In tonight's NCWHL game, I fought hard in the corners and at one point, wound up on top of this very nice woman while trying to work the puck loose. She kicked back and her skate hit the inside of my thigh (pretty much the only unprotected place on my body when wearing hockey gear). That smarts. But we didn't lose, tied 1-1 and I had a great time once again.

After the game, it was kinda sad when my red friends rolled in for their game and I rolled out, my playing time complete. That's the price you pay, I guess.

This is not to say that zeus is all kinds of wrong but decide for yourself. Right now, I'm doing some of the piddly freelance web work that keeps me in hockey skates. Out of sheer guilt, I've invited all of the dogs in the office with me. Zeus felt the need to obsessively groom Patrick, licking his head for a good 15 minutes. I did my best to ignore it, since they were all quiet and nobody was getting into anything bad for them. However, when Patrick (aka the world's most easy-going guy) started crying out like he was in pain, I whipped around fast enough to catch Zeus humping him! On my futon! Bastardo!

Z was unkindly escorted to the crate, where he will spend the night. Patrick is of course okay, but my sensibilities are offended. Geez, man, buy a guy a drink before you hump his ass!


One weird thing about having lost weight (and continuing to do so) is that I still don't quite beleive it. Most of the time, I think that because I'm wearing clothes that are cut differently than I used to (this means that I now go mostly to the girls side of the Gap instead of the roomy-yet-shapeless guys side) but once in a while, something reminds me that no, I have actually gotten smaller at the same time.

Like today. I've trotted out my old "fat" jeans. I'm sure you've seen them, it was the kind I wore pretty much every day before the weight loss. Old Navy baggy guys jeans. They were never tight on me (note the "baggy" designation) but were not nearly as gigantic as they are now. Even with a belt working overtime, they long to fall down and threaten to show my ass crack to the world. It's a very nice feeling.

I'm still not Kate Moss but that's still very much okay.

So far, in the only class I've gotten actual grades in, I'm getting an A in grad school. Woo! My critical thinking skills have not totally abandoned me.


I haven't mentioned it because it sort of happened fast, but last week I decided to try out for Maroon and made it. Tonight was my first game and I had a blast. I hadn't skated that hard in an NCWHL game in longer than I care to admit, I fit in with the other girls (4 people on my team said "you *just now* moved up from Red? Wow!) and had a great time. Woo! I also continue to have my Alice memorial jersey -- #1.


And now, Gus, who recently celebrated his 2nd anniversary of being our Big Guy. I'm glad you're here, you big silly dog, you.

Just one more. Because I can.

Alice would have, should have been 14 next month. No matter how much I think I'm starting to get over her, I still feel robbed. We just weren't done yet, her and I.

Yo Ho, Yo Ho, a basset's life for me
We waddle, we slobber we rifle and loot
Lap up me hearties, yo ho
We howl and lumber and don't give a hoot
Drink up me hearties, yo ho
Yo Ho, Yo Ho, a pirate's life for me
We slobber, we wag we drool and bark
Drink up me hearties, yo ho
Jump up and countersurf and even high-jack
Drink up me hearties yo ho
Yo Ho, Yo Ho, a basset's life for me
We wrestle and romp look cute and we bump
Drink up me hearties, yo ho
We eat up the kibble we're really that bright
Drink up me hearties, yo ho We're rascals, scoundrels villains, and theives
Drink up me hearties yo ho
We're sweeties and lovers - really good eggs
Drink up me hearties yo ho
Yo Ho, Yo Ho, a pirate's life for me
You're suckers and lovers and mommies and dads
Drink up me hearties, yo ho
Aye, but we're loved by our mommies and dads
Drink up me hearties, yo ho

I think this is my favorite picture of Andrea.


Today is Andreatan day. In addition, it's also her birthday, but we're just focusing on it being Andreatan day. Happy Andreatan day to you!


This week has been exhuasting, thanks to many hours poanging at IKEA, school and more drama. The good news? I have today off and have comitted to really not doing much. Because everyone deserves a little time off, even the most high-strung of us.


My contribution to Haiku Tuesday comes from a Nice Girl in my English class tonight, who offered the following literary publication for our perusal: Acorn a journal of contemporary haiku.

Haiku magazine
Holds many haiku to see
Nice. For you and me.

Haiku. Rhymes with poo.
What is funnier than that?
Funnel cakes, that's what!

Grad school. Good for you
But puts me to sleep. No nap
in class is good nap.

The good news about school? I scored 100% on a quiz about my financial aid loan, now they think I'm worthy of having the money sent to me.

The bad news? My 5 page fiction piece was ripped apart yesterday as a really intriguing character sketch with pretty much no action.

The other bad news? I'm feeling no love for the annotated bibliography of David Sedaris that I have due at 7 pm today.


Part of the reason I'm blogging so much is that I'm supposed to be writing 5 pages of fiction for school and can't.

Unexpected issues/pleasures re: my recent weight loss
If you don't regularly see me in person, you don't know that not too long ago, I was pretty damn chubby. I weighed a lot more than I was comfortable with and was not happy about it. People (other women) would make comments like "real-sized women like you and I" (mostly from someone who I always thought was a lot larger than me) and I never felt like I belonged in that group. In my mind, I was never supermodel-skinny but I certainly wasn't fat and sassy.

But I never really did anything about it until this last 6 months or so. Part of it has been not working at a desk anymore, part has been due to a couple other things, namely playing goalie and some really intense personal drama that I'll most likely not share here. Things seem to be on the mend but the one good thing about these months of drama and heartache has been a great change in my appetite -- I just don't eat much when I'm stressed.

So here I am, still chubby but not nearly as much so. I am slowly assembling a new wardrobe (forsaking a closet full of very cool but gigantic t-shirts) that I adore, complete with t-shirts that are not baggy and pants that fit. The toughest thing so far is my skates. I knew that feet shrink/grow depending on your weight but I didn't anticipate how that would impact me. My old shoes mostly fit but my beloved skates, well, that is another story.

My skates were always a tad big. Just a tad, and that was fine with me because I've always had them that way. But now that my ankles are skinnier, it's just enough difference to make my skates fit like ass. My ankles hurt almost the entire time I'm skating, no amount of adjustment to my lacing structure, my shin guards or hockey socks has really remedied the problem. It's a fine problem to have but it's going to mean a $250 investment that I'm in no shape to make right now, despite my IKEA riches.

The good news is that I can now wear kid's size skates and save about 1/2 the cost, so that $250 now buys me top of the line skates instead of mediocre-to-not-bad skates.

The other really good thing? Today, while shopping with the Ladies Who Lunch (aka Ladies of Leisure), we went to inline sports and tried on more fleece jackets. I wound up buying a new one because it was a SIZE SMALL! A SMALL! ME!! We practiced all the ways I could bring it into the rink or leave it in the car so the tag would show, telling all the world that I can wear a small. Woo! SMALL!

So, school has started and I'm taking 2 English classes. I'm reminded of being an undergrad, when I knew I loved to read, knew I could write with some degree of skill and/or talent but struggled with my classmates and teachers. For me, reading is personal, done for pleasure and enlightenment but not done to look deeply for meaning or to make those who don't read as much feel bad. My colleagues seemed to feel differently. Like the Bible Thumpers I used to know who felt that everyone who was not saved was in a lower class, worthy of the eternity in hell that awaited them because they weren't Thumping their own Bibles.

When I hung around those people (most of middle school, if you must know), I took great comfort in the social out that their youth group provided and had more than the requisite number of crushes on the leaders but knew somewhere down deep that it wasn't right. Too much judgement, too much scorn and shame. Eventually, I lost my virginity (to a boy) at a far too early age, told one of the aforementioned leader/crushes and became myself part of the Shamed Ones for my transgression. The real end of my relationship with those people was when I mentioned Gays. I was told that Those People are going to hell and I shouldn't be around them. Like queerness is catching.

Hmm, now that I think about it, maybe it was! Maybe Maria from my parent's church sneezed on me while strumming her guitar next to her long-term lesbian lover and that was it! That single moment overshadowed a lifetime of being more attracted to girls than boys (yes even and especially after the virginity losing, thankyouverymuch) of not feeling like I had any business being a boy's girlfriend. But yes, I'm sure it was the sneeze.

But I digress. So now I'm back (from outer space) in English classes, and once again struggling with the attitude. Last Tuesday's class featured a roomful of MFA in Creative Writing candidates, all of whom thought they were Hot Shit because they are 'published' in a variety of lame ass midwestern literary journals. Well hey, motherfuckers, I'm published too. Here on LizSpeaks (3 years and counting) and in a cheesy book on adoption a few years ago. Just because the St. Olaf University Press hasn't chosen me as a featured author doesn't mean that I'm any less a writer than These People.

It was hard to listen to them and not scoff. Not that I'm any better. I, too, am a struggling writer, working hard to make sense of the bizarre gift that being a writer is. (Note, I didn't say 'good writer,' I just said 'writer.' Good or bad, this gift has meant a lifetime inside my head, spinning every event for a real or imagined audience who will most likely never hear the dialogue I'm constantly writing in my head. While this particular skill is nifty in some ways, it's also something of a curse (all the good things are, aren't they?). It means that I often miss what's really going on in the real world because I'm so busy writing in my head.)

One (okay, two) of the interesting things that came up in the Class of Pompousness is the notion that it's very much not normal to be contstantly writing in your head. Evidently the rest of the world does not operate this way, You People do not constantly spin every event for an imagined audience (is that true?? email me), you simply enjoy (or loathe) every moment for what it is, not for it's literary value. Hmm. How freaking novel would that be? Anyway, I guess some researchers (grad students, no doubt) are doing/have done a study of what goes on in our brains as we retreat into the world of a book or of our own writing. The world does fade away when I read or write, my sole focus becomes the story I'm reading or writing. In a way, it's like the only time I'm really "there," and not off writing for my imaginary friend.

For the record, there are 2 other times I'm actually "there," when playing hockey (and now that I've written this, you may see why I play so often) and having sex.

The struggle for me won't be so much in the writing or in the work of these classes but in dealing with my pompous colleagues. It was hard in undergrad, I'm sure it's only going to get worse in grad school. I will have to remind myself often that I'm here to hone my skills, be more disciplined in my writing schedule (i.e. develop one) and learn how to submit pieces (still unwritten) for publication. Part of this skill development may well be learning to at least understand why these people are so damn analytical of writing (to improve their own skills, I imagine) and how I can learn from that analysis without getting so irrated at their demeanor that I forget to listen.

Wish me luck.