Malerie V

Professional bystander of others' awkward moments. Boxed wine connoisseur. Class clown of 2002 & 2006. Reigning champion of my family's Trivial Pursuit war. Here are my smörgåsbord of thoughts:

Month: November, 2014

Have one. Or ten. Or a concussion.

I loved having sleepovers as a child. Obviously, who didn’t? The thought of spending 12 straight hours with your same friend was almost overwhelming to the heart. SO MANY THINGS WE WOULD DO TOGETHER. And then after, we would tell all our other friends how many fun things we did without them. TAKE THAT! We live such eccentric elementary-aged lives. You’d never believe it.

So when I was younger my parents spoiled my brothers & I, and would often get tickets to the local AHL (American Hockey League) games, and since tickets weren’t as expensive as the NHL, they’d let us take our friends with them. This was MAJOR as a child because not only were we having a SLEEPOVER we were priding ourselves in front of the whole class, showing off whom our best friend was. Caitlin always came with me (shout out to my elementary school BF!). When you’re a child having a best friend is the equivalent of having a significant other. You want everyone to know who your best friend is. It’s sort of awkward when you think about it in retrospect as an adult, but seriously when you’re younger it’s really super important to show off your friendship.

So it’s a Friday night and we’re going to the Phantoms game, and Cait and I are PUMPED. The teams are warming up, (I can’t quite recall the other team they were playing at the time seeing as I was in about third grade), the music is blasting, and we’re standing by the ice pounding our little fists on the glass shouting at the players as if they can hear our little prepubescent voices.

Frank the Animal was currently on the roster. If his name doesn’t ring a bell to you, the man was obviously a beast on ice. I’ve always had a soft spot, even at a young age, for the ruthless bad boys, and as he warmed up I hit the glass as hard as I possibly could to get his attention. Much to my surprise, he actually turned around. It was the end of the warm ups, and the man started gathering the pucks on the ice. Then, holy hell, he started skating back to us TO GIVE US THE PUCKS. When you’re 10 years old at an AHL game, and someone is actually paying attention to you, better yet you’re favorite player, this may be the best moment of your life.

He starts throwing the pucks over the glass to us. Now, I’ve always grown up playing sports. I’ll be honest, I’m very athletic. I’ve won awards, trophies, MVPs. Maybe it was an off day. Maybe it was something about being so overwhelmed since my idol saw me. I don’t know what it was, but I. DIDN’T. CATCH IT. Not only did I not catch the first puck Frank threw, it hit me. square. in. the. damn. head. I stammered a bit, I’m a little zonked, he throws the rest of the pucks all in one toss. I cannot make this up, EVERY. SINGLE. PUCK. that man threw over the glass hits me straight in the face. Ten frozen pucks hitting this ten year old girl right in the face, knocking me straight to the ground. My parents, a few rows away, watched laughing hysterically. According to my friend, brothers, and parents, Frank looked absolutely horrified. I actually think the man knocked me unconscious. Oh, & the cherry on top, LITTLE KIDS CAME AND TOOK EVERY SINGLE PUCK & RAN AWAY LEAVING NONE FOR ME.

I don’t remember if the Phantoms won that night. Probably because I had a concussion. But I do know that to this day that was my family’s favorite Phantoms game ever. Oh and I made my parents buy me extra pizza that night to stop my crying. Damn straight.


I’ll miss the many many, few, hours we spent together

High school. We all had shitty jobs. I just literally had the shittiest. I worked at a kennel. Ya know, where people drop off their dogs & cats when they go on vacations. I thought it was awesome at the time. I just go and hang out with dogs all day. It wasn’t that bad. I didn’t have to think too much and the most pressure that I dealt with was if the dog was barking too much.

Things did get weird towards the end. We had these deals where you could spend extra money and we had to read the dogs bed time stories and tuck them in with a doggy ice cream. I wish I were joking. They were the “Spot” books. Dogs don’t like to be read to. I found that out the hard way. This is besides the point.

One night I was closing up shop. The dogs were in the cages and I was doing the final walk through when I saw a dog that didn’t look too well. He actually looked so unwell I felt the need to address my boss and say something about it. “Hey, Nicole, the dog in number 7 looks pretty sick.” We walked into the back to the kennels. She stared at me. She stared at the dog. She stared at me. This dumb 17 year old. “You have to take this dog to the vet…immediately.” What the What. “ummm. you are talking to me right? because there’s no one else back here.” I asked as I stared at here like an idiot. “Yes. put this dog in your car and take it to the  vet NOW.” Well…I didn’t know where the vet was, but god damn did I drive fast.

I got my brick Nokia out and called my mom in sheer panic “DOG. SICK. VET. CAR. WHERE IS IT?” “ummmmm…. are you talking words? what?” My Mom ever so patient with me, always used to my overdramatic ‘what the hell’ moments I throw out random words and finally complete the story and tell her where I need to go. Pre-GPS.  I didn’t have time to print out the mapquest directions so she guides me through the phone how to get to the vet. I AM FREAKING THE FUCK OUT. I’m not one to deal with high pressure situations such as this well. I don’t take tests well. I’ll stand in front of little kids and chat all day, but things like this, AWW HELL NAW.

I get to the vet. I wipe the sweat from my brow because, god damnit, I was just an ambulance for a dog. So I carry this dog that is probably half my size into the vet. And it’s getting worse. It’s looking worse. And it’s started vomiting. Foaming a bit around the mouth. You know how they say that when true emergencies happen people develop this superhuman strength? I guess that’s how I carried this dog in. Because it was not light. As soon as I check in, I feel a little relieved. “you did well, Val.” *pat on my own back*


WHAT. THE ACTUAL FUCK. IS WRONG WITH EVERYONE. can no one tell, that me, a 17 year old, is driving my car, older than myself, around not dealing with emergencies well? And I’m pretty sure I have a French test tomorrow & Phsyics homework due. This is NOT on my agenda. I call my boss. I relay the info. She screams into the phone to do the same thing. WELL THEN, THANKS GUYS. I have NO No NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO idea where the animal hospital is. They try to give me directions, but all I know is nothing is sticking in my brain and I’ve always failed that part of state testing every year. MAPS AND DIRECTIONS. Always my lowest score. My Mom always hated that. She’s like a modern day cartographer and I can’t even get myself around the damn block. Whatever. I call my Mom: AGAIN. Tears are in my eyes and my voice is shaking at this point because, for chrissake, this dog is now dying in my backseat. It’s throwing up:Everywhere. It’s moaning. And I’m driving like a madman trying to find this Animal Hospital. I AM THE AMBULANCE, DAMNIT. Seriously, vomit everywhere. And I can hear the breathing shallowing and I swear it’s a race against the clock and I’ll run the damn red lights if I have to because, damnit, this is important.

I FIND THE HOSPITAL. I get the dog out with the help of a worker. I’m not a superhero anymore. I’m so dumb, panicked kid that is seriously on the verge of having a meltdown if you don’t sedate me stat. We get the dog to the back immediately. Not even there for 5 minutes, they all look at me, “Sorry, miss, we’re going to have to put your dog down.” They knew it before even diagnosing. I knew it. They knew it. We all knew it. HO-LY SHIT. I. LOST. IT. I SOBBED. AND SOBBED. STRANGERS HELD ME. The Dr. tried to console me “How long did you have him?” “He *gasp* came *gasp* in *gasp* on *gasp* Tuesday!!!” (It’s Thursday) Everyone just stares at me awkwardly. “He’s *gasp* not *gasp* my *gasp* dog!!!” LONG SOBBBING SCREAM AND LOTS OF TEARS. I then try to explain between sobs that I’m going to have to tell the family on vacation that they’re dog died. They try to tell me the dog was old and things like this happen in life. BUT YOU DON’T UNDERSTAND. No one understands you when you live the life of an over-dramatic dramatic. Everything is….well… dramatic.

Eventually I go back to my car after the Dr.’s called my Boss. My Boss talks to me and tells me “I thought this would happen.” Bitch put me up to it. I sit in the diver’s seat. There’s vomit. EVERYWHERE. I sigh. It smells. I cry. I drive home. My Mom hugs me after hours of torture. She cleaned my car for me that night. A saint, I swear. But that, my friends, was the worst night of working. I actually had to take like 3 days off after for emotional stress. I think my boss actually MADE me take off to be honest. DESERVED. RIP family dog. I still think about you.