Saturday, 25 August 2012

How To Never Become A Hockey Wife


Hello to all!

It has been many moons since I posted something to my blog and I have mixed feelings about this. Sadness, confusion, anxiousness, perhaps a bit of nausea, maybe even a little bloating….

Many new things are happening in my life! Well…mostly that’s a lie. But I have become a crazy cat lady during these summer months so…that’s new. Summer is almost over and school starts up again soon, the thought of which makes me want to burn something down (Seriously, it’s going to be like the 1814 Burning of Washington all over again...only instead of the White House, it’s going to be my university...). Also I have a constant, massive hankering to watch The West Wing all day, everyday, 50 days a week…so really I guess everything is mostly status quo.

At any rate, I have found the time to write a new post! My ears, dear readers, are itching in anticipation, but actually that’s probably just because I have legit really itchy ears lately...


Luckily, one thing that hasn't changed is the awkwardness that is my daily life. I think this is something we can all be thankful for.  I know I am. Deciding what to focus this post on was an adventure. The topic could be so many things as my life is a veritable safety deposit box of molten crazy, but I narrowed it down to factor in current events. Lucky you!!! So, in honor of the looming NHL lockout and to remind us of better hockey days, my stories have a common theme: Hockey! And me...and my awkwardness...so 3 common themes I guess. Story 1 is all about me spewing on a lady. Story number 2 is the story of awkward hand placement, and finally story 3 involves a phone, some dudes pants, and me.  All I can say is, prepare yourself.


Our first story takes us wayyyyy back in time to the days of my childhood. In the immortal words of Pitbull, “To understand the future, you have to go back in time.” So lets go there together shall we? I was around 7 or 8 years old, and my father, my two older brothers, and myself, were taking in a Flames game. My father had purchased me and the boy’s soda pop beverages for our thirst quenching needs so I was slurping happily away on my Saddledome Coca Cola.  It was at this moment that my brothers decided it would be a good idea to teach me the proper (not proper at all….) way to drink through a straw. The method was very detailed. If you sucked a little bit of pop through the straw and then put your finger on the other end of the straw you would form a kind of vacuum of poppy goodness. Then you could release your finger and drain the pop through the straw into the back of your throat. Drinking it this way also preserved the beverage for at least an hour longer then drinking it normally would have. To my 7-year-old mind, this new way was obviously the best way to drink pop. Looking back, I'm surprised my father allowed this to go on for at least a whole period...because A) It's actually kind of disgusting and B) it isn't a quiet way to drink a beverage...I applaud the patience he exhibited that day. Well-done dad, what a good guy. Anyways, for the next period or so I guzzled away at my drink.  Sometime, probably mid way through the 2nd period, I had sucked back some pop into the straw and had my finger covering the end. Only this time...it didn't go as planned. Instead of draining it into my throat, I lost my grip, the vacuum was reversed and pop exploded out the end of the straw......directly onto the back of the head of the lady sitting in front of me.  I still to this day don't understand how, seeing as is was just one straw full, but, this ladies head was DRIPPING with sticky cola beverage. 


Everyone in my row looked at me and froze. I slowly turned to look up at my father sitting beside me, who at this point had his head in his hands and was shaking it. The lady slowly turned around in her seat and stared at me. Her eyes opened very wide and she opened her mouth to say something. My 7-year-old self wanted to apologize and to explain to this stranger that this clearly wasn't my fault, and that really we should be blaming the 2 older boys who had taught me this flawed trick in the first place. But instead, before she could get a word out, I blurted out in what I'm sure was not an inside voice, "THE SUCK...it...it broke!!" (I realize that this does not make sense now...), followed by a very quick, and weak "I'm so sorry, and then I'm pretty sure I maybe started to whimper a bit (not a full out cry...but a red faced, blurry eyed, wiggly voice kind of whimper. Basically I was an emotional wreck). She seemed mildly amused but still annoyed and told me to be more careful (which I think was kind of a bitch move on her part...like honestly lady cut me some slack...I'm 7 and clearly distraught).  My father grabbed the drink from my hand and took my brothers' drinks away too because, well they were the knob heads who taught me the stupid trick in the first place. I felt like this was an appropriate punishment and sat quietly with my shame for the last period of the game (which we lost...by the way...not uncommon for the 1998 Calgary Flames team). It’s comforting somehow for me to know that my awkwardness started at such a young age…Now the best/my favourite part of this story is the fact that my father didn't buy us soft drinks at games again until I was probably 14...which I find hilarious. But honestly…that was probably a good call dad.

Story number 2 is all about how my life got flipped turned upside down, and I'd like to take a minute, just sit right there and I'll tell you how I became the prince of a town called Bel Aire (Consider yourself bel-aired) JK, I am not the fresh prince, I was not born in West Philadelphia, I am not Will Smith, though sometimes I wish I was.... (Everything the man touches turns to gold, even his kids are like little money making machines…can I get a “what what” for Big Willy Smith?)

…Awkward love letter to Will Smith behind us…Story number 2 is another story all about spilling drinks. I like to call it the “Holly is awkward and shouldn’t be let out in public” story.

Let me paint you the picture: Flames game circa 2010. Holly sits with a friend, potentially Becky, Becca, or Sarah****…the details are a little hazy at this point, as I have tried to block this event from my memory. Anyways, Holly stands to allow other hockey game patrons to pass in front of her to gain access to their seats. Holly rests her hand on the back of her chair to support herself while standing. Holly’s left hand starts to lose its place on the back of the seat. Holly’s left hand is slipping. Dear God it is slipping. Holly’s hand breaks contact with the back of her chair forcing Holly to awkwardly fall slightly backwards.  Holly gropes around searching for something hard to rest her hand on (That’s what she said). Holly makes contact with what should be the cement floor of the row behind her. ALAS, it is not floor. It is too liquid to be floor…it is beer. Holly’s hand is now fully submerged in some poor schmucks beer cup. Holly turns around, horrified. Owner of the beer looks up at her, also horrified. Both patrons look at each other horrified. Holly tries to remove her hand from said beer cup. Beer cup is mildly stuck on Holly’s hand. Holly tilts cup in another attempt to dislodge. Beer pours everywhere.  Holly’s hand comes free. People shout. Babies cry. Holly looks the latest victim of her awkwardness straight in the eye… Holly sighs sadly, knowing she must apologize to yet another person for her out of control body parts. The conversation that followed went like this: Holly: “Hey man, ugh I’m really sorry” Bro Guy: “Like, dude you totally just spilled all my beer everywhere” Holly: “Ya…I know, I see that. I’m so sorry” Bro Guy: “Like your hand was just all in there buddy” Holly: “Ya…. I know. I’m so so so sorry” Bro Guy: “It’s fine I guess” Holly: “Okay.”
Now for all of you that are worried that I didn’t buy this guy a replacement beer, DON’T WORRY. I did. I did buy him a replacement beer. But that exchange was equally as awkward and the guy was kind of a dick about it. I mean he acted like I had just put my hand in his beer or something….At any rate, I sat quietly for the remainder of the game contemplating my awkward life and plotting my strategy on how best to exact revenge against my awkwardness. This strategy is still in development…

****It has since been discovered since the writing of this post that I was accompanied to said game by my friends Sarah and Nikki. Thank you to Sarah and her memory forged from the finest of Mithril.

The last story I have to share is quite possibly the most retold/talked about story in my story telling arsenal. For good reason. It is the quintessential awkward Holly moment. This is what went down: I was at yet another Flames game with my dear friend Tori, probably 9 or so years after the initial flames incident (i.e. I was at least 16). The flames had just scored and I was busy texting someone to tell them this important update. The guy in front of me had re-assumed his sitting position, as one does post goal celebration, and he decided that the best way to sit was to lean forward. (*Pro tip: Don’t lean forward at hockey games)  This lean, at least a 30 degree angle lean forward, created a pant gape between his back/bum and his jeans, butt crack visible and all (Obviously this mans pants were far too large for him, so he really has no one to blame but himself for what happens next). As I was completing this vitally important text message I started to lose the grip on my cell phone. They don't call me butter hands Holly for nothing (no one calls me that). The phone fell out of my hand and started to plummet towards his prominent intergluteal cleft. At this point I knew there was no stopping it (In fact if I had any hope of stopping it, it would have involved an awful lot of limb flailing and gropage and would probably have inflicted more damage then just letting the phone fall did) SO, I let the phone…fall where it may. Which just so happened to be.... into the back of this mans wide-open pant gape. Yes, ladies and gentlemen there was definite butt-to-phone contact. The man sat bolt upright in a panic, just as you or I would do if some foreign object unexpectedly entered our “back of the pant” area.  He reached behind him to fish around inside his pants for whatever this foreign object was.  He retrieved the phone and whipped around to face Tori and myself. By this time in my life I was far to used to awkward things happening to me so I simply looked sheepishly at the man as he made to give me back my "assphone." The gentleman, let’s call him Bert, said: "um...is this yours???" To which I responded. "Yeah, wow, um...geeze, I'm so sorry...it fell" To which Bert responded happily "OH HA no worries. AT least it wasn't nachos!!!" At this point his friend turned around and yelled "OR BEER" at us. I grabbed the phone quickly, thanked him and put the phone immediately into my bag. The two men turned around and Tori and me erupted into a fit of giggles (as sixteen year olds are apt to do). Then I figuratively AND literally curled up into a little ball of shame and embarrassment and died.


The point of these stories, dear friends, is to prepare you for the world around you. I don’t want to scare you, but I do want you all to be aware that at any moment someone equally as awkward as I (not possible) may be lurking in the shadows…ready to pour beer on you, or put their phone in your ass or maybe just spew a beverage over the back of your head. So consider yourself warned my dears…. And maybe don’t attend hockey games with me unless you like hanging your head in shame. 



(This picture really has nothing to do with anything...but I just wanted to add a picture of Will Smith somewhere on this blog post)