Wow. That last post was completely uninspired.
Played two games last night. The A-Team 2 lost to the Ice Monkeys (again) but Terri brought cookies afterwards so it's all good. The A-Team I beat the Rebels 3-2, a game that was a lot less close than the score might indicate. Both games were a lot of fun but today I really feel like crap. Sneezing, wheezing and coughing.
The good news is that my shoulder doesn't really hurt all that much. I think there's some progress there. Maybe one day, I'll be able to play goalie again.
Don't I Know You?
Last night, we all went out for beers and burgers after hockey. A song came on the jukebox and in the back of my mind, I knew it had some meaning but couldn't quite place it. So I danced in my chair until I realized (about halfway through) that it had been my song with my ex. And I couldn't remember the name of it.
Eventually I realized that it was Take a Chance on Me, an Erasure remix of an ABBA song. I guess all the meaning is finally lost. Thank. God.
Hey Office Space fans! The Bill Lumbergh Soundboard is totally hilarious.
I scored a hat trick on Saturday. However, the first goal was on my own team. That's right, Liz Doughty, seasoned defenseman reached into the net to pull the puck off the goal line and inadvertently pushed it in. I didn't even get a point!
That was maroon. We lost the game 5-3. I rushed outta there afterwards and headed over to Redwood City for our first playoff game. The other team's goalie was the guy who runs the rink, a very nice guy, a great skater but (like me) not a very good goalie. My little team with no superstars won 7-2 against him. And not one, but TWO of the goals were scored by me. Me! 2 Real Goals!
I also somehow managed to bruise the hell out of my upper thigh so I now have a lovely mini-grapefruit protruding from my skin. Eww. It made sleeping a bit tough, since my sore shoulder is on the right and the bruise is on my left. Turn over, wake up, OW! Go back to sleep, turn over wake up, OW!
You get the idea. But hey, I scored two real goals! Maybe I should play forward more often.
After over six months of pain and two aborted MRI attempts, I finally got off my ass and started physical therapy for my bum shoulder. The guy was nice enough and was easily able to find the EXACT SPOT where it hurts the most. Naturally, he then pressed down very hard on that spot, trying to break up the scar tissue. It was the most excruciating pain I've ever felt. I came close to throwing up and passing out, but I stuck with it because I really really want to play goalie again.
The session absolutely wore me out, turned me into a very hungry, slobbering mass for the night. I even went to bed early after icing my aching wing with the World's Largest Ice Pack, a new addition to my first aid collection, courtesy of the PT folks. I'm to go back 2-3 times a week for a while, I hope it starts to help very McSoon because this shit hurts.
I just got back from another exciting lunch with Jeannette. Today, we saw not one, but two hookers hooking (well, talking on the phone) right there on first street! Hook on, sister!
In case you're wondering, we knew they were ladies of the evening (afternoon) because they were dressed exactly like their counterparts from the movies.
You Told Me So
Many of you, once I mentioned the words "playing" and "roller hockey" together, warned me that it's not as fun as playing ice hockey, that I would struggle. I did not ignore you, but chose instead to keep those admonitions in mind and try it at least once, subbing for the work team.
I expected that I wouldn't be able to stop. That was correct, I couldn't. Unlike many of the guys I've played with, I chose to just skate only as fast as I could stop, in other words, not very fast. I also took a big turn to slow down. This often meant that my check (aka the person I was guarding) would get past me because I couldn't stop fast enough to react to their movements. Unfortunately, it also meant that the best skater on the team felt the need to yell at me "LIZ! GET A MAN! THAT'S YOUR MAN RIGHT THERE! WHY AREN'T YOU GUARDING HIM?" Finally, I came back with this gem, "Because I can't stop!"
That guy yelled enough (and stood in my spot on a face off, then bitched at me for not standing in the right place. Um, see that little spot where the hash mark meets the circle? That's my spot. I may not be able to stop but I do know where to line up for faceoffs at all places on the ice) that I finally said to him, "Look, if you don't stop yelling at me, I'm going home."
Yup, Liz Doughty, avoider of conflict actually said that. And the guy actually shut up. For a while.
We lost 8-2. I fell a lot. And hit my head on the boards with as much force as the day I got a concussion. Ow. The difference is that I now wear the Mission Carbster helmet, aka the Best Helmet Ever Made, and a mouthguard, so all I got was a little whiplash, no concussion. Thank you jesus. And my Carbster.
After the suckage, I returned to the dressing area to discover that some punkass had STOLEN MY STICK! My very nice, new, TPS Response stick with the Rick Nash curve was gone. Someone had reached into my stick bag and stolen a little piece of Rick.
Yes, it was my own stupidity, but should you feel an ounce of pity for me, for being yelled at, for being tossed around out there, here's how you can help:
But you don't have to. Pity will suffice.
My first roller hockey game is tonight, in a little over 2 hours. I worry that I'll have a little too much confidence since I skate reasonably well on ice, that I'll forget that those aren't little teeny metal blades on the bottoms of my shoes, that they are in fact, wheels, subject to things like friction. I worry that I'll forget that stopping is different on wheels and that in forgetting that critical piece of information I will skate too fast and break something when it's no longer time to skate fast.
I'm not worried about playing well -- the team has only won 1 game ever so there's just not a lot of pressure there. At least I have that going for me. That, and some very spiffy bright yellow pants.
Late last summer, I started having a lot of pain in my ankles because my skates stopped fitting properly. I fixed this by buying new skates, a solution that's worked just fine until now. In the last couple of weeks, my ankles have started hurting again and now I'm getting weird bruises on my feet (though now that I think back, the bruise that inspired this post is actually from blocking one of Rocky's shots with my instep. Note to self: block shots with skate blade, not foot). I also notice, with a bit of sadness that the skates I still think of as new are actually getting pretty worn down.
CCM tells me that their skates are designed to last 2-3 seasons. Considering that I now play continuously on 4 teams, that may mean my beloved skates are getting towards the end of their useful days. Sigh.
I admit I'm not
Very good about writing
Haiku on Tuesdays
Quiet time at work
Must sneak downstairs for private
Sitting in the can
Never alone in
Potty by my desk. Can't do
What must be done there.
"Where are you going?"
Carol asks. Um, downstairs. Must
poo. What's it to you?
In the end, I knew
That you did not want to know
Where my walk would go.
There was no hockey last night. How strange it was, to just have dinner, then go to TJ Maxx, where all things are possible. I have this deal with the Nettes where if we see an exceptionally ugly (usually pretty trashy) outfit, we'll try it on in exchange for a dollar.
Last night, I earned that dollar by trying on some of the most hideous stuff we've seen so far. A silver, black and white faux animal print top with flouncy sleeves and short black shorts. Andrea rolled up to the dressing room just in time to see the reveal of that number. The follow up top was a blue spandex number with little black mesh holes in it. I'm pretty sure it was unearthed from the Miami Vice set. I think her eyes are still tainted by the sight. I know mine are.
But I've got that dollar.
Bling Apparently = For Fun
A few months ago, Andrea and I celebrated a whole lot of small successes by buying each other rings. Not super ass expensive chock full o diamonds rings, because, well, I lose stuff. So I proudly sport my new bling and have found that a lot of people notice. Which is cool. Apparently not everyone knows that Andrea and I have been together for so damn long so it's nice to be able to say it out loud a number of times. Yep, it'll be 8 years in September. Rock on, sports fans.
So, Saturday I was standing outside of the rink talking to one of my teammates when my friend's daughters (all ages 13-16) came swarming around me, full of hugs and loud voices. Good kids, I adore them all but I cannot fully explain how many times I've told them that while I'm not legally married, Andrea and I are in fact a couple.
One of the girls saw my ring and asked if I'd gotten married. I said no, but that Andrea and I bought them together. For most people that's sufficient explanation. I don't have to say "yes, she's my Lesbian Lover," not that I'd say that anyway, it's far too tacky, but sounds kind of funny, in a way. However, for this young friend of mine, it wasn't enough. She just didn't get it and started going on about how we must have done it "just for fun."
I opened my mouth to explain the difference between the rights so easily granted straight people and the few that my gay bretheren have had to fight so hard to get but I stopped. I was also prepared to discuss how my relationship with Andrea is not a hell of a lot different than the heterosexual ones that surround us, except for the obvious lack of a penis (thank god. Eww.) and the sheer amount of processing that I think is inherent to female-only relationships (at least in the whopping two I've been part of in my lifetime) and chastise her for assuming that our commitment is any different than that of her parents. Because it's not. In some ways, I think it's harder because at some level the world really is out to get you. But I did't tell her any of that. Instead I told her that no, it wasn't just for fun (though being with Andrea is, in fact, quite fun a lot of the time) and went back to talking to my teammate.
Why I Continue to Captain Teams
This from one of my favorite players (hell, everyone on the A-team II are my favorite players. Not to say that my other teams aren't great, they all are, but the A-team II has the highest concentration of my friends outside of hockey than any of the others.)
"You are a terrific captain Liz- so many people get encouraged to keep playing because of your and Andrea's great attitudes. Last nights team was an example. I believe we all get whopped sometimes but still loved playing nonetheless. You know, it is a wonderful thing to have, a team like this."
You're damn right, Mary, our team is hella fun. And thanks for the kind words, how'd you know I needed a little reinforcement right now?
Garage Sale Success and Cockroaches -- From the Sky!
Friday night, I ran out of work at 5 to pick up a rental truck, which we packed full of crap from our basement to sell at Heidi's Garage Sale. Our neighbors all sauntered out to see what was going on, most assuming that one of us was moving out. The annoying neighborhood kids wanted us to just give them a number of items, standing around the lip of the truck as Andrea was packing it, asking about this and that. YO! It's just junk. Give me some cash and the junk shall be yours. Otherwise, GO AWAY!
I swear, I'm ready to have children. I really am. Just not those children.
Saturday we rose at 7:30 (yes, this sucked as much as you might imagine) and got to their house around 8:30, in time to learn that some of our junk had already sold, despite the fact that the sale was supposed to start around 9. From that point on, the traffic was brisk, much more so than I would have dared to dream. We didn't make a ton of money, in part because it really was a lot of junk. Turns out that garage sale shoppers are pretty savvy about their junk awareness levels.
I snuck to the backyard to eat a little lunch and was chatting with Marc, minding my own business (if you wanted to know) when from the sky fell a very stunned cockroach. It landed about 8 inches in front of me and just laid there while I screamed like a girl for Marc to do whatever men should do about bugs. Which in the end was stepping on them, then kicking the carcass out of the way. While I don't want to have a man around all the time, largely for philosophical reasons, it was super nice to have someone step in and take care of that little cockroach while I sat cowering in my lawn chair.
The two best questions asked by Garage Sale Shoppers:
- Do you have any bathing suits? This was asked by an older woman who strode purposefully from her car directly to us with just that question in mind. Personally, I can't think of anything I'd like to buy less at a garage sale than a bathing suit, except maybe underwear. Ick.
- Where's the nearest church? There's just no way I can comment on that.
Ow! My Ass!
Despite the added ass protection provided by my lovely new hockey pants, my left butt cheek hurts after yesterday's fall. Given the medley of developing bruises on my arm that have accompanied the ass pain, I feel safe in asserting that the pain is lessened by my new pants. But still, ow!
The good news? I played well at Redwood City on Saturday, had fun, ran it up a couple of times and made more than a handful of really good passes. I even got a really great compliment from one of my fellow skaters about how much I've improved since she saw me play last. Playing there is a total blast, the level is pretty even (and not that low) and the people are very nice. Going back there has been a great decision, though it has spoiled me in a very critical way: everyone can stop. And if they can't, they just skate a little slower into the boards rather than going full-speed, pell-mell into whoever may be in the way.
The bad news? Both A-Teams had lame-o losses yesterday and I banged my shoulder up again. The first game was against my least favorite team. Why? Because they have no respect for the fact that we all have to go to work tomorrow and just plow into anyone who's in their way. I did quickly learn a way around this: let them run along the boards, force them to stop in the corner, then tap them lightly on the back which will of cource make them fall over. Once they've fallen, the puck will be loose, nobody be around because the ENTIRE TEAM is posting around the net, and I can skate the puck out of the zone. This works.
Except for one time, it didn't. I ran behind the net to pick up a loose puck and the guy who'd been thinking about going for it saw me coming and decided not to make a move for it or to move at all. So I went full-speed into a little brick wall of a man, leading with my right arm, which also houses my still messed-up right shoulder. It knocked me on my ass, I landed sitting up and when I looked up, the guy was standing there looking at me like he was ready to throw a punch. Um, hi, you decided not to move, I was just going for the puck. I ignored him and skated away, a little shaken.
The second game was totally fun (I just ADORE the A-Team 2. We're at times a giggling mess and don't win all that often, but we're having a blast. I'm very glad that I get to play with so many of my friends instead of a bunch of strangers the way other new teams are sometimes forced to pick up to fill out their roster.) but we lost. Bad. 8-2 and our esteemed goalie Chuck may have broken a finger. But we had fun. And giggled.
I have a medley of bruises on my arm and am pretty sore from all that thrashing around. But I had fun. And giggled with my friends.
Heh. Top 5 Public Restrooms. In case you were looking for the best places to do your bidness, here they are. Note that #5 is a Waffle House!
Changing names is a pretty popular undertaking for the music biz. Prince did it. So did Diddy, and now Madonna takes a stab at a new name as she reveals that she now goes by Esther....>>>read more
I know people change their names everyday but something about this is just kinda funny.
What a Load of Crap!
Last night was a hockey-free night. I know, weird. We watched Thirteen, which was both compelling and disturbing. I'm aware that kids are "growing up" faster these days but to watch a 13 year old doing all kinds of drugs (nothing I recognized, and that's really okay. I do not need a large drug vocabulary!), having all kinds of sex and stealing stuff kinda threw me.
Partly because I remembered how easy it was to be so dramatically influenced at that age. Hell, I was so unpopular then that I would have probably at least tried some of that crazy shit, if it meant I could sit with the in crowd, even for a day. Well, maybe not. I seem to remember myself being a bit of a prude about crap like that, even then. But I know that desperation all too well. Sometimes I think that desperation clouds so much of who I am today. But then, sometimes I don't. Besides, I don't really talk about my early years here, I'd prefer that you think I emerged as a fully formed, reasonably confident adult at 24.
Anyway, after the movie, we started in on the Great Garage Sale Readiness Project of 2004. So far we have 14 boxes of stuff to sell, along with these cheapass headboards the former homeowners left behind for us (thanks, really!) and a couple of tables I bought at a yard sale when I lived in Eugene. I was standing there, asking the guy I assumed was the owner of the stuff how much he'd take for them, when the real tenant came screeching up to the place, pissed that his landlord was selling his stuff to make up for the non-payment of rent. Doh. I walked briskly to my aging Toyota van with the tables in tow, hoping for a quick getaway but the tenant came running after me, asking how much I paid for them. I told him to ask his landlord and prayed my van would start.
It did and we (I'm a little embarrased to say I can't remember which gf was with me at the time) got outta there lickety-split. Those were the days. Okay, maybe not really. But they're over now and the tables need a new home.
It *ALL* Hurts
Five days of hockey (in a row) is just too much, even for hockey whores like myself. All of my joints ache and I'm walking like I'm 85, all stooped over and slow-like. My game last night wasn't as strong as the previous four nights had been. It stands to reason but I still hate getting burned, even for a couple of steps by someone I know I can beat when I'm even a teeny bit more rested than I was.
What I have to remember is that even an off night like last night is still better than a good night a year ago. I have to remember that I didn't start this as a kid, that getting to the point I am today has been four years of a lot of work. In the end, I'm still doing pretty damn well.
I recognize that nobody's handing out trophies or offering me a contract to play on a (non-existent) professional team, but I've done something just as important as that: I've set a goal and followed through with it. That taught me more about myself and my own capacity for change than anything I've ever done.
That said, I'm retiring from hockey.
Today is my last day in a five day hockey stretch. While I still love playing and forget all about the soreness I'm feeling right now (not to mention how damn sick I felt last night. Note to self: beef is not good for me) I still need a little more rest than I've been getting.
I do not understand how the NHL guys do it, playing hard night after night. Studs.
I read through some of the pages Iams sent me, detailing how nice their animal testing facilities are. I even watched video which was supposed to illustrate how happy their dogs are, and indeed the dogs (all beagles, of course) in the video have wagging tails and appear to have a connection with their handler. However, I looked closely at the place, a small (albeit clean) concrete play yard filled with some agility equipment, surrounded by chain-link fencing. According to the site, the dogs get to go there for all of 30 minutes a day, 5 days a week. Never mind the studies done on the, which include having blood drawn (okay, that I'll remain calm about) and BIOPSIES. Yeah, they're taking little parts of these dogs' bodies and examining them so they can sell more dog food in the end.
Prisoners on death row get more time outside than these dogs. Prisoners who are convicted of killing another person. Prisoners who are not subject to medical expiriments. What have these dogs done to deserve that kind of life? And how dare Iams try to convince me that they're doing those dogs a favor. Sorry, you're not. You're just not.
Can you imagine having a dog who you kept in a cage all the time, save for 30 minutes a day, 5 days a week, when you let it out into a yard without grass or any kind of greenery? The dog would go mad and your neighbors would turn you in, but somehow, Iams is a grand example of humane treatment because they do it in a lab. That's just great.
Just to be fair to both sides, here is Iams' response to me. Note that they continue to do animal testing and even though they are trying to be more responsible about doing so, in the end, that still means innocent dogs living out their lives in cages. Sorry, that's just not good enough for me,not when there's a reasonable alternative (Wysong) that doesn't do that AT ALL and magically, it seems, still makes a good product.
Thank you for taking the time to contact us about our nutritional feeding studies. You've received some incorrect and outdated information. An extreme activist organization continues a misleading campaign featuring footage that's more than a year old of a facility we no longer use. This inaccurate account includes examples of dogs and cats that were not part of our studies, and makes claims of activities that we never authorized.
We want to be perfectly clear: Iams will not fund or participate in any study requiring or resulting in the euthanasia of cats or dogs. This principle is just one of eight points in our strict research policy that is approved by an independent Animal Care Advisory Board. The members of our Advisory Board are from respected animal welfare organizations such as the ASPCA and the Humane Society of the United States (HSUS). We chose these individuals because they share our interest in reducing, refining, and replacing animals in research.
In addition, the Advisory Board conducts unannounced visits to review the care and welfare of the dogs and cats participating in our feeding studies at our internal and external sites.
To see a summary of recent facility reports, to view video footage of animals in our care, or to review our research policy please visit our web site at www.iamstruth.com.
You can also see a facility report by utilizing the following URL: http://www.aspca.org/site/PageServer?pagename=iamsresearch
Other important information we'd like to share:
We support the ultimate elimination of laboratory feeding studies as scientifically valid alternatives become available. Iams is actively working with external partners to develop new research methods in pet nutrition which do not require laboratory feeding studies.
We are taking full responsibility for the destiny of all dogs and cats that participate in our feeding studies at both internal and external sites. Our dogs and cats are either adopted into loving homes or placed in the Iams retirement center when they no longer participate in our feeding studies. This is unprecedented in the pet arena; we know of no other company that is taking this level of responsibility for the ongoing well-being of all dogs and cats with whom they work.
We are proactively sharing the Iams Welfare Program for dogs and cats in an effort to make it the norm. An Iams Behaviorist has shared our socialization and enrichment program with shelters, veterinarians and others to illustrate that it's possible to enrich and socialize in such an environment. In addition, we recently presented our program to others in the pet food industry. We are committed to continual improvement in this area and are looking to adopt best practices in animal care and nutritional research wherever they are created. We will continue to actively search and reapply good ideas from around the world.
Thank you again for taking the time to contact us and for giving us the opportunity to respond with the facts. If you need further information or have specific questions, please visit the Web site or contact Consumer Care at 800-525-4267. One of our advisors will be more than happy to speak with you about this very important issue.
Iams Consumer Care, North America
By and large, I'm not overly political (though my favorite Republican wishes I was, so I'd argue with him more. Sorry, Paul!) but when people mess with animals, I get pissed off. Beagles are routinely used in animal testing for all kinds of shit and either killed after a very short, unhappy life, or smuggled out by well-meaning lab workers who sneak them into a rescue, where they'll eventually have longer, yet still fucked up lives because they were never socialized properly early in life.
I know the argument, better test that crap on beagles than humans (we can't hurt Grandma, now, but little Buddy, well, we can poison him) but there has to be a middle ground somewhere. I'd like to help find it. Until then, I'm going to be even more conscious about what I buy and I'll continue to speak for the dogs as much as possible.
Can you imagine if someone had decided that my Alice was better used as a lab rat than as a pet? Or our Zeus man? Or Daisy or Buddy or Ben or Betsy, any of the beagles that I've loved in my life...Sad, just fucking sad.
Makes me grateful, in a sick way that adult bassets like Rainie and Patrick just won't fit in a lab cage, let alone big guys like Gus.
This whole thing has me so mad that I'm forgetting to breathe. Seriously, I'm light-headed right now. F Iams and the dogs they torture in the name of profit.
And why is profit always the 'get out of jail free' pass for companies, why is it okay to forsake basic kindness and compassion if you can make a buck? Is that really what our forefathers intended?
My dogs have been eating Iams food for a while with what I'd consider excellent health results. Until now, I've had no complaints about the quality of the food, and I still don't.
However, a visit to the website www.iamscruelty.com today made me change my mind about ever purchasing an Iams product again. I am appalled to see dogs housed in horrible conditions, to see video of beagles not unlike my own being treated so poorly. And for what? To sell more of your food?
Just thinking about it brings tears to my eyes, for all the dogs who must live in such deplorable conditions, and suffer so much, I have to ask what it's worth to your company. I have to ask where the corporate conscience lies, though the message is clear: the profit margin is of more importance to the Iams corporate machine than the innocent lives of the dogs in that facility.
I wanted to let you know that effective today, my dogs will be eating Wysong food, which though more expensive than Iams, is a food created by a company that does not torture the kinds of animals who the food is developed to serve. Maybe the 40 pounds of food per month and huge box of treats that we had purchased makes no impact on your global sales figures, but at least I'll be able to sleep better at night.
I hope that my letter isn't the only one of it's kind, that your mailbox becomes flooded with other ones just like it, that eventually our outcry will be enough to change this policy and that once again, I can serve Iams to my own dogs.
Two Firsts, One Weekend
Saturday, I took a surfing lesson. Because I wanted to, because I could. I signed up online with Girls Adventure Out, then waited for them to call me so I could pay. I know, how messed up is that? They finally called my home, not my cell so literally until 8 pm the night before, I wasn't sure I'd be going. Evidently, they only answer the phone in the office for like 5 hours a day, 4 days a week and the 4 times I called were not in that window. In the end, I brought a check to the class, which seems painfully weak since I'd signed up ONLINE! Fer Chrissakes, people, you can take credit cards via PayPal. If you're gonna have a website, be prepared to take people's money on it. But that's just me.
I woke early and headed to Santa Cruz for the occasion. I had printed out directions to the beach from the Adventure Out website, naturally I didn't notice that they stopped about a half mile short of the actual beach so I did a fair amount of wandering around until I found the place. At this point, I was determined to go ahead with it, so I wandered longer than I normally would have. The instructors were like, total surfer dudes and very nice. We learned all the basics, practiced standing up on land a million times, then headed into the ocean in our sporty rental wetsuits.
What they hadn't mentioned was that balancing on the board in the ocean was much more challenging than you can imagine. Just paddling out to wait (and wait and wait) for waves took a ton of effort to not get knocked off the board by the motion of the ocean. They encouraged us to sit up on the boards, looking out at the (non-existent) waves, not mentioning that this was also quite difficult. Just when I'd get to a semi-upright position, a small wave would knock me right off. I'd make this loud 'kerplunk' sound when I fell in, so of course everyone would look. Hello, yes that's just me, falling off the stationary surfboard.
I sort of rode a couple of waves in and almost stood up twice. I also lost a contact and had a runny nose for the entire time. In the end, I'm just not sure it's fun. But I did it so there it is. Liz Doughty, Master of (finding the place to go) Surfing.
Later that day...
Andrea had a practice and I went as an extra coach since I've officially removed myself from goalie duty for the time being. I spent some quality time with the goalie who was there, helped her figure out what was up with her angles down low, then we headed off to Redwood City for my triumphant return. That was a blast, I felt very comfortable and seemed to know more of the skaters than the last time I'd played there so it was all good.
Sunday was the big day. I played in my first ever Blue game and as far as I can tell, I Did Not Suck. I got to play with Lisa, who usually plays with me on the Seals so I know we work well together. We were only scored on once, not bad considering that we let in 7. Nobody really got by me (except that once) and after I adjusted to how fast they took the puck from me, they stopped taking it and I started making decent passes. I refused to get nervous, I knew I could play at that level (thank you Seals, for that piece of confidence) and I did. I played Blue and I held my own.
Besides, Blue goes with my sporty red pants better than maroon, so it's decided. I'm gonna make Blue in the fall, so I clash less.
I'm not sure what the dillio was with my blog but I've managed to ressurect it and given over (at least in the short term) to the lovely built-in goodness of the blogger templates, which don't like tables. I personally like tables but what-ever.
So I went home at lunch and saw three of the four dogs when I first walked in. Okay, great, glad to see you but where the hell is Zeus? He's getting a little more deaf, a little more slow, yes, a little less annoying, sad to say and a little more blind every day but I'm still surprised when he doesn't come running to greet me. So I went to the kitchen to check on him (yes, we have 5, count 'em 5 dog beds available but Z likes a crate so a crate he has. He's NEVER locked in there, though, he wanders in and out of his own free will), he was all stretched out in his crate (I almost said cube there) when normally he's curled up in the smallest ball possible. And he didn't hear me walking or the other dogs barking. I tried not to panic as I leaned down to see what he was up to, calling his name with no response.
After what seemed like an hour, he finally opened one eye and slowly sprang to life. I finally breathed again.
Z man, don't you leave us yet. My bladder needs to be stepped on in that very special way many that only you do more times yet!
A Bout of Tourette's!
Little known fact: Ethiopian food is yummy. Delicious and tasty. Yes, a little bit on the gas-producing side but so yummy. There's a place right around the corner from us that I adore, but since they remodled, it's become the Party Place, playing super loud (what I assume is) Ethiopian music that I don't enjoy nearly as much as I enjoy the food. But, there's an equally spectacular place a little further away, one that used to be a coffee shop and is now the Queen of Sheba (Alameda and Naglee, in case you searched for Queen of Sheba), yet still serves a full lineup of diner food. Pancakes and Wot. Wot's not to like?
As good as the tasty food is the names of the dishes. Things like Alicia Fitfit (Andrea's favorite), Yemisir Wot, Kitfo, Zilzil tibs (backwards that's sbit Lizliz, heh) are just awesome and funny. So yesterday, I told Andrea not to have a fitfit, to which she replied, "WOT?" starting me on great peals of laughter. I shared the joy with Carol, who I now sit near, (she introduced us to the Queen of Sheba) so now I keep hearing "WOT?" from over the cube wall and I'm beside myself with mirth.
But I'm doing my best not to have a fitfit.
The new sofa has arrived, in all it's lovely, dog hair-free glory. It was heavy, but not too heavy and all went well. The best part? The old, nasty-ass couch is already gone, thanks to the miracle of curbside pickup. Woo! Bye bye nasty couch, hello recliner!
Now that we both have real incomes and are accruing vacation time again, we're thinking about taking a Real Vacation. I realized that almost every trip I've taken with Andrea has involved visiting family or going to hockey tournaments. While both of these activities serve their purpose, they don't allow for Real Grown-Up Fun (No, you perv, not just *that* kind of fun), let alone enough time to get on each other's nerves. No, they can reduce you to the person you were when you were twelve, at least when visiting family. The minute I step off the plane and see my expectant parents, I become Elizabeth, the surly twelve year old wondering why she's all of the sudden so tall compared to her classmates or (depending on where we go) Andrea speaks mostly Chinese (albeit with almost enough English thrown in that I can grasp what's being said. Sort of, as long as it involves bodily functions or anything related to the word ass. That's all I know in Chinese and I can assure you, it's actually enough to get around with. But that is another story...). We spend our time being shlepped from one uncle/aunt's house or back and forth to my Grandmother's house. While useful for earning karmic points, none of those things add up to anything close to the definition of vacation.
So this year, we're saying "F family visits, let's go to..." And therein lies the problem. Where to go, when money isn't as tight as it used to be, when there's time to go outside of school vacations (yes, I am intending to go back to grad school in the fall but I'm not afraid to skip a week for a Real Vacation). So far, we're considering Tokyo, Europe, a cruise to Mexico or somewhere really cool, or The Mall of America.
Tonight, we're picking up a new-to-us recliner loveseat. That's right, the New Bohemoth is two connected recliners dressing up as a loveseat. Nope, it's not new. What's the point in spending a shitload of cash on something brand-new when our four lovely large dogs would just rip it to shit in a couple of years, the way they did with our current cushioned embarassment?
Incidentally, the couches we have now came from one of the higher-ups at The Worst Job Ever (of which I think there are almost no blog posts, largely from my deep-rooted fear of Ever Discussing My Job in this blog thanks to the many people I know or read who have had bad experiences doing so). I'll admit a secret slice of glee when the couches fell apart so fast, thinking of how they once lived in a very large home in Menlo Park and now were in the ghetto of San Jose, being ripped to shreds by our dogs. I must note for posterity that the person who gave me the couches was actually not the Bane of My Existance at the Company From Hell. But I still thought, "Heh, those couches came from That Company, which is now long out of business and look! there's another spot of barf or pee (when the Roos were smaller and Gus hadn't yet found his continence) or one more rip in the cushions that came from that Bad Place."
Farewell fucked up couch and bad jobs. I won't miss either of you.
MRI: 2, Liz: 0
Last week I was supposed to have an MRI done on my shoulder. I was totally sick, nauseous and pretty sure I couldn't lay down for more than a few minutes without barfing. Had I done my homework, I would have known before I changed out of my clothes, before I laid down on the big table at the entrance to the MRI chamber, that the process would require me to lay down (yes, horizontally) for 45 minutes without moving. So I sprang up off that table and left, rescheduling for today, when certainly, I'd be feeling better.
But today came and I woke at 5:30 am, once again nauseous and unsure I could lay there. The thought of being in that loud chamber, of being still, of fighting the urge to barf for that long was just more than I could bear. I called and cancelled the appointment, refusing to reschedule. I had no idea that I had issues with small spaces but apparently I do. Lame.
The Surrender of the Pants
I give up, I have placed my Synergy Pants up for sale on the world's online marketplace. Bye bye pants, may you live a happy life in the gear bag of a long waisted person who can fill you out properly.
I'm totally tired today. Why? Because we stayed up until 3 am watching The L Word. It's not as well-written as Queer as Folk but it's more relevant since they're almost all women. Of course, they're women who look nothing like the real-life lesbians I know (no, I do not live in L.A., so maybe they are representative and I don't know better) with high-profile jobs and tons of education, which is again, different than many of the folks I've known (especially my counterparts in the midwest, where it seemed like every dyke I met worked for the vending machine company and sported a mullet) but hey, cool. The only thing better than watching dyke drama unfold in real life is watching it on TV. Especially when they get it right like those nice people at Showtime do.
In case I don't mention it enough, it's quite rather very cool that Andrea enjoys watching me play hockey and that she supports my efforts to play more often/better by not giving me shit when I skate a lot. Many of the men and women I play with have to negotiate with their wives/partners to get to even one game a week, but I'm lucky. I am free to play as much as I want/can afford and Andrea either plays along with me, cheers for me (loudly and with great gusto) or does something else. Thanks, Loo. You rock the rink and my world.
Thank you for coming home at lunch (even though the noise of you coming through the front gate scared me a little) and for sneaking me some cheese when Rainie and Patrick weren't looking.
Gus, who is a lover of cheese, like his mom
This week, I'm going to start playing at Ice Oasis once again. Their women's league is a bit smaller than the NCWHL (6 teams total compared to 4 divisions, with 3-4 teams/squads in each) but has a very solid level of play, one that helped me get ready for both the Seals and Maroon last year.
When I wasn't working, they were very generous to me, letting me pay my way via a scorekeeping gig. But when I worked at IKEA, I was too tired to work all day at that silly store, play my own game, then sit in the box scorekeeping until almost midnight, so I stopped playing there. Thanks to my most excellent real job, I'm able to return now and pay my own way. Woo!
Grandma Ain't Deaf!
This spring, my Grandma became partially deaf in a big hurry. It seemed strange to everyone, but there wasn't a good explanation for it and since she's not exactly the picture of health right now, we all just figured it was another body part failing her.
Until someone (it isn't clear whom, there's apparently some discussion over who to credit for this idea) in the family decided to arrange for an ear doctor to come out to Grandma's house (aka her Crib, and yes, she could easily point to her big Laz-Y-Boy and say, this is where I get my knit on). Lo and behold, the culprit was discovered -- Grandma has been inflicted with a large buildup of ear wax! So now my mom has to Wax Off Grandma, a process that involves some sort of device and liquid flushing. Eww. But I'm glad Grandma will be able to hear while she's watching the Price is Right or knitting. Because the voice of Bob Barker (aka the Silver Fox) means a lot to her. And my mom is tired of shouting.
Given that every time I so much as dress in goalie gear, my shoulder hurts for at least three days afterwards, I just temporarily, indefinitely resigned as a goalie. F that.
In other news, I skated in my brand-new (to me) pro return Blue Jackets pants yesterday. They are in fact, the same pants that the pros wear, that my favorite team of pros wear, a jaunty bright-ass red with padding in all the right places. Both A-Teams played yesterday, back to back and I got to sport my new pants for 3 hours straight. They felt so good that I wanted to just hang around the rink afterwards, wearing my new pants. Woo! Pants!
The A-Team I won, posting our second shutout of the season, a 3-0 win over the Mug Shots. We remain in first place, remain undefeated. My brother popped in a beautiful goal, a roofer over the goalie's back. I think that was the game winner and everything. Nice job, yo. The A-Team II had another loss, 3-1 against the Ice Monkeys, but it was fun so, cool.
Animal Rescue Flunkie
It's just as well that I hardly do rescue anymore because I've absolutely lost patience for people who can't seem to provide for their animals. Last night, I got a call from a woman who had my number only because she'd called about adopting Heed (now known as Roscoe and living a happy, only-dog life) and I'd turned her down.
She'd gone out and 'rescued' an unneutered beagle from a backyard breeder (in case it's not obvious, any real rescue will spay/neuter the animal before you get to adopt them). Naturally, that breeder won't take the dog back and since she had my phone number, well, could I place this dog BEFORE THE WEEKEND? Hi, it's 9:30 on Thursday night. Are you nuts? Do you think I'm a goddamned miracle worker?
So I called her back and chastised her for giving us no notice, for not having neutered him yet (she's had him for three months already!) and for deeming him expendable "Buddy has to go..." Admittedly, the lady has a lot of crap going on in her life and while I sympathize, I do, I couldn't help but thinking what would have happened to Heed, had he gone to her. He would have had another few happy months then been returned to us again, breaking his silly, dopey heart once again. I even said "I'm sure glad I didn't place my dog with you" and the clincher "If Buddy was a child, you wouldn't have this option," which set her off.
I feel bad for being rude to her when she's got a lot of shit going on. However, if I don't speak for the dog, this living, breathing, expendable part of her life, this little guy who has a soul and feelings, who will? And yes, I made sure that Buddy has a place to go. He will eventually get a good home, I'll make sure of that.
Funny. Just visiting the doctor did not make me magically feel better. I did get some drugs for the nausea though and once again had to convince her that there's really no chance of me being pregnant (Her: "Well, you wouldn't be nauseous just yet from that..." Me: "I'm still gay, so there's no chance there..." Her: "Oh. I guess it's not pregancy then." Me: "Um, no.") but in the end, just going to the office does not mean that I'm feeling better. Lame.
It's been a big day already. The Cube Movers came to my desk way early and were packing my crap when I arrived this morning. I guess 'late in the day' means 10 am. Now I know.
I've moved to a totally pimpass window seat, where I have a fantastic view of not a parking lot but of planes, real live planes taking off from San Jose International. For reals. So next time you take off from there, be sure to wave at me, I'm in the low white building on your right, watching you. I mean working.
It's a lot quieter over here than in my old area, save these two engineer guys who keep speaking loudly in their heavily accented native tongue, interspersing words like "DATABASE" and "SERVER" with what sounds to me like jibberish.
I'm finally going to the doctor about this whole feeling like shit thing. We'll see how that goes.
Here's a Little Trip Down Memory Lane
I love everything my tour guide is saying!
Wow! That's fascinating! Please tell me more about ancient China.
Doing my part to hold up the Great Wall.
The only ray of sunshine in all of China, and I find it.
This is just like being in Mary Poppins!
Look! Sea Monkeys!
Maybe they'll stop staring at me if I look like this.
Thugs. Yes, it was as cold as it looks.
Liz Doughty, Master of Snowboarding
Hey, nice pagoda!
Liz Doughty, Master of Falling Down
Is that a trash can? Perhaps just a jar for spitting.
I realized that I'm really not having fun skating in maroon. While the level of play is more interesting than red was, there's a fair amount of cliquish-ness that just rubs me the wrong way. In red, I knew everyone and got to sub a lot, in maroon I've never been asked to sub. Not once. And the social part that I adore about red and green is just not there for me in maroon. I'm glad that I'm a green goalie and a red coach, so I'm around my friends part of the time.
But the maroon situation is just sad. Given that, the goal has become to work my ass off and make blue sooner rather than later, since I have a lot more friends in blue than in my own damn division.
The only real upside to being so sick to my stomach is that I just don't want to eat. I've had one (sort of) decent-sized meal since Sunday and even that was pushing it, I felt like crap afterwards. But maybe this will be that all-important jump-start that my diet needs and I can look back on this time as The Week I Couldn't Eat and Lost 5 Pounds. Which would of course be followed by the Summer I Learned to Eat Right and Lost 30 Pounds.
Wouldn't that be nice?
I have some serious B.O. right now. I would imagine that's from being sick, but at any rate, I'd strongly suggest you keep your distance from my bad (smelling) self. P.U.!
There's something a little bit freeing about feeling so terrible that I don't want to eat. I have more time to fix bugs and don't need to worry about where to go for lunch, if I have enough cash, do I have anyone to eat with, etc. I can just be here at my desk, working. And stuff.
This marks the second year in a row that I've gone to that silly tournament and been part of a losing team, then come home feeling like crap (though this year, it's a different, better kind of crap). The Seals posted a big fat goose egg this weekend, playing 2 of the worst games we played all season. The third game was actually pretty good, though we blew it in overtime. Our last morning there, I woke up with some variety of food poisoning, so in addition to being bummed about losing, I got to spend some quality time with the hotel bathroom.
Today, I still feel like crap, so much so that I had to back out of the MRI I'd waited 6 months to get. Silly me, I didn't realize you have to lay there, flat, for 35-40 minutes. I knew there was no way I could do that without puking so it was a waste of time to get up at 7 to get there. Now I have to go back next week instead. Yuck.
The good news about the trip? There was no:
- Being drunk at breakfast
- Internal breakdowns on the team
- Team drama (that I know of)
- Seriously stupid actions on my part