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Tag: road trips

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Thursday, March 11th, 2010

New York City bird sex adventure!

Bird Sex: in reference to the single bump like mating strategies of birds; used to describe something very short or quick. Origin: Detroit Red Wings.

You’ve heard me bellyache over and over about the hardship of being a single, female, Canadian hockey fan trying to gain access to the land of twenty-four current NHL teams. Women are not real hockey fans, you see, so any hockey related excursions in the US are likely to be malicious drug runs. Thankfully, the US government wasn’t a thorn in my side on this trip to New York. In fact, the border guard I had was sharing stories about the families of NHL players that have passed by his booth, while I furiously tossed names at him trying to guess who they were. This time, however, I was lucky enough to find out what the Canadian government deems suspicious activity, as I was searched for the first time trying to reenter MY own country.

First of all, I knew how suspicious it would look flying to New York City for all of seven hours instead of spending the night. I just didn’t FEEL like spending the night. I’m going to be back there on the 26th anyway! Second of all, the Canadian side of the Queenstown-Lewiston Bridge had all of ONE guard on duty…and it was a chick. You know how I feel about female border guards especially ones with weight control issues and glasses. If you are so insecure about being taken seriously in life and in your job, then get another job/life. But, anyway, it wasn’t just me she was being a snarling, angry, virginal beast to; she was sending every car over for inspection. Everyone was a suspect and all of us were Canadian! Not sure why the Canadians always put the aggressive females on the night shift. Remember the, “WHY ARE YOUR EYES SO GLASSY!” chick last season when I was coming back from Boston? Actually, I do know why, no one else wants to work with them so they get the graveyard shift.

So, why did I opt to go to New York City for all of seven hours? The JetBlue $10 Birthday Sale, of course! On Monday, for one day only, JetBlue was selling select flights in and out of JFK for only $10!! If I was really crazy I would have flown into JFK for $10 then continued on to Florida for another $10, but I wasn’t in the mood for that surprisingly. The $10 flights were only good for travel on March 9th and 10th, so it was a spur of the moment decision. On the plane headed to JFK, the pilot got on the intercom and formerly congratulated everyone who was able to secure a seat at $10. You could tell, however, by the scattered uproar of cheers, that there were several who were not so lucky.

By the time I made it into Manhattan, I only had about an hour and a half to spend roaming around before my dinner reservations at Havana NY. I spent this time divided between the best cheesecake I’ve ever eaten from Magnolia Bakery, a quick jaunt through Central Park, and perusals of both the NHL and NBA stores. Bambi was the one who wanted to go into the NBA store. She had imagined that they would sell a “skanky jersey dress,” and she definitely wanted one of those. As it turns out, said dress only existed in the scandalous recesses of her mind. I actually think she might be switching sports on us. She’s developing an unhealthy preoccupation with Chris Bosh!

Dinner was great! Definitely the best Cuban food I’ve ever had; not like the “Americanized” crap they try to feed you at the all inclusive buffets at the resorts in Cuba! By the way, the last time I was in Cuba, Gretzky was staying at the resort next to mine, and was out playing road hockey from time to time. Anyway, I even had a passion fruit mojito. I’m not a big mojito fan usually, but Michelle insisted they had the best ones around. She was right! I should also say that I was honoured to have been the one to facilitate the meeting between Nick and Michelle for the first time – now my two NYC partners in crime have met at last. Oh, the trouble that will likely ensue!

During dinner, I was still “pouty” because I wanted to go to Warren 77 and the clock was ticking before I needed to get back on a plane! We decided to get the bill and cab it over to Sean Avery’s bar and squeeze in a drink before I needed to leave. We had more shit disturbing-esque reasons for going, but no drama found us there that night – SAD!

Warren 77 is…interesting. Physically it is probably the tiniest bar I have ever seen, and I’m not even sure what to make of the décor. Avery went for the vintage look, which can be cool, if you know how to do it right. I always marvel when I see people walking down the street in wacky thrift clothes that were put together so well that they successfully achieved the iconic look that is so hot right now. It’s hard to do; I definitely can’t pull it off. You can’t just throw a bunch of crap together and hope it works – there’s an art to it. Warren 77 looked kind of like a bunch of crap was dumped inside the place. At one point I wasn’t sure if this look was intended or if they just never bothered to renovate the place. Given how polished and extravagant Sean Avery’s off ice (physical) image is, I guess one wouldn’t expect to find this in his bar.

Warren 77, which I should note, has a very amusing name to me. I was disappointed to learn that Warren 77 is simply the address, as “warren” is the correct term to use when describing a cluster of bunnies (or their puck biting equivalent). Unfortunately, not even seventy-seven puck bunnies could fit down that hole, but that’s not to say that puck bunnies and jock sniffers alike do not flock to it. Warren 77 had the bitchiest wait staff on hand that night. Imagine the most aggressive puck bunny or angry hockey girlfriend you’ve ever seen and put her in a Sean Avery t-shirt. These girls didn’t care about anything other than touch flirting with any guy that walked in wearing a suit. Wonder if Sean hand selected these women himself. As for the patrons of the bar, you got the sense that there were a lot of the player wannabe types in there. These were guys that actually managed to look the part of a hockey player, and likely try to convince unsuspecting females of their hockey occupation will doing the Saturday night bar circuit. If you thought hockey players were bad, wait until you see the front office equivalent. From what I’ve seen, the guys that are generally attracted to a career in sports are the guys who couldn’t handle not making it to the pros or not being athletic, and want all the dirty perks that come with the territory of a career playing for the NHL. These are guys that try to have as many hoes in different area codes as the players do, then end up feeling insecure when the puck bunnies use them to get to the REAL players. Guys who end up single until they are forty, and then decide that they would be willing to settle down with a twenty-two year old simply because the hunt became too difficult. Trust me there is nothing worse than the hockey player wannabe, and that was the vibe I was getting from most of the guys there that night. No thanks.

Sadly, my night ended at Warren 77. I will have to give the place another go when I have more time. The food is apparently really good! Luckily, I had my boarding pass with me already because I had all of seven minutes to spare before getting on the plane. I love airports at night. No one is there to get in your way and make you want to crosscheck the Hell out of them. The plane was pretty empty too, but I was fortunate enough to have the obnoxious unpolished nineteen year old sitting across the aisle from me. How about not taking your shoes off after walking around in leather and no socks all day? I hope she gets a fungus.

On my way out the door that morning, I ransacked my bookshelf looking for something to read on the plane. I came across Bridget Jones’s Diary, a book I received for Christmas the same year the movie came out, and I never bothered to read. I figured it was a nice, light thing to read on a plane, plus, even I like the movie, and I am so anti chick flicks it’s not even funny. During my two fifty minute flights, I managed to plow through more than half of the book. The book reminded me of what I once held as my ideal life. Long before the Arizona Prophecy, and the discovery that my life would be empty without constant adventure, I, too, had that nice notion that being a business woman was the way to go.

Walking down the streets of Manhattan, I was startled by all the good looking young business types with their suits accentuating their “I go jogging before work” physiques. I wasn’t simply startled because there were so many good looking guys (though, living in dog park Toronto that was also a factor), I was startled because they were staring at me! I tried not to look like an idiot looking around to see if there was anyone else around me that they could have been looking at. Of course, then I remembered my last trip to New York for the Coyotes game, and how I was getting marriage proposals on every street corner. It makes me wonder.

Could more than one life path make someone truly happy? Will my adventures end up catching up to me, and causing my star to burn out faster than most? On a shallow and superficial level, it was not hard to picture myself with pretty much any one of those man-things giving me the eyes on 6th Avenue. Though, I should admit that the warm weather was likely a factor – I tend to think a lot more men are good looking in the springtime! Hmm, biology? Anyway, it was easy to see that more conventional life; the career at a successful ad agency, the wine fridge in the condo, and the mundane, “How was work?” dinner conversation. I used to see posters of cartoon yuppies in their black outfits, and sixties inspired hair, and I often wondered if that was what my life was supposed to be like.

As I was leaving my aunt’s house on Monday night, my five year old cousin said in an almost whining tone, “Mommy, Katrina always goes to so many places!” My aunt replied with, “Yes, she has a very fabulous life.” My life, fabulous? Who knew?

Roll the credits…

(Bet you thought I was going with Jay-Z’s Empire State of Mind! No, I think you’ve heard that song enough!)

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Tuesday, February 23rd, 2010

Otters@67’s: The designer handbag theory.

Exactly one week after my trek beyond the outer limits of the 401 East, and by that I mean, Montreal, I found myself retracing my steps and bound for our nation’s capital. Of course, Scotiabank Place is quiet these days with the NHL on hiatus for the Olympics and all, so this time around I was headed to the previously unexplored Urbandale Centre, home of the Ottawa 67’s of the Ontario Hockey League. Fun times.

Back in the day, I had this notion that there was a heavy puck bunny scene down in Ottawa, and the locals, who were around during this reign of terror, confirmed that I wasn’t off in my assumptions. Back then I had based this idea on those puck bunny rumour sites that I mentioned a few weeks ago. Not only was there a lot of activity coming directly from the puck bunny sites dedicated to the 67’s, but there was a lot of inquiries made about gals spotted rink side on the players’ moderated sites as well. If players from around the O were so intrigued by the puck bunny caliber in Ottawa that they had to find out who these girls were at all costs, then obviously these O-Town bunnies were, at one time, a force to be reckoned with. This high puck quality suggests a higher puck quantity as well…you know…seeing as most hockey players will attempt to nail practically anything that moves. Anyway…

However, the old days appeared to be long gone (once again) as I walked into yet another OHL rink with a virtually extinct puck bunny population. Aside from the odd cluster here and there, and rumours that some of the ice girls were partial to hanging around the locker rooms a little longer than they should, there was almost no sign that these girls ever existed. Since the game against the Erie Otters and the trip itself were so uneventful (the highlights being running into the team bus after I finished pumping gas in Brockville, and discovering that the Urbandale Centre had its very own BeaverTails stand), I had more than enough time to reexamine some of my going theories about the disappearance of the puck bunny.

To begin the brainstorming process, I had to take a trip back in time to my teen years, and start identifying some of the things that have changed socially since this golden era when the puck bunny reigned supreme from their junior hockey rink thrones across the country. The easiest thing to identify was the physical change; teen girls today look a lot different from the teens roaming this side of the planet less than ten years ago. Girls are aging (aesthetically) at a faster pace, for starters. You can blame the trendsetters in Hollywood for trying to convince the world that we’re unhealthy if we don’t have skin damage from the sun. And let’s not forget that fake is in: fake tans, fake boobs, fake nails, fake hair, fake personality; women today are starting to look like a page aggressively ripped from the binding of the latest Us Weekly – the SAME page no less.

Naturally, this started to make me question to state of desire, and what was now considered desirable to the young, contemporary female who subscribed to these ideals. My major jumping off point was the designer handbag, sunglasses, and pretty much everything uprising. See, about fifteen years ago (I’d say), lower end designers came on in full force with that whole “brand name” rage that swept the impressionable youth of its day. You remember when brands like Calvin Klein, Tommy Hilfiger, etc started becoming the it-designers for the middle class for the simple reason that they started splashing their name across the chest of every shirt they shipped to the department store nearest you. This began the designer obsession on the sole basis that now other people would be able to know how much you could afford to spend on material things, and how well you dressed just by simply reading the logo stamped in bold on the clothing item itself. Now, I’m not saying people never cared about fashion before that, but labels had never really been seen on the outside of a dress or a shirt, or, or, or before. Let’s just say keeping up appearances suddenly got a whole lot easier.

It took the upscale designers a surprisingly long time to get on board with this concept. Well, I shouldn’t say “surprisingly,” I’m sure the upper crust was not about to start begging for mass consumption as the likes of Tommy and Calvin were so eager to do. So, it wasn’t until I was in university, and long estranged from the junior hockey realm that the designer handbag fever swept the western world. What a brilliant idea. High end designers like Gucci, Prada, Louis Vuitton, and Chanel, all began producing purses in mass with their logo as the very pattern of the fabric. Without lowering the cost of the product, the designer handbag brigade began making purses that could be identified visually as being an icon of the upper class. Sure, before this era began, you COULD have spent all your hard earned money on a black Chanel purse that no one would know was Chanel except for the fashion obsessed (and even still, they’d probably just assume it was fake), but I think you can all see how much more appealing it would be to acquire this status item, if most people could identify it as such, and, therefore, you can also see how people would be all the more willing to throw down a cool grand if they can fake having this lifestyle for whatever reason or whatever pleasure they derive from doing so.

At first I complicated my theory unnecessarily. I started looking at the bigger picture of what such consumerism and such materialism was doing to the motivation of a young and impressionable society. Perhaps, this new age suggested that more and more women were signing up for the life of a gold-digger, and, perhaps, junior hockey players were small fish to fry in the grander scheme of NHL players and investment bankers. I decided, however, that, if there was something to this designer handbag theory, the cause could be found in the simplistic. These young pucks, running around with their Coach bags and Armani sunglasses, are, quite simply, TOO BROKE to afford hockey tickets. Sure, OHL games are cheap, but if you’re in high school, and either have no job or, if you do, you work at McDonald’s, you likely can’t afford to have your cake and eat it too. Especially when you consider that the designer purses, shoes, jeans also have to be constantly maintained with hair dye and trips to the tanning salon. And let me tell you, it used to cost me $250 a month just to maintain blonde hair – that’s a car payment for some people! Anyway, in the bigger picture, most puck bunnies realize that hockey players are hard birds to cage, and, therefore, attempting to impress the rest of the world becomes a much more lucrative investment.

Of course, not ALL puck bunnies play their games while rink side. Many junior level puck bunnies use the high school campus as a much more accessible hunting ground. However, that’s another story for another day. Stay tuned for more of my crazy theories, as Puck Bunny Month draws to a close.

Taken before I made an A&W pit stop. With attractions like these, are you surprised that this is the home town of Avril Lavigne?

Roll the credits…


(I like this video because Avril_Bambi and Avril_Carmen are in it.)

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Thursday, January 28th, 2010

Coyotes@Red Wings 24 Style – Bambi Does MotorCity.

Since January 26th was the first birthday of Psycho Lady Hockey, it seemed only fitting that I celebrate the occasion with a hockey game. (Did you know that it was Wayne Gretzky’s birthday that day, too? I feel special!) I wasn’t feeling too adventurous, so I figured a game close to home would be the best. I’ve been to Detroit several times for games, including Phoenix games. It’s a usual haunt for me. So, anyone who may have “questioned” why I would have gone there would clearly have just been looking for a pointless excuse to open communication with me – I figure.

Anyway, a few days before the game, Bambi begged and pleaded with me to let her go to the game in my stead. I was pretty leery about this given Bambi has a terrible track record at hockey arenas. And I’m not talking in the sense that she is bad luck for one team or the other, but rather, sometimes, she takes the puck bunny behaviour a little too far. The last time Bambi was at a game, she was so taken with the fact that one of the players kept smiling at her (and I have to admit, he was a total babe), that, upon him scoring in the remaining five minutes of the game, she ripped her top off and started waving it around her head like a lasso. I should also point out that she neglected to wear a bra to this event. And I should also-also point out that this was a minor league game! It has been years since I have let her go to another game with good reason.

For those of you who don’t know Bambi, she is a raging puck bunny who embraces the term and the lifestyle. But don’t be fooled by that fact, she still knows a shitload about hockey. She is a bleach blonde, fake tanned, wannabe Barbie doll stripper, and that’s why we love her. She can be a bit self-centred, bitchy, and in many ways evil, but I think that’s all part of her appeal. To get to know Bambi, make sure you click here to follow her on Twitter. Don’t forget to follow Carmen as well, so the poor girl doesn’t get a complex that nobody likes a daywalker… I mean…red head.

Take it away, Bambi.

OK, so I don’t even know what I’m supposed to say here. I was told to take pictures of myself every hour, and that’s it. Whatever. I left the T-dot extra early. I had to sneak away while Carm was in the shower, so she wouldn’t cramp my style. Hello, sometimes hot guys try to pick you up on the highway, and I really don’t need a head full of ginger cock blocking me, thanks. I didn’t see too many prospects, though, there were these two guys working at the Esso when I stopped for gas that just WOULD NOT STOP STARING. Take a picture, right?

The border guard was hot, but a total douche bag. He thought I looked dangerous or some shit. He asked me if I had ever been arrested. Umm for what, buddy? All the illegal porn you’re currently fantasizing about me doing in your head right at this moment? Please, let me through already, so you can take a Jergens break. It was kind of funny that while I was crossing the border to come back to Canada, they asked me similar questions. Did I have pepper spray on me? I can see how that would be a legitimate concern. They obviously thought I needed to know how to defend myself against an onslaught of negative male attention. Little did they know that negative male attention is my favourite!

The game was wicked awesome! Psycho and Carm were texting me saying how jealous they were that I was at the Joe and they weren’t. I’d like to point out that I’m pretty sure the Coyotes won because of me. The entire friggin’ team was staring down my shirt all night! And let me tell you, what I’ve got going on down there inspires great things. You’re welcome, Phoenix.

That’s all I really have to say, I’m supposed to pick a song now for the “credits” or something lame like that…

10 AM Stole the keys from Carm and heading off to D-Rock. I know what you’re thinking, and yes, they are real.

11 AM Stopped at the ‘Rents to drop off some ish. No one was home, so I left them a friendly note on the fridge.

12 PM Attempting to take a picture of myself in the mirror. FAIL.

1 PM I don’t know why people always think I’m up to no good…

2 PM Great Success!

3 PM Psycho told me to be cautious if I felt like I was receiving some type of sign. Between 3 and 4 PM I started randomly taking pictures of the radio. I came out with three pictures: Trouble, Phoenix, Warning. How interesting.

4 PM Stopped for some Lupper just before the bridge. It’s like no matter where I go, Carmen is always right there with me!

5 PM Sitting in front of the Joe. I got bored, so I decided to send some assholish text messages to Grand Rapids with hilarious results.

6 PM Me and my Jungle Juice!

7 PMOne of the few moments this kid wasn’t all over my stuff. It was like he knew me or something. Probably in his dreams LOL!

8 PM My homeboy,Todd Bertuzzi!

9 PM Random view from my seat! HOTT!

10 PMHome again. More of me, me, me, me!

11 PM Stupid biatch working the McDonald’s behind PUCK MASTERS screwed up my order. I was too hungry and cold to go in and complain, though. Anyway, sorry people, but I lost interest in the whole “24″ project at this point. Going on road trips by yourself is HARD. I don’t know how Psycho Lady does it…seriously!

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Wednesday, January 20th, 2010

Chicago (Day 3): Snowstorms and lacy things.

I rolled out of bed pretty late on that Monday. I was feeling kind of lazy and lost the will to do anything crazy in my usual form. I had been toying with the idea of either continuing on to Minnesota, or heading south to Dallas. I think I crave the adventure maybe more than I crave the actual hockey. Unfortunately, I was ill equipped to embark upon another “mystical six game road trip” like I had spontaneously mounted last season at the beginning of March. So, I decided that a trip to Victoria’s Secret was all the excitement I was going to have that day.

I ended up checking out of the hotel way later than I had expected. I was watching HBO or something while I was packing, and He’s Just Not that Into You came on. I was very against the whole idea of that movie when I first heard about it. I really hate all that self-help dating stuff, especially considering it’s usually based on the experience of the individual, and centres around women having to modify their behaviour to be even remotely worthy of any man. I won’t go off on one of THOSE tangents, though. And, like I said, I don’t read those books and haven’t read this particular book either. All I know is that my friends that do subscribe to this brand of garbage, basically turn into walking doormats the moment a penis enters the vicinity. Whatever works, right? I’m personally not a doormat, nor do I find doormats attractive. So, I would definitely rather be without someone who wants that type of person *ahem* stereotypical hockey wife.

Anyway, when the movie was about to come on, I reached for the remote to flick it off, but had a curious change of heart. I thought that I’d see how this movie handled all the grade A advice staining the pages of the book. I was only going to watch it for twenty minutes or so while I finished getting my stuff together, but I have to admit that it was surprisingly good. Long after I had packed and put my coat on to leave, I could not pull myself away from it. I had to see how it ended. I was literally perched on the end of the bed in my winter coat, boots, and with car keys in hand for a solid hour at least! What I found interesting about the movie was that all the main characters ended up being “exceptions.” I kind of like that big F you the writers appear to have sent to the author of the book by doing that. After all, what good can the theories and “rules” be if they can’t even hold up?

At 1PM, I finally left my hotel and was bound for the big Victoria’s Secret on Michigan Ave. Surprise! They just happened to be having their Semi Annual Sale. I knew this was going to be more than a quick run in to pick up a new bra. I spent two whole hours in that place, and came away with some gems like the top photo suggests. Mine’s black, though, and it looks better on her, I’m pretty sure. It was great for me to actually have something to declare when the border guard asked me how much I spent on goods. They usually find it suspicious that I never go shopping when I’m away on my trips. Sorry, I just really HATE that activity. This time around, my border guard was a femme, and we had a nice little chat about the sale.

At three, I was back on the road and headed directly into the same hideous weather I hit on my initial journey to the Windy City. Luckily, I stumbled upon Easy Street somewhere in the-middle-of-nowhere, Michigan. Literally. I stopped for gas in some no name spot, which happened to be off a meaningless road with Easy St. labeled on the street sign. So, that’s where it is! Unfortunately, the streets weren’t easy for very long. I still had the 402 to conquer, and, of course, it did not falter in providing me with another one of its usual winter whiteout challenges.

What I love about driving, even in terrible snowstorms, is that the road gives me a place to think. Naturally, finding an NHL team to call my own was a major topic of internal debate during this trip. In my head there were really only three candidates, the Ducks, the Leafs, and the Coyotes. The Ducks have a lot of things that I like, but this trip made me feel like the team and I don’t have enough history to keep a long distance bond like ours alive for long. The Leafs and I go way back. They are the team I grew up with, and we’ve been through a lot. I was there when the team was hot, just like I was there when they were not. And the support was mutual. The Leafs were there for me when I had no one. I sometimes wonder what I would have done without my Saturday night Leafs game at certain points in my life. However, the home games are ridiculously overpriced and tickets are hard to come by. Granted, I’d spend more money paying for a flight, accommodations, and a hockey ticket in the Pacific Division, but the Leafs don’t satisfy the adventurer in me seeing as it only takes me ten minutes to get to the rink. Then there’s Phoenix. I don’t have much to say in their favour at this point, but something someone told me a month and a half ago has played over and over again in my mind.

A woman felt that she needed to weigh in on that whole Arizona Prophecy thing. She told me she lost me at the point that I decided to ditch the Coyotes. Basically, she felt that everything seemed to say that Arizona was where I needed to be, so, no matter what, I shouldn’t have pulled myself away. Maybe that’s true, and maybe it’s not. It’s hard to know what events to pay attention to and what to filter out. She makes some sense, but I don’t know if I can really go back at this point. Going to see a team play, just so you can cheer against them, is not all that enjoyable. Trust me.

By the time I pulled into the drive way at my parents’ house, I made no decision about my new NHL allegiance. Instead, I began to get some crazy ideas in my head that I might branch out altogether. I was thinking that maybe it was time to take a little vacation from the NHL, and switch leagues for a month or so – for my sanity. Luckily, the Olympic break is right around the corner, so the timing couldn’t be more perfect. Stay tuned for details.

Roll the credits…

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Wednesday, January 13th, 2010

Chicago (Day 2): Ducks@Hawks – Honey, I’m home?

It was a good thing that I set my alarm for 2PM because I didn’t actually wake up by my own efforts before then! It was another freezing cold day in Chicago. You can imagine what the wind chill factor would be like in the Windy City, eh? Once again, it was far too cold to attempt a mad dash to Victoria’s Secret. Of course, there wasn’t much time for a shopping trip anyway. I was warned that I needed to get to the United Center extra early on account of the fact that it was bobblehead night.

Understatement of the century.

There is a reason they call it The Madhouse. I have NEVER, in my entire extended history of hockey misadventures, stood in such a long and slow moving line to get into an arena! Did I mention how cold it was?? Yeah. Unpleasant. I was beginning to worry that they were going to run out of bobbleheads before I was able to get my hands on one! Luckily, that was not the case, and I’m now the proud owner of a Marian Hossa bobblehead, which will likely live out the rest of its days in the trunk of my car next to the bobblehead I got at Nassau Coliseum (not even sure what player that one bears the likeness of).

People often ask me what the best NHL arena is that I’ve been to. For some reason, I automatically answer this question purely based on the quality of the facility alone. However, I know that a lot of people prefer to rank the rinks based on the atmosphere and the intensity of the crowd. The United Center in Chicago is my nineteenth active National Hockey League rink visited to date. Finally, I have officially visited ALL of the Original Six cities!! Anyway, in terms of atmosphere, the Madhouse takes the cake. The fans are so insane, it makes this Psycho feel like she finally belongs somewhere. They are hardly ever in their seats, and if they are, they are a million times louder than the fans I’ve heard anywhere else. And have you heard the national anthem??! I feel like I definitely need to make a return trip when one of the six Canadian teams are in town, just so I can hear the guy sing my country’s anthem!

What was kind of funny was that I saw more people wearing London Knights jerseys that night than I did when I saw London play in Guelph only a few days before. Naturally, I asked everyone if they were from London, but, to my dismay, they weren’t. I was surprised to discover that the guy sitting next to me, also in a Knights jersey, was actually from my motherland. He and his family were from Brantford (home of the Great One), which is pretty close to my hometown! This wouldn’t be the first time that I’ve been conveniently placed next to other Canadians at hockey arenas far away from home. I have a crazy conspiracy theory that Ticketmaster does that on purpose! Keep the Canadians close together if they managed to make it past clearance at the border. You know how they hate hockey fans (me) coming into their county. I’m on to them…oh, yes!

I was finally getting to see the Duck play again for the first time in a long time, but, unfortunately, most of my fun players were injured and out of the lineup! SAD! Like I mentioned in Day 1, my harrowing adventure the day before was making me question whether the Ducks were really the right team for me. All night I had been racking my brain trying to think of another option. I still wasn’t sure which team should be mine, but one thing became a lot clearer at this game, and that was the fact that the Ducks weren’t it! Nevertheless, I still had a lot of fun, and by that I mean I had a lot of fun with my camera. AHEM! You’re welcome, ladies!

After the Ducks were completely annihilated by the Hawks, I loitered around the arena. I thought it might be a good idea to go for a drive around Chicago and at least check the city out by car before I had to leave the next day. I ducked into the little girls’ room to freshen up before I left. A stupid strand of hair kept sticking up out of place on my forehead. I was annoyed with myself that I didn’t bother to use my straightener before I left for the game that afternoon. Then that sinking feeling of terror hit me. “Shit. Did I turn the straightener off when I decided not to use it?”

It was a race against time to get back to the hotel. I drove like a crazy person knowing that I would likely pull up to the building to find some fire trucks outside and a disapproving look on the doorman’s face. Up in my room, however, it was a false alarm. The straightening iron had been turned off after all. I decided to go back out for my drive around town. It was a Sunday, so everything was closed. Looks like it was going to be another night of hotel room service for dinner! On the plus side, while I was out on my drive, I discovered the exact location of the Victoria’s Secret. My mission was clear.

Roll the credits…

(I know what you’ve been thinking!)

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Thursday, January 7th, 2010

Chicago (Day 1): A familiar feeling of impending doom.

Perhaps it was the fact that I opted to go out and par-taaay with a friend of mine, who was in town all the way from Whitehorse for the holidays, instead of sleeping before I left for Chicago that caused me to be overly emotional on my drive. Or perhaps it was something more. I was in Toronto for all of eight hours the night before my departure. I’ve been spending a lot of time back home (apparently annoying my sister to no end) over the holidays. I don’t have anything going on in either city right now, so the house with the best bed and bathtub takes the W. Anyway, I went back home to Toronto to see my friend before she headed back to the Arctic again. By 4AM, I had stripped out of my dress, grabbed my suitcase and my post-bar McDonald’s, and hit the road.

Traveling westbound on the 401, every single song on the radio was choking me up. I didn’t know what was going on. I knew I wasn’t sincerely worried about dying on the trip, even though my sequel to Down the Rabbit Hole predicted that I was going to die in a bitter snowstorm in the States after a hockey player did something horrible to me. Those that know me best know that my current circumstance is not all that different from the situation described in my book five years ago. I suppose, this time around, I was more conscious of the dangers of winter travel more than usual on account of these eerie coincidences, but the sadness I was feeling was not that of fear. It was a sadness that I haven’t felt since the beginning of March last season.

On my way to Boston before the trade deadline, I had this same feeling of culmination. Something was off, and something felt over. It was just like how I felt on that horrible day in March, when everything went insanely wrong, and I accurately sensed that the Arizona Prophecy was about to blow up in my face. I felt like I wasn’t supposed to make this trip to Chicago. It felt like it was going to be a wasted trip. It felt like a mistake.

As I drove, I desperately welcomed anything to distract me from my mission, and practically begged that something would force me to turn back. I gazed longingly at the exit that I would have taken to get to my parents’ house, and imagined how nice it would be to jump into my bed, wrap the blankets around me, and never come out. But instead I pressed on, fighting back tears and radio surfing like a crazy person trying to find a song that wouldn’t upset me. Then I discovered that the heinous, Fergie, butchered Heart’s Barracuda. Is nothing scared anymore? Go away, Fergie, you filthy beast!

I finally made it to the 402. The 402 is as reliable as a video game – in the snow and ice level, that is. If you are travelling in the winter, it is a 100% GUARANTEE that you will hit severe whiteout conditions for that entire 103 km stretch of highway. And I mean ACTUAL whiteouts, not like the ones you assholes in Phoenix are thinking of when you pay $10 for a hockey ticket and get a free t-shirt! I’m sorry, that was out of line, I’m still upset from having to recall the Fergie incident. Anyway, when you get to the 402, it’s like you’ve just completed that easy level in the video game, and now must conquer the bigger challenge before getting to the “boss,” which would be the Bluewater Bridge to the US.

Oh, the whiteouts came alright. But seeing as I am a very experienced hockey roadtripper, they were no match for my skills. This time they actually seemed more severe than usual. There were massive snow piles spilling over into the traffic lanes. At one point we were at a standstill because some douche bag decided to do 20 km/h, and no one dared drive in the other lane. Luckily, Killing in the Name of came on the radio and I decided I had enough of the snail’s pace. I pulled out of the lane and blew past everyone. Did anyone follow suit? I don’t know. What was hilarious was that less than a kilometre up the highway the roads were clear.

It was on that clear patch of highway that everything suddenly started to feel like it was going to be OK. The sadness subsided. It was like I was seeing the light, or at least that I felt reassured that at some point on my journey to the windy city something would make sense. It was seven in the morning, yet the moon still hung in the blackened sky like it couldn’t have been more than a stroke past midnight. It was kind of breathtaking. However, over the bridge, day was breaking.

The soft morning light usually hurts my eyes on my sleep deprived, overnight road trips, but this time around it was a welcomed change to the once dark and menacing horizon. Despite the pleasantness of dawn, the roads remained perilous most of the way. There were times that the road conditions were so bad that you couldn’t even pull off to help someone who had taken their car into the ditch. Yet, somehow, through these blizzard-like conditions, I still managed to reach my destination in record time, and in one piece – though, Lynxie didn’t look so hot anymore (really glad I spent $8 on a car wash before I left!)

It was freezing in Chicago; so cold that I could barely stand running a block from my hotel to the restaurant for dinner. I hid away in my hotel room for the rest of the night and watched the Hawks/Blues game on TV. Oh, the things a girl can get into when she’s bored and alone in a hotel room. Loneliness is a terrible thing. While I was lying in bed, I was once again overcome by that same familiar feeling of impending doom. Just like the trip to Boston that altered my life forever; something was about to change again for better or worse.

About fifty miles outside of Boston, the lack of sleep/food/excess hormones finally set in and I hit bottom. Dido’s White Flag came on the radio, and I knew that would do it. I kept thinking to myself, “Katrina, just hold on, you’re almost there!” But it was too late. Emotional breakdown #1.

I knew it was over. If you’ve been reading my blog, you’ll know that I’ve been looking for a new team. Philly didn’t feel right anymore. After this harrowing experience, I knew that my Philly days were numbered, and that Tuesday’s game might be the last one I go to. I was upset. I didn’t know what I was doing anymore.

Roll the credits…

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Friday, November 20th, 2009

Ducks@Red Wings 24 Style

Finally! After this post I will be all caught up with my previous game entries. Last Saturday, my friend and I decided to embark upon a last minute trip to Detroit to see my potential new-boyfriend team, the Ducks, take on the Red Wings. The Ducks and I aren’t official yet. We’re just seeing each other. I’m not sure if they are the team that I can take home to meet my parents. You see, there are too many “fans” on the Ducks team. I know it’s great for my material, but I can’t help but think that they are going to turn into another obsessive headache like Phoenix became. OK, I don’t normally bring this stuff up, but I have to this time just because. During the game one of the “fans” skated over and licked his lips at me. YES…LICKED!! Really? In front of everyone? I would have loved to see my face when he did this, but something tells me I wasn’t as horrified as I normally would have been on account of winter being around the corner, so you know…

Anyway, we used to do Michigan trips in a 24 style photo album. And by “used to” I mean we did it once. Essentially, we take a picture every hour that we are on the road and let that tell the story of the trip. Of course, we weren’t gone for exactly 24 hours, so you won’t get a full day’s worth, but you’ll get the idea of what we were up to. So before I turn it over to my terrible photography skills, there are a couple strange things I want to mention about the trip.

I woke up in the morning on game day, and I felt a strange connection to the heinous beasts, the Coyotes. Did I miss them? What was happening? This connection carried on throughout the day, and some “Phoenix” signs started to reappear. The biggest sign, which may or may not have stopped my heart for a moment, was the return of that evil Scottsdale sign. You remember back during my mystical six-game road trip last season, I wandered into the restroom at Nassau Coliseum on Long Island, and an ad for immigration to Scottsdale stopped me in my tracks, and caused me to book my trip to Scottsdale/Phoenix/Glendale in April. Well, I have been to several games since then. I have even been to two games at Joe Louis Arena, and I never saw this sign again…until Saturday night. I had been in and out of that washroom several times, and I never noticed any advertisements.

For some reason, as I was walking out of the little girls’ room before the third period, I saw it in the corner of my eye. Again, I stopped in my tracks, but this time I wasn’t awestruck, I was mad. “Oh no!” I thought, “I’m not playing this game.” As much as I would have loved to stick around Phoenix for the sake of the Arizona Prophecy, that path is far too difficult now. It would literally take a miracle or something drastic or dramatic to get me back now. I think the most likely thing is that I am being universally fucked with. Seriously, it’s not funny. I can’t go back to the Coyotes, so stop trying to convince me that I should. From now on I’m going to be highly suspicious or any and all possible “signs.”

Roll the credits then enjoy my 24 style photos…

10 AMish

“Sorry I’m late! I missed the exit for your house and it may or may not have had something to do with Savage Garden being on the radio.” What was more embarrassing was that the song was Truly, Madly, Deeply.

11 AMish

Dear Rockstar Energy Drink people,
I give you far too much publicity on my site. It’s time to sponsor me!
Yours truly,
Unemployed University Grad.
(Taken after I failed at yet another attempt to teach Amanda how to pump gas.)

12 PMish

In a moment the passenger in this car will get out of his seat, turn around, and sign us his phone number with his hands. We texted him. He was from Sudbury. The interesting thing was that this wasn’t the last time this would happen on the way to Detroit.

1 PMish

Pit stop at Timmy Ho’s! This was probably the most Canadianized Tim Horton’s I’ve ever seen. Directly to the right of it was a cow farm, and directly to the left was a hockey rink.

2 PMish

Finally approaching the Ambassador Bridge in Windsor, ON. Our border guard was…interesting. She knew her girl stuff! Hahaha

3 PMish

The strange limo that interrupted our lunch at the Hockeytown Café.

4 PMish

We contemplated ditching the Red Wings and going to this concert instead, but the ticket agent was going to charge us extra to sit in the no spray zone.

5 PMish

Stealing wireless and doing some work in the car before the gates opened. I still feel so satisfied when I come across an unsecured wireless network!

6 PMish

St. Jude decided to come out of my cleve for awhile and pose in front of the ice.

7 PMish

Random Ducks/Wings shot #1

8 PMish


  • The view of the Ducks bench from our seats.

    9 PMish

    The Red Wings celebrating their 4th of 7 goals in their 7-4 victory over Anaheim.

    10 PMish

    Waiting in a massive line to cross back into the homeland. Damn American underage kids going to drink and gamble the weekend away! LOL

    11 PMish

    Amanda falls asleep again. This is actually the fake picture. She discovered I took the picture and deleted it when I wasn’t looking. This is her pretending to sleep.

    12 AMish

    Yesssss! I won a McDonald’s Monopoly muffin! Too bad it expires MONDAY!

    1 AMish

    At one point Lynxie became possessed and started flashing potential weather conditions at me on the dashboard. He’s never done that before. He kept saying, “Ice Possible!” I tried to get a picture of it, but my cam takes too long to go off…piece of trash!

    2 AMish

    Descending upon the Greater Toronto Area….look what came on the radio again….

    3 AMish

    The package has been delivered.

    The end.

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    Thursday, November 19th, 2009

    Anaheim (Day 5): Game Day #3 Coyotes@Bronze Adoni – My belt is the one that says, “Bad Mother Fucker.”

    The dreaded Coyotes game finally arrived Saturday. I was up early that morning so I could be ready to meet up with the KingsCast boys in Los Angeles at noon. I was late. This was the first instance that I have experienced a GPS system taking me to the wrong destination even after I specifically crunched in the address. Kind of annoying, especially when you consider that I actually vaguely knew how to get to Staples Center, but decided to use the GPS so I wouldn’t get lost. Oh, did I mention that I was driving a MINI VAN! Yeah, when I got to LAX on the Wednesday, my car wasn’t there, so I was stuck with the hockey mom mobile. At least it was black, and I did make some sweet risky moves with it. I figured everyone would assume I had kids in the car, and would back off and let me be an asshole. My most overused phrase of the trip was, “There are kids in the car, bitch, yeah, that’s right!”

    I had a blast with the guys from KingsCast despite looking like ass for that episode of Overtime. It was revealed later that my Team Canada shirt was the problem. You aren’t supposed to wear red on camera because it negatively distorts your appearance! Oh well, now I know better. Anyway, those guys are hilarious! If you don’t watch the KingsCast webcast, you should. I’m always dying of laughter whenever I tune in!

    After we wrapped up in LA, I headed straight to IN-N-OUT for round two, then met up with Lauren to go for a cruise down PCH (Pacific Coast Highway). There was really not enough time to go to the beach before the dreaded main event at the Honda Center that night. I got to The Pond at 6PM, but not before stopping at IN-N-OUT a third time to get a Neapolitan shake – secret menu HAZZAH! I opted to avoid the Coyotes and take in the warm up on the Ducks end. My seats were behind the Ducks bench, but Honda Center is one of those rare arenas that don’t have gaps between the benches, so I was practically behind the Coyotes bench as well.

    That game was something special. The source of my TV material was out in full force with his obsessive behaviour. I really hope the appropriate people were watching this game of his, because I know that people all the way up in the 400s were greatly entertained by it for the entirety of the game. Trying to fit those last longing gazes in, eh? Or maybe he misinterpreted my death stare as unbridled desire – FAIL! Do all guys act without thinking? I’d really love to know. I had some great lines, too. “Put your eyes on me again, and I will come after you in the night, and not in the way that you’d like me to!” Anyway, I really enjoyed cheering the Ducks on during this game. Kind of funny how the most entertaining Coyotes game I’ve ever seen was a game that I was cheering against them!

    I like the Ducks. There are many “sources of material” on that team. Not to mention that a few of my old crushes are on that team now. Steve Eminger was one of my Kitchener Rangers crushes back in high school, and Sheldon Brookbank was a Milwaukee Admirals crush. It’s funny how my taste in men has changed with age! Mind you, as I mentioned in Day 3, I do appreciate the golden tans that all the Ducks seem to have. Typically, I don’t like tans on men in general, but the Ducks have “the perfect tan” if you will. Not like the smelly Coyotes with their sunburns and leathery faces. At most games I want to fling a bottle of aloe vera based moisturizer at them. Can someone please get them some sunscreen! Actually, don’t. Let them all get skin cancer (and die?). Well, not ALL of them, and especially not you, Taylor Pyatt! I want to see SPF-75 on you at all times.

    Anyway, enough Coyotes ranting. I made sure I was wearing my BMF belt so everyone knew I meant business at that game. Seriously, you don’t mess with this belt! It’s studded! I was sitting next to Chris for the game; she’s a great hockey buddy! I love the fans in the southern markets. Maybe there isn’t A LOT of them, but they remind me of junior/amateur fans. They really get behind their players in semi-parental roles. I love it! There is a lot of name screaming going on!

    The Ducks won 4-3 – a satisfying victory for me. After the game, Lauren and I went out for some intense mac ‘n’ cheese! There was chicken and bacon in it, and you know how I feel about bacon and cheese! Later that night, I retired back to my quarters to pack up my stuff. I was heading back to LAX at 4AM to catch my flight back to the motherland. This time around, I cannot express how happy I was for this trip to finally be over. I felt so relieved to be back, that, if the Toronto streets weren’t so dirty and urine soaked, I may have actually knelt down and kissed them.

    Roll the credits…

    (hahaha!)

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    Wednesday, November 18th, 2009

    Anaheim (Day 4): My desperately needed off day at Disneyland.

    I met a guy at the Denver airport who claimed that Denver was ranked the #1 most stressed out city in America. Maybe it was the altitude, but I was definitely feeling stressed the whole time I was there. I wasn’t in a conscious state of being stressed out, and by that I mean there was nothing to really trigger the stress in the first place. I always felt like I was running late for everything. I was more sluggish than usual, and found myself having to haul ass to get to my various destinations on time. From the moment I got to Colorado, I couldn’t wait to board my next flight and finally get settled in Orange County.

    Of course, a large part of the reason I was eagerly anticipating my Anaheim leg of the road trip was because my friend, George, hooked me up with a free pass to Disneyland and California Adventure. For the first time in a long time, I was excited about something that wasn’t hockey related. I had never been to Disneyland! Growing up in the East, I was a DisneyWorld kid! Not to mention the fact that I haven’t been to Disney since 1999, which means I haven’t seen all the cool stuff they’ve changed in some of the classic rides. They updated the Pirates of the Caribbean ride to include the movie characters, and they completely gut the Haunted Mansion in the fall and transform it into The Nightmare Before Christmas – eeeeee! Oh, the things you miss when you “grow up.”

    Anyway, my off day started with my first trip to IN-N-OUT Burger. I actually was not in the mood to stray into the realm of the secret menu on this outing, so I stuck to my usual two burgers and a chocolate shake. YUM! I was supposed to be going to Disneyland with Lauren, but she didn’t get off work until 5PM, so after I was signed into the park around 12PM, I decided to wander around for a bit before heading back to my hotel. I was mildly concerned that I would come across as some sort of pedophile or child abductor if I was hanging around Disneyland all by lonesome, but apparently, “people do it all the time.”

    I finally talked myself into going on a ride by myself. I go to hockey games by myself all the time, but something just seems weird about going to an amusement park alone. Anyway, I figured the Haunted Mansion was a good ride to choose because the cars are pretty private to begin with. At the top of the line, I met another lonely rider. Was it destiny? It was her birthday, so she came to the park to take advantage of the free admission. She was a local, so she knew all the ins and outs of the park, and taught me how to use to Fast Pass thingie.

    We hung out at California Adventure mostly. I nearly died of laughter on the Tower of Terror. At the first drop, my instinct was to grab onto the random guy sitting next to me, which then caused my purse to go flying five feet in the air. Sorry, to the guy I kept grabbing at in the dark. I couldn’t help it! There was no lap bar! Another awesome feature about the California Adventure park was that they actually served alcohol. I didn’t really think too much of this until my path crossed with a margarita stand. Birthday margs all around!

    After a brief pit stop back at my hotel (I figured I was going to need a sweater since the park is open until midnight), Lauren and I were back in the gates around 6 PM. I was really excited about ingesting large amounts of amusement park food, and the feeding frenzy began at a corn dog stand. I was very conscious of having to say, “corn dog,” but in a hazy bliss of corn doggie delight, I let my guard down and the P word slipped out of my mouth. Everyone around me was suddenly quite alarmed by my use of this Canadianism. Yes, all you Yanks out there, in Canada we call them, “Pogos!” I know, it’s an ugly word.

    Anyway, it was a great night at the park. I don’t think we stood in line for anything longer than twenty minutes. I also put my newfound knowledge of the Fast Pass thing to good use. Disneyland made me feel like a kid again, but even as I was literally twirling around in the line for Mr. Toad’s Wild Ride, I couldn’t help but stress about the Ducks game the next day. The Coyotes were in town, and ever since that game at the Pepsi Center, I was dreading it. The clock was winding down, and the eve of the game was finally upon me. Of course, the details of that game shall be revealed in my Day 5 post.

    Roll the credits…

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    Monday, November 16th, 2009

    Anaheim (Day 3): Game Day #2 Preds@Bronze Adoni – A prophetic twist.

    Warning: Another LONG and crazy entry ahead!

    Is Adoni a word? My spellchecker and my brain say it isn’t. I was trying to invent a plural form for Adonis, you know, the Greek guy. The point is the Anaheim Ducks have this delightful glow about them, and they reminded me of a group of Bronze Adoniseseseseses. I have been referring to them as such since my first game back at the Honda Center this season. But let’s not talk about the game. There are far more interesting things to discuss like the death of the Coyotes, and what is to become of me, my love, and the Arizona Prophecy.

    I have to admit that I was beside myself over ditching the Coyotes if not for any other reason but the Arizona Prophecy. I had obviously invested a great deal in this gamble of faith. I dropped everything and went chasing a speedy white rabbit down various bunny holes across the league. If I was so sure about the prophecy enough to put my life on hold the way that I did last March, and nearly screwed myself over in most facets of my life in the process, then how could I just turn away now? It was kind of like that really bad movie that you just can’t walk out on because a small part of you is hoping that there will be a surprise twist at the end, and the film will somehow be worth that $9.95 you paid for the ticket. However, then the screen goes black and you’re left with nothing more than a hole in your pocket where your ten bucks and your dignity used to be.

    When I decided to believe the school of psychics and my own intuition and go off on a quest in search of this mystery man, I had to leave the realm of the logical, the plausible, and the realistic behind. I’ve been living in a kind of fantasy world where meaning was drawn from every seemingly mundane dream or happening. While some things seemed clearer than others, I really started to go crazy (particularly this season) with having to sift between the “Divine” and the unimportant. I always tried to keep an open mind. If the prophecy was right, then it may manifest in some strange unforeseeable way. Perhaps the point of all this was not to find my “true love” after all. Perhaps it had to do with this website, the TV show, a job – who knows?

    I know this can be both hard to read and believe, especially for those who do not have experience with this type of thing, but I always thought it was an interesting story, especially when you consider that as a hockey addict, my supposed “destiny” would be linked to the game I love. Of course, you skeptics may be right, and maybe this is leading me to nothing more than a very stressful adventure, but I guess we’ll see one way or another. Anyway, that’s why I opted to write about it in the first place because it IS connected to my hockey adventures, at least, right now.

    There were various reasons for why I started to grow apart from Phoenix, and so, I decided to try and find a new team, and I came up with the Show Me A Sign campaign in hopes that fans across the league could show me where to go next. Within a couple days, there were whispers coming from Southern California that the Ducks fans wanted to get in on the campaign with a sign of their own. When I heard this everything clicked, and I remembered part of the prophecy that I had forgotten months ago. For over a year, psychic after psychic was telling me about the Arizona boy, but then, just a matter of days before the trade deadline, something change. Now there were two guys, and I had the choice between the two of them. On the one hand, there was the Arizona guy, but on the other hand was a guy linked to SoCal. I had never been to Arizona OR California, so this was strange to me. Anyway, when the switch to Phoenix finally happened, I decided to make a very last minute trip to Anaheim (I booked the flight like twelve hours before takeoff) just in case there was another guy there.

    I had determined that the other team was Anaheim because the psychics had mentioned birds and I interpreted that as “ducks,” but, at this point, I’m more than willing to give the Kings a shot as well. Anyway, on that trip last season, strange things kept happening. My flight on Expedia wouldn’t book. Not even the travel agents could get it to work. The problem was being reported as my flight out of Buffalo, so we kept changing the departure (eight or nine times), hoping one of them would book, but to no avail. Finally, the travel agent gave up and told me that I could keep trying on my own, but she was doubtful that it would work. I decided to give it one last try, and of course it didn’t work, but this time something popped up on the screen. “Are your dates flexible? Fly back a day later.” I didn’t think this would matter considering that it was my departure that was the problem, but I decided to give it one last shot, and, of course, it booked. At the time I remember thinking that this was very meaningful. It was almost like I was meant to stay in Cali longer than I wanted to. Normally, on my hockey adventures, I want to get the fuck out of town as soon as the game is over, but in Cali I really enjoyed just hanging out. While my plane was hovering over LAX, this time around, I looked out the window, and I felt like I had finally returned home. Weird.

    My flight wasn’t the only strange thing that wouldn’t book last season. I had problems with my hotel and game tickets too. The tickets in my usual sections would vanish before I could buy them. Once again, agents on Ticketmaster, StubHub, and TicketExchange could do nothing to help me. Finally, I was forced to settle for tickets in a crappy section. The weird thing was the SECOND I purchased the tickets, the ones I had previously scouted MAGICALLY reappeared. Again, was I meant to sit in those seats? As a result of me sitting there, the Coyotes ended up driving their first of many very large nails into their coffin of my hate. It was by far the worst game of my life, and I was forced to cope with it by making a horrible life choice after the game…four times…accidentally.

    I was feeling the Ducks/Coyotes stress even last season. I was so confused; I didn’t know what to do with myself. While going through my mail one day, I came across a bumpy letter from some food company. When I opened it there were two Stanley Cup pins inside. I was kind of horrified. I couldn’t help but feel a little paranoid that some company I had never heard of knew the way to my heart. I casually brought this up to one of the psychics I know, and she revealed that she had the pins sent because there was a voucher for it in her box of popcorn, and it made her think of me. She told me she thought I would get some “sign” when the pins showed up, and immediately asked me if Phoenix was the one that I got. “Umm NO Phoenix has never made it passed the first round in the playoffs. They’ve never won a cup!” was my response. The teams I did get – Colorado and Anaheim.

    Like I mentioned in Day 2, my trip to Avs country was planned in August. My original plan was to head to Phoenix after the game, but the fear of contracting the SWINE FLU was too great, so I decided to trash that idea like the trash that resides there. When I heard about the Ducks fans and their awesome game sign, I thought it would be in my best interest to return to Honda Center since I was already going to be in that “general” vicinity for the Coyotes game at Pepsi Center. The fact that the total additional cost for travel was only $5 sealed the deal. Of course, when I looked at the Ducks schedule, who should be playing in town but the Preds and the Coyotes! The Preds are another semi-ex boyfriend team, and I’m not going to lie, I did cast the odd glare down the ice from time to time. Luckily, I stayed safely nestled and well hidden next to the Ducks bench.

    Of course, seeing that Phoenix was one of the teams in town during my visit to Cali, I figured that may be a sign that I wasn’t actually supposed to switch teams. However, the game in Colorado quickly soured any remaining feelings I had for the team. It would take a lot for the Coyotes to get me back, and the graveling would probably have to begin with a written apology addressed to my appropriate station as Ice Goddess. Anyway, I will have more to say about this; particularly, when I talk about the Ducks game in Detroit. I know, I know! I’m so behind on the road blogs right now. It feels like there aren’t enough hours in the day for all the crap I need to do. As it is I haven’t slept more than three hours in the last three days! And on that note *yawn,* I’m going to hit the sheets.

    Roll the credits…

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