one female canuck

Greetings from the Vancouver Winter Olympics 2010

one.female.canuck@mac.com (one female canuck) — Fri, 26 Feb 2010 16:40:00 +0000

Blogging on the fly; pardon all shit error and spelling.

Jumped off my flight and landed at Elixir for dinner, with these two gorgeous broads.

Not surprisingly, we were asked to quiet down from one of the adjacent diners. Also, we ate an apple tartatartartine, a sweet French dessert, the name of which I have likely misheard.

Kitty had never been to Granville, and so I took her for a stroll before we ate in the market. She had a chicken butter bowl and I had Mexico's most tasteless wrap, the name of which I have likely misheard. Note that: Kitty is snack size, smaller ever than the official Olympic mascotians.

Canada Gear 101

Dear Folks Visiting Vancouv for Olympics:

Overkill is indeed possible re how many CANADA gear clothing items you wear at one given moment.
You're welcome.
Love, m

First sign of 'winter snow' was upon our arrival at Cypress (Canadians can't spell; this you should know by now) Mountain, where we were to watch the Biggest Badasses in the History of Winter Sport; Men's Aerial-ists Freestyle Skiing FEARLESS Foxes. Copied word for word, that is exactly what is written on the backs of each athlete's bum. (Note: The American outfit appears to be flannel pyjamas. Canadians can't spell; American's can't fashion.)

Before we watched them, though, we were forced to play with two massive and very aggressive balls which, if not careful, would smack one in the head.

And immediately before we watched them, we watched how Canadian girls do it better; a gorgeous shut-out or shut-down or something against the really terribly aggressive US female hockey-ists. 2-0 wins Canada GOLD in female hockey-ing. (Beautifully done, ladies.)

(I have a video of the last 20 seconds of the game; will upload when home.)

Finally, we watched the FOXES aerial-ing, supported by a Smurf Army.

And finished our evening eating much too much sushi...or that which pretended to be sushi but was neither good, really, nor well wrapped at The Eatery. I strongly recommend you forego this place; but if you must, then only go for a very light and not-so-good meal, and just to enjoy the fantastic art creations hanging above and next to you.

All above photos are from the berry; once home, I will complete the circle and post nicer photos and video. xox from Vancouv. (Go Canada Go!)

Crushing chocolate bars and mixin'er up

one.female.canuck@mac.com (one female canuck) — Tue, 16 Feb 2010 17:25:00 +0000

Chocolate bar, regular: A mash up of cocoa and such, nearly 50% of which is sugar.

When you're making any variety of hot chocolate from scratch, I implore you to use an already sweetened chocolate bar rather than a baking chocolate, reason being that a baking chocolate has very little sugar and you will run out of sugar trying to sweeten up the hot chocolate you're making to the point where your guest utters incredulously, as you pour more sugar into the pot: 'Ok, this is getting scary', before they are nice enough to pretend they enjoyed a little bit of the hot chocolate syrup you made and to which they added an additional half a cup of milk after you've cooked it to within an inch of its life and you are discombobulated because you usually make a mean anything and then magically, you are the worst host in the world because you can't make a cup of freaking hot chocolate, the taste of which stays with you over night, even though you threw out the rest the night before and flossed and brushed your teeth and doused yourself with spray Lysol to get rid of the taste and the shivers brought on by the memory.

Or, you can just do what I did this morning en route to work and save yourself the necessity of adding 'milk & sugar' to your grocery list.

Original Recipe (OR): Two people whose friend chemistry works extremely well.

Crush: Take the OR and wonder aloud to strangers on the street, beneath your breath at a meeting, while you're on a bus staring at one of the aforementioned strangers, while seated on a Ferris wheel or buying the wrong variety of chocolate...what would happen if I added a few new ingredients to the OR? Maybe a little saffron, turmeric and a dash of chilli?.

Life: What happens regardless of the addition of saffron, turmeric and a dash of chilli.

Friendship: Withstands all of the above, and then some.

Happy V-Day

one.female.canuck@mac.com (one female canuck) — Sun, 14 Feb 2010 14:36:00 +0000

Thanks to Dribble UnLimited for the way...

Originally posted on 2/14/06; still makes me laugh as hard today...

Parents roasting tomatoes over a friend's fire

one.female.canuck@mac.com (one female canuck) — Fri, 12 Feb 2010 15:45:00 +0000

.1. Do you keep forgetting that your momma and poppa are individuals before they are parents? That they had and continue to have dreams and that they may look at their lives today and wonder what happened to those dreams? How they fell through? Why they didn't work? How life isn't all it's cracked up to be?

Do you forget that they also have fears? That sometimes, their actions and reactions are filled with terrors that we might not recognise because we expect our parents to be fearless?

I do. Occasionally, I forget.
So, I'm asking you to take a step back with me...remind ourselves that although we sometimes believe that the actions of our parents are entirely centered around us, they are also, in great measure, centered on them as individuals before them as parents.

~~& if you already knew this, then you need to start a blog and start telling my ignorant ass.~~

(Exercise patience, please.)

.2. Dear Man Who Emailed Me Asking Me To See More Pictures Of Me Because You Think I Am Pretty:

I have your email.
I FaceBooked your email. (Something you may consider creepy, but that my friend M would call 'crafty'.)
I noted that you are married, with children.

Please direct this sort of attention to your wife, not me.

Thank you.

- M

.3. It is astonishing how the moods and spaces of those we love affect our own. Baby J is walking through a relatively delicate and difficult situation, and I am doing my best to walk alongside her. Sometimes, I walk behind her and push her forward, other times I run ahead and drag her along. Always - I hope and I try - to behave with understanding and patience; the reality of this sentence I leave to her discretion.

Earlier this week, she experienced what I can only call an entry of toxicity into her life; a toxicity that I reacted to on an extremely visceral level, and one which I carried with me throughout the course of my day and into my night; on her behalf, because I love her, because I respect her, because I am proud of her, because I do not wish to see her hurting. Also, because - as many of my friends have noted - I have zero tolerance and react with a ferociseness (not a word, but should be) when I feel as though being taken advantage of is someone I love.

A long time ago, someone said that "dealing with a friend's problems is like sitting around their fire and inhaling their smoke". Although I can't in fact remember who said that, I do recall it was said in derogatory fashion, as an indication that we shouldn't have to deal with the problems of our friends all of the time, some of the time, part of the time.

I call bullshit on that sentiment. The true meaning of friendship is unyielding support and sensitivity to the problems of our friends all of the time, some of the time, part of the time, no matter that we may be "inhaling their smoke".

If you don't recognise that being invited to sit around someone's fire is something to be cherished then you are an unworthy idiot.*****

.4. I recently took a new direction in my life (one which, literally, witnessed me throw up in a snowbank upon the decision taking & making. Sexy.); this is the reason I have been quiet. I will not write about the decision or the move, but I will only make this small mention here as a gentle reminder to myself. It is documented.

.5. Dear Sugar Plum Grape Tomatoes:

I love you.

- Maha

==========
*****This sentiment does not hold true for people who tend to invite everyone, including the kitchen sink, to sit at their fire. I believe these sorts of individuals tend to be exhibitionists who have a fire only for show, and are usually in and out of my life within 24 hours. I don't want to sit at their fire because that means that I am not sitting at the fire of someone who cherishes my presence. (Even in friendship, the value we see in one another must go both ways; otherwise, one of us is a chump.)

Blog problems

one.female.canuck@mac.com (one female canuck) — Wed, 03 Feb 2010 14:07:00 +0000

Hi all.
This site may be experiencing some weirdness over the coming 48 hours. Your patience is appreciated. xox

Friday Night Lights Surprise: Austin Lisa, Goddess

one.female.canuck@mac.com (one female canuck) — Fri, 15 Jan 2010 20:42:00 +0000

This is the final entry about this just last trip to Austin.
I have written about Lisa before - a wonder of a woman who, from the moment we met, I began crushing on rather heavily. Lisa, by the way, is pregnant...having become so just around the time I last visited, and so I have begun calling myself her Fertility Charm. Unless her and her man need me to sit atop their bed while they copulate, I don't mind being such a charm. (Please wish her congratulations and send her your best belly energy - both men and women.)

Anyway. Point of this entry isn't her belly, but rather her wonderful and amazing sense of generosity where my very awkward love of COACH ERIC TAYLOR, HI! and Friday Night Lights is concerned.

Lisa, see, has a friend who works with the FNL crew. This friend was able to confirm two things for Lisa: (1) shooting locations of FNL; and, (2) that the day she surprised me with our little FNL sojourn, was not a day on which they would be shooting. Why this later? Because Lisa had no interest in placing myself (and by extension, herself) in an embarrassing situation wherein I would freeze, or worse yet, lunge into inappropriate touching of either COACH ERIC TAYLOR, HI!, Tim Rigglett Riggins, or Tammy Taylor.

Honestly, I would be hard-pressed to behave myself in such a situation.

First stop was the football field that the Dillon Panthers called home (GO EAST DILLON!). It was raining and I was exhilarated. Unfortunately, you can't really see the sameness between the filming and the reality and so my excitement was contained:

I tried to pick the lock that held the wire fence closed and that kept me on the other side of the field. Lisa suggested that perhaps it wasn't the greatest idea to attempt a break in, so instead, I quite sadly held on to the fence and stared at the field which eluded me, imagining COACH ERIC TAYLOR (!) putting The Dillon Panthers through their drills and making certain they played their hearts out on that field (because they are real people, who play real games, yes?). Eventually, Lisa wrestled me back into the car.

Second stop: Landing Strip, the locale at which the Riggins brothers as well as Buddy Garrity hang. It is a strip bar, and as it was the middle of the day and Lisa and I were without a man (as an excuse to enter), we merely creeped around the entrance and enjoyed it from the outside. Being in Texas meant not even the hint of lesbian-anity.

Third stop: Broken Spoke. I really don't have anything interesting to say about this joint except that I wanted to return in the evening to enjoy a little honky tonk, but never made it. I am interested in having a dance-off with a local; any local, and so have decided to make this my top priority next trip.

Finally, and most notably, was the burger joint at which most of season 1 was filmed. This place is recognizable as soon as you pull up to it, and Lisa said I in fact jumped out of the car before she had placed it into park. More incredibly, she said that as soon as we walked in, I short-circuited and staring at the ground, turned a complete 360 laughing to myself. I think she's lying because I don't remember any of that. I do, however, remember how I felt as though I were to come crashing out of my own skin when I laid eyes on the restaurant, and for those of you familiar with FNL, you will immediately recognise the location spot in the photos.

In summation, the following picture is worth a thousand words. This was taken by Lisa while we were seated in one of the booths at the restaurant (the staff of which would not let us pay and who wanted to feed us french fries, because of the energy vibeing off of us, no doubt). When C saw this expression, she said: "That's the exact same expression Nora-May had on her face the entire time she was in The Princess Castle".

Nora-May is five years old.

Thank you Lisa.
Love you.
Owe you.

***************
P.S. I have just returned from Costa Rica. I have been getting caught up with everyone and am relatively exhausted and so not very write-y. I promise to make up for this soon enough - thank you for your amazing emails. Love you all.

Dear Taylor Kitsch Wearing Saxx Underwear -

one.female.canuck@mac.com (one female canuck) — Tue, 12 Jan 2010 16:45:00 +0000

Hi!

It's been a while, and that's because I was away in Costa Rica where no one wears plaid, and so I really missed you.
It's kind of official now, by the way, that I have completely blurred the lines between reality and fiction and in my very small head you, Tim Riggins, is actually Taylor Kitsch. (Don't worry about the small head thing though, because other parts of me totally make up for that.)

Mmmm, I received a very funny email while I was gone (in Costa Rica, did I mention? In the jungle. By the water. Maybe you'd like to join me next time? Rain boots & bikinis...) - it was a transcript of an interview you had done, in which you (1) LOL'd when someone asked if you read the Twilight series; and, (2) indicated that you cover your fun parts in Saxx Apparel, whose tag line is: "Show your balls some love". Genius, beyond measure.

And speaking of measure...

I'm kidding...but you know, what with all this talk about your panties, it's sort of inevitable that my small head would be filled with awkward and completely inappropriate thoughts.

Beyond your panty gig, though, is your clear disdain for Twilight. A disdain I share and so yet another reason we ought to be together; a disdain so deep that when I read your response, I started bouncing in my seat and clapping very quickly. Also, I may have been screaming in my small head, with great excitement. (Another reason we belong together? We both like babies - and fyi, for you to keep in mind: not only do I want to birth several, I would also like to rent and lease as many others as possible, please & thank you.)

Finally, last night I got caught up on FNL season 4, episode 8. When you kissed the girl, I couldn't help but think how I would really like to have your perfect mouth on my very small head.

Hugs and squeezes and giggles,
Maha

Comments closed.

Getting 'My Ass to Class' Gets a Whole New Meaning

one.female.canuck@mac.com (one female canuck) — Wed, 16 Dec 2009 21:11:00 +0000

I box twice a week and do my absolute best to make every single class. Short of there being a natural disaster like a flat tire or exhaustion from the donation of blood, I get my ass to class as a nod of respect to my word and to my coaches.

Approximately three weeks back, I was lazy and considered not attending class. I hate the word lazy, and in all fairness, it was more that I was exhausted because I was sleeping very little at the time. Lucky that I went because that evening was the first one in a week that I slept like a (bad ass) baby.

After finishing class, I headed for the world's worst designed change room. In order to get there, I had to walk through the weight area (hello, boys!). The first thing I saw was a man in a wheelchair. I'm not sure of the specifics of his paralysis, but by the atrophy of his arms, I think perhaps that he was once a quadriplegic who slowly regained the use of his arms. He was strapping one arm into the weight machine very slowly.

I didn't catch anything beyond that because I'm not a complete idiot and didn't wish to stare. Also, because over the course of the two seconds I used when I glanced at him, something caught in my chest, made its way to my throat and then exploded. I had started to cry. As I am drenched in sweat by the end of class and usually look as though I forgot to take my clothes off before stepping into the shower, no one could see tears streaming down my face. I quickly bowed my head and ducked into the closest washroom. And I cried. And cried. And kept crying, weeping actually, because I had lost all control over myself.

Boxing for me is a luxury I love to indulge. Truth be told, I don't think about the healthy dimension it adds to my life - most important for me are that it attacks all of the stress in my life, kicking the shit out of it, and as equally important, vanity. Boxing makes my arms pretty and keeps my ass fitting into my size six jeans.

(And on that note,

Dear Anna Wintour,

F*ck You - royally - for thinking it's acceptable to plaster across your latest issue When Size 4 is too big: a curvy model’s struggle to fit in. You're an asshole, and somebody should strap your bony ass into a chair and force-feed you hamburgers, fries and a lot of cake.

Bite me,
Maha)

All I could think was how I had nearly not showed up because I had been tired. I had been tired and had considered not attending class, and instead taking my lazy ass home and relaxing, while there is this amazing and incredible man who can barely move, who can barely make the smallest of movements, fighting and struggling to do just that, at the gym, busting his ass because he has to. Neither for vanity nor stress, but rather because he doesn't have a choice.

He did it.
Repeatedly, he does it.
He makes it to the gym and fights his own body in order to rise above the paralysis one millimetre at a time.

I am still struggling to understand why it affected me as much as it did - even writing this has me near tears. I think, partly it's because I am beyond expression moved by his strength, which outweighs my own, and also because somehow that little window that opened and let me look into his life was one filled with hope.

Before walking out of the washroom, I knew that I had to start getting my ass to class for a different reason; out of respect for this man's personal fight, because clearly, he doesn't have the luxury of lazy and so neither should I.

I try my best not to take for granted anything, but mobility wasn't something I had noticed before. Odd, right?

Now when I move and walk, and I am impatient walking behind the elderly (not to be confused with a slowpoke who still needs to MOVE IT), I check my impatient asshatted self and remember to respect all aspects of what I have, including the luxury to move freely and quickly on my own two feet, alhamdulilah.

I hope you do the same.

**********
Photo courtesy of one amazing Antitude.

Snow Blowers vs. Shovel

one.female.canuck@mac.com (one female canuck) — Tue, 15 Dec 2009 20:09:00 +0000

I did it. With the help of a very lovely neighbour named MING, who may or may not capitalise all letters in his name, which rhymes with KING.

The instructions were clear, and so I:

(1) Inserted the toy key which matches my festive nail polish, see...

(2) Then pushed a squishy thing that supposedly splooshed gas all over something on the inside. I think they're lying about this because I couldn't hear anything happening. Even though I think this instruction is just for fun and really nothing more, I followed it carefully.

In tandem while pushing the squishy three times, I was supposed to ensure that I physically covered some other part of the snow blower. Maybe. I didn't really understand that part and so didn't do it.

Instead, I pushed the squishy six times with the following logic: if something had to be covered, this was because the gas could sploosh outside. Six squishes instead of three ensured that even with the escaping gas, enough splooshed gas remained within to coat whatever.

Smart, yes?

(3) Anyway, then I made sure the slidey bar was atop the rabbit, rather than the turtle.

(4) And that Olga the Snow-blower was being Choked rather than Run. (Weirdo sl*t.)

(5) And finally, I pressed the Start button.

Only, nothing happened. Repeatedly I pressed, but Olga just yelled ME'KH and then stopped talking.

I stood confused.

Across the way was KING MING running around with Olga's older brother. I rolled down my driveway and sidled up to KING MING. As I am the size of a Rice Tank while wearing my parka, as this to-scale drawing confirms, I stood at the bottom of KING MING's driveway and yelled for help.

KING MING very graciously came to assist me and gave me the greatest and most important secret handshake to the world of snow-blowers: GASOLINE.

I didn't have any in Olga.
(You'll have to pardon her inclination for drunk. It is the holidays, after all, and who doesn't like a little punch in their day?)

Rather naively, I assumed that Olga was already full of gas; that she would be delivered as such. Wrong. (And maybe now that I see that before me in print, maybe had she been transported with gasoline inside of her, she would have been hazardous or explosive? I don't know...I'm not smart around the holidays. Sparkle distracts me much too much and I see snow and think that God keeps forgetting to stop dumping icing sugar on us, please and thank you.)

As a final and small end to this, I will say that snow blowing is difficult and lonely and an extreme sport of domesticity. If I could sit on Olga and drive her, I wouldn't mind, but as it stands, Olga doesn't even reverse her ass up like a proper Ho in a 50 Cent video and so she is of little use to me at this time.

My love affair continues with Mr. Shovel. Strong, steady, durable, light and flexible, just as God intended.

Worth Noting

one.female.canuck@mac.com (one female canuck) — Fri, 11 Dec 2009 21:04:00 +0000

That at this same time of the years spanning 2005 - 2008 inclusive, there were moments of deep sadness in my life. Each year, there was a particular thing, for lack of a better word, which I had granted entry into my life (be it an individual or a situation), the consequences of which always ended in some sort of emotional blueness.

This year, nothing. No sadness and no drama, and most definitely no emotional upheavels.

It's the fkng holidays and I am happy and satiated beyond expression.

Yay.

Also, I hope you are as well - and if I am any measure, trust that it will get better. It really, really, really and truly does...even if it takes a few years.

Comments closed.

First snowfall

one.female.canuck@mac.com (one female canuck) — Thu, 10 Dec 2009 02:27:00 +0000

"Serene"
"Lovely"
"Blissful"
"Peaceful"
"Calm"

These are only a few of the words used by folks when discussing the first snowfall of the year. For instance, today I was speaking with someone who described this day as one akin to a "blanket of warmth".

Standing back sipping my coffee I wondered quietly what kind of hashish this individual had smoked, and surely it was laced with something chemical? Because, are you serious?

The first snowfall is oftentimes accompanied by my brothers and sisters Canuck who - having invented the world's warmest winter jacket - can't remember how to drive slowly or carefully and so more often than not, usually kill a few other Canucks during the first 24 hours of this prick we call Winter.

Today is precisely this day in Ottawa, the one for which I have been preparing since early October when I began wearing my very large parka, taking up much too much room on both elevators and buses, suffocating at least one person who dared stand next to me (much in the same way as the effects of quicksand, this is what happens when one is caught in the outer layer of my parka). Really, everywhere I go I take up the same space as a baby elephant. Thanks, Canada Goose.(1)

Since morning, there has been neither calm nor peace. There has, however, been an endless array of sirens and ambulances rushing about in an attempt to keep up with the useless Canuck drivers who keep forgetting how to drive in such weather. As equally bothersome are three other minor sounds: the slobbering of wet pant bottoms across floors and carpets; snow pelting at one's exposed skin including eyeballs; and, the yelps of people as they crash over snowbanks and slide off of sidewalks.

...and one major sound, that of the shovel scraping across the walkways and driveways. The sound most bothersome to your webMum most especially when she is the one generating said noise.

We recently purchased a very pretty snow-blower. It remains pretty and shiny and lovely, sitting quietly in the corner of the garage because I am too afraid to use her. This evening, I walked into the garage and stood quite still in front of the snow-blower, staring at her very hard, willing her to tell me how she is to be used.

If we were in a relationship, she would have said something like: I don't mind if you occasionally have a thing with Mr. Shovel, or even Miss. Broom, depending on the amount of snow that drops. But the moment you need real and serious support, you had better come to me. Or it's over. Because between you and me, that's the only thing that really gets me going...

I walked away from the snow-blower with the same amount of knowledge I had when I approached her - zip. I don't know how to use one and I am in fact scared to use one. They are really loud and look like they could run away if you don't strap them to your arms. And, what if I blow snow in the wrong direction? Like, into the wind? Or at my neighbor? Or in my ear?

Anyway. All the above to say that today was Ottawa's first prick of a snowfall. I shoveled while a beautiful snow-blower sat in the garage warm and cozy. I did this while padded into my parka...and later realized that had I just laid down and rolled across both my walkway and my driveway, the size of me in my parka would have done a better job than Mr. Shovel.

**********
(1) I am rendering null and void my prior thought that Javier Bardem smolders. For the record, please let it show that I now find his head much too large for his shoulders and so think he is creepy looking. Thanks very much.

Dear Dr. Aalya

one.female.canuck@mac.com (one female canuck) — Wed, 09 Dec 2009 17:46:00 +0000

I love you very much and am proud of you beyond words or measure.

I have printed Bordering on Fear: A Comparative Literary Study of Horror Fiction, your 399 page whopper of a PhD, into which I am extremely excited to sink my teeth.

(And to the end of this PhD sojourn, I shall add: Ameen, sister.)
xox

P.S. Entry coming this weekend. Thank you to all for your emails of curious 'wtf are you doing not writing?' and 'when in the hell...'.

Comments closed.

Belated Eid Mubarak (& a screw you, Muslims, Swiss style)

one.female.canuck@mac.com (one female canuck) — Tue, 01 Dec 2009 17:25:00 +0000

Welcome to Switzerland circa 1532, where racism and ignorance reign supreme.
I am so happy that we have come so far in our understanding and intelligence.

Degenerate fkn a**holes each and every one of you who voted in favour of this ban.

Read for a further excellent breakdown here.

I hope this decision will be challenged in a court of law.

Comments closed.

Stupid Hollywood Muppets: Taylor Kitsch leaving FNL?

one.female.canuck@mac.com (one female canuck) — Tue, 24 Nov 2009 02:48:00 +0000

The f*ckery began Friday when M sent me a link to an article which indicated that: (1) FNL is most definitely ending after Season 5; and, (2) Rigglett will not be in much of the final season due to scheduling conflict for some movie on Mars. (You read that right.)

Since the initial trauma of that read, I have received many hysterical emails (thank you, yes, but I beseech** you to please cease and desist) that FNL will be one Rigglett short of a full deck.

Don't get me wrong; I love Billy Riggins, but he has (so far) this season done nothing but fail 26-pack Rigglett. By default, that means that Billy has failed me as well, since Timmy is Master of My Loins. (Q: Do I have loins or is it only men who have loins? Don't have time to Google, so you receive full impact of the air in my head.)

Dear Billy,

Whose gonna pass Timmy his taters from now on, dumbass?
(But, I like you better with short buzzed hair (so well done there).)

xox
Maha

Until further notice, please take a deep breath and focus on the facts:

(1) There is no concrete evidence that Season 5 will in fact be the final season. There is, however, speculation that this will be the case. Speculation and fact are two very different things so chill because you are increasing my hysteria and I can only yell so many times at Baby Jane: "Friday Night Lights CAN'T END EVER. I want to be eighty watching COACH ERIC TAYLOR and his angry walker adventures"; and,
(2) The Stupid Hollywood Muppets - at DISNEY - regulating the schedule for John Carter of Green Planets and Bikini-Clad Girlies (JCGPBCG) have yet to confirm their complete and total ignorance re Tim Riggins as one of the 'connect dots' of FNL. Give them a chance to un-Muppet before you crucify them. They may surprise us, as Muppetts often do.

Dear Friday Night Lights Writers,

Hi.
Me again: MAHA.
The child in whose backyard Riggins is currently living? She needs to put on some pants. Immediately.

Thanks for that.
Maha

Comments closed (I am studying and pounded this out super quick; sorry for errors.).

==========
**Thank you, FNL Podcast for reminding me that the word 'beseech' exists.

On Being A Mean Girl

one.female.canuck@mac.com (one female canuck) — Fri, 20 Nov 2009 17:53:00 +0000

I have been working on developing my World View (WV) and doing my best to make it coherent both in my head and to those I love, and naturally, to anyone who will listen such as the dude on the corner yelling at me asking me if I am a sinner who fornicates...and to whom I am considering giving my url. This WV is a set of principles by which I try to live my life in the best way possible. Naturally, and as one would expect, it has been shaped mostly by the values instilled within Islam.

I finally labelled it a WV sometime over the course of the last two or three years. This happened during a time of struggle when I was trying to make sense of something that was non-sensical; applying the principles to my own behaviour when forced to make my way through the maze of a foggy sense of betrayal.

Always, my primary concern was to ensure that my behaviour was not a reaction to the actions of another, but rather behaviour which was a reflection of my WV. Also, that I started from a position of trusting people and believing their intentions were good, no matter the outcome. Naive, yes, but gentler and softer and kinder than the alternative. I fought against the urge to react as a meanie, when dealing with a meanie; to react as an asshat, when dealing with an asshat; to react as a bully, when dealing with a bully. Unfortunately, at a few days after the turn of the Year of (your) Lord 2009, I lost site of this.

Over the course of a couple of years, and in different circumstance, I had given too much; I had stretched myself so thin on several occasions that my snap-back, when it did finally happen, was severe and extreme. A precise moment in January 2009 was not the only catalyst, but rather the one which broke the camel's back.(1)

I reacted in kind to an action. In fact, it was not 'in kind', but rather 'in extreme kind'.

Why did I do this? Because I had had enough. I had had enough of being kind and good and understanding and forgiving and gracious and trusting, and receiving nothing more than junk trash from some people around me. I did this because I was sick and tired of opening up my heart and making myself vulnerable and then being hurt. I was sick and tired of people recognising the goodness and the trust and taking advantage of it.

I did it because I was hurting and I needed to self-preserve.

More importantly, I did it because I had lost site of my WV and the fact that a huge part of who I am is someone who is in fact kind and good and understanding and forgiving and gracious because that is who I am proud to be, rather than someone who behaves in this way in order to receive the same in return. (Since the later is a fraud and frauds give me hives.)

When I lost site of my WV, I became a different creature, and it was in fact Mama who pointed this out to me. She told me that something about me had changed over the course of this last year - that I had become vicious in my response to people and suspicious of their intentions and that is not the way she raised me. I had lost my inclination to forgive and be understanding and Mama was disappointed in me. This conversation was with respect to a woman I love and admire and hold in the highest regard.

In that moment, sitting across from my mother, something broke inside of me...and at the same time, something greater was solidified. What broke was the Mean Girl, and what was solidified, inshallah was the girl I have always fought to be. (And I will tell you honestly that writing this is making me extremely emotional.)

This was my wake-up call, and the woman I hurt remains at the top of the list of My Three Worst Blowbacks from my ten month asshatery trip. I was cruel and suspicious, and brutally self-centred with a woman I dearly love, a woman who has never ever once in our relationship hurt me, and who, in a moment of complete and total self-delusion, I could have hurt beyond measure.

I couldn't sleep that night because I could see again. I could see that somewhere over the course of the past ten months, there had been a shift in my mind's eye view which affected my behaviour and which led me to believe that I deserved to stop giving, because I had given enough, and now people owed me.

Imagine.
Imagine the self-importance I felt for ten months.
Imagine the asshat - any asshat - who would believe such entitlement? That was me, and I was a Mean Girl Asshat. Oddly enough, it was not conscious of this at the time, instead chalking it up to other people getting what they deserve after I had allowed them to take from me for so long.

I started to only focus on what people gave me from that moment on. In the instance of A, I forgot about our history and every single time she had held me tight until I didn't need to be held anymore. I had become the very thing I have hated since I can remember - entitled. Worse still, I was mean - and let me tell you, my friends, there is an unbelievable capacity within me for cruelty. Again, where A was concerned and through my sense of asshat entitlement, I couldn't see that I needed to give her understanding, patience and time. I needed to give, but instead I wanted to take in a most callous manner.

Ultimately, I failed someone I loved on a scale of Supreme Asshatery. My behaviour in that moment both devastates and shames me.

I lost site of the fact that I have always prided myself on how open and engaging I am with everyone; that I have always been happy to say "I would rather love hard and be hurt hard than love in shades of pale and never feel the full hurt of that loss, and instead be safe and protected".

I lost site of the reality that what should be my only concern ever, is my own behaviour, rather than the behaviour of others, and that made me a judgemental asshat.

I lost site of the foundation of my WV: that I believe in the goodness of people, even in their greatest moments of asshatery, and I work hard to understand them and forgive them and still love them, even though I may choose to no longer have them in my life in any formal capacity. I do this because no one created by God is born with the intention to hurt, and yet we are all guilty of being asshats at different moments in our lives.

And at the end of the day, I have to believe that anyone who has hurt me didn't come into my life with the intention to hurt, but rather they were trying their best and their best somehow managed to hurt me.

To those of you who would take advantage of this sort of thinking and to anyone who believes there is a greater Power, then understand that one day we will deal with a greater Judge than another human being could ever be, and our behaviour and the consequences of that behaviour come full circle and we will be held accountable for taking advantage of goodness and kindness. And, so, as my own eating of humble pie has taught me, gentler, kinder, softer was always the better route, anyway. Deviating from that path at least allowed me the opportunity to solidify that belief.

Take a walk along that street, if you haven't already, and let me know what happens.

**********
(1) One day, I will share with you the story of this catalyst, but not yet as it is much too fresh still.

(Image courtesy of Gen Pren.)

Longhorns defense take a snooze and then experience an Intifadah

one.female.canuck@mac.com (one female canuck) — Sun, 15 Nov 2009 20:19:00 +0000

This is the third and final post to part 1: Longhorns crush Denver & a Canuck learns the secret handshake & remains clueless re Football, unless associated with Taylor Kitsch & COACH ERIC TAYLOR and part 2: Americans throw the pig's skin around and HI! COACH ERIC TAYLOR! .

Intifadah: To awaken from slumber.

Before the game began, pomp and circumstance were the leading culprits on the field. Wherever one looked, there were sad little people wearing costumes which were likely sewn by Lou-Ellen in 1963. Take this gentlemen, as example, and the unfortunate reality of his long torso, as stuffed within his Cowboy Cartoon outfit. No doubt, on a regular day, he rocks his everyday clothes, and so it must be with great distress that he meets UT's insistence to dress as Woody from Toy Story, rather than the Marlboro Man...from my dreams.

Alongside the band was a crew of UT students flopping around next to and beneath the State of Texas flag. Among the more memorable points of the evening was when a few of them were caught beneath the flag. Uncertain as to whether or not they would ultimately survive, I overheard one gentleman cry out 'Oh ma Gawd, them kids is caught'eneath the flag. Fkn BIN LADEN!'

The audience watches as the team comes out on to the field, and as each player slaps the horns of a longhorn beefer hung on the wall. This ritual was not at all a surprise as I have learned from Friday Night Lights, each team has a very specific baptismal right of passage through which each player must enter and exit before hitting the field (e.g., before exiting the locker room, each Panther slaps the 'P' on the wall. PANTHERS SUCK! GO EAST DILLON!). What was wholly unexpected to me was the eruption from the fans; literally, as the images began to float across the Godzillatron, the audience erupted and kept erupting long past the point at which the entire team was on the field. I was so busy being shocked that I in fact missed the Longhorns' run out on to the green.

Before the game began, the Longhorns had a little chat with Jesus, because no one - and I mean no one - pays more attention to Longhorns football games than Jesus Christ (peace be upon him). When it's game night, there is no room for poverty or lepers, war, famine and disease for The Lord; no doubt, he changes from white robe to pumpkin orange robe on game day. (All snarky sarcasm aside, I think it's all kinds of awesome that they say a prayer before the game; I really do. GO LONGHORNS! I'll say a little prayer for you with Allah.)

For the first half of the game, it appeared as though the Longhorns defense were either asleep or drunk. Either way, I was surprised to watch them get their asses kicked all over the field by Denver (or Colorado). So much so that I expected, as COACH ERIC TAYLOR (HI!) would have done on Friday Night Lights, Mack Brown to be Angry Hair Yelling at the team. But he was not; instead, he was mostly squatting and watching and secret-talking into his headset. For those of you who watch Longhorns football, you will have seen the Official Mack Brown Squat, which is him, legs bent, hands on knees, looking like he is ready to go for a poop in a Vietnamese bathroom. My guess is that somewhere behind his bum and atop his hamstrings is an invisible $3M cushion which makes this comfy - the $3M being his annual salary.

Luckily, the Longhorns made a serious and amazing comeback and went on to win the game. I will not bore you with the details of the game itself, as you can find them on line, though I will say I would make an excellent football commentator as I was filled with gems such as "The hell?" "What?" "Are they drunk?" "Is that Billy Riggins?" "Do you know Taylor Kitsch?" "Oh! They're running really fast" "Is my hair ok?" & "Where can I buy a pretzel?".

I won't even tell you the final score since, honestly, I can't remember. I will, however, tell you that for every touchdown, there were cowboys in the corner of the stadium who would fire a cannon...a Longhorns game is not for the faint of heart..after which, this gentleman would run out on to the field and wave the giant Longhorns flag, followed by five others with a flag each, spelling out T E X A S because subtlety is key.

Overall, the experience was amazing and I found myself yelling loudly and with serious pain and excitement and anxiety during the fourth quarter. I had become invested without even knowing it. It helped that I was surrounded by a wonderful group of folks, two of whom are Connie (HI!) and Tams (OLA!). Connie very diligently and awesomely sends me Longhorns updates almost post every game. As of today, the Longhorns have ten wins and zero losses. These boys may just go all the way this year with Mack Brown, making it the Longhorns' second Championship under his coaching (he would only require one more to equal the championships under the leadership of Darrel Royal - whose son, incidentally, was named 'Mack'). If this happens to be the case, I plan on taking all of the credit.

In closing, please enjoy the near-religious-fervor overcoming the crowd after the win; this is a video of the Longhorns fan singing the UT anthem...under my breath, I was singing MC Hammer's Can't Touch This, in my small effort to sing-along.

Hellos from Malibu

one.female.canuck@mac.com (one female canuck) — Fri, 13 Nov 2009 05:05:00 +0000

My camera battery died, shortly before we began our drive along California's Highway 1, and so this is the only video from our California Roadtripping. In fact, the entire photo set (to come) of the drive currently sits on disposable cameras, so I am excited to see their outcome.

Once stories from Austin are wrapped, I will write a few short pieces about California. Enjoy xox.

Roadtripping through California

one.female.canuck@mac.com (one female canuck) — Fri, 06 Nov 2009 03:44:00 +0000

Hi all - Quickie to let you know I will be absent and completely off-line until Thursday November 12.

Emails and berry pings will go unread until then.

Have a good and safe week, please.

xox m

Comments closed.

Update. Point.

one.female.canuck@mac.com (one female canuck) — Wed, 04 Nov 2009 03:02:00 +0000

Remember this entry about The Black T-Shirt?

My coaches read it and consequently reconsidered their 'athletes only' stipulation for the (perfect shade of) black tee.

Since, they have created a black tee for all to enjoy - the 'athletes', such as the weirdly named 'Gee Gees', have on their black tee that they are training for enhancing sport performance, whereas the new non-'athlete' specific black tee - worn by the likes of me - proudly informs the reader that the individual wearing it is in fact a WBK athlete, and I am very happy about this. Happy enough to have screamed really loudly in my head when my coach told me the good news and its direct relation to something I had written.

Why? Because the grueling training that we love and show up for twice weekly should make us some sort of 'athlete' and a WBK athlete can kick your athlete's ass.

Bravo WBK!

**********

Copyright of image belongs to WBK Boxing; I am merely stealing it for illustrative purposes.

Friday Night Lights season 4 premiere

one.female.canuck@mac.com (one female canuck) — Tue, 03 Nov 2009 15:07:00 +0000

Dear Friday Night Lights Writer - here are a few berry messenger notes between Baby Jane and I while watching the season 4 premiere of FNL. Take from the following what you will, including typos (as they were):

Meesho: Angry sunglasses! GO COACH ERI TAYLOR!!!

Meesho: Racoooooon!!!!!

Meesho: Oh I LOVE him for lining the field himself

J. Ho: Him kicking theb door? So funny and cute
Meesho: LOVE him
J. Ho: Knew u would
Meesho: Toooooooooo cute the door kicking!!!! He lloks good in red. Yum. Landry looks good.
Meesho: I love it when he calls boys "son"

Meesho: "six am means quarter till six." Heh.

Meesho: I hated seeing Buddy running next to that stupid golf cart

Meesho: I love Tami - she looks AMAZING

Meesho: Matt has lost too much weight :(

Meesho "billy tater me" nice

Meesho: K wow - the town hall where Tami gets nailed to the wall? I want to smack McCoy's smirk off his face. So insiduous, his character.

Meesho: Landry must have been using a new cleanser over the summer because his face has really cleared up

Meesho: O. M. G. I LOVE his super duper enthusiastic new coach who repeats everything CET says, just louder and more aggressive!

Meesho: Why is JD McCoy drinking and standing with a crack whore?
Meesho: GO MATT beating the shit out of JD
Meesho: I hope that b.tch breaks his arm in three places (JD not Matt)

Meesho: "All I wanted to do was come home"
So sad. So sad my Rigglett :(

Meesho: I really like Devon and I hope they make her a regular

Meesho: He's going to have a rough year, Rigglett - self discovery, I hope

Meesho: "Landry, stop throwin the ball, you look like a girl...just a funny lookin' creature you are."
GO GRANMAW!!

Meesho: "GET OUT O MY HOUSE"
Wow
Wow
Wow
Meesho: The entire scene with CET telling the asshats to get the hell out of his house RIGHT NOW
Goosebumps
J.ho: me too
J.ho: A lot
J.ho: That was a crazy scene
J.ho: He's an amazing actor

Meesho: love the look on rigglett's face when asked if the woman he just screwed would be able to drive anytime soon
Meesho: He needs to gain a little bit of weight

Meesho: "You need to stop doin that. You need to stop repeating everything I say. You're freakin me out." Awesome.

Meesho: O first coach defects from Panthers to East!
Meesho: GO EAST DILLON!!!!

Meesho: Tami has caught every single game he's ever coached? That's so frigging cool.

Meesho: JULIE SHOOTS AND SCORES!!! She is wanting to go to East Dillon! I am so proud of her. So proud.

Meesho: When that kid said that CET sounded like an infomercial, I nearly hit my screen And think it safe to say that I would have beat that boy down in CET's house if I had overheard him

Meesho: I think that they asked Tami to flip the coin so that she wouldn't be with CET to support him
The bastards!
I hope the Panthers LOOSE!!!!
Oh!
She knows it too!!!!
Meesho: She just flipped and won the coin toss and asked for the OPPOSITE of what they wanted her to ask for
I love tami
LOVE HER
What a woman this character is

Meesho: Landry should be the Captain
Meesho: Coach is angry yelling and his hair is CRAZY. I dig.

Meesho: OMG East Dillon is so sad...But they're red and so they will beat out cold creepy BLUE
O Coach just stuck his finger in Landry's mouth HEH!
BOO it must have broken his heart to forefeit

Meesho: Gah
Meesho: Gah
Meesho: GaaaaaAAAAAkkkkKKKK
Meesho: It's already OVER!!!!!!!
Meesho: NOooioooooooooioIO
Meesho: I'm so sad now
Meesho: I love Coach Eric Taylor
Jho: wasn't it good?
Jho: It sped by
Jho: Forfit
Jho: Must have killed him
Meesho: KILLED him
Meesho: Imagine the sex he and Tami had that night?
Meesho: I wish they would make FNL-porn
J. Ho: Ha!
J.ho: That's hilarious
J.ho: Friday night lightsl out

Comments closed.

Peace Negotiations at the Doctor's Office

one.female.canuck@mac.com (one female canuck) — Mon, 02 Nov 2009 14:09:00 +0000

I am writing this on the berry directly into Blogger, so please pardon the spelling errors and grammar flubs.

I am here for an annual check-up and it seems that tempers are high and patience is low.

A walk-in patient was taken in before a woman with an appointment. The woman with an appointment very aggressively challenged the walk-in's husband (still seated outside in the common area). A combination of 'your wife shouldn't have gone in before me' to 'she was an emergency case, you don't get to make that call' was fine, though annoying.

Suddenly, it becamse 'shut up' to 'no, I think you'd better shut up', too loudly and aggressively for any good to come of it.

Clearly, we'd just stepped into the Middle East peace negotiations.

I am seated in a slightly separate area, though we could all see one another. As soon as the 'shut up's were introduced, I put my book down and went over to calm both cartoon characters down since the nurses and admin assistants were merely watching in fascination.

When I first threw my hat into the ring, the husband turned his aggression toward me. Thankfully, I somehow pulled the right comments out of my ass and he laughed and I was able to sit next to Woman-With-Appointment and cool both of their shit down.

No more than 5 minutes it took to confirm they weren't angry at one another, but rather the administration. Also, that it was Monday and no one wanted to start their week off being told to shut up. And that it was rude to do so, under any circumstance where the players are above the age of 7.

When they focussed their attention on The Man rather than one another, I excused myself to come here and tell you, because I think there's an important lesson to be learned: honestly, and without tongue in cheek, if peace is what you want to find, then peace is precisely what you'll get. (There's usually almost always common ground, if you're interested in finding and owning it - even with the greatest of asshats. We just need to care enough, and I sometimes find it easier with a stranger who I don't know from a hole in the wall, than with someone I know personally who has hurt either myself or someone I love.)

As the Woman-With-Appointment left, she said "thanks for stepping in...I was getting nervous because I don't think he was going to stop", and as the husband was leaving, he flipped me a thumb's up and offerred a "you did good, kid".

Score:
Maha 1
Week 0

*Sigh*. I wish COACH ERIC TAYLOR (HI!) had been here to witness my -clearly - supreme negotiation skills.

Part 2: Americans throw the pig's skin around and HI! COACH ERIC TAYLOR!

one.female.canuck@mac.com (one female canuck) — Sat, 31 Oct 2009 21:17:00 +0000

This is part two to Longhorns crush Denver & a Canuck learns the secret handshake & remains clueless re Football, unless associated with Taylor Kitsch & COACH ERIC TAYLOR.

**********

The Stadium
After washing my banana down with the last drops of my citrus honey tea, I walked into the stadium which is bigger than the official Senators stadium here in Ottawa. I was stunned, partly due to the banana headache and also due to the sheer magnitude of this place.

One hundred thousand people and I was the third one to walk into the stadium. Fun Fact: University of Austin has an approximate student body of 50,000. Of these, 49,881 are Asian, whereas the other 119 - a mix of boys named Vondrell and Patrick - sit on the Longhorns' football roster. (I did that without a calculator.)

Taking the half an hour stroll to my seat, I walked past the Longhorns' mascot, a bull (or something similar to) named Bevo. I was too scared to go near it and so don't know if it was in fact inside of its car. Surely this thing had bananas?

I arrived at my seat and noticed it was bare, whereas some other seats had these awesome and comfortable looking pumpkin orange leather cushions with backs. Naturally, I grappled with one in an effort to pull it over to my seat because I thought 'First come, first served'. While struggling to move the comfy bum-cushion, I was told - rather gently - that these seats one had to purchase and so, in essence, what I was trying to do was steal someone else's seat.

I could have been shot for doing this, because that's what they do in Texas.

Anyway, the old man who told me was nice enough to take my picture, as a memento of this near-thieving occasion. I was trying to take one of the seats to my right, as you can see in the picture.

First the banana, and then a cold ass. Wicked.

But you know what's more important than my cold ass? The GODZILLATRON. Texans are very creative and imaginative when it comes to the naming of things - like their children when they call them Colt, Cody, or my favorite? Hunter, because Texas is The Days of Our Lives and everyone within lives their realities in technicolor. And for those who don't? There's capital punishment.

Luckily, my ass didn't stay cold for very long, because hello, college boys, all athletic and in tight clothes and without sleeves. This is Team Colorado or Denver - I'm actually not sure which and that's how much attention I was paying. They are very smart, as you can see by their chosen outfits. GO SLEEVELESS!

Giddy and smiley I remembered I could take video. Notice what happens to my sense of focus at around the 25 second mark.

I was also quite nearly rendered deaf by the sound of techno music being blasted through the stadium. I dunno, but it must be something specific to Texas because the Denver boys were making fun of the music and dancing as though at a rave. (This very made me nearly scream TEAM DENVER! because they were so funny.)

But enough about the losing team, Denver, and instead, let's next take a peek at the Longhorns warming up. (I almost video'd them praying before they crushed Denver, but thought it would just serve as another reason for me to have my ass shot off by a Texan.)

The Set-Up: Key Players
Before ending this spazy commentary, I would like to introduce you to all key players who make the Longhorns the team that they are today.

Jesus, may peace and blessings be upon him. (As a Muslimah, I do not concur with the sandy-blonde and fair skinned fella many y'all pray to and so there shall be no image of this man on this site.)

Mack Brown, the legend himself as he appears on the GODZILLATRON:

And then later in his angry headset: (COACH ERIC TAYLOR wears it better. HI!)

Other important people milling about. Mostly, they run ahead of the team as the team gets on the field and they yell and scream and cheer them on. They say things like JESUS LOVES YOU! and WIN THIS FOR JESUS!:

There was also this guy, who was just sort of an interesting guy because he didn't yell or scream, but he did look like he belonged there and could crush Denver all by himself. Also, he's very attractive, yes?

Another Coach who, suspiciously, looks very much like Mack Brown and has the same skin coloring as Jesus (coincidence or conspiracy? You decide.):

A supremely old dude who clearly refuses to use either a cane or a walker. I took his photo because he is so very old...and between you and I, I wonder if he is still living:

One of the ESPN cameramen who bring you your pigskin and who stands on a zippy platform that...zips...at very high and aggressive speed:

And two of the three young men who likely get the most action in the State of Texas and who carry the weight of the world on their shoulders...QB1 Colt McCoy, who didn't impress me much:

& WR Jordan Shipley, who impressed me to the point of jaw-dropping hurrah-ing (remember this kid's name because very soon, he will become among the elite of the NFL):

Missing from these pictures is the image of the third young man - RB Vondrell McGee - who works with the rest of the team to kick the shit out of every other football team in the Big 12. Vondrell also impressed me to the point of jaw dropping hurrah-ing, and I expect that he too will soon enough become among the elite of the NFL, and his is a name you should remember.

**********
Next up is Part 3: The Game.

Geeking Out in Advance of Coach Eric Taylor & Taylor Kitsch

one.female.canuck@mac.com (one female canuck) — Wed, 28 Oct 2009 02:40:00 +0000

Dear Friday Night Lights Writers,

I understand that you are removing Matthew Saracen from Dillon.

So help me God if you asshats kill off Granmaw Saracen.

The end,
Maha

Dear COACH ERIC TAYLOR,

HI! How are you? I am so very very good because you're back tomorrow.

HI!

I hope you will be wearing your angry man shorts and your angry eyebrows. Also, I hope that Buddy Garrity will defect from the Dillon Panthers and love the East Dillon Giraffes instead.

GO EAST DILLON!

Love,
Maha

Dear Principal Tami Taylor,

Hi, how are you? I have missed our long conversations. So much so that earlier today? I sent an email to Baby Jane in which - and among other things, of course, Tami - I wrote out TAMI TAYLOR'S BOOBS! in 36 size bold violet font. I was communicating to Baby Jane how excited I am to see you tomorrow.

She misses you too, Tami.

I hope you wear them high and proud, sister.

Hugs and kisses,
Maha
P.S. Remember how a while back I told you that we were thinking of going somewhere and we'd love for you to come with us? Well, we've decided to go kayaking in the Pacific, zip-lining through the rain-forest and hiking up volcanoes in Costa Rica over Christmas. WANNA COME?

Dear Taylor Kitsch,

For tomorrow night's Season 4 premiere, I bought a new dress in your honor.
It is plaid and with snap buttons and clearly shows how big my brain is.

I really hope you like it.

Love,
Maha

Are you watching Friday Night Lights yet, kittens?

Comments closed.

Longhorns crush Denver & a Canuck learns the secret handshake & remains clueless re Football, unless associated with Taylor Kitsch & COACH ERIC TAYLOR

one.female.canuck@mac.com (one female canuck) — Sun, 25 Oct 2009 19:45:00 +0000

Note: This is entry no 1 of 2, as the story is too long for one spell.

**********

Fascist Blogger thought my original title was too long and so forced me to cut it short. This should have been called 'Longhorns crush Denver & a Canuck learns the secret handshake, becomes an honorary Austinite (& yet manages to remain clueless re Football, unless associated with Taylor Kitsch's Riggins and Kyle Chandler's COACH ERIC TAYLOR), part 1 of 2'.

I do hope that changing its name at the last minute hasn't given this entry an identity crisis which will land her in the beds of strangers when she is a young teen, begging for love in all of the wrong ways.

Whatever.
FOOTBALL!
Pigskin football in all its fanatic-fueled glory.

The Tailgate
There was, originally, the intent to head over and crash tailgate parties in the main UT parking lots. Unfortunately, that day was the day I was (wonderfully) lost in the streets of Austin for six hours, and so my little feet weren't excited about the prospect of propping my ass up for anything beyond critical mass. Rather than spending 2 hours experiencing the 'tailgate', I instead managed 30 minutes cruisin' for a bruisin', only without the bruising.

Interesting this tailgate phenomenon, the likes of which exist minimally in Canada. As we are a nation of hockey lovers, and hockey is played on the ice, and a hockey season spans 18 of the 12 months of the year, Canadians tend to drunk inside of the arena, rather than in its parking lot. They may do things differently in the Country of Calgary, but that's their problem, readers. (Re 'drunk', I did not use the incorrect vowel; re '18', I did not use the wrong number.)

Tailgate is the celebration pre and often post game. Wandering around, I was offered at least seven beers from random strangers. Certainly, they felt sorry for my sad state of citrus honey tea in a Jo's cup, but I was sick and so sinning against my Islam would have to wait until post antibiotic completion. (I may or may not be lying.)

To them, I was an obvious out-of-towner, which struck me as strange because I was in jeans and leather boots, waving and smiling at everyone, which in my limited understanding of Texans, is precisely what they do. As soon as someone caught site of me, I was asked "Where you from? Come have a drink." I would chalk this up to drunk folks waiting for a game, but in all honesty, I believe it attributed more to Texas warmth and generosity.

Because of this warmth, I felt awkward about my camera and didn't take too many pictures. Amazing this, as I am usually completely oblivious to the social graces of picture taking. During my first trip to Vancouver, I asked a homeless man - with whom I was sharing my lunch and his bench - if he would mind smiling while we had our picture taken. (I may or may not be lying.)

Apart from the bar-b-ques in the lots and the massive tents, there was everything ranging from little picnics on blankets to corporate parties fully catered with a serving staff. The one thing everybody had in common was the Longhorns color of pumpkin orange. It was a sea of pumpkin pie as far as the eye could see and if I could have, I would have been hanging out in the handstand position so as to ensure that my own pumpkin leather colored boots were added to the top of that sea. As I am a weakling, I couldn't do this, so instead walked while inconspicuously kicking up my legs as high as possible. (I may or may not be lying.)

The Entry
They frisk you before letting you into the stadium and coaching you on The Secret Handshake of The Longhorns, which, by the way, I refused to use until the very end, choosing to instead use The Maha Longhorns Secret Handshake comprised of index fingers by the temples, wiggling. More on this later.

So, they frisk you to ensure you're not carrying alcohol or anything illegal (and off of which they can't make more money inside of the stadium, such as food). I wasn't allowed to take in either my tea or my banana. You read that right - my banana, which is not code for anything sexual, but rather the same sustenance enjoyed by our simian brothers and sisters.

Bananas were working for my sore throat, and even though they did not sell bananas inside of the stadium, I wasn't allowed to take it in with me.

I attempted the tried, tested and true "I'm Canadian", but still, the Longhorns Stadium Police weren't allowed to let me in. In their defense, they were very nice about it and apologized for their entirely money-driven rules.

Because 95,000 seats and 95,000 t-shirts and 95,000 leather attachment seats, and 95,000 beers, and 95,000 pretzels, and 95,000 water bottles and ESPN paying to film per game doesn't generate the same cash flow as the absence of one banana and citrus honey Jo's tea. So...before I was granted entry in to the infamous Longhorns stadium which seats 95,000 fanatics and serves as home to one of America's greatest football teams, I stood to the side and defiantly and with much pride and honor, ate that banana while declaring "YUM-ME" to every passerby.

Maintaining my Texans Behave Like This focus, I also kept up my spirited waving and smiling at all while declaring "I'm Canadian and don't know shit about football. I'll see you inside! OH, wait! Have you seen COACH ERIC TAYLOR? YUM-ME!".

**********
Part 2: The Stadium & The Game, coming next...and then, Friday Night Lights with Lisa. I will leave you with this preview of the first of many...most of which I can not recall anymore...goose-bump raising moments on the field - the entry of Denver to techno rave music.

Friday Night Lights - Season 4 premieres in five days

one.female.canuck@mac.com (one female canuck) — Fri, 23 Oct 2009 14:49:00 +0000

Go East Dillon!

Are you watching yet?

Also, download Revelry by Kings of Leon.
This song, like Friday Night Lights, breaks my heart every time. It's also one of the very few songs that makes me wish for a boy with whom to dance.

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