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December, 2012

Thursday, December 27th, 2012

What a Mike Zigomanis bobblehead means to me…

or The Rise and Fall of Ginger Snape

Toronto, ON Today was the Toronto Marlies annual Boxing Day game at the Air Canada Centre, and to mark this grand occasion the Marlies were giving away the (not anatomically correct) Mike Zigomanis bobblehead to the “lucky” fans dedicated enough to stand in line for more than an hour to get their mitts on one. I know. I couldn’t believe it either. The queue for the game was already nearing Union Station when I arrived at 11:15 this morning to pick up my ticket for a 1PM puck drop, so it didn’t take much for me to accept that a “Ziggy” bobblehead wasn’t worth my time and moderate effort. Naturally, I opted to head up to the Air Canada Club instead of standing in line forever, and begin my usual Air Canada Centre pregame ritual of taking down several over-priced cocktails so that I reach a comfortable state of obliviousness, which is usually necessary when watching hockey at the ACC, if you know what I’m saying! However, it is due to this traditional state of drunkenness that I cannot actually comment on the game between the Marlies and Bulldogs. I will, however, tell you all about the irritating man-drama leading up to today’s game. Enjoy!

I know I’ve been dropping the ball on writing my game recaps. I think there are three Marlies games and a Kitchener Rangers game still unaccounted for, but whatever. Anyway, prior to the Marlies/IceCaps game at Ricoh Coliseum on the Saturday before Christmas, I was messaged by a guy I went out with ONCE when I was 21. This wasn’t the first time the guy had messaged me wanting to go out on that elusive second date, but this time my answer wasn’t the usual, “No!” It should be pretty obvious that hockey tickets are my major weakness, but you’d be surprised how many guys haven’t figured out that asking me out to a hockey game is pretty much a guaranteed date. I guess I should be thankful for that, but you can also understand how I couldn’t refuse the antagonist in my story any longer when he messaged me saying he had box seats for the Boxing Day game, and asked me if I wanted to go with him and his “buddies.”

OK that sounds way worse than it actually is. I don’t want to sound like I was planning on using him for the box seats to a fucking AHL game! The fact of the matter is that I was already planning to go to the game, and since I hadn’t bought my ticket yet, I really couldn’t think of a good reason why I shouldn’t just go with him. Plus after six years I can’t really remember the exact reason why I wasn’t interested in him originally, so I figured giving him another shot couldn’t hurt either. Besides, I’ve been ever so bored since I came back from Japan.

Anyway, after I said I would join him on Boxing Day, he asked me to meet him for drinks that day so we could “catch up.” Unfortunately, I was literally heading out the door to pick up my friend for the Marlies tilt that afternoon, and was heading straight home to Kitchener-Waterloo for the holidays after the final buzzer, so (once again) I had to decline.

The following night (Sunday) I agreed to meet him for drinks in Mississauga to “catch up” as he called it, since he was quite adamant about “catching up” before Boxing Day. However, then I started to get an idea – a sexy idea. I was thinking about the head case that Japan turned me into when it comes to what I believe to be a type of Body Dysmorphic Disorder and my overall desire to even want to get laid over the past year and a half. Deep down I know that the only thing to snap me out of it is to just GET LAID, but it had taken me up until exactly that night to actually feel that I had all the ingredients necessary for an ideal coitus situation.

OK! Don’t get excited. I’m going to tell you right now that I did NOT sleep with him. The point is, however, that for the first time since Japan I actually felt ready (more than ready) to go. Perhaps it was a breakthrough, or perhaps it was just a situation rife with enough components to make me feel secure in the sexy endeavour. You see, here was a guy that I was never interested in, and not even really attracted to. Let’s just say he looks like Snape from Harry Potter, if Snape was a daywalker. I refer to him as Ginger Snape! So Dysmorphic Psycho doesn’t particularly care what Ginger Snape thinks about being subjected to said dysmorphic nakedness. He is also definitely NOT boyfriend material. I seem to recall him having a girlfriend that was living in Korea at the same time I was, and when he came over to visit her, he kept trying to arrange to meet up with me while she was at work – not considering that I might also be at work at that time (genius). You know what they say, “Once a cheater, always a cheater.” Plus, he doesn’t know the people I know, so no risk of that embarrassing backlash after he will inevitably run off and tell all his friends. So what went wrong, you ask? Gather round children, and let me tell you the tale of the epic fall of Ginger Snape.

I kept my ulterior motives to myself, so as far as Ginger Snape was concerned we were just “catching up” over drinks that night. However, in secret I was putting in all the works grooming wise. Let’s just say I haven’t been that pretty in years! Oh yeah, Ginger Snape was definitely in for quite the night, and he didn’t even know it. But, of course, my sexy plans were foiled due to extreme douche baggery. I was quickly beginning to remember why this guy never got a second date the first time around.

As I was running out the door to go meet him all the way in Mississauga, because, you know, Mississauga is the halfway point between Toronto and Kitchener (sarcasm), he sends me a text message claiming he “forgot” about “family stuff” he had going on that night, and asked if he could take a raincheck. Now this sounded like bullshit to me, but since it was December 23rd and Christmastime and all, I was willing to give him the benefit of the doubt. That is, I gave him the benefit of the doubt for all of 10 seconds before the next text message came through:

Ginger Snape: I think we have different wants.

Me: OK.

I opted to play dumb at this point, but I knew exactly what he was saying. He clearly had the same ulterior motives that I had, except he was being an asshole about it, and that is a problem. You see, even if I’m ridiculously horny, I’m not about to drive an hour to seduce a total Gingery Snape-cunt, who basically just said that hanging out with me is a waste of his time if he isn’t going to get some. Sorry, boys, but I’m not that kind of girl.

Anyway, I guess he thought his text went over my head, so he proceeded to send a more obvious one:

GS: I would have tried to kiss you tonight…

I honestly don’t know what kind of reaction he expected from me. I mean, the guy just cancelled on me, right?

Me: I guess you’ll never know how that would’ve gone for you, eh?

Anyway, he seemed to have interpreted what I said as me giving him the green light to go ahead and move in for this kiss that was six years in the making.

GS: Fuck my friend in town. Let’s go for drinks.

Please note that he originally told me his commitments were to family, and now they are with a friend that is in town for the holidays, which he can easily blow off. So, I now pretty much confirmed that this whole little last minute cancellation was just a dickless ploy to get some sort of level of commitment from me that things might escalate from the “catching up” stage before he puts in the effort to drive 20 damn minutes to Mississauga for “nothing.” Unfortunately, for him (not that I wouldn’t have had the self-respect to have refused him after the shadiness of our iPhone discourse on my own) I had already made other plans to go out that night. After he cancelled there was no way I was wasting good date hair by staying home feeling sorry for myself. So, I went out on the town, and he stayed home alone, not getting laid, and texting me weird high school type questions all night long such as, “What kind of cologne do you like?” Seriously? I can’t even think of the name of one cologne! All I know is that not wearing any is generally a big turn off FYI!

When I had suggested to Ginger Snape that we go out and catch up after the Boxing Day game instead, he had agreed. But then suddenly the following day, which was also Christmas Eve, I might add, he was asking to meet up for drinks again! It was becoming clear that there was a reason he was adamant about meeting prior to the ACC game, but I wasn’t quite sure what the reason was. I narrowed it down to two possibilities:

1. He was using the box tickets as bait to get me to meet up with him, and actually had no intention of bringing me to the game, or…

2. He was trying to get face time with me before I met his friends, who are likely better looking than he is, assuming they don’t look like gingered versions of Snape from Harry Potter…

I was also a lot less motivated to meet up with him in the sexy sense of the term after the stunt he pulled the night before. I was still insulted by the whole thing, and also slightly alarmed. You see, the few times I’ve had guys cancel at the last minute like that, and then suddenly change their minds about canceling just as quickly, there is usual an unpleasant reason for it like:

1. They have a wife, girlfriend, or fiance they weren’t telling me about.

2.They have little to no penis, and they are nervous about me finding out.

3.They suffer from erectile dysfunction, which may or may not be worsened by one of the previous two items.

Quite frankly, I don’t need any of that in my life. Plus the juvenile mind games he was trying to play should really not be part of a 30 year old’s game strategy for scoring with chicks. Ginger Snape was not just eager to “try and kiss” me, he was clearly up to something dickheaded. I mean, if he couldn’t just accept that I was not available to “go for drinks” at Christmas of all times of the year, then he is about as reasonable as a five year old high on Fun Dip! I don’t think I need to tell you that he tried the same thing on Christmas Day, too!

At this point I knew that the Boxing Day game was a total farce, and made a bet with my friends about how he was going to go about playing off why he wasn’t taking me to the game. I put my money on the likely scenario that he was going to text me like it was my fault somehow because he tried unsuccessfully to reach me prior to the game, and sure enough that’s exactly what happened!

During the second period of the Marlies/Bulldogs Boxing Day game I was startled out of my drunken haze when the text came through:

GS: What happened to you?

Me: Really? Please.

GS: I texted you twice this morning.

Me: Sure you did.

GS: Anyways are you at the game?

At that point I started ignoring him, and that’s how it’s going to be for the rest of his days. First he insults me Sunday night by canceling on me with the whole, “We have different wants” thing, and now he insults my intelligence. If you want some advice, cellphone technology is too reliable to use as a believable bluff in this day and age. If you want people to know you are full of shit, then just tell them you texted them when you actually didn’t.

Anyway, that’s the end of my story. My “treasured” Mike Zigomanis bobblehead, that the dynamite Air Canada Club staff hand delivered to me personally at my alcoholic perch at the bar all special-like that afternoon, will forever serve as a beacon to warn me against the ills of making future mistakes and bad judgement calls when it comes to men. Think about it! I almost SLEPT with GINGER SNAPE! Now whenever I feel the urge to lower my standards, I will just look at old Mike Zigomanis and remind myself that unpleasant and icky things will happen if I allow desperation to set in.

Oh, by the way, about an hour after the game ended I got another text from Ginger Snape, “I owe you a few drinks I feel.” Yeah… It takes a special kind of idiot to think he has a shot at getting laid after standing a girl up twice in a row. Good luck with that, buddy!

Disclaimer: Please note that this post is in no way insinuating that Mike Zigomanis is or is not one of my many unpleasant and icky mistakes…

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Thursday, December 20th, 2012

Perhaps the Mayans were really predicting the end of the National Hockey League…

You moved to Japan. Thought a clean bill of health and a camera could show you the plan…

Minutes to Midnight Maybe the Mayans were onto something when they said there is an ending approaching because I know I’m not the only person whose life has essentially blown up in the last few days leading to December 21st. Sure, there have been times in my life when I’ve felt that I have hit bottom, but little did I know that there were further depths to plunge. For the first time in my life I feel like I am sitting in the dusty rubble of my first 27 years on the planet, and trying to assess if any of the pieces of the past are worth salvaging.

Professionally speaking I thought I was starting to get it all figured out. I had decided I was going to go abroad again for another 1-2 years because I really believe that I need to go back to school and reinvent myself, and in order to do this, I need to get the funds together to accomplish this goal. Since January my sights had been set on Saudi Arabia – and a job that would make a social difference and really challenge me professionally, and a lifestyle that would ensure that I would keep my focus on my ultimate personal goal. However, since June all my attempts at getting to the KSA have met road blocks to the dismay of the universities trying to import me – I even wrote about one of these instances claiming it was the hockey gods intervening with my life LOL!

Since coming back from Japan, I got right back on the Saudi mission, and focused all my attention on getting a job and a visa in time for the start of the winter semester, which is no easy feat since most companies shy away from bringing over Canadians, as the visa process is fairly unpleasant for us in several of these Middle Eastern countries – Yes, there are places in this world that hate us more than Americans!!

Anyway, I finally found a big and reputable organization that was serious about bringing me over to the Kingdom by the end of January. They told me that I would be contacted by one of the Directors, and a few days later I was. The interview and everything went well. I was offered the job and told to expect to be in Saudi by January 12th. I should have been jumping for joy, but something inside me told me not to get worked up over it just yet.

Things seemed fine until it started becoming clear that my new boss was developing an unhealthy preoccupation with me. It started with him contacting me multiple times a day on Skype, but with nothing of importance to say, meaning he wasn’t giving me updates on my visa or anything, and simply just trying to chat. Finally yesterday he really started getting weird and began messaging me purely to tell me that he was showing my picture to all of his friends (FYI for most jobs abroad you are required to provide a photo this isn’t a weird application requirement in case you didn’t know) and that they all thought I should be in Hollywood or a model, and from there proceeded to ask me very personal questions, which I don’t think I need to share, but let’s just say they involved my “intactness.” I obviously didn’t answer and instead reverted to my usual snarling bitch ways. I do not take kindly to sexual harassment.

Living abroad is always risky, and those of us that suffer from the wanderlust try our hardest to make sure the risks we take are as educated as possible. There is a difference between being adventurous and being reckless. In Korea not getting paid by your employer is a common problem. In Japan it is common for your employer to abuse the vulnerability that we all have to some (varying) degree by being uprooted from our home country and culture. In Saudi Arabia there is obviously a plethora of adjustments that we females need to make to our lives in order to even move there – we can’t drive, we must wear abayas in public, we should not be in public unescorted, we can’t date, we can’t drink, and the list goes on. Of course, the real risk in moving to a country like this is that it is so sexually repressed that many men fly into a frenzy of both lust and aggression over a mere photograph of a woman with her hair uncovered. And I mean you remember some of my stories from the way some men treated me (and western women in general) in both Japan and Korea, and in those countries it is fashionable for the local women to walk around in high heels and teeny tiny shorts that barely cover their pubes! Yeah, I was well aware that this kind of thing was going to be at the forefront of the complications I would encounter in the KSA.

So back to my story… Here I am being sexually harassed by my new boss, and I’m not even in the country yet. Yeah, as much as I needed and wanted that job, there is no way I am going to knowingly go into a situation that will likely only escalate when I arrive, and well, I would personally like to not be sexually assaulted – especially in a country that would make it hard for me to contact authorities, or hop a plane unescorted. Obviously, I told him where to stuff his contract and work visa, and then notified his company about the situation.

The company was both confused and horrified. They said they were still interested in hiring me, but that they hadn’t sent the Director to interview me yet because he was currently abroad. My favourite line was when the (female) HR person said, “He is evil. A liar. He is probably a rapist and not a university director!” As it turns out this creepy guy was from another job I applied for (I applied for a lot knowing that only a few would be willing to import a Canuck), and neglected to say which company he was with when he contacted the six of us for an interview. I merely assumed he was from the other one because of the timing of that company telling me they were going to send someone to interview me, and this guy contacting me. Which now makes me wonder if this was a legitimate job or if this was some sort of prostitution ring – Another possibility all women consider, but try not to dwell on when moving abroad. We never really know who will be picking us up at the airport when we arrive on the other end.

So I guess the fat lady hasn’t sung on my potential future Arabian adventures, but the whole incident has definitely made me reevaluate the situation, which, in turn, has blown up my plans for the next 2-4 years of my life. Without Saudi, there will be no additional schooling, or not for a really, really long time, at least. Of course, my professional life isn’t the only thing that has crumbled to bits, my personal life is in ruins as well.

Hockey. For a long time hockey has been my life. Hockey was pretty much my only hobby. Hockey games, my only source of entertainment. My love/etc life has, for the most part, swirled in and around the hockey rink. I can’t even imagine my life before I was seduced by the game that we all love, which is why this NHL Lockout has destroyed what few proverbial pillars my life (as I knew it) still had standing.

Now, I’m not just talking about the fact that the Lockout has physically kept me from watching hockey. There is always hockey to watch, and I get plenty of it. However, the Lockout has killed my will to watch. Sometimes I find myself at a game and I wonder why I’m there. It feels like I’m going through the motions and doing something that no longer gives me pleasure, but because I can’t remember life without hockey, I continue to go due to my failure to find an adequate substitution for my time and attention.

As hockey fans, we have really been introduced to the ugly side of the NHL this season – the side that we always suspected was there, but never wanted to acknowledge. Now this hideous greed is staring us in the face, and we all can’t help but wonder why we waste our money fueling this kind of shit. Now, most of us expected this kind of thing from the owners, but it is probably the behaviour of the players that will do the most damage to the game. The players have really tried to manipulate the fans and toy with their emotions during this lockout. They have begged us to fight their battle for them, to love them, to feel bad for them and their “inabilities” to support their trophy wives and maintain their million dollar homes as a result of being locked out – all while tweeting photos of their Ferraris, wads of cash, their beach front properties, and all of their other “lockout problems.”

Of course, then there are all the “heroes” that fled to greener pastures. The players that made huge productions about accepting positions on teams overseas instead of standing with their NHLPA brethren and helping to put an end to the Lockout. The same players that then returned six weeks later because they “never had a single decent meal” in that big, scary foreign country. Yeah, read what I just wrote about working abroad, and then come talk to me about your lockout problems, assholes! Quite frankly I think the biggest damage of all to the NHL will come from the fact that this lockout has made it extremely hard for us to see the players that we once hailed as role models, as anything more than a bunch of juvenile idiots in Puck Gary hats, who completely PALE in comparison to the hometown heroes of the old NHL.

So this is my life as it stands mere minutes from midnight on the eve of the end of the world. I hate everything I have ever held dear, and no longer want what I thought I wanted in life. 27 years of my life are now in rubble all around me. When the smoke clears I will see if any of the broken pieces of my past are worthy enough to be a part of the foundation of the new and impressive castle I hope to finish building someday. We are now hours away from this supposed Apocalypse. I don’t believe the world will end, but I do know that the first day of my new life will definitely begin tomorrow.

Top Photo: I am, of course, grateful that this unpleasantness with my prospective employer in the KSA showed itself BEFORE I moved there. I attribute this miracle to the fact that I changed my profile picture on Skype to a picture of me at a Xmas party a few days ago wearing the dress I seem to only wear in Lockout years. You men and the colour red! It’s a shitty iPhone picture for goodness sake!

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