Now I don't remember what I was going to post. Dang it. I came to post something pithy, and then paused to read posts, and now I don't remember what I was going to say. D'oh.

(e:tinypliny) mentioned something about a novel-in-a-month, that someone else on here is doing? I'm assuming she means National Novel Writing Month, or NaNoWriMo, which is next month.
The object of NaNoWriMo is to write 50,000 words in a month.
I have done NaNoWriMo for... five years, I believe. I have never failed to clock in over 50,000 words during the month.
2002 I wrote a space opera with pirates and sort of ninjas, though I didn't manage to get any dinosaurs in it. It was very angry-feminist, which I think not enough space operas are. I reached 75,000 words and then my grandmother died and then I went on a trip to Germany, so I didn't finish the novel, but I won NaNo.
2003 I wrote a historical novel about my ancestors. Well, I tried to. But it turned into a really really smutty romance novel, which skeeved me out so much I never finished it. This was my first clue that perhaps a lucrative career in young-adult fiction was not to be mine.
2004 I had begun to catch on to the fact that I could write 50,000 words without a problem, but I couldn't finish a fucking novel. So that year, my goal was not the wordcount, but to get a coherent story. In 20 days I wrote 94,000 words and made a complete novel. It was about a young Welsh girl who gets kidnapped by Viking raiders (ca. 1000) and falls in love with her captor, a Dublin Norseman. It had a lot of sex in it, and did indeed go from start to finish. Unfortunately, the ending sucked, and most of it wasn't very good. Some of the sex scenes were good, though. This is notable for being the only novel I had actually intended from the beginning to be a romance/erotica novel.
2005... What did I do in 2005? I think I had caught on that yes, I could hit the wordcount goal, and yes, I could theoretically write a whole novel, but so far I had failed to actually create a *salable* novel. So that year, I "cheated", and rewrote an existing novel i'd started working on in January of 2004. (It's "cheating" because you're supposed to start fresh, from 0, on Nov 1.) The novel was about, well, it's changed a lot, but at the time it was about a young, very hunky, very duty-bound Iron-Ageish barbarian, and his forbidden love for the virginal daughter of a nobleman from a "civilized" neighboring city. I'm actually working on this novel right now, but I'll come back to it.
In 2006 I had a different idea. I worked on a time-travel novel, about a woman from an alternate version of current history-- only with magic-- and a man from Bronze Age Ireland. I hadn't planned on this, but it wound up being mostly sex scenes. Really surprisingly hot ones, too.
So, 2007. I know I did it in 2007. I almost didn't, and then I did. At the last minute, kind of halfheartedly. I can't find any reference to what I wrote, except that I mentioned on my LJ that everything I tried to write turned into porn.

Which brings me up to now. I will probably do it this year. But I'm working on the 2005 project again. Now the virginal nobleman's daughter has been changed to a courtesan spy from the distant but sinister empire to the south, sent to secure favorable trade agreements for her people, but waylaid by bandits and rescued by the virginal hunky barbarian hero, who his marked by a god and is sworn to celibacy. Of course they fuck, but there's more to it than that.
I think I'm doing well-- I finally came up with an ending that makes sense, after five years. The coherent draft is up to 40,000 words, and I'm rather proud of myself because the first sex scene isn't until... well... oh. Crap. I forgot. OK, well, the heroine and (virginal!) hero have known each other for at least twelve hours when the first sexual scene happens, though there isn't full-on actual-fucking sex until at least the third chapter. Which is better than the last draft.

I don't know about y'all, but I find the virgin heroine to be kind of boring really. But a virgin hero! Now that's hot. And I don't know why.

Today I finally took back the bottles from the party I had mumblemumbletwoweeksagomumble. It was $10 in bottles and cans. Work it out. That's a dang lot of bottles to haul.
I used canvas grocery bags. I only had four bags. I didn't think I'd be able to fit much, but at least I'd save a few plastic bags.

Everything fit. And when I say "everything"... well, I spent $130, and redeemed the beverage deposits too.
You can fit a damn lot in a canvas grocery sack. And it's super easy to unload the car too. Filing that one away for future reference. I should do as my mom does, and promptly return said grocery sacks to the car, so they're there next time I go. But, we'll see.

On the way home I weirdly hit every green light. I came out onto Amherst St and the light to cross Elmwood was green. I didn't hurry, figuring it would change before I got there, but it didn't, and I sailed across Elmwood. Likewise, Delaware, which had me incredulous. I never hit that light. I even hit the light to turn left onto Colvin from Amherst-- the green arrow had shut off, but there was no one coming so I could turn left on the green light.
It was freaky. It was weird.
I came up Colvin and hit that first light after the railroad underpass-- it was red, but turned green as I approached.
Coming up, I could see the Hertel light was green. it was an old green. But I knew if I pushed it a bit, I could make it.

But some fuddy-duddy in a baby blue four-door sedan was in front of me, and slowed down, and slowed down, and the light turned yellow, and they stopped. I was annoyed. I was in a little bit of a hurry, since (e:zobar) needed the car to go in for an afternoon meeting and I wanted to get home in time to get some lunch down his skinny gullet before banishing him to the corporate world.
So I sat behind this fuddy-duddy at Hertel, annoyed.
After a moment I noticed that the car was moving. Not rolling. Bouncing.
I looked through the rear windshield. I could see... a drumstick.
The driver was rocking out, with drumsticks, on the steering wheel, thrashing along to a song. To the extent that the car rocked.
I could not see if it was a man or a woman. I could see sleek dark hair, and that was all. It wasn't a tall person, or it was someone with the seat adjusted low. Tough to say.
Intrigued, I followed them up Colvin, hoping that when I got into the right lane so I could make my right onto Kenmore I'd see them. Alas, the left lane was moving faster-- someone was making a right, so I was far back. But as we came up to Kenmore, someone was making a left, so I passed the fuddy-duddy pale blue car.

It was a girl, a young woman, probably younger than me. She had stopped drumming, though her radio was still up loud. She was sitting, looking very mild-mannered and not particularly hardcore. I rolled my window down, even though there was a tiny bit of snow falling and it was gross out, to try to hear what she had been rocking so hard to, but the car in front of me had a bad muffler, so I heard nothing, and had to make my turn without finding out.
Since she'd stopped rocking out, the good song was probably over anyway.

But I swear, she had drumsticks in there.

It's the final countdown!!
Just kidding. But I've had that song stuck in my head for like three days now. When (e:zobar) writes a blog, he winds up to it for a while.

Just wanted to post an update: It took me six hours of pedaling like a maniac to finish reading Kushiel's Dart.

I admit, somewhat shamefully, that I kind of skimmed all the sex scenes. This is unusual for me. I admit with no shame that I totally dig the sex scenes even in bad books.
And I even kind of like s/m D/s stuff, a little bit. Not like I'm into the lifestyle, and not like I'd ever let some dude make me scrub the toilet for his sexual kicks, but who doesn't like a little light spanking, maybe getting tied up a little, maybe a blindfold? And who wouldn't want to read about a reasonably hot chick getting tied up and kinda liking it? I figured it was win-win: I like smut, I like spankings, what's not to like?
But either the book wasn't well-written, or the bike seat digging into my assbones was just too painful. I was like, She's getting fucked again? Man can't somebody just get shot or something?

There was a lot of flowery language. Which maybe if I was lying in bed with a cup of hot cocoa and a box of truffles and a delicate lace hankie on a rainy day, would push my buttons, as it were. But as it is, I was just like For the love of GOD will someone DIE so we can get ON with things?
No good. I'll have to reread it sometime while not torturing myself.

But, as an exercise scheme, it seems to have worked. I'd never have done the extra half-hour today if I didn't have like, fifteen pages left. Because not only does the book start out slow? It winds up slow! There's like 30 boring pages, 300 pages of action, and then another fucking boring 30 pages.

It makes me feel a lot better about the novel I'm writing, I tell you what. I've been down on myself for not having good pacing, but I'm doing better than this published and popular book I'm reading.

I met someone at Pennsic with a tattoo from it, which now that I've read it, is kind of... well I am sure the person wants me to say 'perverse' but on reflection it mostly just seems sad to me. The character in the book gets a tattoo to mark her as being a whore and celebrate her liberation from it. And doing that to myself as a woman in the real world of the 21st century? Eh not so much.

Though I was just reading the blog of a woman who got the last words of James Joyce's Ulysses tattooed on her wrist:
"Yes I said
Yes I will
Yes."

Which on the one hand is like, aw, how liberating! But then the rest of the blog was about her struggles, as a hardcore slut, to learn to love herself at last. And I thought, Hm. I mean, still, yes, good tattoo, but on the other hand, now it's got me humming the song from Oklahoma about the girl who can't say no.
Mm... I suppose, on balance, it's clever. And I guess I'll leave it at that.

Now I have Queen songs in my head because (e:Paul) is being Freddie Mercury.
(e:Zobar) just turned our furnace on. He changed the air filter first, good boy. (I had gone out and bought it last week.) Remember-- change your air filter to cut down on the dust and debris that gets recirculated through your air ducts. Particulate material is a lung irritant and can make you more susceptible to asthma and colds.
According to the hoodoo we used to spout at my old job, anyway.

I am procrastinating on my Halloween costume. I will be in a boobilicious corset, because I cannot bear not to do so on Halloween. I never get an excuse to wear them. But I have a new one that, unlike last year's costume, *actually fits me*, plus I've learned to sew so now I have no excuse not to have a chemise under it that actually fits. So I should be a bit better turned-out.
Corsets are so comfortable when they fit properly. I wish I could wear them every day. I bought a pattern to make myself one, a shorter one that would look a bit more natural under normal clothes (for history geeks, in the first decade of the nineteenth century the fad was for a "natural" silhouette, meaning that women who look like me wore short corsets to hold their boobs up, but didn't bind their waists or hips as in the previous decades where the fashion had been a flat-fronted silhouette. So a Regency-era corset [think Jane Austen] would look approximately the way a modern brassiere would under clothing, as bras are also meant to approximate a "natural" silhouette), but I haven't done it yet. (I'm going to bone it with reed, which I also have purchased. Rustproof, unlike steel; breathable, unlike plastic. But it will take a while to make said corset.)

Anyhow.

On another note, remember how I posted all that vintage porn a while back? And I talked about doing re-enactments of it, and how fun that would be? I am thinking seriously about it again. I need to finish up the costumes I've been collecting. And I need a photographer. Wouldn't that be awesome? Really classy artsy faux-Victorian nudes/ semi-nudes? I just think that would be so cool to do. I've got to get the rest of the lingerie sorted out, and practice authentic hairstyles, but I just think that would be fun. It could be Art!






(Doesn't she look like she's in an antique shop? I love that photo.)

Not only will Z and I be joined by my little sister for Halloween, but also one of my teammates-- my former team captain and now coach, in fact. None other than the legendary Mia Mauler, who was teaching that class at Allentown Athletix and wanted to teach it again this year but cannot swing it. (As an aside, Bill was rather rude to her about it, which only solidified her decision that she couldn't do it.)
So, alas, I am no longer eligible for a discount there. Which is OK, I suppose I'm not a gym rat after all.

Instead, I'm a bit of an idiot. I went on Amazon and bought a bike trainer so that I could use my expensive bike, which I have not ridden in two years, indoors over the winter. It was cheaper than the cheapest exercise bike by a lot.

This was not idiotic. No, what was slightly nutty of me was my decision that I would save time and sanity by decreeing that I could only read novels while riding the bike.

What's wrong with that, you ask?

I'm totally fucking addicted to reading. I don't mean that the way people use the word, i.e. I do it all the time and can't live without it.
No. I don't.
I can go months without reading a book. I do go months without it.

• Because* I'm addicted.

If I crack open a novel, you can bet your ass that within, if not sentences, then usually within about ten pages I will be completely and utterly oblivious to the world around me, and unable to set the book down. I will take it to the bathroom, not because I like to read on the toilet (I don't) but because I can't put it down that long. I will take it everywhere I go. I will not sleep, and will read it while eating. Until I have sucked the whole thing down, usually in record time. (I read extremely fast. I don't spell words out; I see the first and last letter, and sometimes when in full swing will parse whole phrases at once. I tend to skip parts of paragraphs and never realize it, so ravenous am I to read more, more, more.
Once I have finished the book I am not satisfied. I must sit and digest it. I must revisit the parts I liked best. Sometimes I hit the last page, flip back, and start over again at the beginning without even a pause. (Sometimes I get a glass of water first.)

If it's a series, it's so much worse. And in August, a friend loaned me a trilogy. A thick-spined paperback trilogy, and said I'd love it. Well, shit-- that'll take at least three days, probably four, with a sleepless night in there somewhere. I don't have that kind of time to devote to complete blank deadness to the world. ...

And while I'm doing this, raptly devouring, there is no real world to me. Z can talk; I don't notice. The sun rises and sets, and i only notice if it's too dark to read. (I don't look up, but keep squinting as I fumble for a light. if the lamp is too complex, I will get up and walk to another room with an easier light switch, without looking up.)

I'm like this when I'm writing, too, incidentally.

At any rate. Now I'm only allowed to do this while atop my bike, assbones aching and knees creaking (it is helping my awful knees, though!) and sweat rolling down my face and back.
It's a terrible idea.
Two days in a row I've had to put in a second session on the bike. The first day I barely made it 25 minutes; the book started slow. The second day, I had gotten to the interesting part. I rode for 45 minutes, and then, three hours later, could not take the suspense and crawled down the stairs for another 15 minutes on the bike, and then a guilt-induced abs-and-weights session. (My core is sadly underpowered, and I've been having serious difficulty getting back into skating because while my thighs could go all day, and my lungs nearly that long, my body, the abs and back that keep me upright on those skates, are screaming after about twenty laps.)

Today I did an hour just before lunch, and then, after circumstances conspired to make it impossible for me to attend practice, I slunk back down and did another full hour. The story has picked up. I'm more than halfway through the book now.
There are two more books.

I am determined not to cheat. I want to know how long it takes me to read a book. I want to know that I rode the whole way through that book. And there is no way, *no way*, I could devote this kind of time to tedious exercise if I weren't totally and completely absorbed throughout. The only exercise I like is skating, but it's going to destroy my body if I don't cross-train, exercise some opposing muscles. I'm having knee problems again, revisiting just a tiny bit of the dull searing pain of last year, just enough to make me frightened.
I did order myself new skates, as well. Lighter weight, hopefully closer-fitting. (My leather boots, Reidell 122s, purchased in July of '06, have slowly stretched out until they slip and give me blisters.) Higher-quality, as well, with built-in arch support and a heel cup to prevent rolling. I may need to get better arch supports, but they're bound to be better than what I'm using now, which are made of duct tape and cut-up bits of old gel shoe inserts.

Anyway. They don't look exactly like this but sort of do. They're factory seconds, with cosmetic blemishes on the boot somewhere. I'm thinking of painting them, or gluing decoration to them. We'll see.

Aw, crap, the "Upload" button doesn't work anymore. I know I need to upgrade Firefox, I just don't have time. I perpetually have 35-45 tabs open, just with things to read, not things I want to bookmark, my bookmarks are chaotic enough so I don't' want to save the session. It's just... too much. So I need to wait for a time that I've winnowed the open tabs down to nothing... anyway, I can't upload photos. So instead, here's a link to the photo of my new skates. Which will, if you truncate the URL, tell you where I got them, and where I recommend buying all your shit if you ever need skating supplies or clever roller-derby-related t-shirts. ("My Pivot Can Beat Up Your Pivot" is a good one, followed closely by "I just scored five times, I need a beer!")

The kielbasa thing was tasty, probably about a B on the overall scale of Things I've Made Lately. (e:zobar) theorized that it shouldn't be sweet; I wonder if that would work at all. I definitely think there should've been sauerkraut or cabbage in it somewhere because kielbasa always makes me want cabbage.

The bread pudding was more like a B+ or even A in terms of Things I've Made Lately. (e:zobar) isn't a big dessert man, and this won because it wasn't too sweet.

I'd take photos, but I know I'll never get around to getting them off my camera, plus neither dish was particularly attractive-looking.

I am going to resolve to blog with more photos in the future, but today I have been utterly useless, and will have gotten a ridiculous amount of sleep, so I wouldn't want to mess it up by being too constructive.

I am recovering from throwing a party last night. Before you all feel left out, it was a party to welcome the 2009 season rookies to the roller derby league, so I couldn't invite y'all, or I would've. It's the first party we ever threw in this house for more than, like, two other people.
(Four years ago we threw a "political party" for the presidential election. I'll let you guess whether that one wound up being a downer.)

My house is not trashed, of course. This wouldn't be right. But there are beer bottles everywhere. Full, empty, and in-between. I am planning on simply "paying it forward" with the full ones-- I'll put them in storage and bring them to the next party that happens, of course. And the empty ones will be rinsed and sorted and returned for deposit, naturally. But the half-empty ones...
It breaks my heart to pour full beers down the sink. So out of curiosity, I poured them into an empty juice bottle instead.
I filled a 32-ounce bottle with the half-empty beer bottles.

Well, hell, man. In the past, if I don't finish a beer, I'd save it to use as a hair rinse. (No lie! The natural acidity conditions the hair strand and makes it lie smoother. The odor actually rinses away.) But 32 ounces of beer! That's a lot of fucking hair rinse. It'll go moldy before I get to it.

I thought this over for a couple of hours, as I sat around totally unable to function. (I didn't drink that much, but my hangover took the form of being unable to complete a thought. I was happy and stupid as a goldfish all day today.)

Finally I lit upon a solution.
I had bought kielbasa, figuring on just chucking it in a roasting pan and eating it with some fall vegetables, as a way to get through a jar of horseradish I had to buy for a recipe that needed... 1 tablespoon. (I hate that. Horseradish doesn't last. But the recipe wouldn't really work without it.)
Kielbasa... in beer.

I cut up two onions, put a pat of butter (and daub of bacon grease, left over from breakfast) into a cast iron skillet. Sauteed the onion while I chopped up two or three carrots. (I bought a five pound bag of organic carrots for like five cents at Wegmans, in a fit of insanity. What the fuck do two people do with five pounds of carrots?? I'm putting carrots in everything.) Threw the carrots in with the onion. Cut the kielbasa into half-inch semicircles or so. Tossed it in.
At this party, one of my teammates had found my sister's Nerf gun, and much fun had ensued with people trying to shoot apples off one another's heads, William Tell-style. (Sour Grapes, #23, is a formidable markswoman, among other things. Don't fuck with her.) This was never successful, as a Nerf dart is not heavy enough to remove an apple. But the apples fell a lot nonetheless, because none of us went to finishing school. (You know how in movies they balance books on their heads in finishing school? That.)
So I had a badly bruised apple or two. Cut that up, threw that in too.

Two or three tablespoons of brown sugar, the scrapings of a nearly-exhausted jar of Weber's mustard, some mustard seeds.

Mixed it all up in the skillet. Then I poured in beer until the skillet was nearly full and everything floating just a little.

It's in the oven and smells really awesome. I put some potatoes in there to bake; I have no idea when the sausageness is going to be done, so I'm just going by when the potatoes are soft enough to impale on a fork and cut up and eat the hell out of. I dunno how long that'll be. Maybe an hour, all told? I put the potatoes in first thing, before I started making the kielbasa thing.

Then I was confronted with a plate full of assorted baked goods left over from the party. There was a bit of yellow cake, diced and generally smashed up (no frosting). There were cornbread muffins with whole wheat and a tiny bit of bran cereal in them. I had planned on using up some honey whole wheat bread I baked this past week, but there was so much other stuff...

I crumbled up three cups' worth of baked goods, and dumped them in a lightly floured 1.5 quart casserole dish. Then I heated 2 cups of milk on the stove until a skim started to form on the surface, whereupon I dumped in 4 Tbsp of butter and let it melt. I cooled that to room temp, and meanwhile whisked together 2/3 cup sugar, 3 eggs, 2 tsp or so of cinnamon, about a tsp of nutmeg, a tsp or so of vanilla extract, and 3 Tbsp of whiskey.
I poured the scalded milk mixture into the egg mixture once it was cool enough not to cook it, and poured that over the crumbled up bread products. That's in the oven and is supposed to cook for 50 minutes or "until it sets", based on the Internet recipe I followed most closely.

I have no idea how either dish will turn out. I could have created a monster here. We'll see.

But it's a theme dinner!
1) Waste not want not
2) How many calories can you cram down your gullet?
3) Booze.
Both dishes incorporate leftovers that would have otherwise been useless, both dishes are, let's just say, nutritionally dense, and both dishes incorporate quantities of alcohol. Yay!!!

I can't think of any better way to spend a slightly-chilly autumn evening, can you?

That's all, really. I hate everything. Everything is a pain in my ass, or oppresses my soul, or whatever. Hate it hate it hate it! I hate everything.

• does a little dance*

There we go. Hey, at least I did something constructive about it-- I added a journal here!!

AGGGHGHHH.


Oh, I posted photos of the completed rollergirl embroidery:

And Fi's cat Remi.

I'm doing my part to help Paul get the site stats up or whatever he's doing.:)

I am looking forward to the party, immensely. Fi will be in town-- she may have to go back down to Cortland to work a couple more weeks at her job, since her boss was out of town so she couldn't give a month's notice and she's very concerned with not offending these people on the way out, first because it's her first real job, second because she actually liked much of what she did there, and third because maybe, just maybe, they'll keep her on as an independent consultant working remotely to do the parts of her job that she actually liked, which would considerably ease her transition to her New Life In The Big(ish) City.
But, she has promised herself that she is going to really celebrate Halloween. It is her favoritest favoritest holiday, and she has not really gotten to celebrate it for the last five or so years, because of a combination of Leech Boy not being into it, and living in such an isolated place, and not having a ton of local friends, and just general grimness of life.
Z and I already had picked costumes, but thought it might be more fun if the three of us went as parts of a theme instead-- I wasn't married to the idea of our costumes anyway, because it would be quite difficult for me to actually make my part of it comprehensible, let alone convincing. (Let's just say I don't make a convincing man.)
So Fi and Z and B (shit, man, we all rhyme!) all have related-but-not-identical costumes. Fi is sad not to be able to wear her stilettos, but pretty easily abandoned the idea.

I was going to ask, if stilettos are right out for the new floors, what about roller skates???!! Those are my standby costume accessory of late, and since we skate on a lovingly hand-finished hardwood floor every day, my skates are pretty well-maintained.
But it turns out skates aren't part of my costume this year (OMG! I know.) so it doesn't matter. I will probably be wearing boots instead.

While Fi was up this weekend, moving almost the last of her belongings, we visited with some of Leech Boy's friends, who live in Buffalo. Fi and LB were in their wedding, but they were friends of LB first.
I was worried things might be a little awkward, but they were mostly annoyed and baffled by LB's behavior. They admitted they'd wanted to invite him to visit, because they were sort of worried about him, but they knew that if they did he'd as a matter of course bring along his 22-year-old New Girlfriend, and they had absolutely no interest in meeting her.

We've theorized that LB may be going through some sort of odd phase? But a lot of his reactions and things have made it very clear: He expected Fi to stick around after he'd dumped her, and expected her to continue to let him live in her apartment (let's be real, he never paid any of the rent, so it was hers), let him eat her food, and seems to even have expected her to continue to support him financially as he finished his program at school. He seems to have simply expected this as a matter of course, and is completely flabberghasted that she so quickly decided to move on in her life.
He must not have realized how miserable she was. She was sitting at my dining room table last night, as we ate dinner, and counted up how long she'd lived there. "That apartment was just a temporary stop," she said. "I never planned on staying at my job this long. Four years. We lived there four years as of next week. I hated it there, I was never happy, and all along, we were planning to go somewhere else."
She thought that over for a little while, and then said, "I'm never doing that again. If something's going to be temporary, it's going to be fucking temporary. I'm not hanging around like that, not for a man."

She didn't bring her portable hard drive this time so I couldn't steal the Skateboard Fail videos off it, sadly. So bummed.

Anyway. The only other thing really going on in my life is that I've decided to make my own embroidery patterns and learn to embroider. I'm astonishingly much better at it than I ever would have thought. I've had to re-learn how to draw, though-- I used to be super good at it, but had a really assholey teacher in high school who dissuaded me, so I gave it up and haven't really touched a drafting pencil in ten years or so.
But it comes back to you. I'll take some decent pictures and post them up in this piece, as I make more progress on the thing. It's time-consuming, because I'm being so particular about the stitches, but I'm really having a blast. I'm doing embroideries of roller derby illustrations taken from photos of my leaguemates-- the only embroidery pattern I found commercially mentioning roller derby is from Sublime Stitching, whose idea of derby is (understandably, but inaccurately) a chick with feathered hair and hot pants delivering a flying elbow -- which is cute, but for those of us who actually play, she's pretty clearly banked-track, as a flying elbow will get you tossed out of a modern flat-track meet. So I figured, I'd do up my own.

So far the best part has been my discovery that there is an existing embroidery stitch that gives the precise appearance of fishnet. It's called trellis stitch, though the Internet isn't backing me up on this. Maybe the little booklet I have is wrong! I guess I'll just claim that I invented it and call it Fishnet Stitch. Basically you take long stitches to make a grid, then you go back and tack down the junctions everywhere the grid intersects with either one tiny slanted stitch, or a cross stitch. It looks precisely like fence-net stockings. Maybe I'll call it Fence-Net Stitch instead...
Most of the fun of roller derby to me (OK not really, but a lot) is the Awesome Socks. Many of my leaguemates feel the same. There's always at least a handful of people at any given practice wearing tights, leggings, or socks that are worthy of comment. Last night our team captain showed up in a long fuschia empire-line spagetti-strap top, yellow booty shorts, and silver lam`e leggings. When we complimented her on her rather startling appearance, she looked down and said, "Oh my, I hadn't realized. This is just what was clean."

Anyway, so the Awesome Socks are the icing on the cupcake of every one of the embroideries I have planned.
This first one has sparkly gold fencenet stockings, because I have a spool of gold embroidery thread.
Yes. It is entirely made of win.

So my sister's coming to live with us in Buffalo.

Well, I should clarify. I have three sisters. I'm #2 of 4. #3 of 4, also known as Fi (rhymes with B, right? So we match), had to share Middle Child Syndrome with me. I know. I didn't even get my own syndrome. She might've had it worse than me, because she got 3 years of being the baby before this kicked in. (#4 of 4 got to sit in Mom's lap for eight years, until she outgrew it. #4 of 4 just got Surprise Married in Reno, too, so you see where being the Baby gets you. And #1 of 4 served two tours in Iraq, so there's where being the Oldest gets you.)

So #3 of 4, Fi, has always had terrible taste in friends. This extends to men. She has terrible, terrible taste in men. She picks the ones who need her. She has just spent five years, six months, and seven days (yes, she worked it out because she's kind of a worrier and a bit OCD) supporting a man my age. Literally supporting him, to the tune of him costing her about ten grand in that five years.
He's going back to school to become a massage therapist. He couldn't afford this on his own, so she agreed to support him.
He is among 22-year-olds.
Several of them are hot.
One of them, he has decided, is his new soulmate.
He promised Fi he'd never cheat on her. He has achieved this promise by dumping her, fucking the new girl, and about a week later finally getting around to telling Fi she was dumped. To put it un-gently. So technically he didn't cheat on her, as their 'breakup' took place about ten minutes before he slept with this new girl, right, even though Fi didn't know about it at the time? That's not cheating.
Right?
This new girl "knows me better than anyone," he insists. They're soulmates.
She's 22 and has never lived on her own before. (He's a little older than me, so, pushing 30 rather hard. Balding, too, I might add.)
She doesn't know that he's thousands of dollars in debt and hasn't had a real job in years.
Basically, it's not so much that she knows him better, but that she knows a better him. Only knowing the good parts of him, she's bound to be a more entertaining companion than my exhausted sister, who is a saint but not a fool and has the terrible, terrible habit of keeping track of her finances. (Mean mean woman!)

Anyway. I don't know what he expected would happen, but Fi basically said, "Well, that's a damn shame, and I'm sorry it ended this way. The only reason I was staying in this godforsaken place was for you, so I'll be out by the end of the month-- you'll have to go too, since I was the one on the lease, but maybe you can renegotiate with the landlord. You'll need a new bank account and a new cellphone account. All the dishes belong to me and I'm going to take the one cat, but leave you with your dead mother's cat and the other cat, who loves you more. The furniture is all yours, including the bed, but all the sheets belong to me and I can actually use them so I'm taking them too. Also the video store membership is in my name so I'm canceling it. Have a nice life."

He seems totally shocked by this reaction.
But me, I know. We Kelly girls, we don't fuck around. She was heartbroken for about three days, but then she realized...
She's young, she's single, she's got excellent marketable skills (she works in sales for a clothing company and has been going to trade shows for five years), she's quite pretty (we Kelly girls all look alike, but she got the nicest, most conventionally-attractive mix of our mother's chin and our father's eyes and our grandmother's nose-- pale hair, dark eyebrows and lashes, strong cheekbones)... And she's moving to Buffalo. Without the albatross of this deadbeat around her neck, she's actually got a whole lot to look forward to.

Boy are we going to have a good time. So she's sort of guilty that she's not more upset about getting dumped, but mostly she's just relieved-- she'd never have been able to dump him without being consumed by guilt, so this way she basically gets out free. He's completely broke, and screwed, and has no way to afford anything because he's taken advantage of his family so much they won't help him anymore-- he's going to starve on the street or go begging. But he couldn't keep his cock in his pants for another six months, so it's not her problem anymore!
I think he's actually a little hurt that she's so totally not torn up over his sudden but inevitable betrayal. (All of HIS friends responded to the breakup by telling her they'd always thought she could do better!! And his family all cried and told Fi they'd miss her, and told her BF not to call them anymore!!!) But what's she supposed to do? She's been enough of a chump for five years when he at least claimed he loved her. Now that he doesn't anymore, what can he expect from her? He's lucky she didn't kill him-- I would have.

So I've been helping her pack up and move her stuff, and if I never see Cortland again it will be too soon. What a GOD-AWFUL little town.

But more to the point, or to the subject of the post...
The cat she decided she was keeping is a small gray girl cat. Just like Chita. Remi is a couple of years older (Remi is short for Remington, because of her gun-metal color), a few shades darker, and quite a bit pudgier than Chita, but is much more cuddly and friendly, albeit just as eccentric in her own way.
So the two of them have been attempting to divide our house up.
This morning I woke up when Remi and Chita both decided that the bed which I was then occupying was The Place to hash out their relationship once and for all. Remi sat in the corner growling. Chita would slink into the room, pop her head up over the side of the bed, and hiss. I was between them. I was the barricade. They yelled at each other over, around, and through me. It was very disconcerting, especially since it was so early I kept falling asleep.

So my house is a battlefield, but nobody's actually fighting-- just lots of shrill cussing and guttural hissing...

Anyway. I'll see if I can get Fi signed up on this site. She'll be around for Halloween, which is her most favoritest holiday ever and which she hasn't been able to celebrate for five years because she's been stuck with Idiot McBrokeypants. So we're getting her dressed up in a good and hobaggy costume (why not?!) and taking her out on the town!!! It'll be fun! So keep me posted on any upcoming parties...

And the most amusing part of this breakup, to me, is that when she was transferring all her photos from his computer (she deleted his copy of every photo of herself, and worried that this was bitchy. Why would you worry? Don't leave yourself vulnerable to him! If later he feels bad and apologizes, you can send him a few of the photos back, but don't do him any favors. Right now, he's enough of a fucking douchebag that he might use the photos to make fun of you or something. Fuck that noise) she found all the videos of him he'd made her stand around and shoot at the skate park.
Yes, he's a skateboarder. Pushing 30-- pushing thirty hard, I might add, as his birthday's this winter-- yes, this winner is older than me and dating someone younger than our baby sister-- and he's still an avid skateboarder and makes his long-suffering girlfriend stand around at the skate park and shoot...
video after video...
of him totally failing to perform basic skate tricks.

Is it just me, or are these videos about to be remade into an absolutely fucking hysterical montage?

It's a goddamn goldmine. And I promise I'll post about it here.