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Tuesday, February 28, 2006

The Sisters

According to CENSORED, her co-worker, Cari Berger is a hotttt chica. her green pants are a dream come true, and she tries her hardest to hide "the sisters" at work, but we all know they are some money jugs. It is money.

Friday, February 24, 2006

Feeling Guilty

For being so damned boy-crazy.

And for not realizing it until being a week removed from it all.

Wednesday, February 22, 2006


I was surprised when I got my silver elite package from Northwest because I only took 2 trips to Indianapolis last year. I went on thinking this for a few days. Today I booked another trip and the history sidebar reminded me I've been to Nashville, New York, Cincinnati...

Yesterday, at the Olympic themed recognition event, I was in India. I won the centerpiece and traded Japan for the sake set and fu-ki sake. If only those miles would count, I'd claim gold. OK the cheese level is directly related to the stress level. I'm definitely dying over here. I'm still at work and aging.

Happy hump day.

Thursday, February 09, 2006

Delay of Pain

5 yard penalty, repeat 3rd down

One of the opponents shot me a shoulder, knocking me into the ground and spinning me clockwise into the boards. Said shoulder made contact first, rebounded and twisted the rest of my body 180 degrees. Basically, I made a french twist. It wasn't fast enough to hurt, but the fact that I began the maneuver on the end of my own stick did.

We were short on girls so Gabby and I traded off between offense and defense. We were winded as it was without the stick to the ribcage. I sounded like a smoker!

2nd half, I took a slap-shot straight to the thigh. Not the seasoned meaty part of the thigh. No, the upper-to-inner part that bruises instantly. I'm wincing just thinking of about it. The memory of it makes the stinging return like a bad odor.

Post-game the guys were thanking Gabby and I for our heroic performance on the ice. Ryan shook his head, Berger, you really took a beating out there. Yeah, I replied, I can't believe my own stick hurt me this bad - I think I punctured my own lung. To which they all corrected, What? That guy totally tee-ed off on you!

How do you forget that someone mistook their broomball stick for a bat and you for a softball?

I won't forget now - I have a nice purple bruise to remind me.

Thursday, February 02, 2006


Guilty as charged. I've written about this before. I may not have fear on the rink, the court, or the field, but I do have a phobia about my own website. I'm not proud of this, but I can't deny it either. I don't write about some things because I want to spare my parents trauma, some out of respect for others' privacy, some out of pure and simple embarrassment, maybe for fear of misinterpretation or judgment, but mostly because I'm afraid I might hurt someone's feelings.

But spare the bad-dater no more!

I went out on the most horrific date in December yet was afraid to share in case he should somehow stumble upon this and suffer a bruised ego. But there are other, more important things to think about. Helping other girls cope with chronic bad-date-syndrome. Maybe it would even serve as a cheat sheet for what-not-to-do for guys out there who are teetering dangerously close to the edge of dating reason. And even if the guy was somehow resourceful enough to find this website, maybe this might help him get to a 2nd date with someone. It just won't be me.

We will call him Prius.

Prius wanted to be my blind date. I wasn't so hot on the notion. But after a couple weeks of e-mail and instant messaging, I found myself semi-curious about him. We had a lot in common, the picture he sent was a good one, and ultimately, after experiencing a mild case of unrelated heartache, I decided I had nothing to lose.

We met at Majors for a drink. He had a Mike's Hard Lemonade, I had a beer. I should have known then but all-in-all it went pretty well. The conversation was easy, we did have a lot in common, and he seemed like a decent guy. I also realized mid-drink that I hadn't been out on a real date for quite some time. As I was contemplating whether or not this actually qualified as a "real" date, the bill came for our 2 drinks. Anyone who knows me knows that I'm not one to expect anyone to pay for me. In fact, I get in trouble for my speediness with the Check Card. But, in this case, I have to admit, I thought that he might pay. We each only had 1 drink and he was the one who was so eager to meet when I wasn't ready to take the blind-date step. Yet here we are staring at the $6 tab and he flags the waitress down to insist she split the bill. I was trying to hide my surprise and managed to hold in my offer to pay the bill myself. So I paid for my beer, we said our goodbye's and on the way home I convinced myself that I shouldn't read into it. Maybe it was just his first-date thing.

Prius called on Thursday. He got comp tickets to the MN Wild that Saturday, December 17th. Could I go? I had bowling so I reluctantly said no. It hurts me to turn down sporting events. Saturday morning arrives and Heather tells me her and Mike are pre-bowling. Change in plans, I'm going to the hockey game! So I verified he still had the tickets and told him I'd call him after pre-bowling to decide the logistics of the evening. The game started at 7. I offered to meet him somewhere in between. After much confusion, we finally determined Bloomington was a good place; Bennigans to be exact. He likes to get there early, would 6pm be OK? It would be a tight schedule for me, but I said I would make it work.

So I rushed from bowling to home to clean up and prepare for the game. I arrived at Bennigans promptly at 6. 6:06, 6:14, 6:20. Finally, I decide I should call him. Maybe I'm in the wrong place. I admitted to him earlier that I didn't know Bloomington too well, nor how to get to St. Paul the best way from there. Prius answers and is just pulling into the parking lot. I said I'd meet him outside. On my way out the door, I found myself rolling my eyes at the lack of a phone call. I certainly wouldn't keep someone waiting that long without a call or a very good reason. I thought he'd be there, out front in his car, but he had parked along the side of the building and was standing there seemingly expecting me to drive? He apologized for running late and asked if I was ready to go, I said yes, there was a weird sort of jockeying going on with both of us not sure of what to do next. I finally slowly, suggestively repeated that I don't know the area well and he got the hint and led me to his car. We were eastbound on 494. We talked and things quickly returned to normal.

We exited on Kellogg. It's the typical game-time traffic jam and we're stopped just after we get off of the freeway. We slowly make our way towards Kellogg and his car starts acting funny. Sputtering. I notice the gas light is on. You know, the commonly labeled "idiot light"? We were running out of gas. Sure enough, just as we're first in line to turn right onto Kellogg, the car sputters to its slow painful death. He doesn't know what to do. I was calm and trying to find the humor in it. I knew he must feel terrible so I was careful not to make him feel bad or inept in any way. He asked me to walk 2 blocks to the cop directing traffic in front of the Xcel Center and ask for help to which I couldn't hold in my surprise. I politely informed him that the police officer was busy and would not help us - we would have to get gas ourselves. He said he was sure there was a gas station within 6-7 blocks. I asked if he wanted me to go along and he said no. He also said that he didn't have cash. To which I suggested he use a credit card. But Prius didn't bring a credit card. He was planning on getting cash in the stadium. I gave him the $6 I had in cash and my credit card. Yes, I know I shouldn't have done this but I was uncomfortable and panicked. And didn't consider there would be an ATM at the gas station.

After 20 minutes of me directing angry game-goers around the car while hanging my head in shame, he arrived with a gas can and $4 in change. We gassed up and headed back to the station to return the gas can. On the way he tells the story about how this station was actually out of gas. The gas attendant told him he could attempt to get the last drops out of the tanks. He got the last 2 dollars worth. We shared a laugh. So we drop the can and head to the next station for a little more fuel. For some reason, I again, fail to realize that he should be using the gas station ATM. And how was he planning on parking with no cash? I put $6 of gas in his tank and we head back to park. He said he had a usual place, but I quickly realize we are driving in circles. Finally he said he was lost. I told him about the secret around Patrick McGoverns and low and behold, a metered spot awaited. We parked and got to the game with 8 minutes left in the 1st period. I was desperate for a beer. But I was staring at $4. $2 short. I asked if he wanted anything but he said no and shuffled away towards our section.

Once seated, he introduced me to his co-worker and co-worker's girlfriend. The game was a good one and I tried not to look when he bobbed his head to the music. I was mortified. And sober. His friend got up before the 2nd period and informed Prius he was going for beer. Did we want anything? Prius, without consulting me, answered no. Before I could act, my potential beer runner was gone. Halfway through the 2nd period, I was stewing in head-bobbing-beer-abstaining misery so I went to get my own beer. Thankfully, he didn't take me up on my offer to get him something.

To top everything off, the Wild lost. We got back to my car and I fled. Seriously. I fled.

I don't know about you, but if I ran out of gas and for some insane reason didn't have any money or a credit card and had to borrow money from my date, I would be absolutely apologetic and offer no uncertainty about paying the money back. In fact, I would have used the ATM in the stadium as described to settle the debt immediately upon entering the gates. And I would most definitely medicate with the appropriate dosage of barley and hops. Everybody needs a sandwich.

The moral of the story is:

  • Go out with a guy who drinks Mike's Hard Lemonade in December at your own risk.
  • Never give an idiot your credit card.
  • Prius, should buy a Prius.

A Lesson in Love

I took a sanity 1/2 day today and finished the final season of Sex and the City.

It's so easy to relate to. Arguably unfortunately so. And the reason why single ladies such as myself are hopelessly addicted to it has been questioned recently. Yes, you know who you are :)

I'm embarrassingly impressionable, so I started wondering "why" myself. I love it so much that I find semi-tangible joy in being able to relate to these 4 women who, let's face it, are in baffling crazy and unfulfilling relationships most of the time. Could this repetitive example be detrimental to my dating health? Is it fathomable that I was somehow justifying my bad relationship choices by the fact that it all seemed normal, even better at times, than the best damn sports show period?

Was I chasing Mr. Big because I fell in love with Chris Noth when he was in Law & Order with my other love Angie Harmon? Now that is transference.

But it all came together today. It's not about the bad relationships, the toxic bachelors, the unstableness of perceived sanity. It's about the lessons, the triumphs, the purity of love no matter how fleeting. The Dance.

Because in order to define, experience, and embrace what it is that you truly desire, you have to know what you do not.

Carrie said to her Russian:

"I'm looking for love. Real love. Ridiculous, inconvenient, consuming, can't-live-without-each-other love."

And I smiled as tears welled up in my eyes. I guess I just didn't know that I did.

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