10 January 2013
where yellow glitter and hockey pucks meet (see also: marriage)
Tonight I asked Chris (over the phone, lest we forget that he is still a hundred kilometers away, toiling away to help build a school or some such) (also, when will i revert back to seeing distance in miles again?), I asked him what color I should paint my nails.
You see, I find that painted nails help me keep myself from a terrible, nasty no-good finger related habit of mine. In related news, I learned today that said habit is actually a form of OCD. Which makes oh so much sense if you know me at all, it does!
Which is to say that I should actually be somewhat ashamed of that OCD-ish personality of mine, but it's all mine you see, and one can't be ashamed of something that is so distinctly yours. So, I'm really rather quite an overthinker and overanalyzer and with that comes some leaning toward other forms of overdoing things.
I asked Chris what color I should paint my nails. And he said "yellow!" which just so happened to be the exact color I had in my grip and was contemplating applying to my sad, overanalyzed fingers.
Which is all to say that after thirty minutes of painting my nails a nice mellow yellow and sprinkling yellow glitter on top (a gift! from Cambodia!), I realized that I had up and dispersed the joy of glitter...well, rather everywhere.
Which wouldn't be much of a problem if I had painted my nails somewhere easily washed down, like, say the bathroom.
But see now, our bathroom here has no sink. I have no cabinet top with which to rest my fingers as I color them. So I did the next best thing.
In bed while I watched My Fair Lady.
(Just you wait, Henry Higgins! Just you wait!)
Can we just comment for a second on the lovely Audrey Hepburn in this role as Eliza Doolittle? Did you know that she was not told that she was to be dubbed for her singing, and she took voice lessons and everything to prepare for the role and then they upped and let her sing her heart out, only to cover her voice in nearly every single song with another woman's (a lovely woman's) voice. Poor Audrey. So humanizing, that story. Makes Audrey very much a woman just like me, a woman who can be disappointed and frustrated and screwed over. So humanizing.
See, what I'm doing here is burying a little tidbit that concerns the whole gist of this post, I am, right down here in the very middle. Hoping that el Topher will just skim the text of this little update and move on to the next part where I'll talk about hockey.
So, pressing yellow glitter on top of your mellow yellow nails while a fan blows directly at you pretty much results in glitter everywhere. Glitter. Everywhere.
I am prepared to wake up tomorrow with glitter smashed all over my face.
And I did try to clean it up, I did! Except that somewhat squishy nails don't make for a very easy cleaning attempt. So there were some swipes but I think I'll just leave it for the morning, you know?
Which brings me to hockey. Lest Chris reads this and realizes that there is glitter all about our bed, it's up to me to remind him:
I just love hockey!
You see, just a few days ago, the NHL players and the league (and the owners?) reached an agreement. Because there had been a disagreement? About money?
So, they made an agreement. And now the season that had been postponed and nearly forgotten (it was supposed to start up back in October) will begin! And it's promising to be wonderful, even though my most favorite player will not return. But Chris, remember, no matter how much I love Semin, you are my most favoritest person and if you played hockey, I'd get your name on my jersey.
Which would be silly, because it'd be my name too and people would say "aren't you all conceited?" Which of course, I would be because I'm married to an athlete like you! And Ovechkin is our best friend, so yeah, we're arrogant with good reason!
You know, I once wrote a "poem" about hockey. It was the third season in a row that we (we= Washington Capitals) had suffered a devastating loss in the playoffs. And if you know a hockey fan, having a number one seeded team that has won the President's Trophy for 2?3? years in a row but can't seem to make it to the Stanley Cup is pretty much the worst fate for said hockey fan. It's almost as bad as being the team with the lowest points in the season (which, matter of fact, was the Capitals fate for the previous three seasons.)
The year prior to that poem was perhaps the saddest one of all. We were the number one seed. It was our year. Plus, it was our wedding year! Good luck all around.
And then we lost to the number 8 seed. After winning the first three games in row, we then lost the next four.
It was the most devastating of days. It was the Thursday before our wedding. My daddy-o had just gone to pick up a Panera lunch order for everyone crammed inside our little townhome- bridesmaids and a mom mad rushing to make 125 sugar cookie favors, which was a five step process from ingredients through baking to fondant covering and fondant edible-glitter covering. And poor Chris was watching the game from the couch and the moment that final buzzer buzzed and we had really, truly lost our chance at the Cup...it was just the saddest moment. It was the worst wedding present ever, and I tried to console Chris but I couldn't get the edible glitter of my hands, and I just knew glitter on his head would just make it worse.
And we're back to the glitter! It's amazing.
So, in sum.
Yellow nails = Poor Audrey Hepburn = Glitter everywhere = A mutual love of hockey = Edible glitter after a devastating year = I just know we're gonna do it this year!
(Did I mention that I just LOVE it when they thrown down the gloves and they use a combination of punching and tumbling to draw blood to inspire their teammates? It's just like a poem, watching a fight on the ice. Dreamy, it is.)
C-A-P-S! Caps! Caps! Caps!
(seriously, i'm just covered in glitter. i might need to use actual shampoo to get this shiz out.)
written by kate this is about: hockey kills my marriage and soul sometimes