12 Things I learned the past three days:

1. Startling fact #17: I am too old for a babysitter. This is a harsh reality that I have to take care of myself. "I think if you wanted a babysitter, you should marry Mary Poppins."

2. Startling fact #17a: I need to take control of the outside factors to play better hockey.

3. Not-so-Startling fact #10: I don't like getting yelled at. "It makes me feel small and powerless."

4. I don't like interlopers at the coffee shop. [You know them. You're sitting there minding your own business and next thing you know they saddle up next to you with a vague, "Can I sit here?" and proceed to sit down, before you can answer, and unload their crap so you have to move your crap to make room for them. This happened to me on Friday. I was updating my calendar and was using about two square feet of space at the counter. I just wanted to be left alone in peace to drink my coffee. There were 11 empty seats in the coffee shop. WHY DO YOU NEED TO SIT NEXT TO ME???? I've had a rough morning!!! I just want to drink my Joe alone!!! The lady that did this also had some disgusting salad with fish in it. It smelled like ass-fish AND to top it off, she was a SMACK-EATER!! You know them, too. They eat with their mouths open and smack-smack-smack their food. HOLY HELL, GET THE FUCK AWAY FROM ME!!! At some point, I will say this to these rude strangers. I think the only reason I don't is because I'd most likely get banned from the coffee shop and then I'd be very, very sad.]

5. $9 for a salad is just too much freakin money to pay for rabbit food. I got a salad for lunch on Friday at Mad Greens. It was a "Small Build Your Own" and it cost me $8.69. Here were the ingredients:

• spinach (raw, leafy)
• grape tomatoes
• chick peas (canned)
• soy beans (boiled)
• tofu (raw, marinated in ginger vinegar)
• red onions (raw)
• broccoli (par-boiled)
• light on the light red pepper dressing

ALMOST NINE DOLLARS for a salad with a total calorie content of 305??? Outrageous. And it's not like it's the MOST tasty salad ever. It's alright and it feeds the beast, but, really, $9???

6. I got an average of 4.5 hours of sleep each night. Not enough to qualify for my unscientific sleep study and not enough to function well for long. That will be my Sleep Hypothesis #2.

7. The Red Rocks workout is a KICK ASS workout. I burned 2200 calories in the 2.5 hour sweat-fest. Check it out: http://www.redrocksfitness.com/. Holy smokes! It's my new favorite workout. You get to workout in one of the most beautiful outdoor theaters in the world: stairs, stairs, and more stairs, 300 pushups, more dips than I could count, sit-ups with rocks in our hands, resistance bands leashed around our waists as we ran UP the stairs, all to some rocking music to keep us going....whew! SO MUCH FUN! If you are in CO, you should check this one out. And, the guy does it for FREE!!! Just show up and sweat. Oh, bring gloves. That was a lesson learned the hard way...

8. I like drinking with my hockey friends. GKL is my good, good, vodka friend. I love her. Five vodka crans and five shots (give or take a couple...I lost count) are too much in one night, though. I am too old for that, I think. If you do drink that much, make sure you drink an Emergen-C before you go to bed. (Put one in your wallet now so you're prepared the next time because most likely there will be a next time, sometime.) Helps with the morning after.

9. Know what else helps? An EYE OPENER at the RFL. Yummy bloody mary. Possibly the best I've ever had. Highly recommend it. (When you get the "EYE OPENER?" invite on your car the next morning, you accept. It's the polite thing to do.)

10. I like drinking at bars that remind me of MT. RFL could be on any street corner in any town in MT. Cozy. Friendly. No crazy yuppies. And CHEAP drinks! Ahhhhh....the taste of home....

11. If you do drink too much, make sure your good friends take your keys, take care of you and drive you to their house to sleep. Don't try to take their picture though, because you're probably too drunk to hold the camera steady. Thanks He(a)rds for taking good care of me!!!

This is GKL showing me her "juicer."

12. Coach is a lightweight. I edited the other terms used when he left early.

Innuendo from BOD at our hockey game tonight : "I don't know if he's hard but he is coming fast."

A teaser for Friday:

"You're feeling pretty good about where you are, but you're just restless enough to want to look further. See what you can find out beyond your borders--you never know where the next big thing will come from." My beloved Ram of Aries, you big tease!

Oh, I have a perdy good idea!

If I go to sleep RIGHT now, I could actually get six full hours. Okay. Zzzzzzzzzz. See? Three hours last night makes it really easy to nod off just about anywheZzzzzzz.....

"Ze Germans are ze schmartest people in ze worlt!"

I love the German people, I do. But sometimes they make me say, "Was das Bumsen??" [Loosely: "What the f*ck??]

They name the dispensers in their bathrooms, in ENGLISH...crazy English at that.

Lady Killer: These are paper bags for feminine products, I'm guessing...I actually brought one back to add to my scrapbook. [The unused bag, moron!] I just didn't think anyone would believe me if I didn't have proof.





Big Willy: The toilet paper dispenser is my favorite, for OBVIOUS reasons...

Soap Susi: She's a shy, puckish thing with industrial strength soap that will eat the skin from your hands if you leave it on long enough. (The Germans are germophobes {Misophobia or Mysophobia} for the most part.)

And last but not least, Paper Jack. He's a straight forward, hard working, rough, 45lbs stock paper towel dispenser. Towels double as mid-grain sand paper.

These pictures were taken in a quaint, very pricey restaurant where we celebrated the life of my Oma after her funeral. She loved that little restaurant. The first time we went there was on her 70th birthday [but I don't recall the group of crazy dispensers in the bathroom---I'm sure I would have mocked them back then, too.] She called ahead to make sure the cook would make me a vegetarian dish. I overheard her telling him, in the typical direct German tone, that bread and cheese are not an acceptable meal for a vegetarian so he'd better come up with something substantial and tasty. And he did! [Everyone did what Oma told them to do. She had a way of convincing anyone to do just about anything.] He made me some yummy vegetable gratin that I've never been able to replicate. Oma always made sure I was well taken care of...at this meal after her funeral, I had my choice of cheese on toasted bread or cheese on sprouted grain bread. I miss her.

Here's a picture from that trip. [My relatives eating at said restaurant. I'm not even sure who all of those people are...random folks looking for a free meal?]
I swear, this will not turn into a vacation blog. I don't even take vacations unless, apparently, there is a funeral involved. Proof? In the past four years, the only time off I've taken was for 1.) Opa's funeral, 2.) Oma's funeral, 3.) Gram's funeral...in that order. Crazy. Oh, and I'm fresh out of grandparents so no more vacation funerals for them!

So I was thinking about these funny dispensers today because I heard a scientist on the radio talking about all the germs in public bathrooms, and how you can catch all kinds of shit (pun intended) just by WALKING into a public bathroom. Now, I am a germophobe from way back. (See reference above regarding German people.) It takes all my resolve and the past 38 years gaining the strength to even go into a public bathroom, let alone to USE one! [It's true. As a child, okay, up until about five years ago, I never used public bathrooms unless I was drunk; too drunk to even remember using them. But my friends were witnesses, so I guess I did.] I did not need to hear this guy yammer on about the diseases living on the sink, soap dispenser, towel dispenser, etc., let alone the toilet! Ick! My skin is itchy just thinking about it. Oh, and those paper seat covers? Don't bother. Basically, after going into a public bathroom, you should strip naked, burn your closes and shoes, go through haz-mat decontamination, and dip yourself in bleach.

I bring this up because at the Avs game last night I had to go into the Pepsi Center bathroom to vomit. (I warned you earlier that food does not like me.) I can't imagine anything worse than having to stick your face near the seat, as opposed to your bum. I made it about four feet away and couldn't go any closer. I should have tipped the cleaning lady, except I'm not sure anyone had cleaned that toilet in about a month. Bad Karma points for me: -12.

"Next time why don't you just give me a paper cut and pour lemon juice on it!"

SLEEP STUDY: Was das Bumsen! I don't have time to sleep! I can say, unequivocally, on three hours of sleep a night I can fall asleep just about anywhere throughout the day. That is B's Sleep Theory #1.

Is the freakin universe trying to tell me something??

"Now is the time to make your move -- even if you're sure you're not quite ready. Your positive attitude and energetic spirit are perfect for making things happen and you sure know how to improvise!"

Ram: TWO

B: ZERO

I need to figure out how to improvise in all areas of my life...especially with a stick and puck. Actually, I've always hated improvisation. Just give me the notes/rules/guidelines/script and I'll play/abide by/follow/read them! I don't want out of my box. I'm perfectly content in my box. (TEE HEE HEE! Totally unanticipated innuendo!)

"All right, you're a reindeer. Here's your motivation: Your name is Rudolph, you're a freak with a red nose, and no one likes you. Then, one day, Santa picks you and you save Christmas. No, forget that part. We'll improvise... just keep it kind of loosey-goosey. You HATE Christmas! You're gonna steal it. Saving Christmas is a lousy ending, way too commercial. ACTION!"

And here's a quote directed at me this week, "DO SOMETHING! Keep moving, fake a move, DO SOMETHING. Just DON'T STOP! DON'T YELL OUT SOMETHING! DON'T QUIT! " Little voice in my head, "That's a lot to remember." (And in rereading this quote = MORE innuendo!)

UPDATE to Nicknames:

• A sportscaster on the local TV station in Great Falls, MT, used to call me Funky Cool Bettina. No kidding. Of course, he was always drunk when he called me that, but so was I! (Thanks for reminding me, GKL!)


• Zack from PB calls me Snipe, after watching me nail the crossbar about six times in a row at a Sk8nSht.


• And how could I forget H's new name for me: Donkey Driver????? This refers more the sound he made imitating me, rather than how I actually drive, though.

Sleep Study Update:

Four hours a night is just not allowing me to draw any conclusions or form any hypotheses. I'm in study-delay mode. They said something about lack of sleep effecting memory, but I can't remember what it was...

"The pressure of a name...

Okay, I'll give you a name......Cinda-f*ckin'-rella!"

I have many names. I'm guessing it goes hand-in-hand with my multiple personality disorder? The funny thing is, my mama PROHIBITED nicknames for me until I was in high school and my 16 years of rebellion finally wore her down. (Remind me to tell you sometime how I got my ears pierced at 17, a year before I could "legally sign for myself.")

See, I hate my name. Always have. I like my name when I'm in Germany. Hate my name when I'm in any English speaking country. My dad named me after one of my mom's sisters. (She's crazy, by the way...doesn't bode well for me, oh, and she has MS & Parkinson's. I couldn't make this shit up, I swear.)

It's just that my name is ALWAYS mispronounced or forgotten. My kindergarten teacher called me Belinda every single day. My kindergarten "diploma" is even addressed to...Belinda. How hard is it to remember 15 five-year olds' names??? (Funny side note that doubles with a movie quote: in A Muppet's Christmas Carol, the Crachits [Kermit & Miss Piggy] have twin piglet daughters, as well as older son Peter and Tiny Tim. The twin's names are....BETINA & BELINDA!!! [Since it's such a great movie, they are forgiven for misspelling it.] And there is a scene where Miss Piggy/Emily Crachit mixes them up and replies to their correction, "uh, uh, WHATEVER!"...funny ass shit, but most likely to just me and Jules, my movie quote equal. Put this on your holiday movie list. You won't be sorry.)

And if I had a dollar for every time I've been called Bonita, I'd quit my job and buy me an ice rink, people! I realize Bonita means 'beautiful' but to me, it conjures up some trashy, grease-bomb, trailer park crack whore mental image that I just can't shake. When someone tries to pronounce my name and they say, "Um, Bonita?" I, a.) ignore them, KNOWING full well they are talking to me, b.) get caustic and say, "are you dyslexic or retarded? T's before N," or, c.) chant quietly, "Hooked on Phonics worked for me!"

So in high school, my band buddies (or was it my softball teammates...I can't recall) started calling me B. Just B. It's easy. Simple. Rolls off the tongue. And few people forget it. My mom was mortified. Sorry, mama! It stuck. Until now.

My name has morphed into various other names by my friends and family. Exhibit A:

• Roomie Jolene called me ButrosButros
• U1 called me Spaz the entire first year of college
• UB kids called me Petuna one summer...I blame my boss, JS for starting that one
• Nephews call me NeNe
• Opa called me Tienschen...I can still hear him calling me from downstairs...and I'd holler back, "Opa, was machst, du?" He wanted me to make him waffles. They were his fav. (Sorry, tangent down memory lane for me...my blog...my tangent...too bad.)
• U2 called me B'tweena in high school
• A tennis coach called me SchneidaPie, as in "Serve me up a slice o' SchneidaPie." Always made me giggle.
• One of my brother's friends used to call me Schneidzie Whiplash ????? Your guess is as good as mine...
• I hesitate to write this one, because I never liked it either...my dad called me Bum and Bummie until, oh, I was 30. I think he realized when I no longer answered to it, that he should drop it. Problem is, his wife still calls me Bum. (As a wee-pup, I was THE tom-boy of the neighborhood. Two older brothers will do that to you. I also had very long hair that I would not let my mom comb, ever. I was a straggly headed wild banshee child. I also didn't like to wear shirts. Story for another time.)

Why does this naming-thingy rear its ugly head now? Because it seems I need a new name on the ice. I've been using B forever. But there's another girl on my team whose last name is Bean. When we're on the ice together, we can't tell if Coach is yelling at B or Bean...see? Confusing. I say, just use her first name, which starts with an M, and let me keep B. It's not flying, so the search for a new name is on.

My last name is too long and doesn't "roll off the tongue." I don't know what that is all about. There were some other crazy suggestions, PT, M, I don't know...I sort of blacked out during the naming negotiations. And now, I sort of fell into a new name, Juicy.

Just so you know, I'm not on board with it, just yet. I hear my linemates or Coach calling, "Juicy, Juicy!" And I seriously, look around, giggle, wonder what is so juicy, then realize, OH, THAT'S ME! All of which takes over 10 seconds. Puck is gone. Play has moved on. And B, I mean Juicy, is trying to figure out what happened.

As a joke, I found a couple FUNNY t-shirts by Juicy Couture. Nothing quite like having 4-inch letters across your chest spelling out: Juicys Do it Better! I've worn them out to the bar, post-game party. Now a bartender actually calls me Juicy. A guy who serves me vodka, calls me...Juicy.

Story behind the Juice: ("There is too much, I will sum up.")

There's a jerky hockey guy/instructor that told me five years ago that I should just quit because I'd never be a hockey player. This was after I tried out for his "competitive" hockey team. After hearing this, my good friend ABC-123 started a team for me so we could show him we COULD be hockey players. I see this guy almost on a daily basis at the rink. Now he's all compliments. He makes all kinds of sugary comments to me. Mostly I ignore. But sometimes I giggle. See, had he taken me seriously when I asked him after the tryout what I needed to do to become a "hockey player" and I was willing to do anything, he could have said, "You can take lessons from me." Think of the $$$ he could have made from me. Now he gets BUBKUS from me and Coach sees me multiple times a week! ("Hi, remember me? I was in here yesterday and you wouldn't wait on me. Big mistake. Huge. I have shopping to do.") So about six weeks ago I went up to jerky hockey instructor to see if I could sub in his novice league. He said, and I quote, "B, of course you can. I know you will control the juice." I said, "I have...juice?" And he said, "GIRRRRRRL! You got JUICE!!!! I know you won't turn up the juice and skate all over the novice. You know how to play nice with them so go, have fun." I was and still am speechless...until...

I made the mistake of telling Coach and my line mates. It seemed like I had FINALLY arrived. The guy who told me to quit, admitted (almost, in his own crazy way) that I can play hockey, and since the folks who have always supported and believed in me (and played with me when I was so horrible) knew the original story of Mr. Rude, I figured they should get the follow-up story.

Just call me Juicy! I'll try to remember you're talkin' to me!

Sleep Study: Not progressing as hoped...maybe better luck tomorrow night.

I'm officially freaked out.

"You and your big heart are going through some craziness right now and while it might not be the most fun you've ever had, you can tell that it's a lot better than what could have happened instead!"

I'm going to keep a tally of how many times this freaky Ram predicts my future or my moods...starting...NOW!

One.

"My little brother got his arm stuck in the microwave. So my mom had to take him to the hospital. My grandma dropped acid this morning, and she freaked out. She hijacked a busload of penguins. So it's sort of a family crisis. Bye!"

I really do need to get more sleep...

Sleep, Broken Ass and the Avs

Sleep study has been postponed until tomorrow night. Sorry. There is just too much crap to get done in 24 hours. I can say that 6 hours of sleep didn't help the whole perfect practice thingy in my lesson. May have well just got 3 hours, at least then I would have gotten a bunch of stuff done and still had a poor performance.

"Yuck! This juice tastes like ass, here you try it!" "No, thanks. I'm trying to stay off of the ass juice for now." So I have a broken ass. Seriously. I cracked a bone in my ass. Not to be confused with a bone in my crack ass. I keep falling on my left ass bone. You'd think I have plenty of padding, what with all my natural fat-padding and the breezers/shorts I wear for hockey, but, no. A couple months ago, in one of my men's games, some ass-clown-roller-turned-ice-hockey-jackass came up behind me and took my feet out. (One of the problems with these ass-clown-roller-turned-ice players?? They don't know how to stop because they have no understanding of edges on their skates. See, on rollerblades there are no edges and roller players really never stop.) I came down on my left ass bone. It was bone splintering pain. I couldn't even finish the game--this has never happened in any sport I've ever played in 31 years. Sweet Bug O' Death ordered me up some ass-ice to help ease the pain but it just really made me want to cry.

This is a picture of the bruise THREE WEEKS after aforementioned ass-clown knocked me down.

This wasn't the first falling on my left ass bone. No. I have a bad habit of not picking up my left foot in transitions. (Non-hockey folk, this really isn't an important fact for you.) So, I catch my left outside edge and WHAM! Down on my left ass bone. I CANNOT TAKE IT ANYMORE.

You guessed it...today, I fell, again, on my left ass bone. The bone splintering pain really makes me want to throw up. (You just never realize how often your butt checks are engaged throughout the day until you break one of them: sitting on the toilet, sitting at work, walking, running, skating, bending, jumping, laying in bed, turning over in bed, doing other things in bed. And it's hard to explain to people in meetings or on the train why you're gingerly trying to sit down or shuffling in your seat trying to get comfortable.) I bought new breezers, twice. They both suck in the ass-padding area. I bought figure skater jump pads. They slip around in my shorts. (I sweat, you see.) I just need something to protect my broken ass. My sweet D partner on that men's team had these words of advice, "Yeah, I've done that. Took forever to heal. You know what you really need to do?" Me, "No, what?" Him, "Don't fall on it again." Clever. He's also the guy who suggested I look into anger management classes...Boys are so funny.

The boys at the hockey shop think I need to special order custom breezers from Finland. I laughed and laughed and laughed. Really? Custom? I'm guessing they'd either come with no padding at all or have only one leg hole, given my luck with custom hockey orders. (These pants are billed as 'the best hockey pants in the world.' They are handmade in Canada. And Canadians know hockey, right? I think it's time to pony up $170 to save my ass.)

I forgot to Advil-up before leaving for the Avs game, which made it a REALLY, REALLY long game. Sitting on a broken ass bone for almost three hours is not fun. Oh, that gets me to the whole point of this story. Sorry. Rambled on a bit.

There was an older, dumpy, rural-looking couple sitting in front of us tonight. (Avs beat Flames 2-0. Yeah Avs! Awww...poor Jerome...He's HOT!) They were either Jose Theodore's parents or staunch supporters of the Christian Right-Home Schoolie-Focus on the Family bunch. Maybe both. We like to comment on Theodore's play. It is rarely positive. He's just a train wreck. Every time he comes out to play the puck I'm just sure his breezers are going to fall around his ankles, he's going to bobble the puck, and we're going to get scored on. The latter two have really happened.

So, H & I were chatting how Three-or-Four is awful; he had just mishandled the puck. (Yes, yes, he did get a shootout tonight, but seriously, the D blocked more shots that I've ever seen them block. And clearly, everyone gets lucky every know and then...except maybe me...story for another time. Ah hem.) I think the straw that broke the Frumpter's back what when H said, "He's a f*cking sieve," when the scoreboard was trying to get the crowd to chant The-O-Dore. Well they turned around and gave us the nastiest fire and brimstone stink-eye...I was sure the heavens were going to open up and unleash an ungodly fire and plague of locusts upon us. I'm just not sure if it was the swearing that tipped the scale or the Theodore bashing...doesn't really matter. You know I just ran with it from there. Instead of being all nasty to me, maybe they should just pray for me. Isn't that really the Christian thing to do? (Have you seen the quote from Gandhi, "I like your Christ. I do not like your Christians. Your Christians are so unlike your Christ." Or something like that. You get the point.)

1. It's a hockey game, not church. Expect foul language.

2. It's late at night. Kiddies should be in bed by now.

3. All you have to say is earmuffs!

My Ram is a scolding ram! Baaaaaaaaa!!!

"You've got needs -- but so does everybody else! It's one of those days in which you can get a lot farther by smiling and asking how people are doing than by simply reaching for whatever you want." Especially if you come home at 3:50am and the question is posed, "Where ya been? Bars close at 2:00." Not ALL bars close at 2:00...and what if I'm just a selfish bitch? Then my needs would come first, right? I should have read that damn horoscope when it reared its ugly head in my inbox at 11:40pm last night! What good is a horoscope if you read it 16 hours after the fact???

So I cooked a lovely dinner of homemade pasties. It's a two hour ordeal but worth it, I find!

"There are many perfectly nice cats in the world, but every barrel has its bad apples, and it is well to heed the old adage, "Beware the bad cat bearing a grudge.."" That'll do pig, that'll do...

"I can't finish all this and sleep at the same time."

"You have to sleep. It's what keeps you pretty."

So, the other night, H tells me to come watch something on the iMAX in our living room. Thinking it's some great hockey clip, I hop to. It turns out to be a story on 60 Minutes about SLEEP. http://www.cbsnews.com/sections/i_video/main500251.shtml?id=3942130n

Leslie Stahl* is reporting on all the bad things that can happen to you if you don't sleep: heart disease, diabetes, obesity, blindness, rotten teeth, scurvy...okay, I made up those last three. We watch the whole episode, which is s longie--they actually break for commercial in the middle of the report. If you watch 60 Minutes you know this is a rare occurrence. At the end of the report, he says, "See! That's why you need to sleep more." I was speech-LESS! I HAVE TO SLEEP MORE? This coming from a guy who's sleep cycle is so f-ed up he can't fall asleep when the sun goes down? Seriously, he sleeps from 4am-10am. I don't get it. I thought he DVR'd the episode for me as if to say, "Wow, I should get more sleep," meaning HE should get more sleep. He goes on to say, "You get up at the butt-crack of dawn, play hockey or workout and then go to work then play hockey or workout until midnight." I should have looked at him and said, "Hello pot! I may be the kettle, but we're BOTH black!"

Quotes (you know I love my quotes) from the report:

• "In fact, sleep is as essential as food because they will die just about as quick from food deprivation as sleep deprivation. So, it's that necessary," [First food is fuel and now sleep is, too???]


• "Whatever the function of sleep, or the functions of sleep are, they seem to be so important that evolution is willing to put us in that place of potential danger by losing consciousness. It would be the biggest evolutionary mistake if sleep does not serve some critical function," [The scientists don't even KNOW why we need sleep and they are assuming it's an evolutionary mistake if it's not important? What is that?]


• "Sleep, we've been finding, actually can enhance your memories, so that you'll come back the next day even better than where you were the day before," [So, on the days I get 8 hours (that's what they recommend in this study) I should remember everything from yesterday. What if you're completely wasted the prior day and you get 8 hours of sleep that night? Will you remember all the crazy shit you did the night before?]


• "So, it seems to be that practice does not quite make perfect; it’s practice with a night of sleep that makes perfect," [I am going to try this tonight to prepare for my lesson tomorrow. We'll just see about that! I'll do my own damn sleep study and let you know. I'm no Leslie Stahl, but I do have a stop watch that goes tick-tick-tick-tick-tick.]


• "It's this odd notion that we all think in Western civilization that we have to stay awake to get more done. And I think that's simply not true. In fact, I think if you have a good night of sleep, what you'll find is that you can get more done than if you simply stay awake." [Adding this to my study...]
  
• "Well, the first finding, and it stunned us, was there's a cumulative impairment that develops in your ability to think fast, to react quickly, to remember things. And it starts right away," Dinges says. "A single night at four hours or five hours or even six, can in most people, begin to show affects in your attention and your memory and the speed with which you think. A second night it gets worse. A third night worse. Each day adds an additional burden or deficit to your cognitive ability." [If the detrimental effects are cumulative, doesn't one of those math properties come into effect here (what are they, again...associative, commutative, distributive, and equality??) that if you sleep for 24 hours straight, you could make up three nights of lost sleep, thus, lack of sleep is cumulative but so is a lot of sleep...]


• "But remember, we're not allowing caffeine, and we're not allowing physical activity and bright light. And for most of us, probably a day or two or so, you can get by taking these, what we call the counter measures, right? But, at some point what these studies show is the impairments get so bad, that there's little to no rescue possible without getting more sleep," [AH HA! CHEATERS!!! This damn study isn't even close to real life. What sleep deprived person doesn't use some kind of stimulant until they can catch some make up zzzz's?]

I may have to concede the sleep issue...It's not just H. My mama and Coach tell me I need more sleep, too. I'm out numbered. Funny, Miss Marley thinks by 6am every morning I've had plenty of sleep. I'm still doing my own damn sleep study, though, so stay tuned.

*Side note: H and I actually have a funny joke between us about Leslie Stahl. She did a report a few years ago about autistic savants. There was a young boy, maybe 8 or 9, who was blind and severely autistic. He was also an incredible piano player. Anyhoo, when she first met him and introduced herself to him, he said to her, in his cute little voice, "Helloooo Lez-lee." We often repeat this funny greeting randomly for no reason at all. It's really just funny to the two of us, I'm guessing. Never mind.

The Bug Blooms

Here are some rare, never-seen photos of Bug O' Death. She is wearing her very special helmet cover. (It's actually a swim cap on loan from a male teacher she works with, who is also the best player on our men's team. He wore it at a pie throwing contest at their school. I gotta say, my schools and teachers SUCKED compared to the fun things BOD does with her students!!!)

Sadly, the jackass refs wouldn't let the Bug skate with her new look. It apparently posed some kind of hazard...rubber cap, rubber flowers...someone could lose an EYE or maybe even DIE! "You'll shoot your eye out, kid!"

Which just reminded me a funny thing my youngest nephew once said to me. He was sitting next to me at his first ever hockey game...we were watching H's team. The ref made a bad call (are you seeing a THEME here, people??) and I let slip, "Come on, Jackass, let them play." Without missing a beat, the 7-year old says, "NeNe, I think he's a zebra, not a jackass."

Crazy things I've heard this week:

A man, after visiting a strip club, is SUING the stripper who gave him a lap dance. She apparently clipped his face with her 5" stiletto heal when she was swinging her leg around his head. He claims he has permanent damage. No, he didn't lose an eye or anything and as far as I could see, looked like a typical fck-nut guy who visits strip clubs. Listen, Dumbass, you are giving her $$ to sit and spin on your lap and now you're suing her? I wonder if State Farm or Geico would insure strippers for this kind of thing...

The federal project officer of one of the grants I work on called me this week and said, "What time is it there in Denver? How many hours are you ahead of me?" She's in Maryland. I wanted to say, "I'm about 90 IQ points ahead." But instead said, "Um...we're two hours behind Eastern Time, so it's 11:00 here." How do people like that have jobs? Oh, they work for the federal government.

A stingray JUMPED (or FLEW) out of the water and landed on a women's face in Florida. The woman died. She was riding in a boat with her husband. They were going about 25mph. The stingray weighed almost 60lbs. WTF? Stingray can jump or fly or whatever??? Coming from landlocked MT, I don't know much about sea life. I'm not a water lover, especially oceans. They freak me out. Give me a nice fresh water lake, any day: no sharks, no stingrays, no crazy wild sea life. Just fish and slimy weeds, and they don't taste like you're sucking on a salt lick. Yuk! And what was the husband thinking and doing while watching this rogue stingray? What would you do? Holy crap. I'd crap my shorts, that's what I'd do.

AnnaBanana is in SanFran this week and texted me this bumpersticker she saw: "George Bush is the worst president in history. How did people vote for him twice??" I'll tell you, HE CHEATED! And no, he's not a pirate, and least not the good, Johnny Depp-pirate.

Me to the 19 year old Starbucks barista, "Hi. Can I get a grande decaf?" She looked at me for 20 seconds straight. Then finally said, "Um...like, coffee?" I said, "Um...like, yes, coffee. You know, drip coffee. The brown stuff you brew into those big pots?" She pondered this for another 20-some-odd-seconds and said, "Uh, we don't have coffee." No explanation. No reason. Okay then. I've got nothing. So many things come to mind, like, "Sweetie you are too young to have fried your brain smoking so much pot," or "Oh, is this Starbucks Guitar Repair & Maintenance? I thought it was the coffee shop," or "REALLY? You've run out of beans? Holy shit, it's Armageddon! RUN FOR THE HILLS!" I walked across the street to the REAL Starbucks and got my cup o' joe. Good thing there's one on every block!

Look Ma, TRIPLETS!!!

Born: T1 (triplet on the right)-November 3, 2007 (replaced January 5, 2008 & January 28, 2008)
T2 (triplet in the middle)-March 5, 2008
T3 (triplet on the left)-March 11, 2008
It's a strange gestation period for skates.

Weight: 5lbs/pair in box
Size: 5D

Total cost, pre-surgical repair: $490
Estimated surgical cost: $270

Since I've learned (x3) from T1 that the eyelets are deformed, I'm going to do a preventative procedure on T2 & T3. And now we wait for reconstructive surgery. We're going with a specialist in St. Paul, MN.


Deformed.
But I don't discriminate: T1 is treated just like T2 & T3.

Lovey Lu-Lu and the Sock Fetish

This is my sweet Lovey Lu Bird, Daisy:

She's a 4 1/2 year old German Shepherd mix, and she's the sweet, sweet, protector of my world. She oversees all the doings at our house. We adopted her on her last day at doggie-death-camp (aka Denver Municipal Shelter). She was a stray. She was malnourished and very, very sick. Didn't take long to nurse her back to health: 40 treats and 200 kisses a day will do that!

She potty-trained herself = ZERO accidents in the house (and she lived on the street her whole pup-life, pre-adoption), crate-trained with ease (although she did growl like a mad-dog in the mornings when she wanted out), she was top in her obedience class (she was very good at correcting the hyper beagle when he got out of control), and she never, ever chewed on anything that wasn't "hers."

She used to guard our garbage. Whenever we'd take the trash out, she'd come over and guard it and us, like she trained at Loomis Fargo. Seriously, the Queen, Herself, couldn't ask for better security detail. Now she hoards our socks. Four years into living together, you think you know a dog, and it's just now that her sock fetish has reared its ugly head.

This is her latest sock collection. No sock is safe. No location is sacred. She actually noses her way into H's hamper and pulls out the socks! Turn your back for two seconds...your sock is history, baby. I guess it could be worse, she could like underwear or Danskos.

And randomly, she'll chew you a nice little hole in the end of your sock, just in case you need...a hole...in the end of your...sock.

We used to fight it. We'd find her with her paws on top of the sock, head down over it in protect mode, and we'd take it away from her. We'd tell her it's not her sock and give her one of the many, many approved dog toys scattered throughout the house. She never growls or snaps. She just looks very disappointed when you take away her latest acquisition. Now, we just let her keep them. Dogs live, what, 10-15 years? I can live without a couple socks for the next 6-11 years, knowing she was a happy, happy sock-loving pooch.

As proof: this is about half of the "approved" dog toy pile. I pile them on the bed, Miss Marley scatters them throughout the house...it's a great game!

We are very lucky that Marley realizes that the socks are Daisy's so we don't have to mediate any disputes over hosiery.

Aries forecast of the day:

So this was what greeted me in my inbox this morning,

"Some days are just less exciting than others and you know deep down that's a good thing. Everyone needs to recharge and refuel every now and then and you're no exception -- so stick to the schedule!"


I think I heard this at least twice today, IN PERSON, once from Coach and once from my Boss. That's just down-right freaky! It's like that damn ram is spying on me. Remember, I don't buy in to that crap, but I think I'm ready to throw a dollar in the pot. Maybe I should have bought a lottery ticket last Saturday...

Raise a glass to the band geek in your life!

I was a band geek for almost all my school years. I started in 4th grade and kept right on going through college. Mainly because my mama bought me a flute in 4th grade---I asked for a clarinet: potato/potatoe---and she said I would have to play it the rest of my life. I perdy much do what she says. She is the boss of me.

This PostSecret just cracked (tee hee!) me up. I can't say I ever went commando in my marching uni, at least in high school...but I think I marched drunk a few times in college, so it's anyone's guess if I was commando or not.

I met some of my best friends in band...good times. And band geeks (Band-O's if you went to Butte High in the 80's) like to drink, a lot, wherever they go. The chaperones used to check our luggage before band trips and SMELL all our shampoo/conditioner/water bottles, looking for alcohol. Tip: stash it in your instrument case. Doesn't work well if you play the piccolo so make friends with the tuba player.

Bands always get roped into playing for all kinds of crazy events. Our high school band played at the opening of the McDonald's in my home town. Am I the only one that finds that weird? Did then. Still do.

We also played for volleyball matches (fans and players hated us) and for wrestling matches. [I have nothing against either sport. It's just that the fans, athletes and coaches didn't really want us there. We didn't really want to be there. We already played for every football and boys/girls basketball games, and every parade in town. It was some some kind of Title IX/equal access thing in the 80's, I think.] The wrestling coach at my high school (he holds some national record for number of state titles...creepy little guy with cauliflower ears) asked us to just play the same song after each match: the theme from the 1984 Sarajevo Olympics. [This is one of my favorite Olympics. It's the one where Torvill & Dean skated to Ravel's Bolero and brought down the house with perfect 10's in artistic impression. First time ever in ice dancing. Sorry hockey mates...I'm still a figure skater at heart, and sometimes when I'm skating now in full hockey gear. Just ask Coach about my pretty flamingo leg extension. I was in figure skating back in '84, so...leave me alone. I can tell you that the Soviet hockey team defeated the Fins in 1984 for the gold. So there.] My fingers still know the notes to that damn theme song. It's one of those tunes that once it's in your head, it's not going anywhere. What is that all about? And the wrestling coach dictates the music? Weird.

My college marching band played for a dedication of a veteran's memorial. We were all SO hungover and it was a super somber event. I just remember thinking, please gawd, don't let me vomit in my sax. And being the jokesters that band geeks are, it was hard to keep a straight face with all the comments and innuendos flying around. Funny and sad at the same time.

My music career has come in handy in life. A couple years ago, my friend U1 (Ugly 1), [we have a U2 & a U3 in our circle---it's a term of endearment, I promise. I'm one of the U's. Don't go feeling all bad for the Uglies.] and I played a sax duet of the Star Spangled Banner at our state hockey tourney. I thought it might be cheesy, but we got a ton of compliments. One of the player's mother came up to us in tears about what a special moment it was. Ummmm....it's a women's REC HOCKEY LEAGUE! Weird. My team lost in the championship game in a shootout. Not weird. Just disappointing.

You can identify the Uglies because we have this sticker on our cars. Although, U2 is in Singapore and I don't think she has a car there...

Strange is as strange does.

You are not alone.

I'm definitely out there. Here.

Doing strange things.

Saying strange things.

Going to strange places. (See http://bugodeath.blogspot.com/for WrestleMania 03/16/08.)

So in this week's PostSecret, I count no less than 10 that could be mine. And yet, maybe one is...I'm not saying for sure.

Get upstairs and put your big pants on!!!

A picture, or three, is worth a thousand words...and 90lbs!!!

Seriously. Those were my shorts. I wore them LAST SUMMER!!! I think they are sz 24, maybe. Not sure. Now they are Lucky 10's. I can get both my legs into one of the legs of the big shorts.
I found them in my closet. After 40+ huge garbage bags to Goodwill, somehow, one pair remained...I just need to figure out how to tone my flabby ass and I'll be set. I hope that's not age-related, too!

Runnin' O' the Green...

Tips for Runnin' O' the Green 7k in Denver

*Don't stay out until 3:00am drinking vodka with friends, getting only three hours of sleep the night before.

*If you lose almost 90lbs, make sure you try on your cold-gear running tights, or you'll be holding them up the entire 7k!

*If you use your bra as a cell phone holder, don't forget to take it out before you leave your car.

*If you forget to remove your phone from above mentioned cell phone holder, and your big brother calls 5 minutes before the gun sounds, even if you haven't talked to him in a month, don't pick it up. Between the bagpippers and the announcer, you won't hear him and he won't hear you. Something about my entire family having breakfast at my brother's...mom...dad...in the same room...eating????

*Check out the race course BEFORE you get there or your race could be 7+k...(And I haven't learned this from past experience! I used to run the Blue Mountain Women's Run every year in Missoula. One year I missed the 5k turn and did the 10k by mistake. I couldn't figure out why it was the longest 5k of my life!)

*Check your hockey calendar before you sign up for the race. Or vice versa. 60 minutes between race finish, drive to rink, and playoff game is just not enough.

*It's a freakin' St. Patty's Day run. Remember to wear SOMETHING green for christ's sake!

*Just say no to Killian's Red as the post-race drink!

*Just say no to corned beef bagels as the post-race snack!

*After the race, don't forget where you park your car...

Best part of the race? 36:57!!!

Finisher's Cheap Plastic Cup

Me and 2,000 of my good friends

Sign of the Ram...

I'm not a superstitious person and I don't believe in fortunes, Tarot, or horoscopes. Somehow, I got on a horoscope list-serve and I tell 'ya, I can't get off of it no matter how many times I email, "REMOVE." Even though I think they are crap, some of those damn "fortunes" were spot on! Eerie...

Every day at 11:40pm, a nice little thought for the next day arrives in my email inbox. Here are some samples:

Things are moving much more quickly than you had expected them to, so you might need to adjust your expectations accordingly. It should all be for the best, though and you can expect the right people to notice. (This one is for tomorrow...I'm very impatient so I like things to move quickly but I don't always get things quickly. What people should notice. Like stalker people? People I know? I have questions!)

Whatever you have to do today should be quite a bit easier than you had expected it to be. That doesn't mean you get to skate away from responsibilities, but it doesn't mean you should have time left over. (Wish I could have made the last part come true!)

You've got plenty to say and should take the opportunity to say it. You might have to make time in that meeting or ring up someone you haven't spoken with in ages, but it's definitely worth it! (I rarely lose an opportunity to say what I need to say.)

Your mind is on issues related to stability and the home today and you may want to take another look at financial arrangements. It's not the most exciting stuff in the world, but it's important. (No. I don't think so. Just didn't happen.)

Try something new today -- from a restaurant you've never seen before to a new way of talking with your mate. Things can get even more interesting, as long as you keep exploring the world! (I don't like change or new things--unless they are purses or shoes--so this one was also crap.)

You are full of fiery energy and can't help but move it when then mood strikes you. It's easy to have fun and get things done -- and people should follow right along when you need them to do so. (The fiery energy part was confirmed by Coach, but he certainly didn't follow right along and neither did anyone else I had to deal with that day. I call bullshit on this one, too.)

You've got to stick with what you know today -- say no to even the most appealing opportunities. You need to tread water, because things are trickier than they appear. You should shoot ahead tomorrow! (I like sticking to what I know. Everything was tricky this day, but I didn't shoot anywhere the next day. Crap Meter Reading: 9.2)

Listen to your ego -- it's got a lot to tell you today! Don't worry about appearances, because your ambitions can't possibly take you too far afield. Things may need to calm down next week, though. (The fateful game night last Saturday. Ooooooo...freaky!)

Today sees you pretty much right where you want to be and your recent activities have paid off in a big way. Now might be a good time to re-evaluate your long-term goals in light of recent successes. (Funny, I did reevaluate my goals and ended up adding a couple to them. BUT, my hard work did not pay off when I was riding the wood at the game!)

Your eyes are wide open and you're ready to take advantage of any opportunity that comes your way today. You may surprise a friend with your sudden moves, but you can smooth things over soon. (Seems like all I'm doing lately is trying to smooth things over after running my lips. I'm going to be quiet now.)

And why are astrological pictures always so creepy? Weird visions from the movie Bachelor Party are dancing in my head...