02 January 2010

It's TWENTY-ten, and I've packed my game face.

We at The Scrappy Octopus turned over the calendar yesterday and, after getting over our epic but much-deserved hangovers, performed an ancient, spiritual ceremony to cleanse both our physical and mental selves of the toxins of the year past. In other words, we collected the following items, grabbed the closest metal barrel, and lit the motherfucker ablaze:

1. Our Owl City CD. (Just kidding. There's no way we'd torch this. We're getting into this all-natural trend and trying to avoid ingesting excessive chemicals, so we use "Fireflies" as our own panacea for impacted bowels. Works like a charm.)

2. Our first-aid kit--because we're fucking sick of injuries, and we're outlawing them. I'm not going to try to make a joke here because this isn't funny.

3. Our stalker-esque diary we've maintained, chronicling our unrequited correspondence between ourselves and Georges Laraque. Ever since we stumbled upon this website and realized that the love of our lives had been so close, and yet so far, for so long, we've been unable to sleep at nights. So many restless evenings, I've found myself pacing in a dreamlike state on my widow's walk, wearing my very best prairie cult frock, performing an interpretive dance of the fury that rages both in my heart and in my loins for Mr. Laraque. I've written him many times, setting my words of passion and truth onto parchment with my finest quill pen set, only to get in return, at first, mere silence, then a stern warning from Mr. Laraque's alleged "legal counsel", and, finally, a formal writ to cease and desist from the proper authorities. Sigh. Such is the rollercoaster that is love. Alas, we're moving onward and upward, the details of which shall be discussed anon. Now that I've set afire the record of my blunders of the heart, maybe I will be able to achieve a peaceful state of mind once more.

4. Our Stanley Cup Finals 2009 gear. Yeah, it qualifies, even though it feels like a lifetime ago. Gone in the fire--now it officially never happened.

5. All whistles have been sent to the furnace. Got a problem with it? Intend to blow me.

6. The memory of Tomas Kopecky ever playing for the team. Why now, of all times, to choose to forget about him? Because he hasn't done shit for Chicago. I know, it seems counterintuitive, but trust me: The way my petty brain works, if he had been succeeding under Q-Factor's tutelage, I would vow never to back down and never to get scared.

7. Wait, Claude Lemieux was on a figure skating show? And he almost won? HilARious. Balls, I must have forgotten that already. Thank Christ for my lame but apparently crucial "Octopus Ink" to remind me of all the things that have pissed me off in my time writing here. To the fire!

8. Once upon a time, I publicly proclaimed that I fucking hated Ville Leino. I was wrong. My tortured soul confused "hate" with unadulterated, animal lust. (Yep, this counts as discussing it "anon".)

9. I once posted a photo of Finn the Whale on here. I apologize profusely. Never again.

Tonight, the Wings play their first game of the new year in Phoenix; most recently, they trumped the Avs at home with a 4-2 win on New Year's Eve. Mr. Leino himself netted a goal, and while I don't want to toot my own horn, I would like to say that I got a direct Tweet from him after the fact saying that he credits his good luck with wearing his lady's favors beneath his armor (read: he totally had the panties that I sent him on his person).

A few New Year's resolutions on TSO's part:

1. To write more consistently than we have over the past month or so. The fact that we won't be tripping off candy cane highs and eggnog lows should help.

2. To figure out finally how to pronounce Mattias Rittola's name. For shame, I never know if I have it correct.

3. To reenact this with Vilster (Did...did they just say what I think they did? It couldn't be...):

4. To live to see Nicklas Lidstrom score a goal. I'm beginning to believe Johan Franzen Halley's Comet Jesus Christ will return sooner.

5. Can January be the next April?


  1. ree-toh-lah. And roll on the "r"

  2. Oh there are so many reasons to love here. And so many people to love. In fact, Natalie, this list seems to prove that you've loved a lot of them yourself in 2009. Can we expect more affection in 2010? *grin*


    Don't ever ever do that to me again!!

  4. Nick would have had a goal or two if Homer didn't get in the way, that greedy goal-hogging chipmunk. :)

    He played great, though, and I'm happier to see that.

  5. Owl City is the worst. ever.

  6. Keep sending him underwear! For that matter, why don't you just send a pair of frillys to the whole team? We're gonna win that cup with thongs, bitches!

  7. Andy, I second the motion for your Swedish pronunciation key. That needs to happen stat. How else am I going to get to be the boss of Swenglish? I mean, Homer and I don't really do much...talking.

    Jenny and Christine, absolutely. Ville Leino isn't going to love himself. Ugh. Wait...

    Maxie and Brian, I get a thousand hugs. From ten thousand lightning bugs. And then I ralph.

    Baroque, I so thought Nick had the second Homer goal. Can you imagine if he and #82 of the Blackhawks (who?) had made an ass of me twice in the exact same night? Yikes.

    MonsterRawr, good idea. He did say something weird, though, about not wanting to wear out the good luck charm, so I have a feeling I'm going to have to invest in a wide variety of unmentionables to ship his way. I just hope I don't get Brian's banana hammock mixed up in the shuffle.

  8. I just tried to follow the disco routine here in my office. Harder than it looks, especially once he starts getting heavy into the laterals.

    Also, I can't pin down the reasoning for why the "silver fox" and his lady are so far apart. Is this a Catholic school "leave some room for the holy ghost" endorsement? Has the love gone wrong between those two? ...or is there so much heat that the room would explode if they got too close?

    This just move to the top of things I'm working to figure out in 2010.

  9. Rob, I think that's definitely a do. Please keep me up to speed on your findings. My suspicion? They were both tripping on an excessive amount of blow and various club pills that they didn't even realize they were in the same time zone as one another.

    In any event, when Ville and I reenact it, we'll be much, much, MUCH closer.