Rocking Around the Christmas Tree Is Not a Possibility

So by now you've all heard the beginning of the story of us picking out our first tree as man and wife. If you haven't heard it, I guess we're not really friends. If you would like to fix that and get back in my good graces again, you can catch up on it here.

When we last left, our heroine Lindsay had finally selected her perfect tree cutting ensemble. She thought this would be the most difficult part of an otherwise happy occasion. She would soon find out how easy she had it when the hardest thing she had to do was hunt down the perfect red flannel.

Ahhh I can't write like that. Third person is not my friend. Anywho...

So Steve and I woke bright and early (um like 8:30- yikes) on Thursday morning so we could head up to New Hampshire to select our first fir. Why NH, you ask, when we live in Massachusetts and are completely surrounded by trees? Well I'll tell you, my friends. Steve is something of a tree elitist. A treelitist, if you will. He has been picking out trees in the rolling forests of NH for years for his family, and has always considered them to be superior to all other New England trees. Being a NH born citizen myself, I completely understand viewing the state as a mecca of all things nature and mountainy, however it's a slight inconvenience when you live an hour and ten minutes from even its most southern border (which Steve doesn't even thing qualifies as "real" NH and refers to it as Northern MA). But this was going to be a special occasion- when else in our lives would we ever pick out our first tree? You know, other than the one we had last year. Our first married tree. Not that we're marrying the tree. You get what I'm saying.

If I was going to be getting up that early on a day off and spending a majority of it outdoors traipsing around a farm, I was going to need some sort of compensation. Steve really had his heart set on a tree farm in Portsmouth and I knew immediately what my bargaining tool would be:

mmmmmmmmmmmmmm

The Friendly Toast is one of my favorite places. I got chocolate milk and cinnamon raisin French toast. I don't remember what Steve had but he seemed happy about it, despite the fact it was cutting into our woodsy time.

doesn't he look like he would fit in at a truck stop?

After taking what felt like 4 years to get our check, we finally were on our way to Tonry's Tree Farm where all of Steve's Christmas dreams would be coming true. We had spent a little time in downtown Portsmouth, so by the time we got there it was almost 1:00. In my head I had hoped we'd be back by 1:00 so we could start decorating. However, if you know us you know that timing isn't exactly one of our strong points as a couple. But I let it go, because there were acres and acres of tree farm to be combed and we essentially had the place to ourselves, because let's face it- who else is going to hit up a tree farm at 1:00 on a Thursday?!

All the little areas of the farm had names. I was hoping our tree would come from this one:

this is where all the sexy trees hang out

But alas, it wasn't happening for us in the Vixen Field. In fact, none of the trees in any of the 20 million fields were doing anything for us. Because all of the good ones were tagged. Tagged! December 1st! All the nice normal tree shaped trees had already been claimed by happy families just sitting at home while we were out in the trenches picking through their left overs. I started to get bitter. Steve just kept finding tree after tree that he thought was "perfect." Like this one:

fat bottomed tree, you make the rocking world go round

Now I'm aware that people tag trees. We had this same issue last year when we slummed it picking out our tree in Rhode Island. But I really thought that was because we were so late getting one. I never imagined that in a place with this many trees that so many of them would already be claimed.

And not just claimed. Claimed and decorated. The tags I saw last year were just little red tickets with people's last names on them. Apparently, in NH, they don't mess around. I mean, they do live free or die. Apparently they live so free that they decorate trees that AREN'T EVEN ALL THE WAY THEIRS YET as you only need 10% down to claim your tree. Tree layaway, is what it is. Treeaway. I can't believe none of these tree farmers have capitalized on any of these terms yet.

Some trees just had like, red tacky bows from the dollar store on them. Others went all out, with themes and everything. Like this one:

how embarassing

There were others that really wanted you to know how proud they were of their roots. GET IT?! Roots?

hey, I think this tree belongs to someone

By this point, I started to think awful thoughts.

Me: How much would I have to pay you to take off one of these tags?

Steve: Stop it. Karma will get you. And Christmas karma is worse.

Me: Whatever.

If you've ever gone shopping with my husband, you know ahead of time to set aside at least 5 hours or else you will end up having to cancel the rest of your plans that day. I knew it would be a long day, because he takes 2 hours to pick out a pair of sneakers, so I could only imagine how long it would take for something that we would have to look at every day in our home for a month. I still was not prepared to walk around every field of that damn tree farm twice.

The weather was deceivingly nice for December 1st- no clouds, blue skies, sunshine. Because of this I felt it unnecessary to bring gloves or a hat. During the first hour I was like "eh, there's a slight nip in the air, but no biggie." At first, I actually thought it was weird to be picking out a tree when it had been like 60 degrees the day before. But by hour two... I was dying. I instantly began to regret every decision I had made that day, starting with wearing my brown heeled books. I was sinking into the wet, mushy grass as I walked up and down the same hills four times because we had to revisit tree candidates that we weren't sure about. I could barely keep the snot from dripping out of my nose and my eyes were watering so much, it looked like I had an emotional breakdown when I finally left the farm that day. But let's get back to how we finally selected "the tree."

Earlier in our travels, we had both spotted a tree that had somehow grown like 4 feet off the ground. We both commented on it's nice shape and kept moving.

But later, as we were nearing the 3:00 mark, we walked by said tree again and started seriously considering this as a our potential tree. It was hard to tell exactly how big it was, giving that the actual tree part started so high and the cold had killed most of of my critical thinking abilities. Steve tried to measure the tree from the bottom of the branches up to see if it would fit.

an optical illusion...?

Since we had no idea how tall the ceilings were, we had to call the apartment complex to check. 9 feet exactly! Using the oldest measuring tape in the world, Steve deduced that the tree was about 8 feet tall. We started to think we were in business.

So after much deliberation we decided it was time to cut.

I wasn't prepared to do any actual sawing, but still felt the need to stage a photo in my outfit and all:

take that, l.l.- bean, not cool j

But being a lady lumberjack is not all fun. It's hard work too.

i'm not cut out for this

So Steve jumped in.

By this time I was starting to go a little cray cray in the brain. I was so overcome with emotion and hypothermia that I almost took it out on the tree:

this tree knows who is in charge

But then it was time to get the thing on top of the car. Fortunately, my husband spared me this and let me stay in the car with the heat on, sitting on my hands hoping to regain feeling in them again.

i pulled the rope. my only contribution to this part besides capturing it on film

Finally, it was time to head home. We said goodbye to the tree farm and I silently hoped to never return again.

note that is is now almost dark

Needless to say, we didn't get home until almost 7:00. Also, I was so full from my breakfast that I hadn't had anything else to eat that day. We left the tree on top of the car and relaxed for 2.2 seconds while we tried to figure out a plan of attack.

Steve had called his friend Mark on the way home to ask him to help us get the tree upstairs, because clearly I am of no use at all when it comes to lifting heavy things covered in sap.

Yet when we got home, Mark didn't pick up his phone. After calling repeatedly, Steve was overcome with the desire to get the tree inside NOW. So for the second year in a row, he threw the tree on top of his back and carried it up 3 FLIGHTS OF STAIRS.

Finally Mark showed up and the men began to assess the situation. There may have been maps, blueprints and other specs to figure out where exactly the tree was going to go.

tool time

It wasn't until the tree was inside that we really started to question the size of it. I mean, we knew it was tall, but how did it suddenly double in width? Had it grown on the way home?

We couldn't really determine anything until we saw it standing up in the tree stand.

Did you know that Steve has trouble making decisions? All week he had been debating between two different stands that looked basically identical to me:

twinsies

As the guys had the tree finally standing upright in our 690 sq. ft apartment, it hit me.

This tree is too damn big.

I still don't even feel like any of these pictures really show how much of a monstrosity this thing is. No matter where we put it, it's in the middle of our apartment. It's like we have a third roommate. Besides Mark.

A panic immediately began to set in for me. We were going to have to share our home with this thing for a month. Last year we had so many ornaments between the two of us that you could hardly see the tree anymore. Steve actually looked at this tree and told me, "I don't think we have enough ornaments."

Although I should have been happy that he was basically giving me permission to shop (wait, is that not what you got out of that comment?) instead I felt the making of a stroke looming inside me. How are we going to live like this? You have to turn sideways to get around it just to enter the living room, and then once you're in there you have to do the same thing to get into the dining area. It's going to shed everywhere. I have already found needles in parts of my apartment that are no where in the vicinity of this tree (although I guess everything in here is now technically in the vicinity of this thing). When Steve emptied the vacuum it looked as if a small baby tree had already formed inside of it.

He could tell I was freaking out.

Steve: I feel like you want to cry right now.

Me: Um, no. I'm fine.

Steve: I think you want to cry but you're not doing it because Mark is here.

Me: False. I'm just thinking.

Steve: I can tell when you're upset.

Whether or not he thought I was on the verge of tears, Steve and Mark still deemed it a good time to reward themselves for all the work they did. And that reward was scotch (because you can't make it home from NH without hitting up a highway liquor store) with a pine garnish. Steve claims the sap enhances the taste.

flannel, pine and scotch. does a man need anything else?

So now, cut to me, living in a forest, which if you know me, is that last place I want to be.

I'm still trying to come to terms with the tree. Steve has volunteered to remove it and try to give it to someone else, but after spending an entire day and $55 on this thing, I don't feel like that is fair to any of us.

Steve often checks in on me and the tree to see if we are starting to form some sort of bond, as observed by this text just this morning.

Steve: Are you and the tree getting along?

Me: We're working on our issues.

The tree is now it's own entity, as if it is a giant person. Steve depicts it as a bully that we are forced to serve in fear of it's wrath.

Steve: When I woke up in the middle of the night the tree pushed me against the wall and said, "Listen, I want a full sized chicken every night."

Me: That's not funny. This tree could kill us.

Steve: When I got home today, the tree was sitting on the couch smoking a cigarette.

Me: Dear God, please stop.

None of this would have happened if we had just gotten the tree that I wanted.

sigh. i miss you

So now my only hope is that somehow, decorations will help tone down the ginormous-ness of this thing in my living room. If you don't hear form me for 8 days, it's because I'm still decorating. Or the tree has swallowed me whole, Little Shop of Horrors-style.

Oh Christmas Tree, Oh Christmas Tree, What Shall I Wear to Cut Thee?

omg. omg. omg.

We are in crisis mode in the Scouras household right now.

For you to truly understand where we are, you have to know how we got here.

This is where it all began...

Most men have particular values they they refuse to budge on, like only buying American made cars. Steve has many, but one of his biggest things is having a real live Christmas Tree. And not just any tree. Within 500 feet of our complex is a Home Depot selling tress for $30 and even a Boy Scout troop that have set up shop in the liquor store parking lot. He scoffs every time he drives by these "dead" trees and reminds me for the 200th time that he would never allow another person to cut down his Christmas tree. Ever.

Last year was our first Christmas living together so picking out the tree was a big deal. Since I like to pretend I have my own reality show, we even videotaped ourselves selecting the tree and subsequently cutting it down. We made a few mistakes though, that we were determined not to repeat this year.

1. We got the tree literally a week before Christmas. If you've never cut down your own tree before (which I hadn't since I was like, 5) you know it's a TON of work and not really worth rearranging your entire home for a week of enjoyment.

2. We had a wedding looming. Everything was on stress overload and getting a tree wasn't high on the priority list until one day we were like "oh crap, we need a tree."

3. When we got to the tree farm in Rhode Island, every single normal looking tree had already been tagged. We were left to choose from different shapes of shrubbery and Charlie Brown trees.

4. We bought the tree one random morning before both of us had to work. Steve had to drive to work and then home with the tree on the roof because we didn't even have enough time to set it up that day.

Despite all of these things, we ended up with a nice little first tree.

sigh. i'm depressed now. also, now i miss my couch

So this year, we were going to do it the right way. Steve has been telling me for 6 months that we were going to get our tree from NH because "that's where trees come from." We picked a day that we were both off, which happened to be December 1st. Perfect tree date.

So of course, I had to start planning my outfit.

I knew right away I wanted to wear red flannel, because that's what lumberjacks wear when they cut down trees and cutting down your Christmas tree is pretty much the closest you'll ever come to being a lumberjack. The problem was I wanted to be like a cute lumberjack, and if you've ever seen a real lumberjack, it's not a word that is often related. I should know, as I am forced to watch many shows that have the word "Logger" in the title.

The best place to buy flannel is clearly L.L. Bean. While I love all my outerwear from Maine's finest export, I make a point not to buy clothes there, because everything is boxy and pleated. Total Mom jeans, all the way.

oh, hey guys.

So I braved the mall Black Friday weekend searching for the best fitting red flannel shirt money could buy. But not like real money, more like BF sale money, because I knew Steve would have a coronary if I spent an exorbitant amount on another themed article of clothing.

The first place I went to was the Land's End shop at Sears. I was so disappointed in their flannel selection. Isn't Land's End supposed to be like in direct competition with the Bean? They had 2 women's flannel shirts- one was orange, and one was blue. Not Christmas-y. I did appreciate however that they came in petite sizes, but I didn't even try them on because who wants to look like a flannel traffic cone?!

Next I hit Hollister/Gilly Hicks/Aero/AE/A&F. While those may be separate stores, I hate them all equally so they get lumped together. 4 out of 5 of those places smell like last call at a skanky club and I'm convinced that you're going to hear about them being investigated in a child pornography ring someday because all their employees are 14 and scantily clad to the point that I feel like I can't look directly at them. Most of them had at least fake flannel shirts (you know, the ones that look like it but don't feel like it- so basically, plaid shirts), but they were all in colors like pink, orange or turquoise and about 5 inches too short for me, which I'm guessing is their tactic for keeping the old farts out (i.e. people over the age of 20). I did actually find a pattern at Hollister that I liked and that was actually flannel but it was a "Dudes" shirt, which is their incredibly dumb way of saying it's for men. Well, boys. Man boys. Given that Hollister stuff is miniature, I thought maybe I could rock a "Dudes S." However, since it's made for Dudes that look like this, it was straight up and down super boxy and not at all flattering. I was really disappointed, because the color and the feel of it was exactly what I was looking for. Also, I spent all my breaks that weekend knocking over tweens trying to get to these stupid shirts anyway.

I began to advertise my plight to coworkers and I was quickly told by them that Target definitely carries flannel shirts. Since I never need a reason to go to Target, I hustled over there and found a few shirts from their Mossimo brand that could have potential. I am normally a small, and I found it weird that the shirt kept gaping at the bust line because I am certainly not known for having a large chest. I grabbed a medium, and it was the same thing. Ick. Even for only $16, I couldn't do it. Busting out is never a good look, not even for a lady lumberjack. Well probably especially not for them.

On Tuesday night I got a text from a coworker while I was trying on said shirt at Target informing me there were were some faux-flannel red shirts at Marshall's. While I really didn't want to forgo the warmth of actual flannel, at this point I felt like I had become desperate and the only thing that would make me feel better was to buy something. I know, not healthy but the pressure! Oh, the pressure.

I ended up finding 2 that I liked and of course, couldn't decide. One was like a normal red flannel shirt with a green accents and the other one was slightly longer (more like a tunic) red flannel with black accents. One was $10, one was $12.99. What's a girl to do?

I know what you're thinking, and I also thought perhaps the answer was to buy both. Once again I reminded myself that this is something I will most likely wear once and that I was already way off the deep end for worrying this much about it. I settled on the $12.99 tunic because I felt like I could wear it with more things (in my head I was envisioning black leggings and riding boots... which I don't currently have but are on my Christmas list) and it would cover the zipper on my skinny jeans that always manages to unzip itself. Listen. This is a judge free zone. I bought one pair of skinny jeans for $12 from Forever 21 three years ago. I refuse to spend more on that because I feel like the second I do, they will go completely out of style, which was my same reason three years ago for not investing in them in the first place. I guess I showed them seeing as I'm still wearing them.

After I bought my new flannel, the same coworker texted me:

"You know I have a Ralph Lauren Rugby flannel very festive primarily red but has green orange in it. I'll bring it in tomorrow, you can borrow if for your pic tree outing so ur not spending $ on a shirt you don't love for a one time use."

If that didn't put my crazy ass in perspective, I don't know what would.

So I tried on her shirt. I immediately liked it because the tag said "slim fit" which meant I would be allowed to have a shape underneath. It also had a patch of brown suede on the front of one of the shoulders, which I enjoyed but was confused why it was only on one.

When I woke up today (tree day!) I was so excited. I put on my ghetto skinny jeans with my brown boots and tucked my borrowed flannel into my jeans with a brown belt. I even accessorized with a gold leaf necklace. It was Lindsay at her most outdoorsy-ness.

lumberjack barbie. saw sold separately

I thought Steve would be excited because flannel is one of his favorite things. In fact, we were flannel twins that day (mainly because I forced him to wear it as well, not that it took that much convincing). However, after I got dressed it seemed like a long amount of time had gone by and he had made zero comments about my outfit.

Me: You look woodsy.

Steve: Thank you.

*pause*

Me: Do I look woodsy?

Steve: No.

Me: Why not?

Steve: Because you just spent 20 minutes putting on makeup. Just because you're wearing flannel doesn't make you outdoorsy.

Busted.

Oh well. At least I got one picture of us together out of it.

flannel twins!

Needless to say, this is only part 1 of Steve and Lindsay's Christmas Tree Saga. The memory of what happened today is just too traumatizing to relive so soon and I'm in a very fragile place at the moment.

Also it's 12:30 and I walked around a tree farm for 3 hours today so I'm spent.

Since I know how incredibly difficult it's going to be for all of you to wait, I will give you a hint as to how it ends:

it's not pretty.

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!

So It's Not A Nice Day For A White Wedding?!

While there are many other topics on my blogging back burner that I have yet to write about, all will be momentarily paused for a moment of silence, as the union of one Kim Kardashian and Kim Humphries is now dead. Ironic, being that it's Halloween and all. Point... Kim?

While there have been rumors of a rift for months now, being a serious journalist myself, I choice not to believe the hype until I heard it from a legitimate source, i.e. US Weekly by way of a Ryan Seacrest tweet.

This comes as a great shock to all of us that thought that these two were different, and that they would defy all the crumbling Hollywood marriages that came before them, but alas, we must accept that this most perfect union is now over.

Who are we kidding. The jokes about these two write themselves. I once read that during Britney's mental breakdown, some magazine outlets already started crafting obituaries for her because that was the direction they thought that she was headed. I imagine they may have prepared in advance for this situation as well and probably have had their "Kim & Kris in Krisis!" articles prepped since before ink was dried on their prenup.

Clearly, no one thought this would last (including myself), although I'm sure that the execs at E! had hope to get at least a year and a baby Kardashian out of the deal at least. I don't think the question is "where did it all go wrong," as it was glaringly obvious to anyone who watched those torturous 4 hours of wedding coverage that these two people were not compatible in the slightest. I think the main thing about this whole thing that is super embarrassing is that everyone, including her own family members, Twitter followers and the majority of the general public saw what a sham this was. I don't know what's more sad- the thought that she was so blinded by the excitement of finally getting married or that she wanted to have said wedding so bad that she agreed to go along with marrying someone she didn't even like just to do so.

I don't personally think that Kim Kardashian is a bad person. Is she everything that's wrong with society? Pretty much. Does she not posses an iota of talent but yet is more famous than most creative people ever actually will be? Of course. But if you listen to her for 10 seconds talk with that weird baby voice you realize that she's really not even intelligent enough to do anything really bad on purpose because she probably couldn't even figure out how to do so. So deep down, I don't really feel that she went through all of this just to get paid for having her dream wedding. I think she's just not smart enough to know better and is clearly highly influenced by everyone around her.

What kills me about all of this is that throughout this whole thing, I think it actually made some of the other K's look better, which I was pretty sure was impossible. Take Kourtney, who everyone is begging to get married to her baby daddy Scott. She could easily have had an almost as expensive wedding as Kim with the same amount of media coverage, and she's choosing not to. I personally think it's because deep down she knows that Scott is a giant tool and doesn't want to be stuck with him forever (although I don't know why she would think that, as it's clearly not the case with unions in this family). I hate to even think this, but I sort of commend her. Yeah, she did things backwards and probably shouldn't have let herself get knocked up by a guy while he was in the middle of an alcoholic raging period in his life, but at least she has the sense to know that she shouldn't go and get married now just because she can.

And Khloe!!! Who would have known that she would have the example relationship in this family?! Everyone said her and Lamar wouldn't last after being engaged for 9 days, and it's been like 2 years and they're still together. Now I know that that is by no means a union to put your money on, but at least she and Lamar actually seem like they like each other. They managed to convince us during their wedding special and subsequent spin off that they were madly in love as we watched them slobber all over each other, unlike the painful, icy conversations we were forced to watch between Kim and Kris.

So where does this leave poor Kim? Well not that she'll ever be poor anything as she has a rock solid prenup. Unfortunately, we've already seen all the promos for Kourtney and Kim Take New York and Kris is definitely a part of them. Also they've been traipsing around NYC for the past 2 months so I'm sure he's already a big part of the footage. However, someone on a shall-remain-nameless Bravo reality show killed themselves and they still went ahead with their season as planned, so who the hell knows.