Dallas Stars Casino Night 2015

Wednesday was the Dallas Stars 16th annual Casino Night. I had such an amazing time last year, I knew that I wanted to go again. Not only is it fun to spend the evening dolled up and with the players, Casino Night is a wonderful event that raises thousands for the Dallas Stars Foundation. The people behind Casino Night do an amazing job. Outside of the games themselves, this is probably my favourite event the Stars hold.

Last year, Katie and I met at Casino Night. It was only sensible we spent our friendiversary together. 

Cody Eakin is just a lovely person

Curtis McKenzie and Brett Ritchie opted the Harry and Lloyd look

My favourite Frenchie, Antoine Roussel, is a complete gentleman 

Tyler Seguin didn't really like Katie and I giving him a hard time... I think he'll live

As usual, I make some sarcastic comment, but Ryan Garbutt didn't seem to mind

Our baby Russian Valeri Nichushkin should be back on the ice soon

Jason Spezza, a true gent.

5 things you're never told about your nanny

How much do you think about your nanny? Oh, sure, you made sure of who she isn’t; your crazy neighbor that may or may not be plotting to kidnap your baby, or that creep who used to stalk you on the Internet. You worry that your kids are in good hands everyday. But admit it, you think relatively little about someone who is spending up to a full work week or more, with your kid.

I mean, they’re “just” the baby-sitter. They're "just" the caregiver. They're "just." They’re not really part of your parenting. They’re not part of your family. You don’t want them in your “happily ever after” story. Right?

The person “watching” your kids doesn’t get to just “watch,” and while I admit I’m occasionally tempted to sit on the little girl I nanny, my job is not just about sitting on babies.

And being a nanny is hard. Like, super hard.

I’m not actually trying to compare being a nanny to parenting. I don’t imagine myself to understand what parenting is like. Much more often than not, my job leaves me kind of… in awe, of parents. You guys are all very warped, amazing, sick, sick, wonderful people.

What I do, is clearly not nearly so real, so big, so meaningful, or so hard. It’s… worse. Why?

1. We get all of the bad, and none of the good. Seriously. I get barfed on, screamed at, and spend hours developing a headache while preparing a dinner I have a sneaking suspicion little people will refuse to eat. But at the end of the day, when the little guy has just learned to read aloud on their own, you, the parent, scoop him onto your lap, receive his kisses, and beam with pride. “He gets it from my side,” you think, “it’s because I’ve been reading to him since he was born” then you snuggle down with your baby while I smile weakly, cross “reading “ off my mental list of things I’m partly responsible for were it not a success.

Sure, you might think, but at the end of the day, you also don’t have to worry about the children’s education, saving account, general well being… I never said I did. I, believe it or not, have my own little life, education, saving account, family, and health to worry about. But, I’m probably still worrying about your child’s. Because…

2.  Yes, I’m getting paid. But plain and simple, childcare is not something that is done for money. No one goes into teaching, day-caring, or any child-related job for the money. It is, necessarily, an extremely expensive job, emotionally. If it’s not emotionally draining for your kid’s nanny, she’s doing it wrong. Trust me. In fact, drive home right now to check on them. If I didn’t bend over backwards to love and empathize with the kids I work with every day, I would have snapped the cutesy Hello Kitty underwear that I have to wash and fold, right over their snot nosed faces, in the worlds biggest wedgie, and quit on the spot- a LOOONG time ago. Which leads me to,

3. Who do I dump to? You, hopefully, have your spouse for support and commiseration. I could call my friends and say, “Jenny missed the potty three times today and now my shirt is ruined” and listen to them snore, or I could call you and say, “Your kid is being a brat today” and get fired. Both options sort of suck. It’s a weird position to be in, especially because…

4. It’s true you’re the only person who really knows your kid. No one wants to take that away from you. Except… could you fill me in a little more? I know it’s your personal life, but I’m working in the dark here. Let’s say your kid has been treating me like I’m the root of all childhood ills all day, and I punish them. Or even just stop being Fun Nanny and start being Sad Sleeper. I think it’s for no reason. And then I find out it’s because they over heard you and your husband’s violent argument and threats of divorce the night before. Fine. But ideally, I should have some idea of what’s going on with these kids that I’m still getting to know. And I’m gonna be pissed. Just sayin’. So, in summary,

5. There’s no communication or clear boundaries. I have tons of responsibility, and ridiculously little power or control. No matter how hard I try, when it’s wrong it’s my fault, when it’s right it’s your success. The one time I screw something up, your beady little eyes are all over it, when I did 40,000 other things right, and went the extra mile, you’re way to distracted to notice. And what kind of person really messes up something that’s important to a child’s well being? A moron if it’s me, a human if it’s a parent. It's true that part of my job is to fit my schedule to yours, but I'm not trying to mold my life around yours. You forget that I have a life outside of your children. There are friends and family I want to spend time with.

I’m caught in the middle, a bit of a scapegoat, and never get backed up for enforcing your ever changing rules. I’m expected on a daily basis to pull off the things even you can’t get your kids to do. I’m an invasion of your privacy when I’m around, and you’re an invasion of mine when you think “I'm available” means that I can’t really expect to have a life outside of your family. If your kids love me, I’m undermining your parenting. If they hate me, I must be horrible.

But it’s not your fault, and it’s not mine. It’s natural, it’s the nature of the beast, it’s unavoidable and totally tolerable. But worst of all? I’m a 24 year old feminist, and sometimes I think I care way to much if some random middle aged couple is going to notice that I buffed their stupid granite counter tops to a perfect shine, and that’s just sick.

What is Fandom?

Fandom is focus. Fandom is obsession. Fandom is insatiable consumption. Fandom is sitting for hours in front of a TV screen a movie screen a computer screen with a comic book or a novel in your lap. Fandom is eyestrain and carpal tunnel syndrome and not enough exercise and staying up way, way past your bedtime.

Fandom is people you don’t tell your mother you’re meeting. Fandom is people in the closet, people out and proud, people in costumes, people in T-shirts with slogans only fifty others would understand. Fandom is a loud dinner conversation scaring the waiter and every table nearby.

Fandom is you in Germany and me in the US and him in Australia and her in Japan. Fandom is a sofabed in New York, a roadtrip to Oxnard, a friend behind a face in London. Fandom talks past timezones and accents and backgrounds. Fandom is conversation. Communication. Contact.

Fandom is drama. Fandom is melodrama. Fandom is high school. Fandom is Snacky’s law and Godwin’s law and Murphy’s law. Fandom is smarter than you. Fandom is stupider than you. Fandom is five arguments over and over and over again. Fandom is the first time you’ve ever had them.

Fandom is female. Fandom is male. Fandom lets female play at being male. Fandom bends gender, straight, gay, prude, promiscuous. Fandom is fantasy. Fandom doesn’t care about norms or taboos or boundaries. Fandom cares too much about norms and taboos and boundaries. Fandom is not real life. Fandom is closer than real life. Fandom knows what you’re really like in the bedroom. Fandom is how you would never, could never, be in the bedroom.

Fandom is shipping, never shipping, het, slash, gen, none of the above, more than the above. Fandom is love for characters you didn’t create. Fandom is recreating the characters you didn’t create. Fandom is appropriation, subversion, dissention. Fandom is adoration, extrapolation, imitation. Fandom is dissection, criticism, interpretation. Fandom is changing, experimenting, attempting.

Fandom is creating. Fandom is drawing, painting, vidding: nine seasons in four minutes of love. Fandom is words, language, authoring. Fandom is essays, stories, betas, parodies, filks, zines, usenet posts, blog posts, message board posts, emails, chats, petitions, wank, concrit, feedback, recs. Fandom is writing for the first time since you were twelve. Fandom is finally calling yourself a writer.

Fandom is signal and response. Fandom is a stranger moving you to tears, anger, laughter. Fandom is you moving a stranger to speak.

Fandom is distraction. Fandom is endangering your job, your grades, your relationships, your bank account. Fandom gets no work done. Fandom is too much work. Fandom was/is just a phase. Fandom could never be just a phase. Fandom is where you found a friend, a sister, a kindred spirit. Fandom is where you found a talent, a love, a reason.

Fandom is where you found yourself.

Don't let the monsters win

This does not begin the way they tell you,
The way they promise you as
you wait in the hospital watching
your friend heaving into a paper bag
There is no way for your body to
make sense of a poison so close to the
heart and so engraved in the mind
They will tell you it is possible to
live a normal life if you remember to
take your pills, and drink your water
and chart your feelings. Like a child
learning the alphabet, I have learned
my way through sad-angry-mad-happy
I have felt my way through the dark room
and slept at the foot of the monsters bed

He smiles at me in the dark, he tells me
He controls the light. You never know
When its going to get better.
The map it leaves is scars running
from your hip bone to your inner thigh
that no man will ever kiss in the moonlight
and you try the new words, tasting them
on your tongue –

“I’m okay.”
“I’m fine”
“How about you?”

Nothing could taste worse than the
uncertainty of being left cold and dead
in the arms of your own self.

My best friend tried to kill herself twice.
I remind myself of her presence, of the way
she is the sun in my sky, the moon in my path.
I cannot feel anything.

My heart stops in the base of my throat.
I remember what it feels like,
lying alone at the bottom of a bathtub,
lungs filled with water.

I have been learning to breathe since
I took my first breath out of that tub.

I have spent too many months,
washing my hands of my own blood,
Tasting the trouble I caused
on the inside of my gums
I am sorry for those I hurt
when I was trying to gauze myself up.

This is remembering that growth
begins with the rough plough
of a man bigger than a seed
But even trees grow larger
than any man.

I wait for the monster to turn on the lights.
Today could be a good day.
If only you take your medicine.
If only you make your train.
This begins with a word
Recovery
and it never truly ends.

This poem is for all my friends.
The ones who gulp for air, and the ones
who are scared to sleep at night.
The ones who became more than statistics,
and subway delays.

I’m happy your monsters didn’t win.

And

This is for every
Personal injury at track level.

I am here in your memory

Dear Douchebag, Thank You.

Dear Douchebag,

I could sit here and make a list of every single reason I hate you and why you should be unable to reproduce…but being bitter is no fun. Instead, I will say thank you for all you made me suffer through because I am so much better for it.

First of all, thank you for making me feel worthless. Without your hurtful comments or all the times you ignored me, I may have never seen the value in compliments or appreciate someone taking the time to pay close attention to me. I may have never felt the compassion of someone who tries to understand me and all the crazy things that I do. I may never have learned to love my own quirks instead of trying to hide them.

Thank you for making me cry. Without that pain, I may not have known the comfort that best friends can bring in times of heartbreak. I may have never learned how valuable these friendships were and possibly taken their constant love and support for granted. As they say, we can't appreciate the rainbow without a bit of rain. Thank you for being the thunderstorm.

Thank you for playing games with my heart. Without your wishy-washy, fickle attitude regarding our relationship, I may not have recognized genuine love when it presented self in my life. I may have set aside those who really cared and instead settled for someone who just considered me another level of some game. I may never have learned how deep the love of friends and family really runs. Without you, I would never have learned how important it is to love those around and to learn how to be truly loved. Not lusted after.

Thank you for disrespecting my body. Without your objectification and infatuation with “going as far as you could” with me, I may not have ever felt the respect of someone who understood my beliefs on waiting until I was ready. I may not have seen myself as the beautiful person that I am, and instead felt hollow and empty. I may have only seen myself as a pretty face, but only after putting a lot of time and effort into hiding behind a mask. Thank you for helping me realize that there is more to me than surface appearances. I am a deep, complex individual that I may not have known without your lack of respect.

And finally, thank you, thank you , thank you for walking out my door and never coming back. Without your abandonment, I may  have never felt the love and happiness that comes with a relationship that can withstand anything. I may never have learned all of this about myself. I may never have come to appreciate the good, the bad, and the ugly in life.

I wish you all the sweet nothings of the world.

Sincerely,

A valuable, strong, happy, beautiful woman