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July, 2009

Thursday, July 30th, 2009

D-Listers and the hockey players who wear them.


Kellie Pickler has written the new theme song for scorned puck bunnies everywhere. Allegedly, Pickler trashes her former boyfriend, Nashville Predator Jordin Tootoo, in her song/music video, Best Days of Your Life. This song gives hope to all small-minded puck bunnies that automatically give up their pursuits when the hockey player of their dreams becomes romantically linked with a moderately famous individual. Of course, not all puck bunnies are this stupid. I’m mostly referring to the type that frequent the rumour sites and make comments like, “his new girlfriend actually has a career of her own which makes her better than all of us.” Apparently, careers are only worth something if it puts us in front of a camera. Apparently, we are bad people and failures as individuals if we have never wanted to be on T.V. Anyway, for those of us that know how to think, seeing through the D-lister/hockey player union is pretty easy. This entry will analyze some of the most notable shiny relationships around the NHL. I will be doing a surprising amount of name-dropping for someone who has never once purchased a gossip magazine in her entire life.

We’ll begin with our first set of implants, Kellie Pickler. According to Miss Pickler’s lyrics, Jordin Tootoo threw away the best days of his life by cheating on her. But how can this be?? How could a FAMOUS person get cheated on??? (Sorry, that was me playing the role of the moron-bunny). Here’s how. Is Kellie Pickler not a person? Perhaps you are forgetting that her claim to fame was not a pitiful run on American Idol, but rather an embarrassing stint on Are You Smarter than a 5th Grader, in which she announced that Europe was a country and that the capital of Hungary is France. Do you think that if you were this dumb, that your boyfriend wouldn’t cheat on you, let alone dump you? Plus, she doesn’t have the face for it to be OK to be a “dumb blonde.” Obviously, as most people would in this circumstance, Tootoo thought he could get away with it – and who knows how long he was actually getting away with it. What I find more disturbing was not so much that a “famous” person could be cheated on, but rather that one of the most notable NHL tough guys allegedly did this: *clears throat to start singing* “And does she know, know about the times you used to hold me, wrap me in your arms and how you told me I’d be the only one?” PUKE! Unfortunately, by writing this VERY original song, it is obvious that Kellie is not over the whole thing, and that her brief stint as a Preds girlfriend was actually the best days of HER life.

Moving on to the Alyssa Milano of the National Hockey League, Elisha Cuthbert. Elisha is a terrifying example of the Canadian puck bunny turned celebrity. Miss Cuthbert exerts her minor-league fame on what appears to be any and every NHL hockey player she can. You will notice that the common trend in the land of hockey player/celebrity relationships is that the celebs are typically of the D-List variety and that the hockey players are generally not superstars. Elisha Cuthbert has done so little as of late in the acting department, that she is becoming more known for her NHL exploits than anything else – not that she’s ever really contributed to anything worth a damn anyway. She has been romantically linked to Sean Avery, Mike Komisarek, Dion Phaneuf, and who knows how many others. Ok, so Dion Phaneuf is one of the best D-men in the league, but perhaps you are forgetting that he also looks like a mule. Luckily for Elisha, her shiny D-list status allows her to get around the NHL where the non-celebribunny would surely fail.

Before returning to our list of celebriwhores, we will pause a moment to honour Sean Avery. Avery is the poster child for the hockey player/D-lister relationship. Sean Avery is probably the most notable active NHLer in the world, as he often makes trashy mag headlines based solely on the minor celebs he nails. Playing for LA was the worst thing that could have happened to Sean because once he got a taste of what it feels like to date a celebrity, he couldn’t get enough. Avery goes from minor celeb to minor celeb, as this will make him a big name player where his mediocre hockey skills and poorly thought out on-ice antics could not. Arguably, Avery uses D-listers as a beard for both his hockey career and possible small penis. I can’t confirm this, but if the small penis buzzer is going to go off at any time during this entry, it’s right now. Come on, he even dated one of those creepy Olsen twin aliens.

Back to the D-list. Hilary Duff is another prime example of the failing celebrity desperate for publicity. With a Disney career that is almost always short-lived and doomed by adulthood, Duff discovered that she won’t be able to play a high school student in a G-rated TV series forever. Likely she became poverty stricken the day that Billy Ray Cyrus met with the Disney execs for the first time. Duff grabbed onto the first NHL player, Mike Comrie, who didn’t have a problem dating a teenager despite the fact that he was in his late twenties at the time – creepy much? Yeah, it is. Since then, Hilary has contributed little to the entertainment industry, and instead prefers to bask in the glory of the Wives’ Lounge. Furthermore, Comrie fits the description of the hockey player seeking D-lister notoriety because he is unhappy with himself for not becoming a household name on his own. He is known to lavish expensive gifts, such as, new cars on his D-list queen, and probably jets her off to beaches around the world whenever he can – seems like he feels that he needs to keep up with her lifestyle. Silly boy, real women will still love you even if you give them homemade love coupons. Do you hear something? Sounds like the small penis buzzer is going off again.

Next up we have our list’s only B-lister. Carrie Underwood is currently in the prime of her career, and has bagged the handsome Mike Fisher to boot. Unfortunately, we can’t forget that Underwood also comes from blue collar American Idol origins, and is already known to have dated other athletes. Multi-sport celebribunny? Technically, where southern country music fans are concerned, Carrie downgraded when she went from an all American football star, Tony Romo, to a Canadian hockey player in Ottawa. She is currently known as the poor man’s Jessica Simpson.

Of course, on occasion, the league’s crème de la crème also bag celebriwives of their own. Yet, even the Great One can’t seem to use his hockey fame to land anything more than the star of home workout videos. However, Mike Modano’s wife, Willa Ford, is practically a non-Lister. Willa’s claim to fame was her one hit wonder, I Wanna Be Bad, which was digitally altered to the point that she could have been mistaken for one of The Chipmunks. Unfortunately for Willa, her hit song came slightly premature of the slut movement of 2002. At the time that Mrs. Modano was being bad, her superiors (Britney and Christina) were still playing the virgin card. Since then, Willa has flashed her implants around any sleazy men’s magazine that would have her. Sadly, Willa is only 28 years old, yet she resembles a 48 year old that has had far too much plastic surgery. You really have to feel for Mike Modano. By the time his wife actually turns 40, he would have paid for so much plastic surgery only to be screwing this every night: What, too soon? Let that be a lesson to all of you that think that tanning is good for you.

Other Non-listers and further examples of low-intellect hockey players prizing body over substance are the Playboy Bunnies and female sportscasters. Both parties are women consumed with what they look like, and surely have the same Willa-fate as mentioned above. Both girls dream of being models and admired for their appearance. Unfortunately, their raunchy/stubby exterior and implants keep them from ever being considered by a serious modeling agency. Sportscasters are the variety that couldn’t cut it in Playboy, and had to turn to small-time T.V. broadcasting to land a notable hubby. Female sportscasters are always featured in the sidelines giving interviews because they don’t actually know enough about sports to make it onto the panel. These women are notorious for dating athletes, however, the relationships don’t often become public news because the relationships can’t really work and are usually just @#$%ing. For the hockey players sad enough about their careers to actually date a sportscaster, the details of the relationship will be all over the internet, as this bunny will actually have people write articles about the relationship, and will Twitter their every move as a couple to the point that you wish someone would stab her in the eye and mutilate her tweeting hand. It’s amazing what effects silicone and a bottle of peroxide will have on those of dim wit.

Play me out, Kellie.

Saturday, July 25th, 2009

Mating Game 101: Hockey for every situation.


Maybe it’s the anthropology student in me, but I am absolutely fascinated by two social groups of the non-hockey variety: metal heads and groupies of any kind. Last night I got to hang out with the amateur band groupie at a metal show – eeeee!

At the last minute I decided to accompany my friend and her fellow “band aide” to a show at the Bovine Sex Club in Toronto. The show was intense. I love metal heads. They are diehard about the music. I love watching the head banging. Typically, I don’t like that in non-metal heads. People that are one-dimensional about a specific genre of music or a specific band – you know the type. The type of people that judge you if you haven’t heard about such and such indie group or if you admit to enjoying a Top 40 hit. And while we’re on the subject of music, what’s up with those fake girls that pretend to like whatever music their boyfriend or crush does? Seriously, are they so insecure that they think their relationships can’t work if they don’t listen to the same music ALL THE TIME? You never see guys do this, “I’m really into this girl so I went out and bought her favourite Britney album so I can peer into her soul and have something in common with her.” Right. Probably the same broads that get implants and “work done” in their early twenties. Anyway, although metal heads are very intense about the music, it is a common mistake made by the groupies (it seems) that these guys are all music all the time – as I found out last night.

The girls developed crushes on the drummer and guitarist of one of those scary screaming metal bands we saw that night. As my friend began her mating game with the drummer, my wingwoman senses perked up as I heard their conversation become exhausted after the, “What are your favourite bands?” approach. He was getting away so I had to intercept with my “dazzling” conversational skills haha. I tend to distract people with bizarre choices for conversation topics like, why bad movies are actually good, how serial killers become sexy, and a stand up routine I like to call, My Spanish Grandmother. As our conversation turned to sports injuries of our childhood, he mentioned taking a slap shot to neck. This inevitably turned to the hockey discussion and team affiliations:

Me:
So what’s your favourite team then?
Drums: *fan pride* BUFFALO SAAAAAABRES!!
Me: Hmm I can live with Buffalo.
Drums: Haha I fuuuuckinnnnn HATE the Leafs!!!
Me: Me too! I used to work for them!
Drums: eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!!!! *grabs both my hands like an excited little girl* (seriously, that happened).

After that we talked about various showdowns between the Flyers and the Sabres. And just like that I got my chicklets invited to hang out with the band after the show thing. I promised my friend I would take her to a couple games this season so she could learn a thing or two, so hockey can save her in practically every pick up situation…even in the dark underground bowels of the gothic metal scene (apparently). There were people at this club with fangs painted on their faces – awesome! Anyway, I guess it shouldn’t come as a complete shock that metal heads and hockey would go hand and hand. After all, apart from Guns N’ Roses’ Welcome to the Jungle, the most common song played at hockey rinks across the continent is Metallica’s Enter Sandman.

This is off the topic of hockey, but still worth mentioning. Later that night, while we were all waiting to leave, I had to come to the rescue of the other girl who was in the presence of the guitar player of her current fantasy. She was shy. I remember having to steer the conversation back in the day when my bunny friends were crashing and burning before the “hockey gods.” This time, however, NASCAR was the secret. I noticed the guitar player holding a pair of #8 sandals.

Me: Eww who’s the Junior fan?
Guitar: Not me, I fuuuuuckinnnnnnn hate Junior.
Me: That’s good. I grew up in a Jeff Gordon house.
Guitar: I have a pair of #24 sandals in the van, want to see?
Me: Uhh sure.
Guitar: Hold my hand while we skip over to the van. *Grabs my hand and starts skipping* Sure enough he dug them out of the van and showed me the sandals, but I was concerned as to why he had them, as he did not possess the #8 sandals for wholesome reasons (they were the footwear of a blow up sex doll).
Me: OK do you have these because you actually like Gordon?
Guitar: No, I don’t give a shit about Jeff Gordon. He’s like the Wayne Gretzky (hockey again) of NASCAR.
Me: Hmm…I guess he is, but he wasn’t back in the day when I was in grade nothing.
Guitar: Yeah, for sure, it meant something to be a fan back then.
Me: Mmm hmm and who do you like? Let me guess, “*mocking girly voice*Ooh Kayce Kahne. He’s sooooo dreamy! I’d like to pit lizard it up all over him.”
Guitar: NO!!! I fuckin hate Kayce Kahne! I like *fan pride* JIMMIE JOHNSON!

Sure he does.

Anyway, had I decided to succumb to ways of the band aide, I would have pursued the handsome lead singer. Unfortunately, I didn’t get a chance to talk to him while the girls were torn between drums and guitar. However, he did hold on to my hand rather tightly while I was attempting to rescue him from a crowd surfing incident gone horribly wrong. Come to think of it, there was a lot of hand holding going on that night – how sweet.

Friday, July 17th, 2009

Off Season: This is what happens when I get restless and go for a “drive.”


As you might have guessed, it takes a special kind of person to handle the madness that is the hockey season according to Psycho Lady. Not many people have the stamina to drive for an endless amount of time, or stay both awake and coherent for days upon days. You can imagine that my hockey season routine is somewhat blueprinted in my genetic make-up, thus making the off season a very trying time. Wednesday was an example of what happens when the hockey habits get the better of me and there isn’t any hockey available to satisfy my urges.

The 08-09 hockey season was unlike no other hockey season that came before it. On the back burner there was a television show, and a busy producer and the economic death of CanCon* (American translation: Canadian arts content) which was causing a lot of unnecessary worry, impatience, and stress. Then there was the prophesized switch to Phoenix that resulted in so much stress, insomnia, and misery (from mind games) that I was finally pushed over the edge. I don’t cry very often, in fact, I’m considered to be the one amongst my friends and family with the nerves of steel; yet there were about eight million emotional break downs during the final stretch of the hockey season, which should help to put in perspective just how much garbage was really going on.

Maybe it was the vast importance that I had associated with the change of teams. I don’t often put much stock into what psychics tell me, but when they all start telling me the same thing, then I start to pay attention. The psychics had unanimously told me that my “true love/soulmate/all those great terms” had an Arizona connection/was in Arizona. This is going to sound way more romantic than it is or than I am (I’m really not very chick-flicky), but as I had explained, if the psychics were right and this guy really was there or associated with my switch there, then it doesn’t matter if I don’t know who he is because if it is the person I’m supposed to be with, then of course I’d do anything for him anyway. And so it was in total blind faith that I rushed out of the Boston airport at the NHL trade deadline, and turned my entire life upside down trying to find what/who may or may not be awaiting me there. It’s like if a psychic told you that you were going to win the lottery, you’d be an idiot not to at least spend the $2 and buy a ticket. (Also note, at the beginning of January one of the psychics also told me that I’d be going to Switzerland to which I replied, “Umm, you mean Philadelphia?” I had forgotten about that until I played the tape again after I came back from the IIHF World Championship in Zurich!)

So, when I finally got the sign to switch to Phoenix, it seemed like the prophecy was within reach. But instead of true love, I was greeted with a lot of unpleasantness. And what’s worse is that I have no man to show for my efforts. Not to mention, while I was off playing white knight to some mystery man, certain things at home had fallen into a distant second place – umm like school. It was pretty much solely based on my powers of persuasion and my problem solving skills that I even managed to graduate on June 18th as I was meant to. Perhaps, I should have gone to law school after all because at U of T beating the system just doesn’t happen. You can also imagine the stress that this added to the already catastrophic levels left over from the hockey season, and I was finally starting to crack. (It takes a lot of stress to finally get to me. My coaches used to always say that I preformed best under pressure – and it’s true. Again, this should put things in perspective for you.) Basically, I stopped sleeping in March.

I was really worried about my stress levels and insomnia. So, I decided I would do something this week to remedy it – especially since I was beginning to feel like I wouldn’t be able to handle the 09-10 season. I booked a spa morning at Novo Spa in Yorkville, and tried to relax. It worked a little, but it wasn’t enough. I was dreaming of wilderness spa retreats. You know the places where there is nothing to do except hang by the lake and have massages. I decided that I would make my own – spa in Toronto, then wilderness adventure somewhere north of the city. Well I didn’t PLAN it so much as it just happened.

The road trip is one of the most essential parts of my hockey experience. I don’t know why, but I need it. In the off season, I find myself doing a lot of unnecessary driving. I’ll drive around for an hour before I’ll finally stop at the grocery store. I even make sure that I apply for jobs with travel due to my extremely restless nature. Anyway, after the spa, I needed a drive. I didn’t pack anything other than some homemade organic soup and vitamins. If you’ve been following my Twitter, you’ll know I’m in the process of working off the weight I ALWAYS gain in the final stretch of the season (for the last time EVER!!). This is because the final stretch/playoffs coincide with university essay season and exam time = I live on a diet of pure carbs and Rockstars and little to no exercise. So, I brought my own food, in case I felt compelled to go to McDonald’s and ruin all of my progress.

I ended up about three hours away from the city in cottage country in “Ardoch, ON” or something. What’s the off season without some time on the lake anyway, right? I spent the next two days on the water chasing a flock of ducks around the lake with a row boat and a water gun while singing a combination of I’m on a Boat and the Darth Vader theme song. OK, it’s “cruel,” but I made up for it by also bringing them bread. And I didn’t discriminate against the ducks either. I was equally annoying to the seagulls and the turtles.


About to make a sneak attack on the ducks.

When I was off the water, I spent my time ruining my diet plan with roasted marshmallows and effing amazing cheesecake from the bakery in town. Oh well, I got additional exercise rowing, canoeing, and, yes, even paddle boating in my pursuits of animal cruelty. Whatever, at least it wasn’t a REAL gun. I slept on a couch inside a screened in gazebo, which was awesome because I could hear the frogs and loons crystal clear all night. It was a step up from my original idea to sleep in my car. I thought that would be a nice tribute in the anticipation of the new Trailer Park Boys movie, Countdown to Liquor Day!

I also learned some wilderness survival techniques like how to successfully avoid showering. Who needs a shower when you can jump in the lake and put bug spray in your hair!? On a completely unrelated note, I have absolutely no idea why I don’t have a boyfriend and why boy(s) don’t bother calling me when I give/MySpace them my phone number.

Anyway, if you think my brief adventure into the bush was completely without hockey, then you’d be wrong. After I bug sprayed up the hair, I needed to find some type of hat to cover my head. Much like my overnight adventure from Buffalo to Long Island during the Phoenix Coyotes five game road trip, I went rummaging around the trunk to see what hats I could find. Sure enough, there was that dreaded Leafs hat staring me in the face again. This hat seems to spark a lot of commentary Re: Wherefore, Romeo: Long Island (Day 6). And when I wore it into the small town of Sharbot Lake, people were not any quieter. As I was approaching the miniature LCBO* (American/non-Ontarian translation: liquor store), I heard what sounded like a sheep baa-ing at me from inside a car. No, it was just a very, very East coast Canadian accent expressing a distaste for the Maple Leafs. “That’s a baaaaaad, baaaaaad haaaat, eeeeh?” Yes… I know it is.


Also, passing through the little towns on my way up to the lake, I noticed a peculiar blue and white fire hydrant at the Tim Horton’s in Tweed. Upon closer inspection, the fire hydrant had been painted to look like a Toronto Maple Leafs hockey player. Either this was a patriotic homage to the team, or a symbolic statement likening the Leafs to a canine piss receptacle.

I wish I had more time on the lake, but I was excited to get home and discover that the 09-10 NHL schedule had finally been released. However, my schedule party was not the happy occasion it normally is. I still have no idea which team will be my team next season. Will I get the call and make Phoenix my team again? Or will I settle down closer to home prophecies be damned? And that’s an oversimplification, my post grad job search has also taken me out of Toronto, and as of right now there is a possibility that I may relocate to Ottawa or Edmonton. For the first time ever, I looked at more than one team’s schedule. I know what I want to do, but the decision will ultimately depend on what does or does not happen in the remaining weeks before training camp.

Honorable Mention:

There is no rear access at Crotch Lake.

Sunday, July 12th, 2009

CASTING CALL: Pro hockey players needed to appear in a series of short films.


After the recent success of the resurrection of Down the Rabbit Hole, I am teaming up with producer Jay Gold (Hardcore Hockey Talk, UP2DATE –The Score Television Network) to produce a series of short films on the various misadventures of my beloved puck bunny. We need interested professional hockey players in the Toronto area (or willing to be in the Toronto area for filming over the off season) to star in each episode. Not to worry agents and PR people, the films do NOT cover unsavoury topics such as drugs, alcohol, or sex – think Wile E. Coyote vs. the Roadrunner. Filming will begin in a matter of weeks once casting has been sorted out, and will not last more than a day or two. Interested players or their representatives may contact Jay or I via Psycho Lady Hockey at psycholadyhockey@hotmail.com.

Friday, July 10th, 2009

The WOW factor!

I’ve been so busy posting Down the Rabbit Hole that I haven’t had a chance to acknowledge the retirement of Joe Sakic yesterday. What is it about Joe Sakic? Is it his massive amount of hardware, including, two Stanley Cup rings and a Hart trophy? Or his six-time 100 point seasons? Or is it the fact that he will go down in history as one of the greatest players to ever play the game? Needless to say, when Joe Sakic is in the building there is an aura of pure awesomeness about him. Not unlike the shroud of wonder that followed around a certain Pittsburgh Penguin bearing the number #66.

Now, as some of you may have noticed, I tend to get around the National Hockey League – and not in the fun skanky way! Hockey players are so much a part of my everyday reality that the reverence that many people have for these athletes is lost on me. I can see them on the street or at a restaurant, and it’s just another day in the life of this Psycho Lady. If I’ve had too much to drink, I will not hesitate to point out their teenstaches! Come on, even Wayne Gretzky doesn’t do it for me! But, one time, and only one time in my entire life, has a hockey player ever made me say, “WOW, look, it’s THAT guy!” That star-struck moment for me was Joe Sakic.

Three years ago, in Nashville, I saw the Colorado Avalanche play live for the first and only time in my life. This road trip had marked the first occasion that I was able to secure fifth row seats at an NHL game. Before that time, I was under the impression that all National Hockey League teams had the same ticket scarcity that plagues the Toronto Maple Leafs. This was long before I had discovered the wonders of Stub Hub, and based all my ticket getting on box office and ebay. I was amazed that I was able to get fifth row in Nashville, and perhaps this is where the hockey addiction really began. Prior to this road trip, I had never seen the big show from closer than the very back of the upper bowl!

Although I was three rows behind the Preds bench, I was nevertheless completely awestruck when the opposing #19 skated by. “That’s JOE SAKIC!” I thought to myself. It was the coolest thing that I had ever seen in my life! Not even the very slow (eeeeeee!) elevator trip with the handsome Avs player earlier that day compared to that moment. And that probably has a lot to do with the fact that I didn’t know or care who McHothot was. I just couldn’t believe that THE Joe Sakic was close enough to me that I could have thrown something at him! I’m sure that if I had seen him at the hotel, it would have been very likely that I would have thrown something at him – but it would have been a pelting of love!

Despite the unpleasantness later that evening, (Re: Will NOT have sex for carbs or money!), a new world of hockey filled with Joe Sakics opened up to me. Three months later I was in full fledge NHL road trip mode, and some of the credit for that goes to Mr. Sakic.

Even though Joe has retired, I am sure that if I saw him ten years from now walking down the street, I’d feel that same sense of wonderment that only hockey royalty can evoke. “Wow! That’s JOE SAKIC!” I’d say, and quickly call up anyone I could think of who’d be jealous of my sighting! Either that or I’d hide behind a tree and pelt him with my shoe of affection.

Congratulations on an outstanding career, Joe!

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