9 times . . .

That's how often I looked dejectedly behind me to see a puck within the confines of my net. You know, it does look kind of cozy and safe in there. Maybe I'll just curl up in there until everyone goes away . . .

Being a goalie is a weird gig. Everybody loves you BECAUSE you're a goalie and inherently a rare commodity. They need you. But, when you suck, you can feel the hate - the smiling, judging, watching. No one (well, no one that I know of) will say, "Hey, you really sucked out there." Because they don't want that bridge burned and I think they fancy that if they were to criticize they would irreparably harm the goalie's psyche.

So, when you give up 9, even if the team doesn't play well, you feel kind of dirty when a teammate will say, "We had a terrible game, but YOU did great!" I feel like one of those kids that plays in a community where they don't keep score. "Thanks for showing up and dressing yourself! You're always a winner in my eyes Roger!" Yah, well, maybe, but I just let those guys score 9 times and I'm pretty sure they were hammered.

my name is roger and i'm a deadbeat blogger . . .

But-but-but - we don't have the interwebs at home yet . . . or any TV channel other than FOX . . . or a fully-raked yard . . . or a moat full of alligators . . . but you know what we DO have? Wallpaper. Lots and lots of glorious wallpaper. And did I mention theMonica is morally opposed to wallpaper? I didn't? Well, there you have it. The devil is in the details.

I kid because the wallpaper is kind of floral and ugly. Some interesting design choices were made before we got there. We will be spending the remainder of our lives correcting some of those choices.

At any rate, I've been absent and judging by the 0 emails I've gotten about it, missed so deeply that you were too distraught to even write to ask if I was ok. I understand. The implications of any true harm to my person would have been impossible to comprehend. Fear not. I have much delight lined up when I have working intertubes. I'm going to go postal on your asses. You know, postal, as in generating a lot of posts "rapidly." You knew what I meant. Cheeky monkey.

can you dig it???!!!

I'm still here, yo. Well, you know, in the metaphorical sense.

theMonica and I went to North Carolina for our anniversamarry. We visited RS4/RS4H and theMonica's cousins/baby. Then we visited dirty hippies/the gay community, otherwise known as Asheville.

We stayed at a b-n-b. I'm not going to lie to you; I do not like b-n-bs. Some people appreciate the personal service, home-cooked meals and all that, but to me it feels like living with your family that you've known for 2 days - just as annoying, unable to punch. *I* prefer the cold anonymity of a large hotel. So maybe they charge you 8 bucks for a diet DP, fine, they don't make you sit 2 feet away from some hiking-obsessed Swede when you're trying to eat breakfast.

We went to the Biltmore. It's "basically" a 275,000 square foot "home" that an heir, George Vanderbilt, built. He incidentally, made none of the money. That place is pretty nuts and has individual rooms larger than our entire house - which seemed big at the time. I enjoyed the old-timey nature of it. You know? Like if it had been built last year, I would have been bored out of my mind.

The Biltmore has a bowling alley that reminded me of the last scene of There Will Be Blood. Though the audio tour gave no indication if Vanderbilt was as sloppy of a eater/murderer as Daniel Plainview.