Dear Baby,
Welcome to Dumpsville!
Population:
You.

So, before I get into my venomous rant about the Coyotes, my now OFFICIAL ex-boyfriend team, I figure you might be curious about some of the strange things that happened during my second visit at the Stanley Hotel. The drive back to Estes Park was more enjoyable this time around because I FINALLY discovered a decent radio station. The DJs sold me on it when they made a South Park reference after playing The Cure’s Love Song. At least the music was good. I’m pretty sure there was air in the brake line of my rental car. Fabulous.

I was warned not to “freak out” my guide the night before, so I kept my mouth shut until the end of the tour. A few strange things happened. For example, we were on what was known to be a children’s floor, and we were told to hold out our hands while we sang a children’s song. The guide said that the children were known to be attracted to individuals who work with children or have children around them, and sometimes touch them when he performs this experiment. Well no one spoke up about anything happening to them afterwards, so I decided not to say anything as well. There were a lot of skeptics in the room anyway. But, sure enough, while we were singing, something grabbed onto my thumb so tight that it actually started to hurt. For the record, I do have a history working with children. I spent some time in university as my cousins’ nanny.

The story I’m sure that you’re all waiting to hear is the story about the painting that kept trying to grab my attention the first night. On that first night, there was another encounter that didn’t seem so exciting at the time so I didn’t bother to mention it on the blog. While we were standing on the landing of a double staircase, I kept getting drawn to one specific side. I mentioned this to the guy who was showing me around, and I have to commend him for keeping his mouth shut after I made this apparently quite massive revelation. All he responded with was, “If you ask me, I’m sure there is something going on here.”

This time around I learned the story of the painting. The man in the painting was Lord Dunraven, a notorious womanizer and scumbag extraordinaire. He had a thing for kleptomania, and also ran a brothel in town. He was apparently always on the lookout for new talent. When the guide took us to the landing he warned the group about going up one side of the double staircase. Yes, the same side of the stairs that I was drawn to the night before. Apparently, people have reported being kicked in the leg while going up the stairs, while others have seen the guilty apparition with their own eyes. And who do you think that guilty party was? None other than Lord Dunraven. After the tour, my new guide and I theorized that Lord Dunraven must have had a bit of a thing for me (or thought I’d be a good “employee”), so he decided to follow me around the night before. Freaky, no?

Now back to the Pepsi Center. I had planned my trip to see the Coyotes play in Denver in August, which is my own fault for disregarding my own personal limitations that I laid out over the summer. I planned to take this season game by game with the Coyotes. I figured they were only going to get more annoying as the 09-10 season dragged on, so I wanted to have the freedom to turn away at any given time. Of course, when the schedule was released, I was so excited that I started planning out a bunch of games, and locked myself in for more mindless bullshit than I could handle.

You see, the reason I hate the Coyotes is because they’re a bunch of little bitches. They remind me of that scrawny little asshole on the playground at school that would rather go run and tell the teacher on recess duty that the big kids didn’t want to play with him, than try to speak up and make a case for himself. That’s the Coyotes. They cause unwarranted drama wherever they go because they don’t like not getting what they want. They lose the girl, they cry, they have to lie and spin it around so it looks like the girl lost them. A bunch of talentless, gutless children.

Wow…they’re winning now. Does anyone care? The Coyotes kill the atmosphere in every rink they go to including their own. We all know that Phoenix fans are few and far between, turning up at Jobing.com Arena in numbers rivaling that of an AVERAGE Ontario Hockey League match up, but when rabid hockey fans in places like Boston, Buffalo, Pittsburgh, and everywhere else can’t be bothered to support their team on nights that the desert dogs come to town, then that should be something that actually merits a “flag” from the NHL. All I can say is that I’ve never been happier that Jim Balsillie lost the Coyotes as much as I am right now. I might have actually died of boredom if the team was nestled 35 minutes from my house.

Where does my little black book fit in? Well, a year and a half ago I met a producer who was interested in working with me on a show loosely based on Down the Rabbit Hole. The show was put on the back burner because he had his hands full with a current show that has now been signed on to multiple seasons. The show was basically going to be written by me, so he told me to conduct some form of research while I went on my hockey adventures. Enter the little black book.

Like any good writer, I began with character development. I had written up the blueprints for six prominent female characters, and five prominent males. Of course, I needed inspiration for some of these characters, and there was only one hockey player that came to mind as the leading man in my television universe. For five years, my friends and I have been greatly entertained by the obsessive behavior of one specific mediocre NHL player. I’m not trying to “flatter” myself, but hockey players are easily distracted. All you have to do is exist and they peacock around you like their salaries depend on it.

Anyway, this particular player was far worse than the others. He has been doing some of the craziest, unprofessional, on-ice stunts that I have ever seen. Anyone who came to a game with me was so entertained by him that by the time the buzzer sounded to end the third, they were already browsing Ticketmaster to see when they could go to a game with me again. While the constant gazing, stick tapping, business time eyebrow raising, etc had its amusing moments, it was also quite infuriating. For starters, I could never understand why the guy bothered to try so hard in the first place…and for five years. What was the motive? Did he think that if he skated over to me before a face off, that I’d jump the glass and rip his clothes off? What was the point of making sure I acknowledged his goal? Yes, unlike you, I’m actually watching the game. I can see that you scored. Maybe he thought that warranted some type of physical reward. I could go on and on with better and more outrageous examples, but the most irritating thing of all was having to waste large portions of every game trying to convince spectators sitting around me that this guy was not married to me. This hockey player was cock blocking me from the ice!

Since the start of the 08-09 season until now, I was carefully jotting down amusing fan and player behavior, but with the greatest focus going to the mating strategies of the aforementioned player. Yes, I have pages and pages of the most hilarious shit. HA! HAHAHAHAHA! Bet you didn’t realize that’s what I was writing down all this time. Not to mention the years of vivid memories prior to the last fourteen months of hockey.

So, what’s the point of this big secret? Well, a few months ago my producer friend was reading my blog, and said it was in good shape to make adapting a TV series quite simple. So, I’m going to make it even easier, and I have decided to go forward and write out my vision for season one and test drive it on Psycho Lady Hockey. Don’t expect it anytime soon; probably early 2010 is more realistic, as I will have to write out every episode first. That way, if we do go forward with the TV show it will be based solely on the blog! Anyway, since Psycho Lady Hockey will be moving in this direction, I have decided to introduce a new feature to all my road entries. I have this natural habit of associating music with my stories. I did this a little bit in the 2008-2009 Yearbook, so I’m going to do that again and “roll the credits” at the end of every entry. This means that this would be the song that ran while the credits played out if every post was an individual episode. So, for the first time ever…

Roll the credits…

(I’m aware the song cuts out, it was the best I could do! You get the point.)