For a pretty girlie girl, I like sports. I'll be honest, I don't keep up with any sport. I keep track of a SINGLE team (the Mavs). I can't discuss the finer points of trades or the value of sports' impact on society. I do, however, enjoy games. I enjoy being part of the crowd--being caught up in the moment, yelling some unintelligible phrase at the top of my lungs, and the ever so slight rush of adrenaline.

This week at work I received two tickets to the Stars game on the 26th. I know nothing about hockey...outside of Wayne & Garth enjoyed playing it in the street (Car! game on!). I know the Stars play at the same venue as the Mavs & Mike Madano is supposed to be a big deal & not because he married Willa Ford.

I thought long & hard about who to invite. A list of local guy friends ran through my mind... The decision was obvious. A friend who would be on level ground with me: Maggie. We're equally clueless about hockey. We'll both be overdressed for the occasion. We'll make up things to yell as we pound our fists in the air. Chances are we'll end up discussing some independent film or trafficking rather than know what's going on in the game. It should be fantastic.

If you're an actual hockey fan, I apologize. You probably feel that the tickets are going to waste. I promise I will do some research before I go...and not just watch "The Mighty Ducks." I will try my best to adhere to proper hockey etiquette. I will try to be a fan. I won't distract the real fans. I'll be good...or as good as a sleep deprived, slightly delirious lady can be at a hockey game

a tad delirious

I LOVE what I'm doing at work---words fail at successfully communicating how much I LOVE what I'm getting to do. With the hours at work increasing, my hours of rest/free time/sleep have diminished exponentially. This means I'm off my game. Really off my game--if you thought I was random before, you should have a conversation with me now.

Everything to me is funny today. I'm talking to people, stifling giggles, and being very confused as I have NO IDEA what's making me laugh...which makes me laugh even harder. This, of course, creeps the person out. Then there's damage control--thankfully, I still have enough game left to talk my way out of the awkward situations.

A ridiculous but grand type of mood is dominating the exhaustion. I'm waiting for the moment I pass out. I can see it now: I'm laughing about something or other and BOOM! I'm on the floor, passed out, and possibly drooling. yikes--not too pretty.

Obviously that's worst case scenario--I sincerely doubt anything remotely close to that happens. Chances are I'll finish out the day with a sore throat from laughing and end up going to sleep *hopefully* before midnight.

My unhealthy love...

Thursday was the annual Fan Jam. Like any adoring fan, I was pumped all day. I raced home from work, slipped into my Harris shirt, and headed out to meet some friends. On my way, I was hit by a semi. No worries--it wasn't like a t-bone collision or anything...just a "gentle" brush. On my back passenger door, you can admire the dent & the scraped paint.

For any normal girl, this would have been the beat down of the day. I, however, didn't even bother to check out my car--I didn't have time; we were running late. This was my first sign that I may have an unhealthy love for the Mavericks.

Today my morning hasn't been the brightest. My outlook reminder popped up: Preseason starts tonight with the Spurs at the AAC. My day suddenly became brighter! Now if I could wrangle some tickets, it may even turn out to be the best Tuesday of October...

work

Apparently my work ethic has died. This a shame. I had a really good, strong, solid work ethic for years. I was capable, confident, efficient, and effective. Last week I noticed a change. I wanted to play MASH online(you remember the game from fifth grade: mansion, apartment, shack, house) and listen to Silverchair rather than be productive. Now it may be alarming that a 25 year old woman was playing mash (give me some credit--I did various versions: rock star, nba, elementary crushes, etc and had some extremely creative choices) but my attitude was even more alarming: I wasn't joyful and I was easily frustrated.

After my three day weekend, I decided this morning I should try to revive my work ethic. So after adding some music to my itunes library, checking the Chuck Norris fact generator, and sending a text message, I went straight to work--blogging.

I think I need someone to shake me & say: "what's your deal? sb, this isn't you! get to work!" I think I may end up organizing an intervention for the end of this week. Does that count as being productive? My attitude is much too flippant I fear. I'm honestly not concerned about my dead work ethic...maybe this means I should concentrate on finding a sugar daddy...

Singing Silverchair

I love Silverchair. I remember in ninth grade being introduced to the greatness of "Frogstomp" by Nizhoni. (This is the same girl who introduced me to Salt-n-Pepa in fifth grade--also a life changing introduction.) I thought they were raw, cute, and musical geniuses. This was during my "artistic" phase so anyone I deemed as a musical genius was a crush.

Not only were they musical geniuses, all of their songs were like my soul poured out & put to music...or so I thought. I wanted to listen to nothing but Silverchair, Fiona Apple, and Bush (and Hanson but I was a closet fan--a girl couldn't like Silverchair & Hanson and still be respected as "deep"). They spoke to me, moved me, and made me feel remarkably connected to the world yet isolated at the same time.

This summer Silverchair released their fifth studio album: Young Modern. The first single, "Straight Lines", is fantastic. I find myself humming it in the halls. I start singing, "lately I'm a desperate believer but I'm walking in a straight line," when I think the classes aren't listening. So far every class has caught me trying to sing under my breath.

I wish I could type this only happens with Australian bands...truth is it happens all of the time. I tend to pick one song that I love for about two weeks & I sing it all of the stinking time. Last week I was fixating on Fiona Apple's "Extraordinary Machine". It makes me wonder if I'll get a Hanson or Bush song from the late nineties stuck in my head for the next couple of weeks.

Until then: "I don't need no time to say There's no changing yesterday If we keep talking and I keep walking in straight lines Wake me up lower the fever Walking in a straight line Set me on fire in the evening Everything will be fine Wake me up strong in the morning Walking in a straight line Lately I'm a desperate believer But walking in a straight line."

blogging

I'm a horrible blogger. When I first started blogging six years ago, I was ambitious. I was going to change the world one post at a time. I was going to post intriguing questions, amusing stories, and make people world wide say a collective "hmmm..." After the first few posts I tended to post my thoughts on things such as pink hair ribbons (why it's almost always a good call), why intramural sports was a great way to see the true character of a person, and how grateful for my metabolism I truly was.

As the posts continued to decline in quality, I thought I'd take a sabbatical. No more blogging for others pleasure. I would only blog when something moved me. Or when I had cute pictures to post. Or when I was inclined to brag about a date. You see the pattern.

I like to think I've gained a little perspective since then...I mean one must pick some up in the course of six years along the way. I like to think my posts will be well written and actually make a point. However, I don't like to lie to myself: I'm not 5'10", I'm not dating Devin Harris, I won't post everyday, and my posts won't make sense. That's the truth.