I’m trying to change the look of this here site, but I’m not having much luck. That’s why it’s different all the time.
Just deal with it till I’m satisfied.
It’s very hard to get any work done in any reasonable amount of time, what with a baby, a job (even a part-time one), a boyfriend, a mother-in-law who can’t leave me alone for more than 3 minutes, TV, showering, etc etc.
my new motto lately is “please. please leave me alone. please” as I’m sobbing quietly.
I’d like to take a moment here to address the very unfortunate turn my recent post has taken…
I was away from the computer the past two days, so I missed most of the action. But something needs to be done, as much as I wish it hadn’t gotten to this point. I’ve always wanted to keep loafe a very open place, for me especially, given that it’s my fucking site. I feel I have no choice though, and in place of my having to edit or restrict myself from saying whatever I want on the site I created and pay for, I am asking for a little bit of decency and respect on the part of loafe commenters.
I want to be clear here. I love loafe and I love writing on loafe and I know that I open myself up to a lot of umm..interesting things when I talk about so many personal matters here. I’m well aware of that fact. Plus, I’m all for freedom of expression. So I try very hard to stay out of the whole “censorship” thing by letting people say what they want and handle themselves however they feel appropriate. We’re all grown-ups here.
However, every person has to draw a line at some point and for me, it seems that time is now. I deleted comments I felt went beyond my acceptable level of good taste and respect, which says a lot because I have almost no regard for good taste or respect. I really truly dislike deleting comments, it leaves a sour taste in my mouth, but what was said leaves something much nastier.
There is a reason why I have private dialogues with some people and not others. That reason has been well demonstrated. I think it’s best summed up by a friend, who wrote to me regarding this subject, “I thought that level of smut was reserved for our private emails!” A joke of course, but at the same time it’s also an essential truth.
Perhaps I should just turn off comments completely, but why ruin the entire party? I also hope that this doesn’t deter people from commenting and saying what they want…but know that if you are saying gross things about my vagina, her color of hair and any activity that happens there, I will probably delete them.
Ever since Gina mentioned coloring my hair strawberry blonde, I’ve been seriously considering it. That was once my natural hair color, when I was a wee lass. Sadly, like the rest of me, my hair got more and more blah as I got older.
I think I’ll do it. Screw it if it looks bad. As Jonathan once said, nothing ventured, nothing gained.
Also, I probably totally jinxed the whole better sex with Gordon thing by talking about it. I’m such an ass, I can’t keep anything to myself.
Strange things are afoot at the Circle K. The circle k here being my relationship with Gordon. I’ve perhaps rediscovered my sexual interest in him, and maybe more. I’m not jumping to any conclusions here, the jury is still out, but early polling is positive.
What on earth could have brought about this peculiar change? Hockey. Of course. It always comes back to hockey.
Gordon is a hockey player; specifically, a goalie. Or rather, he was, before we met, throughout adolescence and high school. And apparently, he was good. Those are the rumors. This is what I’ve been told (not by Gordon, because he’s quite modest and humble when it comes to his hockey ability, which made me think maybe he wasn’t as good as his mother made him out to be). He won a few gold medals and some trophies; there was interest, a future, possibilities. Then he made bad choices and gave it all up for drugs and crappy friends.
I assumed he was as good at hockey as in everything else—average, nothing special. I’ve never actually seen him play and even though I know he’s got good hand-eye coordination and we both love watching hockey, I just couldn’t picture him on the ice, I couldn’t imagine him doing what I see every night on TV. He’s Gordon, not a hockey player. He’s a bit of a doofus, tall and lanky sure, but my lasting impression of him is sitting on the couch playing video games, not out there stopping pucks.
It all changed a few weeks ago, when a guy from work asked him to play goalie one night, in their Friday league. He still had all his goalie equipment up in the attic, so he agreed. I was excited for him, because I wanted to see him play and plus I thought it would be good for him to get some exercise and have some fun that didn’t involve drugs, alcohol, or baby toys.
I knew he’d be terrible. I was prepared for the inevitable embarrassment and disappointment, ready to lie and tell him he was good even though he wasn’t. It’s been 6 years since he’s even been on the ice, much less played. Although he’s naturally slim and athletically-inclined, he hasn’t worked out or lifted weights or done any real physical work in just about as long.
Imagine my surprise when he turned out to be good, to be really really good. He hasn’t played in several years. He’s out of shape, he’s wearing old equipment, he’s nervous. And there he was, out on the rink, playing like he never missed a day.
Okay, that isn’t exactly true. He was rusty and creaky, a bit slow; he obviously needs conditioning and practice, he needs to train and build mass, he needs to stretch and gain some flexibility. He needs new and better equipment. All these things affected his performance, but the instincts are there, the natural talent is undeniable. I’m not a hockey scout or any sort of hockey expert, but I’m not a moron either. The team was impressed as well and asked him to become their permanent goalie. He was better than all the other goalies and it’s been six years! That’s a long frigging time to be away from anything, especially a sport.
He’s a completely different person on the ice; he certainly isn’t the Gordon I know and love (or loathe, as the case may be). It was surreal, seeing him in all that goalie regalia, looking the part and realizing underneath he’s the guy I go home with every night. He looked confident and happy out there, like he belonged.
Seeing him in this light, seeing him happy and relaxed and separate from me…well, it’s a new thing. I’m so used to the drudgery of everyday life with him; the grinding minutiae, the petty arguments, my implacable impatience. He has no hobbies, no friends, and no real interests; all he’s got is me, the baby and work. How can anyone sustain that sort of life? No growth, no learning. G’s living the life of quiet desperation, and in turn so am I.
This hockey thing though…sure, it’s only been a couple of games so far, but already there are changes, imperceptible to the naked eye. I feel them though.
I was so happy to see him happy. He loves it. Finally he has something that’s all his, something he can be proud of, a fulfillment that I certainly can’t provide. He needed this, and I needed him to need something other than me.
G isn’t one for ambition, lofty or not. His long-term goals consist of what kind of beer to get tonight and what liquor store to get it from. So this hockey thing, well, it makes me think “hmm, maybe he’s got a future after all.” He could take this talent of his pretty far, if he had the desire and the drive. That’s the real crux of it. As much as I bitch about him, I still want him to be happy and do well in life, no matter where we stand. Playing hockey for a career could be his way.
At the very least, it’s totally hot to see him play and that definitely helps the sex. And no one wants a shitty sex life, even me.
I wonder if I should feel superficial about this.