|My armour here is mostly Maybelline.|
We watched the Habs beat the Bruins tonight in pre-season. This was of enormous relief to my mother.
"I don't give a fuck," she screeched at the squad of Montreal rookies. "You do NOT lose to Boston. DO YOU HEAR ME?"
Apparently they did, or at least Christian "I didn't get a star though I totally deserve one for busting my ass every shift" Thomas certainly did.
There's a lot we can take in this family. Losing to Boston is not one of them.
"I like him," Mom said of Christian Thomas before he got the first goal, let alone the second. Meanwhile I was enjoying watching Jiri Sekac (aka Sex) and Michael McCarron.
Really though I've taken the summer off twitter what with growing a business and being outside and not obsessing over hockey and all.
I've been getting my graphic design business off the ground and on those rare occasions I'm sitting around not doing anything, I've been playing a version of Roz the Righteous on Skyrim. This is thanks to my brother.
"You should be a knight like me," he said. "A Templar Knight dedicated to truth and honour. Especially honour."
For those of you who don't play video games, Skyrim is where you slay dragons (you're called the Dragonborn) while not trying to take an arrow to the knee or letting someone steal your sweet roll. It's a massively involved game where you literally fix the entire world.
So no pressure.
On my first attempt I committed a couple of murders and did some thieving. Apparently that is not in keeping with the way of Righteous Knights.
"No! No! No!" said my brother. "You're doing it wrong. Re-start your game."
Take two saw a more Righteous Roz. I slew dragons. I sought out flowers for little old ladies who tried to kill me.
"I am Roz the Righteous," I said aloud to the TV. "I will not kill you even though I am really a bitch and you're pissing me off with your sanctimonious judgement." I might as well have been talking to the Hockey Gods cause they just laughed at me.
My brother spoke to me of a cult because I downloaded a DLC. "Drag them into the alley before you kill them," he said. "Otherwise they litter the streets forever."
I didn't know WTF he was talking about but pretended I did. "Oh sure, sure. Alleys. Check."
I warped into a town and whilst I was mid-conversation with a local about some bear skins my follower engaged in mortal combat with the town's police force and a psychotic cult. I cut them all to ribbons and texted my brother.
"I'm in the hoosegow!"
"Go figure," was his response. "Stop KILLING PEOPLE."
Where's the sympathy?
I restarted again and adopted a child with a pet crab who is frankly really creepy crabbing around the house and making creepy crab noises. I'd kill it but my kid Blaise - and really WTF kind of name is that for a child unless you force him to eat paste every day - loves it and I don't want to hurt my kid.
"I don't want kids," I texted my brother to which he replied, "Too late."
So Roz has taken to killing really everything that is NOT pleasing to her and stands within her quest to be the ruler of all earth and really, this is my kind of game because apparently deep down I secretly harbour homicidal despotic tendencies.
My mother decided I was trying to hard to kill and/or save everyone and dragged me out of the house.
We went for drives with my cousin Sharon and these jaunts turned out to be nothing except for all the "No Trespassing" signs. It seems to be a huge thing in Newfoundland because apparently everyone has them.
I'd never seen so many "No Trespassing" signs in my life. And there were really only 2 family names on the mailboxes too.
"Just like the Hatfields and the McCoys," I said. "In Newfoundland we have the Gillises and the Lomonds! I wonder if there's bloodshed?"
"More likely there's a still and some moonshine somewhere," said my mother. Considering my family once bootlegged on the Nellie J. Banks, I'm not one to point fingers here.
In any event, the trip with cousin Sharon was uneventful and boring. For some reason, whenever we bring a third party along nothing ever happens. Fast forward a week when Mom and I were driving alone together into Corner Brook.
We got unexpectedly detoured. We no longer deal well with this.
"This is YOUR FAULT!" said Mom.
"I didn't decide to do construction on the Stephenville turnoff today," I yelled back. "How is this my fault?"
We started winding our way through the backwoods and decided upon the Dirk Gently mode of navigation.
If you haven't read any Douglas Adams Dirk Gently books I can only pity you, but basically his mode of navigation is this: follow someone who looks like they know where they are going. You may not end up where you want, but you usually end up where you need to be. Seriously though, read the books.
"They're all turning right," I said. "Turn right. Turn! Turn! Turn!"
Meanwhile Bro was texting: "Laurel and Hardy go for a drive starring you two boobs." In all fairness, we have been lost before.
"We are following somebody who looks like they know where they are going," I texted him.
"Yeah," was the reply. "And meanwhile this idiot is like: we must be going the right way cause this asshole is right on our ass. Enjoy Gander."
I'll let you google map that.
At any rate we made it home only two hours later than we had intended. So it's an improvement I guess.
And to swing this rambling blog back to hockey I sent my Dad a message while he watches from a sunny beach in Panama, "Bring Scotch. Bring the biggest bottle you can."
Jiri Sekac, Christian Thomas, Michael McCarron, Greg Pateryn, Dragon Armor
Jake Dowell, Jarred Tinordi, Miraak
My bar tab. I can't afford it and it's only pre-season. I'm hoping to offset by charging big money to watch my Mom yell at a the TV during Habs games. It's my only hope.