Monday, May 14, 2012

Blog Issues

AH! Lots of people hitting the blog means my very limited HTML layout is having a mental breakdown... sorry for the technical difficulties, certain posts are up and down... hopefully will be fixed later tonight. 

Stef had a Stalker Part II

I haven't done a split blog post in a verrrry long time, I had to go back and see where I left this story off.


So, long story short, I'm now about to leave Philly that Sunday to come back home, have to work Monday, and after the fabulous weekend sex I was treated to, in the car ride back I was composing some epic e-mail to this chick. I mean honestly, how fucking idiotic can you be? You used your REAL NAME to make a fake texting account? Who does that? If you're going to harass someone, fuck dude at least cover the most basic bases of hiding your identity.


I get home and send a Facebook message. Went something like this:


Look Gabby Gee- clearly you have no idea who you are fucking with. I don't know where in your line of thinking you thought it was cool to spread rumors about me to dudes who don't know you, but not only have I made sure that every guy on the Flyers knows what a complete psychopath you are, I will make sure every Islander, New York Ranger, and if I can stretch it, Bruin, knows you're a fucking stalker. I have every intention of calling the Flyers and informing them that you are harassing players and their friends (I don't think "fuck buddy" would have gone over well in the Flyers office), and I will make sure you don't get a job in the closest five states to New York at any arena or venue. Further, I am considering taking legal action considering you told someone I had an STD, which is a complete fucking lie. You so much as mention my name, or the name of anyone I've fucked in the last ten year in passing, and I will make sure you get a restraining order slapped on your ass so fast, that you won't even be able to say 'Bryzgalov".


Here I think the situation was handled. Because if it were me, and I got caught doing something so incredibly shady, not only by the girl but by the guy who's team I like to stalk and follow, I'd be mortified. Wouldn't you? Lick your wounds, block on Facebook, pretend it never happened.


Dude, bitch comes back talking about the people her father knows. WHO SAYS THAT? She starts hurling that she has more connections than me and she was going to sue me.


Bitch was certifiably crazy. It took it to a point where she threatened to have her friends attack me that I finally said i was calling the cops and she backed down. She tried to reverse psych my ass, saying if I pressed any kind of charges it would look bad for me. When I stopped responding to her I got the typical terrified girl. "Ok just stop. This isn't funny anymore. Stop. I'm serious. This is so stupid".


She tried to convince me this is a normal thing for 22 year olds to do, and that it was just a joke. I then informed her that I told my hockey dude everything she said about him and his teammates, and that she'd have better luck getting a job at Victoria Secret than she would ever getting into an event where those guys were present again.


I did call the cops and I did consult a lawyer, but I didn't do anything other than give a record and keep my lawyer in the loop. I blocked her on Facebook and haven't had a bother since, and hopefully it stays that way, for her sake more than mine.


Women are fucking nuts dude. People wonder why I was so private with my Facebook account, especially after Sweet Home Alabama, it's because of crazy chicks like this that have no life. Girls that cant get the guys themselves and live vicariously through others in a bad way. This chick was so pathetic in the way she acted, I felt bad for her. And if Stef Williams feels bad for you, you know you must be in some seriously fucked up shape.


It ain't about who you know or who your daddy is. I guess everyone's different, but being able to say "my dad will save my job if you tell people the truth about how I'm anonymously (I use that word very loosely) harassing players of teams I work for and the girls they're hooking up with", isn't a win. It's a fucking sad, sad, sad, loss.


So there you have it. And people wonder why I was depressed, Jesus, I had crazy fan girls stalking ME and I wasn't even dating the guy. It's shit like this that makes me feel genuinely bad for the actual girlfriends. There are jersey chasers, and then there are girls like this - the batshit chubby ones who do anything to feel "part of it". Fucking nuts man.

Hardshells


Alright alright, it's sad how much of my blog day depends on whether I get internet at work or not. Christ.


Now that I'm settled and content eating breakfast (which includes TWO five hour energy drinks), let's get the week started.


Now, as much as I love lax, I am also aware that I'm one of the few weird ones who isn't dating a laxer, the mother of a laxer, or the sibling of a laxer, that will actually sit and watch games on ESPNU. With that being said, holy shit Maryland. Baby Terps are starting to get into Yankee status in terms of the years they take off my life.


First round last night started out fabulously for my Terps. a 6-0 run left them up by 5 a few minutes before the half. In the bag. Sold. 


WRONG. Lehigh comes out on a 7-0 run and all of a sudden Maryland is losing. The fuck, how is this shit happening? Lehigh's goalie, who is a freshman by the way, Poillon (someone can inform me how to pronounce it later), turned into a brick fucking wall stopping shots from Maryland at point blank range.


By the 4th, Maryland was still trailing 9-7 and I was having a mild panic attack in my basement bedroom. There are two times a year I usually turn into a manic fan; baseball playoffs and lax playoffs. My roommates have now experienced both. If I screamed "GET THE GROUND BALL" one more time, I would have died.


Somehow, Maryland tied that shit up (I'll admit I freaked and turned the game off for a few). And with a man up opportunity and 44 seconds left, Joe Cummings hung out behind the cage biding his time, cradling that shit like it was no biggie, pulled around and got a shot off that made it to the corner of the net and just like that, the world's greatest sideline celebration (MD Terps) got their big one of the night. 


I don't know how we pulled that shit off, because honestly when Lehigh started clicking, it was like they couldn't stop scoring. And when Poillon got his groove, he was all no fucking way are you getting a goal bro. It was terrifying. 


Anyway, three cheers for my top five players of the game. 


First, credit where due, that kid Matt Poillon was a fucking BEAST. Watching him makes stops made me angry. Kid definitely didn't look like a freshman between the pipes. 



Second, my baby Terp goalie Niko Amato. Love this kid, partially because he'll always just be so young to me, partially for how he dominated last year, partially because every time I look at him he reminds me of an Eskimo (in a good way...don't really know if there's a bad way to look at someone like an Eskimo). Solid goal tending is important and this kid steps up to the plate every time.




Third, Drew Snider. Not only is Drew from the Pac North West, so I already love him, he set the scoring tone for the Terps last night and really was grinding it out. I give him lots of credit on his ability to score and make plays happen.



Forth, little Holmes!! His big brother, who wore 17 back in my day, is one of my best friends and it's good to see a dominating presence at the X for the Terps. Curtis has hot hands and even had a goal. I feel like a piece of my college days is still at MD when I see a Holmes in a number 17 jersey. Charlie Raffa gets a halfway shoutout considering he won 10 faceoffs as well. PS, Travis, where the fuck have you been?



Finally, Joe Cummings. Dude scored a goal that is the shit of legends in Terps lacrosse. I think had he held the ball for a second longer I was going to legit throw my tv against my brick wall. Dude had some serious patience and that was some serious senior leadership, to not only hold out for th right moment, but to actually make that shot with the time remaining and make sure Lehigh couldn't counter. Had he not made the shot, he'd have been on my shit list for quite some time, but he did so right now I'd probably make out with him. Also, just go look at his profile on UMTerps.com. Kid has a lax resume that puts most others to shame. 




Laxtitutes of College Park and Bethlehem PA, get on this shit and thank these guys for the awesomeness they bring to the game! God if it weren't basically illegal for me to do it, I'd do it myself. 

Happy Monday

New posts will be up today as long as the internet at work decides to show up. If not, they'll be up tonight and you can bide your withdrawal through my Brobible article. Yep, new one up today, go check it out and laugh at my attempt to orchestrate some kind of "female broness". I think the alternative word would be "sluttiness" but whatever. I probably should have posted last night but I was too busy housing Hale and Hearty and being the psychopath fan who screams at my TV when the Terps were down 9-7 to Lehigh in the 4th quarter. Priorities, man. 


Until then, kick start your day with this little snippet. This movie wasn't great, but I could watch this scene on repeat for hours. Do enjoy. 


Sunday, May 13, 2012

New York > LA

Just saying. You go from looking like this playing in LA...






To this playing in New York.



I mean....pretty obvious. 

Friday, May 11, 2012

Stef's Politico Message of the Year





So I know I haven't gotten as many posts up this week as I hoped, but with the Brobible stuff and another project underway, extra shifts so I can actually pay bills, I literally slept for 17 hours last night. I promise this weekend there will be more scathing, shit talking articles about sex and sports, so LAY OFF. Just kidding. But seriously, chill.


For a hot sec before I have to hop in the shower after my 17 hour nap, I wanted to talk about Bristol Palin. Because she's been making the waves the last 24 hours (17 of which, did I mention I was sleeping?) about her blog (or rather her blog written by her ghostwriter because, seriously, bitch please). Now, I kind of get why this girl is "famous". She is single handedly the representation of conservative hypocrisy in the 13-25 age range. Where as all the closeted gay reps and pastors hit the 40-80 range. Bitch has all these opinions about her mom (fine) and politics (really?) and social norms (mmmk). And she doesn't even have her high school diploma. So pardon me if I don't take a word this girl says seriously, and if every time she speaks I opt to rip her words to shreds.


Long story short, if you don't know what she said this week, you can go here to check it out. It's too long. But she basically insinuated two things - one, DEMOCRATIC LIBERAL HYPOCRISY FEAR!!!!! And two, Obama is making major political decisions not at the aid and suggestion of his cabinet or congress or people who know shit, but by the requests of his daughters Malia and Sasha. He had mentioned in his recent monumental yet pandering announcement that sitting at the dinner table listening to his daughters, some of whom have friends with same sex parents, it would never be in their world view that those friends' parents who be treated differently. And he said that was a huge eye opener for him.


So first, Bristol goes on to say liberal hypocrisy because when Michelle Bachmann (remember her? her husband is hitting the 40-80 age range of conservative hypocrisy as he looks like the fat gay character from Modern Family) said she'd be "submissive to her husband like a good Christian", she got raked across the coals. 


Look chickie, huge difference between doing whatever the fuck your husband says because you believe in the Bible, and listening to your kid's story about how at soccer practice Janet's two moms were so cool because they brought Gatorade instead of water and thinking "wow, my kids don't even see lines of difference". So, let's leave the HYPOCRISY AND ANTIFEMINISM!!!! fear caps alone for a bit. There's a huge difference between being biblically submissive to a man and listening to your kids talk about their lives and considering it, and if you don't believe me, go read the Bible.


Second, she goes on to talk about how his kids watch too much Glee, and Obama should be a leader and lead his family to "the right way of thinking". Which apparently is that gay marriage is wrong. When Sasha or Malia talk about their friends' families, he shouldn't just nod his head and smile like my dad used to do, he should say "now, let me make this clear, they might be nice people but THEY ARE NOT REALLY MARRIED AND IT'S NOT ACCEPTABLE. Who scored the winning goal?"


Bitch, you got knocked up by some fucking loser who posed for Playgirl and then knocked up another snowbilly blonde with clumpy ass eyelashes (see here. "we forgot the birth control pills" I love it), he owes you money, you didn't graduate high school or even attempt college but you had time to go on Dancing with the Stars and get neck fat lipoed off your face, and unlike other women in your position, because of your fake fame made from your mother's inability to read a map and your inability to wrap it up, you got to buy a house in Arizona for $140k. Want to talk about reality? Maybe if your parents were more open to the fact that teenagers have sex no matter how many times they're told not to, instead of pretending you were hanging out with Levi for his interesting conversation, and had the "being safe is better than hiding it" talk like my mom had, you'd have gone to a gyno, gotten on the pill and not had a baby before you were old enough to even vote for your mother when she was running. Maybe if your dad was a leader, you wouldn't have been fucking with a guy who can't spell moose, but loves to hunt them. I'm not the biggest fan of Obama, but I'm a HUGE fan of reality and the reality is gay people exist, they raise kids, they are happy most of the time, people have sex, not everyone who has sex wants babies and therefore they should be educated about access to birth control, and no, your mom can't see Russia from your house. That's reality. She claims Obama's kids watch too much Glee and are garnering their reality from there? Well I'd rather my kids garner a sense of reality from Glee than a sense of reality from Teen Mom 2. PS - there was a student on Glee who was pregnant, so really Bristol? You must have missed that season. Also, considering "vanity" is a deadly sin, maybe you should have skipped that season of Extreme Makeover before you got the fat sucked out of your neck. Or, I'm sorry, was that for medical purposes?


I don't know why this girl's 15 minutes of fame stretched into four years of assholery, but sweet Jesus, someone needs to get her a PR person who isn't Michelle Bachmann's husband. At the end of the day, I do believe Obama is pandering a bit because they gay vote will matter, especially with this nonsense in North Carolina (fun fact of the day: the last time NC tried to change its constitution regarding marriage, it was to ban interracial marriages back in 1876), and I find the "but states should be allowed to make their own laws about gay marriage" to be a safe cop out to a very unsafe but LOGICAL statement of "I support gay marriage", at the end of the day, whatever reason he said it, he's right. There is nothing remotely right about Bristol Palin's opinion. Nothing. She has no clear definition of reality and certainly lives a life that only women who have appeared on Teen Mom have led. Is it mean that part of me is hoping her son turns out gay? Because I wonder if then when her 16 year old bastard child comes up and says "mom, everyone is bullying me because I'm gay, and I can't take it anymore", she will turn around and say "that's really nice sweetheart, but being gay isn't right, you should never be allowed to get married and stop watching Glee, it's rotting your mind". 


Bitch. Please.


UPDATE:


So I posted a link to this blog post on Palin's own blog comment section, and while it was read by her blog's admins ( can see the admin page is an URL resource), the comment itself was declined. So much for open dialogue sweet pea. If you can't hack the criticism, don't write it. 

Wednesday, May 9, 2012

From NBA to Porn?


I'm not an NBA fan. I find NBA to be slow and boring (people say the same about baseball to me, so whatever) and college basketball is so much more compelling. A way better struggle, so to speak. NBA is more for the atmosphere, the who's who of who might be sitting next to you if you get good seats at the Garden. Like, I don't get it, the first 3/4 of scoring in a game where you can score 110 means jack shit, how do you clap 50 times for 50 baskets? And you're sitting next to fucking Justin Bieber. I mean, no. Just not my style. 


Anyway, despite my disdain for the NBA, my good friends at Sportsgrid clued me in to Greg Oden, and I had to chuckle. Brings back fond memories of Grady Sizemore. Oden was the number one draft pick from Ohio State and then entered the 2007 draft where he was selected by the Portland Trail Blazers. Long story short, dude had some knee issues that plagued his career, he was waived this year by the Trail Blazers and now he's a free agent with only 82 games under his belt in five years. Not looking too good for a dude who had high expectations. 


Right now, he's known more for his nude pics than his playing skills in the NBA. There's a new article out on Grantland.com that I found pretty interesting and it reminded me of my post from earlier this week about athletes and depression. This kid has in theory, been through a lot. Pulled through the ringer so to speak in terms of athletic hopes and dreams. High potential met with mediocre reality ruined by injury. In college, he apparently lost his childhood best friend in a car accident, and it just seems, as Grantland also said, a dark cloud followed this kid around. And in reading his interview, it sounds like he has been teetering on the brink of depression, and who could blame him? The higher the hopes, the greater the fall. 


In 2010, he was hit also with a leaked nudie pick scandal, a la Grady Sizemore. But I have to give the dude credit, of all the excuses I've heard when nude pics were leaked, his seemed the most honest. 


"When a girl sends me 100 pictures, I have to send something back every now and then. I’m not an asshole.”


Hey, at least he's not wholly selfish. Fuck it, he has a huge dong, he wants to show it off in bathroom mirrors, I get it. Its how I feel about my stomach and ass. I once traded a semi-nude pic to a friend for a retweet. Yep, I'm THAT slutty. Good times. Gotta use what ya got while you can. 


You all know my feelings on nude pics. a.) leaking them is dick and no matter who I dated or how bad they hurt me, I'd never leak. b.) I really don't find it to be anything to be ashamed of, and maybe I'm the only one. Fuck it dude, shit happens. There are way worse things someone could be doing than sending nude pics. Yah, it's embarrassing and I'm sure if any of mine leaked I'd have to pop a few Xanax, but what's the difference? It's tits and ass, hidden under clothes, probably going to a dude I either loved a la baseball player or a guy who I want to have rebound sex with a la hockey player. I'm not going to apologize for that anymore than I would for choosing to have ACTUAL sex with them. This dude shouldn't have to apologize, and I honestly give him credit for being so "this is what it is" about it. 


Further, I LOVE that porn agents called him. I think it's awesomely hilarious. It says a lot about his sexual potential, ya know? I mean, I didn't hear about Sizemore getting any calls, and I'm sure none of the pics I have of the boys I've sexted would ever get a call from the big leagues of porn. 


Hopefully this kid gets back on track with his life. He seems to have drive - like he said, he could have taken an offer from another tam and just sat on the bench and instead he opted to remove himself from the game and rehab himself back to top health. He seems very honest about his approach and the shit luck he's battled in life. It's a rare quality to find an athlete who isn't all about self promotion and appearance. You guys should check out the Grantland article if you get a shot. It's long, but a good read and something to take into consideration the next time you feel frustrated with your point in life. God knows we've all been there.



The Idea of No 'Mo Baseball


I went to opening day this year. A friend of mine that I work with got tickets that were just along the left field line, and the boys and me all got wasted on Hoegaardens and Johnny Walker Blue, and then I face planted and had to get stitches. Good times all around.


But on opening day, Jorge Posada, who retired earlier this year in epic Yankee fashion, threw out the first pitch to his dad. And while it was pretty cool to watch, it was also mildly heart breaking. Part of my childhood was now retired.


If you read the book, you know why I love the Yankees the way I do. Why for 21 years I've scared my friends and roommates screaming at the TV during playoff season, spent way too much money to go see games, and told Aaron Boone last year he gave me the best night of my life when he's never even seen me naked. 


Watching Jorge retire was watching part of the last 21 years get put on the shelf. 


But there's still Jeter. And Mariano. And now, gloriously, Andy Pettitte. There are still three who have been there for me through everything - my dad's death, every heart break, the selling of my childhood home, college, college graduation, 9/11. 


So when it was announced that Mariano Rivera tore his ACL shagging balls during BP last week, my heart sank. In weeks previous during Spring Training, he said he was aware of when he was going to retire and he was going to keep it to himself. Retirement was in the conversation, the mix. And now, with a torn ACL, it seemed imminent. 


I don't know why it hurt so bad. I think a lot of things were coming to a head - dealing with baseballer being completely out of my life (and knowing he was in someone else's), the house I grew up in being lived in by someone else, the depression thing, a lot of stuff. And losing Mo, it felt like another blow to things familiar. 


I know I talk a lot of shit, and I fool around with a lot of guys who play sports. But it all started with my love of the Yankees when I was 5, long before I cared what the guy looked like or how much fun it was to be naked with him. 


I watched the press conference where Mo tearfully explained the situation - but swore to come back. I cried a little. I know it sounds ridiculous, but it was like watching my dad cry. And it left me feeling uncomfortable, more so than I already had been feeling.


I love baseball. I will always love baseball, no matter how many athlete players I might date or fool around with who turn out to be shitty and make it hard for me to watch. My biggest hope is that this isn't Mo's retirement speech. That as much as I love Robertson, I get to see the last player to officially wear 42 take the mound again so when he is really done, I can appreciate everything he's given me in terms of memories and thoughts, feelings and emotions. Maybe it's retarded because he's just some closer whom I've never met (one of the few Yankees I can say that about), but he is part of my....growing up. Familiarity. And while this post is kind of pointless, I wanted to acknowledge what the Yanks and Mo have done in terms of my love for baseball and sports. 


I dont know if Mo will be back. I really fucking hope he is because I can't imagine him going out from an injury he got shagging balls when I've seen that dude dominate in the most stressful situations ever on the mound. But if he's not, I have two left. Two men who remind me every day that my childhood and adulthood are still connected. And that's both comforting and scary. I'm not ready to baseball grow up yet. 


Here's to hoping Mo makes a speedy recovery and has one more season in him. Seriously, watch this interview and try not to tear up...it's tough. 



Stef had a Stalker Part I

Two part post, it's been a while since I've done one of these!


I am not cool or famous, and my writing hasn't quite gotten to the point yet where I expect people to be shady for no reason. Needless to say in the last few months, I learned a hard lesson that you do NOT accept everyone's friendship request no matter how many times they add you or how many friends you have in common. That's not to say the athletes I chat to on there should follow the same advice though ;)


Long ago, before asshole baseball player ever wrecked by life with his love for Atlas Shrugged and inability to be emotionally empathetic, I was messing around with a guy on the Flyers. Don't hate me, I'm a Canucks fan anyway. Philly ain't a far trip and with a few Terps living down that way, plus scheduling, it was a decent trip all the time. No strings, just fun. I'll let you assholes take a million guesses on names.


Anyway, about the same time last year, a girl who ironically lived right outside Philly began messaging my blog, detailing how my hockey stories really resonated with her and she felt like she was reading her own life story. Awesome! Love that people can relate to the blog. She even mentioned at one point having hooked up with a hockey player she had assume I had hooked up with years ago. Mildly creepy in comparison, but okay, sure! Fan! Reader! I'll take it!


After things with the blogged calmed down - aka I put it on hiatus - she added me as a friend for probably the fifth time in a year. At that point, I had taken almost all pictures down of dudes I had been with, and my Facebook was so far gone with sad lyrics that corresponded to the baseball player, I wasn't concerned about anyone being outed. 


She was nice enough - living on the outskirts of Philly, originally from Long Island, she now worked for the Flyers, doing what I couldn't tell you. She had just graduated from school in Boston where she had interned for the Bruins. The name dropping began immediately.


This is about the same time I picked up my Flyers relationship again post baseball asshole. It was March, baseballer was doing nothing but being a dick and apparently dating another girl, so I went back to old stomping grounds as Flyers dude was still single. 


She'd see my trips to Philly posted on my Facebook and saw who I was friends with and immediately began asking about it. She'd drop stories about Flyers she had hung out with, and all I kept thinking was, "dude, this chick looks like Chunk from the fucking Goonies with a wig on. Either she has hot friends or gives the greatest blowjobs on earth". She was dropping stories about certain guys cheating, other guys dicks, parties she had gone to. But on the flip side kept saying she had a boyfriend and it was her friends who were doing the hookups, she was just enjoying tagging along. She'd occasionally ask me for advice and it got to a point where I regretted horribly accepting her friendship. Occasionally I'd let pieces of info slide, which was my own fault. You start to think the blog life is over, and you can let your guard down about who certain guys are.


The last time I was down in Philly in March, she asked me about it because I had it posted on Facebook. I kind of like, half lied through it and just gave a winky face when she asked what was up. 


I had made a plan to go down to Philly again at the end of March. I was in my car on a Friday, stuck in terrible fucking traffic on 95, singing my ass off to Bon Iver (I have a little hipster in me sometimes), when I got a text.


"Are you writing about you and me on your blog?" 


Now, I was lucky enough that dude didn't mind I had a blog. And since it had been defunct for so long, it wasn't even an issue between us anymore. So I was surprised, considering I hadn't written on it since January and that post was about how baseballer had no idea how badly he was hurting me, that this would be a question. 


Parked on 95, I responded "no, not at all. Why?"


"Are you telling random people about it?" he asked.


"I mean, my friends know, you met two of them a few months ago but it's not like I haven't fucked around with athletes before dude, you're not on the top of their list when it comes to talking about who I've hooked up with".


Now I'm all stressed because fuck, I'm halfway to Philly and I'm staying at his apartment and if he turns around and gets spooked, I have to haul ass back to Long Island and drop my car off and my weekend plans are shot. I know dude had been seen with his ex girlfriend recently and I had a feeling that was coming into play - he was not only worried I was blogging about him, but that if he were trying to work shit out with her, it'd suddenly go south if she found out I was on my way to Philly. Fair enough. 


"Why what's up?" I followed up. 


"I've been getting weird texts," he wrote back.


"Okay...from who?" This should be easy enough. Call the number, do a reverse lookup, whatever, figure out who it is and it'll be fine. I knew it was none of my friends. None of my friends had his number, nor are they the type that would backstab me so obviously when I could easily check the number. 


"It's not a number," he wrote back. "It's really weird."


"Forward it to me," I typed. 


The text came through and I looked at it, confused. I had to wait until I got off the highway to pull over at a rest stop to actually see what the fuck it said. 


"(GabbyGee) Samantha Dwayne: don't fuck Stef"


"Is that all it said?" I asked.


"There have been others like this. For the past two weeks."


"The fuck dude, why didn't you tell me?"


"I don't know, I thought it was a joke."


He forwarded me another. "(GabbyGee) Samantha Dwayne : she has STDs"


"Oh what the fuck dude," I said out loud in my car. "You know that's not true".


"I know," he wrote back. "I just didn't know if you were writing about me or something".


"Look, I'l be at your place in like an hour, I can't text and drive, we'll talk then."


I was fucking livid. I can only imagine the face of "what the fuckness" I had as I drove through the incredibly narrow streets of Philly at rush hour on a Friday. Who the fuck was this bitch? Jealous ex? Jealous friend? Baseballer being an even bigger dick than usual? None wracked up mainly because none would have Flyer's number. 


I pulled into the parking garage by his apartment and said hey to the doorman (so awkward that he like, "knew me" but didn't know me/probably knew every other girl this dude took home). Took the elevator up and knocked up on the door and just walked in.


"The fuck dude?" I asked, dropping my bag, arms out in total confusion.


"I don't know but I got another one," he showed me the text.


"I don't get how someone's texting your iphone without a number?"


I sat on his couch, my hands at my temples, tired from the drive and pissed off. Not even in the mood to fool around. Fuck. 


"Do you know a girl named Jenny Stein?" he asked suddenly.


The name sounded super familiar. I sat for a sec.


"Holy shit," I said, looking up at him, my hand snow on my cheeks. "Yes. She like, Facebook stalked me and is obsessed with your team," I said.


"Fuck," he said.


"What?" 


"See the name?" he sat down next to me now and showed me the text again. Next to the "nickname" in parenthesis, the name "Samantha Dwayne" showed up. "When they first started texting me it said Jenny Stein".


"Holy shit," I said again. "Does she have your number?"


"Yeah," he nodded. "She was out with us like, months ago."


Everything clicked. 


We discussed what to do. I told her how she had contacted me, some of the shit she had said about other players, what not. We checked to see if she had access to his Facebook. We Googled and figured out that she was using an app to send the texts anonymously, but being the idiot she clearly is, made the original name her ACTUAL NAME when she signed up. She must have realized the mistake a week previous and changed it to "Samantha". When he responded to he asking who she was, she kept saying "lol I told you, Samantha". The weekend went on as planned, and driving back to New York, after him having detailed all the texts she had been anonymously sending him for two weeks (most of which basically said I had an STD and not too hook up with me, how I was using him, etc.), all I could think of was the e-mail I was going send. This is how writer's think - in terms of how epic the verbal lashing they're capable of inflicting can be. 

Monday, May 7, 2012

Because it's Monday...

Good way to start of Monday, if there is ever a good way to start off Monday. 

For all the younger siblings out there...

This made me love Eli Manning a little bit more. I figured I'd try to throw something REMOTELY funny on the blog before the onslaught of Brobible readers so the first shit you read isn't heavy stuff. Enjoy! 


Eli Manning Gets Revenge for Little Brothers Everywhere

On a serious note...

This probably comes at such a shit time when my ultimate humor piece goes up on Brobible and people are coming here to see more stupid humor, but I also think it might be a good place for those readers to see there's way more to this shit than being what they perceive as stupid slut who likes athletes. 

A lot of the shit on this blog is funny. Or at least I think its funny, a lot of people might absolutely disagree whole heartedly. On one celebrity blog, a lot of people are calling me an asshole. So yeah, I mean, I try to think I’m funny and fuck it, there are some funny fucking stories on this blog, whether you want to admit it or not.

And yeah, the blog’s supposed to be funny. But it’s also supposed to be relatable. And every now and then, being relatable means being able to admit the reality that not everything is for shits and giggles, and sometimes shit hurts and if there’s any reality to this blog, it’s gotta include the not so funny shit. So bear with me.

With the recent suicide of Junior Seau, I got to looking up the suicide rates of athletes.  Wade Belek. Junior Seau. Robert Enke. Justin Fashanu. Hideki Irabu. Dave Duerson. Erica Blasberg.

I’m sure countless others. Some shot themselves, some overdosed. Anyone would look at this crew and think they have everything to live for. But reading about most of them, I’ve come to learn what most of them had in common was depression.

You’d look at a guy like Robert Enke (he was a German goaltender and he played for Hanover 96 in the Bundesliga). Or like Wade Balek. And in my case, a woman like Erica Blasberg. You’d see everything most people dream of – a successful career in sports, good looking, family, potential, money. And you’d wonder on how earth they could get to a point where standing in front of a train or suffocating yourself seemed like an option.

All three of them suffered from depression.

Have you ever seen those stupid commercials for like, Zoloft or Paxil? “Depression hurts everywhere”? I used to think those were so dumb. I couldn’t get it. Fucking buck up, get your shit together. We all go through tough spots, fuck dude, my dad died and I was back to work playing staff softball in a week. If 16 year old me can deal with shit, there’s no reason Hideki Irabu who played for the Yankees, or Wade Balek who lived every Canadian kid’s dream to play professional hockey, couldn’t get their shit together enough to be happy with everything they have and just “get over it”.

Until my sister said it to me. “Get over it”. When I couldn’t.

I don’t have a very hard life. I have my moments. I’ve had many moments. But overall, I’m okay financially, I have a great apartment, great friends, I love my mom and sister, and my job can be and is performed on a daily basis by functioning alcoholics. It’s not like I’m over here trying to solve the fucking debt ceiling crisis or cure a kid with AIDS. I am pretty (whatever, I am), I’m skinny, I never worry about my weight or my looks, and most of the time, I’m a confident bitch who makes it a point to play with the boys and be aggressive and not be afraid. This blog, that’s a huge part of that.

I don’t think athletes have a “harder” life. I think they have a lot of pressure and are in the spotlight. They have different types of “hard”. Different types of pressure. Some deal with it, some don’t. After dating so many, I’ve seen the stress and depression that can come from injuries, that can come from being released or demoted. From team failure. From being away from their families and familiar things. And while they might have $500k in the bank, and a hot girlfriend and a whole lifetime of success and potential ahead of them, with depression, those things don’t matter. And I know it sounds ridiculous, and people like my mom and sister don’t get it, but I do. There are some things you just can’t “get over”. For some athletes, it’s a feeling of failure. Whether on the field or at home, doesn’t matter. For some “normal” people it’s their jobs. Their financial situations. A few years ago a man from my hometown went to visit his daughter at Loyola College with his wife and 11 year old daughter. He was involved in a Bernie Madoff type ponzi scheme, millions of dollars in debt. He killed his entire family in a hotel room in Baltimore, then slit his wrists.

For me, it’s relationships. Specifically the last two. Because for all the times I’ve been heart broken (and there have been plenty), I somehow got through them. Sure, there were a few weepy drunk phone calls and the occasional “I miss him” crying nights. But the last two…with DC guy and baseball player…I get it. I get the commercial now. And why you can’t just tell someone to “get over it”.

For athletes, I can’t imagine it being any easier. Sure, you might have access to the best doctors in the world – where as my health insurance doesn’t cover mental health. But how  many athletes want to admit they aren’t happy with their lives? How many of them want to be viewed by the media as having millions of dollars, the dream job, the dream career, but incapable of being happy? How selfish can you get? How is that life not good enough? That’s the stigma. So many don’t seek help. Many try to play it off as stress or pressure. A mountain to move, part of the game.

The same way I did for a long time. For nearly the last year. I love so much of my life. And in the grand scheme of things, I have everything to live for. But when it feels like something is missing, when it feels impossible to drag yourself out of bed, and when you fake every smile and every happiness knowing you’re going to go back to your apartment and cry your heart out because you feel something isn’t right, something isn’t there, it gets to be a lot. My sister looks at me and sees the skinny pretty one who always did well in school and had everything going for her. How could I NOT love my life, be happy? And when I tried to explain where this feeling came from – from the feeling of not being good enough for the last two guys I really cared about, about feeling left behind when all my frinds are getting married, from my best not being good enough for the baseballer but some other girl’s whatever was enough – she scoffed. And I was embarrassed. And I can’t imagine being an athlete and not feeling scared to admit that shit. Because when people don’t understand it, they think you’re a pussy. A baby. The think you like drama or just can’t get over shit. Can’t see “the bright side”. And it goes so much deeper than that.

It’s taken me a lot of time to figure out that I needed help. And I’m still figuring that out. It took me reading my suicide note to my best friend a few weeks ago to realize that while I was too chicken shit to ever hurt myself (because I have no threshold for pain or the preparation of pain, I cried getting three stitches out 3 weeks ago), I found myself praying every day for something quick. A taxi running a red light. A drunk driver when I was home on LI. A robbery gone wrong. I found myself thinking just going dark and “sleeping” the way I sleep when I pop a brick of Xanax (so good), with no thoughts, feelings or dreams, would be better than waking up every morning feeling inadequate. I didn't want to feel the way I had been feeling. Faking the smiles when in the back of my mind I was missing someone – be it the baseball guy or DC guy – so badly it physically hurt. Of coming home and wondering why it just didn’t work, but the next girl did. So I wrote a suicide note – leave it to me to mention the Yankees AND Terps lacrosse on my proverbial death bed – and like everything I write, I needed someone to read it. So I read it to my best friend. And then my roommate. And then my other friend. Because I was tired of pretending. And I was scared. And instead of using the note as a way to say goodbye (writing it was the hardest thing I've ever done), I used it as a way to try to get help. Leave it to my egotistical writer's side to NEED to hear a reaction to something I wrote. It probably saved my life. 

I’m still going through it. Fuck dude, writing this, I’m bawling my eyes out. I’m scared shitless of the prospects, of the idea of possibly eventually trying anti-depressants or going and talking to a total stranger. But I know I can’t keep feeling this way either, especially over men. Some of you might say it’s my own fault – because I’m cool with just the sex thing. Fuck dude, if that were the problem, it’d be a walk in the park. It’s not the one night stands that hurt – it’s the actual feelings for the guys who were more than that that end up literally laughing at me on the phone when I am crying (baseballer, what a guy). I just had incredible sex with a really ridiculously hot hockey player today. Boosted my ego like you wouldn’t believe, as dumb as it is. I don’t love him. I never will. The root of my problem isn’t the lifestyle I picked, it’s unfortunately the relationships I’ve tried to make work. And the hurt and feeling of blame I felt when they didn’t. No one will ever know what baseballer took out of me. Him especially, because he will never admit he has the capacity to hurt someone so badly. And I couldn’t explain it if I tried. Just like I’m sure Hideki Irabu couldn’t explain why he let something in his life get him down so badly when he lived MY childhood (and adulthood, let’s be real) dream of playing for the fucking Yankees. Why Erica Blasberg, who was absolutely beautiful and talented and driven, felt like she had no friends and suffocated herself. Why Robert Enke thought standing in front of a train was less painful than living the life of a professional soccer player in Europe.

This post is as much about me as it is about them. In looking at all of this, I’ve read so many times over “they had so much to live for” and “I can’t imagine why they’d do it”. From the outside looking it, no one can. Depression is a pain that is invisible to everyone else around you. Like when I had that UTI shit and no one believed me and my urologist is going “it’s just stress go to yoga” and I’m going “stress? I’m sorry when you get stressed do you piss fire?” It took so much of me to admit I needed to get help and the shit I took from some of my family made it even harder – that I should just “get over it” and that I shouldn’t need drugs to deal with my life that isn’t that hard. I can’t imagine the fear pro-athletes (and college and high school for that matter) feel when they question getting help. The stigma that comes with it, the expectations and judgments. It’s added pressure to a person who already feels like there’s no hope. And the only hope – of getting help – is hindered by the fact that so many athletes worry what the rest of us will think of them when we find out the millionaire with the hottie wife who has two world series titles is depressed. So they don’t seek help. They just try to “get over it”. And then they end up on my stupid blog about athletes that kill themselves.

I’m not a doctor. Or a shrink. But I encourage people to look at professional athletes and realize mental health has nothing to do with how much money you make or how good looking you are or how skinny or successful. Why’d they do it? Because they were human and probably too scared to get help, like I was. Too scared of having people make assumptions about their lives or the reason they felt the way they did. It’s a sad trend and while this blog won’t change any of it, I hope if nothing else it gives anyone suffering from depression – whether you’re fucking Derek Jeter or the homeless dude that lives over by where I work and chains his suitcase to the no parking sign – that some people get it. And it’s okay to ask for help.  I was afraid of admitting how I felt because I was afraid people – my mom, my sister, my friends, you guys – would pin it on the way I live my life. It’s never been about the jersey chasing or the blog or the shit I write about. Hell, those are the things that have literally gotten me through it. It’s about the things I can’t control, which recently have been other people’s feelings and my own about theirs. I’m not afraid anymore. And I never want to write another suicide note again. I have so many other stupid things I want to write, that are meaningless and dumb and spelled wrong. No one should have to worry about the stigma of admitting depression or getting help. Be it me, you, or an athlete. We all have our crosses to bear. Some need a little extra help. And whether you live the life everyone else dreams of, or a life of a series of unfortunate events, or somewhere in the middle, there is no shame in being depressed, and even less in seeking help. Yes, we can all “get over it” at some point – but you just have to be open to the idea that getting over it means getting help too. No one has to feel the way I felt. No one. And since I've decided to live that, my mother and sister have realized exactly what I'm saying - sometimes, the bootstraps are broken and you can't just pull 'em up. You need help fixing them, and I'm glad I've finally found that support. 

You guys might look at me totally differently now. Think everything I write about is a farce or not true or unfunny because in the back of your minds you’re all thinking I’m this emo depressed girl who’s hung up on some dude and it’s all just fake funny. But I felt like it needed to be said. And fuck it, this is my blog, if I want something to be serious for a hot sec, it will be. This blog is about honesty, brutal, embarrassing honesty. And that includes the shitty parts of jersey chasing, or loving someone. I’m 26 and a writer, I’m not God. I’m not perfect and it’s my biggest hope that you’ll know even with what I’ve been going through, the hot rebound sex I had today, the funny stories I will continue to write about… they’re all still part of it too. This is me. It’s just ALL of me. And I hope you guys are cool with that.