First off, my marriage is fine.

People read “couples’ therapy” and immediately assume we’re having issues. 

We’re not. 

It’s like when we took a Love and Respect course last year.  Everyone thought our first few years were already rocky. 

Of course not. 

We took it so we could have that strong foundation so we can ride out the rocky days.  I promise you, there is such a thing as a healthy marriage.  It includes love, fights, collaboration and, well, the good stuff.

We didn’t go to Couples’ Therapy for help—we went for a date!

Two of my fellow playwrights, Dan Augusta and Jessy Ardern, put on a fantastic show on Saturday night with the rest of their troupe, The Struts and Frets Players. 

Entitled Couples’ Therapy: an Evening with Shakespeare’s Most Dysfunctional Lovers, the 90-minute evening consisted of 8 scenes, 3 sonnets, and 3 songs with original music by the Flying Romantics (lyrics by William Shakespeare).  Totally refreshing.

Like most high school students, I was forced to read Romeo and Juliet and Macbeth.  (Hamlet was never an option, although I’m sure I watched Mel Gibson back in the late 90s…)

But wait for it--Couples’ Therapy didn’t include Romeo and Juliet.  (At least not Juliet.  There was a minute-long run-through of the play, and why it wasn’t included, by the amazing Ariel Levine as Romeo.  But I’m digressing.  Back on task.)

It did, however, include a segment from one of my favourites: Much Ado About Nothing. 

Ah Beatrice and Benedick. 

So spiteful of each other, and so perfect for one another.  (SPOILER ALERT: it’s a comedy, they obviously get together! (although Romeo and Juliet also got together and that one was a tragedy… Hmm; maybe I didn’t spoil anything…))

But seeing the players on Saturday night, then doing a great reading (for a cold read in a writing class, tears never hurt) on Monday night, and preparing to see myself in two short films tonight (Tuesday), I can’t tell you more how much I miss acting.  I miss the stage, the lights, the makeup, and the rush of being completely vulnerable before hundreds of people while fully clothed.  Damn that feels good.

So CreComm, you’re fun and all, but I can’t wait until you’re over.  I want my weekends and evenings back.  My acting needs the time, my writing needs the discipline, and my bank account could sure use the money. But most importantly, CreComm, my marriage needs the focus, or I might just need real couples’ therapy after all.

Tonight I was part of a focus group with 12 other people. 

It was entertaining.  I made $50, so I’ll take it.

While there, I sat next to a guy named Jon (his name is changed for confidentiality’s sake.  Nah, who am I kidding?  His name was really Jon).  We chatted for a bit, joked around, basically hit it off well.

During the course of the evening, however, I mentioned that I am currently studying Creative Communications at Red River College.

Suddenly, nice, quiet tattooed Jon spoke up very angrily, “You’re in the program they call CreComm?”

 I nodded enthusiastically. 

With disgust, he continued, “You’re a CreComm?”

Woops.  Did I do something wrong?

Apparently dear old (well young, really—I’d say about 30ish) Jon spent $35,000 (disgusting, right?  My BFA didn’t cost me that much!) at the Academy of Broadcasting and couldn’t find a job to save his life—all the jobs went to this horrible cultish group of freaks called CreComms. 

(Ya, I also don’t get all the emphases on “CreComms”, but he said it like that, not me)

*sigh*

On the plus side, at least I know I’m very likely to get a job.  Thanks Jon.  With school winding down, that’s just the encouragement I need. 

Plus I got $50 for hanging out with you, so I’ll take it.

I’m not complaining.

You know how some days you just need to say things?  They aren’t complaints; they’re facts.  But they almost seem negative so they come off as complaints.

But they’re not, because I’m not complaining.

I am currently on a break from my Web Design class.  I have no idea what’s going on.  Actually, I suppose that is something that I could complain about.  My instructor just doesn’t seem to be getting things across.  I’d say it’s just me, but it’s not.  There are only about 2 people in this class who understand what’s going on.

Ya, I’m so not one of them.

But I’m trying.

Sort of.

It’s also very cold in here.  Again, not a complaint, just a fact. 

Of course it might just be so cold in here because I am so tired.  That’s mostly my own fault.  I probably shouldn’t have gone to bed at 11 last night and woke up at 4 this morning.

Ya, that’s so my bad.

In the meantime I am trying to focus on the 101 billion things I have left to do this week (again, not a complaint—more like an exaggeration…)

But I should take notes now. 

Or at least I would if I had a pen.  I always have pens.  Usually at least 6 pens on me at a time.  I think other people have caught on that I’m the pen girl because they’re always asking for one but never returning.

So today when I need one, I don’t have one.

But then considering what class I’m in, knowing full well that even if I can take notes I’ll have no idea what they mean in an hour, I am definitely not complaining.

Tonight I had the opportunity to cover a Manitoba Moose game.  It was my first real sports story where I actually covered sports, not just wrote a human interest piece while at a sports game.

The goal was to write something clever and creative, using a unique voice.  I'm not sure how unique my voice ended up being, but I must say that having spent the last year reading and writing romance novels, it definitely rubbed off.  A lot.

The following is my submitted story:

Moose hockey: easy cum, easy go

The Manitoba Moose aroused a crowd of 6,374 fans early on Tuesday night with a hard, fast goal, but played a limp second period and just couldn’t keep it up for an unsatisfying third period giving them a 5-2 loss to Massachusetts’ Worcester Sharks.

Like an eager young man having his first sexual experience, the Moose came early with a goal at the 29-second mark.  Manitoba born Marty Murray pumped his way into action with an assist by Matt Pettinger within the first minute, and the momentum of their solid penetration of the net lasted until 5:14 into the second period when the Sharks tied it up.  Dwight Helminen would force himself onto the score board, followed by Matt Jones just two and a quarter minutes later.

With the Sharks up by two, the Moose needed to get in on some of the action, but just couldn’t live up to the throbbing man pile that erupted at 17:13 of the first period after Sharks’ centre Andrew Desjardins took two minutes for roughing and 10 more for misconduct.

To further establish their domination on the slick ice that yearned for action most of the second period, the Sharks overwhelmed Moose tender Daren Machesney with thrust after thrust as the puck glided into the heated core of the net throughout the third.  With Ryan Vesce and Jason Demers assisting, T.J. Trevelyan injected the puck at 1:30 of the third, followed by Vesce at 5:46 with a little help from Logan Couture and Derek Joslin, and finally a commanding demonstration of manhood by Dan DaSilva with John McCarthy at 7:58.

Sharks goalkeeper Alex Stalock would only let the slippery little sucker right on through past the contraceptives of his thick, developed padding one more time when, trying to retain some dignity on the home ice, Murray helped Travis Ramsey slide one last goal in at 14:29 of the third, but alas it was too little too late.

Goaltender and fan favourite Cory Schneider said, “I’ve been here all year helping the team win and I’m going to finish the year helping them win.”  And with 45 games played over Machesney’s 18, his experience might have come in handy, had the hardness of his stick been used rather than watching the affair unfold from a cold, lonely bench. 

The Moose came up short, suffering from an obvious case of stick-envy, as they were outshot 43-29 on the second of two host games with Worcester.


***
So I must say, it was an awesome, awesome experience, getting to sit up in the press box, having free soda (it was free, right?  Bcos I just took some like all the other big journalists did...), and getting just all-around awesome treatment.

I will say this, however.  For sports fanatics, the sports men I spent the evening with have terrible aim.  I get that they aren't used to having women use the shared restrooms, so no major qualms keeping the seat up (I have two working hands, I can put it down if you don't), but dude, aim for the inside of the bowl. 

Seriously.

Just gross.

My grandma had a picture of a toilet in her bathroom with a message that read,

"We aim to please.
You aim too, please."

I think they need something like that up in the press box.  Or at least give them another trough...