No, I’m not a Celtics fan. I mean, I grew up in Chicago so by default I’m a Bulls fan. But when it comes to championship games, I root for the underdog. Although that was difficult during the 2008 Stanley Cup and I’m not going to talk about that series except for maybe the third quarter of Game 5.
Anyways, it was such a treat to see Boston totally spank the Lakers last night, but the best part for me was seeing two local guys win their first championships as a head coach and player, respectively: Doc Rivers and Kevin Garnett. That was the real treat.
(OK, so Garnett actually grew up in South Carolina, but he graduated from Farragut!)
Originally written Monday, March 12, 2007:
I’ve had a shitty day, and it’s only just after 3:00 p.m. I didn’t sleep at all last night. Planned to leave for the gym at 10:00 a.m. before my pdoc appointment at 12:40. Left at 11:00 a.m. instead, all anxious because I couldn’t find everything I needed and when I did, I kept misplacing it. Then I walk out the door, and I see that our fucking car is booted. The ironic thing is that Brian just paid all the tickets online this morning.
Those of you familiar with Neopets will know what that means. ;)Anyway, he went to City Hall to take care of it, and when I looked out the window a few minutes ago, the car was de-booted. Except the City left their stupid stickers on the driver side window, I don’t feel like scraping them off, and I’m in no condition to drive anyway (one of the staff at the pdoc’s said he’d try to work some magic if the boot’s taken off). But I’m in no frickin’ condition to drive — I just took a Klonopin a few hours ago, and I didn’t sleep last night. Grrrrr….
Big win for da Bears! I wonder what they’ll have them do this year? I was 16 when “The Super Bowl Shuffle” came out and yeah, I actually owned this record. Not CD–those didn’t exist back then, kids. The record. This song was on the radio fucking constantly. You could not get away from it–and now I’m not letting any of you get away from it!
edit, 1/23/07: looks like YouTube took this video off their site, or something.
As Brian and I drove home from the gym late this afternoon, I saw a bank sign that said it was 26 degrees out. That’s pretty fucking cold. And yet, we saw like, three people out there riding their bicycles! WTF?????
The only explanation I can think of is that they’re the type who are totally into extreme sports, you know, like those X Games or whatever. I bet they’re also the people I see at the gym who work out in cargo shorts and wear flip-flops in the frickin’ free weight room! Hello! I can accept the cargo shorts thing, but open-toed shoes in the weight room? :s That isn’t exteme insanity, that’s extreme stupidity. And riding your bike in this weather is insane and stupid, so there!
I’m no stranger to hitting objects while driving. I even hit a policeman once (emphasis on “man” because it wasn’t a squad car–see here and here). As I left the gym last Tuesday, I hit an SUV while backing out. Yes, I was on the phone with Brian, but I was at least wearing my headset, which I always do when I drive. Also, the SUV was backed into the spot in which it was parked and was over the yellow line line, partially in my space. Unfortunately, I hit the right, front end near the tire and running board, which wasn’t over the line.
This was the first time I hit a car, and I didn’t know what to do, so I was understandably anxious. Thank God for Klonopin. Brian, who was still on the phone, told me to leave a note explaining what happened and to include our insurance information. Meanwhile, this “witness” fucking cunt busybody on her way to the gym began yelling at me: “You can’t just leave! That’s illegal!” Um, I wasn’t leaving. I was still in my car, foot on the brake, frozen in the position in which I was backing out, shocked. I so didn’t know what to do–I wasn’t going anywhere!
Meanwhile, this bitch continued to screech at me and the parking lot attendant, asking him where the owners were and demanding that I find them. Apparently, they took their kids to the Kids’ Club, which is in a separate building from the gym, so I went inside and told a staff person what happened, and if anyone in a gold Lexus SUV dropped off their kids. She said they did before going to work out, but that neither they, nor the front desk at the health club would have any license plate information. What did she suggest? Leave a note.
Another lady, who had just picked up her child and happened to follow me outside corrected me–nicely–to say that it was actually an Infiniti SUV, “if that helps,” she added. But the fucking douchebag was still there! I told her what the Kids’ Club staff person said, and she screamed that there was no way the owners have kids because there were no car seats in the SUV! WTF? Apparently, I’m a liar now, too. She left a note of her own that I of course read, but she didn’t leave a name and number, and I was surprised she didn’t ORDER them to purchase car seats.
I did exactly what Brian, the Kids’ Club staff person, and the parking attendant suggested–left a note explaining what happened and that included our insurance policy number, name, and phone number. The upside to this (as if there is one, since we’ll have to pay a deductible and Brian’s now jobless) is that the owner was polite and said the car would probably just need a touch-up paint job.
So FUCK OFF AND DIE, you busybody bitch, and learn to mind your own fucking business. You’re lucky I didn’t have a panic attack right then and there, though I’m sure you still would have treated me like I just murdered the SUV owners instead of hitting their car. I hope you get hit by a car and die that way, after you fuck off. Cunt.
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It’s been unseasonably gorgeous here in Chicago–mid-60s at the end of November? Unheard of! So one of my hockey teammates coordinated an impromptu game of kickball at a local park this past Sunday. It was too warm to spend the day indoors, so Brian and I went.
OK, I didn’t actually hurt myself playing kickball. I did it when I hopped over the wrought iron fence nearest to the field where the game was taking place. There were no nearby entrances, you see. Anyway, I fell on the other side, which fortunately consisted of grass rather than concrete. I must have used my left hand to cushion my fall. That wouldn’t be so bad, except that I was wearing my Official Ring of The Ohio State University (in white gold, thank you very much–I hate gold-toned gold). The ring cut a nice line across my finger, but didn’t sever it at least. However, the finger has been swollen for days now, and I’ve been icing it since we got home. I will be utterly devastated if the ring needs to be sawed off. It was a gift from my parents, after all, and a reminder that I managed to finish grad school in spite of my depression.
The next day, Brian lost his job! That has nothing to do with the kickball game, either, which was lots of fun, by the way, but I just thought I’d add that. If you want all the details about his job loss, you’ll have to register since it’s a private post. You can read more about my private posts here.
Bad enough that we go to the ?ber yuppie health club, but Brian gets a discount through work and he chose this place because they have pick-up basketball games. And actually, since I’ve been going regularly, I feel a lot more comfortable there than I did the first time I ever went. The front desk and juice/coffee bar staff is totally friendly. I’ve never had to deal with the personal trainers, but they seem all right. Also, the facillities are absolutely superb. If you click on the link you can take one of those virtual tours. Too bad they don’t show the locker rooms because that’s part of what this post is about.
As I said, the employees are nice. The patrons, and I can only write about the women, are a different story. Most of the people in my age range (mid-30s to 40s) are snobby, pretentious, rich bitches, or if they’re still in their early to mid-20s, they’re total sorority girls. whether or not they actually were members, they have that aura. They may not be rich yet, but they’re still snobby and pretentious. Nearly everyone went to a Big Ten school, so in that respect I fit in, but most likely they went there for undergrad. Here are examples of what cold fishes the women are that go to my gym: whenever I’ve sneezed, I can count on one hand how many times someone has actually said, “Bless you.” If you happen to be in someone’s way, you might hear a reluctantly muttered, “Excuse me.”
Anyway, for a place this nice, you’d think the locker rooms would be larger and less cramped. There are three aisles of lockers. The two nearest the entrance are divided in half crosswise by a short hallway where mirrors and countertops are located on the ends. The one farthest from the entrance is one long aisle. Within each aisle are two rows of lockers–half on top, half on the bottom.
I usually use the lockers in the middle aisle, which, like the one farthest from the door, has lockers on both sides. There’s maybe 5′ of space in between and a narrow bench in the center. Courteous person that I am, I try to take up as little space as possible, especially when there are three or more people in the area. If I have toiletries I’m not currently using, I shove them, and my gym bag, back inside my locker, and though I may not lock it, I shut the fucking door so no one bangs into it. If I go to the end of the aisle to use the mirror, again, I shove the rest of my stuff back inside my locker.
But then, there are these stupid ass bitches who can FUCK OFF AND DIE because they leave their shit EVERYWHERE, even while they’re in the shower or nowhere nearby! We’re talking discarded gym clothing, shoes, water bottles–they leave them on the floor, on the bench, you name it. Some dumbfuck left her combination lock on the bench. Um, hello? Ever drop one of those on your foot? Or after they’re finished showering, they leave their wet towels on the bench along with their full-size bottles of shampoo, conditioner, facial cleanser, deoderant, etc. Apparently, these dumb cunts have never heard of a travel case or travel bottles. I, of course, have all of these items that you can buy for less than $1 so my toiletries are not only organized, but they also take up less space in my gym bag.
At first, I used to meekly tiptoe around these people’s shit. Now, if I need to set something on the bench and there’s crap all over it and the owner isn’t there, fuck it. I move that shit over to make room for myself. Fuck being meek. I have decided to take a stand!
If any of you locker room bitches are reading this, get into your Lexus SUVs and drive on over to The Container Store. Otherwise, FUCK OFF AND DIE, you dumb fucking whores.
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And thank fucking God. Last night as I picked up Brian from work, I nearly hit local NBC mid-morning co-anchor Art Norman with the car! Brian’s company is located at the NBC Tower, you see.
It was about 6:30 so it was dark, and I was watching the SUV directly in front of me to see where in front of the building he was going to pull up because it looked like he was picking somebody up, as well. I wanted to make sure there was space for me to park against the curb. This is all happening to my right. Art Norman was crossing the street from my left. Well, he was jaywalking rather than on the crosswalk, and at least I didn’t hit him! Plus, I was only going like, 5 mph, though, I guess that doesn’t really matter, does it?
Note to Self: do not take Benadryl and drive. That’s something that I already know, and if my allergies are so bad that I have to take Benadryl in addition to the Allegra and Claritin that I take in the morning, I usually start out with a 12.5 mg. dose of children’s Benadryl. But lately, when I’ve taken the normal, 50 mg. adult dose to try to get to sleep, nothing happens. So when my allergies were practically killing me yesterday, I figured it would be OK. Wrong.
Brian had the day off yesterday so we went ice skating in Millennium Park. I have now crossed this off of my 43 Things list. The outdoor rink is only open November through March, and I was afraid I’d have to wait ’til later this year to accomplish this goal.
It’s free to skate, but skate rental is a whopping $7. Fortunately, we have our own skates. My regular skates desperately need sharpening, but I’ve been too lazy to find out what the nearby pro shop’s hours are, and the skate rental place charges $8! Well, that may be the going price; I have no idea. It’s been a really long time since I’ve had to pay for sharpening. I wore my goalie skates instead.
I was disheartened at how awful I was. It’s been at least a year since I’ve been on the ice and the last time it was only for a few minutes. And the last, last time was in 2001. I shouldn’t have been falling every few feet while skating backwards. I was a frickin’ goalie once upon a time! “Was,” being the key word. And skating forward? Pfft. No balance.
Part of the problem, as the skate guard kindly pointed out, was that my skates weren’t tied tightly enough. You shouldn’t be able to insert your fingertip under the laces. My regular skates have waxed laces that make them a lot easier to tighten. Anyway, once I — OK, Brian–fixed this, I was flying like I flew before. Not as confidently as I would have liked, and I think part of this was because I was wearing goalie skates, the blades of which are shaped differently from regular skates. I’m really, really rusty. Embarrasingly so.
Heh. This was me in another life. I’m the short one on the left, folks, not the tall redhead. Heehee. That’s my friend Julie, another grad student at the time. This was taken in the locker room before our game against Michigan. I wasn’t really a goalie; I was a forward. However, we didn’t have anyone else to play, so (what the hell possessed me?) I volunteered. At this point, the only goalie equipment I had were my glove and blocker. Notice that the brand isBrian’s. I didn’t own my own pads. I was using the club’s pads that were a million years old and way too big on me. For one thing, they were for men, and all of my hockey gear is in boys’ sizes. I did get my own pads eventually. I also have a goalie helmet, but I didn’t like it as much as my regular helmet because I couldn’t see anything below my chin.
The first of two seasons I played for Ohio State was the first year we had a women’s Division I team instead of just a club team. There was no organization at all. According to the team’s snazzy new web site:
Following the formation of the varsity team were slim years for the Ohio State women?s club hockey team. The 2000 season was the last year the team participated in the CCWHA. The team remained independent playing a sporadic schedule with little funding. Kate Nushart says of it, “we were just a group of girls who enjoyed playing hockey together–we had no direction and no focus.”
the 1999-2000 Ohio State Women’s Club Hockey Team CCWHA tournament at Michigan State
Apparently, the team’s budget is now $30,000. Know how much ours was? $1500. In my second season I was the club’s vice president and in charge of raising funds from local businesses. We had a few donations for raffles and stuff, but nothing great. Now, they have a frickin’ booster assocation! I wouldn’t be able to play now anyway, because the team is only open to undergrads. During my time, it was open to all students, faculty, and staff.
Our coach was a grad student himself — a PhD student at that, so he was unable to travel with us to games. Yep, we sucked. We didn’t win one game, and it wasn’t just because I was a new goalie — the rest of the team wasn’t great either, and entire games were played in our zone, meaning that I saw action for the entire frickin’ game. But boy, was I in shape. And you know what? We had the time of our lives!
The one game we did win was in spring quarter of 2000. Our season was over, but we formed an intramural team. We beat a team of guys, and they were not happy! Bwahahaa! We also played as a team in intramural softball. We won a lot because the other teams never showed up.
I hadn’t realized ’til just last week that I have three recurring dreams:
one in which i’m naked in public;
the second in which I’m still in college or grad school, and the only class I need to graduate is some horrible math class that I’m failing miserably — even though I finished grad school in 2002;
the third is me playing hockey again. In every single one of my hockey dreams, I’m back playing right wing.
I had the hockey dream again last week. I don’t know what it means, but I’ve decided to sell my goalie equipment at the start of this year’s season. I’m thinking that I might start playing again in one of the many local women’s teams. If that’s the case, then I have a lot of training ahead of me — as a winger.
While we were skating yesterday, Brian told me that I shouldn’t dwell on my performance, that I should be proud that I finally put my skates back on and accomplished one of my goals. As someone currently going through a depression, it’s so easy for me to see the negative side of things, to be so critical of myself, and, as regular readers know by now, so hard for me to see the big picture.
Last week, I could barely make it out of the house. Yesterday I was back on the ice. There’s got to be something to that.
I didn’t own my own pads. I was using the club’s pads that were a million years old and way too big on me. For one thing, they were for men, and all of my hockey gear is in boys’ sizes. I did get my own pads eventually. I also have a goalie helmet, but I didn’t like it as much as my regular helmet because I couldn’t see anything below my chin.
