Feb 27, 2010

Trash Talkers on Ice

Well folks, it really does feel like a real Canadian winter now...snow is falling, people are driving like assholes and hockey's on. Speaking of hockey....

I'll be the first to admit that I would be down for a good ol' "slap and tickle" from Crosby or Iginla. I find myself watching these hockey showdowns with legs crossed, in fear of spontaneous combustion.

Tonight's battle between the Slovaks and the Canadians left me all tingly in my "no no special spot" as the Canadians beat the opposition 3-2 in a very intense game-in particular the 3rd period. (I would call it a "nail biter" but I bit them all off during an STD scare.)

Each game I try desperately to read the lips of the players as they talk smack to eachother or curse under their breath in the penalty box. I haven't seen too much of the shit talk in our friendly Olympic competition as I do in regular NHL games. Or is that me just shit talking to my t.v? Hmmm.

However, in last night's Canadian women's hockey game there was a point where two women collided and shared some words. I couldn't help but wonder what they were. Do women get as vulgar with eachother as men do? Do they use hurtful sentences such as "well at least I shave my legs you hairy lesbo." Or. " You're boyfriend gave my syphyllis." Or do they use the word C*#T? (A word I typically use while driving or shopping) I am curious to know. Or maybe I am way of base and none of these thoughts don't even pop into their head...just my filthy mind.

Until the gold medal game bitches!!!


Feb 24, 2010

Could I Have Been An Olympian?

Unfortunately my narcolepsy interfered with Olympic spirit tonight. I awoke in my clothes on my bed (unfortunately alone) during the 3rd period to find Luongo was as tight as me on prom night. Like I, he remained on his knees and deflected most shots by the KGB Russia, helping to lead team Canada in a 7-3 victory over our European neighbours.

I was a goalie once...in field hockey. I sucked and I only did it for the jacket and the free trip to Boston. I would conveniently drag my ass to the field with all my equipment during practice when the team was finishing up their 3rd lap of running. Running-something that caused me a great deal of mental anguish and judging by the size of my ass...it still does. I can't help but wonder-what if I actually ran a lap once in a while? Could I have been an Olympian? What if I watched Cool Runnings a few more times? Could I have been a pro bobsledder? I could be striking endorsement deals with Omega (the fancy watch people) and Ralph Lauren if I just hadn't been born a whiny bitch. As I struggle to find my career path at the moment this thought plagues me. However, the realist inside me acknowledges that I missed my chance and I am one hot dog away from being the next Rita McNeil.

Proudly Canadian,

***I want to give a GIANT congratulations to Ms. Shelley-Ann Brown who, as I type, is standing on the podium recieving her silver medal in bobsledding. Her and I went to public school together and this is truly incredible to watch. So proud!!!! Congratulations Shelley!!!***

P.S. Am I the only one who cries like a baby during every medal presentation for Canada? That "I Believe" song tugs at my heart strings.

Feb 23, 2010

Oh to Be a Puck Bunny

As a former puck bunny, tonight's showdown between Canada and Germany was nothing short of an orgasm. While the Germans were getting their asses handed to them, I was thinking of asses of my own.

While watching the game and spontaneously cursing, I had flashbacks of traveling to the rink every thursday night with my boobs up to my neck with my winter jacket open just enough to show my guns which resulted in random make outs in closets at rookie parties. I also chuckled (insert evil laugh) when I reflected on glaring at the other puck bunnies in the stands  and of course, participating in Canada's favourite past time-drinking beer. (Well in my case, I think it was Mike's hard lemonade which was pretty much like drinking gasoline, but either way it made me a "sure thing.")

I oozed with Canadian pride as our home and native land crushed the Germans 8-2 and I realized how much I miss men hockey. Which has led me to the decision that if I am still without child, husband and dignity in 2014, I will travel to Russia for the Winter Games to volunteer my services as the team Canada fluffer towel girl.

I always wanted to be a part of the Olympics but my fat ass just didn't know how. It's all clear to me now and I owe it to all puck bunnies across the nation.


Is That Your Twin in Your Leg?

So I have been held up in hotel Nanners for the past 3 weeks (with the exception of a couple play dates) because of a minor surgery I had on my leg. Long story short-I woke up with a giant lump on my inner thigh. As amusing as it would be to my girlfriends to learn that it was symptomatic of an STD-it wasn't. Getting an STD would imply that you most likely were getting some, and that's not the case.
I have nurses that come to my house everyday to change my bandages, clean it and stick gauze in my wound and see me freaking out with my pants off. (The last time I freaked out with my pants off, I was peeing on a stick and praying to our sweet baby Jesus, but that's besides the point.) I think it's safe to say I am a full blown hypochondriac. Every morning I pop a pain killer in anticipation of my nurses arrival and wait in fear of discovering they have found my twin growing in my thigh.

What fuels my growing fear of um, pretty much everything is a little search engine some of you may know as  Google. Anytime something goes remotely wrong with me I immediately google it. I remind myself to breathe as I am looking at the 133,000 results it has returned. Pages upon pages of horrible stories or images glare back at me as I sit in my bed and begin to twitch in horror. It also happens that I do all of my investigations of horrible diseases and medical mysteries in the middle of the night when no one is around to   bitch slap some sense into me.

I also don't think that it helps that I watch Untold Stories of the ER which typically runs as a marathon and not just one episode that you can go to bed and forget about. (I know you are thinking "turn the channel moron," but I can't. It's like seeing a real life hooker for the first time...you can't stop staring.) For instance, last year I saw an episode of a man who came to the ER on Halloween with an axe in his head. Everyone said "cool costume." For some miracle this man could articulate sentences and he managed to tell them it wasn't a costume....I mean, how does this happen? These are the things I think about. I can't even think of a situation when I have been around an axe in the past year, but still this story haunts me and I fear I will wake up with one in my head. I am crazy. I am aware. This is a tiny tidbit of what runs through my head in a given moment.

From now on, I vow to make a concious effort to limit my google searches to more important things in life; celebrity gossip and porn. Not diseases. Maybe I should install a parental control feature on the WebMD site?


Feb 16, 2010

Giant Man-Child- Need Not Apply

An hour ago a friend messaged me to help her with her online dating profile. Honesty is the best policy. Below is what I came up with.

Okay. Let’s cut the shit. There is a good chance you looked at my picture and probably thought about fucking me. And I’ll be honest, if you supply the weed and wine-it’s a possibility.

Let’s get this out of the way now. I have a former fiancĂ© who fucked me over before walking down the aisle. I took the high road and didn’t use my “crazy pass,” when that asshole broke my heart so I can find the crazy from within if you fuck with me. Don’t cheat on me-I won’t cheat on you. Simple as that.

If you act like you are 16 but suffer from gigantism (physically big but emotionally small) then I’d like you to be up front with me. In other words, I don’t want to be fooled by a man-child and their dramatic outbursts. I’ve been there and bought the t-shirt and I am selling his tool set on e-bay.

I think this profile is likely the most straight forward that you will read so if you like what you read-message me. Message me at an uncreepy time...like before 1am. And don’t say weird shit. I will delete you without a reason. Perhaps even block you.

Also, if you do pass go, please don’t try and befriend me on facebook after our first chit chat. That’s far too personal and there is a good chance that I will post something about our first date to either belittle you or gush about you.

I like to travel.


If we could only be that honest.