na foine ting

Thursday, January 20, 2005
Note to self: go to the doctor early, and often.

So the doc who checked me out used to be a surgeon up in Redwood city, and routinely stiched up guys who practiced and scrimmaged with the Sharks before they moved down to use Logitech as their practice facility.

She said it was a hell of a whiplash, and told me it was too bad I hadn't come in earlier.

She also wanted to know if he got a penalty. I told her he had.

No recriminations about playing hockey. No comments about coed hockey. No offer of a collar, just a terse "we'll throw everything I have at this and get you back out on the ice as soon as possible."

Which was, of course, exactly what I wanted to hear.

So I got a shot right there and then a whole bunch of really happy pills like Vicodin, Valium, Relafen... I'm drugged out of my mind now, and feeling much, much better.

And the wee leprechauns singing the Zamboni song around my desk are so *very* entertaining...

Tuesday, January 18, 2005
We're driving to school. Gavin is cracking up because I'm singing, opera-style, instead of talking.

"We're al-most aaaat the schoooolllll!"

Giggle giggle giggle.

"Make suuuure you ha-ha-ha-ha-ve your jacket! Your jacket! Your jacket!"

Giggle giggle giggle.

"And get your folder! Your big red folder! The big red folder! Fooooolllldeeerrr!!"


"Sing with me now... 'wouulddd you like me to come stand in liiiiiine with youuuuuu todaaaayyy???'"

Screamed from the back of the car, sustained and I swear with a perfect vibrato, just as I open the car door and many children and parents are standing around: "NoooooooOOoOoooOOOOOOOOOOOooOOOOOOo!!!"

"Bravo!! Bravo!!! Bravo!!!! Bravissimo!!"

I mean, at that point, what else can you do but clap and cheer? I bow to the master, truly I do.


Last night #7 and I continued our antics from the prior game.

I meant to be good. I did.

He probably did too.

It started when I got a little crease happy and he rode me around a while trying to clear me out. Then accidentally knocked over his own goalie. Ooops. You know, "I swear to god that wasn't me" is starting to be my hockey refrain these days.

Anyway, ref whistles it, but no penalty. We should have taken the warning.

I fuck with him, he fucks with me.

In our zone, he has the puck and I more or less hook at him and jostle him hard to take it away. No whistle. He gets pissed. His stick comes up, we sort of spin around each other. I come up under his right arm, and he brings his elbow down.


I'm on the ice. Still, stupidly, yelling imprecations.

I go to the bench. My ear's burning. I'm still pissed off. Eventually I calm down and start chuckling. I look at my center. "Uh, oops," I say. She shakes her head.

This morning, my jaw's stiff, I'm whiplashed and there's a kind of ringed bump around my ear where my helmet impacted.

I've complained vociferously to my workmates, who are to a man (and they're all men) unsympathetic.

Of course, they're right. This is one of those occasions where it is appropriate to say of a woman being hit by a man "she was asking for it."

I was.

And flattered, in the end, that he thought enough of me to not hold back when he gave it.

Thursday, January 06, 2005
Yeah. So.


New baby.

Manuscript due "newyearish." Or part of one.

All this leads to no blogging, for which I apologize. A lot of my writing has gone into the thing I'm working on, which I'm not talking about because I'm 12K words into it and it almost feels like momentum, which can only mean it will explode any minute now.

Tick. Tick. Tick.

How are you??

The Boxing Day party was wonderful. All sorts of fabulous people came and got along witch each other. Hooray.

Powered by Blogger