~sigh~
The internet has ruined me.
I used to be so sweet and innocent.
Thursday, March 17, 2016
Wednesday, March 16, 2016
An interesting proposition
A call out of the blue from an old school mate has presented me with an interesting challenge. She's trying out for the Route 66 RollerDerby and has invited me to try out with her. Hmmmm.....
So yeah, I'm almost 50 and I'm slightly (cough, cough) overweight, but I'm still reasonably athletic and am containing a boiling cauldron of aggression needing an outlet. This could work. She remembers me from junior high and high school basketball where I was considered fierce and unrelenting under the basket. Granted, I'm not the fastest runner, and my lack of coordination affected dribbling and shooting, but jumping and slamming? Oh hell yeah. I was all knees and elbows, I could jump like a kangaroo (lower body strength from shot and discuss training), and I was fearless with a Celtic warrior's taste for blood and pain. I was sneaky as shit and an excellent actress so I drew more fouls than were called on me, and I'm pretty sure the only points I scored were free throws. In five years, I think I fouled out only a handful of times.
I owned the paint.
So imagine if you will, Avenging Angel on skates wreaking havoc and raining pain on the hapless opponents of the Route 66 Roller Derby. I'll let you know how tryouts go.
So yeah, I'm almost 50 and I'm slightly (cough, cough) overweight, but I'm still reasonably athletic and am containing a boiling cauldron of aggression needing an outlet. This could work. She remembers me from junior high and high school basketball where I was considered fierce and unrelenting under the basket. Granted, I'm not the fastest runner, and my lack of coordination affected dribbling and shooting, but jumping and slamming? Oh hell yeah. I was all knees and elbows, I could jump like a kangaroo (lower body strength from shot and discuss training), and I was fearless with a Celtic warrior's taste for blood and pain. I was sneaky as shit and an excellent actress so I drew more fouls than were called on me, and I'm pretty sure the only points I scored were free throws. In five years, I think I fouled out only a handful of times.
I owned the paint.
So imagine if you will, Avenging Angel on skates wreaking havoc and raining pain on the hapless opponents of the Route 66 Roller Derby. I'll let you know how tryouts go.
Tuesday, March 15, 2016
Spring Break Parent Hostage Crisis 2016
What do you get when you "spring forward" right before Spring Break?
Chaos. You get fucking chaos!
You get Cute Chicks who are confused about bedtimes, and worse, getting up times. They're groggy, grumpy, don't want to do shit because that would mean getting dressed (wait, that one's mine), eating machines.
Status Report:
Parental Sanity 40%
Snack stores 60%
Booze stores Almost depleted
All is lost.
Chaos. You get fucking chaos!
You get Cute Chicks who are confused about bedtimes, and worse, getting up times. They're groggy, grumpy, don't want to do shit because that would mean getting dressed (wait, that one's mine), eating machines.
Status Report:
Parental Sanity 40%
Snack stores 60%
Booze stores Almost depleted
All is lost.
Monday, March 14, 2016
Coming of age
Well, that was fun.
When I take Max for his evening stroll, we only go down the street a ways, so I'm not worried about the chicks. How much trouble can they get into in 30 minutes? Yeah, I'm that stupid. Or I've been that lucky. Nope. Stupid.
We were returning for our walkies and heard Teen Queen's Cher album blaring from the garage. I'm thinking, "Oh shit, she's got the auxiliary turned on and listening to her tunes in the van." Mildly disturbing, but she's done it before. We hit the end of the driveway and I see the parking lights on and hear the engine running. "Oh FUCK!" I hit a sprint (yeah, big tits and all running like a rhino), and hit the garage in time to see her pop it into drive and bump the air compressor and work bench. (shut up, wirecutter, I don't want to hear it). Fortunately, TQ had the smarts to hit the brakes, but me screaming at her to unlock the door rattled her. She started crying and fumbling (later I remembered I had the other set of keys in my pocket. duh.) and finally hit the locks. Yanking the door open, putting it in park and turning it off, I became Poppy. "What the hell were you doing? YOU CAN'T DRIVE! GET THE HELL OUT OF MY VAN!!!"
I don't have to tell you this is the wrong tack to take with a female teenager (she's actually almost 21). And if you've been reading my Autism posts, you know this is the way way WAY WRONG tack to take. But take it I did. We're both having meltdowns, her in the van, me outside in the garage. Max is cowering and having second thoughts about his new family. I finally came to my senses, closed the van door on her, closed the garage door, and came inside to finish calming down. About 15 minutes later, TQ came in the door crying. apologizing and shaking. At that point, I was still halfway between hugging her and choking her to death. And I'm really hoping the second or third Jack and Coke will calm my nerves.
So really, this was a coming of age for both of us. I sometimes don't see past the Autism to the young lady she is. The truth is she's very observant and brilliantly resourceful. She might one day be able to drive, just not reliably. So she's proven to me that she can get into all sorts of mischief when I'm gone, and I will no longer leave the van keys in an accessible spot.
FYI, she and Max are chilling on the couch watching "Home" on Netflix, and I'm on my third JD. No Coke in this one, those things will kill you.
When I take Max for his evening stroll, we only go down the street a ways, so I'm not worried about the chicks. How much trouble can they get into in 30 minutes? Yeah, I'm that stupid. Or I've been that lucky. Nope. Stupid.
We were returning for our walkies and heard Teen Queen's Cher album blaring from the garage. I'm thinking, "Oh shit, she's got the auxiliary turned on and listening to her tunes in the van." Mildly disturbing, but she's done it before. We hit the end of the driveway and I see the parking lights on and hear the engine running. "Oh FUCK!" I hit a sprint (yeah, big tits and all running like a rhino), and hit the garage in time to see her pop it into drive and bump the air compressor and work bench. (shut up, wirecutter, I don't want to hear it). Fortunately, TQ had the smarts to hit the brakes, but me screaming at her to unlock the door rattled her. She started crying and fumbling (later I remembered I had the other set of keys in my pocket. duh.) and finally hit the locks. Yanking the door open, putting it in park and turning it off, I became Poppy. "What the hell were you doing? YOU CAN'T DRIVE! GET THE HELL OUT OF MY VAN!!!"
I don't have to tell you this is the wrong tack to take with a female teenager (she's actually almost 21). And if you've been reading my Autism posts, you know this is the way way WAY WRONG tack to take. But take it I did. We're both having meltdowns, her in the van, me outside in the garage. Max is cowering and having second thoughts about his new family. I finally came to my senses, closed the van door on her, closed the garage door, and came inside to finish calming down. About 15 minutes later, TQ came in the door crying. apologizing and shaking. At that point, I was still halfway between hugging her and choking her to death. And I'm really hoping the second or third Jack and Coke will calm my nerves.
So really, this was a coming of age for both of us. I sometimes don't see past the Autism to the young lady she is. The truth is she's very observant and brilliantly resourceful. She might one day be able to drive, just not reliably. So she's proven to me that she can get into all sorts of mischief when I'm gone, and I will no longer leave the van keys in an accessible spot.
FYI, she and Max are chilling on the couch watching "Home" on Netflix, and I'm on my third JD. No Coke in this one, those things will kill you.
Sunday, March 13, 2016
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