Since I don't smoke...

I didn't finish my work tonight, nor did I watch Calgary/Vancouver, but I did get that mascot gig in Hawaii, so that's something. Suh-weet! Feeling much better...

But I'm wide awake now and in a pretty good mood. I hate to waste that on my actual job, so I thought I'd blather on a bit here.

I did watch the first two periods of Leafs/Habs after the relentless pre-game ceremony, during which all I could think was "OMFGDROPTHEFUCKINGPUCK!!!!! DROPITDROPITDROPITDROPITDROPIT!!!!!!!"

I had it on mute, so if it was moving and worthy of so much time, then I apologize to you, Canada. You know I love you, baby. I'm sorry I yelled. Here's some flowers.

It just sucks when they show the players, who are fired up and ready to go, yet they have to stand there during all this blue carpet crap. I'm just thinking of the boys. Someone should.

Speaking of which, tonight Mr. C got sarcastic with me about something and hit my Pissed Off button pretty hard. He realized his mistake quicker than I've EVER seen him do and said, "Sorry."

I'm still glaring at him.

"Sorry!"

Glare.

"Sore-y!"

Smile.

All this time, if he'd just talk to me in Canadian, I'd never get mad at him. If he'd wear hockey gloves and a carry a stick around, he might never get to leave the house. Rawr!

Oh, hey, check it! Pics of me playing goal. These are the only ones where I even look remotely like I'm doing anything I'm supposed to be doing. All the rest, I'm incredibly out of position or way deep in my net. It's horrible! I can only imagine how much video work would help me, but I'm too chicken.

Keeping an eye on the puck along the boards. Should probably have moved forward out of my net by now.

What's going on here? I look like I'm doing some kind of animal impression. Rabbit? (Shut up.)

This is the part where Scott TFCG would be screaming "GET UP! GET THE FUCK UP!!!!" at me.

Am I an ad for RBK or what? Pads, gloves, stick. My pants are RBK, too.

I'm guessing I could get a non-endorsement deal from them. Like, "We'll pay you to stop wearing our gear." Fine. Pay me enough to get some Bauer X-Rated...

Anyway, thanks to Deborah, Jessica's aunt, for coming out and shooting our game a few weeks ago. And for not publishing any shots of me getting scored on. :)

Alrighty. Should probably have a snack and get back to work.

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Unskilled, foul-mouthed goalie seeks free, Canadian room and board

I'm reading these Facebook updates from friends in the PNW and, while I realize they had a really awful hot spell and many don't have A/C in their homes... it's now in the 60s there. THE 60s, BITCHES, in AUGUST! OMF!

We won't see 60-nuthin' until maybe late September and that will just be the overnight lows. 60s during the days won't happen until late October.

But of course, the bonus is that that's pretty much where it sits for 4 months--cold enough to keep the mosquitoes at bay but not so cold that you need 4-wheel-drive. But here, in the thick of the heat, my grasp on that perspective is slippery with sweat.

I actually found myself losing my breath a little when I pondered what it would be like to step outside and not think, "Ugh. Gross." at the heat and humidity. That first crisp day each Fall is the best day of the year. I spend at least a month and a half daydreaming about that day.

I've been going through this cycle for 34 years and it never ceases to be mind-bogglingly awful right now and shit-flippingly glorious in October. It never gets easier, but you do at least accept that you'll go through these stages each year:

1. Dreading summer
2. Thinking summer isn't THAT bad
3. Finding that summer hadn't really started and it IS that bad
4. HATING summer
5. Wanting to die
6. Wanting to kill
   
7. Wanting to move to Canada
   
8. Football season starting and hoping relief is around the corner
9. Hockey season starting and KNOWING relief is around the corner
10. Blessed Fall arrives. Huzzah!

I'm at about step 7 right now. So, if any of my Canadian friends have a spare room for me and the dog for a couple of months, I'm not good for much like cooking or cleaning, but I do speak Canadian and my dog is nice. I'll bring my gear and let you shoot pucks at me. I can't promise not to call you a fuckface or something when you score on me. Because, of course, it' s your fault for shooting at me that I suck. :)

So, I'm just throwing it out there. Mr. C is traveling a bunch for work, and once #8 starts, I don't think he'll even know I'm gone. So just drop me a line.

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