It's snowing....again. I shouldn't complain because up until a few weeks ago, we had unusually mild temperatures for this time of year. I don't like being cold. I HATE being cold. Yet, I endured many years of cold "bleacher butt" while my son played hockey. It wasn't so bad,other mommies were also suffering from the affliction. Besides, we had our post-game drunken soirees to look forward to. Hockey dads didn't suffer from Bleacher Butt because they refused to sit with us, the hockey moms AKA Pit Bulls of the Arena.
Yes, it's true. We were the Clark Kents of the rink. Walking into a rink suddenly turned mild-mannered Martha Stewart wannabees into an even meaner version of Rosie vs Donald. Everyone was fair game for our scathing verbal repertoire of insults... Rival hockey moms, referees and the occasional coach. Did I participate in these revolting, disgusting, hateful activities? HELL YEAH!!!! It was fun!! An outlet for all the hours I spent at work biting my tongue, putting a smile on my face when I really wanted to choke someone.
I have compiled a short list of some of my favorite hockey mom sayings either said by my "posse" or by other hockey moms. They are as follows:
"Get off the ice, you piece of shit!"
"Hey! That little jerk is MY kid! Ya wanna go at me, lady?"
" Ref!! You watching the same friggin' game I am?" usually followed by
removing glasses, holding them up in the air and yelling " Ya wanna borrow these?"
" If ya don't want your kid getting hit, then maybe you should
sign him up for ballet! "
" Oh yeah? And who taught YOU to wear brown shoes with black pants?"
Ah yes, hockey. I miss it. I watch it on tv but it's not the same. No more "meals" consisting of arena staples like hot dogs and nachos washed down by Miller Lite. No more hotel rooms reeking of dead animal due to stinky hockey equipment laying over the heater. No more road trips through blinding snowstorms. No longer do I carry safety pins, extra skate laces, and a cooler the size of a steamer trunk, in the back of a humongous SUV.
The boys have various scars proving they played. Our scars are invisible, laying deep within us. Longing for the days of buying Power Ade by the caseload, the sound of laughter as they played hall hockey in the hotels or swam in the pool, phone calls from the manager imploring us to "keep it down," carrying equipment bags the size and weight of a baby elephant.
We've attended a few of the high school games trying to recapture the past. Something's missing though. I think they switched to all beef hotdogs. It's not the same. :)
Friday, January 19, 2007
I loathe shopping for groceries. All the choices are overwhelming and throw me into a semi-panic attack. Do we REALLY need 10 different brands of toilet paper bundled according to roll size, number of rolls, with or without ripples, some have aloe....for the love of God people....it's ASS wipe!!!! I highly doubt my posterior knows or cares if the toilet paper has ripples!!! It's not a bag of potato chips for cryin' out loud!!! No matter what time of day I shop, it always seems to be the day the social security checks arrived. 90% of the customers today were 80 and over. Shuffling along the aisles, stopping whenever and wherever without regard to who might be behind them or trying to get around them. They have a permanent look of bewilderment and I can't blame them, really. Most of them probably grew up using the Sears catalog in the outhouse. Now, they have to decide what's better......aloe or ripples???? I actually kind of, I said KIND OF, feel sorry for them because they seem to use the grocery store as their social outing. As I was throwing in can after can of Friskies Prime Select Chicken in Gravy cat food into my cart, a woman with blue hair and Sally Jessy Raphael glasses had the audacity to reach into my cart to scrutinize the cans of cat food. She picked up a can and in her nasally, whiny voice said " Your cat must like this kind." Gee, Einstein, ya think? She then tried to engage me in a conversation about cat food!!! She asked me some off the wall question to which I screwed up my face and said "What?" I took that as my cue to get the hell out of that aisle. For the next 20 minutes I dodged, darted and slithered through the store trying to avoid "Cat Food Lady." I finally made my way to the checkout line only to get behind some dumbass who kept sending the clerk back for different cigarettes. I'm too tired to even start in on that whole scene. I'll save it for a rainy day.