Like, wow

Spring is in two days.

My Jessica Simpson mess of hair has been toned down again.

I am now 33. (I am now purchasing vats of moisturizer.)

Knitting is going well.

I managed to sleep well today.

Rickie Lee Jones's "Rebel Rebel" is playing. RD was right--this riff is great no matter who does it.

Michelle Kwan came in 4th. Johnny came in 4th. That still gives USA 3 entries each in Torino next year.

My skates are being saved by Mike, the pain in ass skate sharpener. Wouldn'tcha know it? The moron who screwed up my blade at 3rd Street Skate Co. now works with him. I would not on threat of death let him touch these skates. I got a lecture from Mike (similar to last year's woe-is-me-with-Wiggon-watching rant in SkyRink) about why didn't I look for him, why didn't I find him, why didn't I go to him first, blah fucking blah blah.

JUST SHARPEN THE DAMN SKATE, MIKE. AND DON'T LET THE OTHER GUY EVEN SO MUCH AS LOOK AT THE RIGHT BLADE OR I WILL MAIM BOTH OF YOU WITH MY BARE HANDS.

I nearly ran over two tourists getting in the door before he left. I have no patience for slow people. "She MUST be REALLY IMPORTANT," the ponytailed Wyoming-ite snapped.

"NO," I snapped back, in my best snotrag "I'm a real New Yorker" voice and I barreled down the stairs 25 minutes before Mike was scheduled to leave. "I'm going to kill that bitch on the stairs!" I shouted.

"Did she bump by you, too?" I hear behind me. A security guard goes up to check. Like I'm going to let a starbucks-worshipping idiot with a map of Broadway stop me from getting to Mike. HA!

What--they're going to throw me out of the store? I've given Paragon Sports more money in ice packs, ace bandages, athlete's tape, sneakers, tennis rackets, hockey jerseys, exercise bands, swimsuits, and hand-warmers than I can count since 1993. I'll gladly start going to Modell's if they'd like.

Mike can fix the right blade. Thank god. I roll my eyes while he lectures me. Which he does to me and other skaters since we only need him for sharpenings and nothing else, thus, THE LECTURES. We must suffer in order to get his services and he knows it. "I don't mean to start a fight, Andie (why oh why does he call me Andie?), but why didn't you try to find me?****insert white noise to block out stupidity****" The knot in my stomach tightens as visions of a Wyoming Woman Altercation fill my head. Luckily, she was in a different part of the store.

I have an omelette in a diner and go to work, where I sit now. Contracts, contracts, contracts. Ick, yuck, phooey.

Why can't this office have a cat? Those little fuzzers certainly lower my blood pressure.

Which won't go back down until I've got my skates on again. Leaving your skates overnight in a pro shop is like leaving your kids in daycare: they might look fine on the way home, but the damage doesn't show itself until months later.

And the damage is usually IMMENSE.

(oh, pray for me, kiddies...)