Can someone please explain to me what is happening in the crotchetal region?
It’s okay, he unfollowed me like two seconds later.
I wouldn’t even follow me on twitter.
In light of a breakup, the purging process is important. Things are piled into a cardboard box and the awkward exchange happens. It’s a bit like divorced parents meeting up in a McDonald’s parking lot to deliver kids as per custody terms.
A few nights accompanied by bottles of wine and movies with Colin Firth (or other babe of your choosing) and things start to look up. But mirrors are the worst and you hate your hair, keep the change train rolling.
This is not something to be entrusted at an establishment with 15 dollar cut and dry coupons. The time has come and you can and should spoil yourself. A happenstance walk-in to some salon you’ve never been. The receptionist is sweet and so fashionable its almost off-putting. Not a place you should be in worn out sneakers and dirty hair pulled back. But you smile anyway “Hi do you have any stylists available? Hopefully now before I changed my mind?”
“Of course! Kris had a last minute cancellation. Were you looking for a cut, color or both?”
“Everything.” It comes out in an unintended growl. “I mean, I will see what she thinks.”
“Kris is actually a ‘he’ if that’s alright.”
“Yes, that’s fine. I will just have a seat then?” The weird fancy chairs are actually comfortable and the magazine selection doesn’t suck (hey look, a copy of Bitch!). There’s coffee and tea for the wait.
A tall man wanders over. “Hi, I’m Kris. I’m your stylist today,” he beams.
WHAT IN THE FUCKING SHIT IS THIS? How is his long, dark hair just kinda flowy and breezy indoors? That slightly unbuttoned shirt? So rude. Do not try and peek at the chest hairs. Even if you can count them…
“So if you’ll follow me to my station, we can chat about what you like and get you shampooed.”
Right, so follow. Uhm don’t check out his ass. Ahw fuck, it’s like THERE. And you’re behind him. So just…you know…take a look. No harm in that. What a glorious bum, sweet baby jesus.
“Can I…take your hair tie out or can you for me?”
That accent, the slight…something. It’s pleasant. He can talk. He doesn’t seem like the annoying hair stylist type.
“I got it…So yeah, the hair is a dirty mess. Please don’t laugh at my roots, ok? I’ve been too broke and lazy to take care of them…Oh god the split ends. Wow.”
“It’s okay! It’s really not that bad. I will take care of you today. Don’t worry. What kind of cut and color do you want?”
“Seriously? No guidance or anything like that?”
“Its only hair. It grows back. Color is changeable. I want something new.” A new apartment, a new boyfriend, a new job, a new old car, a new city to live in, new favorite places that are mine…
There’s a mural on the ceiling, so there is something to look at while getting shampooed. No boring squares to count. But a picture with a soothing mix of colors. Kris still happily chatters as he delivers a scalp massage worthy of inappropriate moaning. But don’t do that. Or stare at his hair falling across his face. Colors, there on the ceiling. Take that in.
Kris mixes colors and quickly foils. The goo in the bowls a bit of a mystery, given how dye develops. He stands in front of the mirror, so the color is still unknown but there’s an idea of what it is as chunks of hair tumble.
“Alright, this a good change?” Kris asked when he finished drying and styling every hair to perfection. “You don’t have to worry about it, wash and go and you’re gorgeous.”
“Thank you. It’s perfect.”
“Awesome. I’m glad you like it. Be sure to come back soon. Not just when some bastard breaks your heart,” he says with a wink. “Here’s my card. The number on the back in my cell. I’d love to take you out for a drink. Or to a hockey game. Even if you cheer for the wrong team.”
“Wrong team? You’re the one with poor choices in teams!”
NHL Disney Princes: my weird series of like, revisionist fairy tales but not. Nominate a player you’d like to see. Also accepting villains too. This is what I am doing to entertain in the off-season. Please light prayer candles and hope we don’t have another lockout to deal with.
I MEAN ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME? WHY DIDN’T YOU CALL THAT GODDAMNED PENALTY. I WILL KEY YOUR FUCKING CAR, REF. AND POUR SUGAR IN YOUR GAS TANK. OH FOR THE FUCK OF SHIT, YOU WEREN’T EVEN TRIPPED. YOU DRAMATIC DIVING MOTHERFUCKER. WALK IT OFF, OK? I MEAN IF I COULD CLIMB THIS FUCKEN GLASS I’D GET OUT THERE AND SCORE THE GODDAMNED GOALS MYSELF BECAUSE OBVIOUSLY YOU CAN’T BOTHER TO DO SO. FUCKING HELL, YOU’RE KILLING ME SMALLS. JESUS, IS THIS PERIOD OVER YET? THIS HAS BEEN THE WORST GODDAMNED TWENTY MINUTES OF PLAY EVER AND I GOTTA TAKE A PISS. OH AND I NEED A FUCKEN PRETZEL WITH CHEESE. WELL FUCKEN FIGHT ALREADY IF YOU YOU’RE GONNA KEEP CHIRPING. GOD I DON’T EVEN KNOW WHY I WATCH THIS TEAM SOMETIMES. ITS LIKE THEY FUCKEN HATE ME AND DON’T WANT ME TO BE HAPPY BECAUSE THEY HATE TRYING TO WIN A CUNTING GAME. SOMEBODY HIT SOMEONE I AM SO FUCKEN BORED. JESUS FUCKING HOLD ME, I HATE OVERTIME. I’M GONNA FUCKEN DIE BECAUSE I CAN’T BREATHE. JUST TELL ME WHEN THEY WIN, OK? I CAN’T FUCKEN WATCH.
Because I like to inflict pain upon myself; I looked up the top selling items on Shop.NHL.com. Then I saw this.
I have no words. It’s super creepy. And $25. I’m too scared to see what other players have plushies in the shop. So did Patrick sign off on this?
I lied. Curiosity got the best of me. I had to see the rest.
I’m going to the Winter Classic.
Today, we congratulate an athlete for their ability to sign an apology a publicist wrote on their behalf.
Wait, no. Here’s why Cam Janssen’s apology is a load of wank.
So he went on a radio show and thought it’d be a good time to bust out some homophobic language. So today was the day to clean up the mess. The usual phrases were batted around and regret was expressed. Janssen will apparently be involved with You Can Play.
I know people have it in them to change and have a “come to Jesus” moment as I call them (despite being so far from religious). Hey, I love a good story of redemption and learning from past mistakes to become a better person. The problem with Janssen is this is all so effing orchestrated I can see the moves. He’s doing the “I’m Totally Sorry I Said That Thing” press tour. No one talks like that when they are apologizing except those in public relations. Normal people (and hockey players) do not converse in that manner.
In theory it should be a good thing that Janssen is joining You Can Play. But he didn’t come to this decision on his own. He pissed people off and now he’s trying to put bandages on the bloody mess he created. These are just hollow and empty gestures and it’s predictable. It’s why I’m disappointed. And I don’t want YCP to become the program where athletes have ran their mouth go to serve time, so to speak.
Janssen should have had to actually speak on the matter and apologize. I don’t care if he’d have had media coaching for that appearance but it would be him owning up to his words to fix things. Releasing a letter is just passive. I’m willing to be more forgiving of Janssen if he steps up and makes an effort. If he speaks about his missteps on his own, awesome.
For now, this is just a circus.
Look at him. The Hardy Provider. The Able Woodsman. He emerges from the forest with a bunch of animals who are singing Abba songs while he hauls around logs as if they were feathers. You happen upon him because the GPS in your Subaru lost signal the further up the mountain you drove on your weekend getaway with the ladies. Really, its just an excuse to sit around for a few days, not shower, get drunk and eat junkfood. But you’ll tell everyone at the office you were camping. You’ll add: “I tried to fish! But I had no luck.”
You pull over, worried about the gas gauge and if your tires are even intended for this terrain. His hair shimmers in the sun, like glorious wheat! You gasp then remember your predicament. Before you can ask for directions he speaks: ”Hi! I think your tire is a bit low. Don’t worry. I can take care of that. Come on in.”
He waves you into his cabin. The creatures have now started singing Take a Chance on Me. “Oh, I’m Henrik! I live here. Have a seat.” He gestures to a large table, made from a tree stump that has been polished to a mirrored shine. “I have some ice green tea and a flourless chocolate cake I just pulled out of the oven. Would you like refreshments while I check your tire pressure and clean your windshield?”
He doesn’t wait for your answer and busies himself in the kitchen. “Help yourself to the fruit too! I went into town yesterday picked up some things at the farmer’s market. I even found this amazing all natural soap made with hemp!” He holds out his wrist for you to smell. You pause for a moment and think of all the skeazy boys you went to high school with and how their scent of pachouli still lingers; a haunting memory of teenagers unwilling to shower and busted Luminas blaring Phish bootlegs.
You inhale the sweet scent, a tinge of spice and a perfect balance of lemon. “I really like that.”
“The woman gave me a free bottle. You can take it!” Henrik beams. His teeth, you can count them all. His smile should be obnoxious like a Ken Doll. It’s not when it is framed with that wonderful scruff. Such a delightful texture and your fingers grip the edge of the table so you don’t act out innappropriately.
Instead, “This is a wonderful table,” you say and admire the dark grain.
“Oh really?” Henrik says almost bashfully. “I made it. And the chairs too. The couch…” he points across to the living room, “it’s in progress. I’m learning how to upholster. I found this amazing sofa someone was throwing in the trash, so I tossed it in the back of my truck and decided to use the fabric. Upcycle, you know? Help the environment.”
You finally take a swig of tea because you cannot think of something to say. You half hope the tea is poisoned so you can die in the presence of the perfect man. But the tea doesn’t kill you. And, really? Are you kidding me? He makes the execution Lipton tea bags seem like an art form.
Looking around at the bright paintings on the wall, that you quickly figure out he made. His sturdy boots have splotches of color on them that match the canvases.
“I’m going to murder my best friends in the lake. And stay here forever,” you murmur as you admire the incredible open floor plan of the cabin.
“What was that? I didn’t hear you,” Henrik says as he sits across the table from you and helps himself to a peach.
“Oh! Nothing, nothing. Thinking out loud.”
Henrik’s eyebrows knit in concern. “How long have you been driving? Based on where I am in relation to civilization, I would guess five hours or so. I was going to make some flatbread pizzas for dinner with carmelized onions and goat cheese. I have plenty to share. Why don’t you rest up, have some food and then I can send you on your way?” he suggests.
There is no slam of your jaw hitting the table to punctuate the silence. A squeak leaves your mouth instead. “Uhhh…well.”
“Don’t worry. I do have HBO out here. We can watch True Blood,” Henrik grins.
“I want to common law marry you since I disagree with the government’s current discrimination of gay unions. I will not marry in protest of the unfairness, but I would very much like to commit to you!” the words rush out. “I don’t need a ring since diamonds are usually mined by children in warzones. But, I am yours.”
“Well, in that case. I will fix up your Subaru tomorrow,” he smiles again. Honestly, at this point you should be blind from the wattage. “More cake?”I’m taking nominations for Princes! Yell at me in the comments or on twitter. I might even do the Villains too. Bwahahah.
When this game was announced, I was giddy.
I still can’t decide if I’m going. The lack of money at the moment made the decision for me, I think.
But another part of me wonders if I’d find the game disappointing and lost in the pageantry. I just don’t know.
I don’t even want to look when I last posted here. I know in the end I really started to phone it in and I am incredibly sorry. But I want to get back at it. I’ve had the itch in my fingers lately and the fire to write again.
It’s a wonderful feeling that almost has me buzzed.
Where did I go? I fell off the grid and on top of that decided to move and press the reset button on my life. I needed something new and to do things for myself so I moved out of Spokane in a bit of a hurry and got back into school. I know, I’m still at it. I still feel awful sometimes when I think about it. But I remember in the process I have taken various breaks so I am theoretically right on track. Also, the idea of graduating into this job market terrifies me. Moving on. I did a lot of self-reflection and all that sort of new age wank about mental assessment after I did move. It was a huge learning process. I left for a variety of reasons which basically boil down to: my heart got shattered beyond comprehension and I ran. It’s okay. It was productive. I threw myself into education. I didn’t end up on a fishing boat in Alaska. Oh yeah, I was looking into that. Seriously.
Circling back though. I miss doing this. I know I burned myself out on it last time but I want to come back because the people were outstanding. Seriously, you’re all aces in my books. I know we’ve drifted apart and all that. I will take the blame on that one. I was busy being selfish and existing on my own metaphorical ice floe alone. And uhm, it started to get to me.
Let’s do this again, alright? This is my Rosie the Riveter, I CAN DO IT pep talk to myself. But it’s not. Because the most wonderful thing about my time writing in this outlet was when people would talk back. I have like the voice of Kanye West in my head telling me to be awesome and excellent. And I think to myself, “yes you should, you were great.” I have this little ball of something that is bursting and exploding on a keyboard seems like a good idea. No, that wasn’t a jerk off joke.
I know a lot of you have moved on, closed up shop or something like that. But hey, there’s lots of newbies. I’ve seen y’all on twitter.
So, hello darlings. Missed you. Pretend I said that seductively.
- Uhhhh can someone help me make a site/get the fuck out of wordpress? I kinda want a fresh start. I welcome ideas and suggestions.
- Accepting petty cash donations for Center Ice and/or nail polish.
- I will write about how the Leafs trading Luke Schenn wrecked me.
I assume you found this site from Puck Daddy. And you were probably disappointed to find there is nothing current. In a short span I transferred schools and moved 300 miles from home. But I hope to get back into the swing of things, looking at the WHL from the greater Portland area (okay, I’m in Vancouver, WA, its just across the river). I’ve got a new angle from my former Chiefs centric life.
I love the Maple Leafs, Dr Pepper and my favorite Muse album is Origin of Symmetry.
In the meanwhile, you can always shout at me on twitter. Or peep my randomness on tumblr.
“The 2010-11 season wasn’t supposed to go this way for the Spokane Chiefs. After losing in the first round of the playoffs to Portland last season, and with top scorers Kyle Beach and Mitch Wahl moving to the next level, the Chiefs were picked to fade into the pack in the WHL’s Western Conference.
But Spokane native Tyler Johnson wasn’t going to let that happen. The overage centre, who has won Memorial Cup and World Junior titles, ranks second in the league in scoring with 106 points. He’s tied with Chilliwack’s Ryan Howse for the league lead in goals with 48. And his leadership, along with breakout years from several teammates, has the Chiefs aiming for the top seed in the West.”
Former Spokane Chief Michael Grabner is NHL.com’s Rookie of the Month.
And I know I’ve let this site die a horrible death. And I feel terrible about it. I’ve been so slammed with school since the big move that well, I had to cut back. I don’t even have cable anymore! I will do my best to throw content up. You can always find me on twitter. Thanks, darlings!
I was feeling good about tonight’s game as the last two Wednesday games have been blowouts (which I haven’t even cobbled summaries for) including one game with a Jared Cowen hat trick. To say I was stunned that occurred would be like merely commenting the ocean is only damp. Plus playingwpoise and I have discovered Wednesday games are more fun when you wear slippers.
Something tonight was just weird. The Chiefs played with random spurts of energy. They put up three goals easy enough and seemed to cruise. Seattle made a good effort to climb back in the game and level up the scoreboard. We ended up in overtime, which I never handle well. And Seattle was quick on the draw and got the game winner.
Major kudos to Thunderbird Burke Gallimore for posting a hat trick and an assists. I’m sorry you couldn’t do it on home ice, darling.
The Chiefs have too many players with last names starting with V, I can’t keep anything straight.
LEVKO KOPER STILL HAS HIS MUSTACHE.