Record Breaking
B SCORES, TOP SHELF!!
Time of death: 7:46pm, Friday, February 10, 2006.... and a new star emerges to take her destined place among the superstar record holders.
Congrats, z!! Mom and dad are listening to you on super loud internet transmission. They are eating indian food around dad's office desk, like... well, i don't know what they are like. Apparently, you didn't look happy during the first period when the refs were too quick on the whistle and stole another scoring chance from you.
Of course, i can't keep my attention on sound transmissions of hockey (memories of painful car rides with dad and his talk radio) so i am not down there listening with them, but i am waiting for the inevitable woot, woots (only much more high pitched and way less cool) from mom when you inevitably score like the hockey superstar you are. Then i run out to cheer with them. I guess that's only happened once, and i won't jinx it, but i expect it to happen again. lol, did i already jinx it?
Anyway, you deserve it. Though i will once again say that i don't condone the laissez-faire attitude about your own physical health that was the playing through broken wrists and shoulders and whatever else you broke and played through. But i will admit that i was impressed when you still managed to average a hattrick a game while your wrist was practically shattered. My hat is off to you, superstar schwester. I am honoured to have been the pocket to your rocket.
And of course, in the spirit of self promotion, i would like to point out to all my faithful readers *cough*two*cough* that i had no doubt that you would be the superstar that you are growing up practicing against the meanest, toughest, most skilled defense that was yours truly. Yeah, that's right. I get off on telling people that you could skate circles by anyone but me, and that i can skate backwards as fast as you can skate forward (which obviously is hella hella fast). At this point I don't even remember if it's true, but i better hear you tell people that story in interviews!
Dad must be so proud!... obviously we all are. But dad in a special, almost sickly way. hehe.
Bruder is so drunk that he is slurring his words. His coworkers have been buying him tequila shots since 3:30pm... as a sort of permature celebration of course. Clearly he had more faith in you than any of us! Oh bruder... you are a sloppy mess and schwester is a classy superstar. And me... well, i'm just sitting her drinking wine, listening to Matthew Good and soaking in all the goodness that you both bring. Bruder did just bring in some fine goodness, actually, and some much needed contacts.
That, and he just ran into my door.
It's a good night, dear ones. A good night.
Congrats again, z. A toast to you and all you do!
Time of death: 7:46pm, Friday, February 10, 2006.... and a new star emerges to take her destined place among the superstar record holders.
Congrats, z!! Mom and dad are listening to you on super loud internet transmission. They are eating indian food around dad's office desk, like... well, i don't know what they are like. Apparently, you didn't look happy during the first period when the refs were too quick on the whistle and stole another scoring chance from you.
Of course, i can't keep my attention on sound transmissions of hockey (memories of painful car rides with dad and his talk radio) so i am not down there listening with them, but i am waiting for the inevitable woot, woots (only much more high pitched and way less cool) from mom when you inevitably score like the hockey superstar you are. Then i run out to cheer with them. I guess that's only happened once, and i won't jinx it, but i expect it to happen again. lol, did i already jinx it?
Anyway, you deserve it. Though i will once again say that i don't condone the laissez-faire attitude about your own physical health that was the playing through broken wrists and shoulders and whatever else you broke and played through. But i will admit that i was impressed when you still managed to average a hattrick a game while your wrist was practically shattered. My hat is off to you, superstar schwester. I am honoured to have been the pocket to your rocket.
And of course, in the spirit of self promotion, i would like to point out to all my faithful readers *cough*two*cough* that i had no doubt that you would be the superstar that you are growing up practicing against the meanest, toughest, most skilled defense that was yours truly. Yeah, that's right. I get off on telling people that you could skate circles by anyone but me, and that i can skate backwards as fast as you can skate forward (which obviously is hella hella fast). At this point I don't even remember if it's true, but i better hear you tell people that story in interviews!
Dad must be so proud!... obviously we all are. But dad in a special, almost sickly way. hehe.
Bruder is so drunk that he is slurring his words. His coworkers have been buying him tequila shots since 3:30pm... as a sort of permature celebration of course. Clearly he had more faith in you than any of us! Oh bruder... you are a sloppy mess and schwester is a classy superstar. And me... well, i'm just sitting her drinking wine, listening to Matthew Good and soaking in all the goodness that you both bring. Bruder did just bring in some fine goodness, actually, and some much needed contacts.
That, and he just ran into my door.
It's a good night, dear ones. A good night.
Congrats again, z. A toast to you and all you do!
posted by one L at 7:47 p.m.
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