling smothered by my family as a reason for his desertion. How observant of you.)

My other bit of defence is that my late night and later morning were the result of genuine social interaction and not pointless websurfery. Last night I had an extended visit with Mason's baby Sage, after which I went to Drunken Knitting and closed the night down. I am completely in love with Sage, and found a way to hold him for most of the three hours that I was over at his house. (I even have a touch of carpal tunnel in my forearms today, which makes me feel like a bit of a mommy copycat.) No pictures because my camera is taking some exotic vacation of which I was uninformed (read: lost). Take my word for it: he may very well be the most beautiful baby since a certain alien-eyed moppet stole our hearts in 2003.

Drunken Knitting was also awesomely awesome (and featured a soundtrack bonus, as we were unexpectedly rocked like a hurricane.) The Gorgeous Ladies of Yarn were more than ready to dish about my domestic bizness, which is a welcome change from some of the other groups I've been in of late. (The only thing worse than talking about my marriage dissolving is not talking about my marriage dissolving.) I was humbled by the revelation that I am the most sexually inexperienced knitter in that pool by a factor of 20. Or maybe I was relieved. I can't remember.

Labels: family, friends, knit, outings

- 1 comments/foxes -

- Rocketbride's adventure of 1/12/2008 09:29:00 PM -

 
you want a piece of me, 2007?

Today has been a fucking disaster. No, I guess it hasn't. When I think about Abortionpalooza Weekend I realize that my life can – and has – dropped much further. Still, I've been pretty brave lately, and I feel especially tested. The sequence, for your consideration:

1. Clean the house in preparation of a visit with Poppy & the twins. Get a call from Poppy asking for a rain cheque because everyone is sick sick sick. This wasn't so bad: at least I vacuumed my couch.
2. Go grocery shopping with Blake during lunchtime. Watch his fuse shorten. Insist that we visit Chapters before going home for lunch. Watch him have a complete sobbing meltdown over a mitten in the parking lot. Drag him to the Chapters, to find that the book is not in stock. Drag him back to the car.
3. Bake brownies for Stacy to make up for lack of present yesterday. Yell at Blake for gouging at brownies with knife when I left the room.
4. Go skating with Blake and parents at large public park at the centre of the town's New Year's Eve celebrations. Have a good time. (Wait for it.)
5. Go for dinner with family friends. Have an excellent time. Realize as I am about to leave that my wallet is gone, probably during skating. It is now full dark.
6. Go with my mother's friend to find wallet. Spend an hour discussing my separation. No wallet.
7. Go home to find a message from the police: wallet was turned in! Go back downtown to fight crowds and find police officer. No officer.
8. Find another cop, who tells me to phone the station.
9. Phone station. No wallet. I am told to phone tomorrow.
10. Go home. Realize that it's now 10 and I can't drive to Toronto without my licence. Further realize that I will be home alone on New Year's Eve, as Blake is sleeping at Camp Grampa. Think about eating all the brownies. Write journal instead.

So here I am. I figure that if I can live through this night completely alone, cheated & stuck – then I can live through fucking anything.

Bring it ON, 2008.

Labels: angst, family, friends, outings

- 1 comments/foxes -

- Rocketbride's adventure of 12/31/2007 10:19:00 PM -

 
the bells are ringing out for Christmas Day

"Merry Christmas, yer arse, I pray God it's my last."

Well, I'm officially a single mom in a paper crown. Queen, if you will.

The last two days were pretty awful. The Boy's insensitivity verged on satire at times, and I found myself wondering how I could have been married to a complete stranger for so long. I'm learning to keep my expectations extremely low. And even as low as they were, it hurt that he spent most of Christmas morning clicking away on my computer (his is already gone) and seemed surprised that I would have any objection to dropping another load of his stuff at the Casa Nova on my way to Christmas dinner. It hurt that he waited until yesterday morning to tell me that his mom was coming in an hour to move his bed. It hurt that after I fled the house for 5 hours to give him space, he asked to borrow my car as soon as I walked in the door. It hurt that he skipped what would have been Blake's first Christmas Eve pageant, if Blake hadn't been felled by a sudden fever, and came home without notice near 11 p.m. It hurt that, as soon as Blake had unwrapped his many presents from Daddy, Daddy packed them up to take to Casa Nova.

And yet, there were bright points. Yesterday's church was the first Christmas Eve in years that I haven't attended under a dark cloud, fresh from an argument about why we had to drop everything and see the Boy's mother later that night. Seeing everybody's excitement, singing the carols, reciting the well-worn litany: it all seemed good and proper last night. And my family have been very helpful and kind, which is awesome while it lasts. Last night after I'd been jilted with a feverish baby, my parents came home with me to wash dishes and bake cookies. I haven't enjoyed a night like that since they used to visit in Wolfvegas. Today, when dinner got boring, Nic & I snuck away downstairs. If we were a normal family, we might have smoked a cigarette or downed a shot, but instead Nic showed me how to maximize my flexibility with isometric stretches. It's all about the clench & release, people. Really.

So, yeah. The new phase starts today. I wish that the Boy were able to look into our marriage and see something worth saving, but part of me is glad that I'll have a break from being invisible in my own house.

Labels: angst, family, the boy

- 0 comments/foxes -

- Rocketbride's adventure of 12/25/2007 06:40:00 PM -

 
snow, tires, moves

I'm having another one of those days. Things are going relatively well; it's just that everything is backgrounded by the thought that I've been awake since 3:30. Blake had a restless night, which didn't help my anxiety & depression-fuelled insomnia. The meds are apparently taking their sweet time about kicking in, which is great, except that if I don't get any damn sleep I'm going to find it hard to maintain even the thin veneer of control I've so far held up in most public situations. Plus, extreme tiredness always makes me feel strangely lucid, and so I've spent most of the day convinced that I understand exactly why my marriage is on the rocks, and how it is all my fault. How much of this insight will survive a good night's sleep and some fresh neurochems is anyone's guess. I suppose I'm just in a martyring mood.

My dad drove me to work today, which was good, because I'll have snow tires by tonight (message to the sky: ok, we get it. You can ease up at any point.) But, my parents being my parents, there was also a hearty dose of Discussions About My Responsibilities. They are, for obvious reasons, preoccupied with my upcoming separation, and I get to reluctantly discuss plans when I'd rather be staring out the window. At the snow. And brooding over wasted opportunities. And wondering if anyone else knows how lucky they are to be loved, and thinking that I probably shouldn't startle them by telling them that out of the blue.

One of the upshots of this morning's decision was a plan to move Blake's bedroom from the downstairs layer to the upstairs layer, into what is now my craft and dressing room. My whole reasoning behind putting him downstairs was to make room for a second baby. I guess I have to face that little slice of reality, too. No Burt. No Una. Just painting my craft room green and feeling like my whole body is made of dense, fragile, imperfectly-fired pottery, waiting for the right impact to shatter once and for all.

Labels: angst, blake, family, the boy

- 0 comments/foxes -

- Rocketbride's adventure of 12/17/2007 07:16:00 PM -

 
damn good times

So, yeah. It's been a long time. It's been hard to find things I can write about, preoccupied as I am with the dual battle of keeping my marriage and my dangerously depressed friend afloat. The few other things have been brief in nature: Blake reading and counting independently, my dad and uncle tiling the laundry room so that little bits of concrete no longer stick to my feet when I bring in the wash, the latest Strongbad cartoon (yes, I'm a bit shallow at times). I suppose that I could have gone on at great length about Blake's literacy and numeracy, but like most momentous things it seems utterly prosaic. One day we were sitting in the kitchen and I realized that he was sounding out words. This morning he was sitting on the bedroom floor as I got dressed, using his fingers to add up single-digit numbers. Last week he tried to help us to remember to visit the comic book store by writing it on our list pad (he laboriously printed "KAH" before losing interest). God help us all, there is another real human in this house, and he can decode the basic language of our culture. Be afraid.

What finally made me break the long silence, though, was something entirely old school: this weekend I found myself partying like it was 1997, and what better place to recount it than here?

Friday was a weird day. First, a field trip to a bloody-sexy version of Macbeth, complete with half-naked cast, seducing witches and a whole new understanding of the line "look like the innocent flower but be the serpent under it" that is granted when Lady M is grinding on top of her husband). When I got back, I grabbed Mason and we did errands for awhile before going to Commencement. I have to say, there's nothing about "Pomp & Circumstance" that gets better the seventh time around. We spent the time knitting, of course. And then there was the staff holiday party, where I got to stand around and be melancholy with people who were laid off last year and who took with them the life of the building. I probably had a bit too much to drink in compensation.

Saturday was sunny & busy. I cleaned, tidied, knit, laundered and in other ways made myself useful. Then the Rocketfamily went to the local Santa Claus parade. I have to say, I find parades kind of boring at the best of times; when accompanied by freezing temperatures they become excruciating. Still, Blake & the Boy had an awesome time, and there were many shiny things to distract me from my growing misery. I was tempted to pack it in afterwards, but I had a chance to see some Toronto people and I was determined to get out of my rut for at least a few hours.

This worked perhaps too well; not only did I have an excellent time palling around with the old Larp crowd, I managed to unburden myself repeatedly and achieve a catharsis of sorts. It's much much better trying to bear the stresses of my life this week than it was before I made all those nice people listen to my problems. (And a special thanks goes out to Acidic Jew, who listened to all of my problems, let me drink half of his pint, and refused to give me anything but the unvarnished truth in return.) Of course, with relief came a lowered alertness, and I drank waaaaay too much for a girl who had to drive herself home. Somehow during the evening I managed to get JimZed to keep an eye on me, and when he and Jesse concurred that 3 pints of water didn't counteract 2 1/2 pints of beer, JimZed made the call to keep me in Toronto for the night. Thus, I was driven to the Zübhaus, the first official out of town guest, and made welcome.

It follows that on Sunday morning before church, I was ushered out of the Zübhaus and, with the aching eyes of one who has worn contacts all night, began the Drive of Shame. Hungover? Check. Exhausted after fewer than 5 hours asleep? You bet. Full of enthusiasm for my slightly scandalous experience? Oh Yeah.

Especially when, 4 hours later, I drove back into the city with Blake for Mason's baby shower, about which there is only scattered moments available to my over-tired memory: giving architecture lectures to my oblivious son who insisted that he used to live here, too; taking Blake & baby Olivia to Hart House library to drowse in the sunshine; Blake recognizing Mason in the room and lighting up like a firecracker; Blake stealing cupcakes; and Blake losing control almost the moment we left and forcing me to search all through campus for a bathroom in which to scrub him down. (Aside: if I never again have to take Blake to the basement of Sid Smith on a Sunday so that I may strip him naked and scrub him while he stands in a sink…well, it will be too damn soon. This is not fun stuff for Hangover Girl.)

Yes, a damn good time. Now if I could only shake the opportunistic throat infection that has negated my recovery.

Labels: bat masterson, blake, family, friends, outings

- 0 comments/foxes -

- Rocketbride's adventure of 11/19/2007 06:35:00 PM -

 
we will rise

Fun facts about Friendly Rich:

• He runs a program every year in which he teaches hundreds of 9 year olds how to make instruments and compose their own experimental music, then he leads them in parade through the main streets to a park where they give a concert.
• The Arts Festival he created is wildly experimental but is patronized by the Mayor's office and going into its 8th year.
• He is a Doctor, though not the kind you would want if you needed an emergency intubation.
• He actually is friendly.
• The artist who created the cover on his last album also did work for Frank Zappa and designed the sets for PeeWee's Playhouse.
• Whenever I'm at one of his events, I have an uncontrolled need for attention and participation. I think Soot has come to dread my hand shooting into the air.
• He likes my brother and remembers at least half of my name when we meet.
• He usually plays at the a summer concert for the instrument store that outfitted my brother's bands and gave me more than a year of drum lessons.
• He lives in my hometown, and brings acts here months ahead of engagements in Toronto. He brought Geoff Berner and He Poos Clouds to me. He makes me happy to live here.

My journey to last night's Friendly Rich Show was epic. I have made their regular appearances at the Tranzac a staple of my social calendar: much like Drunken Knitting, I can commit to something awesome that only happens once a month. But since the July show, they have been absent from the scene. This October show has been a goal of mine for a long time. And even when I knew that the Boy would be out of town, speaking at his alma mater for a weekend, I was still determined to go. I would get Nic to take me, I thought. He just needed 6 weeks of notice and continual reminders.

It wasn't until Tuesday that I had a key thought: how was I to get to the show if the Boy had the car?

Asking Nic for help was inconclusive, as he doesn't keep a car and relies on the largesse of my parents. I also found out that he was working until 11 that night. I began to give up hope; the Boy, feeling guilty, spoke of renting a car for the weekend, but memories of bouncing Blake's first tuition cheque were just too fresh (it was only a month ago). I told my dad that I would keep Blake for the night, after all, what was I getting babysitting for?

But I forgot something else: my mom just got a new job, and her current hospital is less than 10 minutes away. She no longer needs the car for 14 hours; in fact my dad can easily drop her off and pick her up. The car was ours if we wanted it. Game on.

(And of course, my dad had to put the screws to me one more time before the details were finalized, and I ended up promising to stay the night along with Blake. I tried my best, but I just couldn't think of a reason to justify going home by myself so that I could wait for Blake to be dropped off the next morning.)

So yesterday we said goodbye to the Boy and were dropped off at my parents' house. Blake & I spent a pleasant hour out & about before supper, rediscovering the fun twins who live down the street and their fun mom, who immediately gives me beer when we're over and yet doesn't make me feel like a lush. Excellent vibes, there. After supper we fooled around a bit, I gave Blake his bath & put him to bed, and then settled in to knit in front of the teevee and try to stay awake. Hard. Going. Even "Freaks" had a hard time keeping me from napping.

But it all worked out. Nic came home, brushed his teeth for a zillion years and then got in the car again to go. We made it by 11:40, not bad considering we took a "shortcut." The only problem was that THEY HAD ALREADY PLAYED.

Oh, the humanity.

So we collected Needle Addict and went to Las Iguanas for midnight burritos. On the one hand, I was bitter that all of my striving had been for nothing. On the other hand, I got to knit a sock to "November Rain", sitting at a table with my elusive brother and a fun girl I haven't seen since the housewarming party. I think there's a balance there somewhere.

Labels: family, friends, music, outings

- 0 comments/foxes -

- Rocketbride's adventure of 10/20/2007 01:30:00 PM -

 
it's the smiling on the package, it's the faces in the sand

Today was awful. It started off with the usual morning confusion, which was augmented by my continued cold, the Boy's slight depression and the extra stress of packing clothes for Blake's sleepover. (Why a sleepover? Because I had a counselling appointment today and the Boy had parent night.) We managed to get out the door without arguing, which was good.

This was instantly negated as soon as I walked into my parents' house. My mom immediately started in on the lunch bag I made for Blake: it didn't have a name on it (it did), it wasn't insulated (it was, with felt instead of thermal)…etc. Her whole manner was angry, impatient and quick to find fault. I got out of there as quickly as I could, again without getting drawn into an argument.

Cut to this afternoon. I show up for my appointment 15 minutes early and sit patiently in the waiting room, knitting away. At 4 p.m., the counsellor pops his head out and tells me that the appointment was for 3. (That means that I still have to pay him, and why he didn't check the room at any point, I don't know.) I walked off calmly enough, but started yelling "fuck!" over and over as soon as I was out the door. Crack 1.

Having all of this extra time on my hands, I called my parents' place and went over to see Blake. On the way over, I spent my time worrying if the Boy would blame me for missing my appointment and disrupting the reconciliation process. Good thoughts. When I got to my parents, my mom started in on me again. The main message was:

• As I forgot that today was a field trip, and thus forgot to pack his gym clothes, and
• As I am providing a substandard lunch bag, thus
• I can't seem to handle "this" and
• I should pull Blake out of Montessori school

No matter what I said, the basic text never changed. Even my dad started to defend me, repeating what I said (that I'd paid a commitment fee and couldn't pull him out) and calling these problems "bumps". My dad never defends me. Even in my struggle to keep calm, I noticed it.

The best part was that through all of this, Blake refused to look at me, and only spoke to me when asked. His only emotion was to burst into tears when I tried to take my own teddy bear home. So I was a monster to him, too. Finally I left, bursting into tears in the car. Crack 2.

What exactly am I struggling so hard to do? My mom doesn't consider anything short of her standards acceptable, so I can never win. At school my son is still making messes in the bathroom, falling behind on his homework and getting timeouts for not paying attention (which I have to think that my mom didn't know about, because that certainly would have been ammunition). My husband had a hard time trusting me, still.

Who, exactly, am I keeping it together for?

Labels: angst, blake, family

- 5 comments/foxes -

- Rocketbride's adventure of 9/20/2007 05:02:00 PM -

 
ignore the mountain of discarded folderol

I didn't get a lot done today, although I made various attempts to get it together. My grocery shopping turned into an oddly-elongated 2-hour odyssey in which I became oddly compelled to Think Ahead – like Labour Day is a freak snowstorm, and if I don't get Blake the right snacks for the first week they'll kick him out of school. (Not after I ironed labels onto his fucking sweatshirt, they won't.) My dental hygienist – who has spent a combined total of 12 years as a Montessori Mom – told me at my scaling not to expect Blake to eat any food at all during the first week. She said that eventually he'll get the hang of packed lunches, but until then make sure to cook a good dinner.

I'm also irrationally afraid that his teachers, much like his teenaged swim instructors of this past summer, will be unable to handle The Blake Experience^tm. I like to remind myself that they chose to deal with 25 3-4 year olds over a number of other exciting career options, and they will surely survive a brush with the Blake.

And it's not so much that I fear for them, because despite my tendency to focus on the gruesome aspects of The Blake Experience^tm in my storytelling, he's not all that bad. I worry about him…because I spend a fair amount of energy trying to keep him happy and fed and hydrated and safe, and the thought of his tender heart out naked in the world makes me dangerously hormonal.

But all of this was about groceries, and my need to make sure that next week runs on auto-pilot because I will have nothing in the tanks for domesticity. Nothing. The first week of school flattens the fit, the experienced, the childless and the happy; imagine what it's going to do to US. It's like the Angel of Death is passing over and because we didn't daub the lintel, all three of us get to die at the same time. Which, as Michelle pointed out in July, might not be so bad.

Other than that, I read 13 months of Pound all in one go (infrequent posting and my unwillingness to use a subscribey service means that I forget to check things), helped the Boy clear out our brushy back yard and start a low-investment compost pile (just leaves, no food), washed my new hair (always traumatic), started a new scarf (out of housewarming yarn), read some more of the Medici book Scherezade lent me (usury = art), and saw the Simpson's movie by myself (contrary to my mother's lifelong warnings, I was not bothered by any creep in particular). A scattered Saturday, but not without its joys. Maybe I'll live to see the next one.

Labels: bat masterson, blake, family, house rich

- 0 comments/foxes -

- Rocketbride's adventure of 9/01/2007 07:56:00 PM -

 
i refuse to call it 'back to school shopping'

I'm living in the middle of a dry-goods hurricane. Tuesday we signed up Blake for school and bought his uniform. Wednesday the Rocketfamily went Downtown for some organics & ribbon & shoe shopping, adding two pairs of Fluevogs to an already Fluevog-blessed household. Thursday my mother & Blake & I went to visit with my grandparents, who found a set of Buzz Lightyear wall decals for him. We finished off our trip to the corridor with a stop at the local Ikea, where I bought a mirror, several kinds of boxes and some kitchen goods. Today the Boy & I braved the gauntlet at the local mall and bought underwear, a belt, pantyhose, pj's, preschooler pants, spare neutrals with which to swap out Blake's uniform, a Thomas satchel, Diego shoes, and tonnes of socks for all three of us. This, combined with anniversary gifts and enabled by sudden fits of weariness, has turned my living room into a disaster. I know I could get it all cleaned up in 10 minutes, but I almost like the feeling of accomplishment in seeing all of this school clothing put in the same place. At least I know that Blake, while he may be emotionally at sea, will have smart navy socks whilst flailing for purchase.

As soon as I get my laundry tags, I can begin phase 2: The Labelling.

It's been a pretty busy, muggy week. After the chilliness of the weekend, humidity came calling and is still hanging around. Consequently, I'm sleeping poorly – because it's not enough that I should be bothered about Blake's school, the paranoia of Bad Monkeys and the threat of octopuses; apparently I must also be plagued by humidity, which breeds poor sleep and terrible dreams.

Other than the constant headache, it's been a pretty good time. My mom has defeated my gloomy predictions and fully supported us on the school decision, which is a tremendous relief. I'm already questioning myself without having that voice externalized. My visit with my grandparents was a rare good-humoured one, with few moments of trouble and a few interesting discoveries (I love it when my Grandmother whips out the old, mended cookbook – like Kate Bush, I just know that something good is gonna happen.) Ikea was fun, as it always is, and I'm almost at the point in which everything I own is sorted into shelf and closet boxes. (Must – stop – buying – boxes – and – baskets!!) Today's trip to the mall sucked, but I didn't expect it to rock, and we got everything we'd come out for. Now that I have a backup set of uniform clothes, I can be prepared for the Chocolate Contingencies that pepper Blake's life.

And with all of this middle-class middle-brow mom stuff rippling through my mind, is there any wonder that I stayed far away from Alexi's gig last night? I can't imagine any scenario that would have been positive, save the one in which I am insulated by my remaining friends. Nobody needs to be my body armour, not when I posses the amazing power of Staying Home on a Friday Night and Watching Cartoons with the Kid.

i <3 ny

Labels: angst, blake, family

- 2 comments/foxes -

- Rocketbride's adventure of 8/25/2007 02:38:00 PM -

 
public school boy

"If you must go to work tomorrow, well, if I were you, I wouldn't bother.
For there are brighter sides to life, and I should know, because I've seen them.
But not often."

Today was a difficult day, but I think ultimately a happy one. We enrolled Blake in the local Montessori school, so he'll be going to full-time school in the fall. This was a difficult decision for me, because I think Blake is too young to be in full-time school, but he clearly needs more programming than the 3-days-a-week at the local highschool (excellent and beloved though it was). My choices were:

1. Send him to JK, with my parents dropping him off and picking him up (and my mother expecting her usual rate for a full day).
2. Send him to my parents, pay for a full day with them and also pay for the pre-school (they were picking up that tab last year out of the money I was paying them).
3. Freak out, quit my job, watch Blake all day until the bank forecloses on the house and we have to move back into the basement.
4. Freak out, make the Boy quit his job and watch Blake all day until the bank forecloses on the house and we have to move into the basement.
5. Send Blake out to work. I hear this area is in need of some slender, bright chimney boys.
6. Realize that tuition is only $150 more than what I'm paying my mom. Enrol Blake in the local Montessori school. Buy a uniform and order laundry labels and think about hemming and try not to lose it completely.

My dad was pissed. I haven't spoken to my mom yet, but I have no doubt that she is also pissed. Their plan, which was plan 1 (with plan 2 as backup) was making me uncomfortable. I've always liked the Montessori idea, and though Waldorf is my first choice of alternative schooling, that is just one more thing I get to give up thanks to my choice of real estate (also, I really can't afford it). This is very convenient to the house, very desirable in terms of philosophy, and very necessary if I'm to feel more actual gratitude and less secret resentment for my parents.

Of course, I feel bad that my dad is losing his wingman, but I did ask him to watch Blake for the first few hours of the day. Maybe that will be enough to ease the transition. I'm really looking forward to going back to a straight familial relationship with my parents, rather than the queasy mix of client, child and debtor I've been for the last few years.

Labels: blake, family, threshold experiences

- 0 comments/foxes -

- Rocketbride's adventure of 8/21/2007 09:15:00 PM -

 
first meeting of the greater brampton downstairs accordion recital society

What the hell day is it? I'm having a bit of trouble adjusting to my post-party life, as in comparison to my pre-party life I have nothing whatsoever to do. Not only did we spend four and a half days in a painting vortex of despair, but Friday, the day I was supposed to be cleaning and cooking, turned into an 8-hour kitchen marathon, leaving the cleaning for the morning of the party. (And when I say 8-hours of cooking, I'm not being my usual over-exaggerating self. I started making marinades at 2:30 and was putting a banana and chocolate chip cake in the oven at 11:10. I did three full loads of dishes throughout the marathon and all the spoons were used up by 9:30.) The house came together beautifully, and I even had a free half-hour to take care of the study, which has been overflowing with boxes and books since we moved in. (Unfortunately, that meant that the Boy's future studio/study closet is now really out of commission rather than just being probably out of commission. Still, nothing will fall down if you open the door. I think I did well.)

The greatest part about having a housewarming in B-ton is that only the people who really like you will make the effort to show up. There are no casual drop-ins when that means a 50-minute bus ride. Once again, my knittas came through for me. They arrived on time in well-dressed and mighty ranks, brought gifts and consorts and babies (both born and yet-to-be), complimented the place extravagantly, helped in the kitchen, and set up a knitting circle in the living room. They took the extended tour as many times as I felt like giving it, they allowed themselves to be drawn into Blake's odd conversations, and they spontaneously formed the Greater Brampton Downstairs Accordion Recital Society while listening to the Boy jam. (Credit to David for the name!) Thank heaven for Lisa, Nadia, Michelle, Joyce, Sophie, Jacquie, Paul, Emily, David & Clara (the most delicious party snack I could have ever served).

the dazzling light comes from the knitters, not my picture window

I'm kind of sad this pic turned out so blurry, because I love Sophie's expression. The image is a cross between a Rembrant and a digitally-enhanced security camera still. Sophie is responsible for the fine art element; I'm the one with the grainy technique.

Michelle kicks off the yarn tasting segment

Nad was so pretty in her white sun dress and strappy sandals, and this is the best picture I could produce. Also, she's working on my crocheted welcome mat. Yee!

Other than the overwhelming force of the SNAY Team (Special Needles And Yarn) contingent, we were also blessed with:

• my grandparents (who brought a cheese plate, flowers and a magnificent old-school egg salad)
• my parents (who brought flowers and conducted information sessions on the fence and toolshed)
• Scout (who stayed all day and helped clean up)
• Nic (who arrived after the party ended and stayed to chat as everyone left)
• Exodus and Levitica (who also helped clean up, plus took the Boy out to see the Simpsons movie when the party officially ended),
• Cheryl and her whole family (Cheryl is a knitter, but with two kids, she had to be a mommy most of the time. Blake had a freaking BLAST running, climbing, jumping, yelling and digging around with K3nt0n!), and
• St. Jack & Sr. Maria (who engaged Blake in long fascinating conversations about rocks and insects)

What a cliché to say that I love them all, but it's true. I am so happy they came to warm our house, and that people who wanted to come out but couldn't sent their warm thoughts as well.

Swag pics! Sorry about some of the blurriness; I think I have a) more talent and b) better photographic equipment than facts will bear out.

drool-worthy yarn from Sophie, nestled in the Boy's accordion case

sheep salt n' pepper shakers from Lisa came nestled in a sewing pattern form and grammatically-incorrect gift bag. hee! massive candelabra from Nad that could be used as a menorah and currently snuggles my wonderful yarn from Sophie.

good luck bamboo from Joyce; 39-year calendar from Michelle; stripey thermos and yummy-smelling coffee from Emily, David & yummy Clara

a sheep's-eye view of the table

blurry but fun aerial shot of it all. not pictured: classy French wine from Jacquie & Paul and desperately-needed baking stone from Cheryl et. al.
I. Love. My. Friends.

I'm waiting for other pictures from other guests, including the delicious Clara and the delightful Pax, the rough n' tumble antics of two rough n' tumble boys, and the basement accordion jam that created a Society. Oh yes, fun was had.

Labels: blake, family, friends, gifties, house rich, pictures, the boy, triumph

- 0 comments/foxes -

- Rocketbride's adventure of 8/06/2007 03:27:00 PM -

 
hey little sister, what have you done?

Many things have happened over the past few days, the most important of which is, I suppose, that the Boy & I got the house in spectacular shape for Sunday's après party party. I had expected that everyone would be too tired after eating and swimming & celebrating my uncle's spring wedding to spend more than a token visit at the house, but I was happily surprised. They came for an hour, made themselves at home, ate almost all of the low-fat bean dip, and disappeared on the stroke of six. My dad has been heard to remark that the house looked perfect; so much so that he's started to talk about buying it when we move (a long ways down the road). My mom? Not impressed with this speculation. She does, however, dig the house and that’s all I want.

The avant "party party" party (or, the party) was excellent as well. I got to make an impromptu toast to my uncles, and the rest of my relatives actually shut up for 2 seconds. A blue-eyed miracle.

Speaking of family, my sister Pixie got married last weekend. She would have pulled it off in complete secrecy, but she drunkenly spilled the beans to Scout (or so the story goes), and Scout immediately bought a plane ticket. Scout has been maid of honour at all but one of her family's recent marriages; no one elopes on her watch.

The groom? We get to meet him next month. I can't say anything nice about him because I wouldn't know him from Adam. He seems to have made Pixie happy, and that's all that matters in the long run.

From the No Good Reason Dept.

Hey look, I actually had a good hair day in 2007:

And this is what I'd look like as drawn by Matt Groening. This picture comes courtesy of a tripple-dog-dare from Alexi. Ha! Ex dares are the most serious, and I never beck down from a dare to begin with.

Labels: family, outfits

- 2 comments/foxes -

- Rocketbride's adventure of 7/03/2007 07:02:00 PM -

 
common thread

An embarrassment of riches at the library tonight. God knows I love my local library, but their selection is best garnished with a healthy shaving of Inter-Library Loans to suit my niche tastes. Tonight everything I wanted just fell into my hand (Lisey's Story; Ya Yas in Bloom; A Tree Grows In Brooklyn) along with a few I didn't know I wanted (Constantine; Renfield). I was so satisfied (and weighed down) that I didn't bother going to the knitting section. Now I have five new-to-me novels and a whole summer to read them. I am truly, truly blessed.

Of course, I have a lot of moving still to do this summer. While cleaning up and moving my CD's, I came across a special collection that had gone underground for a few years: a collection of goth dancables Stacy made for me when I was in exile (i.e. Nova Gothic). (Speaking of being in Nova, I found myself casting about for something to do last Friday night and decided to bake muffins. Déjà vu! Entertaining a pre-schooler on a weekend is remarkably similar to being 3000 clicks from all of my friends.)

As with any collection, some are more worthy of stadium-treatment than others. When Devo's cover of "Head Like a Hole" came on in all its ridiculousness, it was time for blastin'. Blake wandered in, intrigued by the odd sounds. In moments, he was repeating the chorus. So I managed to teach my son his first Nine Inch Nails song this weekend. I can't imagine that this can backfire – no, a toddler clearly needs to be able to express his angst with overweaning authority.

Which would be me. Weaning and all.

One of the places we sang The Song was at a massive new Asian grocery. Not only was there an impressive selection of every frozen fish you've never heard of (and squiddies!), but there were also a healthy selection of Chinese dry goods. I was utterly seduced by the Hap Land iced biscuits; a centimetre square with a big puff of dried icing on the top, packed in a clear vinyl purse. What's not to love?

My only sadness lay in a comment by the Boy: that my uncle would have loved this place. After 15 years teaching English overseas, there wasn't much he didn't know (or didn't claim to know) about Asian food & culture. I wish that Blake had been able to meet him, instead of being named for him.

Speaking of my relatives, I was powerfully reminded of them this morning at work, when She started talking to me as if nothing had ever happened. I just went with it, but inside I chalked it up as another victory for my little Guardian Demon (or Fuzzy Moloch, as Mason calls him).

"What's up with her?" he (Mason, not Moloch) asked today.

"Nothing. She's just Italian," I replied.

A tsunami of anger that blows itself out and is replaced by a sincere desire to get back to normal? No, never seen that before. Except in the mirror.

The acquisitiveness that started the morning I bought F. Moloch continues apace. Yesterday at the church, I espied a really terrific platter sitting orphaned on a table. "Can I have it?" I asked my mom. She directed me to the UCW's working the room, who told me that it's been hanging around far too long and it was mine if I wanted it. "It" is a groovy green platter meant for displaying devilled eggs, and molded accordingly. Unfortunately (!), I gave it over to Blake's care, and although he was walking neatly down the hall, it was a trifle unwieldy and he managed to knock a chip out of it on the doorframe. We couldn't even leave the room with it in one piece.

And despite my mom's warning that the chipped place will grow bacteria, we took it home anyway. I tell myself that it can be for Playdoh or mud eggs or those plastic Easter eggs that only the overzealous and underage try to eat. In truth, I'm hoping that someone can tell me how to safely re-glaze. Because it is truly the grooviest thing I own.

Well, for a day it was. Then today I bought an accordion.

There's been a battered old campaigner on sale at the Value Village for months. At $250, it was out of our price range, but today was half-price day…so we decided to take the plunge into accordion-ownership. Today, instead of doing the typical run to Tim Hortons favoured by my coworkers, I drove to Value Village with Mason, planning to walk in as soon as they opened. Mission: Accordion. And they ended up giving it to me for $250, minus 30% (previous discount), minus another 50% (current discount). Ninety-nine dollars and seventy five cents later, I magnanimously allowed Mason to carry it to the car.

"You won't let me hold it," he accused me while we waited in line. Once it was purchased, I could admit that I'd harboured an irrational fear that if I let him carry it, he might just buy it himself while my attention was distracted by something sparkly. Besides, I would hate for him to think that I had brought him along as the best muscles money could buy (if you don't have very much money).

I get such a tremendous kick out of this thing, even though we almost certainly lowered the property value as soon as I brought it home. As soon as the Boy got home, he could not be persuaded to PUT DOWN THE DAMN ACCORDION for almost an hour. The ensuing headache almost rubbed out my joy – almost, but not quite. Besides, I've owed him a ukulele for a few years now; I think I deserve an extended accordion solo. Joey deVilla better watch himself; there's a new player in town, and he can already do at least one Jesus And Mary Chain song.

Speaking of new players in town, it's a uniquely depressing experience to visit the local movie theatre these days. The 6-plex of my youth has become a second-run theatre, beaten down by vast, ugly theatres that look like ROM Crystals gone raving. Well, maybe not that bad. But pretty bad. I hate those new theatres; for someone with my attention span (see above, re: something shiny) walking through the busybusybusy lobby is a short sojourn in hell. And I also hate being one of five patrons to a theatre on a Friday night at my old theatre, as I vividly recall nights when we had to pack up 8 in a car just to get a parking space on a Friday.

This, however, was the only depressing part of my Hot Fuzz Experience. Because HOT FUZZ IS THE BEST MOVIE I HAVE EVER SEEN, EVER, AND IF YOU HAVEN'T SEEN IT I WILL PAY FOR YOUR TICKET AS LONG AS YOU TAKE ME. Sorry about the shouting, but the Boy & I haven't calmed down yet and it's been three full days. Just the opening scene was enough to blow my gaskets, what with Simon Pegg getting a firm lecture from Martin Freeman (Arthur Dent!), who was joined by Steve Coogan (Tristram Shandy! Tony Wilson!), who was joined by Bill Nighy (Phillip the Stepdad! Slartibartfast!). It was like they were trying for overload, much like that opening sequence of HHGttG when I saw the words "Stephen Fry" after "Alan Rickman" and knew that this was as good as it got.

The homoerotic undertones! The stupid Andrews! The Point Break homage! The trademark reusing-lines-with-a-new-subtext thing that was so brilliant in Shaun of the Dead! Jim Broadbent!

No, I still can't calm down.

Labels: bat masterson, books, church, family, music, outings, the boy, triumph

- 3 comments/foxes -

- Rocketbride's adventure of 6/25/2007 09:42:00 PM -

 
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 -

 
some girls are bigger than others

The good news is that I won a payday draw. The bad news is that I was pressured and guilted and squeezed to donate my winnings back to the charity, and I did. I probably would have anyway, but this way feels like ashes in my mouth.

As to the other situation, I've been avoiding my prep room since Tuesday: hoping that my apology would be accepted, hoping that all the stuff she had borrowed from me and then dumped on my desk would suddenly hold a note mentioning reconciliation. None of these things happened; instead I got a call from another co-worker who wanted to talk to me about "personal things." Mason agreed to wait until I got out of this meeting, as I foresaw that it would conclude in tears. Here is what I was told, directly and indirectly:

I'm really worried about you.

There are three rules:

1. Do not care when you are excluded.
2. It you must care, you are not allowed to express it.
3. Do not make the included feel guilty about your exclusion by drawing attention to it.

If you are in violation of any of these rules, you owe a complete apology to all who were made uncomfortable by your emotions.

My life has been improved by people telling me the same things I'm telling you; yours will clearly continue to disintegrate otherwise.

You have been welcomed with open arms since you arrived.

You are too sensitive and too paranoid.

I am telling you this because I care about you.

I am not interested in your take on events.

I can tell you with my mouth that you're very likable, but my eyes tell a different story.

This is all your fault.

You are not allowed to read into what is overtly said or done to you, but we are allowed to discuss at length and in flensing detail a comment you made over your shoulder as you left the room.

This is for your own good.

I just don't want to see you ruin your life, the way that you did before, the way that always seem to do.

You're clearly still upset, too upset to understand that what I am telling you really happened and what you thought, did not.

I cried silently throughout this intervention-style grilling, but managed to remain upright and keep eye-contact by reminding myself that it could be worse: it could be my department head or (God forbid) my principal ripping me to shreds. I kept the storm of tears and obscenities inside until I got down to Mason, where I cried for 15 more minutes. He agreed with me that some girls like to play exclusion games, and they were motivated by guilt and rage and cruelty. He also confirmed my opinion that the other girls in the department were condoning this behaviour with their refusal to support me. Yes, some girls are bigger than others. Bigger harpies and bigger enablers.

Calmed down, went to pick up Blake, and was informed by my mother that the loan they had given us would now be payable in 12 years rather than 25 or 40, thus inflating our month bills right back to where they were before we extended our mortgage. (P.S. We extended our mortgage because I was afraid of not meeting the monthly payments on a shorter term.) Now that we've used the money against the house, we are powerless at the re-negotiation, unless I want to re-finance with the bank a scant month after I negotiated the loan, pay my parents off and never speak to them again. I am Never. Accepting. Money. From my parents. Ever. Again.

I came home from that addendum onto my day, chased Blake around the backyard, remonstrated strenuously with him regarding his new habit of peeing on the tree, and stood out in the loud thunderstorm until the icy rain shocked me back to decent spirits.

Life, though not good, continues and will be sweet again one day soon. In the meantime, I have the knowledge that for a brief moment in time, I won $110 before the Autism Society reclaimed it.

Labels: angst, bat masterson, family

- 4 comments/foxes -

- Rocketbride's adventure of 6/08/2007 05:38:00 PM -

 
a new hope

Today is my first full day as a house occupant. It is, in the truest sense, like a rollercoaster ride, as I alternate between the giddy thrill of autonomy and the sudden nausea of need. No garbage cans, no pots or pans, no internet. Plenty of yarn, though, and lots of stress.

We're still not entirely moved over. For all the heat I get from my parents about not being organized, the real reason we don't have all our stuff is because my dad went home at 2:30 yesterday to watch a baseball game, refusing to pull down all of our vital stuff that's been in the garage for 3 1/2 years. Bitch bitch bitch blah blah blah. In fact, my dad has been at his absolute best this move. Usually I have to put up with hours of anger; this weekend he's surprised me with his self-control. This is a very good thing.

(I surprised myself by feeling sorry for him yesterday when we left. I know that I'll see him every day until the end of June, but there was something about leaving him at the house after my mom had gone on to work and Nic had drifted into Nicland that choked me right up. For all that he gets on my last nerve, these three and a half years have been some of the best of his life. He's always wanted his whole family this close, and for all of Blake's life we lived as if we were back in the village. I'm glad to be out, but there will always be a part of me that craves this kind of closeness, the tumbling over my family at odd hours that kept me crazy but also kept me out of my own misanthropy for long stretches. That, alone, was good for Blake.)

A