Hockey for a Cause

New Yorkers, or those who will be in the New-York ish area on September 25th:

Some people from my league will be hosting a charity women's hockey tournament (no blades. no wheels. just on sneakers) at Tompkins Square Park.

The tournament will benefit Girls for Gender Equality, and you can sign up by following this link.

The tournament will be totally lax, so if you've never played or haven't played in a while, don't be afraid to come out.

Here's the promotional video. WORTH IT:

Here's part two if you liked part one:

Takin' Her Out

The very day that Gia gets her rabies shot, she is going to the dog park with me, and she is going to be allowed to run herself ragged.

She is teething, and while I feel bad for her and how miserable she must be, it's not the most fun time for us. She understands "NO," and I know she doesn't mean to bite, and we correct her, and she'll grow out of it, and blah blah blah, but between nipping and her nails, I look like a cutter.

In the words of Marge Simpson, "FOR CRYING OUT LOUD."

I never really understood that expression.

In other news, my hockey team starts playoffs on Sunday. Our first game is at Tompkins Square Park on Sunday. Check it out if you're in the NY area, and you're so inclined.

In other other news, it turns out that I AM smarter than a fifth grader. Also, me and several friends are going to be Bea Arthur for Halloween. Not all the Golden Girls. We're all just going to be Bea.

Last Week; We're Sickly

Gia and I are sick. I have some sort of cough, she has a fucked up colon. We'll both be fine. She went to the vet today, for the third time since we've had her, and while I understand she's too young now, when she gets older, she's getting a job.

FG had two great wins yesterday. I love my team.

Last Friday: Sept. 11th. I won't say too much about it. It was a dreary, sad day, made worse by the rain. The only thing I will say is that I won't get behind this "on this day, we are all New Yorkers," thing, unless on August 29th, people start saying "on this day, we are all New Orleanians."

Sitty had an engagement party this weekend. Congrats, Sitty. Her party was rockin', and we ate a roasted pig. This was made mildly disturbing by the fact that this was the cake:




After you chow on a roast pig, you don't want to have an anthropomorphized one for dessert.

Oh, and by the way, to explain the cake: he proposed to her on a paddle boat in Central Park. Neither of them, for the record, are the least bit overweight.

Anecdotes and Non-Sequiturs

The first:

I was sitting in the coffee shop, listening to two people next to me having a conversation.

Him: Have you seen Monica?
Her: Yeah, she's not doing so well. But it's hard to sympathize, 'cuz she's so annoying.

I do not know these people. They were obviously speaking of a different Monica. But I immediately felt defensive and hurt.

The second:

Boy and I went to a wedding in Madrid a few weeks ago. All was beautiful, and we had a great time. However, if Jesus went to a wedding in Madrid instead of Cana, he would have had to turn the wine into water. I have never been thirstier in my life than I was in Madrid. This seemed like a general consensus amongst the folks I was with. No one had a real reason why.

The third:

I haven't slept in three days. I'm jittery and tired. This week's been bad.

The fourth:

I haven't been even getting pleasure out of hockey these days. Though my team rocks, as usual.

The fifth:

I'm sitting in the coffee shop right now, again, and feeling sorry for myself. This was immediately alleviated, however, when I just heard the opening beats of "That's Not My Name," by the Ting Tings. I defy you to be in a bad mood when you hear this song. Also, two of my favorite people in the world love this song, and they both happen to be under the age of four.

The sixth:

I have re-found a prior love for Jonathan Ames. When me and Boy re-discover our delight in each other, we say we are having a renaissance. I'm having an Amesessance (I AM ALLOWED TO BE A DORK. I HAVE NOTHING ELSE GOING FOR ME RIGHT NOW).

Ladies. All the Ladies. Louder Now. Help Me Out. Come On. All The Ladies.

I have been avoiding this motherfucker like the plague, these days! Every time I try to sit down and blogeroo, I think of four thousand other things to be doing. Usually I don't do those things, either, but that's none of y'alls damn business.

Sunday was a great day of hockey. We played a really wonderful team, and though we won (1-0), it was a scoreless game until four minutes left. It was a matchup of two of the best goalies in our league (and before someone I know has a hissy fit, I said two of the best, not the two best...), which always brings the level of play up.

But Saturday. Saturday I play in a morning pickup game with some people, and I have a bittersweet relationship with the whole deal. For instance, this week: a decent amount of people showed up, mainly men, as always. There were five girls there in total, and four of us were on the same team. Now, usually, certain dudes that we play with would have a freaking canary at the thought of splitting up the girls unevenly. They act like having someone who posesses a vagina on their team is a giant liability, and they like to split up the hazards. These people, obviously, are douchebags. Not just because they think this (there are SO many people that think this, I'm not stupid), but because they say this out loud in mixed company. But this time, the girls happened to be on the team with the nicer dudes, so no one really complained.

This shouldn't matter, but I would like to point out that though I am sadly not one of them, many of these girls run circles around the guys who complain the most. Stellar hockey players, some of my ladies.

What was interesting about this week, however, is that it was the first time I heard someone complain about having to play against the girls. Saying they didn't get a good enough game, simply because the women were all on one side, girls suck, penises rule, blahblahblahblahblah.

Yeah, I know, ladies. All in a day, right?

Pretty much.

Back to Sunday. After the game, most of my team went out to celebrate a bit. This is because my team is made up of spectacular people that I love so much. Gush, gush, gush. Anyway, after we'd been there for about an hour or so, we noticed a group of people come in and sit at a nearby booth. The group consisted of one very extremely loud, large, fratty wanna-be-guido type. Fat dude. Then there was his so-drunk-he-can-barely-standup friend, seemingly normal dude, and three girls. Two girls looked whorish but ok, and one looked like she was going to keel over at any point. She could barely keep her eyes open. I'm saying she was scarily drunk.

So my friends and I glance over. The first thing we notice is that the three dudes are having what seems to be a group hug, though we soon realize that the drunk girl is in the center of this "hug," which now looks like much more of a gangbang than a hug. We look at it askance, but we don't do anything about it. Possibly a mistake.

Drunk girl is wearing a cotton strapless tube dress. This becomes relevent later.

Boys keep dancing with drunk girl (it's not a dancey kind of place), and spinning her around. Boys dip her. It becomes apparant that the girl is not wearing underwear. My friends and I tell girl to watch her dress because it's riding up.

Girl goes to sit in an opposite booth from her "friends," by herself. My people tell girl it is possibly time to go home. My people tell girl's female "friends" it is possibly time to take girl home. Female friends do not listen, girl attempts to leave by herself.

I go outside to watch girl, and to possibly put her in a cab if need be. Girl can not find her wallet.

One of her "friends" comes running out, saying she found Girl's wallet in the pocket of large fat fratboy. He had taken it in an attempt to stop her from leaving. Girl and Girl's friend begin hugging and crying, and I go back inside, disgusted.

Girl comes back inside a few minutes later. Sits at the booth alone again. One of the boys unsnapps her strapless bra from the back, removes it. Another unzipps his shorts, pulls out his penis, pushes it in girl's face.

This all goes down quietly, but Filthy Gorgeous (my team) sees the whole thing. We spring into action. First, girls. My tiny friend DK runs up to giant fat fratboy. He mentions the word "rape." She pushes him. He pushes her back.

It's immediately on. My team defends each other's honor, and that of drunk girl. They finally leave. Or get kicked out. The bartender intervenes, is disgusted by events and the fact that she hasn't seen any of this go down (like I said, it all happened quietly).

Afterwards, DK asks me if I think girl wound up ok. I answer her honestly.
"No."

Short, Senseless Vignettes and One-Liners

People in NY think they're not starfuckers. Maybe they're not. Except for when they are, and pretend they're not, which is it's very own brand of sickening.I was on line for an event the other day (a few months ago, I suppose), and Meryl Streep walked by. The guy on line behind me was practically breaking his neck not to look, and when I realized who it was, I said "wow, was that Meryl Streep?" he said "oh, I never notice that sort of thing."

The other day I was sitting on a two-sided bench at my subway stop, writing blognotes, actually. I was kind of wrapped up in it, until someone gagged into the hood of my jacket. It brought me right back down to earth, folks.

My friend told me today I could be the mother of a 20 year old girl (I love misquoting you, baby!).

I've recently heard more than once from #9. He's called twice, I've been unable to pick up, he's left messages. Once was to see if I wanted to collaborate on a project, and once, I suspect, so I had his new phone number. Though he's not answered either time I've called back (or he'd call back, and I couldn't pick up). Each time, I've loved getting his message.

My birthday was last week. More on that later.

I've been playing a lot of hockey lately, and I'm feeling mixed. But more happy than not.

No good things have ever come after the words "we're supposed to be friends, right?" Today, I learned this, and even though the person was joking, I felt bad. But because I often obsess about other people's lives to avoid worrying about parts of my own, and because I know this, I'm going to try not to get all wrapped up in his problem.

Kid-Me, Hockey, An Old Photo, a Not-So-Old Photo, and Eye Candy

Here's another kid me thing, this time written out instead of scanned in. Spelling and grammar mistakes included. This story is entitled "Debby."

Debby walked into her living room and she saw bubbles. Then Debby remebered that her little brother was blowing bubbles outside. Then Debby smelled soap. She walked into the bathroom and she saw soap but it wasn't her soap. Then Debby said I give up. And To this day Debby can't find her soap. And she wonders evry time she takes a bite of chocolate.

Don't know what that chocolate thing was about.

ANYWAY. My hockey season starts soon, (two weeks), and I'm certainly ready. This is from a game my family came to, last year. They (meaning my dorkass sister and cousin) made signs. Again, spelling mistakes included.


I've been playing a lot lately, and it feels really good. I want to be better than I have been this season. I even got my first official hockey-playing related tip of the season today from my punkass friend. Rock!

Here's a photo from jazzfest a long time ago.


And last but not least, here's some eye candy. Or, at least it's eye candy for me. Though I'm not entirely clear on which part is the candy part. Hmmm.

Back

So it was a bit longer of a hiatus then I'd planned. Oops. I don't have a ton of time right now, but I wanted to get the Naked ball rolling again (heh..."naked ball"), but just to keep you posted, since the last time we met, I:

• Went to Montreal
• Spoke "French" in Montreal, accomplished by putting the word "le" before every English noun and punctuating every sentence with "ahhh, oui!"
• Went to Ottawa (these are not in order)
• Saw 3 junior international junior hockey champion games at Scotiabank Place
• Realized that I never need to see 2 ice hockey games in one day ever again, unless I'm playing in at least one of them
• Saw "The Strangers"
• Saw the Benjamin Button movie
• Saw a real, genuine Montreal junkie
  
• Was scared shitless by "The Strangers" and woke up freaked out about bag-headed people
• Played shinny in Montreal
• Have been entirely smoke-free in 2009, so far
• Listened to my uncle shout the words "TRUE OR FALSE" to my grandmother
• Received a "First Canadian Christmas" package from Boy's brother and sister-in-law, including a can of Molson Canadian and an actual tuque
• Slept for six hours in the back of my friend's car
• Had some very...ahem...satisfying experiences
  
• Saw the rockin' view from my friend's new apartment and played with his dog
• Bought a pink hockey stick from Sport Rousseau
  
• Forgot to take my garbage out before going to Canada, and was pleasantly surprised by its non-stinkiness when we got home
• Read The Heroin Diaries by Nikki Sixx. Not as good as The Dirt, but still damn entertaining
• Want to write more, bitch less

It's also worth mentioning that today, when I told my friend that I had slept with our annoying male Bikhram Yoga teacher (I didn't, but I wanted to see her reaction), she thanked me for trying to spice up the friendship. I laughed for five minutes straight. Also: this guy was someone I totally would have gone for in my younger days. Le Sigh. Young me was so dumb. Ahhh, oui.

Statuses I've Thought About Using When Updating My FaceBook Page

Feel free to weigh in!

Monica...

• never knows how much to tip the pedicure lady.
• never knows what will make her happy.
• wishes she did.
• thinks The Dark Knight could have been a lot shorter.
• thoroughly enjoyed Heath Ledger's performance in said movie.
• is publicly sorry that she waited until the last minute to say she couldn't go to your party with you.
• means that sincerely.
• misses NOLA every day.
• has to deal with the fact that there's someone out there that she wants to speak to that won't speak to her.
• has not dealt well with that so far.
• has done wrong by RA.
• feels alternately wronged and loved by RG.
• would much rather be a cannibal than be Amish.
• is terrified by the fact that she has never experienced writers block to this degree.
• would like to reiterate that: really terrified.
• can feel alternately very close to or estranged from her friends, the same friends, all in one day.
• hates that.
• doesn't care if people say it's disappointing--she will never tire of wanting to meet Tommy Lee.
• also feels that way about Nikki Sixx, but has never heard that it was disappointing.
• is thrilled to pieces about the arrival of her new friend Little T, who gets more freakin' great all the time.
• thinks that if she has kids, she definitely wants them to play hockey.
• thinks that hockey cures (most of) what ails you.
• has learned that there are other things except...ahem...substances that can make her feel alive.
• would be lying if she said they didn't (used to) help.
• thinks that nothing feels better than laughing until it really hurts. Pains.
• has fallen a little more in love with FG this year.
• wants next year to fall into place a little more.
• is wondering why she needs to hide behind fake FB status postings to be "naked."
• needs recommendations for the next good book to read.
• really enjoyed Slow Man.
• wants you to submit to Fat & Happy!
• wishes she could decide.
• thanks you for reading.

Why Do I Do These Things?

I'm about to leave to play ice hockey in Central Park for the very first time. I've never played before, and I have to admit, I'm being a bit whiny about it. It starts late, and it's done even later. But the real reason I'm being a brat is that I'll probably suck at it. If I was about to go embark on a project that I knew I'd be at least competent at, it'd be a little less daunting.

So as of now, I'm whining to Boy. I'll post more when I get back, but it may be after 12 midnight and therefore I won't get it in by November 2nd, and I'd be disqualified from NaBloPoMo on day two.

Later, more.

That's the Fucking Way!

Did you ever see the movie Dodgeball?

Yesterday was the last day of the season for my hockey league. We watched the game from the "stands," though we play at a very rough-around-the-edges park, so there are not actually stands. It's basically a little railing that we stand behind, and we call it the Heckle Wall.

Anyway. Dodgeball. The team that did not win, happily, was a team that reminds me of team GloboGym from Dodgeball, except without the hilarity. They are way better than anyone else in our little league, but not because they've played together forever and persevered. They are the best because they recruit from real hockey teams and college ice teams. This is weird, as we play at a park where homeless dudes pee in the corners and there's dogshit around and we play on sneakers and we drink about 7x more than we play, anyway. This is the type of league it is. It's the sort of league that someone like me, someone who's not totally athletic, can join. This is the sort of league it is NOT: a league where captains recruit players from craigslist with ads in French and Czech to assure the best, scariest, most serious hockey players that grace this earth. They live in Crazytown.

They lost yesterday, and they lost to a team that is fantastic. When I say fantastic, however, I mean that they are good hockey players, freally great people, and personify the friendly/collaborative spirit that our league is all about. The title of this post is their cheer (my team's cheer, incidentally, is "Let's Do This Bitch").

It was such a happy moment. Good won over evil. The entire league was cheering the happy team, and booing GloboGym. It was like a cheesy sports movie, but in real life.

That's all. Congrats Kills.

UGH to the UES; Miscellany...

For some reason, I've found myself having to go to the Upper East Side with increasing frequency over the last week or so. It's made me realize something I truly don't like about myself: I sort of despise people that obviously have more money than me. (I'm talking about folks that drip money, here, not your average joe schmoe who happens to make more of a salary than I do. It's not hard to accomplish.) I don't mean to...but up there people sort of exude money. You can tell, especially, by the haircuts. Not the shoes or the bags or the teeny weeny dressed up dogs (I know, I'm making myself ill with this cliched bitterness), but the chicks in their mid 40's...you can see it in the layers and the highlights. I'm sure none of this would bother me (or, let's be honest, it would bother me less), if I wasn't currently residing in a state of broke-as-a-joke-edness. Generally (here comes another less than mind-blowing revelation), I avoid the area like the plague. Though it is fair to mention that we found a really good park for street hockey, of which I am so fond, up there last Sunday.

Otherstuff: I was in Ozzie's today, trying to get some writing done. I've been sort of blocked, these days, so I started writing about the first thing that popped into my head, just to get the pen moving. What happened to pop into my head was a Morphine song, particularly, the disgust I feel every time I hear it. (The song is "All Wrong.") I have nothing against Morphine...I actually quite like the song, more than quite like it, in fact, as I do the entire Cure For Pain album. It's just that I associate the song with a specific person and a specific thing that bothers me--really, really fucking bothers me--about this person (a person who otherwise ... well I'm just delighted by this person). Since, for me, the whole thing is a particularly charged topic, I was writing like gangbusters. The song, and thinking about it, jerked something loose, and it was on.

Anyway. I sort of lost track of time. When I finally looked at my cell, it had been an hour or so after I started, and please believe it felt like, at the most, fifteen minutes. Not but two seconds after I got up to leave, I shit you not, folks, the motherfucking song came on in the coffee shop.

When I figure out what this is an omen for, I'll let you know. Something, though. Something.