I'm Gonna Make You Sweat

As you may have noticed by my lack of posts in the "Work It Out" (shout out to anyone who got that Beyonce reference from the Austin Powers 3 soundtrack- represent) section of this blog, I have sort of fallen off the workout wagon. I'm about as far away from the wagon as you can get. In fact, I am probably under the wagon, getting run over by it as we speak.

I worked hard for a whole two weeks leading up to my friend Amy's wedding. And by worked hard, I mean I went to the gym maybe 3 times a week for 14 days straight. It was a matter of life and death. Well, life and death a $200 bridesmaid dress that didn't exactly fit. But I'm happy to say, after putting in the least amount of effort possible, I successfully was able to breathe in my dress and kept my husband from having a panic attack over the cost of alterations.

so honored to be a bridesmaid. & pretty excited about the whole breathing thing

I determined using a highly inaccurate $15 plastic scale from Wal-Mart that I lost 3 pounds. Ironically, I think that is also the same amount of wine I consumed that weekend (before you judge, it was at a winery) and needless to say, I haven't been back to the gym since.

And then this happened:

which one of these is not like the other?

My (little) sister was in a pageant this weekend (2nd runner up, what what) and her body looked more amazing then I have ever seen her look before. So did the majority of the 37 other girls, who I had to watch strut in bathing suits and skintight evening gowns for 2 days straight. After being forced to sit there and stare at people in bikinis for that amount of time, you can't help but want to crawl into a hole and die. Especially when some of them look like this:

yes, there were props.

Okay so it wasn't exactly like that, but the girls were all accessorized in their bathing suits, and most of them were wearing body jewelry and feather wings. It was awesome and ridiculous at the same time.

To be fair, my sister had been working her ass off preparing this and doing a million things I would never want to do in a million years, like hot yoga and eating brown rice. I was also wearing a bulky sweater, cuffed boyfriend jeans, and flats. I couldn't have looked more like a dowdy sister. Except I could, because I also didn't wash my hair. So I had pretty much set myself up for failure.

The next morning, for some strange reason I had the urge to go to the gym. Weird. I asked my trainer/roommate/personal chef if he wanted to accompany me, to which he looked at my quizzically.

Steve: Did you only ask me to go to the gym because you saw all those girls in the pageant in their bathing suits?

Me: Uh, no. *insulted* Why do I need a reason? You're always telling me I should go.

Steve: Okay, well you've never asked me before.

Me: *pause* I just... really want to go. I have an urge to exercise.

Steve: Yeah, okay.

So we get up bright and early before I have to work that day and go to the gym together. Isn't that adorable?

BUT WAIT.

What could ruin this otherwise successful couple workout session?

That's right. WEIGHT LIFTING MAN!

I had sent Steve to the office to commandeer the Christmas cards that the apartment people had been hiding from us for over a week. I was in there for all of 2 seconds by myself when he saunters in and starts furiously wiping the machine down...RIGHT.NEXT.T0.ME. He really gets into it, too. I can never get over how much time he spends sanitizing the four different machines he insists on using, when in my mind I'm convinced that he has never washed his workout jeans or his little hat.

I quickly texted Steve.

omg he's here

and he's going to use the machine right next to me

and he's EXTRA loud today

It was nothing new, just the usual grunting, heavy breathing and flexing in front of the mirror. But it's totally magnified when it's like, on top of you and you're trying to mind your own business and you're worried about tiny beads of sweat jumping out of his fleece jacket and onto your Glamour "Women of the Year" issue that you look forward to all year long for inspiration to become a better person. The only difference that day was that Clingy Girlfriend was not in attendance. Maybe they're working on their trust issues that I have concocted in an effort to explain their very unusual relationship. If you have no idea what I'm talking about, see link above.

Side note: I CAN'T BELIEVE I FORGOT TO TELL YOU THIS! Steve came running into the apartment one day after working out all excited. I thought he saw a puppy or something, but it was better: he walked into the gym, and standing in front of him was... wait for it...

Weight Lifting Man flexing while Clingy Girlfriend took pictures of him ON HER CAMERA PHONE! Steve walked right into their photo shoot without even realizing it.

Couldn't you just die? I was so bitter- I mean, the one millionth time I don't go to the gym, and this shows up?! My favorite part is that Steve is so into spotting WL Man now as well and he knows that it makes good blog fodder. He actually told me he almost texted me to put on my workout clothes and get down there ASAP so that I could see if for myself.

Okay, back to current WL Man sighting. The more time I spend with him, the more I am confused by his workout regimen. Clearly you know about his ensemble per previous entries. More recently I noticed that he never drinks water at all when he is exercising. Isn't that bizarre?! I drink a full glass of ice water once I get up the three flights of stairs to my apartment. I suck down bottles in the gym because I have a fear of perspiration. I mean, regardless of how you feel, that's super unhealthy, right?! As a devoted viewer of The Biggest Loser for the past 17 seasons or however the hell long that show has been on, I consider myself something of an expert when it comes to observing a person's exercise routine. And all I can say is, Bob Harper would most certainly not approve, and neither would Brita, who insists on reminding us 23 times an episode to buy their filters.

I now have a new personal gym goal. I am determined to get a picture of WL Man, because I don't feel like my descriptions are even doing him justice. (You didn't think I mean like, a fitness goal, did you?) I'm slightly scared though, because I'm not very stealth and what if he caught me and in a roid-induced rage he snapped me like a twig and I was never heard from again? I have to figure something out, because it's something you just have to see.

Back to me. I did my usual 30 minutes on the elliptical at level 3. And no, I haven't started thinking about maybe going up to level 4 yet. Don't ask.

On the plus side, my half an hour flew by because I spent so much of the time making notes about WL Man on my iPhone.

I spared you a picture of my workout outfit, mainly because I was wearing unintentionally high waisted black stretchy pants and my XL Pinkerton Class of 2003 shirt, and it was not cute.

Also, this exercise experience happened on Monday. It's Wednesday and I have not returned. And I've had 3 meals in the past 2 days that largely were comprised of cheese. I'm sure that will all change, because I am a visual person and am largely motivated by things I see rather than how I feel, and I've been saving the Victoria's Secret holiday fashion show on DVR for such moments of weakness.

World Peace!

Hit Me With Your Best Slap Shot

I've been married almost a year now, and while that seems like a substantial amount of time, there are some things that we do not share. Like toothbrushes. That totally freaks me out. I don't care how long you're married for, I just think that is gross. *Shudder* Wait, what was I talking about?

Oh right, sharing. So one of the biggest things we have not shared yet in our post nuptial life is the elusive Bruins/Canadiens game. For those of you who don't know, that is the hockey equivalent to the Red Sox/Yankees rivalry. I've gone to a fair amount of Bruins games over the past 6 years that I have known Steve, but I kind of didn't realize the importance of a game like this. This is my interpretation of how the exchange went in which he informed me I would be his official "date" to the event. Yes, event.

would you care to join me for an a very special evening?

S: I am taking you to the Bruins game on Thursday.

Me: Oh yay! Who are we playing? (Tip #1 for wannabe sports fans- speak about team as if you are an actual player.)

S: The Canadiens. (Cue dramatic music)

Me: Oh, okay. Well I've been to a Canadiens game be-"

S: (cuts me off) No you haven't.

Me: What?

S: You have never been to a Canadiens game. You have been to two Toronto games. There is a big difference.

Me: Oh. (Clearly by this point I know there are like 6 teams from Canada, but I kind of thought we were just referring to all of them as "Canadians" with an A.) Well, that should be fun.

S: There are some rules.

Me: What?!

S: Rules. Things you can and cannot do at this game. You don't understand how important this is.

As I sat there with my mouth open, because I myself have never even given so many restrictions for the 8 hours of Oscar coverage that I insist on watching in silence, I was given a very succinct list of the "rules."

1. No cell phones out during a period (which is 20 MINUTES LONG)

2. No extended arm self photos of ourselves while the game is happening

3. Only allowed to take 3 pictures of the game per period

4. Must focus on the game at all times and no talking about ANYTHING else

And just like that, he was able to suck all the fun out of the privilege of going to game. Yes, privilege. I discovered that after 6 years, the only reason I was finally allowed to attend the Bruins/Canadiens was because he put a ring on it. In fact, these were his exact words when telling me why I should consider myself lucky to attend this game with him:

"You're allowed to go to Canadiens games now because you're actually my wife. Before, when you were just my fiance there was a chance it wouldn't work out."

So that's what I knew that this would not be an ordinary "fun night out" for the two of us at this game. Still, I wanted to be the best hockey wife I could be, but while retaining my usual sense of style.

First things first, I had to pick out my outfit. As you can imagine, I've acquired quite a bit of Bruins clothing and accessories over the years, but I'm always careful not to pile on too much of it at once because I think that's a surefire way to make it look like you're not a real fan. An over-abundance of fan wear just seems like you're compensating for something. Like maybe if I throw on one extra hat of accessory it'll totally make up for not knowing the name of team's head coach (which is Claude Julien by the way- BAM!).

I settled on my skinny jeans with my black fur lined lace up boots (because the weather was meeeh that day and I'm always cold in the Garden) with my official black and gold Bruins jersey over a few layers, all in coordinating colors of course. I say "official" jersey because I actually have 2. Unfortunately I am not allowed to wear the other one because it is pink, which would push me into the dreaded "pink hat" territory, a place where no real fan wants to be.

I only bought the pink jersey because it was on sale and because I can fit into the extra large girl size. After wearing it for the first year or so that I was going to games with Steve, he finally bought me a real jersey (well, real in it's color scheme- still kids sized. What?! It's cheaper). And now my pink jersey is banished forever to my closet, because he wouldn't dare be caught within 50 feet of the Garden with a chick in one of these. Sigh. I thought it was cute.

Anyway, next I had to decide on accessories. I have a lot of Bruins jewelry for all different occasions (you know, some formal, some fancy. In case there is ever a "fancy" Bruins event I get to go to...?). Some of it is gold, some silver, so I have to pick and choose my combinations strategically. On this day though, I had already lent like half my jewelry to someone for their Halloween costume so it made my choice a bit easier. I settled on my larger sized gold "B" earrings (yes, I have more than one size of the SAME earrings) and then transferred my essential belongings into my Bruins clutch purse. Okay I know it's starting to sound like I'm wearing a lot of Bruins things, but that handbag was a necessity. Do you know what a pain it is to carry a hobo sized purse around that place?!

earrings, jersey & clutch by b's pro shop. full set of teeth, not included

Next: Makeup! I decided to do a gold eye shadow with a thick amount of black liner. Black and Gold- get it?! I know, it's starting to get crazy. I swear I'm done. Only I'm not, because I also wore gold lip gloss but I don't think that was so obvious.

bruins, sponsored by cover girl? i smell an endorsement deal waiting to happen...

Last but not least, I needed outerwear. I put on my Bruins black track jacket that Steve gave me for my birthday and my white Stanley Cup Champions hat. Okay, I didn't really need the hat but when we were planning out all the Cup merchandise we were going to buy (yes there was an actual day we spent doing that) I made a huge deal about wanting a white women's hat that said "Stanley Cup Champions" on it that wasn't the official one that came out the day after they won (it was so masculine and huge and not cute), and I found one (for a mere $40) and I've never worn it.

Also, Steve does this thing where he takes pictures of each page of his season tickets before he rips them up. So there was mini ticket photo shoot:

yeah, work it

And then we finally got out the door! Unfortunately, we did not leave as early as Crazy wanted to and it was like half rainy out, so the traffic was terrible. Even though the game doesn't start until 7:00, and usually then it's still more like 7:15 or something, somebody likes to be in their seat with a Molson and chicken parm sandwich well before Rene takes the ice for the national anthem. I'll give you a hint- it's not me.

The antsy-ness reached it's critical mass around Exit 17 on the pike, which is always the worst at that time of day. But he couldn't handle that we were a mere few miles away with over an hour to spare. "I have to pee," he said, annoyed. "This is why I have to get to games early so I can get my bodily functions situated." It was 5:52. Also, I don't want to know what that means.

Needless to say, we got up the escalators, through the refreshment line and in our seats just before Rene took to the ice. So we missed warmups, but luckily, we were there in time for the pre-game montage, which I enjoy watching as much as the actual game. After the lights came back on, I looked around the Garden and was shocked to see how few seats were filled.

crickets

Where was everyone?! Didn't they know that we were playing our arch rivals, the hated Canadiens? Don't these people have their own frantic husbands giving them lectures 3 days before and forcing them out the door as they are still applying their Bruins themed makeup? Don't they realize that they pro shop will be open after the game so now really isn't the time to stock up on B's merchandise?!

If they didn't know it, they eventually realized it and filtered into their seats within the first half of the period or so. But still. I'm a pink hat?! You people don't even show up in time for the start of the game! Double standard?! I think so.

One of those people that eventually filed in was Steve's season ticket seatmate Brian. Brian is a quiet fellow, and I'm 95% positive that for the first year they had these tickets, he and Steve didn't utter one word to each other, and their seats touch. As someone who forms a bond with strangers that I meet once in a movie theater, I was appalled. Over time, they became "friends" in the sense they talk to each other during games and added each other on Facebook. Brian also usually brings a male relative to the games, and I think by now Steve has met more of his extended family than mine.

So I almost fell out of my hard yellow seat when Brian took his seat with... A GIRL. Yes, an actual female. At a Canadiens game! Oh, the irony. After lecturing me about the importance of choosing a buddy for these sort of games that is blood related or unable to separate without legal documentation, here was Brian, a fellow season ticket holder, with a girl that wasn't his wife, fiance or girlfriend. SHE WAS JUST A FRIEND. I just about died.

Me: That's weird. I don't remember you telling me that Brian got married.

S: *Ignore.*

Me: And I don't see a ring, so they're definitely not engaged. That's so odd. He doesn't have a sister, right?

S: *Drink beer, consume sandwich.*

Me: So you're telling me that guys sometimes take girls to Canadiens and other important games that they don't have a life long connection to? That's weird. He must not have read the rules or something. Make sure he gets a copy. Don't you always carry a first edition of Who To Bring to a Bruins/Canadiens Game in your vest?

Okay so I didn't technically say that. But I did point out that she wasn't wearing a hint of Bruins memorabilia, just a gray turtleneck. Amateur.

Needless to say, this was an awesome game to attend. Spoiler alert: we ended up losing 2-1. But it almost didn't matter, because this was the stuff that real hockey games are made of. I was at a game a few years ago and I saw someone shatter the glass, but until this Canadiens game, I had never seen so much actual fighting in person. You see, these two guys, Marchand (us) and Subban (them) had it out for each other for literally the entire game. They would fight, get shoved in the penalty box, wait out their time, then the second they entered the rink would just start killing each other again. And they did this no less than three times, so much so that they missed the rest of the games because they had more minutes off the ice than what was left in the period.

People were going crazy. However, amongst all the frenzy, there was the nicest family of four sitting behind us that was a very welcome change from the usual drunk college girls that spill beer in my hair. Like I said, we lost this game, so there were definitely some plays didn't exhibit the B's best Stanley Cup worthy skills. Usually, when they screw up, all we hear around us is drunken swearing. These people were like "oh, that's okay, at least they tried." I even snuck into the conversation between the teenage daughter and her mother when I eavesdropped them talking about Bruins nail polish. They even wanted to see all my iPhone pics of my B's themed manicures. Well, whether or not they wanted to they saw them anyway.

how do you spell team spirit? for me it's: o.p.i.

Anyway, this family was so nice it gave me home for the future. Hockey didn't have to be all about violence and rivalries and spending $10 on a personal pan pizza. This was like a fun night out for these people, something they were all enjoying together, as a family.

Me: That's going to be you and your family someday isn't it? Or I guess, our family.

S: If you're lucky it'll be your family.

Me: Uh, it better be me, I'm at the Canadiens game.

At some point I was allowed to take my requisite photo of the two of us together. This is the only one from the entire game, which took a lot of restraint on my part.

steve is clearly happy about what is going on here

Since it was only a few days before Halloween, between periods the Bruins flashed a couple of photos of the Jumbotron of various players in costume visiting kids at Children's. Steve leaned over and asked me if I had seen the pictures online of our team captain, Zdeno Chara (who happens to be 6'9) dressed as a pink bunny rabbit.

Me: Nope, I definitely missed that one.

Brian's date: Oh here, let me show you. *whips out her phone*

Me: Wow, you just like, have that all ready to go on your phone?

BD: Well, I follow the Bruins on Facebook and Twitter, so it's easy just to pull it up.

As I sat there with my mouth open, Steve whispered in my ear "now that's the kind of girl you take home to your parents."

And me? Well, this is the guy I took home to my parents:

no, not patrice. the guy on the left. made you look!