I just got home from playing goalie for my red team and I am thrilled to report that WE WON!!!!!!!!! The score was 3-1! Not only did I only let in 1 goal, I came in well below my usual average of 5 goals a game. I know that you know that 1 is significantly less than 5 but bear with me. Woo! Hoo!

My defense kicked ass, they shut down all but one breakaway (hence the 1 goal, which was about the stupiest goal I've ever let in, I anticipated too early and swung at a slow-moving puck when I should have just stood my ground and left my damn stick on the ice, then covered it. Sorry, team, that was really stupid.) and stayed on their man for the entire game. Even Heather hardly screened me at all, especially after I called her 'door.' She got the message and kicked ass the rest of the game.

I am beside myself. For once, a win!


Gave my notice at IKEA today. It was almost a little bit sad. Almost, but not quite. I have met some very nice people there, but truth be told, some creeps as well. Among the highlights:
  • The older gentleman (I think he's 70) who was transferred out of our department because he can't run a computer. I felt sorry for him until I heard that he'd tried to pursue one of the younger gals (she's 24) in our department and wouldn't leave her alone about his marriage offer. Eww.
  • The guy who brought in a teddy bear for that same 24 year old woman on Valentine's Day, then asked her out. She said no. He then turned to me, bringing me a volume of his poetry and sitting down, uninvited (I bring schoolwork there every day and spread out, taking up the entire table so it's abundantly clear that I'm not looking for company. Or love, thank you.) with me twice. It doesn't sound like much but it was creepy enough for me.
  • The real gem: a former military man with no 'real-world' work experience, education or manners. No matter what the topic of conversation, he brings it back to himself (even and especially if he's not part of the discussion) and how The Man, in some form or another, is bringing him down. He's the same guy who could snap his fingers and get a PhD (honestly, I think he means GED) but he doesn't need to 'read no damn Socrates to know how to get around in this world.' To which I replied 'have another great day in food service. Your experience serves you well.'

    That guy has also explained that women have it made, because we're magically eligible for the kind of lovely free housing that is forbidden to him. When I pointed out that those women get that housing because of the babies made by men like him, babies that these women are raising on their own, he didn't hear me. Funny how the wax buildup only blocks outside sounds, not the sound of his own lovely, charming, intelligent voice.

And with that, I bid the House of Poang chairs and the Many People a somewhat lukewarm farewell.


I came home this afternoon to write. I have 15 pages of fiction due on Monday but now that I sit down, I am so exhausted from all the power skating, step aerobics and the continued stress in my life that I don't see how I'll manage. Damn!

I do have one less thing to stress about. Through the grace of God (and Carol) I've landed a so-called 'real job,' starting on Monday. I'll work part-time until school is out for the summer, then see how it's going. This means that I'll be gleefully giving notice at IKEA tomorrow. Not a moment too soon.


Why it's Okay if I'm Slow

Because I can still do this.

Went to session one of the power skating class last night. It was fun skating with Andrea, though it's never fun to get my ass kicked by kids, even when I'm expecting it. The good news is that this year, the teenagers aren't too far ahead of me. I have to remember that where I skate, it's not necessary to be fast like a teenager, that I am pretty fast for the group I skate with.

Right now, I am so tired, stressed and physically banged up that I've developed a twitch in my left eye. Fan-tastic.


I just caught Zeus, who had eaten half a bottle of hot sauce. He now has a belly full of the stuff and can't understand why he's so thirsty. Dumb.


Farewell, sweet Northie
Friday night, I was running out of the house to get to Oakland for Seals practice on time (a practice, by the way, that kicked my ass so hard I actually cried out in pain) when the phone rang. It was Thoma, calling with the shittiest of news, that his wonderful, sweet, funny lab Northrup had died on Feb. 5 from cancer. The big guy was almost 10 but that's irrelevant, it was still way too soon for him to leave. He was a guide dog reject, making him a well-behaved (though scared of gunshots, who could imagine why?) gentleman. Alice adored him, he was the only dog she liked. They shared a common love of all things edible. Thoma put a note in with Northie's body, asking him to say hi to Alice for all of us.

They just don't make 'em like they used to. Farewell, sweet guy. May you and Alice wreak havoc at the buffet until we all get there. Save some Baron of Beef for me, okay?

Northie, with Alice and Ellie. All three of them live only in our hearts now.

I can't win
I am utterly winless as a red goalie. Each game, I let in 5. Tonight was the same story, though this time I let in all 5 in the first period, including a beatiful wrist shot scored by none other than Andreatan, who aimed right at the net, not the goalie, just like I told her to and wham, it sailed right by me. Though my first words were 'fuck you!,' I was, and am, proud of her for playing her first red game (as a sub, her first time to get the call!!!) and for scoring. I just wish she'd scored on someone who wasn't me. But I'm proud as hell.

I went on to have 2 shutout periods, having let in all 5 at once, I was then free to actually play well. We lost it in overtime when I thought I had the puck but it dropped out of my arm (I was holding it between my arm and my body) and a free winger was right there to poke it in.

I ended up playing 3 games today, skating out in my final maroon game of the season (we won, 2-0), then subbing in for Andrea's green team as a goalie (my first real shutout, 6-0!, I faced 19 shots), then I lost the third, facing 33 shots and letting in a total of 6. Though I'm pleased about the two wins, thrilled about Andrea's lovely goal, I'm still bummed at being winless for my regular red team. I think I'll try to demote myself to green next season, build some confidence in net, then come back to red, if they'll have me.

Until then, Andreatan's personal highlight reel now has an amazing clip. In a way I'm lucky, that that clip features both of us but she's the one getting the glory. Rock on, my loo.


I can so not concentrate on this paper I'm writing. Good thing it's almost done.

It's that time of year again. Already.
Mom: Say, you have a birthday coming up soon. Start thinking about what you want.
Me: Money. For hockey. Last year you covered my whole season.
Mom: Start thinking about what you want.
Me: Um, I just said. Money. For hockey.
Mom: I can't cover the whole season, start thinking about what you want.
Me: Still money. For hockey. If you can spare $5, give me $5. I'll put it towards hockey. (getting frustrated) I have to go now.
Mom: Okay, but be thinking about what you want.

And so it begins again.

To you three readers, my offer still stands. Get me nothing. If I get my shit together enough to have a party, come. If not, do nothing. Thank you.

I'll be off, thinking about what I want.

At Sunday's A-Team game, we had a couple of no-shows (hey folks, next time you back out on the day of the game, could you CALL ME???) so we wound up with 5 defensemen. Normally, we go out in pairs so this makes things a little more challenging. We handle this situation by rotating through, the next guy in line goes out next, etc. Sometimes that means you don't get as much of a rest as you'd like. I was already tired from my maroon game earlier in the day so I turned to the guy next to me and said 'you go next, I'm totally tired.'

His reply? 'Me, too. And I'm still a bit queasy from the chemo on Friday.'

I'm an ass.


Here's a brief summary of what's been going on around here.
  • My too-good-to-be-true laptop is, in fact, too good to be true. It inexplicably has decided to not work. At all.
  • I'm grading a ton of papers (perhaps a metric ton) for two different instructors, each with varying degrees of instruction on how to grade. It's a big job that sucks up a lot of my time, though I am grateful for the experience and the meager pay that one of them provides.
  • The A-Team had a fantastic win on Sunday, with two of our lesser-known stars scoring two beautiful goals. I was the proud parent, beaming as Paul roofed it and Ryan's wrist shot from the top of the circle both sailed into the net.
  • Heed will not sit still. He is driving me crazy, yet I feel bad that he doesn't get that much attention so he's still in here, foraging under the couch for things that only he considers toys.
  • I've stopped speaking to a friend of mine. The silent treatment is not something I wanted to resort to, but I cannot tolerate being spoken to the way she spoke to me. It's simply not an okay way to treat someone (me) that she allegedly cared for, the shouting and the disrespect. The day after the incident, I was ready for a discussion, if not an apology, but none came. And I suspect none will. I can no longer sweep it under the rug. What good is my self-respect if I allow anyone to speak to me that way without at least some acknowledgment that the tone (if not the content) was inappropriate? Not much.

    So we're not talking and I just don't know where to go from here. I guess I will wait for her to make some sort of overature, to do something more substantial than trying to act as if nothing happened. Because it did.

  • I dropped out of the symphonic band at school after the conductor asked me to audition for the chair I was already sitting in. I spent enough of my life being competitive about music and I just don't need to start that up again. So I unceremoniously slid my music under her door and have my Tuesday afternoons free.
I guess that's everything. Sorta seems like enough, doesn't it?


I just noticed that San Jose State is a mere one letter away from San Nose State, which, if you ask me, is a lot funnier.


Once again, Step Aerobics has kicked my ass. I'll be lying down now, a sweaty mess.

In other news, my grad-level fiction class met yesterday for the second time. I came armed with five pages to share that day and twelve for everyone to peruse between yesterday and next Monday. I was pleased to hear that nothing anyone read was downright awful (start contrast to last semester's undergrad version of the same class. Please believe me when I say that experience does count for something and that while you can hone your skills, if talent isn't there to begin with, and you don't want to hear criticism, well, you're going to spend the entire semester churning out drivel that nobody will want to read. But I digress.) and that my own stuff was warmly received, though the parts about the puke made everyone a little squeamish. Yes, loyal readers, I did my usual -- told something gross about vomit, then topped it . Thank you, thank you.

Despite the vomit, or maybe because of it, my work fit in just fine with the MFA candidates. Not bad for a Recreation major.

Today's Epilepsy Update
Yesterday, Patrick had two seizures, including a doozy that left him stuck with his head in the couch, unable to pull it out. It would have been funny, except that a seizure brought him there. We had to drug him not once, but twice with valium, leaving us with a very woozy pup. Gus is feeling more like himself, he even showed me both a stuffed pheasant and a frog today so I know he's on the mend.

Rainie and Patrick are at Spots right now because there's no way I can leave Patrick alone right now. What if his head got stuck in the couch or he had a seizure while at the water bowl and drowned? Though, I must admit that every seizure he's had so far has been while lying down, so there isn't too much risk of water bowl drowning.

On the business side of this, here's what Spots has done to try and make this right:

  • Fired the girl who wrote Gus' name on Patrick's pill bottle.
  • Without question, offered to pay for all the vet bills associated with this. Yes, we'll be taking them up on that.
  • Retrained the entire staff on how to process medications on incoming dogs.
  • Apologized more times than I can count.
  • Came to our house to see how the guys were doing. This visit made it abundantly clear that Gus was not himself and that Patrick was sleeping off the Valium. Neither of them got up to greet him, certainly not their style.
  • Admitted that the owner would have a hard time sleeping over this.
All this is well and good (no, really, it is) but in the end, they don't have to be there holding Patrick as he seizes, when he's unable to see me right there in front of him, they don't have to clean up the pee and the drool that he can't control and they don't have to try and comfort him afterwards, when he stumbles around whining in a scared tone we don't hear much.

Please keep both of our guys in your thoughts as they work their way through the Great Boarding Fiasco of 2004. I know they won't be far from my mind.


This morning brought us another seizure for Patrick and a call to spots. I talked to the owner, he was very apologetic and assures me that he'll figure out what happened and make sure it never happens again. No, that's not enough but it's a start.

Gus is still quite sluggish and Patrick is scared. So am I, buddy. So am I.

Back from the puppy ER. Patrick got a healthy dose of valium to follow up a second seizure. He's now very very tired and sacked out in a round bed. I don't know why people would want to use valium -- the first ten minutes after it was in were awful, he was rolling around like a crazy man and completely freaked out.

Not my idea of a good time.


Back from Vegas. Short-term, here's what happened. We came in third. More importantly and much worse than that was that Spots, our trusted cageless kennel, fucked up the medication for Patrick, giving it to Gus, despite the fact that it says PATRICK right on the label and that he wears a nametag that reinforces it.

As soon as we pulled up to the house, Gus fell down getting out of the car. He was very lethargic. I didn't put it all together until a few minutes ago, when Patrick had the biggest, worst, scariest seizure of his whole short life.

There was drooling, and of course, a big puddle of pee and the usual scary parts where his big brown eyes are wide open but don't see anything. I sat with him the whole time, talking to him, wishing that Andrea was here with me (she's on los airplanes right now). When he started to come out of it (and this is just a part of why I love him so so so much) he heard me and thumped his tail, trying to look around to where I was, but his little (okay, big) head couldn't make it all the way back to me and he lapsed into another seizure.

He's behind me now, sleeping it off, after a little while of stumbling around like a drunken sailor. Gus, on the other hand, is seizure-free and so lethargic he lays shaking on the couch. I want to call Spots RIGHT NOW, THIS VERY INSTANT, and bitch them out but the manager is not there right now so I think I should wait until the morning.

But then what? Even if they offer me something, that is so not the point. Patrick was ONE MONTH away from going on a medicine-free trial period. Now we have to wait, to drug him with that horrible mood-altering drug for another year.

Thanks a fuck of a lot, Spots.


The Seals are off to Vegas today. I'm ready, but not quite. Our dogsitting plans fell through yesterday, so it's been a mad dash to get them farmed out in time but, like always, it seems to have worked out in the end.

I stopped by the school bookstore to pick up a flyer on the laptops they sell. It is time. I'm spending too much time on campus these days, a place far away from my computer and my own schoolwork at home, so here it is. I fully expected to buy a Windows-based model but before my eyes was the clearance model Powerbook G4. You know how I am about the clearance rack, so I checked it out. It's one of the original models, has been a demo but is in pretty damn good shape. Oh, and it has a bad ass 15.2" screen.

I talked them down to $700 for the thing (retail on today's model is around $2500) and will pick it up very soon. Yes, indeedy, my ass is broke, but I have to find a way to write when I'm on the move, since it seems that I'm never home right now. After all, my writing in some form or another is the whole reason I'm in school right now.


Step Class Kicked my Ass
Before the semester began, I'd intended to take a basketball class. However, I've been playing enough goalie to know that I've pushed myself as far as I can go right now, at least when it comes to being bumped around. So, late last Wednesday night, I searched high and low in the open classes and found the best option: Step Training. I know, I know, it's not the kind of thing that your average tough-guy dyke hockey player would ordinarily do for excersize but it seemed like a good choice.

The first meeting confirmed that my pre-conceived notion was correct -- of the 50 students in the class, all, save me, are undergrads, young ones at that, and none, I am certain, know much, if anything about what it's like to be a lesbian. Though, like any crowd that age, I'm sure a couple have dabbled in the womanly arts at parties, if only to seem cool.

Today was our first workout. I got there early, set up my step (go ahead, laugh. I was trying not to at the time myself) and waited for our very nice instructor to come in. She finally did, and 10 minutes after class was supposed to start, we got our groove on. She taught us the basic moves, things like 'right laterals,' 'right v' and toe taps. I was doing okay, if a bit uncoordinated with going between the moves until it was time to lay down on our janky mats. I was sweating a little but felt like I was keeping up just fine. First, there were pushups. That was okay, I have some upper body strength thanks to my hockey career. But then, we had to roll over and do 'ab work.'

Let me tell you right now: ab work=hell. Hell. It wasn't situps, no, it was a series of hellish positions that brought my morning Luna bar back for a number of quick hellos, that made my abs scream. Then, we had to hold those positions and 'pulse,' where you lean forward a number of times.

I now fully understand that even though I can play hockey reasonably well (note that I didn't say goalie, but that is another story), I am, in fact, nowhere near being 'in shape.' Phat props to the step class for showing me that, along with an opportunity to change the situation.