Posts Tagged ‘relationships’

The Bully Problem

December 15, 2017

Otto played pick-up, drop-in, shinny hockey every afternoon with a group of guys that were third shifters, unemployed, underemployed or lucky enough to have a woman who didn’t care if they worked.  Otto kept looking at the clock on the wall during his 15-minute marathon shift and decided that unless he wanted to smell like ass, he needed to get off the ice and shower before retrieving his children from school.  Otto pulled up and his two children were about the only two students left.  All others had been picked up.  Otto’s cute little first grade daughter raced to the minivan first and whispered a breathy secret to her dad.

            “A big boy in the eighth grade knocked Clint down and shoved his face in the snow…  He was crying really bad.  If you had come on time, you would have saw him.”

            “Okay…  Don’t repeat that to your mom about me being a few minutes late.”

            Otto knew that if his wife got wind of the fact that the kids were waiting in front of the school and everyone was already gone, she would be really pissed that ice hockey, pick-up ice hockey was the reason for tardiness.  Otto’s little daughter Adelaide was as cute as a button but a horrible ratfink.  All Otto could do was hope that Adelaide would forget.  Sometimes little kids forget things.  Otto looked at his fourth grade son who did not like fighting and wondered if next year when body checking begins, if his son Clint would quit the sport.  The thought scared Otto.  What would he do come September?  Take his son to-everyone-gets-a-trophy-soccer-and-we-don’t-keep-score out in a field?  Maybe basketball or football both of which he knew nothing about.  Otto decided it was time to step up and prevent his son from becoming a pussy.  If something happens on the ice and a referee fails to catch it, a fight occurs.  It is the unwritten law of ice hockey and this offense was the unwritten law of life.  Otto drove up and down the streets until little Adelaide yelled into Otto’s ear from the back seat and pointed… “That’s the boy there!”

            Otto exited the minivan with gritted teeth.  The eighth grader was Otto’s height but as formidable as Bambi.  Otto got close enough for the thirteen year old boy to taste his breath.  Spittle hit the boy’s face as Otto yelled at him like a drill sergeant.

            “Did you fucking push my kid face down in the snow?”

            “Yes…”

            “I’m gonna tell you what…  You better fucking stand there and not move…  Like a fucking statue.  If you do move, I will beat your ass…  Do you understand me?”

            The boy nodded.  Otto yelled for Clint to exit the minivan, make a tight ice ball and smash it in the face of the aggressor.  Clint got a running start and jumped a bit to ensure he reached the 8th graders face.  With ice dripping down the boys face, Otto gave his parting warning.

            “If you ever touch my kid again, I will come over to your house and beat the shit out of you and then beat the shit out of your pussy dad and you, you little pussy…  Do you fucking get me?  Don’t fucking forget because I won’t.”

            Later that evening, Otto met his wife with the children for dinner.  Remarkably his blabbermouth daughter only spoke about her day at school.  There was no mention of Otto being late to pick them up, an eighth grade boy pushing Clint face down in the snow or the sentence imposed by Otto.  As they entered the house after dinner, the game plan was to get the kids to bed early, pour the wine, start the music and be ready for love.  Otto put away some groceries his wife had purchased after work and had not noticed the flashing button on their antiquated answering machine that was connected to the landline that nobody used except to order pizza.

“MESSAGE ONE  TUESDAY 4:14 PM…  Mrs. Calhoun…  This is principal Smith from Our Lady of Perpetual Suffering…  I need to talk to you about an incident between your husband and an eighth grade boy at the school.  It is a serious matter and I ask that your husband not be anywhere near the school property until we’ve had a chance to speak with you and the family of the boy.  Please call me at your convenience.”

            Mary looked at her husband who put away peanut butter and bread and did almost anything not to turn around and look at his wife.  She asked what happened and little Adelaide gave her account of the whole event.

            “Okay…  So after school, this big boy knocked down Clint and rubbed his face in the snow until Clint cried and then the boy left…  And then all the people left and we were the last to be picked up.  Cars drove by slow but we didn’t talk to any strangers or get in their cars.  Like a half hour later or maybe just ten minutes, daddy came and then we went looking for the boy and then we found him and then daddy told Clint to push snow in his face and then daddy told the boy that he would beat his ass and his dad’s ass and called him a pussy for beating up a little boy…  And that’s what happened…  Daddy?  What’s a pussy?”

            Mary pushed her young daughter towards the bathroom to start her bath and responded to the question in a way that she couldn’t understand but that her husband could hear.

            “A pussy is something your dad will not be able to have tonight because he was a naughty boy and naughty boys do not get treats.”

            “Will daddy have to go to his room and go to bed?”

            “No…  Mommy will be doing that instead.  Make sure you wash everything well.”

            And eventually, they lived happily as a family could live given these angry times… The end.

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Breaking the Man Code

November 26, 2017

Jake loves hockey as much as a person could love something that does
not breathe and live.  Jake sold hockey equipment by day and broke
away from his sales job to play hockey and then at night he played
league hockey and coached youth hockey.  When he wasn’t doing all of
that, he was watching NHL hockey on television.  He also loves his
pit-bull named Daisy and to play acoustic guitar and sing in Brazilian
Portuguese even though he could only speak English.  Jake learned at a
young age that Portuguese and guitar gets women in the mood fast.

Jake loved meeting new girls.  The thrill of hello, how do you do?
What do you like to do?  Where have you gone? Would you like to come
home with me?  The life span of a female in Jake’s life was about 6o
days.  The end was near whenever he began to hear, “where do I fit
into your plans?”

One day Jake walked from the parking lot of the ice rink towards the
front entrance; standing in front of the doors was Jan’s mom.  She was
a tall Polish woman who wore skin tight Yoga pants and had a beautiful
face.  Beata smiled at Jake and asked if she could talk to him a
moment.  First thing Jake thought was that she was going to ask if Jan
could play defense.  The defensive position was the prize for Jake.
The best, fastest, most capable players went to defense.  Jan was slow
and had stone hands.  Jake wondered what the pretty woman was going to
ask.
“I wanted to know if maybe you might want to go out for a drink some time.”
In Jake’s head he heard, “I wanted to know if you might want to go
out for a drink some time and then fuck the shit out of me…”
Of course Jake said yes.  They went to a Polynesian bar where eastern
European women dressed in Hawaiian skirts.  Jake and Beata had a
Zombie and then Scorpions and then a mai tai each before returning to
Beata’s apartment.   Jan was spending the weekend with his father.
Things followed the course that they were following and before long,
Jake was spending many nights with Beata and Jan.  People on the team
began to notice that the coach was bringing Jan to games and practices
when Beata was busy.  They began to notice that Jan was on the power
play and the penalty kill and centering between two really good wings.
Parents smelled something not right in the woodpile.

Jake is a good coach.  He fundamentally teaches the kids to play well
together.  Jake also had the good fortune of having several really
good players that played well together.  How well?  Undefeated with
only a few goals against them.  Their goalie had to stay focused by
watching the game in between making snow castles with his goalie
stick.  Oh sure the goalie would raise his arms every now and then for
an icing but their zone was a lonely place.  Rather than make the kids
work harder when it came to off ice training, Jake introduced a game
to them that they had never heard of before called Cricket.  Unless
you’re from a country with the Queen on the money, drive on the left
with the wheel on the right and stop for afternoon tea, you’re not
familiar with the sport.  It is a lot like baseball but then again it
is not.  Right outside the ice rink was a large field with artificial
turf.  Jake had learned to play the game with Jamaicans and
Indian/Pakistanis and so the kids played for 3o minutes after they’re
on ice practices.  All the players took it for what it was except Jan.
On the first bowl or pitch as they say in baseball, the large center
creamed a boundary or a home run and got six runs!  Think of a home
run with the same amount of points as a touch down.  Jake was the
official bowler for both sides.
“This game blows and the sides totally suck.  Jack promised money to
his brother to pick all the worst players on our side.  We’re gonna
get creamed,” whined Jan to Jake.
Jake looked at Jan and wondered if he was for real.  Baseball and
football was too competitive among the players so Jake chose Cricket.
Who could get mad about Cricket?  Jan did.  The score was 42-0 since
the side in the field had not come to bat yet.  They would bat after
next practice.  In the car ride home, Jan critiqued the hockey players
Cricket skills.
“Scott is afraid to catch the ball with his hands for sure…  We all
kind of are.  Why don’t we use mitts?  Its cold out and that ball
hurts to catch.”
“Cricket isn’t played with a mitt.”
“It’s a dumb game and nobody likes it or plays it.  I think you just
made the whole thing up”
“Really?  They were all fighting over who bats first.  Tell you what…
I will let you be one of the captains next time and you can pick who
you want and there should be no problems…  How does that sound?”
“Fine…”
Jake put his gear and Jan’s around the radiator in the room that
nobody uses and closed the door.  In one hour everything would be dry.
Jake ate dinner with Jan and Beata.  Beata said nothing and Jake was
watching the Montreal Canadians playing the Boston Bruins without
blinking while stuffing pasta and chicken into his mouth.  Beata asked
Jan about homework and told him to take a shower and go to bed.  Later
that night, Jake was horny.  Jake was often horny and since Jan was in
bed and it was not too late and it looked like there was no rain outs
due to menstruation or headaches, Jake took a good shower and slipped
into bed next to Beata.  Her shirt barely covered her ass and her
tight under pants made Jake’s John Thomas stand erect and at attention
without even so much as a kiss.  Jake brushed his stiffness against
Beata as she read something on her tablet while lying on her side,
faced away from Jake.  Jake pressed himself against Beata and kissed
her neck.  She turned around and straight armed Jake, looked into his
eyes and said the words no man wishes to hear before attempting to
throw himself into the throes of passion.
“We need to talk…”
The talk left Beata with a cold shoulder and Jake with blue balls.
The next afternoon, it was Jake’s job to pick up Jan from school, get
him a snack and take him to hockey.  Jan walked towards the car glued
to a little electronic tablet.  He threw his pack back in the back
seat, got in the front without ever taking his eyes from the screen.
Jan said nothing to Jake and Jake said nothing to Jan.  At a red
light, Jan asked Jake what they were going to do at hockey practice.
“I have new things I want to work on…”
Later that night at the ice rink, Jake quietly but sternly spoke to
all the boys getting ready in the locker room.  They stopped talking
to listen to him.
“How many of you have seen a naked woman on the internet?”
A few raised their hands and looked at one another and laughed.
“I bet most all of you have Googled some strong shit…  Am I right?
I’m sure you all have seen things I’ve never done.  I would be willing
to bet my whole kingdom on that and I’ll bet that if you haven’t been
caught whacking off to the stuff by your mom who innocently entered
your room to collect your dirty clothes… Unless you’ve been caught,
your mom would have no idea.  At the end of the night, I don’t see any
of you telling your mom that you had a great day, learned a lot of
shit at school and just happened to find a website featuring goats and
blonde chicks.  I’m sure that doesn’t come up…  Am I right?  With that
in mind, there is a man code.  Things that happen in this locker room
are not discussed with momma at the end of the night.  I should never
hear things that I am saying being repeated back to me.  There should
be no complaints about Cricket teams or who is on the power play or on
what line or at what position or anything.  If I cared what your
parents thought, I would ask them.  I don’t ask them because if I do,
I elevate them up to my level…  in their minds… And…  I really don’t
give a fuck what they think.  I don’t ever tell them how to work at
their jobs and they should not feel free to tell me how to coach… So I
can’t say who it is but one of you is a leaker.  A tattletale.  A
fink.  A stool pigeon.  A blabbermouth… We will for go the usual
practice and exercise out of you like a poltergeist, the desire to
discuss private things with your parents.  After today, I don’t think
we will have this problem any longer…  I dunno… We’ll see”
Jake set up a trashcan in the middle of the ice as all the skaters
stood on the goal line.
“If you feel the need to vomit, you are free to use this garbage can
here.  If you hurl chunks of oatmeal on the ice, you will be cleaning
that up and then going back to skating…  Do we understand each other?”
The boys skated until their faces were red and they looked as if they
might collapse or vomit.  A few fought back tears.  A couple grabbed
their asthma inhalers but none of them complained or got off the ice
early.  When ice was finished, they all did sprints, push-ups and
sit-ups rather than the jolly old game of Cricket.
Upon returning home, Beata put Jan to bed after dinner and came down
stairs with a glass of wine for her and Jake.  Beata turned off the
Vancouver/Los Angeles game with two minutes to go in the second
period.  Beata wore a skimpy outfit, lit some candles, put on  Bossa
Nova Music, put the dog in the other room and right there on the
imitation bear rug, Jake and Beata made love, if you believe in love.
If you don’t, they fucked and then lay against one another on the
couch.  After leaning against one another for a few minutes, Beata
turned the television back on.  The third period was about to begin
(talk about rhythm method).  Beata nuzzled Jake’s neck as he watched
the game.  Beata asked if she could tell him something.  Jake said
yes.
“I really appreciate you coaching Jan.  It really is a special thing
that you share with him.  He loves hockey as much as you and that’s so
cool…”
“Hmm…  Well thanks for that…”
“I don’t know what happened at practice today but he told me that it
was probably the best practice he ever had and that it was so much
fun.  He specifically asked me to tell you…  Is that cute that he
wanted me to tell you or what?”
Jake smiled, took a sip of his wine, kissed Beata on the forehead and
agreed that it was very cute.  Jake kept smiling and agreed with
himself that devising a plan for the power play at home and scoring is
a really good thing too.  Like a Gordie Howe hat trick- a goal, an
assist and a fight.

Domesticis Angustia

October 17, 2017

WHY DID YOU PUT THE FUCKING DOG IN THE BASEMENT WHEN I ASKED YOU NOT
TO?  I WOKE UP TO A HOWLING PUPPY COMING THROUGH THE VENTS FROM THE
BASEMENT. AND WHY DID YOU CALL THE GIRLS AT 6;30 THIS MORNING WHEN YOU
KNOW THEY WERE OFF OF SCHOOL  THEY GET TO SLEEP IN AND YOU WAKE ALL OF
US UP WITH AN EARLY MORNING PHONE CALL.  INCREDIBLE

I THOUGHT PUTTING THE DOG IN THE BASEMENT MIGHT ALLOW YOU TO ALL GET
MORE SLEEP.  I POCKET DIALED THE GIRLS.  I’M REALLY SORRY AROUT THAT.
I FORGOT TO LOCK THE PHONE BACK UP AND IT CALLED THEM.

I DON’T UNDERSTAND YOU.  REALLY I DON’T.

I KNOW YOU DON’T AND I DON’T UNDERSTAND YOU EITHER.  WHY DO WE HAVE A
DOG? A PUPPY? AND UNTRAINED PUPPY?  YOUR EX-HUSBAND CAN’T FIGURE OUT
WHAT TO DO WITH HIS OWN KIDS WHEN HE’S WITH THEM SO HE TAKES THEM TO
IKEA TO LOOK AT SHIT THEY WON’T BUY AND TO ANIMAL RESCUES TO PET DOGS
HE WON’T HAVE.  YOU WORKED OUT BUYING A DOG WITH YOUR EX-HUSBAND BUT
HE’S NOT WALKING THEM OR CLEANING UP THE SHIT AND PISS.  I GUESS I
DON’T UNDERTAND THAT.

I DON’T UNDERSTAND WHY YOU MADE MY SON SKATE A 60 SECOND DRILL IN
FRONT OF THE WHOLE TEAM AND SINGLED HIM OUT WHEN OTHER KIDS WERE
FUCKING OFF.

OTHER KIDS GOT YELLED AT.  YOUR SON WAS SMILING WHILE I WAS YELLING
ABOUT HORSING AROUND DURING A CONTROLLED SCRIMMAGE.  THAT PROMPTED THE
60 SECOND DRILL.  I SHOULD HAVE JUST THROWN HIM OFF THE ICE.  I KNEW
THAT YOU WOULD COME TO HIS RESCUE WHEN HE’S WRONG.

IS THIS THE REASON WHY YOU SEPARATED HIM FROM ALL HIS FRIENDS DURING
THE SCRIMMAGE AND PUT HIM WITH KIDS WHO CAN’T KEEP UP?

A SCRIMMAGE IS A PRACTICE GAME.  A MAKE BELIEVE GAME.  WE DIDN’T KEEP
SCORE.  NOBODY CHEERED WHEN THEY SCORED.  IT WAS ALL FOR THE GREATER
GOOD OF GETTING BETTER FOR THE DAYS WHEN REFS SHOW UP AND WE DO KEEP
SCORE ON THE SCORE BOARD.  ANY OTHER COMPLAINTS ABOUT ME?  HIS DAD WAS
OUT HAVING A COLD ONE WITH FRIENDS WHILE I COACH HIS CHILD JUST SO HE
CAN SHOW UP FOR THE REAL GAMES AND PROUDLY PROCLAIM- THAT’S MY BOY.  I
GET THE GRIEF, HE GETS THE GRAVY.  HE FINDS THE DOG, WE TAKE CARE OF
IT.  I’M ON THE WRONG END OF THIS I SUPPOSE.

YOU KNOW WHAT’S WRONG?  I SPENT MONEY FOR YOUR DAUGHTER TO EAT A
CHEESEBURGER AT MY FATHER’S BIRTHDAY CELEBRATION AND SHE CHANGED HER
ORDER TO MAC AND CHEESE WHICH SHE DIDN’T EVEN FINISH.

UM…  SHE HAD IT FOR DINNER LAST NIGHT AND SHARED IT WITH YOUR KIDS WHO
HAD NOT EATEN YET WHEN WE CAME BACK FROM HOCKEY PRACTICE.  YOUR FRIEND
ARRIVES WITH A BOTTLE OF PROSECCO TO SIT OUT BACK WITH YOU.  MEANWHILE
BACK AT THE RANCH, I’M MAKING SLIDERS AND FRENCH FRIES FOR ALL THE
KIDS, THE HOUSE LOOKS LIKE HELL BECAUSE OF THE BROKEN GARBAGE DISPOSAL
AND A PUPPY.  I REALLY WISH YOU EX COULD BE THE ONE TO CATCH ALL THIS
BULLSHIT.  HE GETS YOU TO BUY THE KIDS A DOG.  YOU PAY FOR IT, YOU
TAKE CARE OF IT AND HE GETS A FULL NIGHT REST.  GREAT FUCKING DEAL.

I ASKED YOU TO LEAVE THE CONE ON THE DOG’S NECK BUT YOU DON’T.  THE
STITCHES WHERE HIS BALLS USED TO BE COULD EASILY COME OUT AND IF THEY
DO, YOU WILL TAKE HIM TO THE VET.  DOG IN THE CAGE, IN THE BASEMENT
WITH NO CONE.  EVERYTHING WRONG WITH THAT.

THE FUCKING DOG IS TRYING TO SLEEP WITH ME ON THE COUCH WITH A PLASTIC
CONE AROUND IT’S HEAD.  NOT POSSIBLE TO DO.

YOUR FRIEND THE PAINTER JUST SHOWED UP LATE TO PAINT AGAIN AND IS
TALKING ABOUT THE SIZE OF HIS SON-IN-LAW’S COCK. WTF?! RIGHT IN FRONT
OF THE GIRLS.  WHERE DO YOU FIND FRIENDS LIKE THIS?

I COULD ASK WHY THAT WOULD EVEN COME UP BUT NEVERMIND. I NEVER ASKED
YOU TO HIRE HIM.  WE COACHED AND PLAYED HOCKEY TOGETHER BUT I NEVER
HIRE HIM FOR ANYTHING.  HE IS A SLOB.

YOU’RE OUT PLAYING HOCKEY AND I’M BABYSITTING YOUR TALKATIVE PAINTER
FRIEND.  HOPE YOU’RE HAVING FUN.

I’M SITTING NAKED IN THE FUCKING LOCKER ROOM TEXTING YOU INSTEAD OF
WARMING UP.  GUYS ASKED ME IF I’M WRITING A BOOK.  I TOLD THEM NO
BECAUSE I CAN’T GET ONE PUBLISHED.  THEY LAUGHED.  I’M NOT LAUGHING.
THANKS FOR A GREAT SEND OFF.

FUCK YOU FOR MAKING THE DOG HOWL, WAKING UP THE GIRLS WITH YOUR
BLACKBERRY PHONE THAT NOBODY USES ANYMORE, FOR NOT GETTING GLASSES AND
NOT SEEING DOG SHIT IN THE CARPET FROM THE PUPPY THAT WAS UNCRATED
BEFORE YOU LOCKED HIM IN THE BASEMENT, NO CONE, LICKING HIS MISSING
BALLS.  FUCK YOU FOR SINGLING OUT MY CHILD AT HOCKEY LAST NIGHT AND
MAKING SURE HE WAS ON A SHITTY SIDE THAT COULD NOT SCORE…  DID I LEAVE
ANYTHING OUT?

NOPE.  THAT’S GREAT.  GOING ON THE ICE NOW SO I DON’T STROKE OUT AND
DIE FROM FRUSTRATION AND ANGER.

Trying to Remember…

May 12, 2017
I brought a photo album that my grandmother put together over to where
she now lives which is a waiting room for death.  Assisted living is
what they call it.  It was nursing and convalescent when I was a boy.
You walk in and a room full of old people look up to see if you are
the person that they have been waiting and hoping to see.  I’m not the
guy they been waiting to see.
So my grandmother has essentially been my mother my whole life and my
mom was kind of like a mom and not like a mom at the same time.
Anyone 16 years old, should never have a child and so I don’t totally
blame her for lapses.  I go to see my grandmother when I can.  Within
the last three years, her husband died, her dogs were put to sleep and
her house was sold.  Dementia has been taking hold of her and it get’s
stronger all the time.
“Did you see my mother wandering the hallway?  She’s got two guys
that she runs around with and if they ever catch her with the other,
there’s gonna be a fight.”
“No, grandma…  I didn’t see her…  I brought this nice photo album of
your garden and your dogs.”
She looked at it as if she had never seen it before.  She thought the
dogs looked cute.  A Bassett Hound and a Dachshund, both became
adopted pets which I initially purchased for my adult daughter when
she was a girl.  It got me to thinking, how will I chronicle my life?
Nobody takes pictures anymore and presents a slideshow on Christmas or
Easter.  You take pictures on your phone and upload it to social media
and when your phone falls in the shitter, those pics are gone forever.
The only thing I hate more than taking pictures, is being in pictures.
So putting together photo albums like my grandmother did going back to
her youth, World War II, the birth of my dad and uncle, my life and
then my children’s youth, won’t be possible.  I guess I’ll need to
write shit down and let one of my kids read this stuff back to me and
ask if this stuff really happened.  I’ve had an interesting life but
then again, a lot of people have also.  They can write their own
fucking blog.  This one is mine.
To look at me, you might not guess right off that I play ice hockey .
After a few minutes, you might notice scars on my face and a cracked
front tooth and wonder how I got so beat up around the face.  Some
people ask.  Most never do.  You might never guess that I have an
upright bass and play Ska/Reggae music, sing and write the music I
play.  I am fluent in French and have surprised a few people when the
French language is spoken and I join in.  I really don’t like French
culture, French people and I’ve never really wanted to go to France.
I’ve used it on visits to Martinique and Quebec.  I have three
children.  Two by a woman of African descent by way of Cuba and one by
the other by way of Jamaica.  I know you’re thinking… Ah yes.  Black
women, Reggae…  Of course.  The woman I’m with now is white and blonde
and I’m not liberal in my political views.  With that said, let’s talk
about hockey.
B texted me and told me that for sure there were going to be two
goalies at the rink near downtown.  He’s a cop on the night shift and
I own a restaurant/bar so we play pick-up hockey during the day time.
We usually play at a rink near the airport but I decided to meet him
out at the rink just west of downtown.  The Zamboni guy whose name I
never learned, recognized me and asked me where I’ve been.  I used to
play at the rink two to three times a week.  I found skates that were
more to my liking and so I stopped going to the downtown rink.
“Everyone is at J’s skate…  You know that.  Nobody comes here on
Wednesdays.  Just then M walked in.  M, is a bus driver and is black
and a goalie.  He is a virtual Rain Man with statistics of all hockey,
NHL and minor league.  He has a voice like the Chef from South Park.
He could sing, Old Man River, with his deep baritone voice.  Next
walked in B and his friend K.  K just finished playing midgets about a
year ago.  K has good hands and a quick shot.  I talked to him about
playing juniors in the past while sitting on the bench, waiting for
our shift.  K says that he just wants to get on with life and that he
doesn’t think that juniors will lead him anywhere.  One more guy
showed up and so I decided to stay.  Two on two half ice with a
goalie.  A good work out with a lot of passing and turning.  My game
is one of passing.  I believe that there can never be enough passing.
Good things come from passing.  There is a time when one should pass
and when one has to pass.  Those that know the difference are good and
smart hockey players.  K and I played against B and young guy wearing
a practice jersey from a USHL team.  He was young, average height, had
a good shot, good speed and good hands.  He was probably no better
than K.  I covered B and K covered the USHL kid.  I passed and dropped
down to create a cycle in the corner.  If you’re not familiar with a
cycle, picture that you have the puck and you’re skating towards the
goalie.  Rather than shoot the puck at the goalie, you make a right or
left turn and skate up the boards towards the blue line.  You then
look over your shoulder and drop the puck behind you along the boards
to your team mate that is coming up the boards behind you.  You make
that pass and then circle back so that you’re now following the guy
who was just following you.  He can drop it again or cut to the net
and get a pass on his way to the net.  I did this over and over and
scored a bunch of times.  I wondered how a kid from the USHL and B who
has played over twenty years since he was a kindergartener, could not
pick up on what I was doing.  We wore ourselves out doing this for
about an hour.  I looked up in the stands and little four and five
year olds were watching us.  I looked up to a small boy sitting next
to his mother and asked him if he was faster than me.  The mother
smiled and the boy nodded.
The weather was just warm enough to lay my equipment out in the
backyard.  Nothing is better to kill the stink and sweat of wet hockey
equipment better than the sun.  It’s not a fact, just my opinion.  I
walked over to a little Mexican restaurant with the newspaper and had
huevos rancheros…  The newspaper opinion section was down on Trump for
firing the head of the FBI.  The whole Democratic Party is calling for
a special prosecutor to look into Trump’s involvement with the
Russians and the Russian’s involvement with our election.  Interesting
to note that the same politicians who were astounded by James Comey’s
firing, were all calling for his head back when he was investigating
Hillary Clinton’s missing emails, use of a private server with
government business.  Today, Trump is painted to be just like Nixon.
Nixon wanted the special prosecutor fired and had to fire someone who
refused to do the firing on his behalf.  Nixon found a man named Bork
who fired the special prosecutor.  Bork was shot down as a supreme
court justice nominee due mostly to being the hatchet man for Nixon.
So Trump fired a man the Democrats felt  had done too much and that
the Republicans felt had not done enough.  Sometimes when you’re a
nice guy, it backfires and everyone hates your and finds you inept.
Better to be respected than loved.
I finished lunch, went back to the restaurant and got ready for the
night.  Washed left over dishes from the night before, bar and dinner
dishes.  Washed the floor, set tables and then went upstairs to my
apartment and practiced the bass in preparation for a gig Friday night
at my own place.  I had a rather quiet Groupon night.  Two young Asian
girls as cute as could be.  They’ll need to be carded for the next
thirty years since they look like junior high girls now.  They had a
charcuterie plate and a few empanadas and giggled a lot through their
chatter.  Another couple sat at the bar and agonized over which wine
to buy.
“What can you tell me about this wine?”
I make up plausible bullshit.  Truth is that 95% of the people who
come in cannot tell the difference in any of the wines.  They sniff,
they swirl and it’s all something they learned in Napa.  The husband
was chubby and kind of pushy.
“What do you have that’s a special?”
I’m always ready for that question.
“Everything on the menu is really special to me…”
I know what he meant.  Looking for something for next to nothing with
his Groupon.  His hips were wider than his shoulders and he was sort
of a whiny bitch.  His wife talked to him about the fact that he stole
her pillow a few times during the night.  I’m behind the bar and feel
compelled to ask at least one question.  His wife answers while he
studied his phone.  She seemed nice and genuine and out of his league.
That happens a lot.
The last table was a chubby woman across from a MILF.  The MILF
looked like she just got done with a yoga class.  The chubby woman
looked frumpy and looked at her friend while ordering instead of
making eye contact with me.  They ate a little, drank a little, paid
their bill and then sat for an extra hour.  I often wonder what  women
can talk about one on one for over two hours.  I was just happy as
hell that it wasn’t a Thursday because Thursday night I go to play
hockey after closing up and two women loitering for an extra hour is a
definite hockey cock block.
They left and I turned off all the lights to the bar and put on the
Anaheim/Edmonton game and ate and had some wine.  When one of the
Anaheim skaters skated in front of his net, in front of his goalie and
the Edmonton forechecker shuffleboarded the shot past the Anaheim
goalie who was just standing their like a scare crow, I thought
Edmonton was on it’s way.  On paper, they have almost what Edmonton
had beck in the eighties with Gretsky, Messier, Coffey and Grant Fuhr.
The Ducks woke up and crushed Edmonton in the second period and
stymied them in the third…  Dommage.  I’m hoping for Ottawa but feel
like Pittsburg is going to repeat.
Slapshot line of the day- Maurice, you make sick when you talk like that..

Going to see The-rapist or X-Box Will Kill Your Marriage

June 14, 2011

Lacey came out of her condominium with her toddler daughter in tow when she noticed her common law husband was asleep on the hood of her car.  Lacey swung the Hefty bag full of shit diapers from their daughter’s special poop container that they received at a baby shower which Lacey loved so that the dirty diapers would not stink up the kitchen garbage.  Instead it stunk up the child’s bedroom.  Lacey swung the garbage bag like a battle axe upon Jeff’s relaxed abdomen.  Jeff immediately sat up and looked bleary eyed at Lacey who looked pretty and smelled even better albeit furious.

            “You and I are going to go to a marriage counselor or you can get your things and move out.  It’s become hockey every night and drinking until dawn while I’m a single mother…  This is fricking poppycock, Jeff.”

            Jeff went into the apartment and slept for an hour before getting on with his day.  By noon time, Jeff had sent a simple text to Lacey.  He had decided to send the white flag up the flag poll.

            ALTHOUGH I DO NOT BELIEVE WE NEED TO SEE A THERAPIST, I WILL GO IF YOU WANT ME TO.

            Ten seconds later, Jeff received an angry text from Lacey.

            YOU WILL GO IF I WANT YOU TO!!!  YOU’RE DOING ME A FUCKING FAVOR?

            Ten seconds later, Jeff sent another text.

            I BELIEVE THAT THERE IS SOME MERIT IN HAVING AMODERATOR, THIRD PERSON, DETATCHED, GUN FOR HIRE TO LOOK AT OUR RELATIONSHIP FROM THE STANDS AND TELL US WHAT WE MIGHT BE DOING WRONG.  IN OTHERWORDS, I WILL GO.

 

            Jeff and Lacey showed up at the office of a thin woman named Marcy who had two cats that walked around the cushions of the couch and rubbed up against Jeff and Lacey.  Jeff hated cats and was suspicious of any man who would choose a cat over a dog.  Jeff looked around the room that had copies of French Impressionist paintings and some Asian art next to a smiling Buddha with a Bonsai plant and a tiny waterfall.  Marcy had pictures of her bald husband with a beard and moustache that was chubby and shorter than her with their two fat children that had their father’s toothy smile and mother’s close set eyes.  The space between Marcy’s eyes were so close, it actually looked like she was cross eyed sort of like Shaquille O’Neal.  Jeff thought the whole idea of therapy was a scam but did not want to fight Lacey who had been coached by her friends and Dr. Laura Berman that drawing out hidden, latent, simmering resentment, was the only hope to keep from an eventual break up.

            “Jeff, I think what I am hearing from Lacey is that you have trouble connecting and are caught up with things that do not include your fiancé.  Playing ice hockey, playing X-Box, playing softball, playing golf, putting together model airplanes in the basement are all things that are fine as an individual but what can you do as a couple that can help you connect?  What things do you think that you and Lacey can do together that would help you to be a strong couple again?”

            Jeff took a sabbatical from his hobbies and took up Salsa dancing, wine tasting, a pottery class and started seeing plays once a month.  On weekends, they would watch a movie together and bang around tennis balls.  They went for walks with the dogs and their daughter went to zoos and museums.  Jeff was father and partner of the year.  He was a role model of compliancy.  Lacey’s female friends thought that Jeff had become a renaissance man.  Their husbands thought he had been an emasculated wimp who let his testicles dangle from Lacey’s ears like chandelier earrings.

            Jeff got the call one evening that his old hockey team needed him to come out and fill in for their new goalie who had taken over for Jeff while he went through his reformation.  Jeff asked Lacey if it would be permissible to play a men’s league hockey game at 10:30pm on a Tuesday night.  Lacey was looking through an Ikea catalog and watching two gay Australian men on Oprah’s OWN network, redecorate a house in South Carolina.  Lacey had her back against the headboard and was nearly ready for bed.  Jeff had hoped Lacey would have just gone to sleep so that he could just sneak out, but Lacey had stayed up later than usual.  Jeff felt like a little boy again.  It felt as though he was asking his mother if he could spend the night at a friend’s house.  Jeff hoped to hell that Lacey would not oppose the idea since he had committed to playing the game in advance.

            “Jeffery, I am not against you playing ice hockey.  I think you need an outlet.  I just worry where I fit in when you’re playing five nights a week and then you are shot the next day and need to come home from work and sleep because you have another late night game the next night.  I need you and so does your daughter…  That’s all I’m saying, baby.  You need to keep balance.  Go ahead.  Have a good time.  If you win or lose, remember that goalies don’t win or lose games for a team.  They just try to help their teams.”

            Jeff kissed his wife carefully who had just slathered vitamin E all over her face and had her hair up in a scarf.  Jeff gathered up his gear and headed to the rink.  Jeff had a rough first period.  He allowed in the first three of four shots and then he became impossible to get past.  The team won and decided to go for the proverbial one drink.  Jeff had four.  Jeff had four drinks and fish tacos with sour cream.  At about two in the morning, Jeff took off for home.  Jeff began to sweat and it felt as though gerbils were running through his intestines.  It became urgent that Jeff find a bathroom before it became impossible to hold it in the diarrhea that was trying to get out the way the French once stormed the Bastille; with vigor and anger.

            Jeff got the key to the gas station bathroom that stunk of urine.  Jeff hovered slightly above the seat so as to not allow any strange microbes from entering through his asshole.  The angle at which he hovered allowed for projectile shit to hit the handle and wall behind him instead of the water below him.  Worried that Lacey was in bed, sleeplessly waiting for him, Jeff decided to text Lacey on the status of the situation.

            I’M AT A GAS STATION BATHROOM SHITTING MY BRAINS OUT.  THE SOUR CREAM MUST HAVE BEEN BAD.  I DIDN’T WANT YOU TO WORRY.  JUST A TOUCH OF FOOD POISONING, WILL BE HOME SOON.

            Before Jeff could hit the send button, the phone slipped out of his hands and into the abyss of brown water in the commode below him.  Jeff had to fish through his own excrement to retrieve his phone.  It was Jeff’s hope that the water did not reach the inner components.  The phone died a tragic death. Jeff swore and was tempted to throw the phone at the wall.  Instead he wiped it down and washed his own shit off of his hands before he headed out to his car.  Before getting to the car, the sinking feeling came over Jeff that he may have left the keys in the ignition and then locked the door.  Jeff could see the keys dangling from the ignition and the doors were locked tight.  The night became early morning and the light of day did not make things any easier.  Jeff came to on the hood of Lacey’s car.  Lacey did not have any dirty diapers to hit him with.  Instead Jeff got a face full of organic whole milk from the sippy cup belonging to his daughter.  Jeff was startled awake.  He leaned on his elbows on the hood of the car and whipped the milk from his eyes.  Jeff tried to plead his case but Lacey wasn’t interested in hearing what he had to say.  Jeff became angry after everything he had been through and began to yell at Lacey.

            “You know what?  I played hockey and then had a few drinks and while I was on my way home, I was abducted by tall beautiful red haired aliens who love to play X-Box, give oral sex and play fantasy sports.  They took turns on me and then dumped me on the hood of your car.  I don’t have a good explanation for why my cell phone smells like shit and that I have crap under my fingernails…  So if you want to tell Marcy that I have fallen off the wagon, so fucking be it.  I don’t give a shit right now.”

            Jeff received no text messages during the day and after work, he was a bit apprehensive to come home.  Upon coming home, Jeff was greeted with a beer and a deep dish pizza.  The baby was put to bed early and Lacey stayed up watching the Detroit Red Wings play the San Jose Sharks.  Jeff thought that he was being lured into something by Lacey the way male preying mantises lose their heads.  Jeff finally asked Lacey why everything seemed upside down.  Lacey kissed Jeff’s neck and looked into his eyes while twisting his hair around her index finger.

            “I was so turned on by the way you spoke to me this morning. It was so forceful and full of emotion.  All I could think about was getting you home tonight…  Finish your pizza.  Momma’s got some dessert for you.  In the other room.”

            And they lived happily ever after…  The end.