Category Archives: Sporty type things that aren’t hockey

10,000 Maniac[al steps to good health]. This has nothing to do with the band.

These are days, guys.

If you read Buzzfeed, or are on Facebook, or Instagram, or Twitter, or any social media with other like minded people (re: TwentySomethings), then you know that now is the time to be running, or working out, or eating healthy, or staying healthy, or something like that. 

Everyone and their mother is working out and running 5ks and 10ks and 26.2ks and Blerg-Ks and eating all this kale and does anyone really even like kale?!

Color Run 2013

Seriously. You hit your twenties and it’s just the thing to be doing. Or maybe the time to start telling people about the thing you were already doing. (I wasn’t doing it before, really.)

That was how I ended up signing up for something called The Hit and Run 5k with FunSized. Hit and Run 5k

It involved running and getting hit by things, then rinsing and repeating. Somewhere in the part where we were not getting hit by things, FunSized and I started talking about her latest piece of bling.

FunSized: It’s a Fitbit. It tracks how far you walk everyday. Like my goal is 10,000 steps and it’ll freak out when I hit it.

Me: 10,000 steps, huh?

FunSized: Yeah. I’ll definitely hit it today since we’re doing this, but it just motivates you to move around more. Like I know that you should park far away from Target, but now I actually park far away from Target.

Me: You’re kidding.

FunSized: During winter, I would walk to the store and just walk around until I hit my goal.

Me: …Sometimes when I go to the store, I’m tired and try to get Boo to push me in the cart instead.

The concept was bizarre to me. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not a slouch, and I play soccer every week, and I’m a biking kind of girl, but still. I’m kind of lazy.

Chat with Jade

So, I decided to join this revolution. I mean, I have a very big office. That has got to be a lot of steps I take everyday. At the very least, maybe FunSized would be right, and it would motivate me to move around more. Thus, the next time I was at Target, I parked as close as possible for the last time ever, and bought myself a Fitbit.

Day 1.

I got approximately 3,573 steps.

I’ve only owned it a day.” I told myself. “And it was only part of the day. So it really doesn’t count.”

Day 2.

I had 8,105 steps.

“What are you doing?” my mother asks me.

“Walking around the kitchen table,” I tell her.

Silence.

“FunSized told me this thing would freak out when I reached my goal.” I tell her.

“Hm.” my mother tells me.

Day 3. 

I’m in shock that I don’t take 10,000 steps per day. It doesn’t seem right. MY OFFICE IS LARGE, people. But then this happened.

Fitbit Walking

Total steps? 11,373. I’ve never been so happy to see a piece of technology freak out on me.

Day 4.

 Obviously I am more than capable of taking 10,000 steps in a day, because I did it the day before. I’m a pro now. So when it gets to midnight, and I only have 8,746 steps, I’m pissed. Like legitimately upset and realizing that THIS IS WHY I AM NO LONGER SKINNY, because obviously I never took the time to park far away or count my steps and I knew I should have been jogging in place while watching The Fault in Our Stars last night.

Conversation with FunSized

Jack and Jill went up the hill and then slid down it on the other side on a board and were given a gold medal for their efforts.

*Note from the blogger — prior to publishing this post, a similar post of similar occurances was posted over at Waste Of Heels, a fabulous blog written by the incomparable-even-though-she’s-cheering-for-Canada-today-Lady B. This basically means that she’s me, but in Canada, and you should be reading her post too.

If you live in Michigan, you’re supposed to do winter-y things. Depending on your level of skill, this means sledding, or tubing, or snowman building, or if you’re truly talented, properly cleaning off your car so as to not be that douchebag that drives down the road with it flying off the roof at other motorists.

From the hilarious blogography.com. If you haven’t read that blog, you’ve got issues.

Now, I’m not saying that I don’t have winter activity skills…I’ve successfully built a number of snowmen in my time, and gone sledding and tubing while growing up, and there was this one time when my Girl Scout troop decided it would be an awesome idea to go cross country skiing, and I’m pretty sure I didn’t fall then.

Here am I. In a tube. Getting pulled up a mountain.

Here am I. In a tube. Getting pulled up a mountain.

…but if you haven’t noticed, sometimes I am occasionally…accident prone.

I saw my friend TomSelleck recently, and our conversation went like so:

Him: So do you have any new bruises?

(The answer is no.)

So, when my friend Arrington texted me that he wanted to go snowboarding for his birthday, I was all…

Laura Thought Bubble

I’ve been snowboarding exactly three four times in my life (now including the recent birthday festivities).

The last time I went, while attempting to figure out this “tow rope,” I fell.

That’s right.

Not coming down the mountain, but attempting to go up the damn thing. I fall within the first seconds of holding on to this rope, and since we had decided to try snowboarding on Christmas Eve, the place was basically deserted. No one was around to give me advice or maybe tell me,

DO NOT CONTINUE TO HOLD ONTO THE TOW ROPE.

Which means that I made it up the mountain. Hanging on for dear life to this rope. On my ass.

I showed up to Cannonsburg thinking we’d have a nice klatch of the high school crew, CoSi and FunSized to maybe be as skillful as I am and chuckle the whole way [potentially on my backside] down  the mountain.

It turned out to be Arrington, his girlfriend (who brought her own skis), and me.

FaceBook

Arrington attempted to walk me through the basics of everything so I wouldn’t make a complete ass out of myself, and I actually made it down various hills of various sizes without too much bodily harm or embarrassment.

The Typical “Run” of L.A. down a Mountain on a Board

Start at top of hill. Congratulate self on making it up the mountain on the murderous rope of towing without falling. Strap foot in.

Arrington tells me to make sure that some foot that does something is either in front or in back because that’s the foot I can use for like steering or bracing myself or something like that. There is silent acknowledgement that I do not know how to steer.

Point snowboard down mountain because that seems like a pretty reasonable choice. Began sliding down mountain. Realize that I’m standing and not falling and try to keep my gleeful “sqee” noises to a minimum. I figure a deadpan face will make it look like I know what I’m doing.

The "I'm probably going to hurt myself and laugh about it when the bruises go away" face

The “I’m probably going to hurt myself and laugh about it when the bruises go away” face

Do a sort of turn to keep heading down mountain. Realize that snow seems to help with steering in the fact that it is making me go ways that I don’t think I was choosing to go. Pray that people know to get out of my way. Arrington tells me to use my back leg as a rudder to steer. I think rudders steer boats. This makes sense until another turn makes my back leg my front leg and I realize that I might not have full control of all my limbs and debate what I can blame this on when I inevitably crash.

Probably a spider bite. Paralyzed left leg. Have no control over it.

Realize I’m going incredibly fast. Arrington basically walks up to me because his normal speed is my fast and tells me ways to lean to slow down.

I lean. I slow down. It’s extremely effective. I remind myself to not forget the slowing down part.

Still going fast. Kind of freaking out. Realize that slowing down does not mean stopping and that the end of the mountain is getting close.

Lean. Lean. Lean. Lean. LEAN. LEANING.

Sit down on mountain. Stop. Am reminded of roller blading around my neighborhood as a youth, when I just jumped in the grass and hugged a tree to stop.

Did that on purpose, guys. I’m at the bottom of the mountain, guys. I didn’t even really fall, guys.

this was from the time that I went up the mountain on my ass, because I did not take a photo this time of me on a board because all my limbs were busy trying to keep myself from falling.

this was from the time that I went up the mountain on my ass, because I did not take a photo this time of me on a board because all my limbs were busy trying to keep myself from falling.

the [superbowl] sunday, currently.

R E A D I N G I just finished reading Mitch Albom’s The First Phone Call from Heaven. The one thing I’ve always appreciated about Mitch Albom is his books are one-sit-reads. Quick, enjoyable, and PLOT TWIST. 

W R I T I N G I’ve got my old journal which was started back in 2011 that I’ve been trying and trying to finish. I used to fill a blank book in two months with thoughts and ponderings and the like. I just cleaned out an old purse though, and it was filled with all sorts of mementos that I want to save. Plane tickets, concert tickets, photos, memories. I’ve decided that if I’m going to keep them, I need to put them in a journal now, lest they just sit in an old Coach bag forever in my closet.

L I S T E N I N G to Basia Bulat. The big sister (VS) introduced me to her song The Shore over Christmas, and I’ve been addicted ever since. The harmonies, you guys. The gorgeous, gorgeous, pee-my-pants-amazing harmonies. And then, you calm down about the harmonies and you’re like OMG, THE AUTOHARP. I tried to convince my Dad to buy me an Autoharp from Natural Wonders once. DOES ANYONE REMEMBER NATURAL WONDERS?!

Basia Bulat is actually coming to Grand Rapids on April 3 with The Head and the Heart and I’m pretty strongly debating going because I want to hold both hands up in the air and sing along to all the songs and all the words. Plus, it’s my birthday the next week.

T H I N K I N G that I might buy an autoharp. It’s a small instrument. It’ll fit right next to my guitars. They can all be friends.

W E A R I N G my church going clothes still. I’d like to also point out that I wore white jeans to church and they’re still clean. 

L O V I  N G that Peyton Manning is currently losing the Superbowl. I really don’t care at all for him. Or for Eli Manning. Or for the Williams sisters, or anyone else that participates in an OREO eating commercial.

W A N T I N G better commercials. Isn’t that what the Superbowl is about? The best moment thus far was when James Franco tried to sell everyone cars because Poof and I started texting Hoodie Allen lyrics to each other.

James Franco

N E E D I N G Hoodie Allen to release new music. What’s the phrase they use? Drop the album, or something like that? Well, drop the album, Hoodie. Let’s go.

F E E L I N G like twitter’s White Bronco jokes might be more exciting than the actual Superbowl.

Current Score: Seahawks: 5074915871, Bronocs: 17 close ups of Peyton’s face.

C L I C K I N G the refresh timeline on twitter. New jokes, kids. New jokes.

.Link up to the Sunday Currently here.

in which we don’t need no stinkin’ pants.

I’m not that girly. I’m not going to lie. GoldDust tried once to put liquid eyeliner on me, and I cried before she even got one eye done. I’m just not a high maintenance female. I roll out of bed in the morning, brush my hair and teeth, and head out the door.

I forgot pants once because I was in such a daze.

This means, that when I go to the effort of getting dolled up, it’s a big effort. On Tuesdays and Thursday mornings, however, sometimes I’ll make the extra effort because I know I’ll be seeing my BFF Poof, who runs a fashion blog. It’s nice when our photos don’t feature her being adorable and me in a t-shirt. But that’s happened before.

One Tuesday and/or Thursday (I’m not sure which it was), I happened to be dolled up after playing photographer with Poof, and good things happened to happen. I got tickets to the most epic of epic things in the hockey world: tickets to the Winter Classic.

And you guys know that I love my hockey.

So, in a flurry of excitement and high energy, I headed to the most ideal place: Starbucks.

“Coffbanger,” I tell my barista. “GUESS WHAT I HAVE?!”

Coffbanger happens to have been my barista for a long time standing, and thus, he knows of my hockey love. He guessed within three tries that it was hockey tickets, and laughed at my outwardly excessive amount of glee.

However.

His co-worker was not such a good sport.

“Wait,” the coworker tells me, interrupting Coffbanger’s and my conversation. “You can’t be a hockey fan.”

Eyebrow raise here. The awkward silence says that he should stop talking.

The coworker continues, however. “You can’t be a hockey fan. You’re in a dress.”

Cue the jaw drop. Of course, I would never take this lying down.

Immediately following this trip to Starbucks, I had to inform the masses.

I’m so irritated. I’m tired of having to define icing to prove that I actually like hockey, as opposed to just wanting to hump Darren Helm*.

“Well,” I tell him. I manage to keep smiling. No amount of anger can wipe my “I’m going to the Winter Classic” smile off my face. And then this spills out faster than they’re making my coffee.

“You can’t be a man, you’re in skinny jeans.”

Coffbanger, the coworker, and I are all silent for a moment before Coffbanger lets out a snort of laughter.

Barista2

Mohawk summed it up pretty nicely. Of course I had to text someone about my moment of greatness as I walked away.

Seriously though. Can’t a girl like her hockey in a dress?

And such a cute dress too.

And such a cute dress too.

Seriously. I looked fecking adorable.

Dress: Free People. Cardi: Forever 21. Belt: Banana Republic. Wedges: Charlotte Russe. Comeback: 2000% L.A.

Dress: Free People. Cardi: Forever 21. Belt: Banana Republic. Wedges: Charlotte Russe. Comeback: 2000% L.A.

Sound off, female hockey fans.

Can’t a girl wear a dress and be a hockey fan? Or a sports fan?

I know I’m not the only one with sports colored knee socks for playoff games.

*the writer acknowledges that yes, she would also like to hump Darren Helm.

Run like Forrest Gump

So at the beginning of the summer I started training for The Crim 10 Mile race. Well, this past Saturday was race day. I’m happy to say I completed it!!!

Such an amazing feeling to add this to my list of accomplishments.

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Some funny things happened while I ran my little heart off.

The race started off fine, but I had to pee 3 miles in…

Peeing during a race is the worst thing. You never know where the next restroom is located. Also, you’re not the only person who has to pee.

I was in line for 15 minutes to use the facility. While I was waited I got to see some oddly dressed runners. We had two mermaids which I didn’t know mermaids could run. We had Wonder Woman. Why didn’t she just fly to the finish line? Also, several ballerina with their tutus. I would think the tutu would weigh a runner down.

After catching my breath and relieving myself, I started to peddle away. The miles started to blur together.

My thoughts,

I’m actually doing this. I’m running and I’m getting closer to the finish line.

About the 7 mile marker I noticed something a strange about a runner … she had no shoes on!!! 10 miles no shoes!!! Her feet were black. I don’t know how she did it. I would cry after the first mile.

I finally reached the last mile. Exhausted. Sweating. Sore. We ran passed the last water station. A woman in front me grabbed a drink. When she finished she did not toss the cup to the side like proper cup tossing when running. Instead she whipped it behind her, right into my face. Yes, I got hit in the face with an empty cup. I was more stocked than upset. Who whips a cup during a race?

Finally, we rounded the corner and the finish line was insight. The excitement took over my body and I began to sprint. In a blink of an eye, I crossed the finish line. 10 miles behind me.

I’m still glowing with accomplishment. I had some amazing people waiting at the finish line for me. My brother and my co-workers competed in the race also.

photo-1

photo

When is the next race?

The Troubles with Second Base

Training for my 10 mile run and going to Zumba have really started to give me results for my physique. I don’t look like a body builder, but I feel like a much healthier person.

There is only one part of my body that hasn’t had much transformation because of working out.  And really hasn’t since 5th grade.

People… that would be my chest.

I’ve never been part of itty bitty titty committee and I should be feel blessed, but there are down falls to having a chest.

Table cloth or a shirt…

I’m a petite person except for my chest. Most cases I have to purchase a size bigger to give my two chest roommates space to breath. Having to make this accommodation makes me look like I’m wearing a table cloth instead of an actual t-shirt. The table cloth curse also occurs, I do not own a white shirt that doesn’t have a stain on the chest area. It never fails… I put on a  shirt and ten minutes later a stain magically appears on my chest shelf.

ghk-stainbuster-ketchup-mdn

Running blind…

I’ve been running 3 times week to get ready for my race, but I have to plan my laundry days so I have enough clean sports bras. Ladies with chests don’t have the luxury to run free. It’s could turn into a disaster. If I don’t strap down my precious cargo I could injure myself. Things could start flying around uncontrollably, hitting me in the face.

sports-bras

Victoria does have a secret…

It’s slim picking when I go bra shopping. Since I don’t have to fake it to make it, I don’t get the choice of the colorful fun bras at Vikki’s. I get stuck with three choices: white, tan and black. The fun bras usually have too much padding, giving too much push-up. If I were to risk wearing the bright colorful bra with padding, I could endanger myself by being suffocated with my two attached boulders. I like breathing so I stick with the bland pickings.

huge bra gigantic humongous large funny

Long live the bigg girls.

Run, Baby, Run

 

So I made a promise to L.A. that I would keep the blog strong while she is on the adventure of a life time. Plus, I haven’t blogged in months.

How is my life, you might asked? Well, it’s fabulous. Summer has finally appeared in the mitten state.

Summer being in the air has given me incentive to plan all my summer adventures. Some adventures are very unfamiliar to me.

The adventure that I’m most excited about is running the 10 miler in a race called the Crim. It’s taking place later this summer. 14 weeks away to be exact.

I’m not much of a runner so this should be interesting. I have already started to plan ways to get to the finish line without actually running. Like, wearing roller blades or hopping on someone’s back for a piggy-back ride. Or maybe, I will just skip the entire race, splash some water on my face, and show up to the finish line.

My motivation to run stems from a few things… Purchasing colorful running shoes. Making a pack with myself when I turned 25 to be more healthy and active. I want to live to be 100 so I have to take actions to make it to that finish line. Lastly, I’m running for the beer and t-shirt. Oh and my job is paying for me to in the race. Running for free is the best type of running.

Image

I’m 2 weeks into training, and I think I’m doing pretty good. I was able to complete 3 miles this past Sunday. But, I will share a secret with you… I had a wedgie the entire time. So painful. So awkward.  I need new running shorts.

I hope wedgies do not become a common occurrence. I will definitely not be able to run the entire ten miles come race day. Or I will have to run with no pants and I think that may be frowned upon in the running community.

Please cheer me on to keep running and praying for wedgie-free runs!!!

I killed a man in Reno.

I mean, I didn’t really kill a man in Reno. But I’m working on my alibi for as to why it looks like I was attacked by an angry kitten.

I went to soccer tonight with every intention of playing, dying, then coming home, posting a video, winning a bet and then going to sleep. This was not in the cards.

I’m on the field. A guy is coming at me with the ball. At the last second, he turns and goes into me with his shoulder. His shoulder, full force into my face. I fly off my feet, like I always do and land. My face hurts.

I yell things.

Poof would later tell me I went down in a puddle of fucks.

The guy keeps going but the ref blows the whistle.

“I didn’t even hit her!”

I yell more things. I’m bleeding.

I run off the field.

The front desk staff MacGyver‘s an ice pack for me and some ladies on the bench debate if I need stitches.

Nobody makes me bleed my own blood.

Nobody makes me bleed my own blood. Photo courtesy to Poof, because she wanted the blood in the picture.

So, the game ends, and I tell everyone and their mother about my lip. And that’s about when I decide this is much more important than a fitted sheet.

Reaction 1. Poof, from her perspective.

Reaction 2. Soccer v. Hockey

Text

Hockey Friend: You’re so dramatic. Hockey players cut their lips all the time and go back and play.

Me: It wouldn’t stop bleeding!

Hockey Friend: You’re so dramatic!

Me: DON’T YOU KNOW ME AT ALL?!

Reaction 3. TwitterVerse.

Reaction 4. L.A. converses with her father.

Me: Hey Dad.

Dad: You’re home.

Me: Yup.

Dad: OH! You’ve got a brute.

Me: Yup.

Dad: …well, I’m sorry.

Me: Thanks.

Dad: Who’d you piss off?

*Update: upon waking up this morning, the cut had not healed, but instead had decided to bleed all over my bed. It was like waking up in a horror movie. So, I headed to an urgent care, and the old man doctor glued my lip together, so it wouldn’t keep re-opening. Then he warned me to “limit my mouth actions.”

*Update Two: upon the re-hashing of the tale with Poof, the following discussion happened.

Blood and words

 

So, you owe a thank you to Poof for the painting with the words, to match my painting my tale with my blood. HashTag. BloodBrothers.

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Run, L.A., Run! (Possibly walk at a brisk pace, L.A., walk at a brisk pace!)

*Update at the bottom*

The other day, I was over at CoSi and BoBo’s house for our I want it to be a weekly tradition type thing game night. It was a bunch of people catching up from high school, including, but not limited to, the afore mentioned Cosi and Bobo, FunSized, Arrington (and significant other), and HSM.

I don’t know what “high school reunion” means to you, but to me, it means that game night turns pretty quickly to high school story telling random conversation of everything we haven’t talked about in the past x amount of months catch up time.

train of thought

So, we’re the midst of the whole catching up, and somehow, the topic of Arrington and his constant running comes up. He ran like…track, and cross country, and those other running things…the ones where you run just to run.

Basically, this is how I see our trains of thought regarding the "fun" and "usefulness" of running.

Basically, this is how I see our trains of thought regarding the “fun” and “usefulness” of running.

Arrington is telling us about the next marathon he’s going to be running in, since he runs them all the time, since he’s capable, and doesn’t weeze and die while running like I do.

That’s when I’m thrown for a loop. “I’m going to run a 5k!” FunSized announces. “I’m training for it.”

“You should totally do it!” Arrington tells her.

“What’s that one that everyone is doing?” I ask. “The Color run?” I think to the pictures of people doused in various colors while running. Besides the running, it looks pretty exciting. “I added that to my bucket list.”

“That looks fun!” FunSized says. “Let’s do it!”

“Let’s all do it!” CoSi says.

“We can do the one in Lansing!” Arrington says. “We can even tail gate too, and cross two things off your bucket list”

It sounds exciting and fun and all sorts of friends that I love more than life itself, but it isn’t until later that I start to think more about it.

Conversations w Dad

I’m not a good runner. I remember being in high school, having to run three miles, and being completely winded.

Random conversation from a high school run.

Teammate: So, Boyfriend got me flowers to apologize for being a jerk.

Me: *Silence*

Teammate: I know you don’t like him.

Me: *Silence*

Teammate: L.A.! Seriously?!

Me: *wheeze* Yeah, flowers. *(inner monologue) if I say more words, I won’t be able to hate anyone because I’ll be lying dead on the street in downtown Grand Rapids.*

I ended up talking to VS about this running thing later, because while I did soccer in high school, she did track. She runs. She knows what’s up. Both with the running, and with me being a terrible runner.

Chat with Jade

So, VS sent me this link called like “Running for Dumbasses,” and I downloaded an app on the recommendation of FunSized which allows to walk (live) and run (die) in increments of pain and anguish. And hopefully between the two of those, I’ll manage to make it successfully through a 5k.

Have you ever done one of these marathon things? What do you do to prepare? Slash, how do you feel about following me with a rickshaw for when I get tired??

Tweet me or comment with any advice or words of encouragement. After all, if I die, whose blog will you read??

A big fat thank you and snuggle to everyone who’s been encouraging about this whole running thing. I downloaded that App (Couch to 5k, for those who has asked) at FunSized’s suggestion, and have learned that 60 seconds is really, really, really long when you’re running and that 90 seconds is incredibly short when you know you have to run some more at the end of it. But the whole point, I suppose, is that I’m running? Right?

Let me know if you’re signing up for the color run — I want to know what other people are doing for this training thing. Also, I saw pictures of people running in tutus. I’d like a tutu. Or a crown. Or a horse drawn carriage. Whichever.

Let's get colorful.

Let’s get colorful.

*Update*

I’m not doing everyday with the running. But I’m doing more.  Last week Sunday:

And then again this Sunday: 3.09 miles. It hurts so good.*

*Not really. It hurts so bad. But I’m sure it’ll be great when I’m all multi-colored**.

**I’m still lying. I’m still think I might die a multi-colored death.

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When in doubt, write more. Or bitch more, in which case, someone will tell you to write.

You guys all owe Scott (found @ThisDaddys_blog and www.thisdaddysblog.net) a big fat gigantic thank you for finally getting me to publish something, since I’m sure you’re terribly sick of reading the same 80 some odd posts I’ve deemed acceptable for Chicks in the Mitt.

Or you might owe him a big fat gigantic F U, depending how you’re feeling when you get to the end of this post.

I posted on twitter today in a fit of desperation —

20130129-215501.jpg

-which is really rather inconvenient for me because lately it’s felt like everything I’ve written has sucked, sucked, and sucked more.

Blog about kidney stones? Not as funny as the FRIENDS episode.

Blog about the twitter? It’s already been done by me a few times, and to be completely honest, I am mad at the twitter for allowing me to be funny in 140 characters, and unable to be funny in 500 some-odd words.

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Blog about the hockey even? Well, I’m pretty sure a lot of hockey blogs have covered the popular topic of the Red Wings Power Play. In that, right now, we really don’t have one*.

So then, what does one write about with the blog and the block and the lack of funny?

If only I had a small child who said such hilarious things that I could basically topple Bill Cosby’s Kids Say the Darnedest Things

OH WAIT.

So, we’re at the Griffins game and there’s a very vocal guy sitting a few seats over from us that is just screaming bloody murder at the ice. I bet he and I could be friends.

Boo is watching the game but is totally distracted by this guy yelling. “Mommy, he’s loud.

“I know,” I tell him. “It’s okay. You know you can be loud at the hockey game.”

Boo proceeds to let out a shriek that ‘s rather reminiscint of a hungry pterodacytl.

“Not that loud,” I remind him. “We don’t need to break the sound barrier.

At that moment, the Griffins do something good and the very vocal guy lets out a cheer. “Griiiiiiiiiii-fffffffffons!”

“MOMMY.” Boo is very upset by this. “MOMMY, HE BROKE THE SOUND BARRIER.”

I shake my head, but Boo cannot be disuaded

“HE BROKE IT AND HE IS CHEERING FOR THE BAD GUYS.”

“No, buddy, he said ‘Griffins,’ he’s on our team-

“HE SAID GREEN ONES!”

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At this point Boo leans around me to the guy. “YOU CHEER FOR THE GRIFFINS. WE ARE CHEERING FOR THE GRIFFINS!

I don’t know where he gets this super fandom from.

Oh, and also:

Boo: Mommy, what are you doing?

Me: Mommy forgot how to be funny, BooBoo

Boo: Don’t worry. When you grow up, you can be funny like me.

Well, thanks, Bud.

*The Red Wings scored a PPG as I was writing this blog. RELIEVED FACE HERE.
And seriously. No idea where my kid gets the hockey love from.