Placeholder Post

Once again I find myself frantically writing two papers at the same time for graduate school and no time to blog. Additionally, I was in Chicago for a week which added lots of things to blog about but was detrimental to my having time to actually do it. Real posts forthcoming in about two weeks. Until then here's the short version:

• StereoNinja saw his first Blackhawks game and nearly left his jaw in Chicago where he dropped it in the United Center. He now totally gets why I thought the Slough Jets and their "arena" were fucking hilarious.
• I WENT ON A SUBMARINE. A SUBMARINE YOU GUYS. (It was not in the water.)
• FYI, if you have an hour and 45 minute layover in Dublin on your way to Chicago, it will not be nearly enough time to get through U.S. immigration pre-clearance and security between flights. This won't be a problem, however, because literally HALF of the people on your flight will be in that same line and they will delay the flight for twenty minutes because my country's obsession with security theater is insane. 

I will now go bury myself in anti-pornography literature and try to critique it rationally without shouting "BITCH YOU DON'T KNOW MY LIFE!" to an empty room.

For Reference, My Home Team Won The Stanley Cup Last Year

You guys. YOU GUYS. Did you know they had ice hockey in the UK? Because I didn't know. But there is. And last night, StereoNinja and I decided to check it out a game OH MY GOD it was the best* thing I've ever seen in my life.

We went to see the Bracknell Bees take on the Guildford Flames at Bracknell's home ice rink at the John Nike Leisuresport Complex. Driving up to it I thought it looked like a youth center, and I said so. I also said the car park was about a quarter of the size of the one for the high school down the street from where I lived in Chicago. The was a massive banner on the side of the building advertising that the rink was Olympic sized, which based on the exterior of the building I was loathe to believe. "With about three rows of seats going around it," I estimated sarcastically, at which point StereoNinja threatened to put me back in the car and take me home if I didn't stop it.

We were early for the start of the game because we weren't sure how the parking situation was going to be (HAHAHAHAHAHA), and we were hungry, so we went to the cafeteria and ordered two "cheeseburgers" that turned out to be made of grade triple Z meat which was grey and may have had chunks of hooves baked in. StereoNinja described this athletic event fare as "typical" of such things in the UK, and for the first time I think ever in my life, I couldn't finish my burger because it tasted that bad.

We decided to wash that horrifying experience down with a beer. This was much more challenging than it needed to be. The bar was at center ice, and from where we were sitting in the third row (out of four. Four.) behind the goal, we started walking around to get to it, only to find a barrier set up blocking off the section of seating directly in front of it. So obviously we climbed right over it because, duh, beer. This brought a kid in some sort of official staff shirt running over telling us we couldn't go in there because THAT IS VIP SEATING and OMGWTFBBQ. StereoNinja explained that we had no intention of sitting there, we just wanted to go get a stupid beer, and the kid countered that we would have to go all the way downstairs, through a series of tunnels and possibly a coal mine and back up a different set of stairs in order to get a beer from the bar that was literally 15 feet away from us. We ignored him.

Back at our seats, the pregame ritual had started. This included a 16 year old Zamboni driver who I'm pretty sure is a member of One Direction resurfacing ice which does not appear to have ever been replaced since the structure was built. Certainly no one has repainted the lines underneath the ice which are more a suggestion of where one might draw some lines rather than actual markings. The visiting team skated out first which the PA announcer did not deem important enough to mention, and then the Bees were introduced (following an air raid siren sound effect because of course there was), in numerical order, with no positions given, and each with their own individual sponsor (you can sponsor a player for £200 and make the announcer say pretty much whatever you want, as evidenced by one player being sponsored by "Damned: Pleasure and Pain").

And then they started playing.

Sorry if you're a fan, but Bracknell are a TERRIBLE hockey team. They managed to make it through the first period with no score from either side, mostly by skating slowly and passing the puck to just about anywhere on the ice that didn't have a player nearby to receive it. I also noticed a stunning lack of checking players into the walls. Earlier I had been perusing the game program (which is HILARIOUS) and had noticed that boarding was not among the penalties listed on the "Why is the ref gesticulating like that?" page, so presumably it's missing because it would never occur to the players to do any such thing. There was one minor skirmish in the first period which prompted a man in our row to shout "YEAH! Knock his teeth out!"

"What teeth?" I wanted to know. "Why does he still have teeth? Is he new?" StereoNinja thought this was hilarious, but I swear I heard an audible sigh of disappointment coming from the direction of Canada.

The beat down began in the second period. The Flames (who by the way seem to have just taken Calgary's logo and added a little hook at the end to make it a G and not a C) scored 4 goals inside of about 6 or 7 minutes (it's hard to tell since the scoreboard is either broken or not plugged in and the only time you know how much time is left in a period is when the announcer deigns to mention it), prompting the Bees to pull their goalie, only to have the replacement goalie scored on 30 seconds later. The entire period was just painful and embarrassing to watch, with the Bees making such basic pee-wee hockey mistakes that I postulated I might be able to carve out a career as a coach here (note: I have never played a game of hockey in my life). I noticed a sign on the wall behind us warning about the danger of flying pucks. "Ice hockey is probably the fastest team game in the world," it began, but not the way they were playing it.

At the end of that disaster (which may have been a full 20 minutes or may have been called for mercy, I couldn't tell), there was a contest during intermission that seemed to involve people throwing rubber duckies on the ice. I don't really understand what was happening, I was busy diagramming plays to show the Bees front office during my interview for the head coaching position.

After three more sad goals in the third period, the Bees suddenly decided to actually play hockey for the last 10 minutes, which was a large and pleasant surprise, but which was also far too late and they ended the game losing 8-0 which can only accurately be described as getting bitch-slapped.

What followed was the politest post game ritual I have ever been witness to. First the teams lined up for the center ice handshake, a tradition in hockey, but one normally reserved for games during the playoffs in most leagues. In the NHL that would pretty much be the end of it. But here, as the players got to the end of the line, they then skated to the opposing teams' bench to shake the hands of all the coaches, trainers and equipment managers, then circled back to the other side of the ice to shake hands with all four officials. After THAT, the opposing team got together and did a full skate all the way around the ice applauding all the fans in the audience. AND THEN the Bees went all the way around the rink doing the exact same thing. I have never seen anything like it. I was half expecting the players to be waiting outside when we got downstairs to personally walk everyone to their cars. I turned to StereoNinja and said "That was the most English thing that has ever happened."

So, yeah. There's ice hockey here. And it is hilarious.

*Worst.

VERY IMPORTANT NEWS

While I was in Cleveland a week ago, after a long day of visiting family and watching three hour long musicals and having dinner with a friend of my stepmother who told me she read all three Fifty Shades books in one weekend while I bit my tongue until it bled, I made a video of my spare notes from Chapters 9-10 in my parents basement. It's not my best work, I have to say - I was tired (see previous sentence), I really didn't have a lot of notes from those chapters because almost nothing happened in them, and I found a giant fish pillow which was very distracting.

 

 I promise the next one will be better. I have deliberately left some things out of my review because I wanted to yell about them on camera. And James packed the last three chapters with sentences that are so poorly constructed they should be taken out behind the shed and shot. It should be a good time.

In completely unrelated but VERY VERY important news, SATURDAY IS MY BIRTHDAY. I think I may have already gotten my best present already - the hockey strike ended this weekend and it seems there will be some games this year after all, great news since I have serious concerns about being able to watch hockey next season and it might be my last chance. Then again, StereoNinja is being very secretive about something he's mailed to my office, so maybe not. I hope it's sex toys. And of course, if anyone out there could convince Hannah Hart to tweet me a personal birthday greeting you would make my entire life. But just so we're all clear, the important part of today's post is that everyone is made aware of my upcoming birthday. Saturday.

Everything You Need To Know About Sports

me: i think you might like hockey
especially if there's canadian announcers, they are HILARIOUS

StereoNinja: i was tempted to watch it but then i decided i wanted to see it with you
I am a hockey virgin
take me................
but treat me gently
its my first time

me: i'm sorry that's not how we do things in hockey

---------------------------

me: so i'm totally crazy with the hockey playoffs

H-town: ugh, i need ESPN
i'm so out of it

me: NBC has some of the games

H-town: i just mean highlights
so i know who in which sport is doing well and who sucks
and so on
I HAVE TO BE ABLE TO TALK SPORTS

me: yeah, that would be good
i can tell you this: the cubs? suck
the indians? also suck
lebron? is a penis

H-town: haha

me: there, you're caught up

Heather: ok good
phew

You're welcome.

Breaking News: Amberance Went Somewhere

There have been no updates to the blog lately, mainly because there is nothing at all of substance going on in my life. I go to work, I come home, I watch Tosh.0 and imagine having rough sex with the host (I don't know, the guy just looks dirty to me), I go to bed. Sometimes I work out or try to cross-stitch (which is made difficult by a cat who thinks any and all thread in the home must be attacked and destroyed), but for the most part there simply hasn't been anything to write about. Over the weekend I attempted to rectify six week's worth of lameness by cramming my entire social life into three days.

On Friday, the great Jon from Total Talk Nonsense, the greatest podcast anywhere, was playing a gig out in the suburbs with his new band, The Toxic Crayons. I had originally planned on attending as a participant - the lead singer had been asking me to sing with their various bands for years, and we'd finally nailed down some actual songs to work on rather than just the vague idea that "you should sing with us". Side note: I find the request for me to sing with the band completely hilarious, given that none of them, including Jon, have ever actually heard me sing. They're basing this decision solely on the fact that I told them I could sing, which they've taken at face value and assumed that I'm brilliant. Which I am, but they have no way of actually knowing that. For all they know I could just be saying I can sing when I really sound like Roseanne Barr. Anywhore, the plans fell through when I never went to band practice because various members may or may not have learned the songs. For my own part, I would have been nervous anyway - I know I am capable of singing "Heartbreaker", I just don't think I'm nearly cool enough to pull off getting on stage and looking like I have any business singing Pat Benatar. Besides, boy who doesn't call was supposed to be there and despite the fact that I want to lick him, singing in front of him gives me pause. It didn't matter, because he wasn't there and I didn't sing anyway. I knew I was in the suburbs when I walked into the bar and was immediately surrounded by children. Not college kids on a binge, actual children. Because in the suburbs, you can take your kids to the pub for dinner and not worry that they might see someone getting fingerbanged in full view of the public. The show went pretty well for the most part, despite half the band being sick and one song that completely disintegrated. They made up for it by playing some Stray Cats. In the meantime, I got a round of applause from the band wives and other fans sitting near me for getting carded, which I attributed to my green hair but Mrs. Jon insisted had more to do with my "young face".

I left there and drove Alistair back to the city to leave at the bar for the bartender to run errands after work ("I want you to promise me you'll be very careful," said the Crayon's bass player while bear hugging me goodbye, "because it is snowing and everyone else on the road is drunk, and you're adorable."). Then I went into the bar to let the bartender know where the car was. Mistake. There were too many friends there to just walk in and walk back out again, and I wound up hanging around for an hour and a half, listening to 90's hip hop (yes, I still know all the words to "The Humpy Dance" AND "Poison" by Bel Biv DeVoe, thanks for asking) and chatting with Hellbilly about various concerts and, unfortunately, UFC fighting. By chatting I mean nodding, Hellbilly needs no partner to carry on a conversation because he never ever ever shuts up.

I eventually got home from Tai's some time after 3 a.m. and spend another 45 minutes stalking people on Facebook and eating pretzels before I went to bed. My plans for Saturday had involved a lot of errand running and some weight lifting, all of which fell apart when I didn't get out of bed until 5 in the afternoon (this was not all my fault - I woke up at 3, but was immediately trapped under a cuddly cat who growled and hissed every time I tried to ease her off of me). Instead I spent the evening watching Chicago and deciding that Velma Kelly is the roll for me and that Queen Latifa is actually pretty fucking sexy.

On Sunday, the bartender and I headed over to the Congress to see Against Me! and the Dropkick Murphys. The Congress is one of my favorite venues to see music in Chicago. Unfortunately it is run by idiots. We had bought tickets online, or thought we had. After standing in line to get in for five minutes, we were told that anyone with paper tickets had to go stand in line at Will Call and trade them in for real tickets, which if I have to stand in line for them, it largely defeats the point of buying them online. While standing in the cold and rain waiting in line and shivering, we saw a group of girls who were not exactly dressed for the weather much at all which happily has inspired the name of my new all girl band - Daddy Issues. Our first single will be called "Get In Line" and is about running a train (Google it if you don't know, just don't watch the videos. Or watch them, I don't know your preferences). The line moved more slowly than it needed to - Will Call has but one door for both ingress and egress because clearly these people are geniuses. Once we got to the front of the line, they took our pieces of paper and issued us our tickets: basically little red tickets you would use for a raffle that I could have bought a roll of 1000 of for $5 at the party store. Then we got back in the first line, where they didn't even bother to take my little raffle ticket anyway, so I'm mystified why they made me stand in line to get one. Once inside we met up with the loquacious Hellbilly and a friend of his and settled in to the side of the main crowd because we are old people and also it's closer to the beer.

The Dropkick Murphys draw an interesting crowd. It's a mix of punks and people who think they're Irish, and everyone is drunk before they even get there. One girl was clearly on Ecstasy and had no idea she was not at a rave. The Dropkick Murphys were brilliant as always, one of their roadies proposed to his girlfriend on stage (she said "HOLY SHIT" which the crowd took as a yes) and they brought Chris Pisani on stage during "I'm Shipping Up To Boston", who Blackhawks fans will know as "That guy who dances to the Dropkick Murphys song at every Blackhawks game". All the while, Hellbilly was trying to kill us with Jameson, which I eventually had to start discreetly setting on the floor and knocking over to avoid a trip to the ER. The show had started very late due to Against Me! getting stuck in traffic driving up from Houston and the Dropkick Murphys having attended the Blackhawks game which went to shootouts. Consequently, there were many disappointed 12 year olds who didn't get flashed during "Kiss me I'm Shitfaced" (which my friend Tanyas participated in at the Saturday night show and then stole a set list) because they left before the encore, and I didn't get home until after 1 a.m. on a school night and paid for dearly the next day.

I am a party animal.

My Trip To The ER

Coming home from blighty, and for the last two days I was there, I found I was having a fair amount of back pain near the place where my right kidney resides. It got progressively worse and by Friday I could barely move. I was told repeatedly by many people to get my ass to the doctor, but I am stubborn and I was convinced all I needed was Tylenol, a heating pad and time. Until I realized I had started running a fever. Even then, I was sure it could wait til morning when the bartender would be home from work and I could drive myself there in the car. My neighbors Sugar and Spice were not having any of it. Spice called me from downstairs where they were watching the hockey game. "[Sugar] says she had a friend who died because of a kidney infection. She says if you don't come down here right now, [the Marine] is going to come up there and hog tie you and carry you to the car." Under those circumstances I allowed them to drive me to Northwestern (after the hockey game of course. Come on, it was Game 7 of the Stanley Cup!).
We arrived at Northwestern Emergency and checked me in. I got a fancy bracelet and was quickly called in to see the nurse. "I'm running a fever and I have a lot of pain in my right kidney," I told her.
"How do you know it's your kidney?" she asked.
This struck me as a trick question, but then again I had a fever. "Um, well, it's in the place where they taught me in biology class my kidney is supposed to be, so I just figured..." This seemed to be a satisfactory answer. She took my temperature (99.3), gave me a cup to pee in and told me to go to the desk if I suddenly got any worse.
I went and sat with Sugar and Spice. I didn't want to sit. I was in pain and had a fever and I wanted to lay down. But as all the seats in the waiting room have metal arms and it's not socially acceptable to lay on the floor in public I ended up curling myself into an upright fetal position and resting my head on my knees. And we waited.
And we waited.
The only good thing about having to go to the ER is that they are endlessly entertaining. There was a guy who worked there in some capacity (crowd control?) we named "Bernie Mac Guy" because he bore a resemblance to Bernie Mac and he was pimping out in a black suit of indeterminate material, a red shirt, a black tie and an incongruous pair of white latex gloves. I announced I wanted to marry him (fever). There was also a decrepit old man doing Sanford and Son impressions obnoxiously enough that Bernie Mac Guy told him if he didn't shut up he'd be put away in a room by himself. My favorite was a kid who may or may not have been in his mid twenties who I named Captain Vomit. Captain Vomit was so named because he was clearly going through severe withdrawal. He'd been issued a bed pan and every 15 minutes or so he would violently throw up into it and then button it with a pitiful moan of "Oooohh God, I want to die." God did not appear to be listening. But Captain Vomit is obviously much smarter than I, because as I was trying to get comfortable curled into a ball in a hard plastic chair, Captain Vomit took his bed pan and his blanket and lay down right in the middle of the waiting room floor. The staff yelled at him for some time to get up to no avail. Eventually they gave up and, get this people, wheeled a bed in for him to lay in so he would get off the floor. I was furious. "Is that it?" I complained to Spice. "All I had to do was lay on the fucking floor and they would have brought me a bed? Man, this is bullshit." And we waited.
While all this was going on, I was progressively getting worse. My legs were numb from my knees to my ass because of the way I was sitting, and the fever was making me too nauseous to hold my head up. Sugar and Spice were carrying on a conversation that I was listening to, but not much participating in because speaking (let alone thinking) was an effort. But apparently I tried. And apparently when I'm in a fever delirium I am fucking hilarious. It was related to me later (and mind you, I have almost no memory of any of this) that while they were talking I would appear to drift off to sleep, only to abruptly pop my head up every 20 minutes, make a completely inappropriate sexual comment, and immediately go back to sleep. Some of the things I allegedly said (anyone I'm related to would do well to stop reading right here and go to the next paragraph) are that "sperm is delicious!", that in fact I was a "come connoisseur" and therefore knew what I was talking about, and that a fun thing I found out I liked was being slapped in the face. I can't really argue with them - these are all things that I would definitely think, just not usually out loud.
At some point it became clear to the pair of them that I was in way worse shape than when I got there and Sugar talked the nurse into taking my temperature again, which had rocketed up to 102.2 over the two hours we'd been sitting there. The nurse gave me some Motrin and then I sat there and whined for the next 20 minutes about "when is it going to wooooooooork" until it kicked in. And we waited.
By this time it was past 1:30 in the morning and Sugar had taken a cab home. Spice and I sat discussing something (probably sex toys) for another hour or so until an enormous group of enormous people came in. They were all dressed like skanks, entirely in white, and every single one had blood on their clothes somewhere. It seemed they had been at a white party and several people had been stabbed, shot or both. One woman had poured herself into an outfit three sizes too small and made out of terrycloth with huge gold buttons down the front. "I want an outfit made out of a towel," I pouted to Spice, who pissed herself laughing. In the midst of this commotion my name was finally called.
The doctor, who was pleasantly surprised when we applauded her entrance to the room, told me I had a kidney infection and possibly a kidney stone, but that I would need a CT scan to find out about that last part. She then put me on a fluid drip and ran away with several vials of my blood. I was now very excited because 1) I love having an IV because it makes me feel important and 2) I had never had a CT scan before so I was curious and besides, how could a giant doughnut not be fun?
It turns out a CT scan is mostly just lonely because there's no one in there with you. The highlight was the contrast fluid. They ran it into my IV and a few seconds later everything from my neck to my vajay was really really hot for about 30 seconds. It was awesome. They did this twice. Boo-yah.
Anyway, long story even longer, I did not have a kidney stone so they gave me some antibiotics, an anti nausea and some Vicodin and sent me away. Total hospital time: 8 hours. Total hospital bill: just under $11,000. Hilarious moments I'm still giggling at a month later and that freak out the marine: Priceless.
Sugar and Spice: Thank you so much for out stubborning me and then sitting with me in the psych ward for the injured all night! You are both princesses among women.

Picking on Sick People Makes You An Oily Cat Wank

Friday night, pre-hospital. I am running an approximately 100.1 degree fever.

Fish: Who is winning game 7? I could change over but I never change away from baseball to hockey. Personal rule.

Me: Pittsburgh, 1-nil.

Fish: Just because you went to England doesn't mean you say nil now. Welcome to America....it's called zero.

Me: I also say mental. And knackered. And what's all this then?

Fish: The last is Eddie Izzard. The other two aren't words. It's ok...you're feverish.

Amberance: Insufferable Know-It-All

Watching the Blackhawks game, in which someone has just been punched in the face

The agent: Oh my god! Look how much he's bleeding!
me: I'm sure it looks worse than it is. The face has a lot of capillaries, so it tends to bl-
The agent: Shut up, nerd.

Brilliant Ideas That Occurred To Me During the Blackhawks Game

• Ice Crew home driveway shoveling service
• UFC Fight Night on Ice
• Zamboni bumper cars

5 Minute Major - For Sucking

I went to the Blackhawks game with the bartender last night. That was a huge mistake. I've never seen such a terrible display of hockey in all of my life. I can't even describe how painful that was, so I won't try. I'll just say that the highlight of the game was a guy about three rows in front of us who screamed out, "Will somebody! PLEASE! Beat someone up!" near the end of the second period.

Hockey for Dummies

So last Tuesday night I went to my first ever Blackhawks game, which served as my first ever professional hockey game at all. The owner has season tickets, which he hands out like door prizes to all the people he likes that week, so I ended up watching my first ever professional hockey game from 7 rows back right behind the goal with the bartender, another bar employee (we will call him the body. Because the girls seem to enjoy his greatly ripped arms. I personally am not into such a build, but I thought "the body" was a nicer name than "the man-whore", if not quite as accurate.) and that guy's daughter.

The bartender and I got there well ahead of the body, which is to say we got there before the game started as opposed to halfway through the first period. We gathered some food and took it to our extremely awesome seats.

"Gene says nice sausage," said the bartender while looking at his phone. Apparently, my drinking buddy Gene Honda keeps binoculars up in his little PA announcer booth to spy on his friends in the not-so-cheap seats, and possibly scan the crowd for attractive women. He claims they are so he can see what's going on down on the ice, but when he texted us at the start of the third period, "Ice cream too!" I began to get suspicious.

Speaking of hot women, there was one just behind us. The bartender saw her first (as he tends to do). He elbowed me in the ribs. "Turn around." I did, and saw an attractive brunette about my age sitting with a guy who was completely unattractive and much much older. You know the Beastie Boys' Sabotage video, where they're dressed up like a 70's cop show with really bad helmet hair and huge unruly mustaches? That is what this guy looked like.

"Hot," I said, "but what is she doing with that guy? Is that her dad? Tell me that's her dad."

The bartender shook his head. "Money," he concluded. "She's with him because he has money." He paused. "I wish I had money. I need to fuck her."

As it turned out, I needed him to fuck her too, or better yet get a blow job from her, because as it turns out she has the duel problems of being incredibly stupid and unable to stop herself from talking.

Look, I'll be honest with you. I don't really know much about hockey. It's not a sport I've ever really followed. I used to go to a lot of games in college, but that was mostly to support my friend Mike and to scream "YEAH! MAKE HIM YOUR BITCH!" whenever someone got slammed into the boards. My knowledge of hockey is limited to the bare basics. I am not a hockey genius in any way.

But next to the hot dummy I certainly looked like one. For starters, she decided that she had a thing for Mark Bell, number 28 on the Blackhawks. But she couldn't figure out his name, even with it written on the back of his jersey. She simply referred to him as her boyfriend. "Look, there's my boyfriend!" she squealed everytime his line came on the ice. "Why is he leaving? Come back boyfriend!" she would cry out everytime his line went off. I rolled my eyes at the bartender.

"Not very bright there, your girl."

He grinned. "Those are the best kind."

Later she apparently missed the action while staring at her "boyfriend". Play had stopped for a hooking penalty. When she noticed no one was skating except one guy crossing the ice by himself, she questioned her benefactor. "What happened? Did that guy do something bad? Is he going to the bad boy box?" Later she would shorten this to "the bad box", which was only slightly less idiotic. I turned to the bartender.

"[Bartender], will you do me a favor and please go put something in her mouth? She just called the penalty box a "bad boy" box."

She then got loudly got confused about hockey having three periods instead of four quarters. I began to beat my head against the bartender's shoulder. I could hear the four guys sitting directly in front of her start speculating as I had that the poor stiff she was with was her dad. After having to hear about her boyfriend and how hot he was for nearly an entire game, Bell completely missed a pass and then immediately fell down flat on his face. One of the guys stood up pointing and shouted triumphantly, "THAT'S your boyfriend!" Our entire section busted up laughing.

Ultimately, the Blackhawks lost to the Islanders in overtime, but overall my first pro hockey game was pretty cool. I'm totally going again.