tobermory's Diaryland Diary



Sign seen on the outfield wall of the Diamondbacks ballpark: ‘POOLIFE.’ Yeah, I know it’s for a pool company, but don’t you also think it might be wise for them to spring for the additional L so that the fecally-minded amongst us don’t immediately think of poo? And of poo having a life or needing a life or something like that? Or if you do make the poo-pool connection, the last thing you want to think about is a poo floating around in a swimming pool. Ew, just ew. Baby Ruth anyone? Why not just make their spokesperson Mr. Hanky from South Park? Nothing says POOLIFE like a talking animated poo.

Running was an absolute chore last night. I don’t know if it was the warm weather and the strong wind, the lingering PMS/cramps, or the lack of carbs that made me low-mo girl (that’s short for low motivation) but the 15 minute intervals we did seemed like double that. Blah.

After running I went home and (finally) took a shower and then Steve and I braved the 45 mph wind gusts and walked the three blocks to our local greasy spoon, The Hilltop, so that I could have a professionally made omelet. Steve had the BLT and it came with a rather tasty looking pickle. Steve, as he usually does, offered it to me but I initially declined because I worry sometimes that he gives me his pickle out of habit and perhaps I was somehow denying him his quota of salty pickled goodness. He took a couple of bites, declared it a fine pickle and put the rest down on his plate wherein I assumed that he was finished with said pickle, was immediately was overcome by the need to eat the rest, and grabbed it off his plate and started munching away. Then I had a moment of guilt when I realized that perhaps he hadn’t been finished with his pickle – that he had been planning to finish it later. So I asked him, “Did I just usurp your pickle?” Folks, I may have just coined our new catch phrase. If you ever hear me asking Steve if I can usurp his pickle you can pretty much bet on the fact that I mean his ‘pickle’ and not his pickle. Heh. I slay me.

So I’m reading Zamboni Rodeo right now. I’m my opinion this book has a lot going for it. It’s about hockey – my favorite sport. It’s about hockey played at the minor league level – and I love the wacky antics of minor league sports and the stories of athletes struggling to make it to The Bigs. It takes place in the WPHL – the Texas area league that the El Paso Buzzards played in and my brother lives in El Paso and I saw the Buzzards play a couple of times – once getting to participate in one of the dorky between-period promotions and once getting mentioned in an article in the Wall Street Journal about relocated northerners finding hockey in unusual locations. Lastly, it’s written by Jason Cohen – on whom I had perhaps the most major crush of my pre-Steve life. It was the summer before I started college and I was so smitten it was pathetic. I wore my neon-red blinking heart on my sleeve for everyone, including Jason, to see. Naturally as almost all major crushes go, it was unrequited. He didn’t exactly ignore me or anything but he treated me more like a little sister. Not quite what I had planned, but it was probably for the best. I was totally his bitch that summer. There were just enough tickle fights to keep me running his errands and hanging around his radio show at the college station. My friend Alli has a funny story about this whole situation. When Alli and I were seniors in college Jason had been graduated and moved away for two years, but he occasionally stopped back in lovely Evanston. By this time I was way past full-on crush feelings, but do they ever totally recede? Alli and I were driving somewhere and out of the corner of my eye I caught sight of Jason sauntering down the block on foot. Alli swears I screeched, “Jason! Jason! Ohmigod, it’s Jason!” and then proceeded to screech the car over to the curb so I could chat – in a very animated and perky manner - with him. Then, after we parted ways I looked at Alli and babbled some more about Jason! Jason! Alli claims that she could see my brain dissolving and dripping out of my ear. Embarrassing? Yes. But I imagine we’ve all been there. I get to relive a wee bit of it by reading Zamboni Rodeo.

10:29 a.m. - 2004-04-29


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