Day 162
I just saw an online ad for a dating service that featured two slutty pics of women and one pic of a girl flashing a peace sign. Here were two varieties of sexy 1. African American woman and 2. an overly tanned "I have cleavage" type, this is typical. But, the girl just to the side of this triptych looks like she is the prettiest girl at Jesus Camp and just had a snapshot taken of her with a disposable camera. I wonder if that girl is a marketing tool or a real person who is registered on the site. I also wonder how many predators will be pleased to see a 14 year old Jesus camper available to "Flirt Now."
I am working on the ugly afghan that I plan to put on my bed. The one where I will judge people based on their reactions to it. It is going to be hideous and I want to see who is honest. Anyway, today I realized that I needed to get more yarn. I set off to the hobby shop which has two men with too much hair who make yarn cats working in it. I was under the impression that this store sells crappy yarn as well as styrofoam cones, model kits, and ribbon. I learned something very important; this store sells crappy yarn alright, but it is the Canadian version of crappy yarn which means yarn that, in the States, is mid-grade to high-end.
I whipped out my ugly afghan and saw people's eyebrows raise throughout the store. "Can anybody think of a color that goes with this hideous pink?" Pretty soon all of the strangers in the store were helping me think of ideas. The only problem was that the yarn there was too nice and too thin or slightly too thick. I asked my legion of new friends whether or not they knew of any stores that carried crappy yarn. This was discussed and ended with the store owner on the phone to competitors asking if they carried Red Heart brand. The result: nowhere in these parts carries crappy yarn. One of store patrons suggested that we open up a yarn shop called, "Crappy Yarn" I told him I would mull over the idea. So, no yarn was purchased, but I made 7 new friends. Not bad.
Derby Training:
So I am not very good at keeping track of how many days it's been since I bought my rollerskates and gear. I suppose I could go back through the past few blog entries and look it up but that would mean that I would be opening myself up to the chance of re-reading portions of them. This could only lead to me facing up to my own ridiculousness and I don't think now would be a good time to face it (if I get my way, I'll never face it). Anyway, my best guess as far as training for derby goes is that today is day 14 also known as the day that I actually went skating. What can I say? It takes me awhile to get PMS-crazed enough to risk breaking a femur.
I set out this morning with two backpacks full of gear, wearing a pair of leggings a black lace skirt which I rolled up to be a mini skirt, a long sleeve hoodie t-shirt with skulls on it and a pair of mother effing Birkenstocks (I know they don't scream bad ass but, damn are they comfortable). In an effort to not embarrass myself where anyone I know could see, I decided to trek to a basketball court I had seen that is a 15 minute walk from home. It was in a semi-secluded area. When I finally arrived there my calves burned from the uphill exhaustion and I was shocked at the sight: there were people playing basketball there. It looked so deserted a few days ago. I sorta grinned though, I figured that I wouldn't have to take the risk of putting myself on wheels.
I walked around only half-moping that I wasn't going to skate. I found myself in a side alley next to a tennis court dome. I looked at the cracked pavement and how deserted it was, little did I know that it would be my yellow brick road for as I reached the end I saw a deserted parking lot to one side and a pair of tennis courts with an open gate to the other side. I opted for the tennis court. I sat down on a bench and put on all of my gear (it took 10 minutes) and looked around, and when I was satisfied that no one was around a man appeared out of the treeline. A gorgeous man from New Zealand carrying a tennis racket and a dufflebag. Here was our exhange:
ME: Hello.
HIM: Hi, there. You mind if we use this court? My buddy's coming.
ME: Ahh, sure. I just got these skates and figured I better practice somewhere safe and--I guess I can go to the other court. I'm like really bad at skating and--
HIM: Well, you gotta start somewhere.
ME: Yeah, I guess. I better I spent a lot of money on this gear and stuff.
HIM: Well, giving up is not an option.
ME: Yeah, it is. I'm so embarrassed.
HIM: Don't be. What better motivator than having people around?
ME: Don't watch.
HIM: We won't watch.
With that I grabbed my gear and rolled cautiously to the court on the other side of the fence. He played tennis with his buddy and I skated trying to not fall (which, btw, I didn't). For a 25 minutes it was just me and in my court with the purpling dead worm in it (poor bastard) and the New Zealander whacking a ball with his friend muttering the occasional, "Fuck." This not talking was wonderful except when he left without congratulating me on not falling. Damnit.
Moving on--I called my mother this evening and she asked what I'd done all day and I told her I skated and went to meet with this woman about getting a job after that I told her I was just going to write off the day as a "Fun Day" and go see a movieand she wasn't very pleased. She told me not to got to see the movie Pirate Radio and to, "Put the pen to page--you stay in and write. You need to get more done." If I had listened to this piece of advice I would've missed out on seeing a movie that reminded me what rock and roll means. The worst part was that I couldn't find the proper words to a respond to her at the time but I have found them now:
Dear Mom,
I will never stop taking Fun Days, ever, especially if there are inspiring strangers to meet, crappy yarn hunts to go on and awesome movies about rock and roll to see. All I have to say is go have a Fun Day mother. Crank up The Kinks and dance for a song. Here's a little secret for you, that you used to know as a hippie child in the sixties: goofing off and listening to rock and roll IS doing something. I love you.
Your Daughter
Tip of the Day: I don't care what anyone says, a Oreo Mint Blizzard can cure anything well, except for the desire to buy the 30 dollar unicorn ice cream cake in the case.
-Canadian Castaway
No comments:
Post a Comment