Not Posting

Here's the thing about time spent not posting: it tends to breed.

I returned home from Rollercon with every intention of posting a nice blog post about all the cool shit I did in Vegas and how none of it involved running from the cops, banned substances or large mammals. Well, that's mostly true.

And I started a post, I really did, and then the internet lost it for me, and I just didn't have the energy to write all the same ideas twice. That was what, two weeks ago?

I've since had my wisdom teeth taken out, gotten sick, and worked a lot. I've, on numerous occasions, thought "I should write a blog about this" and you know what? Yeah, you know.

It didn't happen.

So here I am, laying on my parents' couch, my head full of goo, three days away from stepping foot onto the east coast once more, and I'm writing a blog post now. Why? Because I should be packing.

On the bright side, however, I have signed a lease for an apartment, received the keys for said apartment in the mail, and ordered a futon couch and a sewing machine for aforementioned apartment. So that's awesome.

Rollercon! or Vegas baby!

I am ready. I think. My bags are all but packed, I have a pile of clothes ready and waiting for me to put on in the morning, my bearings and wheels have been cleaned and lubricated (both indoor and outdoor, mind you), my USARS paperwork is printed, I'm waging an epic battle against the family printer to spit out my hotel reservation information as we speak, (It made a noise! It's giving in!), my boat reservations have been made, the car is waiting for me to drive it, and I'm still freaked out.

Rollercon is not a cheap date. I'll be away from work for a week, the pass cost me almost $200, there is the room, food, and the vendors... and I'm worried I'm not going to make enough of it. I'm worried I'm going to be overwhelmed by the crush of people and not see enough of what I want to see and learn enough to make the trip worthwhile.

It will be awesome, I'm sure of it. It will be great, and I'm going to enjoy myself. It's vegas, baby, how could I not have fun?

A side effect of my awesome trip is that I will be gone and not post for a week. :p

Night Skating

So yesterday I worked. While I was standing behind the tiled counter, not making espresso beverages or facilitating the general public's love of croissants filled with deliciousness, my phone rang. I answered it, because I'm a questionable employee. Shhh.

Here is where the interesting part of living in such a small town comes in. The voice on the other end belonged to a woman. She is the mother of a girl I went to elementary school with. She used to live on the island, didn't, and then did, and I'm pretty sure she lives in long beach now. She worked with my mother for a while doing massages, and most importantly, she joined the Long Beach Roller Derby people sometime last year (Also, her arms are covered in tattoos of bugs, just fyi).

Anaya: Hello

K: Do you want to go skating?

Anaya: Sure.

~Now, what I was thinking was, "Yeah, but where? All the streets are either steep or heavily trafficked, and smoth flat surfaces are surprisingly hard to find in this town."~

K: Okay. I get off work at seven.

So, I finished my shift, went home, played sims and then threw on a dress (without a bra! I'm not sure why I felt I needed to share that with you) and dashed down the hill to meet my mom at the Villa (AWESOME) Portifino at 5:30. If course, she wanders in at 5:50, and I kicked myself for rushing. I could have played ten more minutes of sims!

Whatever, that isn't the point. We had a very nice dinner, then went home to wait for K to call. I texted her a few times, and was messing around with this blog thing, and at 8:30 she finally calls.

I am skeptical of this plan. This "skate around avalon at night" business but I'm willing to try it, because I've been a slacker recently and was sick and had bad headaches, and anyway, I haven't skated in "I'm not telling you how long." I met her by this weird fountain/planter in the middle of the road, suited up, and started skating.

(When I'm going to go skating, but not practice, I never know how many of the numerous and rather expensive pieces of protective gear I own I should wear. I worry about it much more than I do getting dressed for nice dinners. The only commonality appears to be, wear your knee pads but not your helmet. So, if i'm going to wear my knee pads, I might as well wear knee gaskets. Might as well. Wrist guards are a must, but what about elbow pads? It is a dilemma. Then there are the ankle braces. I should probably wear them, but they take forever to get on, and looks like I'm expecting to get hurt, at which point I should just wear my helmet. The one thing that is never a question for me is the mouth guard. Breaking out two teeth makes the mild embarrassment of a mouth full of green plastic negligible.)

We skated to the casino (on the pedestrian walkway), scaring the crap out of the pedestrians, who though that the little walkway was just for them, suckers! then back down the road (not much better on my ankles, actually) past the skate shop, up metropole, through the alley (nice concrete, for future reference), through the other alley, on front street (yes, I know, I know. The doesn't actually say no rollerskates, but it is implied) and out to the mole- where we skated around benches and the roundish ticket window building (this entertained us for a surprisingly long time). Then back into town, stopped at the plaza (there was a very smooth roundish area where the busses park) made half-assed plans to meet again (didn't happen, but at 6:45 this morning, man was I glad). Here comes the fun part.

So I called Mom, who had dropped me off, and asked for a ride up the hill. She said yes. I skated to where she dropped me off, and got tired of waiting. So I started up whittley. I didn't get very far before each push just didn't get me anywhere, and I walked the rest of the way on my toe stops to avoid sliding all the way down the hill. When I got the the east whittley juncture, I thought about waiting, but got bored again, and kept walking. Up east whittley. I was 3/4 of the way home before my mother ever left.