Au Revoir

Things I learned at the Joe on Saturday:

I OWN my section. So don't mess with me.

If you cannot tell I am bullshitting you, you are far too drunk.

Swearing at me about something that is out of my control will not get you far. In fact, it will get you close to thrown out.

I shook some hands and said good-bye to Tom and his friend that often accompanies him to games. I said I'd see them next year.

I said good-bye to Linda and she said she'd see me on Wednesday. I told her I didn't share her optimism, but she insisted on Wednesday.

The rest of my ticket holders could care less about me. That's okay, they sit in spots where I can't talk to them. These guys sit in row eighteen, so intermissions are spent talking with them or bullshitting some standing room peeps.

I don't want to retire in shame and disappointment. If the Wings manage to pull a game seven, I'm not sure I want to be there. I hate first round exits. A first round exit on a game seven is even worse. Yes, can you tell I've done this before?

Behold the power of optimism - but watching half-assed efforts and uninspired play on the ice is a hard thing to believe in.

1.5 hours processing time required

On this beautiful sunny day, hell just officially froze over. I actually dare say that I agree with our president on something. Regarding this bullsheisse over a Spanish language "Star Spangled Banner," (do not get me started on illegals) he said the following:

"I think the national anthem ought to be sung in English, and I think people
who want to be a citizen of this country ought to learn English and they ought
to learn to sing the national anthem in English."

I'm not sure I agree with his usage of the word "ought," seems there could have been a stronger word there, but who knows - either his speech writer was late to work today or he so strongly believes in that message that he decided to use his own vocabulary.

So learn English, bastards, and stop stealing our jobs in the meantime; go back to your own country.

Silenced

Forgive my premature hating on the Wings, however, I am flabbergasted and don't know what to think about tomorrow's game. I am glad they stepped up to the plate and met the challenge of winning a game in regulation. Now I have to find a way to be two places at once again. This should be an interesting task. My loyalties lie with the DRW organization in their time of need, not with some ruddy retail outlet that exploits the entire African and some of the Asian continents.

On a different note - Sometimes I don't have a lot to say. I know this is a fault of mine. Largely it's because I don't want to mess things up, for better or worse. Sometimes I don't talk because I feel comfortable, safe, and special. Sometimes, that's a good thing. Other times I don't talk because if I do, it won't be nice and I'll regret it later (most specifically in a work environment). And sometimes that too is a good thing, but the scenarios are completely opposite from each other. So until I figure out what to say in any given situation, don't hold it against me. Know that we are not only on the same page, but on the same line and most likely very close to the same character on that line.

A random tidbit of information - The 33 miles (give or take) between 496 and the rest area just east of M-59 on I-96 is the longest stretch of road ever, especially when the destination holds caffeine. And I'll never be able to figure out why 70 mph is too fast under the night sky and too slow in daylight. It has something to do with the patience level in drivers, but I'm not exactly sure what.

33.40 - Don't disappoint

I'm confused about tonight's game. I want to believe that they can pull it off, but I'm not sure they have given me enough proof that their hearts are in it and their bodies can keep up with it. It's not lost optimism; it's skeptism and I'm entitled. I've seen them play like this before and sadly, it has gotten them more first round exits. Do I want to retire in disappointment or glory? Time will tell.

I got new departments of responsibility at the store. Mannequins and marketing. I spent four hours yesterday organizing all the marketing. Then I made a note explaining my system. It doesn't matter. The mannequins I so neatly organized are already trashed. And since everyone is lazy who works there, when the time comes for marketing to be changed, my nice files will be destroyed, leaving me extremely pissed off and completely disappointed.

I had an epiphany while driving home last night. I decided that starting Monday, I will once again actively seek teaching assignments. The sooner I make myself believe that is in my best interest, the better off I'll be. Until that time comes, I'll just find something else to do.

1-800-COMCAST, please

Having to get up early after an exhausting loss in double overtime sucks. Why? Because when we switched to WOW, something went horribly wrong. OLN only appears on digital basic. I have those channels because I have a DVR. But OLN is the only channel that doesn't come through. It's a continuous black screen, or when the picture does come through, it's chopped up and blurry and looks worse than a satellite feed. I called to complain, they said they're sending a technician out. Fine. So damn it, cable guy, get here already! For Pete's sake. I have to work tonight and I was hoping to take a nap this afternoon, but I guess that's just not meant to be the case today.

If I could keep WOW internet, I'd switch back to Comcast cable in a heartbeat. They have a better DVR system too. :-/

I was doing okay for awhile but now I'm starting to get really sleepy again. This can't be a good thing.

WOW sucks and loses major points with me. And congratulations on making your first official bashing post. May there not be many of more of these.

Man-ny, Man-ny, Man-ny

What a fiasco! Not only did I give up CBC coverage of crucial hockey games last night, travel half way across the state of Michigan, but I did so to miss the first five minutes of the game (a long faded memory by now) and to stay up until 2:30 in the morning watching the Wings lose in double overtime. I have regained the upper hand until June, so all was not a lost cause.

I was shocked it was Manny in net. It needed to be Ozzie. Excuse me Mr. Babcock, um, if you're unaware, this is the playoffs and there isn't any time to fuck around anymore. Ozzie has the experience and has carried this team before. He can do it again. Faith all around, sir, please. And as if we weren't already done anyway, if Chris Osgood is not in net on Thursday, I will find you on Saturday afternoon and tell you this to your face. And it won't be nice. Fuck Manny, fine, he is a large reason we are still playing this time in April, but honestly, he doesn't know how to handle the playoffs and benching him would remind him that he can't fuck around anymore. It's do or die time, not play with the goalie's confidence level time. I'm not just goalie hating either. Those twenty other men you put in a uniform are doing a piss poor job as well. Remind them that they are a team and would likely see better results if they play with and off one another rather than individuals. Bad decisions all around. Is this the kind of hockey deemed worthy to win Lord Stanley's Cup? Maybe only for Zetterberg and Williams, who actually made the road trip and are playing they actually care about being in the playoffs, but no one else. I called bad goaltending a long time ago, but now I think I have to add bad team spirit and lack of interest that will also knock us out.

Dwayne Roloson - you are no Dominik Hasek but like him, you are also a bastard. Stop playing dirty, especially when Jason Williams approaches with an overtime winning shot. Thank you and good night.

Fox Sports Detroit - there were three other NHL games yesterday. You had four intermissions to mention this. Not one word. You fail. Good Riddance. No wonder Wings fans are so blinded when it comes to hockey, their television outlet doesn't acknowledge the rest of the league either. Good-bye FSN, hello CBC.

Lightening the mood

Nothing like a random copy of National Geographic Kids showing up on your doorstep to get a good laugh. Now sit back and enjoy the story of:

"UP A TREE"

William stole my Doug action figure last week. That was the last straw! I gathered leaves and melted gummy bears, and built the world's awesomest tree house. After climbing the 525,600-foot ladder, I hung a speaker on the wall that said, "Keep out!" I was playing with a voltron when I heard a strange ballcap below. I ran out the foundation and saw my pet tiger speeding on the ladder with its tail. The ladder fell with a crack on a patch of bean sprouts. I was wicked! For 42 hours I had nothing to do but count squirrels in my head. I was dreaming of subways when I heard someone yell, "Brian!" William was standing at the bottom of a tree, waving tacos in the air. He croaked up the ladder and saved me! I had never been so clear to see him. Now where did my voltron go?

You're not forgotten

Today is Holocaust Remembrance Day. It should be remembered everyday, but since today is when the first concentration camp was liberated by Allied forces, today is worth the extra reflection. I was in a creative writing class a year ago when American and Canadian veterans were in Europe commemorating the 60th anniversary of War's end. This was my attempt to tap into current events as well as history.

The Arrival of The Hero

Alone I was in that damp room
When you barged in at last
I noticed the decrepit bravery on your face
I felt you thinking how the War could have come to this
After all the battles and bloodshed, could you confront this hatred?

I noticed your uniform through my blurred vision
Were my eyes mistaken? Stars and stripes, no twisted cross?
Blood stained your shirt, your helmet
To whom did it belong: friend or foe?
Your dirty pants have been many times repaired

A lot can be told from your dirty and worn out boots
They are the support that carried you across many long miles
They took my shoes when I entered here
I can’t think what it would be like to wear them again
Now that my bare feet know all weather and ground

I can see your rifle, well within your grasp
You depend on it as much as the foul air you breathe
What stories would it tell if it could?
Did it kill the twisted men who kept me here?
Did it find others holding on to the weakest hope, like me?

That weakest hope, just a sliver of hope
Was kept alive because of men like you
The smallest voice was telling me one day you would come
Save me from the despair, the torture, and the death
Others, are there others? Besides those I know that have long since died

You saw me move. You picked me up.
You carried me to breathe the fresh air.
I saw there were others, just skin and bones
There were soldiers like you, tears in their eyes
Survival skills mastered or just fate tested?

As many nightmares still I hold of the years in the enemy’s capture
I holdfast to the angel that came that day
To take me back to freedom’s glory

Written: January 29, 2005
Revised: March 6, 2005
Revised: April 16, 2005

Can't we all just be a little more like Drapes?

OK, OK. So I'm a smartass. Anyone who knows me knows that and I also admit that if I learn something, I'm not afraid to use it later. Last week, I was seeking redemption from Waterford Twp, this week, I'm seeking redemption from a couple of my friends who, once they read that last blog of mine, will be humorously appalled by my use of hockey names, especially since at least two of them are big time Draper fans. I might be writing this to win back lost points, dig myself out of a grave, or perhaps try to break THOSE kind of Wings fans from their blurry vision of hockey. I might also be trying to prove that what happened between two teams is ancient history, all the major players have moved on and the fans should as well.

So let me begin at the beginning:

Jase, Zetts, and Prongs do not count since they were part of the game I worked and would have inevitabley been talked about anyway. I said I still didn't like Pronger; no points lost.

• Peter Forsberg: Yes, he is one of my favorites. No, this doesn't merit lost points either. He is a consistently great player and has done insurmountable things for the NHL. So he used to be an Avalanche and was part of the Massacre Team, so what? Drapes has gotten over it, you should too. Do you think I didn't say this just to get you all riled up? Besides, he's a Flyer now.
• Lemieux: Mario - a great player, no explanation needed. Claude - the dagger-like blow which still stings. Yes, it was painful for even me to write this name, he is enemy #1 and will always remain there. I knew going into it this is what I would have to make up for, but I still couldn't resist the moment of deep and utter disgust. Since I just mentioned Peter, I thought I would strike while the iron was hot, which also brings me to...
• Patrick Roy: the second greatest goalie to play (Terry Sawchuck being number one). Like Forsberg, you can't deny him the accomplishments he earned while in net for the Canadiens and Avs.
• Dominik Hasek: I hate him, you hate him, he needs to go back to the Czech and stay away from the NHL. Another blow, but things are getting better.
• Al MacInnis: He played last for the Blues during the years when that team was a major rivalry to Detroit. I mentioned his name because he retired this year and his presence is missed by some - largely those in St. Louis. I don't care about him either way, but he was a decent player when he wasn't being a pain in the Wings' ass.
• Luc Robitaille: recently retired Lucky Luc, everyone loves this guy. Brownie points are starting to be built back.
• Joe Sakic: same class as Stevie, a leader who provides motivation in the locker room through actions more than words. While Joe isn't in the same caliber of Stevie because Stevie stands alone, Joe isn't far behind.
• Curtis Joseph: Cuj is the best, nothing else can be said. I wish his stay in Detroit was more pleasant and I hope one day he doesn't resent his decision to leave his beloved TO to come here.
• Darren McCarty: two moments from my favorite Grinder: Goal against Philly in the 97 Cup Finals and him beating the shit out of Claude Lemieux the year after he busted Draper's jaw.
• Brett Hull: retired with class for the jackass that he was and records that will be hard to beat.
• Kirk Maltby: I felt as though I had to add his name to this list. It only seemed like the right thing to do.
• Kris Draper: Who doesn't love this guy? Unlike some of his fans, he doesn't hold grudges and finds it within himself to forgive and forget.
• Chris Chelios: I like Cheli and he's played better this year than he has in the past couple. His chili is also very good.
• Tomas Holmstrom: He has the best accent on the team. His gold medal is also very, very nice.
• Brendan Shanahan: Who doesn't get pumped up when the jig is played? Even I like hearing that music.
• Steve Yzerman: Duh. Of course he's my favorite player. Was there ever really any doubt?

Game Two Blues

Despite Jason and Zetts scoring, the Wings lost. Eh, it's only game two. I might be singing a different tune on my Wednesday blog, but for now, there is plenty of time. I wish the Wings would find some enthusiasm and passion within the locker room and BRING IT to the ice. Geesh, don't they know the slogan is supposed to get them pumped up, too? Prongs is still a pain in the ass, and even though I don't like him at all, he did have the best goal of the game. What can I say, I'm an equal opportunity hockey fan. How else can Peter Forsberg be my second favorite player when I'm a Detroiter through and through? Not to worry, there is one who holds the top spot in that category, and his name...let me think now...Lemieux (hmmm, Mario or Claude?), Roy, Hasek, MacInnis, Robitaille, Sakic, Cuj, Mac, Hully, Malts, Drapes, Cheli, Homes, Shanny.........wait no, no, I mean Stevie, duh, of course. No one can come close to Yzerman. ;)

Back to the game: good crowd. Playoff tickets are more expensive, leaving me to believe that I have a little higher end people come to my standing room. Cool people too, well except for those guys last game. My favorite ticket holders were there. And Jack (the old man who I am always happy to see, and yes, I finally learned his name) was there with his friend. I had a couple bring in a dog they're training to be a sight dog. It was cute, golden retriever, and well behaved. I asked how he held up at the end of the game, and they said with the exception of the drums and lights in the beginning, he was great. They take him to a lot of Griffins games, so he was used to it. But the Joe is louder, bigger, and brighter than VanAndel, so I'm just glad he get too freaked out.

With the salary cap and reshuffling of funds within the organization, it is the usher's concensus that the marketing department was the first to get thinned out. The show sucks and I still don't understand the drums, it would have been cool if they were an introduction to something else. I miss Alto Reed and his sax and the skaters with the flags. I saw more of the video yesterday too...dumb. So if someone has seen it and can better explain it to me, please do so.

Old News worth mentioning: Friday night, Mac scored the OT goal and won it for the Flames. Malts scored it for the Wings. Once again, I had an 1825 night. Saturday night after I got home, I was flipping between my horrible OLN of the Philly game and CBC. I was able to see Mikey get set up for his goal, but then the screen went out and he scored. So I'm calling WOW today and finding out why OLN is the only channel that appears like that. Thank goodness for San Jose yesterday, all the other teams I wanted to win lost. And even after 13 hours of hockey yesterday, I'm ready for more games tonight. BRING IT.

So bring it, already!

Impede away
Before I get carried away and turn into a Red Wings fan on my readers (yikes), I should catch you guys up on my ticket situation. Went to the court too dressed up (but I didn't know what to expect and at least it showed that I cared. I could have also came from work, so whatever), and waited. This man started calling the people up to the counter. I was second. To my recollection and because I matched the writing, it was my cop. He said I had two options (the famous "options" word that I heard the night I got pulled over), one of which was, because I had nothing on my record, to accept an impeding traffic ticket worth $145 and no points, or we can go in front of a judge, he would state his case and I mine, and if the judge accepted mine it would be dismissed or I would have to pay the fine and get the points. Hmmmmm, tough choice. I took the impeding traffic option. I don't even care about the money (which is more than the fine of the ticket) because at least it was a one-time deal instead of paying for a measly first-time speeding offense for two years. So after all that was over with, by 1:30 too, might I add, I felt stupid for being so freaked out but learned my lesson. Then on the way back to my safe haven of Macomb County, there was almost a Super Chev sandwich in downtown Pontiac. Luckily the car behind me was able to swerve into the right lane, or I would have been in bad shape. I aslo kept cursing the jeep in front of me until I passed it after M-59 turns into a freeway. Ruddy bastard. I was at the store by 2:30 and only stayed until 7. Once my nerves calmed down, I was exhausted. So that was that and it's time to move on.

Is it 4:00 yet?
For most of the day Friday, I kept busy and didn't look at my watch. I reorganized my flip flops and sunglasses (two tedious chores, one of which is my sole responsibility [shoes]) and made the displays of them look pretty in every department. As I was going through the sunglasses, I found big boy glasses in big girl and both big girl and big boy in the baby girl section. You can only imagine my irritation. To add to my disgust, as I was getting stuff to fill big boy, I found MORE flip flops. Flippers never go in the spot in which I found them and I prompty unpackaged them, put them with the others and went to bitch about it to Dee. All she did was make an excuse, heaven forbid anyone dog MaryFrancis. She is one of two that I just cannot stand. I looked in boxes in the big girl section of the backroom labeled shoes and to my most sincere suprise, I found none other than BABY GIRL shoes. Honestly, wtf is that? Showed Dee the shoes, told her how the box was labeled - no reaction. I showed Kelly how the box was labeled and she couldn't believe it. Then she said, we should make you in charge of shipment Amy. I said, hey, at least it would be organized back that. She asked if we should put in the request now. Ha. While I wouldn't mind that, I don't know if anything will come of it, so I'm not waiting for a miracle of a person with organizational skills to go in the backroom. That actually took up the majority of my day. I punched out at 4, was changed and out of the mall by 4:07 and on my way downtown. I think I punched in at the Joe at 5:02, marking the first time in four years that I was ever late. And no, it doesn't even matter, there are habitual late-comers and as long as you're there by doors, it's generally okay. Two minutes isn't going to make or break my paycheck from Mr. I, so I could care less.

My third Game One - so much better than the past!
I had enough time to get a hot dog and go upstairs, check in with Jack and then find someone who was passing out flashing lights. Yes, ushers are allowed to show some team spirit, but only in the playoffs. When I checked in I got a button that was to be "mandatory" on our uniforms. I've never actually had mandatory flare before, that's rather exciting. So these flashing lights we are supposed to turn on whenever the Wings score. I did that after Langer scored and it shortly burned out thereafter. Nice, quality merchandise from Olympia Entertainment. Really, would you expect anything else? The guest relations guy giving wristbands to my standers gave me his instead. It wouldn't have been a big deal, but the people in my section got a kick out that damn light. I don't know how the opening show was because I was distracted by people wanting to know where their seats were (the nerve, right?), so I don't know if it was good. I know it was loud and I know there were drummers on the ice and in some sections. And banners dropped at the end. But I didn't catch the video.

Two octopi on the ice during the national anthems made Karen Newman actually show some character. She smiled and acknowledged them, stopping short of laughing during the Star Spangled Banner. It was kinda funny. The third came after the game was tied up. And then there was a raw steak or something thrown on the ice. Not sure what that was about, but hey, it's the playoffs, almost anything goes.

It was a nice time for Maltby to remember that he actually is a hockey player and that scoring goals is part of his job description. There are always multiple overtimes, but these were more exciting to watch. Why? It was old school hockey at its best. I thoroughly enjoyed every minute and at times, got very into the game.

Return of the -uh- Wings fan?
I had to deal with a couple of those guys. One kept testing me the whole night by stepping out of bounds. As I walked by to check wrist bands at the start of each period, he kicked me once. Then after Malts won the game, he came up and tried to grab and hug me. Fucking little hobbit, I should have beat him with my flashing light stick, but all I did was tap him on the shoulder with it and make him move behind the red line. Ugh. Annoying little guy, he was. Another one just stared at me for the time I was up in the aisle greeting people as they came in. He was on the other end of the wall, so he didn't present as much as a problem as the hobbit did. And when I walked by to check wristbands he tried talking to me and I just turned and walked away.

A girl was waiting for a stop so she could go take her seat and she turned and told me that I looked just like Natalie Portman. This of course got a group of guys standing behind me to say, hey Natalie, what's goin on (or something like that). I turned and laughed at them. Then I told her that I'd never heard that comparison before, but she said oh no, it's good, she's cute. So that was kinda fun, too.

And my Wing fandom has returned, though not as full force as once it was. Not yet, anyway.

Gone with the Wind
This has taken me far too long to write, so I have to go get ready for work in a mad rush. While you're out enjoying the weather, I'll be stuck inside the store. Again. I feel as though I am living at that place. Bye.

Judgement Day

I'm either nervous or high from my allergy medicines, but the likely combination of both is not very good. I also slept last night, which after not sleeping only is making me feel worse. With my nerves on high alert, all I can think about is Cari telling me at the store once, "Amy, you don't seem like the kind of person who gets nervous." Where is my overly confident self when it really matters?

Needless to say, I would much rather be at 600 Civic Center Drive (48226) than at 5100 Civic Center Drive (48329).

Forget it, I ain't that dedicated

I didn't even get to do the window at work tonight. Instead, I had the pleasure of finishing up the baby backwall tshirt display and all the marketing. Let me tell how fun it was to do that, climb up and down an 8 foot ladder for six hours, and arrange tshirts to kingdom come....all without the freakin air conditioner working, so it was 81 degrees in the store. Add spotlights shining in your damn face and it makes it even worse. And being exhausted and feeling like shit, well, yeah, you're smart people, you get the idea. THEN two guys came to do the fucking floors. What the shit is that kind of fast trick Dee pulled on me? I asked Kelly if there was any way I could leave because at the store until fucking 3am and I have to be in court tomorrow. She said yes. Thank God! No fucking way I was staying until they were finished with the store, no fucking way at all. Screw that shit. I am sick and tired of being the only one that works the day after a late night. On top of being sick and tired, that's just pure exhausting.

On a lighter note: I had to buy a visor that I took off one of my mannequins yesterday. It's not really my style, but because I was so aggitated at work last night, I kept it on and didn't want to put back on the sales floor. I also bought a tank top to see if it fit, and it does. Pretty nicely too. So that's exciting. I might be able to use my employee discount for myself after all. ;)

Thanks to he-who-does-not-like-the-spotlight for fixing the new template I found for my blogger. Now it's all red instead of just part of it being red. Just in time for playoff fever! I think the slogan this year is dumb and I almost swear it's been used before, but I'm not in charge of Red Wings marketing, so it's not my fault.

I am off to try and get some sleep so I don't look like hell warmed over and undead in court tomorrow.

Insomniac ramblings at midday

So yeah, yesterday I was up 21 hours. I got three and a half hours of sleep. Any attempts at napping today have been rendered useless. I'm tired, I know I can sleep, I'm not fighting it, and yet, I have no idea what my problem is. I have to go into the store early tonight and close. Then I get to wake up tomorrow and go to court. Maybe my subconscious is on such overload that it is telling my brain not to sleep. Oh yeah, and then there is the fact that whenever I lay down I do nothing but cough up my lungs. Fun times. Really, I love springtime - but when the trees pop and bulbs bloom, I'm screwed. It doesn't really explain why my allergies act up in the middle of winter, but there are various pollens and other stuff outside that trigger it. Times like these I wish I lived in a one-climate envirnoment. I hear people with allergies don't suffer as severely due to lack of sudden and seasonal changes. Secretly, I hate all of those people, but I try to not let it get to me.

Now, I have to go find some drugs to help ease my pain.

Relaxation, courtesy of the Hockey gods

Hard work pays off. As I have been overly stressed out about my conflicting schedules this week, a solution has been found and my nerves can relax for a day.

The Wings start playoffs on Friday. In a really horribly twist of fate, Amy M. is still sick and needs to replace her shifts for Friday and Saturday. I was arranging something in big girl when she was on the phone with Dee and said how much I'd rather open than close on Friday. So I open and work until four. That gives me time to make it downtown just in time for my 5:00 check-in. Game two is Sunday...I have Sunday off. While I would rather spend it in the company of one person rather than 20,000, my soaking up every drop of that atmosphere before my retirement is now a vital part of my work life. Priorities and sacrifices (but which is which?)...*sigh*.

Denise is able to work 11-4 on Thursday covering part of my shift. I am to report to the store after court and then stay until close. She is my lifesaver; I couldn't thank her enough tonight. I'll have to buy her a card and a little something for saving my ass at the store Thursday.

The floorset went okay. Two women I can't stand were not there, but one girl returned from a long absense and annoyed the shit out of me. Hey, after rearranging my schedule, I was okay with working even though I didn't really want to be there. I was irritated and pissed, but I got through my baby mannequins in record time. Almost as much time it took her to finish the big mannequins from last night. Then I got to straighten that area of the backroom. I told Dee to take a picture because it wouldn't last long. She actually had a camera and took a picture. The benefits of being a diligent worker...again, it pays off.

I had to redose my Robitussin only once at the store tonight. My throat was so raw from working in the heat of the steamer and backroom that I could barely speak when I went out the floor and delivered the little people. Ha. That's just great, I hope my voice regains its strength by Thursday.

I didn't get home until 3am. Now its ten to four. I need to go to sleep now. Hockey gods listen to praise when praise is deserved (I have no doubt that my Swedes were behind this scheduling miracle) and hard work pays off. Eventually. And everything works itself out in the end.

Left Wing in all the Right Ways

1,431 games and 1,394 points: a record that will be hard to beat.

I decided that it's time to show Luc Robitaille the respect he deserves. This comes in the way of an entire post dedicated to his years in the NHL, not just a passing line noting his retirement. I wish I still had Comcast so I could have watched the game. For the short span of time that OLN came through yesterday, I got to see Luc skate one last time and celebrate a goal with his linemates one last time and through a picture that was fuzzy and kept cutting out, say good-bye one last time. And I imagined the emotional turmoil that comes with saying good-bye to something that has been his entire life. This post is a cheezy way of celebrating the career of my second favorite player ever, but I don't think that matters in the least.

Little things irritate me more than the politics surrounding Dave Lewis' tenure as Detroit's head coach and his treatment of a handful of players. Sadly I did not get to experience the Wings under the great Scotty and am most likely only going to get to enjoy the rookie season of the Babcock years. But I was a part of Luc's team for awhile, and out of all the Fame-bound players I've had the privilege of seeing play the game, it is Luc Robitaille who makes it that much better of a story. And my irritation with Lewis as head coach comes by way of him benching Luc and making him part of a fourth line. This is the greatest left wing ever to play the game, playing alongside Brett Hull, whose father's record was broken by Luc. I doubt Luc will look back on his Detroit years with an angry bitterness, but perhaps more with a bittersweetness and wonderment of whether he ever could have led his beloved Kings to a Stanley Cup victory as he aided in Detroit's picture-perfect 2002 championship.

Great Wings have worn number twenty, Redmond, Lapointe, and Lang included. But when I see a #20 jersey, I'll always think of Luc and his brief stint in Detroit, and always, always remember how much fun he had at the victory parade. Pictures of pictures are poor quality, but eye contact from Luc...priceless!

Eventful learning since the last post

No matter how high and mighty and famous Al is, he doesn't know when the playoffs start either. Or if he knows, he can't even tell me. But when I see him and get an Al hug before the game, it's going to be a good one. :D Then after the game he winked, nodded, AND tapped the glass and he turned my corner. I'll miss him the most should I decide this is it for me.

Rumors are worthless. So many Saturday afternoons floating around. Then I heard that it was definite start on the 21st. Bud Lynch said that the schedule will be announced Wednesday. And here I said I wasn't going to say anything else about it. I lose.

That "anticipation is ok, just not suspense." Somehow, these are very closely related, at least seem to be. Maybe both are okay, but I do know that I do not handle spontaneity well, at least not when it comes to scheduling conflict. Character flaw, I know, but at least I admit to it being so.

My seasonal hack is back. Just in time from my week from hell. Nice, thank you, allergies. Perhaps the judge will excuse me as I cough up my lungs in his courtroom and let me off because he simply feels sorry for me.

Apparently people can tell I am stressed by the way I chew my gum at hockey games.

I realized that a season ticket holder I haven't seen all year remembered me and asked how I was doing, etc., etc., etc. I even had some of my regulars in standing room. Makes me feel special that people come back and reassures me that I am not always a monsterous usher person.

Talking to Marissa was a great way to clear my head. I almost forgot she has courtroom experience and she gave me all sorts of pointers and advice. I feel as though I have a bit more of an idea what to do on Thursday. She told me to check my ticket for any errors. I notice that my beloved Officer Grumpy wrote that it was upon W. Huron at or near some other street that I can't read. Does it matter that I was going eastbound?

My usher friend came back from knee surgery tonight. It was great to see her. Everyone was giving her shit because Avery was fired from the Kings. HA. That's her favorite player - she needs to learn to have better taste in hockey players. At least I like players because they are both play the game better than anyone else, not just because they are cute. Geesh. Anyway, she came over to my section during the 3rd because she was done giving breaks and said hopefully it doesn't go into overtime and a shoot out and all that crap. I said thank you, Amanda for just jinxing the game. She walks away and the Wings tie. OMG. She came back and I said, it's all your fault! She was just laughing. Many thanks again to those Swedish hockey gods for giving the grace to Homes in crucial situations. Upon his goal I threw up my hands and slapped five to every single person left in standing room. Love those Swedes.

I also am not supposed to like tonight's 24 very much, but time will tell. And because of that little disgraceful clue, I'm off to watch Bauer now.

My week from hell, courtesy of Satan himself

I no longer think Les Miserables the book is better than the play. I had my doubts after the first time I saw it at the Fisher, and after last night, there is no question that there is no comparing the two mediums. I have the utmost respect for professional stage actors (always have, but its even stronger now); I'm not sure there are more talented people in my book. I had second row seats last night and was enthralled at the lights, emotions, singing, and acting. I lost myself completely in the environment and was swept away by the entire production. It was a better company than what I saw before, and the actors were far better singers. I've never sat that close before and it was exciting to see how the people played off each other and how deeply into their characters they became. Even at the last show, they gave it their all. It was noticed and appreciated. And it was awesome. I love stuff like that.

The week ahead:
I have a game today, last of the regular season. My terrible record caculates into working only 43% of the home games. Actually, the percentage sounds better. So I'll stick with that. I still don't know when the playoffs start, but I'm hoping to get an insider's answer when I'm at the Joe tonight. Then maybe I can stop freaking out about one thing this week and work on finding a solution to the scheduling conflict there. To top everything off, I'll have the presentation of the President's Trophy at the end of the game. Bah Humbug. Just start the run for the Cup already.

Tuesday I have a late night at the store. Wednesday I close. There is an entire paragraph dedicated for Thursday. Friday I am supposed to close and Saturday I have an awful kind of mid-shift. Another reason why I need to know if those damn Wings start on Friday or Saturday. My schedule this week brought to you courtesy of Satan himself.

I still don't know if I have someone to cover my shift at the store on Thursday. I don't really care either. But I don't know how exactly I'm going to handle being at court at 1:30 and at the store from 11 -6 either. Priorities must be taken, and in this case, it would mean not getting stuck with paying for a flippin speeding offense for the next two years with higher insurance rates and all that jazz.

Excuse me while I have a temporary nervous breakdown. And I'll get back to you after I have found some sort of control of my life again.

Spring has sprung

At long last, the sign of spring I've been waiting for: my neighbor Tim brought his yellow corvette out of storage. Warm weather is upon us!

Because the month of April brings out my most superstitious behavior, I stopped filling my gas at $30.34. Time to show the goalies some love. These numbers also appear on my lottery tickets (though not on the same line) and as for other numbers, 18 and 25 are in for the same drawing.

I am convinced to stop freaking out and obsessing about the playoff schedule until it is released in its final form after regular play wraps up. Though there might be trouble for the week of the 23rd also, since that is when the first series will be in play. Okay, enough. I'll get back to you on Wednesday.

I am a generous person. I gave Comcast a cable that was actually mine because I thought it was theirs. I'd like them to think of it as a parting gift for their outstanding services. Um, yeah, at least something like that.

I can rest at ease knowing that I get CBC on WOW. Bring on the playoffs, Canada!

Have I won that jackpot yet?

If I don't control my temper, I will walk out of the Children's Place and never return.

Everything that was on the top of my bookcase just fell (thank you, wind) and broke two items very dear to my heart and my lamp. Nice. That's what I get for wanting some fresh air.

When I walked into the store yesterday, Dee said, "Wow, Amy, your nose is really red. Really, really red." I said I went to the ballgame on Monday and I'm glad she clarified what color my face was. All this time I thought it was turquoise or something. I so fail kindergarten.

Kris is even getting emotional over my pending retirement, not just Luc's. I think it is because I mention him in the same sentence. There should be a hot Wing or two going with us.

If this is what this Thursday is like, pray to your God that next Thursday is smoother sailing. I don't know what I'm going to do.

My first person to take my shifts at the store next week is going to be out of town. So that presents me with even more of a problem. If I can control my temper long enough, then I'm going to be in quite the predicament. Maybe Dee will fire me since I have a criminal record. That can't look good in a kid's store, right?

My DVR cut out half way through the previews for the next LOST. I would much rather not have seen them at all then to have just seen half of them.

Mac's troubles have caught up with him. I would feel sorry for him but he wouldn't want that. He knows he messed up and so did the rest of us. The lockout was a horrific nightmare for him. For all of us really, but it contributed to him falling off the wagon again. So, I don't want to say poor Uncle Darren, I'll just say Good luck to the Flames in the playoffs and I hope we don't meet 'cause I will completely torn in two. ;)

What else can go wrong today? I guess we'll have to wait and see.

Behold the Curse of the President's Trophy

We have home ice advantage for the entire playoff run. Exciting. Now if I only knew when exactly those playoffs started so I could stop worrying about it and get on with my life, that would be great. When will I find out? After the regular season wraps up on Tuesday. Why does this suck? 1) It does not provide me with enough time to decide whether or not I need to change my court date; 2) It does not provide me with enough time to find someone to take my shift at the store (if in fact they do start on Thursday). I am about ten minutes away from calling the NHL offices and demanding they tell me the schedule. I don't care if we don't know the eighth seed yet, or the television schedule, they have the days planned out already, they just aren't telling anyone. Whatever. I'll stop worrying about this.

The game was okay. I was bored. I suppose after Friday's nightmare that is a good thing. Tom's dad was there. He was so happy to see when he walked in that he gave me a hug. He asked if I wanted a coffee. When I said that I couldn't eat or drink in the rink or concourse, he said, eh, I know Mike, he'd let it slide. HAHA. That was fun. Then later in the game he gave me a couple bucks to get something during my break. That was nice. When he is at the game it just relaxes me. I saw one other season holder, who, in the course of three seasons has only ever said hi to me. I have ceased to let this bother me anymore than it absolutely has too.

I was leaning up against the wall and staring at the rafters for the majority of the game. I had to stop very few people. Didn't really talk to anyone. I was wondering how on Earth I am going to survive up to another two months of this routine. It's not fun anymore. I can't really stand it. I almost hate the person that ushering has turned me into, at least when I'm ushering. Blah. Then the fun started:

Respect: learn it, love it, demonstrate it.
I stand at the top of a staircase during the national anthem. I do not only do this because it allows me to see the ice surface but also to prevent any rude individuals to find their seats. Yesterday, I stopped a group of people. Best part about it: they had to wait for "Oh, Canada" AND "The Star Spangled Banner." I will teach them respect before it is done.

You have to wait for a stop in play.
The play was about to commence again and these three guys walked in. I just put my arm out and said "you have to wait for a stop." The guy I actually stopped was fine. His friend said to his buddy, "yeah, man, what the fuck is wrong with you?" I turned around and just glared at him. Instead of shutting him up, he kept talking, saying something about how I thought he was annoying. I turned around and said, "You're the only one talking here." I said it with the most serious of faces. This still didn't make him shut up, but offended him, and then he was complaining and asking me about my sense of humor. By that time, a whistle. I just said "go." They went. Silent Bob lead the trio away. Blabbermouth followed STILL talking, and when the guy walked by me that I actually stopped, I just smiled at him. After all, I was totally joking around. He knew that. He looked back at me and I was still laughing. But then I stopped in case the jerk looked back to get one more comment in. HA. At least my lack of humor reached those to which it was intended.

The President's what?
There was a man who was awaiting a whistle and tried to carry on a conversation with me. He said, "if the Wings win tonight they clinch the President's Cup." I said "well Edmonton has eight minutes to score three goals and call it a night." Then he said, "well if the Wings win the President's Cup will be presented at the end of the game." I said, "no, it's presented at the end of the season." He said, "no, the Stanley Cup is presented at the end of the season." I said, "No. First of all, the Stanley Cup is presented at the end of playoffs to the team who wins it. Second of all, it is called the President's Trophy and it is presented at the end of the season. Third of all, that was a whistle, you can get away from me now." Good-bye drunk man, may you never impart hockey's most vital knowledge or history on anyone else while you are intoxicated.

Apologies
I apologize, Lord Stanley, that so many ignorant people who claim to be hockey fans used your name in vain tonight. With that said, here is this story.

So, we have the most Stanley Cups, right? [WRONG!]
It was time to clear the arena. I walked down to the glass, said hi to Al. I stay there until the zambonis are finished re-icing the surface and then see to it to kick anyone in my sections out. Yesterday, I did not have to do that last chore, there were a couple newbies and they did it instead. Good. Let them work. I've done my time. Anyway. Here come a couple of jackasses still drinking beer asking if they could look. Sure. I was busy looking at the banners to see both the curses and the blessings of the President's Trophy. I think history might be in our favor this year; the Wings have won the Cup in past Olympic years. They kept asking questions, so I was brought back to the ice level. They asked whether or not it was real glass. They asked how many people this seats. They asked how old the Joe was. They asked if it was the oldest arena in use. I could answer all these questions. I said it was not real glass, but sometimes even this breaks and cracks; it holds slightly over 20,000; its 27 years old; and that Pittsburgh might be the only rink that is older than ours that is still in use. They asked how old it was. I said it was probably built in 67 when the franchise started playing there (this may or may not be the whole truth, but they believed it, so it was okay). One of them was wearing a sweatshirt and said, "we are 26." I said yes, yes we are. His sidekick said, "we're an original six, right." I said, "I certainly hope so." Then the Stanley Cup questions. Do we have the most; who has the most; how many do they have; well how many do they have; we have ten, do we have the most? "No; Montreal and Toronto has more than us. Montreal has 23 or 26 Cups -reaction: woah, that's a lot of Stanley Cups-; I don't know how many T.O. has; our ten make us the team in the United States with the most Cups, but not the NHL. Oh look, the zambonis are done, and now you're done too. Buh-bye." They left the rink without a fight and then I was done. Until Monday anyway.

Slippin' through the cracks

I forgot so many things in that last post. Duh. Must be because I only have four months left to come to terms with the age I will be turning. I have to stop the denial and get over it. Who cares, right?


Paige turned seven on Sunday. Her dad said something about how she'll be ten before we know it. I said no, no, no, she won't. I won't be out of high school ten years for another three years. Thanks to Paigers being born in 99, I'll always know how long since I graduated from high school. She will always make me feel old, like her siblings don't already. Tammy said that Steph and Cole will be pastor's classes in May, so in June she'll finally get around to making me Stephie's Godmother. We've been waiting for this about six years, I'll believe it when I see it. The official title will give me extra reason to spoil her. I don't even like my mom's church anymore, but I make an appearance about twice a year. So if that counts, thats great. If it affords me a ticket to underworld that is not non-stop, that is even better. ; ) Until then, I just have to step up to the plate and make the most of my additional responsibility.

I got my court date yesterday. I don't know what I am going to do. I have to work during the time I am supposed to appear and it is possible that the playoffs start that same day. Since I can't be at three places at one time, I have to make some hasty decisions. I'll start the process by asking my resources at the Joe for an exact playoff date. Why hasn't Bettman released this information yet? At least to the Detroit audience? We clinched the conference, you'd think we'd be able to know when they start. Geesh. Another thing I would change if I privvy to such details.

I am hoping for a better game today than Friday. Though I still don't think my patience has rebounded as fast as it should have and to the level I would like it to be at for a game. I'll have to take it one rat at a time and just hope for the best.

That seems like a good recap of what I missed before. Now I have to go put some foundation on my nose to tone down the sunburn a little bit. ;)

What's the point?

Opening day was wonderful. The weather was perfect. The Tigers lost (really, were we expecting anything else?). However, I put SPF (30) on my face yesterday morning and still burned. Kris will be so proud when she reads that I put some on, but I'll still get yelled at because I burned. ;) It will take a careful application of makeup before the game tonight to even out my red-wings-red nose and cheeks.

FYI: It takes approximately one hour and thirty-five minutes to drive half way across the state by way of 96/696 going the speed limit or no more than five over. That is with no traffic.

Breaking west-coast news (old news here in the East): Luc Robitaille is retiring after this season. Lucky Luc hanging them up might provide me with the perfect motivation to do the same. At least I'd be going out in good company.

March Madness!

I have no idea what happened at the Joe in March, but good God, when I opened my monthly slave check from Mr. Illitch, I nearly went into cardiac arrest.

Buck the Eyes and kick 'em out!

I should have known better than to work a game against Columbus of all teams. I forgot Adam Foote is on that team, so seeing him play again, along with Sergei was okay. When the stadium started booing, I just said get over it, already and started to cheer him on. A small act, but whatever. Read my Sergei blurb from yesterday and you'll understand my feelings on this subject. I saw my first regular season shootout. I saw the Wings wear white jerseys on home ice. On my break, I saw Ella Maltby, who is the cutest damn kid I've seen in a long time. Before the game, I saw Drapes, Jason, Mowers and Ozzie(?), and Sergei at the other end. We are not allowed to even so much as acknowledge the players as they walk in anymore. Apparently all hell broke loose in the two games I missed and the players went to the locker room bitchin up a storm, pissed off security, and now in turn, we have a sign warning us that "they are watching you" and if you are caught "you will be repremanded." So I 'accidently' saw those guys walk in. Honestly, I would hate to be ignored and if I walk by and one of them happens to be passing me, I'm still smiling and saying hello. They are just normal people for Pete's sake. Ugh. If they don't like it, they can have my badge and I will gladly shove it up their ass on the way out. That brings me to game time.........................

On what would go down in the books as my third worst hockey game I was yelled at, nearly molested, and dreading the fact that if I really am retiring after this season, it's going to be another early exit from the playoffs so these remaining regular season games are all I have left to enjoy. Did I enjoy last night's game? Not by a long shot. I spent the second intermission talking to Tom, my favorite season ticket holder and one that actually acknowledges my presence as "the usher" for that section. I had another part-time season guy come in at the end too, he also likes me better than any of my subs - who haven't a clue what they are doing in my corner. Hence my decision to work every single playoff game, so help me God. I have often talked about how much I enjoy it if Tom's dad shows up, but after last night, he also makes my list. I had my wheelchair guy come, and last night, he thanked me. For everything. It was a touching moment in a completely choatic shoot-out scene. But let's start at the beginning.

Sometime during the first period I had these four people come back up to me saying that they were sent to the wrong section. They had 126, row three. Sections 125-127, Rows eight and below are connected (more seats = more money for greedy Mr. I). I said I would wait for commercial and take them down, because then I wouldn't be in the way when I kicked people out and the people sitting wouldn't get all pissy because their view was being blocked. They whole-heartedly agreed. It was their first time there and so they were happy to comply with my orders and understood my sentiment. With this, I thought it was going to be a decent game. Then the double whistle came, the light turned on the penalty box, and down we went. Didn't have kick anyone out, just had to move a couple kids down. I come back up and noticed someone had majorly spilled their beer. I looked at the two guys standing at the end of standing room, and asked which one it was that did it (joking mind you, obviously this was my first mistake). The kid's friend started to then yell at me, saying how someone cut the corner and knocked into his friend causing his beer to spill. I said well maybe he had to have more control over his holding onto his beer. He said, that's a 10 dollar beer and you're just going to say that? I said, how is this my fault? what do you want me to do? and what are you getting out of yelling at me? He yapped a few more minutes trying to unnerve me - fine, take out your frustation on me, I don't care - but then after I defend myself with a few coy remarks, he said, "man, you are like the rudest person ever." I said am I like that or am I that? He's said, what is your problem? I said "you're being an asshole to me, and you need to change your tone of voice right now." He said oh yeah, I'm being an asshole. This egged on the two guys standing next to him to also chime in choice words to me. What the fuck ever. There were five minutes left in the first period by that point. Had there been more, I would have fucking kicked him out. No way you fucking talk to me like that in my section. No fucking way. Drunk boy's friend, whose beer it was that actually fell, later apologized to me. I said that I appreciated the thought, but the damage had been done and I didn't want to hear it. Then he tried to make small talk and asked me a hundred questions about working there. He asked if I liked it. When I replied no, he asked why, to which I could say, because I have to deal with jerks like your friend all night long. That gave him the message and he promptly shut the hell up. To my great relief and satisfaction, they left when the buzzer sounded and I moved four late-comers to that spot. And thank God that I was on break when the 2nd started. I passed those two jerks in the concourse on my way down to my break, and I knew they would be fuming mad when the spot on the wall had been filled already. HA! So although not immediate, I did kick those guys out of my section, because they were no where on my walls for the rest of the game. After the game, the woman who gave me a break said how downright horrid the people in my section were, that they were the worst she had seen all night, etc, etc. I apologized profusely, saying how after three years I have learned how to deal with them but how absolutely sorry I feel for the break ladies who have to deal with that. This is not the first time that this bad report has followed my break, and somehow I feel like a teacher who just read a bad sub report. This will make me more empathetic if I ever return to subbing.

Second period is usually my favorite because its shortened by my break. I came back to a scoring fury. Good times, makes the crowd in a happy mood. Makes me wish that there weren't so many stops, but honestly, who can think of that when you get to hear the Irish Jig? Really? Shanny is not my favorite player by any means of the imagination, but I love it when he scores. I don't think I had any problems of note until the shoot-out. Needless to say, I was pretty pissed the entire game because of the beer spill assholes. I told people they had to wait because it the polite thing to do. I said that yes, I knew all the players, that yes, I followed the Wings, and that no, I did not absolutely love my job there. At one point (I think when I was clearing out my section) I corrected a guy who said I get to stand there and watch the game for free by saying no, no, I get paid to watch the games. He said that has to be great. I said no, it's not...not when you are a pretty girl and have to put up with drunk men all night. He said oh yeah, I can see that. I had him in my section before; he's a cool dude and completely understood. I saw familiar faces and they were happy to see me too. I saw my beer guys and they stopped and chatted for a minute. Joel is my favorite. I can't remember the other guy's name, but he always makes it point to tell me "last call." Last night I said, hey, I'll take one...Joel who was standing next to me said he'd take two. HA! That is really funny. The beer guys have to put up with the same kind of thing, but at least they get tipped. (No bitterness in that comment whatsoever ;) I haven't gotten a tip in ages, the greedy little fuckers). I guess that brings us to the OT/shoot-out.

There was a man standing behind my wheelchair guy who I had to go up and ask him to move because the people in standing room could not see through him. That is all I said. Apparently he heard an invitation to come stand next to me and slowly push my last nerves to the brink of destruction. He said you know you could have said and you should have just come up to me and told me to move my fat ass. I told him that I take a slightly different approach when I tell people to move. I think that pulled the plug. Then he started telling me how he owns five health clubs, he wants to give me a free membership, he wants to take care of me, he wants to give me an office. I stopped, I said you want to give me a full-time job? He said yeah, I'd give you at least 50,000. Then he started unbuttoning his shirt. OMG! The guy in standing room next to me was laughing, I couldn't believe it. Then body builder went to the concourse. I looked at this guy next to me, I said in the four years I've worked here, and all that I've seen, I can honestly say that has never happened before. Then he asked what would be involved with the 50,000. HAHAH! I said I'm sure some catch that I wouldn't be willing to give. Then body builder comes back, talks to the wheelchair guy. It is the shoot-out by this time. I went and stood behind the wheelchair, because hey, I wanted to see too! That is when he told me how sweet I was and thanked me -pause- for everything. I was shocked. Anyway, body builder (I call him this because his arms were flippin huge, must be a side effect from owning five gyms, which I heard about more than once). The first three shooters didn't score. He was cheering. He wanted me to give him five. I did, along with the others around me. He came up and gave me a hug and told me I was "fucking gorgeous" and beautiful and all this other crap. Ugh. I said thank you and felt disgusting. I couldn't even muster up my typical "I know I am" response. Horrific flashbacks of my rookie year came back - I was in a different section every night, all upper bowl, every night bait for old, drunk men to hit on me...I often left feeling disgusted with humanity, wondering if this was all it was ever going to amount too. He asked if he a one in a million chance with me, I said no. I couldn't even think of anything else to say. By that point I was drained. Normally I would have said some jackass thing to him, but I couldn't even think of anything; I was out of comebacks. I desperately wanted the game to be over. Then Homer scored. THANK YOU SWEDISH GODS!!!!!!!

I will go on record saying that the Wings will not go far in the playoffs. The fucking goaltending is a crock of shit. They do not have what it takes. This is a really bad time of year for Legace to fuck up. He gave up a three goal lead, then the winning goal with 34 seconds left. What the shit is that? That is NOT Stanley Cup goaltending. That's what that is.

Ending with a happy note: When I filled up my gas tank earlier in the day, the total was $33.33. I came home and predicted Draper to score and have a helper. I was there when he got the assist. And I was so freakin happy when he scored the goal. WOOT! Thank you Drapes. He made me smile at a time I thought it was impossible to do so.

Bring on the Oilers. At least I'll enjoy the game because I like the opposition.

Empathy for Sergei, blame history

I wish the sun was out today, it might help make things a little more bearable.

I wish I could eat meat today too. If there is one aspect of my religious upbringing I hold on to, it is not eating meat on Friday's during lent. I am convinced that would also help make things more bearable.

I wish I didn't have the chore of knowing that I need to go shopping for a new outfit, for a court date no less. Fewer things are more of a task to me than clothes shopping, especially when I don't have Marissa around anymore to pick out things and tell me how cute I'd look in it. Damn her getting married and moving to Chicago sometimes. It's been almost four years, you'd think I would have developed the skill to go shopping on my own by now, but I haven't. It's so pathetic.

I wish I could look forward to the game tonight. It will be filled with ignorant Wings fans booing Sergei Federov. I don't like if you don't like the guy much, but you can't deny him what he accomplished during his Detroit years. I don't care about the manner in which he left; he needed to break free and spread his wings on another team, no matter how unfortunate it was that he fell on his face after realizing that he really did need the support of other superstars to aide in his game. Without his assistance, it is doubtful the Wings would have three Stanley Cups in the past ten years and continue to be the driving force in the NHL. Fucking bandwagon fans, I can't stand them. And that is exactly what they are if they boo him. Grow up and learn to appreciate things a little more, you little rat bastards.

I wish it was 10pm on Saturday night. Then I would be able to rejoice in the fact that I get a three day break from the store. But it's not that time yet, and until it comes, I'm just going to have to get over it.

Just one of those days

I'm having a bad day.

I am so fucking sick and tired of knowing that my degree is worthless, that my student loans are a very serious debt, and that there is no hope of it coming up with its end of the deal in my entire lifetime.

So what options do I have instead of sitting and wallowing in jealousy and anger? Fucking look into certificate programs at Macomb. I always thought I was too good to go there; that I was too smart or something. And now I learn I can be marketable in 16 weeks as opposed to what? Six years slaving away (well, okay, two were spent on a hiatus from higher education and the one year at Eastern certainly wasn't spent slaving away, so you better make that three) to hang my degree in a frame whose mineral value is worth more than the degree itself. Nice. What a nice fucking state I live in.

I need to win the lottery, pay off all debts, grab a few precious items, and move to Sparrow's island where I don't have worry about any of it. Damn it, I hate when I feel this way.

Now I need to get out of this house before I go mad! Ciao.

Reconsideration

I have to change my style of driving. It's been the same for nine years. Now that I've been caught lead-footed (forgive the bad grammar, but it fits), I have to completely change everything I know. It might be a challenge, but I'm up for it. In this slight transition from aggressive to patience, I will try my best to not fail. In the meantime, I may need new brake pads from all the stopping I'll be doing as I find myself going over the speed limit. HA!

In other news, I love it when I can help my family members (because I am always helping everyone else). Not being very close with more than two of my extended family members, when I can reach out and help when needed, I bask in the feeling of connection and encouragement. Though helping my younger cousin through his teenage crises have become common the past couple years, it is moments like these that tell me I am imparting my wisdom properly:

r: youre my favorite cousin
r: you always know what to do when im in trouble
r: thanks
a: sure :-) thats what older cousins are for
r: (incedentally: youre the only cousin i talk yo)
r: *yo
r: *to
a: lol
r: lol
r: but even if you werent
r: youd still be my favorite
a: aww you're my fave too ry. you always have been
r: lol
a: i'm glad i can help out every once and awhile
r: thanks
r: im glad you can too

That's all for now. 'Til next time.
:)

Conviction

I was all about kicking ass today. Either that or just getting some ugly things out of the way. First, I called the lovely Waterford Twp court and requested a court appearance. I will get a notice of date and time within 10-12 days. Second, I called Comcast and got a credit on the account because their service sucks and its time they fess up and deal with it. Third, well, I'm not sure there is a third yet, but I still have to go to work.

Thank you my lovely State of Michigan for making my life a living hell. You cannot provide me with a stable job and now you might give me four points on my license? My finding out what exactly points do, besides jack up my car insurance, is something I probably could have done without. But here are the highlights:

"Points are placed on your driver record only after you have been convicted or found guilty of or responsible for a civil infraction. Points placed on your driver record remain there for two years from the date of conviction."

Civil infractions can kiss my ass. So can the root word of conviction. From this day on, I am claiming drag racing to be my weakness, not my lead foot:

Four Points:
Drag racing.
Operating while visibly impaired.
Under age 21 with any bodily alcohol content.
16 mph or more over the legal speed limit.
Failure to yield/show due caution for emergency vehicles.

Three Points:
Careless driving.
Disobeying a traffic signal or stop sign or improper passing.
11 through 15 mph over the legal speed limit.
Failure to stop at railroad crossing.
Failure to stop for a school bus or for disobeying a school crossing guard.

Two Points:
10 mph or less over the legal speed limit.
Open alcohol container in vehicle.
All other moving violations of traffic laws.
Refusal of Preliminary Breath Test (PBT) by anyone under age 21.

Officer Grumpy could have so easily knocked it down to going 50, or even 45. But nooooooooo, of course not. And it's not that three points sounds better than four. It's just that four points makes me sound like I did something really horrible, and I didn't. To make matters even worse, I know I am getting what I may finally deserve and can find the humor in the situation. Me getting pulled over for speeding was completly inevitable. Me not being given the chance to get out of it (not only because of my clean record but also because I'm a pretty girl) on the spot is unacceptable. And it could be my overly-confident self talking and I know that makes me sound like an extremely snotty person, but what kind of cop doesn't ask questions to the person whom they are pulling over? Why am I still finding this funny?

April Showers

Sometime throughout the morning rain, the daffodils bloomed. Here is a picture to let you know spring is on its way.

In other news, it is four points and $116 dollar ticket. I'm still finding the humor in the situation but only because I actually got pulled over in Oakland County. But my beating myself up over this has only left me with a borderline migraine. That and an ongoing story to blog about. Ha!

All I could think about was my blogger!

So the inevitable finally happened and I lived to tell about it. Well, get back to me in twenty-four hours and I'll let you know about that last part.

The Reuther (or 696 for non-locals) was closed in a crucial spot this weekend making my trip to Lansing more scenic than I would have otherwise enjoyed. Still, it was not as bad as it could have been and cutting across M-59 was better than taking a detour with a lot of construction traffic. While it took a lot longer because of the traffic lights than the regular freeway does, things didn't turn interesting until the trip home.

First things first: I have a bit of a lead foot. I also tend to be an impatient driver, but that comes from living and driving in the city. I have a U-D alumni holder for my license plate and ghetto cruiser for a car. I am proud of all of these things. So sue me, right? Wrong. Apparently in Oakland County due to the nerve of local law officials, this is grounds for...

WRITING ME A TICKET!!!

[the following takes place between 22:44 and 22:54]

I drove the speed limit on the way home at least I almost did for most of the trip. Not a big deal and I was making fairly decent time. It is quite obvious that the closer one becomes to reaching civilization, the slower you have to drive. Do I know this? Yes. Do I know that I have to be careful in the immediate Pontiac area? Yes. Have I been warned about cops speedtrapping in that same area? Absolutely. In the back of my mind, I knew to be careful. On the bottom of my foot, I was not. I was speeding. Hands down. Then I saw the cop car turn the corner. It is everyone's reaction to slam the brakes and I did that, yes, but to no avail. By the time the cop was behind me I was still doing 10 over. I started to slow down to let the car in the right lane move by, and then got over. By that time the flashers were on and I was turning into the parking lot. I knew that he was going to get me. I just knew it. Some things can't be denied.

I was expecting, at the very least, some kind of conversation with the cop (as opposed to just a piece of paper). But they must not conduct business in that manner in Oakland County. By the time he made it up to my window, I already had my stuff ready to give him. He said that the speed limit there was 35 and I was doing 52 and "That's way too fast here." I didn't deny that I was going that fast. I knew I was going at least 50 (so much of M-59 is 45 MPH and I didn't notice the slower speed limit until after the cop was tailing me). He didn't ask me how I was, if I knew what I was getting pulled over for, or that whole game. So I couldn't use my witty charm and pretty smile to get out of it. I couldn't even tell him that I knew I was going that fast but I'd never been pulled over before (this would have been a lie). I didn't even get the chance to get a warning (albeit my second warning). I look out and there is a backup car in the parking lot next to me. I realize that is probably standard operating procedure, but honestly, like I am such a threat.

Meanwhile, all I could think is how great my blogger would be with this story in it. Hell, I might even deem this Myspace appropriate and worthy. I'm sure the officer didn't appreciate the fact that I was not fuming mad, crying hysterically, or any other typical behavior. Instead, I probably had this stupid little smirk on my face because I was in the middle of a great story to blog. Totally lame but at the same time, so totally funny.

I obviously have the wrong zip code and am too pro-Detroit to have gotten away with speeding in Oakland County tonight. Well, make that any night. Of all the places where I know they speed trap - three years of driving down Livernois to school; endless trips home across Hall Rd; near any school, etc etc - and I have to get pulled over and ticketed in Waterford. That sucks. That sucks bad.

And it will most likely suck even worse once I call the court and discover the damage. I am willing to pay because I am guilty of the crime, but I don't deserve the points. The cop didn't even talk to me. I couldn't even attempt to get off, which given the attitude of my Officer Grumyass, would have been unlikely. At least he could have given me an opportunity to try! At any rate, it is funny for the time being and I can shake it off as a learning experience and just take it one step at a time.