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!