I can't believe I didn't get more comments for Viper's House of Pain. I thought that post was a shoe in the hole for your surprised comments. Hard crowd.
Anyhoohhooo, we scrimmaged the men's team at rugby last night. It was quite frightening. I got close to having my nose broken, and they were supposedly being gentle and going easy on us. Yeah right. At least there was no blood; but they obviously had something to prove. Men! And the lessons they bring...
I'm also not only flanking, but learning to be an eight-man (or woman, rather), which is the steering wheel of the scrum, or so they tell me. I also get to be lifted up in the air in line-ups, which is like the closest thing I've been to a cheerleader since the thrid-grade, when I hooted for my bros' football teams. At least I don't have to wear a skirt this time. Rugby shorts are definitely preferable. Anything else, gets ripped, as I learned in last nights practice.
Friday, August 25, 2006
Sunday, August 20, 2006
Viper's House of Pain
I know I've been posting a lot lately, and considering it's mostly type and no pictures, I'm betting it can get tedious.
But this is good, really good:
I went to see amateur wrestling at Viper's House of Pain last night. It was by far one of the most twilightly, where-am-I, out of place experiences that I've ever been to, and yet at some ways I felt totally at home. Okay, not so much at home, hearing little kids yell, "make him bleed," or wearing t-shirts that say "kick him in the face," but you know, people seemsed nice and accepting and glad that we were there, although I'm pretty sure we were probably the only non-regulars in this metal strip mall with a home-made looking arena, watching mostly grown men in costumes with names like "Chris the Crucifix" body slam each other, when they weren't hitting each other with metal chairs.
Just another cultural experience, no better or worse then the art show at the local gallery I attended today. There was this really neat piece called the "Pirate of Lost Youth," which seems somehow appropriate not being too far removed from this year's boat race. I saw a lot of faces in that painting.
But this is good, really good:
I went to see amateur wrestling at Viper's House of Pain last night. It was by far one of the most twilightly, where-am-I, out of place experiences that I've ever been to, and yet at some ways I felt totally at home. Okay, not so much at home, hearing little kids yell, "make him bleed," or wearing t-shirts that say "kick him in the face," but you know, people seemsed nice and accepting and glad that we were there, although I'm pretty sure we were probably the only non-regulars in this metal strip mall with a home-made looking arena, watching mostly grown men in costumes with names like "Chris the Crucifix" body slam each other, when they weren't hitting each other with metal chairs.
Just another cultural experience, no better or worse then the art show at the local gallery I attended today. There was this really neat piece called the "Pirate of Lost Youth," which seems somehow appropriate not being too far removed from this year's boat race. I saw a lot of faces in that painting.
Friday, August 18, 2006
Feeling sore
The librarians were very loud to begin with, and then they had the audacity to ask me to remove my legs from being draped over the chair, my toes slightly resting on the windowsill. My feet were mostly clean. If anyone should understand the importance of being comfortable while reading, I should think her a librarian. They obviously were finding comfort in their loud chit chat. Why should my resting feet be any worse of an insult to the interior of that booked sanctuary.
It probably didn't help that I was reading the Oxford American, my first attempt digesting it, since my resentful resignation as intern from its dysfunctional world of magazine publishing. And yet, something about me just couldn't resist returning to its pages, even if I was reading tongue in cheek, ready to be critical at every moment. Eventually I realized I shouldn't take out my frustrations on its contributors, who most likely are ignorant of the behind-the-scenes work of the magazine. If I really want to be stubborn, I can dislike its editors, but still appreciate the writing of the contributors. I'm not sure if that's growth.
So you can see why I was feeling volatile, when that nasty librarian criticized my literary position, and you can see why I rudely obliged her while rolling my eyes very heavily in her direction. I'm surprised that didn't give her grounds to kick me out of the place--this librarian being so sensitive to the slightest offense. Had I been reading in a park or some similar outdoor environment, I'm sure onlookers would have found beauty in my pose.
On a totally different topic, I returned to the brutal world of rugby last night. Perhaps that explains some of my lingering aggression in the library. I forgot how sore that sport leaves me, and not the good kind of sore. The kind of sore that makes you wonder if your organs haven't been playing musical chairs or if there perhaps might be a little internal bleeding. Well, it's not all that bad. I surprisingly have few bruises to show for it today; you just have to take my word on the soreness, as invisible looking, it might be.
It probably didn't help that I was reading the Oxford American, my first attempt digesting it, since my resentful resignation as intern from its dysfunctional world of magazine publishing. And yet, something about me just couldn't resist returning to its pages, even if I was reading tongue in cheek, ready to be critical at every moment. Eventually I realized I shouldn't take out my frustrations on its contributors, who most likely are ignorant of the behind-the-scenes work of the magazine. If I really want to be stubborn, I can dislike its editors, but still appreciate the writing of the contributors. I'm not sure if that's growth.
So you can see why I was feeling volatile, when that nasty librarian criticized my literary position, and you can see why I rudely obliged her while rolling my eyes very heavily in her direction. I'm surprised that didn't give her grounds to kick me out of the place--this librarian being so sensitive to the slightest offense. Had I been reading in a park or some similar outdoor environment, I'm sure onlookers would have found beauty in my pose.
On a totally different topic, I returned to the brutal world of rugby last night. Perhaps that explains some of my lingering aggression in the library. I forgot how sore that sport leaves me, and not the good kind of sore. The kind of sore that makes you wonder if your organs haven't been playing musical chairs or if there perhaps might be a little internal bleeding. Well, it's not all that bad. I surprisingly have few bruises to show for it today; you just have to take my word on the soreness, as invisible looking, it might be.
Thursday, August 17, 2006
Cheesy, but true...
My first post as a 25 year old. 25 sounds so much older than 24, but I guess not too much has changed otherwise.
My birthday actually started out slow, as I let the air out of one of my bicycle tires in attempt to fill it up more. Not having anyone to help me fix by ridiculous error, I didn't get to do the one thing I wanted to on my birthday: ride. My back up plan: visit the new library. The result: It turned out to be closed. I bought myself a pair of fancy bike shorts (yes, I'm really getting into this thing, so much so, that I'm going to look the part. It's a big step...) to make myself feel better. Then I had myself some tea and took a nap and went to work.
Luckily, I got many birthday wishes from friends and family (and carrot cake! and cheese cake!), which makes a girl feel special. Birthdays: an excuse for attention. And really, that's the best gift a person can ask for, is to feel to close and connected to the people you care about. Cheesy, but true. Thanks.
P.S. I did get some post birthday riding action.
P.S. I think Nick, Melissa and Caleb are going to get together sometime soon for the beach, or camping, or riding or a combination of the three. If anyone is in the area and would like to join us, you're sure welcome to.
P.S.S I'm going to rugby practice tonight for the new season!!! I can't fully commit to this sport, but I'm not giving up on it yet. Something intriguing about it, and also scary.
My birthday actually started out slow, as I let the air out of one of my bicycle tires in attempt to fill it up more. Not having anyone to help me fix by ridiculous error, I didn't get to do the one thing I wanted to on my birthday: ride. My back up plan: visit the new library. The result: It turned out to be closed. I bought myself a pair of fancy bike shorts (yes, I'm really getting into this thing, so much so, that I'm going to look the part. It's a big step...) to make myself feel better. Then I had myself some tea and took a nap and went to work.
Luckily, I got many birthday wishes from friends and family (and carrot cake! and cheese cake!), which makes a girl feel special. Birthdays: an excuse for attention. And really, that's the best gift a person can ask for, is to feel to close and connected to the people you care about. Cheesy, but true. Thanks.
P.S. I did get some post birthday riding action.
P.S. I think Nick, Melissa and Caleb are going to get together sometime soon for the beach, or camping, or riding or a combination of the three. If anyone is in the area and would like to join us, you're sure welcome to.
P.S.S I'm going to rugby practice tonight for the new season!!! I can't fully commit to this sport, but I'm not giving up on it yet. Something intriguing about it, and also scary.
Wednesday, August 09, 2006
good gossip
so i eavesdropped on these middle-aged ladies while walking at the park today. a lot older than middle-aged actually; i was so surprised at what i heard:
he's such a womanizer...
...a parasite...
how old is she...
...are they thinking about marriage...
what do you want to bet the female host is pregnant? and at her age! but i had already lapped them before i got the rest of the story. it's nice to know that i can look forward to scandolous times and conversation, even when i'm older. if i haven't already mentioned this, i live in a town with a bunch of retired folks. the gossip is still good.
oh yeah, there are a couple jobs opening up at cooperriis (two lodge advising positions and the garden manager position). if anyone is interested or knows someone (cool) who might be interested (and attractive) in getting into these positions, then let me know, and i'll share more details.
have a nice one.
he's such a womanizer...
...a parasite...
how old is she...
...are they thinking about marriage...
what do you want to bet the female host is pregnant? and at her age! but i had already lapped them before i got the rest of the story. it's nice to know that i can look forward to scandolous times and conversation, even when i'm older. if i haven't already mentioned this, i live in a town with a bunch of retired folks. the gossip is still good.
oh yeah, there are a couple jobs opening up at cooperriis (two lodge advising positions and the garden manager position). if anyone is interested or knows someone (cool) who might be interested (and attractive) in getting into these positions, then let me know, and i'll share more details.
have a nice one.
Sunday, August 06, 2006
room enough
i'm sitting here typing with one hand and scratching my arkansas chigger bites (honestly, it's the only thing that helps) with the other--quite a way to reminisce.
i just don't know if i have enough room in my heart for both arkansas and north carolina. it's surely a tight fit for now...and making me all emotional-like, which is like one of the worst ways i hate to be. i mean it's okay to be a little emotional here and there, but i mean i'm feeling really emotional; therefore not feeling like myself. i think arkansas is somehow to blame. nostalgia. it's like a metaphorical chigger bite--you got to let it come up and then you scratch the surface: brothers, mom, dad, good friends, starry skies, hot nights, blue ribbons, challenges, watershed, pirates, and just good ole plain hanging out.
then i came back to bad, confusing dreams in my north carolina bed. i dreamt that i stapled my eyelids shut. and when someone in my dream asked me why, i responded "it's supposed to look good." nonsense. but kind of scary. can you imagine having staples in your eyelids? i can. i think mostly i've been realizing that i'm not as fullfilled as i want to be here in north carolina, not that the dream had anything to do with the realization. that was totally unrelated. bad transitioning.
so now, i've been daydreaming (hopefully it will work better for me than that night-dreaming), which looks something like lying on a couch with a blanket pulled over me and staring out the windows at all the kudzu that's taken over the woods in my backyard, and feeling a little bit like those trees must feel: caught up. i guess they might feel overwhelmed or stuck. okay, any of those will do.
i also came back to a huge misunderstanding. one of our kitties, sandy, has actually turned out to be a girl!! and so now i'm wondering if the kitties realize they're brother and sister and shouldn't get it on. i'm assuming incest in cats could lead to something horrific, but i'm not totally sure of this. anyway, i guess if anyone has the right to be emotional, it's sandy. besides, i won 2 bucks in poker last night. who am i to complain about life?
i just don't know if i have enough room in my heart for both arkansas and north carolina. it's surely a tight fit for now...and making me all emotional-like, which is like one of the worst ways i hate to be. i mean it's okay to be a little emotional here and there, but i mean i'm feeling really emotional; therefore not feeling like myself. i think arkansas is somehow to blame. nostalgia. it's like a metaphorical chigger bite--you got to let it come up and then you scratch the surface: brothers, mom, dad, good friends, starry skies, hot nights, blue ribbons, challenges, watershed, pirates, and just good ole plain hanging out.
then i came back to bad, confusing dreams in my north carolina bed. i dreamt that i stapled my eyelids shut. and when someone in my dream asked me why, i responded "it's supposed to look good." nonsense. but kind of scary. can you imagine having staples in your eyelids? i can. i think mostly i've been realizing that i'm not as fullfilled as i want to be here in north carolina, not that the dream had anything to do with the realization. that was totally unrelated. bad transitioning.
so now, i've been daydreaming (hopefully it will work better for me than that night-dreaming), which looks something like lying on a couch with a blanket pulled over me and staring out the windows at all the kudzu that's taken over the woods in my backyard, and feeling a little bit like those trees must feel: caught up. i guess they might feel overwhelmed or stuck. okay, any of those will do.
i also came back to a huge misunderstanding. one of our kitties, sandy, has actually turned out to be a girl!! and so now i'm wondering if the kitties realize they're brother and sister and shouldn't get it on. i'm assuming incest in cats could lead to something horrific, but i'm not totally sure of this. anyway, i guess if anyone has the right to be emotional, it's sandy. besides, i won 2 bucks in poker last night. who am i to complain about life?
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