Aaaand we’re back!

Rejoice hockey fans I’m hockey’s BACK! After a prolonged writing drought NHL lockout, today we celebrate the long-awaited and triumphant return of  MY BLOG the Sabres!

What you missed in Jessica-ville:

I sill reside in the HTH (Hot Tub House for you newbies) and I continue to claim Thing 1 and Thing 2 as my own, mostly because I haven’t found any alternate guardians for the middle-school wise-asses little darlings. (Love you both!) I am in the process of changing back to my maiden name, which is frustrating a.) because I have to deal with the bureaucratic DMV and Social Security Office and 2.) I am plunging back down the alphabet, from “D” to “S” (although I see no harm in continuing to use my “D” last name when it suits me.) I am still running (some days better and faster than others), and in September I finished my third half-marathon with my best time yet!

I should probably also tell you that since you last heard from me I have been cougaring dating a slightly younger man I (for purposes of internet anonymity) will henceforth call “Chaz.” I actually met This Chaz at a 2011 Sabres playoff Tweetup . (I didn’t mention him in that post because when he initially asked me out, I laughed politely declined. (In fact, my friend Sarah, who has since been dubbed “The Worst Wing Woman in the History of Earth” patted Chaz’s arm and whispered consolingly, “She’s MUCH older than you and she has TWO kids.” I asked her later why she hadn’t bothered to mention my shaky finances or my penchant for lateness.) Chaz can probably take some credit for my speedy half-marathon time since he is most often my running partner and, oddly enough, if you struggle to keep up with train alongside a younger male, you get faster. Who knew?

As I write this “Chaz”, Thing 1, and Thing 2 are all gleefully playing knee hockey in the HTH living room with a newly purchased Sabres mini goal. So, aside from the occasional foam ball to the head or privates, it’s all good in Jessica-ville. And, hockey, in all it’s glorious forms, has returned!

What we missed, Sabres-style:There was much high-fiving in Buffalo during the offseason when the Sabres traded perpetually-derided Derek “King of the Chip Strip” Roy to the Dallas Stars, where–if Buffalo sports karma has any pull with the Hockey Gods–he will likely go on to have a record-breaking, number-retiring career. In exchange the Sabres got Steve Ott, a Twitter phenom gritty forward who scored in the Sabres’ first game of the 2013 season today, which pretty much ensures that he’ll be a bust (see: Bernier, Steve). But fear not, Sabres fans! GM Darcy Regier, whose contract was inexplicably extended yesterday, drafted some new guys, both with impossibly difficult foreign last names beginning with G. All of us in Sabres-ville have high hopes for the Gs! (And some big guy named John Scott who will somehow miraculously cure the chronically wimpy Sabres.)

Also, because the NHL and the NHLPA had their heads up their collective asses subjected devoted fans to a months-long lockout, the Sabres decided to do us all a solid and…wait for it…give us 50% off at the Sabres Store for an ENTIRE WEEK! That’s right, why GIVE us FREE food and beer like the Pittsburgh Penguins or the Ottawa Senators? We’re all gonna come to the games and buy multiple $8 beers concessions anyway! Instead, help us help the cash-hungry league spend our money on Sabres apparel we haven’t needed to wear in almost NINE months. (FINE, I may have caved today and bought a new Sabres hoodie, but 50% off doesn’t happen every day people.)

Game 1: Flyers vs. Sabres

OF COURSE I religiously attend the home opener every year, but by the time the stupidhead league finally came out with the schedule, I already had plans for today (has it been so long that you guys have forgotten my elaborate social life?). Plus, this was a Thing 1 and Thing 2 weekend, and they sadly no longer have any interest in attending Sabres games. (I KNOW. Somewhere my real sons are surreptitiously watching Sabres games while their “mother” wishes they would play video games like the other boys.)

While I wasn’t at the FNC, I was doing the next best thing, which is watching the game with all of Twitter. (If you aren’t familiar with Twitter, skip to the end of this paragraph.) Earlier in the morning, during the pre-game excitement, I was TWICE mentioned as a worthy Sabres game-day follow in the same tweet as such luminaries as the Sabres PR guy and several media peeps. So as you can imagine, I was under ENORMOUS pressure to live up to this Twitter hype. No doubt I rose to the challenge, as evidenced by my insightful tweet after Steve Ott’s first period power play goal: “DEREK ROY WHO BEY-OTCHES!” as well as my emotional response to the TV closeup of the Flyers’ coach: “OMG I forgot how much I hate Peter Laviolette’s gum chewing face.”  And after the Flyers scored two quick goals at the start of the second to take a 2-1 lead, I became the sage voice of Twitter reason: “Alright Buffalo, let’s take a deep breath and NOT PANIC for change, m’kay?”

I might have continued on this certain path to Twitter greatness for the rest of the game were it not for the fact that Chaz and I were slated to compete in our friend Mack’s annual Winter Olympics. Last year, due largely to my own ill-advised wardrobe malfunction choice our two-person team finished the games DEAD LAST. (#embarrassing) Today, armed with sneakers and a well-thought out running outfit, I was determined to make amends. Consequently, I missed the Sabres’ victorious three-goal third period for what I thought was a higher purpose. But no! While we did not finish last this year, we were beaten by just about everyone, including Thing 1’s team. So I did what any not-so-athletic fun-lovin’ girl would do: I found solace in my deepening love affair with beer and in this awesome cake.

My Happy Place: Busted

No one wants to talk, read, think, blog about or acknowledge Game 6 vs. the Flyers. It’s just too painful. The mere mention of it makes me want to go to my happy place. (No, not the hot tub, my mental happy place.) Buuuut, I feel it is my blogger-istic responsibility to say SOMETHING about it, so here are Six Things about Game 6 and One Thing That is Funnier.

1. As soon as the Round 1 schedule came out I texted Kate to ask her if she wanted to go with me to “Game 6 if necessary.” I kept cheekily referring to it as “Game 6 if necessary” right up until the stupidhead Flyers won Game 3, at which point it became “Game 6 damn well better be necessary.”

2. When Kate got into my car on Sunday afternoon, I was so filled with anticipation and delight and so happy to be sharing this day with her that I blurted out, “I was thinking on the way here that there are people I would want to go to this game with AS MUCH AS you, but there is honestly no one I can think of RIGHT NOW that I would want to take to this game MORE than you.”  As you might imagine, Kate was understandably confused miffed flattered.

3. In the weekend-long afterglow of the Sabres Game 5 victory, in NO WAY did I envision them losing this game. In fact, over Easter brunch I predicted an 8-0 Sabres victory!  Once it was announced that Peter Purple had tapped Michael Leighton as his starting goalie, my morning prediction seemed almost conservative. Not only was I NOT referencing  “Game 7 if necessary”, but I had NO CLUE when Game 7 even WAS.

4. Over the past week, on the internet and in the local media, there was much criticism of the home crowds at Game 3 (too quiet) and Game 4 (too boo-y). Not only did I take all of this random commentary personally (my friend calls me the “World’s Biggest Button”) but I was (somewhat sarcastically) hopeful that the Game 6 crowd would get it juuuust right. Kate and I are not at all boo-ers, and in our boundless optimism for our team we literally cheered our ASSES off. The intensity in the Arena was as great as I have ever seen it–we cheered goals, we stood up for hits, did the wave after successful PKs (not really!), we gave the team standing ovations after they were scored upon (so their fragile egos would not feel shame), and we screamed that Mike Richards should die a slow, horrible and unspeakable death. (OK, maybe that was just me, and would explain why the little boy a few rows ahead of me kept turning around and looking at me, wide-eyed). Bottom line, the Game 6 crowd brought it and we deserved to win.

5. During the game the Sabres blew leads of 2-0, 3-1 and 4-3, before losing in OT 5-4. But oddly I wasn’t angry with the Sabres AT ALL. It appears that the Flyers might be pretty good at hockey, and the Sabres DO have to keep replacing key guys in the line-up as the Flyers pick them off like a gang of mass expletive murderers. (Ryan Miller’s words, not mine.)

6. Game 6 didn’t make me angry, but it did make me sad. And when I get sad, I don’t feel like traipsing around the Harbor Club, running into people I know. Like any girl, I want to curl up in my fleece PJs and eat metaphorical break-up ice cream. Kate describes in her post how we agreed that some bad eating could cure what ailed us, and we went our separate ways, only communicating via text pictures our choice of comfort food–pizza for Kate, a burger and fries for me.

Busted: Confessions of a Hockey-Lovin’ Mom

Friday night after Game 5, and after the hot tub, my friends and I may have allegedly engaged in a tipsy celebratory battle with Thing 2’s extensive Nerf gun collection. (Good, clean, unexpected fun.) All the next day I was finding Nerf bullets in the oddest places at the HTH, but I thought I had pretty much covered my tracks. NOT SO. When Thing 1 and Thing 2 returned to the house on Sunday night and walked upstairs, it was like the Three Bears returning home, except the two baby bears were SUPER PISSED. From downstairs I heard Thing 2 roar, “What the EFF happened here? (he literally said “Eff”, he was that angry.)  I cowered in my chair, offering up an unconvincing “Something wrong up there?”

Thing 1 came downstairs and sat next to me, whispering conspiratorially, “Just tell me what happened, and if you tell the truth, maybe we won’t be so mad.” After some ineffectual stalling I finally admitted that some friends and I had used the guns for a teeny tiny battle, at which he snorted, “Mom! What were you THINKING!”  As soon as Thing 2 found out what I had done, he huffed like a wronged parent:  “You know, you try and have nice things around here, but NO!”  After I apologized profusely and promised to replace any broken guns or missing bullets, we ascertained that there was no permanent damage and uneasy peace was restored to the HTH. (Only after I promised to keep my hands off the Nerf guns.)

See, didn’t my irresponsible behavior make you forget all about that silly Game 6? You are welcome. Glad to take one for the team.

Also? I don’t want the ride end. Bring on Game 7.

Wear to Watch and What to Where: Road Games

As you guys know, for home playoff games there is no question that I am watching from my seats at the Arena (season ticket group be damned.) But road games are a more delicate matter:  should I go out in public and subject innocent strangers to my nervous energy and cursing commentary or do I watch from the comfort of home, where at least I can yell at family members to pipe down without (usually) getting a beer spilled on me ? For the past few weeks, monumental decisions like this have consumed me, which would explain the unfolded laundry in my living room and the late fees I keep asking my credit card companies to waive.  (If you talk to Visa or Gap, don’t tell them I moved back in February.)

For the road games in the Flyers series so far, I have gone both ways. (Don’t even, you dirty monkeys.)  Before this year I had never watched a playoff game in a drinking establishment, but it’s come highly recommended by a number of other Sabres fans. Kate and I decided to venture out with some friends and fellow bloggers for Game 1.  The company was great, the food was delicious, and the beers were plentiful, but for most of the game I wasn’t totally sold on this whole playoff bar experience.  The scoreless tie that extended into the 3rd had me anxious and antsy, and being unable to pace the room or throw things at the multiple TVs was…limiting. My entire outlook changed in one moment however, as offensive juggernaut  Patrick Kaleta (of all people!) scored the game’s only goal early in the final period.  The eruption of loud cheers and jubilation in that bar gave me chills. It was like watching the game in a mini, more intimate HSBC Arena. As I tweeted immediately after Kaleta’s goal:  “Watching the Sabres game in a bar with other fans suddenly became a lot more awesome.”  I was hooked.

Game 2 was more of a family affair, as Thing 1 and Thing 2 and I watched the game at my parents, mostly because they offered to feed us dinner we can never get enough quality time with them. The Sabres lost, which made this a TERRIBLE game.  Let’s pretty much never speak of it or the experience of watching it, except for the two things that I learned that day:

1. I should not subject small children to the terror of watching a playoff game with me. I made my youngest nephew cry at least four times with my yelling.  Either that or I need to toughen the hell out of that 1-year-old.

2. I now hate that DEVIL Danny Briere with the white hot intensity of a billion suns.  In one of my earliest blog posts from November 2009 I wrote:  “As you know, I think Chris Drury is the guy that dumped us, and Danny Briere is the guy that we dumped.”  For years I have blathered on about how I still love LDB, and ultimately wish him well with his new (but slutty) girlfriend, the Flyers. All that pining was tossed out the window the moment my Sabres faced LDB in the playoffs, when hockey is for REAL intense and Danny showed himself to be the little spearing stinker he really is. Oh, it’s on, Danny.

Last night’s Game 5 was THE BEST road game viewing experience so far. My friend (and soon to be fellow blogger!) Sarah and I met up with a bunch of peeps from Twitter, some of whom I already knew and some of whom were friends I had just not met yet. The bar we chose was packed, and the atmosphere was Friday night festive.  From the moment I walked in and my old bartender friend Connor bought me a drink I knew it was going to be good times. Maaaybe I lost a little faith right around the time the Sabres blew their comfortable 3 goal lead, and PERHAPS I even got a little pissy when that little taunting cheaterpants Danny Briere scored the tying goal and celebrated like a 5-year-old, but whatevs.

All that tension and anxiety melted away when our own little hero, Tyler Ennis put home Mike Weber’s rebound. We were all high-fiving, jumping, cheering, and hugging strangers (hence how they became friends so quickly). There is nothing like sharing in the collective joy of fellow fans, particularly after such a dramatic game. I would have never acknowledged this last night when I was in the throes of pure panic, but from the comfort of the winner’s seat, I can now say that the way the game ultimately played out was WAY better than if the Sabres had won 4-0. Afterward some friends and I went back to the HTH and basked in the glow of that unbelievable victory in my hot tub. If there’s something  in the history of time and space that is better than your team winning a playoff game in OT and then going in a hot tub to celebrate, I am pretty sure that it is something inappropriate for me to blog about anyway.

And for now, I can turn my attention to other matters:  Which lucky shirt I should wear to Game 6 tomorrow.

Dueling Mayors: Flyers Game 4

Writing my last post reminded me just how much I miss writing in general and this blog in particular, so I am back again already! I promise this time to focus (mostly) on the Sabres, and MUCH less on me. (HA! Nobody here fell for that one, did they?)

On Wednesday I brought my cousin Michael to the Sabres/Flyers Game 4. Michael is like a big brother to me, but that’s only part of the reason that I invited him. To refresh your memory,  I share my four season tickets with my parents, BFF Jane, and  local Hockey Husband Andy.  Although we are fair and equitable in our regular season ticket draft (I maintain that it was completely fair to play the divorce card this year and pick my games first before everyone else) for the playoffs the rules are slightly different: Jessica gets two tickets to every game, and everyone else rotates in and out around me. Sort of like a microcosm for the way the real world works!

I have exacting standards for selecting my playoff guest. First, I try and invite one of the season ticket crew (just to keep my awesomeness fresh in their mind for September when I plan to commandeer the draft once again). Second, this person must be a VERY big Sabres fan OF COURSE. But most, most importantly, this designated driver person should be willing to go out after the game to celebrate/commiserate as necessary. Michael used to be a part of our season ticket group, which is why he was in the running, but it was his long-time Sabres fandom and his “fun factor”  that really made him a contender.

Michael and I usually engage in sibling-like sparring when we get together. After he complained about my chosen parking spot the whole walk to the Arena, when I took my coat off  inside he wondered aloud why “girls treat Sabres games like they are some kind of fashion show.”  (TOTALLY  knew that he  couldn’t tell me how cute I looked in my new Tony Walker Sabres shirt without things getting awkward real fast.) My cousin also knows EVERYONE, so our first trip to the 300-level to get Flying Bison took extra long because of all his hand-shaking, baby-kissing and “How YOU doin?'”s on our route. Not to be outdone, I saw FOUR people I knew along the way–if you count the Flying Bison guy, who knows me well enough to no longer ID me (gratuitous mention of the fact that I get IDed).

The game itself was ridiculously intense and pure fun: A tick-tack-toe goal from Pominville, multiple crossbars and goalposts, after the whistle scrums, opposing goalie chants, a 5 minute fruitless power play (OK, that stretch less fun), whining Flyers and lots of good, old-fashioned playoff T-E-N-S-I-O-N.  I learned a tough lesson Monday night when I drank only water during Game 3: Yes, declaring yourself  “all business” and not consuming alcohol during a playoff game means your focus will be entirely on hockey, but if that hockey is ultimately NO GOOD and your team loses, you are left with only an empty–albeit hydrated– feeling inside. I wasn’t about to make THAT mistake twice in one week, and thankfully I had the foresight to keep myself properly drink-ated (Thanks, Michael! I chose wisely in him.). It was also a good thing that I brought a relative Wednesday night because with the anxiety that permeates a one-goal game I was doing a lot of nervous grabbing of the people around me. That’s just something I would prefer to keep in the family.

In spite of–or perhaps because of–the stress, the 1-0 victory was a great game to see live. I thoroughly enjoyed it…except for my cousin’s attempt to usurp me as mayor of my section. Rich, my foxy Mr. Big look-alike usher has consistently affirmed MY status as mayor of Aisle 13, so Michael’s popularity was straight-up starting to irk me. As we headed to the Harbor Club to meet up with some friends I challenged him to a contest:  See which of us knew more people up there, with anyone that we knew in common being a push. To count someone as “ours” we had to know the person’s name and they had to know ours. (This explains my post-game Tweet:  “Everyone I know personally, please proceed to the Harbor Club immediately.”) I would like to point out that I was too busy analyzing the game to circulate the Harbor Club properly (and by “analyzing the game” I pretty much mean saying every 5 seconds to anyone within earshot, “It will take me days to recover from this game.”) and give myself a fair chance.  But in truth Michael won this one, and so like any good little Buffalo sister, I treated my DD to MT drive-thru on the way home.

Home

Perhaps this post should come with a “Warning: Highly Personal” label, but truthfully, I write this blog mostly for myself (it IS all about ME) and I have resigned myself to the possibility that I also may be the only person actually reading it. (OK, my Mom and my Dad read it too. Hi guys! See you for dinner in a bit! Love you! And Sunday sauce–hint hint!)

The big news is that in February I moved into a new house, which explains the lack of posts these past few months.  This move is entwined with a significant change in my life:  15 months ago Thing 1 and Thing 2’s father (whom I will henceforth refer to as “Thing Daddy”, mostly because he came up with that nickname as a preferable alternative to “Baby Daddy”) and I decided to separate. Before you get all depressed or worried that this whole post is going to be some bitter country song-like lament about  a marriage gone bad and hard times in Jessica-ville I will reassure you that TD and I remain quite amicable; we agree that our first priority is successfully co-parenting Thing 1 and Thing 2. (And by “successfully co-parenting” I mean not effing those two up any worse than we would have had we stayed together.)  We are working with a mediator to draw up our divorce agreement and it seems that mediation is a less acrimonious and more empowering process for parents than the multiple attorneys/family court route.

TD and I decided that for the first year or so of our separation we would do something called nesting.  Basically this means Thing 1 and Thing 2 (our baby birds) stayed in the house (the “nest”, or, in mediation “the marital residence”) while TD and I moved in and out, depending on who had custody at that time. They say that children of divorce learn to adapt, and I now believe that nesting parents acquire that skill as well.  For over a year my belongings were scattered between two residences at any given time, and I began to store odd essentials–shoes, make-up, unpaid bills, food– in my car, since it was the only place I knew I would always be.

Most times when I was not at The House with Thing 1 and 2, I was staying with…wait for it…MY PARENTS. I KNOW! I could have written an ENTIRE BLOG (or a hit sitcom) about being a 30-something soon-to-be single woman living with her parents, but, regrettably wisely, I didn’t. One, I don’t know when I might need to call on them for money or a place to crash (veering into country music territory again), and two, I would like things to remain amicable with TD, and posting my single life shenanigans on the internet didn’t seem like the way to go.

The lengthy 13 month nesting period is a testament to both mine and TD’s commitment to our kids, to our straight-up procrastination in deciding who would keep The House, and to my inherent fabulousness.  (Juuust kidding, TD, in case you happen to be reading!) Ultimately we agreed that TD would remain in the marital residence.  I purchased a “single residence” nearby that allows Thing 1 and 2 to remain close to their friends and their schools. And which on a selfish practical level cuts down on the time I need to spend driving them back and forth when they CONSTANTLY forget things.  (Actually, all the packing and unpacking TD and I had to do while nesting means we are both empathetic to our kids having to now divide their time between Mom’s house and Dad’s house.)

Finally, out of respect for everyone’s privacy I will simply say that the past year has been one of transition and adjustment for all of us, and as you might imagine it has been filled with ups and downs, heartache and healing.  Thing 1 and Thing 2 are doing well; we are all lucky to have the unwavering support of our wonderful family and loyal friends, and I am grateful to all of them for looking out for us in general, and for the boys in particular.

OK…enough of this separation business and back to ME!  Two weeks after the move I was on the go again, to NYC for a work recruitment trip with Karyn.  You guys know how much I LOVE New York–and Karyn–but this was no “Jess and Karyn Do The Big City” fun extravaganza.  It was more like, “Jess and Karyn are asleep by 9:30 p.m. in Manhattan, exhausted from having to navigate in the cruel city and its heavily congested outer-environs where crazypants drivers flip you the bird for no discernible reason and are also drained from 8 hours of non-stop perky talking to prospective students and their parents.”  That? Would make a TERRIBLE movie.  Imagine how we felt, living that trip! Aside from the shopping excursion to H & M and the dinner in Times Square (after all, we aren’t animals!) those were the hardest two days I have worked possibly ever. Karyn maintains that she still isn’t right from that trip. Thank goodness we were together, and even more miraculously , we remain BFFs even after that weekend.

So understandably during the trip I missed my new house and wished I was home bonding with it. (I completely forgot to mention that my house has a HOT TUB! I know! Can you believe it? Talk about a match made in Jessica heaven!)  I became even more homesick as I repeatedly described Buffalo to many people who had never been there before.  Metro New Yorkers have some rather odd preconceived notions about WNY. Of course the weather is a HUGE source of concern and comedy (I never tire of Buffalo snow jokes!) , but over the years I have often been asked questions like, “Do you have malls up there? How about hotels?”  and my favorite, “Is it true that in the winter you all travel in underground tunnels like miners or moles?” When I talk about my hometown to outsiders it is not a sales pitch, even if I am recruiting. I genuinely love WNY for all of its flaws, friendliness, fun, foibles, and everything in between, and I try to convey this heartfelt appreciation to anyone who will listen.

On Sunday, March 13, while meeting with prospective students on Long Island I received several texts from family and friends back in Buffalo that Sabres legend Rick Martin had unexpectedly passed away.  I didn’t have time to fully absorb the enormity of this news until later that night at the airport, when I had some quiet time and was scrolling through Facebook and Twitter on my iHEARTphone. The communal sadness of the day sunk in as  I read post after post from friends, family, and complete strangers about his passing and its personal impact. Even though this moment was clearly not AT ALL about me, I felt as if I should have been at the Ottawa/Sabres game that afternoon to see the team tributes to Rick Martin and to share in the grieving with my fellow fans and Buffalonians. As I posted on Facebook, it was one of those days that you just longed to be “back home in Buffalo.”

Home is where the Sabres schedule is

When at 1 a.m. I finally returned to the Hot Tub House (HTH amongst friends), I realized that between missing it, talking about it, and wishing I was there, I had been thinking about home all weekend in NYC. The next morning, on my way to work for the 8th day IN A ROW (shouldn’t someone call Amnesty International on my behalf?) I decided that whether it is a place, a community, a house, or a state of mind, home is simply where you want to be most of all. Especially if that place has a hot tub.

Wackadoo: Game On Day Off

The only good redeeming aspect of this whacked Game On! diet I have been doing (yes, it does feel like FOREVER) is The Day Off.  The rules state that one day each week you can basically be all, “EFF THIS Game On! I am going to eat unhealthy fats and drink whatever I want even if it is a vile carb like skim milk!”  As you might imagine, C-R-A-Z-Y times.

On The Day Off (TDO) you can consume UNLIMITED alcohol, so obviously there is a lot at stake in selecting TDO each week.  Teammate Karyn and I will literally spend hours Monday mornings at work strategizing TDO placement based on our upcoming social events.  We will mull over hard-hitting questions like: Should we take TDO Wednesday to enjoy our work happy hour? (The answer to that one turned out to be a resounding YES, mostly because our boss was buying.)

Taken with my iPhone

This particular happy hour marked my first visit to a drinking establishment in the Game On! era. I was soooo looking forward to consuming metabolism-slowing alcohol and food that was fried and/or covered with cheese that I could practically taste the game-sanctioned pleasure. However, mid happy hour I felt an unfamiliar sense of guilt as I thought about the weeks of healthy eating I was undoing with each TDO mouthful. WHAT in the name of the Sweet Baby Jesus is this crazypants diet doing to the wine guzzling, chicken finger lovin’, chocoholic Jessica that we all know and relate to?  I shared my identity crisis with my teammates in an email the following morning (largely to get five communication points):

Spinach salad at lunch. That is a LOT of chewing. Yesterday was my day off so I could enjoy work happy hour. Drinks are yummy but this wackadoo diet already has my body feeling all goofy when it eats unhealthy foods. Veeeery unsettling. My world is topsy turvy!

After the happy hour debacle, I was determined to properly revel in the nutritional rule-breaking freedom of my next day off.  Here is how last week’s went down:

7:30 a.m. Homemade chocolate chip muffins and glass upon glass of carb-laden skim milk for breakfast. Now THIS is living.

9:53 a.m. Stop at T-Ho’s for medium iced coffee with French Vanilla, milk and sugar, which is my usual daily allowable 100 calorie snack.  Those five chocolate glazed Timbits? Those are allll TDO.

11:37 a.m. I don’t have to wait at least two hours between meals today! Lunch time. Leftover non-whole grain pasta and homemade sauce from my Mom. HANG ON…where’s the meatballs I requested? I haven’t had beef in WEEKS!  A quick trip to my parents and the meatball crisis is averted. Just because I can, I sprinkle the entire plate with a unhealthy dose of Parmesan cheese.

2:15 p.m. Seems like shame to let the three uneaten muffins from this morning go to waste. It isn’t like I can eat them tomorrow when I am back on the Game On! wagon. Snack time.

4:40 p.m. I haven’t ingested a single bit of unprocessed food yet today, and so in a moment of TDO weakness, I make stir fry for dinner. I defiantly have it with white rice instead of brown, and I eat WAY more than a fist-sized portion. Take that Game On!

7:05 p.m. All hell breaks lose. My Mom texts from Bonefish Grill to ask if I want some Bang Bang shrimp. Do I want Bang Bang shrimp? YES! I pour myself a drink.

8:15 p.m. Downing Sipping a glass of red wine when the Bang Bang shrimp arrive. Those little suckers are in my house for exactly one minute before I have eaten the entire container while standing at my kitchen table. Disgusting and delicious all at the same time.

8:30 p.m. I just remembered that my Dad made fudge yesterday! (Yes, I do have The Best parents.) For the next two hours, I eat fudge steadily. I haven’t had this much chocolate at once since I was nine. You know what goes great with fudge? Milk.

11:00 p.m. I am beyond full, but as I eye the clock I realize I still have one more hour of decadence. I think about the six other days of deprivation and decide I CAN eat one more piece of fudge. It would practically be a crime NOT to! I wash it down with another glass of Gnarly Head Cab for good measure. Perfect.

The next day my friend Jim invited me last minute to go to the Sabres game (Score again for me! Err, I mean thanks Jim!) which turned out to be…unfortunate. I say this not only because the Sabres lost to the lowly Islanders 5-2, but I will let my email to my teammates have the last word:

In a poorly planned move I had my day off on Thursday and last night I went to the hockey game. We went to Colter Bay beforehand where I enjoyed a salad with grilled chicken and oil and vinegar and my dining companions had club sandwiches, melts, burgers, burritos…you get the picture…all with fries and beers. HOLY HANNAH was it hard and SUCKY.

Then I went to the game where I could NOT DRINK and the Sabres pathetic play on the ice made most of their fans DREAM they could be alcoholics…and yet I did not drink.

THEN I went to Geckos and watched people drink SOME MORE all the while just waiting until I could go home and curl up with some Kashi cereal and Greek yogurt, which I devoured at 2 a.m.(with almonds)  like a drowning person grasps for a life preserver. Even the hot guys at Geckos could not compete with my visions of a thumb-sized amount of a healthy fat.

I feel so much better having shared this evening from hell with you, my comrades in Wackadoo-ness. Thank you for listening. I knew you guys would understand!

iComplete Me

Those of you who have been around the Jessica-ville block are well acquainted with my long-standing fervent–and until now unrequited–love affair with iPhone ownership. I am not sure I have wanted or waited for something so urgently in my entire life (aside from a Sabres Stanley Cup OF COURSE).  Two years ago I bought a sassy shiny silver flip phone (go ahead, mock all you want–many of my former friends did) that at the time I was fairly pleased with.  (And by “fairly pleased” I mean “wild with envy whenever I saw someone with an iPhone”.)  From the moment I signed that two-year contract with stupidhead Sprint I have counted the days (with one of those kiddie construction paper chains) until I was free to assume my rightful place amongst all those beautiful joyous hip multi-tasking iPhone users.

Two weeks ago, on a snowy Buffalo Saturday, I walked into my local AT & T store and informed sweetie-pie salesperson James that I intended to “Go big or go home!”  I am now James’ favorite customer of all-time, and I am equally smitten with him.  He was nice enough to waive some gratuitous nominal fees and hook me up with a cool iPhone case and screen cover. (Incidentally I HIGHLY recommend going to a place of business and giving the person behind the counter the “Go big or go home” line.  It opens doors people.) After an hour of talking iPhones and life James and I are pretty much BFFs, although I did get a little pouty that he was unable to download my contacts from my ghetto flip phone. I suppose that was Sprint’s final F-you to me from their cellular grave. C-ya, Sprint!

Obviously iHEART my iPhone. We have been pretty much inseparable. (Picture one of those sappy commercials with The Turtles’ “So Happy Together” in the background as I gaze lovingly into my iPhone’s high-resolution display and we rapturously Wi-Fi around Buffalo. Hmmm. Maybe I should get us an agent?) Our first big night out was last Tuesday when I insisted suggested my friend Lanette take me to the Canadiens/Sabres game with her last minute extra ticket. (I have used every possible cyber-venue to proclaim that my greatest dream in life is to be everyone’s Person They Offer Their Spare Ticket To. And this season, I am nailing it!)

iPhone's first Sabres game....awwww

Lanette was desperate kindly agreed, and we happily sat in her seats, two sections over from mine, laughing and talking with her season ticket peeps, Greg and Mike. Ok maaaybe I also checked my email, updated my Facebook status, texted friends about intermission meet-ups, shopped online for Uggs and took experimental self-portraits with the iPhone’s forward-facing camera. I also snapped a picture of the snazzy view from Lanette’s seats. See those little dudes on the ice? Those are the Sabres and Canadiens, and apparently they were playing an ACTUAL GAME while my iPhone and I were sitting there bonding. I know!

The astonishing news of a hockey game happening on the surface in front of us had everyone abuzz in my usual intermission spot, Jess’s Corner.  The first thing my dad said to me was, “Are you even WATCHING the game? I can see you from our seats and the entire first period you were looking down at your phone!”  To which I responded, as any self-respecting sassy cell-phone lovin’ daughter would, “Well, DAD, I guess if you were so busy watching me on my phone you didn’t see much of the game either!” The Sabres went on to win this one 2-1 in overtime on a Jason Pominville goal. I know this score FOR SURE because I downloaded the NHL Game Center iPhone app and it told me so.

Lately, It’s Not About the Hockey

Two weeks ago, when we last heard from our heroine (me, sillypants!) she was days into some off-the-wall healthy lifestyle challenge. She had given up drinking, swearing, late nights, Oreos with milk and any grain that wasn’t brown and crunchy. She had resolved to recommit to blogging every day.  Since we know THAT was shot to hell, what else HAS she been up to?

Sabres games! (Actually more like:  Sabres games…sigh.)  In the last two weeks I have had the “good fortune” to attend four home games. But here is the deal people. In thinking about this post I had to LOOK UP the opponents and final scores of EVERY game I attended.  Was this because I was too inebriated at the Arena to pay attention to the game? NO, I wish! It is because the Sabres are SO uninspiring, unremarkable and unmemorable this season. When a player is injured, I promptly forget all about him (Sorry, Roysie). When he comes back, he has to do something SPECTACULAR for me to remember he was ever a Sabre. (How YOU doin’ Stafford?)  Mostly they are just a faceless bunch of uninteresting drones. I just can’t get into this team AT ALL, which is a bit disheartening considering that I have this big-time blog here, Running with SABRES.

Last Tuesday I invited one of my favorite sisters, Danielle, to the Flyers/Sabres game, a 5-2 Sabres loss. In true sister solidarity, we decided to drive with our parents to the Arena hoping they would treat their two little girls to dinner because we both love them so much.  What I will remember most about this night (other than the fact that my heart shatters anew every time I see Little Danny Briere in the Arena) is that my sister and I had several debates over the course of the “action on the ice”.  In addition to the Kardashian sisters, we spent quite a bit of time discussing whether the national pet supply chain is “Pet’s Mart”  or “Pet Smart”.  The argument continued to rage during the post-game car ride, where we suggested driving by one of said stores to settle the debate.  Initially my dad, the driver, balked at the idea, and this resulted in a brief, but pop-culturally accurate Costanza-like exchange between my parents:

Mom:  “I don’t get it. Why can’t you just go home that way for them so we can pass the store?”

Dad:  “I told you. IT. IS. OUT. OF. THE. WAY. I don’t want to take Delaware home!” (lengthy Dad-logic on timing of routes and traffic patterns, which I tuned out.)

Mom:  “Just do it for the girls. It is NOT out of the way. Oh, you are being ridiculous!”

Dad:  “Fine! I will show you it’s OUT OF THE WAY.”

Slogging slowly up Delaware Avenue in the midst of a Buffalo snowstorm we ultimately diffused all that pent-up family tension as we passed…wait for it…Pets Supplies Plus.

Then that Thursday I took running buddy, co-worker and BFF Karyn to the Sabres/Hurricanes game. We had a lovely evening gossiping, catching up with my friends Mark and Nicole, and pretty much chatting up anyone within earshot. Incidentally the Sabres won the game 3-2, but I have gradually realized that 2010-20111 will ultimately be a lost season in Jessica-ville, hockey-wise. For me this year’s home games are all about the socialization factor. (OK, fine it is ALWAYS about the socializing for me, but usually it is about the hockey too!)  True to form then, we headed up to the Harbor Club post-game to keep the party going. You know, the party where I am drinking bottled water at a bar and where I ACTUALLY uttered the words, “I am really looking forward to going home and eating a veggie burger.” Wha?

Coming next time…our heroine further chaffs at the restraints of the wackadoo Game On! diet AND gets an iPhone, a material possession which completes her. (Yes, she IS that shallow.)

Curses!

I have heard the cries of my peeps, sitting by their computers cell phones, in a constant state of anxiety, wondering, “How has she been surviving?”, “Isn’t she heroic?” and, most commonly, “Has she come to her senses and quit that stupidhead Game On!?” So five days in, here is the Jessica update you’ve all been wanting. (Speaking of craving, if I don’t have red wine soon, I may lose it. LOSE. IT.)

Meals:  Day Two, which was Tuesday, was a low point for sure. I was lethargic, hungry, and headache-y all day. Healthy lifestyle my ass! At one point in the afternoon I texted Karyn: “I am pretty sure it is working because I can feel my insides slowly devouring themselves.”

Exercise:  I figured this was the one category I could “hit close to the outfield wall”, and so far I have not disappointed. I squeezed in 20 minutes of exercise at home doing stairs, walking around UB during my lunch (you aren’t the only ones on break here students!) and….wait for it…RUNNING on the treadmill! Twice! Now granted, right now I am only running half-miles at a time interspersed with half-mile walk breaks, but still. This is HUGE news. (The tibia bones seem to be holding up nicely by the way, thanks for asking.) Operation Shamrock Run ON.

Water: Three liters a day. I have the glow of a 20-year-old.

Communication: Seriously, does anyone think I am gonna have trouble with this one? In case that fascinating text I sent to Karyn left you wanting more,  here is an ACTUAL email I sent to my team, 4HC and P & B (or as I affectionately call them, You Lucky Bastards):

Yesterday I made it all the way to 9:30 pm without swearing. Today…only noon.
In other news, today I got insanely excited when I realized that I can eat a dark chocolate square (40 cal) every day.
TODAY IS THE BEST DAY EVER!!!!!!
We are SO winning!

Old Habit: As you might infer from above, I am finding this element to be complete bullshit difficult. I decided to give up swearing, and I have not made it through a SINGLE day without dropping some kind of bomb. 9:30 p.m. turned out to be a high point. Today I swore at 8:00 am! Tuesday I cursed TALKING ABOUT THE COMPETITION! The upside I suppose is that Thing 1 and Thing 2 think it is HI-larious every time I realize I just effed up my points, so it has been a bonding experience. Hey, maybe my fallibility even shows them that their mother is not the perfect being they thought she was. Life lesson, Thing 1 and Thing 2.

After my last post, my friend Mark (and Game On! rival) sent me an encouraging email to see how I was holding up. He pointed out that the old habit should be something you want to break and also have a chance of breaking. Hot damn that’s where I went wrong! I don’t give a rat’s ass about stopping swearing. Next week, I may change my bad habit, although as Thing 1 and Thing 2 pointed out, I am already not drinking, so what else is there to give up?

Drinking Penalty: I have been clean for FIVE days! I haven’t even been so much as tempted to have a drink. Of course, I have not gone out to a bar or hockey game, hit a weekend or been offered so much as a drop of alcohol. The true test will be tomorrow, when I attend my nephew’s 1st birthday party. (Yeah, that’s how we roll in my family.)

Sleep: Along with cursin’ I also tend to stay up waaaay too late.  Most nights I am not picking up points for getting at least 7 hours of sleep. I guess you could say I am accustomed to “hard livin'”.

Good Habit:  You are reading the third blog post this week, aren’t you?

Weigh In: While I don’t need to weigh in officially until tomorrow, I weighed myself yesterday and today at the gym. Yesterday I had lost..HALF a POUND. Today, I had GAINED .2 pounds. Imagine my delight at realizing that all of this week’s starvation, water chugging, clean living and deprivation has had THE EXACT OPPOSITE EFFECT. GRRR. When I told Thing 2 how lots of other people, on my team and others, have lost at least a pound so far, he admonished me, “Think of yourself.” Dude, HEL-LO?

Fine, I’ll talk about the Sabres (but mostly about me)

On Sunday I invited my friend (and fellow blogger) Amy to the Albright Knox Art Gallery to see the “Sabres at Forty” exhibit and the Stanley Cup. Not only was I really looking forward to catching up with Amy, but she was also the PERFECT person to ask to this event. Like me, she is a Buffalo sports fan, but more importantly, I knew that Amy would humor me in achieving my main objective for the day: obtaining a profile-worthy picture of me with the Stanley Cup. I’ve been to the Hockey Hall of Fame before, with its magnificent trophy room, but my photographic presence on Facebook ups the Stanley Cup cache for me.

All decked out in my Sabres shirt I was waaay cuter more excited than some of the snotty brats little kids I pushed aside as we were admitted to the NHL trophy exhibit. I loved that we had timed tickets that allowed us to spend 30 minutes wandering around leisurely looking at the trophies. This also meant that I had multiple opportunities to get my picture with the Stanley Cup, as “Paparazzi” Amy patiently took shot after shot. I worried that the Cup Handlers might mistake me for some kind of crazy stalker, but no one tried to get in my way.

P, J, and the SC at the AK

Then during  my third (fourth?) photo session with the Cup, I spotted him across the room–The Stanley Cup Keeper From The Commercial–the guy with the alarm clock! Amy suggested that I go talk to him. Given that the last personality assessment I took said I was a “Wooer” (there are no strangers in my world, only friends I haven’t met) I was halfway there before she finished her thought. At first Phil seemed a little weary of being recognized as “that dude” from the Stanley Cup commercial, but after five minutes of my charm I had wooed him enough to get my picture taken with him–TWICE.

Phil and his wingman colleague Keeper Mike (not in commercial=not photographed) were super nice. They and the NHL trophies had arrived in Buffalo early Sunday morning from Pittsburgh, delayed by the Winter Classic’s change to a later time the night before. They also had a way with the ladies, telling us that Pittsburgh was “no Buffalo” and that they were OF COURSE huge Sabres fans. (That Phil and Mike. Good times!) Actually, a little later the gloves came off (Ha, get it? Gloves?) and Mike shamefacedly admitted his allegiance to the Leafs and Phil described his life-long love for the Montreal Canadiens. The two of them spend LOTS of time on the road with the Stanley Cup, so talk NATURALLY turned to me and my Sabres road trips (to recap so far–New York, Long Island, Toronto, Washington D.C. and Columbus). They agreed with me that Montreal and Pittsburgh should be my next road trips, and since they were kind enough to recommend that I try a boiled hot dog at the Bell Centre, I insisted that they eat at Left Bank while in Buffalo.

Wha?

Phil also came in handy when I noticed a GRAVE (get it? I am sooo on fire today) error on the Prince of Wales Trophy, which is awarded to the Eastern Conference champions. As any self-respecting blue and gold red and black darker blue and gold Buffaloian is ACHINGLY aware, the Buffalo Sabres have been to the Stanley Cup finals as Eastern Conference champs only twice–in 1975 and in 1999. But right there in gold on the Prince of Wales Trophy is a THIRD listing for our team:  “Buffalo Sabres 1979-1980”. How could this be? I wondered aloud if perhaps it was a year that the Sabres won the conference by regular season points instead of during the playoffs. Wingman Mike was also stumped, so we all waited for Phil to be done talking to his now growing legion of copycat hussies fans. Sure enough, I was right!  For about 10 years, from 1976-1986, the Prince of Wales Trophy was awarded to the top team in the Eastern Conference at the end of the regular season.  In the years just before then, and in the years since then, it has been awarded to the winner of the Conference during the playoffs. (See? I am not just a self-centered superficial chick. I have knowledge and DEPTH you guys.)

Oooh! It's me! And something shiny!

After our brush with Phil and fame, I have to admit, the “Sabres at Forty” just never stood a chance. I mean, Lindy is AWESOME, but he is no Phil! Actually I LOVED the exhibit.  There were some great photographs of the players on and off the ice. Some were compelling, some fierce, some moving, and some simply hilarious. I also really liked that they included so many pictures of the fans over the years. I suppose that me wearing my Paige Denim to a game is kinda the equivalent of the 1970s ladies in their fur coats and fancy hats. Perhaps it was because the gallery wanted the photos to stand alone and tell their own story, but we thought that the experience of the exhibit may have been richer if captions had accompanied them. I mean, I may be close in age to the Sabres, but the years when we were, you know, zero to ten are really fuzzy for me. And at the end of the day, that is what it is all about.

If you see this guy, ask him how he liked Left Bank.