Had to pick my mate’s kid up from ice hockey camp today. Flynn is having a great time. Me not so much. Had to help peel all the stinky sweaty gear off the kid and then put them in the storage room. Gross. There is no longer any mystery what happens down in the rooms at the rink. I dont know what I thought happened down there but the reality is way less glamourous. Not as sexy as Keanu makes it look.
This is Sia Arcour. She is an ice hockey goalie par excellence. She stars in my current work in progress, The Hot Hand (#1 Harder than Ice series). She’s resilient, smart, strong and independent. Her weakness is Italian food (especially desserts), a good crime novel and a certain funny, intelligent and gifted ice hockey player…
Built a PNR book xmas tree in the lounge. It’s decorated with ice hockey spunk tree decorations I made at werk.
I also made a PNR Xmas display at werk featuring my fave Nalini Singh and a few other grouse authors.
I gave Jason Momoa a new hat so he could feel part of the season festivities. He’s enjoying a bit of saucy xmas reading.
I’ve been rather depressed since the end of the AIHL season when my team, Melbourne Ice, made the playoffs but lost in the grand final to our nemesis. Not happy. So to ameliorate this dire situation I’ve been watching NHL games and the Men’s Ice Hockey finals at Sochi.
My housemate doesn’t like sportsball but she’s learnt two things about ice hockey these last five weeks. She now knows who Sidney Crosby is and the commentary of any ice hockey game will be peppered by seriously funny homoerotic innuendo. Neither of us have figured out if this is on purpose for entertainment value. The best proponent was Robert Tennisberg (best sports commentator name evar!) We laughed so hard at some of his superlative comments at Sochi that we were in tears. That is bang for your youtube buck as far as we are concerned. The American and Canadian commentary was funny but didn’t quite rate like the Slick Swede. The lols were desperately needed and Raunchy Rob didn’t let me down. During the Sweden vs Canada gold medal final his nuggets were pure comedic gold. “Sweden need more penetration.” “He’s being smothered by two or three Canadians (I hope to go the same way).” “Winning makes everything feel better.” We lost our shit when he said “sniff of a loose puck.” It was as if I was back in high school math class, trying in vain to not get busted laughing because I’d chosen to sit next to one of the funniest guys in my year level.
I’m going to need something like this after the hectic week I’m enjoying. It was Keanu’s birthday on Monday and we went out for tea at the Mt Erica Hotel in Prahran. Well, actually it was my birthday yesterday and my friends had a dinner for me at the pub, but that’s just semantics… Keanu and I get to celebrate our birthdays the same week as the AIHL Ice Hockey championships, this coming Sat 7th and Sun 8th September. My team the Melbourne Ice are fourth and in the finals. They have won the last three years but I fear we may not be able to maintain the rage of previous sudden death finals. With the help of copious amounts of vodka (and absinthe) I should survive the weekend… win or lose, I aim to misbehave!
Sooooo…. my characters haven’t been talking to me for the last three or so weeks. I’d had a gutful of not being able to write anything from any point of view, whether the main characters or the secondaries. Not so much a writer’s block, it may have been that Ive been too busy editing what I’ve written thus far, working, and carrying on like a pork chop with drunken shenanigans at ice hockey, pubs, and numerous parties/ nightclubs. To remedy this, I packed the manuscript off to my beta/editor/ partner in crime, Neeny Boucher. She can give my characters a good, stern talking to (or a kicking if they need it) and I can have a breather. Of course, once I had sent the MS off, they want to talk to me… Kincaid (pictured above) was rather miffed I was spending time with/ wanted to bone another hawt spunk from a band (Toombs from Beats by Kendall Grey). He wasn’t as bad as Caleb who it turns out, can be a bit of a sooky la la… He said he “felt like a five year old who had been packed off to boarding school by a cold, uncaring parent. Not a cool school like Hogwarts, either.” His actual words to me while I was taking a shower this morning before trotting off to work (again). While I was busy serving the reading public at the library I had to deal with Kincaid in the bargaining phase of his denial. He was making all sorts of lusciously filthy innuendos as I helped customers and it took a fair amount of control to not lose it while on the library floor. Thank Keanu for the chute room that I could sneak off and sit in front of the air conditioner and cool down. Outrageous!!!
In the Antipodes it’s called ice hockey. I try to go most weekends, during season and when I’m in the state/ country. I’ve just returned from a game. We lost to Newcastle, 2 – 0. They’re hard to beat every game, every season. I’m not a puck bunny. I’m the antithesis of such a notion. I’ve been following the team before they moved to their nice, clean, and resplendent rink. I followed them when they needed me to help out making sandwiches for the team on tour, buttering sandwiches on an ironing board, helping the mothers of the players and board members/ staunch supporters who travel with the team interstate… Before we won three championships in a row. Whether they win or lose, I’ll get outrageously drunk at the pub after it and talk a load of old bollocks to lots of people. Because that is what you do when you follow a team whether they win or lose.
Just because your new boyfriend (real or imaginary) plays (or wishes he could), doesn’t mean you should start showing up/ taking an interest. Oh, you only pretend to care because he does and you get paid in orgasms? That’s more like it, you mercenary, you! That was me being facetious. Yeah, I didn’t think you would pick up on the subtleties. Hence why I pointed out the glaringly obvious. Even though I am very drunk, post hockey. Currently having to triple and quadruple edit everything I type. I’ll move on to writing my magnum opus now. See you all at the bar… Or if you’re a real fan, at the game. Even when the team loses.
Being a victim of circumstance is nothing I have ever identified with. I’ve always seen myself as a survivor of the complex, tangled and torturous misery others know as childhood.
I have few happy memories of this time period,(from age two to fifteen years), and those glimmering specks in my mind invariably involve being by myself in the backyard with the dogs or reading books by myself at school.
As introverted as I was as a kid, I did have a very close friend made at age six. I thought that if I went to play at her house it would be better than being in the crosshairs at home. Turns out my parents didn’t have the monopoly on vicious and divisive cruelty…
We are still friends as adults, though we have drifted apart a few times: during high school we weren’t quite as close as we had been as children, later again in our mid twenties the gap was widened by our priorities in regards to love life over close friendship.
Happily we were brought back together by a shared passion for team sports. Nothing as lofty as those healthy specimens who find fulfillment on weekends slogging it out in an amateur arena. No, our friendship renaissance was triggered by ice hockey. Being based in one of the world’s hottest and driest continents, this choice of sport can be viewed as an ironic metaphor and also a sweet elixir to life’s hitherto insurmountable challenges.
Between cheering on our team and swilling smuggled vodka, we discuss whatever has happened recently in our lives. Work, significant other, friends, health concerns and occasionally our family members.
Rarely do we speak of the childhood years and traumas. Briefly we may talk of previous misadventures shared in our late teens and early twenties. If we do feel nostalgic for anything from the past, it invariably involves memories of the myriad of hot, young things that were possibly stalked, caught, and then released.
Nostalgia can be a fickle mistress. I found this maxim to be annoyingly true quite recently. A male friend from high school made contact via a social network. He regaled me with his happy memories of knowing me as a young teen.
Perhaps, in hindsight, it was an ego stroke for me. Being thought of well by our peers can be a heady intoxicant.
A face to face catch up was in order, after much cyber chat and a little drunken flirting.
Unbeknownst to him, I’d had a massive crush on him during the first, teen phase of our friendship. For many reasons at that time, I could not act on my feelings. I was intrigued by the elusive possibilities of second chances.
It would seem that this sort of HEA is only found in novels and film. The details are devilish and refuse to be pinned down. I may let that story lie fallow for quite some time and oscillating perspective may provide a more optimistic epilogue.
I try to avoid nostalgia inasmuch as I do not want to go back to a certain time period long past. I do enjoy re telling stories of exciting and interesting previous episodes. This does not mean I want to return to the shores of those distant tales, I like to entertain and my best stories are those shaped, based or inspired by fact.