Posts Tagged ‘relationships’

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..
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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.