Maybe it's the heat...

Or the paint fumes?

After painting my bakers rack with my dad outside in 95 degree heat, maybe I'm hallucinating. Maybe I just wish I was. I'm pretty sure it's the second.

Somehow I knew - I think that's why I never asked. Optimism is one of my strong-suits, but also a downfall at times. Then again, maybe it means nothing (there I go, being all delusional and hopeful again). I guess time will tell, but I think maybe I should give up on this one... it has, after all, been how many years?

I'm a magnet for unavailable men - either literally, emotionally or both. And, as I've said before, I'm a chicken shit.

Maybe September will be different. Probably not. I want to move to the next level in my life. I think I'm ready for that, but obviously someone else doesn't. *looks up* le sigh.

A lesson learned years ago is something I'm trying to remind myself of and strive for: "Patience is a virtue to be practiced in our homes and daily lives, and we must strive to set examples for our companions."

UnClassy Spokane 2.0

After talking with MaMcP who got the lowdown on the happs after the cameras quit rolling from the billet bro, I now have a couple other things to say:

1. I heart Bob Tory's passion for the game and his team.
   
2. I effing can't stand Tokarski and would tell him exactly how classless and immature he comes off to his face in an effort to help the young man not be a douchebag.
3. Mitch Wahl can lick my proverbial left nut. You're an 18 year old young man, which means you're an ADULT. You are someone that young players from the States look up to as a member of Team USA. Take the high-road. Pointing at your Mem Cup ring as you're walking by the bus holding a fellow member of the 2008 Draft class who YOUR TEAMMATE attacked is immature and unnecessary.
   

As a fan, my rivalry with the Chiefs used to end once they stepped off the ice. I had a billet brother who became a CHief in a trade and enjoyed his time there. I appreciate the Chiefs organization for offering free tickets to my parents for every game TRI played up there one year after they had a HORRIBLE experience in the stands (they turned it down and have only been back on rooter busses since) AND for what a great show they put on in that arena. That rivalry has changed. As those kids represent that organization as leaders, I now will be adopting the motto of my fellow Maple Leaf Mafia member, Hammer, "Spokanistan. This is war."

We'll see what all the suspensions and fines end up being after last night. I'm sure the Ams will get whats coming to them as well, but REALLY,Spokane?! Really?! No need to goon it up OFF the ice, too.

I hate bad news.

My birthdad called me tonight to let me know that one of my favorite crazy aunts had a massive stroke and heart attack today in the parking lot of a grocery store.

They're pulling the plug within the hour.

I'm so glad I went to see all three of those wonderful, beautiful sisters last fall in Yakima.

Tell me again why I'm watching Grey's Anatomy?

Summer effing Vacation

I'm angry, I'm sad, I'm worried, I'm hopeful... I'm tired.

I hate hiding my feelings, but I'm trying to be really strong for McMan. Keeping a happy, cheerful face, while still being mindful and considerate of plans and things changing because of his tumor. I've grinned through all the jokes him and his friends make, coping with it, but I just want to hit them all. This isn't like his gallbladder, or his appendix. it's a TUMOR next to his BONE.

He's tired, he's frustrated, he's scared, even if he doesn't admit it to anyone but me. He's more than entitled to that... But I am too. And I'm sick of putting on the happy face about it. I fucking hate this damn tumor.

He's going over to Seattle on Monday with his mom to see the Dr. over there about treatments. My guess is they'll say, "ok, that's what it is, we're taking it out this afternoon/tomorrow."

I'm not even asking to go even though I'm going to be useless at work. I had to practically get into a fight with him to let me take him to the hospital in March and he wouldn't even let me stay until they took him in to prep him.

He's not sure now if he wants to take our trip this weekend for the holiday. I completely understand since it'll be 1o hours in the car round trip only to turn around and spend another 3.5 to Seattle on Monday.

I want to cry, but that doesn't seem very hopeful, does it? I want to scream and punch things, but that's not attractive or productive. I want to be with him right now instead of alone in my apartment, but I do wake up at an ungodly hour, and he needs his rest, especially if he's having surgery next week.

I effing hate being a big kid.

Really? Really.

So on the morning radio show I listen to, like many others, there is a "Mystery Oldie" part of the program. I usually know the answer, or at least title OR artist, and most of the time, it is at least over 10 years old. Today, however, was a different story.

Being Joey Fatone's 31st birthday, (Happy Bday, Joe!) they played "It's Gonna Be Me" for the mystery oldie. Ok, so it was released in 2000, that's 8 years old... But does that really make it an oldie? I guess it's up to each person's descretion, since a google search produced no good answers. But honestly, couldn't they have chosen "Tearin' Up My Heart" or "I Want You Back"? At least they're 10 years old.

Jeebus. 10 years.... I guess, since it is the Fat One's Birthday and since my love of "the stinky boys" (As Ma calls them) has hit a milestone anniversary (10th is traditionally tin/aluminium --wha?) I'll post my very favorite *NSYNC blog-post ever made:

Originally posted by "Rainbeaux" at http://beaux.livejournal.com/100822.html on 7/24/2003

Think of how much you loved JC the first time you heard Blowin' Me Up. And then the first time you heard Build My World. And when he called you a bitch in Some Girls.

Think of how much you love him for "people" and "because yes" and "I'm 'bout to get groped" and every other piece of silly drabble that ever left those pretty lips.

Think of how much you love him in pink, and glitter, and low-rise jeans, and cropped pants, and flip flops, and more jewelry than any three boys you know combined own.

Think of how much you loved Chris for Icky Vicky. And how you loved him even more for My Shiny Teeth and Me. And how the "Word!" you and your friends always spouted from the Simpsons is now followed immediately by "Don't say that."

Think of how much you loved him when he broke up with Dani and had to have it dragged out of him on live television by an interviewer we all knew didn't know half a shit about him, her or them. Think of how much you loved him the day after his "off night" in Chicago when we found out Busta had died.

Think of how much you loved his dreads and his braids and his mohawk and his little purple streaks and how no ridiculous thing he did to his head ever seemed quite ridiculous enough to keep up with him.

Think of how much you wanted evil, creepy Justin stalking through Not Britney's house. And how the delicious chills turned abruptly to a sympathetic heartache with one twinge of his face in the last scenes.

Think of how it felt to watch him grow -- from baby Justin who owned it and didn't know it, to No Strings Justin who owned it and did know it, to Celebrity Justin who owned it, knew it, and worked it like it was going out of style.

Think of how much you loved him for the quiet "thank God" and the big hug he gave Joey when he got back to the Pop video shoot -- and, right before he backpedaled to allow for the obligatory two feet of "we're not gay" space, just how tight they held each other.

Think of how much you loved baby Lance, the towheaded half-redneck that bumbled helplessly through his first couple of years of showbiz -- shot down, spit on, downplayed, almost thrown out of the group -- and still managed to grin like he loved every minute. And of how much you loved watching the others dote over him, protect him, because goober he may have been, he was their goober.

Think of how much you love the old pictures -- drawls and y'alls and jazz hands and sequins -- and looking at what they grew up to become. And how much you love the brief moments where The Pop Star slips from his pedestal and the resignedly famous Southern boy peeks briefly around the facade.

Think of how much you loved how excited he was when he went to Russia (even if you didn't really want him to do it). Think of how easy it was to ignore the fifteen pounds he lost if you concentrated on his smile (even if you didn't really want him to do it). Think of how your heart broke when he managed to keep smiling when they sent him home (even if you didn't really want him to do it). And think of how fun it was to hear all the late-night comics talking about him, tasteless jabs or no.

Think of how much you loved Joey for taping Europe -- all of it -- and then letting us see. Think of how he pretended not to be in torturous pain during the Pop shoot, and cracked jokes about his fat legs saving him.

Think of him with a wife and baby daughter. Seriously. Just think about it for a second.

Think of how you went to see the goofy little indie film that could, before it could, just to hear him say "I have three testicles" in Greek. Think of sitting through the entire first two episodes of the God-awful sitcom they made of it, just to hear him gripe about selling fish. Think of the fact that he read the script for On The Line, and then, as an experienced actor, agreed to star in it anyway -- because, dammit, his little brother needed somebody to play his best friend in a movie. Think of watching NBC's half-assed American Idol ripoff just to see him in a tux.

Think of all the performances. The specials. Every song. Every note.

Think of *N the Mix. MSG. The Reel NSYNC. Making the Video. Driven.

Think of all the friends you've made with whom you have nothing in common but this.

Now take all of that, and put it all together. Look back at this list and think of all the beautiful things you have in your life because of them.

Think of how much you love them.

And realize that, for all this, for all we love them without ever really knowing them...

After eight years, nobody -- none of us -- can ever love them like they love each other.

And that's all I have to say about that.

Classless. (Warning, McPhizzle is McPISSED!!!)

from the blog Slap Shots written by Greg Harder of the Regina Leader-Post

First impressions on the two newest members of the Regina Pats, C Tim Kraus and D Juraj Valach:
Kraus is thrilled to be here and can’t wait for a fresh start after a strained co-existence with Giants head coach Don Hay. Kraus reportedly worked his butt off in the summer to get into the best shape of his life. He seems eager to prove he can fit in with the Pats and be a major contributor. By all accounts, a motivated Kraus is a force to be reckoned with.

Valach was more disappointed to leave Vancouver than Kraus but he’s saying all the right things about his new team. If Pats head coach Curtis Hunt can light a fire under the towering rearguard, he could add another dangerous weapon to Regina’s already potent blueline. Valach’s English is decent, so communication shouldn’t be a huge issue. It remains to be seen if past reports of an attitude problem surface in Regina.Asked why he demanded a trade from the Tri-City Americans this summer, Valach explained he didn’t like his billets or the city and simply didn’t feel comfortable there. Tri-City GM Bob Tory took some parting shots at Valach after the deal, but there’s two sides to every story. The Pats are giving him the benefit of the doubt.

The Pats should watch their backs... .What a classless little ass... I feel like I can say this since my parents were his billets and after he flew off the handle at me for writing MY opinion of why he didn't get drafted in MY OWN EFFING BLOG, he sent me This little exeprt from an email titled "Redhead = BAD head!" (laugh, I did) :

.........I like [Ma] and I like [PA] but I hate you sorry
[McPhizzle]

You're on a new team (again) Juraj, You're playing hockey. Be happy for that, the past is the past... QUIT TRASH-TALKING MY FAMILY!!!!!!!!!!!!!

GAH!

Well, Casa McP is going to have a new address in 10 days or less.

That's right. I said it, 10 days OR LESS.

See, I got a call today from my apartment manager asking if I still had Roomie2.0 living there. I said yes, not knowing she hadn't turned in her application for living in our complex. Manager said, "Ok, you've got 10 days for her to vacate or we're going to have to evict you."

SQUWA-SQUWAH!?

This all stems from her b/f being arrested in our apt for felony charges the 2nd or 3rd day she lived at my place. She also got a ticket for obstructing justice - which is why she wont be approved to live at our apartments.

So we went over the options, I could stay in my fabulous apartment and pay ALL the rent until Dec. 31, Pay the $1400 it is to break my lease and move somewhere else or since I'm the only name on the lease now, transfer the lease over to a 1 BR apartment in the complex. Since I'm not made of money (although I do like to think I am) I went for option #3. Therefore, on or before October 5, I'll be living across the complex.

I've got PUD set up to be turned on the 3rd... and if I need it earlier, then I can call and change it. I need to figure out when i can get in so that I can call and have my sattelite dish moved. Need to start calling all of my credit card companies and magazine subscriptions to get those changed over to the right apt. number.

Oh. And Papa McP will be contributing greatly to the McPhizzle Financial Fund. His support is greatly appreciated... as are viewers like you. (but i'm not paying you back like i am him.)

While moving is TOTALLY stressfull and SO not fun, i'm STOKED to do it. Not only do I get into my own place where i don't have to share my kitchen with anyone (really, it's a huge pet peeve of mine...) but i also get away from the drama that is my new roommate situaton. YAY! Oh, and I'll be hosting Canadian Thanksgiving in my own pad. :)

really? for real?

Tuesday... not usually a BAD day, per se, but this one didn't start out too hot...

I woke up late. On purpose, but late. Left the house at about 8:20 to stop in quickly at Dr. S's office and get a persecription for something to make what I thought was bronchitis go away. Get into the parking lot, slow down and stop behind a minivan that is about to park and all of a sudden, her reverse lights go on.... she starts backing up.... she ignores the sound of my blaring horn and all I hear is *crunch* well, before I said, "fucking shit" and put my car in park. No damage... And oddly enough, she was wearing one of the breast cancer awareness Ams shirts. Hmm.. Like I told McMan, "I decided not to comment on it in the fear that I'd tell her she didn't deserve to don the logo of MY team if she's going to back into me."

So, after she parks the van and i go down the few more offices and park in front of my dr's office, I go in, see the doctor and he tells me I don't have bronchitis or a sinus infection. I have asthma. Oh. Joy. And please please please tell me why it takes 20 minutes to put an inhaler together... I'm assuming they had to hand craft the plastic holder there in the pharmacy at Walgreens.

Yeah. It was an awesome morning.... and to think, I was all ready to wirte a hockey post about training camp so far.... SO i'm just going to post photos from the annual Todd Klassen Memorial Classic game, which was held at the buttcrack of dawn on Sunday. (photos by MLM photographer VonHammer)



Me singing the anthems after running around the arena... i thought they were going to re-zam the ice. oops.


Thrilling hockey action = painting the nails in the stands

It's just a talent I have, I guess...

First it was this...

"Shhh... I know, baby. I know."

And now it's this. Now, I'm not a huge fan of Perez anymore - he's just getting too mean for my tastes, but Sister pointed it out to me. (it's not like we didn't know JC was a little 'curious' but just like with my LanceyPants, it's nice to at least have the illusion of a fantasy left.)

Here's the convo that lead to my 'le sigh'

Sister: Oh! My! Gosh! lol Have you seen perez yet?
McP: no, but i shall... front page?
Sister: Yeah...jc story
McP: omg I turn them all
Sister: Did you find it? lol
McP: [current-flame] is going to come out in the Fall
Sister: Shutup!
McP: and [former-flame] is going to end up marrying [sister's 'curious' ex]
Sister: Oh fuck! Lmao!
McP: maybe i should invest in a self-cleaning llitter box and a scratching pole for all of the cats i'm going to end up with
Sister: LOL I know right....
Sister: That would be a hot couple though
McP: no shit

Oh good grief!

Looks like Clay and Shawn will be riding home in wet gear after losing games next season if they don't make the Wild Roster.

Oh well... at least I wont have to see him across the rink anymore - and maybe we'll have a shot at 1st in the division. Maybe. lol .... (I doubt Hamilton would give Carey back...)


KEVIN CONSTANTINE IS AEROS’ NEW HEAD COACH

Minnesota native has seven NHL seasons, IHL championship to his credit

HOUSTON, Texas – Kevin Constantine, a former runner-up for the National Hockey League’s Coach of the Year honor, has been named the head coach of the American Hockey League’s Houston Aeros, the team announced Tuesday. Constantine spent the last four seasons as head coach of the Western Hockey League’s Everett Silvertips. The announcement was made by Minnesota Wild President/General Manager Doug Risebrough. The Aeros are the Wild's primary developmental affiliate.

“A development team requires a leader who will teach the players the game, while at the same time instilling the discipline, accountability and hard work required to play in the NHL for this organization,” Minnesota Wild Assistant General Manager/Aeros General Manager Tom Lynn said. “Kevin has a demonstrated record of all of these elements. In addition, he has had success coaching at all levels of hockey, and in particular in developing younger players.”

Constantine, 48 (12/27/58), has been behind the bench as a head coach for more than 1,000 combined games, presiding over teams in the United States Hockey League (USHL), International Hockey League (IHL), National Hockey League (NHL) and Western Hockey League (WHL).

The native of International Falls, Minn., accrued a 159-153-66 mark in seven National Hockey League seasons with San Jose, Pittsburgh and New Jersey. Two seasons after helping Kansas City claim the International Hockey League’s Turner Cup championship in 1991-92, Constantine took over a Sharks team that won just 11 games the previous season. Constantine led San Jose to a 33-35-16 record in 1993-94 and a first-round upset of Detroit in the Western Conference Quarterfinals. He was the runner-up to current Minnesota Wild head coach Jacques Lemaire for the Jack Adams Trophy as the NHL’s top coach, after the Sharks improved a league-record 58 points. Constantine is the only NHL coach to ever lead a pair of eight seeds over a No. 1 seed, having also led Pittsburgh over New Jersey in 1998-99.

Constantine joined expansion Everett in 2003-04 and led the Silvertips to a 162-106-20 mark in four seasons. Everett won division titles in three of his four seasons there, and advanced to the WHL Final in its inaugural season, helping Constantine land Coach of the Year honors. In 2006-07, Constantine led the Silvertips to a 54-15-1-2 record and a berth in the Western Conference Semifinals. Among the players under Constantine’s tutelage in Washington have been Ondrej Fiala, the Wild’s second-round pick (No. 40 overall) in the 2006 NHL Entry Draft, and Peter Mueller, the eighth-overall pick by Phoenix in 2006.

In two seasons with Kansas City, Constantine’s Blades went 102-48-14. Constantine has also served as an assistant coach with NHL Calgary, IHL Kalamazoo, and as head coach of North Iowa and Rochester of the United States Hockey League. Constantine also founded the North American Hockey League’s Pittsburgh Forge in 2001. The Forge compiled an 80-24-8 record in his two seasons there. Eighteen Forge players earned Division I scholarships.

Constantine played amateur hockey at Rensselaer Polytechnic Institute in upstate New York and was Montreal’s ninth-round pick (No. 154 overall) in the 1978 NHL Amateur Draft.

Cosntantine has three sons: Mathew, Jeffrey and Nicholas.

Supernatural Apartment

Setting: My apt.

Time: approx 1945 PST

Roomie and I had taken little cat naps in our big chairs in the living room. When our neighbor came and knocked on the door to invite us to dinner, she woke up - when she closed the door, I woke up. She told me about how she had this dream that there were two guys here and i was telling her that they were hunting evil spirits, and that Maggie and I (ps- we dont know a maggie) were slayers and were going to hunt a spirit with them.

Cut to

Time: approx 2230 PST

Roomie and I had been in the living room for a good 5 minutes - possibly longer. Seriously. Neither of us had even set foot near the kitchen. Scout's honor. She got off the phone with a friend and looked at the garbage can... it has one of those swinging lids on it... it was swinging. a lot. like someone had just thrown something away.
Roomie pointed it out... which freaked me out... which made her scream, "YOU BROUGHT EVIL SPIRITS HOME!"
My reply was raising my hands and saying,"I claim this apartment in the name of Jesus Christ!"
Which made her run around my chair over to the wall of the dining area, remove the iron cross off the wall, run into the kitchen and hold it out to the garbage can, screaming, "EVIL SPIRITS BE GONE!" She brought the cross back to my chair and put it on the arm, "Keep this here for protection."
So she went into her bathroom to get ready to meet up with her friends at the Towne Crier and she lifted up her arm and there was this mysterious blue mark on the under-part of her upper arm that took us 5 mintues of scrubbing to remove, "I've been MARKED!!! You brought them here! We haven't had crazy shit happen the whole time we've lived together and then you start watching this freaky-ass show and... Well LOOK!"