Friday chickenBecause it’s Friday AGAIN. And because traditions are important. In which I cover the good stuff and the hard stuff in my week, trying for the non-preachy, non-annoying side of self-reflection.

And you get to join in if you feel like it.

Yes, Friday.

I know. It’s weird how that keeps happening.

Anyway, here we are.

The hard stuff


So the joy of sponsoring a Roller Derby team is that I get to wear derby drag and scream a lot.

And then last weekend we lost to the Heathers (no, not those Heathers) in the most ridiculous loss in history of derby. Seriously.

We were up by about a million points at halftime. Brutal. I don’t even want to talk about it anymore.

Technical stuff.

Then WordPress, which is generally the only technology in my life that isn’t driving me batty at any given time, ate two-thirds of a post.

After I’d published it. And double-checked that all was fine.

All of a sudden, there was a third of a post up here. And uncommentable so you couldn’t even tell me about it.

Ugh. Annoying.

Pulled over at Canadian customs.

And grilled.


Had to make some tough decisions.

And say goodbye to some things I was looking forward to.


Just the tiniest bit sad.

But that’s just me.

The good stuff

A freaking miracle.

After all these months of not finding, and not being sure and almost-compromising, we found the most perfect place for The Playground.

About three hours before hopping on a plane.

All because Hiro looked at the address and said it looked really, really great.

This is the thing about hiring someone who is clairvoyant and always right (hmm I wonder if those two things are connected).

If they say something looks good, you are completely stupid to disregard it.

I am a bit odd but definitely not stupid. Also, I hire Hiro for everything. If you ever hear me talking about something that was a horrible mistake, that’s a sure sign that I didn’t run it by Hiro first.

Anyway, we thought this particular place had fallen through and anyway, it was supposed to be too small and we were pretty sure that it wouldn’t work because it was too something something.

But Hiro said. And when Hiro says, you have to go see it.

So I saw it. And fell crazy in love.

We’ll know in a few days if we get to lease it. Please keep all extremities crossed!

My boots.

They’re so hot I can’t even stand being around myself.

It’s outrageous.

It was a glorrrrious day!

Well, I don’t know if it was.

But we went to the now famous glorrrrious day cafe, the one I can’t stop talking about. The one that inspired Pace and Kyeli to sing the milk song.

So that was awesome.

Sweet Jane!

I really just go to Vancouver to see my darling Jane.


Hmmm, could it be that my mad love for her might be why the Canadian customs people view me with such suspicion? No. That makes no sense.

Seeing Hiro!

Yes, that would be the same Hiro I talk about all the time.

She is wonderful.

In fact, Selma and I are sitting with her right now.

Also, I may have just talked her into teaching a class on Internet Hangover (like, how to cure it and how not to get it). Please ask her to do this because I want to take it.

Fabulous Shivanautical epiphanies.

I have been dancing up a storm, using Shiva Nata to generate brain-zapping insights related to opening the Playground studio.

And all sorts of other things have been happening as well.

It’s brilliant.

Our sourdough starter.

Is fantastic.

Best. Bread. Ever.

Thanks, backyard.

And … playing live at the meme beach house!

Yes, that’s a Stuism too.

My brother and I have this thing where we come up with ridiculous band names and then say in this really pretentious, knowing tone, “Oh, well, you know, it’s just one guy.”

This week’s band (thanks, Vancouver!) is …

Zombie Rainboots.

They’re big in Japan. And yes, it’s just one guy.

That’s it for me …

And yes yes yes, of course you can join in my Friday ritual right here in the comments bit if you feel like it.

Yeah? Anything hard and/or good happen in your week?

And, as always, have a glorrrrrrrrrrrrious weekend. And a happy week to come.

The Fluent Self