
I hesitate now to post anything here about my own humdrum existence, while others are out scaling Mt. Kilamanjaro or making their way across Tibet in a rickety bus held together with chewing gum and a prayer. Oh wait, I’ve done the Tibet thing. Never mind. Still, even though it’s sad that my life has deteriorated into such menial hobbies as going to watch a Wolves game (foosball season is still two months away, darnit), that’s what I have to work with, dear reader, so off we go. Since I actually do PLAY hockey, does that cancel out the lameness of watching a game, i.e. watching someone else doing something? Or does that just mean that the yin/yang of it will cause my head to explode? The mind reels.
Anyway.
The Wolves played a great game, and I’m not just saying that because I was tanked on mai tais – I mean, my NUTRITIONAL INTAKE for the evening. (As an aside – is a hot dog a fruit?) No sirree. I love Wolves games because the people-watching is par excellence.

My happy evening was somewhat dimmed by the fact that I hurt my neck/shoulder yesterday, which made movement a bit painful. How did I hurt my neck, you ask? Was it hockey? Hours of cycling? Swimming?

And under the heading of Things I Have Learned Thus Far doing this bullcrap MC diet:
Apparently detoxing involves walking around with an ice pick in the head,

That’s about it so far. Oh, and looking at the pizza picture below is making me hungry. Thanks Chuck.
Also, word to my chick posse – ma homeboys on the Fireballs (hi Joe! Richie! LJ!) have urged us to come back to the bar at Johnny’s to hang out after games. Where the ratio of Guys: Tasha is usually about 20:1, and I get props for being a badass. Not bad odds, even for me. Now, I’m not saying you all need to take up hockey, but perhaps hanging out at the rink

Soon up: Run Gait Analysis, or, Whereupon Tasha Learns That She Runs Like a Manatee.