The Bitterness Blog

Hockey Heartbreak
May 7, 2010, 6:30 pm
Filed under: Musings of a Random Nature

My best friend Kim’s sister Mel posted a comment on my blog saying that her husband Eddie is disappointed I haven’t posted about the no-goal on-ice ruling made against the Washington Capitals in game 7 of their playoff series against the Montreal Canadiens. 

Ask, and you shall receive.

One reason I haven’t posted anything about the Caps’ recent playoff devastation is that the only people who read this blog are my friends, and they don’t really care about hockey.  Does this suggest that I should seriously reconsider my choice in friends?  Yes, yes it does.  Does it also say something about what a fucking fantastic friend I am that I try to please my friends/readers by not posting about things I know they don’t give a crap about?  Absolutely.  In addition to that, my friends either see me in person or talk to me using methods of communication that aren’t my blog, meaning they already hear me brag/gush/lament/curl up in the fetal position and cry about the Caps on a regular basis.  So I didn’t post about it mainly because I was being considerate.  I know, I’m awesome.

Also, until recently, it was simply too soon.  I had to go through the 7 stages of grief first, in my own time, and I think I’ve finally reached the acceptance/hope stage.  The Capitals had an amazing regular season and I thoroughly enjoyed witnessing it up close and personal.  When a team has a banner year like that, expectations going into the playoffs are high, and when said expectations aren fallen (ridiculously) short of, it’s a little bit soul-crushing.  I’m not going to lie; there were tears.  But like I said, I feel like I’ve healed enough that I can talk/write about the situation, so here goes:

First, let me say this to Eddie:  I  have a hunch that you want me to discuss the no-goal call in game 7 because you assume that I didn’t agree with the call and think they would have won the game if the call had gone the other way, and  you are simply trying to bait me into a tin-foil hat wearing Caps conspiracy theory tirade.  Do I think that the penalty disparity in the series last year against Pittsburgh was suspect?  Um, very much so.  Do I think the no-goal call in game 7 against the Habs was bullshit?  Yes.  In general I think the NHL suffers from glaring inconsistency issues when it comes to penalty calls, goal decisions like the one in game 7 and disciplinary actions.  I don’t, however, think that is the reason we lost that series or even that game.  Had that goal been deemed a good goal, we would have tied the Habs at that point, and I think we still would have lost.  We came up against a seriously hot goaltender in Jaroslav Halak, and I think at best, we would have gone into OT had that goal been allowed and our OT record is shoddy at best.  More importantly, in my view, we lost that series when we failed to close it out in Game 5.  We had a 3-1 lead in the series, having beat the Habs in their own arena twice and having chased Halak in Game 3.  Instead of maintaining that momentum and heading into Game 5 on home ice with a killer instinct and putting the series away, we came out flat and allowed 2 goals in the first period.  The momentum shifted, and as Halak tends to do, he just got more and more confident as the game went on.  I knew then that it was over.

To sum up, I think it was a bad call, and I recognize that it’s not the first time in recent years that a controversial no-goal call against the Caps in a Game 7 has occurred.  But in my opinion, the major factors contributing to the loss of the series were 10 terrible minutes in Game 5, ridiculous shot-blocking abilities by the Habs,  the strange and unexplained disappearing act pulled by our power play, and Halak the hot goalie.  And pure, old-fashioned bad luck.  Good and bad bounces in hockey can make or break a game, and for those last 3 games, we just couldn’t get a good bounce.  It happens.  It sucks a big fat one, but it happens.

And now, I’m forced to choose between rooting for the Pens (deep-seeded, historical, intense hatred) or the Habs (new-found bewildered hatred).  I’m rooting for the Habs, because when it comes down to it, Pittsburgh offends me as a city and not just as a hockey team.  But since my dad spent time in Boston and I have family in that area, I’m now rooting for the Bruins, who are currently kicking some serious Philadelphian ass, to take it all this postseason.  A wise man (aka the Caps announcer at the Verizon center) once said, “Nothing does my heart good like seeing Pennsylvania fans go home sad.”

Truer words were never spoken.

At least losing doesn't diminish the hotness of our players. Oh Brooks Laich, will you hold me while I cry?


Shoelace Sabotage and Texting with Dad
April 12, 2010, 5:33 pm
Filed under: Musings of a Random Nature

My father doesn’t know  how to properly tie his shoelaces.  He can tie them, but he can’t get them to stay tied.  His laces seriously come undone upwards of 20 times a day, at least when I’m with him.  When we go to Caps’ games, we park about 3 blocks away from the arena because we can park there for 10 bucks or pay twice as much to park a block closer, and we’re cheap people.  Pretty much every game, my father’s laces come untied either on the way to the game, the way back from the game, or, if I’m really lucky, both.  And he won’t continue walking until the situation has been remedied, so we have to stop and do a pull over while he fixes the situation.  It’s a little ridiculous, and it begs the question, how did I learn to successfully tie my shoelaces?

I assumed my mother must have taught me, but my father assures me it was him, and I believe him, because in most of my vague and distant childhood memories, he’s the star player on the life lessons front.  He taught me to ride my bike, he taught me to drive, he helped me with my homework.  I guess it’s just a fucking miracle that his shoelace-tying lessons didn’t end up severely hampering my abilities to walk my own path, as it were.  On more than one occassion, my father has accused me of perhaps setting him up in some way to cause his laces to become untied.  I’m not entirely sure how one would go about this, but my father lives in a general state of paranoia in which he believes that my mother and I conspire to make him think he’s going senile.  Usually the real culprit is the fact that if you wake him up when he’s asleep, he won’t remember it the next day, so there have been many times when I was accused of not telling him I had made it home alive after a night of what he believed to be “drinking and partying and inappropriate behavior.”  But really, I totally came home and woke him up and he just doesn’t remember.  You would think he would remember b/c everytime I come home after dark the first question he asks me is, “Are you sober?”  But no.

One time my mother and I asked him what he would do if we both died in a freak accident, leaving him all alone.  I think  the answer we were expecting was something along the lines of, “Cry myself to sleep every night” or “commit suicide and donate my body to science.”  The answer we got was, “I don’t know, maybe I’d move to a tropical place and shack up with an island girl.” 

Mom took that well.  But when we first made a teasing comment about how we had better be careful or we’d be replaced with an island girl and island spawn, he asked us what we were talking about.  He still claims he never said that and that my mother and I are colluding to make him look bad and drive him insane.

But I digress.  Shoelaces.  Untied.  Frequently.  Don’t know why he has such an issue, but I suspect it may be the shoes and/or laces.  My father has worn the same pair of sneakers for pretty much my whole life.  They are hard to find in stores now but he orders them online.  So I figure maybe it’s just a flaw in the design or something.

I wore sneakers to work today and it’s 1:24pm and my laces have already come undone twice.  This never happens to me.  So I sent my dad the following text message:

My shoelaces have come undone twice today.  Is this sabotage?  Did you oil up my laces or something?

And my dad replied, via text:


And that is the continuing joy of my father learning how to text.

Meet my future stepmom. At least if my dad ends up on an island, the shoelaces probably won't be an issue any longer.

Words of Wisdom From Dad
April 8, 2010, 7:22 pm
Filed under: Musings of a Random Nature

While watching the hockey game the other night on tv my dad was doing his usual bit of harassing me via making fun of my favorite Caps player, Alex Semin.  A caller on a post-game radio show once referred to Semin as a “PR Nightmare” and that phrase was seared into my father’s brain and vocabulary instantaneously.  It was one of those moments where, as soon as the words came over the radio airwaves, I knew it would be something I would hear oft-repeated by my father for the rest of my natural life.  And there is some legitimacy to it because Semin pretends not to speak English (he’s Russian), never does any interviews, and is generally surly during forced (and rare) public appearances.  I still love him with the fire of a thousands suns, so fuck the haters.  Anyhoo. 

So during the game my dad was harassing me about Semin as per usual and telling me how if I were smart, I would set my romantic dreams of being a kept hockey woman on Nick Backstrom, another player on the team.  Last year I didn’t think Backstrom was cute, but then I saw him in person at a function and he’s clearly one of those people who looks much better in person than in pictures and on tv, and to top it all off, he was uber polite and gentlemanly.  I reminded my dad that I do enjoy some Nick Backstrom, and that in fact, I think he is growing on me over time even more and quickly moving up the fantasy hockey boyfriend ranks.  My dad was pleased and said that was a good call.  Unfortunately, Backstrom is only 22 years and I am…not, which I pointed out to my father.  His response?

“That’s okay.  Backstrom is Swedish.  They’re experimental.”

They’re experimental. 

I’m not sure which I’m more flummoxed by, the idea that a relationship with a woman who is older by years that can be counted on one hand is experimental, or the impression my dad has that Swedish people are sexually experimental.  Or perhaps simply that he said that out loud.  To his only daughter.  And meant it.

Nick Backstrom. Swedish and experimental. And set to make upwards of 6mil a year starting next season. Yes, cuter every day.

Excess Baggage
April 6, 2010, 6:08 pm
Filed under: Musings of a Random Nature

My general aversion to child-bearing was reaffirmed yesterday in a big way.

I went to CVS on my lunch break to pick up some general crap.  As I was pulling up near the CVS, a woman was walking across the parking area with a stroller and little person in tow, having just left the CVS.  I parked.  I went inside the CVS and went about my business.  I had never been to this particular CVS before, so I had some light navigating to do.  Then I waited in a line of 3 people before my stuff was paid for and I was out the door, en route to my auto.  And who did I pass?  The woman with the baby.  She appeared to have recently finished strapping the kid in and was loading the stroller into the back.  From the time it took me to enter the parking lot, park, walk into the store, figure out where to find my shit, consider buying 5 magazines, pick up a pedometer from the sales bin, put it back, pick it up again, makes my purchases and walk to my car, she not only had not left the parking lot yet but HADN’T EVEN MADE IT INTO HER CAR HERSELF.  Sweet Christ that is some slow moving.  Unless she was writing a child-rearing book during my CVS adventure, that is altogether too time consuming.  Can’t do it.  Ever.

I will, however, give babies credit where credit is due in the amusement department.  When you are just looking at them from afar and not responsible for their actual care, they are some funny fuckers.  As evidenced here, on my new favorite website.

Hey, now that I’m “working” again, I have to fill up my 8 hours somehow.

Also amusing?  Dressing my dog up in Caps gear.

Dashing and well dressed. He's a catch.

Some Joys are Universal
March 22, 2010, 2:27 pm
Filed under: Musings of a Random Nature

What is one of those universal joys?  Dogs in costume.  It’s a fact of life.  You can dress a dog up as anything from a hooker to a Jedi and it’s irresistible.  Every Halloween you know you are the recipient of one of those mass emails with a hundred pictures of dogs trick-o- treating, and you know you love it.  Well, get ready to love this:


Fire in the Hole: Addendum
March 18, 2010, 3:20 pm
Filed under: Musings of a Random Nature

It has become apparent to me that yesterday’s post might possibly have given the impression that my father is creepy, so I feel the need to set the record straight.  My father is my favorite person in the world, and not in a Kathyrn Harrison kind of way.  The roof/furnance comment was funny to me because, well, I just think it’s funny, but also, it was one of those moments where you are confronted with the brutal awareness that your parents are familiar with the concept of intercourse.  I mean, you know they are because they had to have sex to make you, but that knowledge is kind of like your awareness of your own mortality: you know you’re going to die one day but you sure as shit avoid thinking about it at all costs.  Plus it was the added gross-out combo of not sex and old people, which is always a winner.

Anyways, point is, my father is a man who actually says Goodnight to the dog every night, tucks him into his dog bed and covers him with a doggy blanket (actually a pillowcase), all while telling him he’s the best, most handsome dog in the world.  He may be a little weird and overly protective of his loved ones, he may ask me if I’m sober every time I come home later than 6pm, he may require that I avoid listening to my “wigger music” when in the car with him, and he may drop peanut skins on the floor on the regular, but he’s not creepy.  He also recently learned to text message, and has jumped from one-word texts to full sentences. Occassionally he’ll even throw two full sentences into one text.  Gotta love that.

Fire in the Hole
March 17, 2010, 1:55 pm
Filed under: Musings of a Random Nature, Work Bitching

Guess what?  The endless days of sleeping, eating, and watching Wife Swap have come to an end for me, at least temporarily, because I have rejoined the world of 9-5ers.  I’m working a temp job, replacing someone out on maternity leave, and as you can imagine, I am super excited about it.

SUPER excited.

You probably thought that since I’ve been bitching and moaning for months about being unemployed I would be overjoyed to get a job, even a temporary one.  And you wouldn’t be entirely wrong.  I am happy to get out of the house and to be bringing  in more change than the measly stipend I was getting from the local government.  I am, however, unhappy to be getting up when it’s still dark out and unhappy to be sitting in rush hour traffic twice a day. And most of all, I’m reminded of how unhappy I am to have to talk to other people for 8 hours a day, 40 hours a week.  But the good news is that I haven’t been here long enough to become bitter and jaded with the place and its inhabitants.  I’m estimating that will occur some time next week.

Until then, I thought I’d share a little conversation that took place between my father and I last night.  We were watching the Caps game (Caps won 7-3, FYI) and for some reason my dad is a bit fixated on one of the local Caps newscaster, Lisa Hilary.  I don’t mean fixated on her as in, finds her attractive.  Rather, at a recent game, as she was doing an intermission inteview with a player, my father turned to me and said, “Jesus, Lisa Hilary looks old.  How old do you think she is?”  Apparently, Dad feels female newscasters should be a tad more youthful, and as he eloquently pointed out, Lisa Hilary is “no spring chicken.”  This led to a discussion during last night’s game about whether or not any of the Caps are boinking Lisa Hilary. We figured we could cross the young Caps players off the possibilities list because they can easily snatch themselves some young poontang.  My father suggested the oldest guy on the team, who is 37, but who I pointed out is also married, to which my father replied that married doesn’t mean faithful.  (And don’ t you wish you were my mom right now?)  While married might not mean faithful, I feel that old, married, and gainfully employed translates into lacking sufficient time and energy to have a scandalous player/newscaster affair.  My father’s reply:

“Just because there’s snow on the roof doesn’t mean there isn’t fire in the furnance.”

And that sound you hear is me crying on the inside.