Category: Uncategorized (Page 31 of 34)

Note 2/18/04: Okay, I realize that my rant here is so completely wrong. It works on the assumption that I am better and more deserving than everyone else of having a boyfriend, and just better in general, and that’s not right. So disregard the whole theory, or read it and laugh at it because the metaphor is hystarically funny.

All this was was me being bitter and jealous after sitting at CDT all night and hearing all the other girls talk about their boyfriends and hook-ups. Add that to being terribly tired and volia, this rant. Bleh. I apologize.

The only reasons why I’m keeping this up are:

1) I want everyone to know about my pajama pants. They are the most exciting thing to happen to me since my first two grad school acceptance letters.

2) There are parts of this that are amazingly funny. I mean, come on, read it and try not to laugh.

3) Everyone else who writes writes something about being relationship-less at some point in time. So here is my one. I promise that I’ll never do it again.

So you have been warned. Read this, or wait until this weekend when I find something less voyeuristic and annoying to talk about.

The Icing on the Cake…aka, Katherine’s One Time Only Mid-Week Rant That Shows That She Might Actually Have Feelings

I bring you this special mid-week rant because I feel like it.

I bought new pajama pants today. I was buying some odds and ends for Children’s Dance Theatre at Dick’s Sporting Goods, and I happened upon these cute pink and dark gray football pajama pants. They are amazingly cute, and they were on clearance. Double score. As my little brother said when he saw them, “If they had been purple instead of pink, that would have been scary because then they would have been (made for) you!”

Now, I come back from Children’s Dance Theatre tonight and want to change into comfortable clothes, so I change into the pants and my Red Sox t-shirt. I sit down at my desk, read ESPN.com quickly and play with my 49ers Koosh ball before finishing my reading for class. Then it hit me.

Look at me. Why am I single?

By no reason should a guy want to date me solely because I like sports. No. I am not interested in sports because it is a way to get guys. People tend to make that assumption, and it’s wrong. It is true that I first got into football because I had a mega-crush on Steve Young, but let me remind you that when I was six, I was begging my mother to stay up late to watch the 1988 Winter Olympics. I was the girl who made podiums out of boxes, took her reading contest medals, and made my parents stage medal ceremonies for me after I skid around our tiled kitchen with footie pajamas on or jumped off the end of the couch. I’m the girl who in fourth grade wrote fake news articles about Kristi Yamaguchi and playing kickball on the School #52 playground. I was the girl, who when my dance teacher let us do our own choreography, would jump around double-axel style and do cartwheels, trying to make my dance a sport. I got into hockey because it was the only sport (except for figure skating) I saw live on a regular basis. I never got into this because of guys. I got into it because I liked it, and continued it because in my childhood and adolescent quest to be the complete opposite of everyone else, it set me apart.

No, no guy should like me just because I’m going to sit down and watch Sportscenter with them or because I won’t bug them to pay more attention to me and not “the game.” I want a guy to like me because I’m cute, nice, successful, hysterical and a just-tolerable amount of perky. The sports stuff is just the icing on the cake.

With that out of the way, I would think that the fact that I’m sitting here in this outfit would say something. I’m not wearing some lacy camisole top with a fake tan talking on my cell phone. I’m not consulting SparkNotes. I’m completely down to earth. I’m wearing this cute little outfit, my hair in a cheerleader-type ponytail, and I don’t care that I look 16 and not 22 at this moment. And I can make a very convincing argument right now about why the Bills should draft a QB and not trade for Drew Henson and make a completely unconvincing, but completely hysterical argument about why Steve Young is better than Joe Montana.

You care about the type of cake, about if the consistency of the cake is moist or dry, sure. But don’t we look for the icing? As children, didn’t we always want the piece with the flowers because it had that extra icing?

So I guess what I’m saying is this: Sure, there are thousands of sweet, nice, funny, down-to-earth twenty-something girls out there for guys to pick from. But don’t I have that little something extra that makes me just that more interesting, appealing, tolerable? I’m not better than other girls, because they all have their own “icing,” but wouldn’t my interests point to something else, like a tolerance, laid-back-ness, a easy-going-ness that comes with it? Isn’t my “icing” appealing to anyone? It obviously isn’t, for I’ve been single since late 2002. It is now the middle of February 2004. Sure, I’ve had more at bats in the past year than I ever did before, but I’ve struck out on all of them.

Man, this article so sounds like it’s from Sex and the City. I apologize.

I’m not one to rant like this. I mean, I rant, but not about the stuff I’m feeling. I’m not sensitive like that. But I had to get it off my chest. Everyone wishes they had someone, even workaholic driven 22 year old seniors in college who don’t have the time for a boyfriend. And I’m wishing I had someone.

But give me my thesis, my jobs, my reading and my Sportscenter, and I’ll get over it tomorrow.

Rochestarians Are So Obviously Not Americans…and Other Thoughts

So I was planning to write this post on the I Love NY Gymnastics Cup, which was held at the good ol’ 70s style Broome County Veteran’s Memorial Arena tonight. I’ve been meaning to go to this for the last three years, and I figured this year, being my last here, would be as good of a time as ever. However, I kind of forgot that I work for a gift and video store, and that there is no way you can’t be chained to such a place on Valentine’s Day. So I didn’t get to go. It’s okay, because the store had a VERY successful day, and I made a lot of money. Yes, I’m greedy. Live with it.

However, seeing that I didn’t get to go cheer on Penev’s (formerly Eastside) Gymnastics, my old gym, I feel like I have nothing to write about. I planned all week to go to this and then write about it on my blog. Call it my good ol’ sports journalistic aspirations. I was looking forward to that just for the fact that I could write it up on the blog. But, I’m going to have to Peter King this entry (no one is going to get that reference at all, I’m sorry) and do a random “Things I Think I Think,” because people actually read this, and I imagine people would like to read a new entry.

So here are my random, somewhat sports related thoughts of the week:

-Mike Malarkey looks like Kevin Costner. I discovered this while watching Sportscenter on Thursday night. I pointed this out to my mother. “Oh my gosh!!! I never thought of it that way! I think I like him now.” I, for one, did not know my mother enjoyed Kevin Costner, but I guess she does. Well, at least Malarkey now has one supporter in Western New York. The rest of us are still weary, including my father, who hates anything having to do with the Pittsburgh Steelers. The guy HATES them. His hatred is much like the one Red Sox fans hold for Yankees fans. An entertaining thing to do during my adolescence was to watch my father go off on seeing Terry Bradshaw on Fox NFL Sunday. Absolutely hysterical.

-I was at work in the office on Friday afternoon, and somehow I made the following statement to Sean (I forgot how we got to this point): “When I was a young teenager, my dream was to go to Brigham Young University, study journalism, get to cover the 2002 Winter Olympics, and become Student Body President my senior year there. And as Student Body President, I would get to introduce the commencement speaker, who would be Steve Young. Then he’d hire me to help him write his autobiography.”

Wow, 14 year old me would be REALLY disappointed at my life now.

However, I give you this web site. Members of the Binghamton University community, I’d like at least one of my dreams to come true. Please take this into consideration. (I never ever went searching for this information–I was searching the web for some other government stuff and happened upon it. I think that’s a sign.) All I’ve got to say is that if Ithaca College gets Scott Hamilton for what would of been my commencement if I had stayed, I WANT SOMEONE MEGA COOL.

-Rochester, NY is getting to be a horrible place to live. Example #456 would be the murder in front of my father’s machine shop on Friday morning. Uh…Dad, I love you, and I know this is a great job and all, but…I’m not picking you up from work ever. (Why would I have to pick him up from work, you ask? Four drivers, one car. Do the math. If you want the car in the Hasenauer family, you gotta be willing to pick other people up.)

-Yes, I watched Thursday Night Hockey in the Great Room on the Mega-TV Thursday night. And yes, I was rudely tossed out by people who DID NOT BELIEVE I was watching hockey. This is 2004. Girls watch hockey. Last time I checked, my Room fee covered that TV as much as everybody else’s. And I work for Residential Life. So really now people.

But that’s not the point. The point is that I saw Jeremy Roenick shatter his jaw. That was scary. That was “Steve Young being leveled by Aeneas Williams” scary. The puck went flying from the face off, ricocheted off his cheek, and he just dropped to the ice and didn’t move. Yuck. Yet, I still would allow any future children I may have to play hockey.

Marsha thinks I’m nuts. “I can’t believe you’d let your kids play something that violent,” Marsha told me after I was telling her about the injury.

“Why not? If I ever have a son, he’s playing football in the fall, hockey in the winter, and Little League baseball in the spring.” I answered.

“That’s ’cause your American.” she responded.

“No,” I quipped back. “If I were American, it would be football, basketball and baseball. But because I’m from Rochester, NY, the basketball is replaced by hockey.”

-On that tangent, I’m letting you all know now: Sam Hasenauer (my little brother) will be a starter on a Slamball team in 14 years. He likes to play basketball and he likes to jump on the bed.

-And on other Hasenauer family basketball related news, I made a shot from six feet into the wastepaper basket at work today with a flower stem. Uh-huh, I rock. That’s my prime example of senioritis: wastepaper basketball at the store.

-Happy Valentine’s Day. It’s nights like this I wish I had a boyfriend. Or the NFL Network, which one of my friends keeps singing the praises of. Or all my tapes of the Olympics. (They’re in the attic at home.) But really, I made a lot of people happy at work today, and because of that, I’m not at all bitter. People were happy, they had the cutest plans and the cutest stories and the best smiles. I love it.

And I’ve also found that when I’m feeling the need for a boyfriend, the best remedy is to look at my resume. Conceited? Just a little. But heck, I’ve worked my butt off for years. I deserve to feel a little egotistical at times.

I’ve got to get going. Marsha is begging us all to take pictures of her clubbing outfit. I’d join her out, but I’m so tired, one drop of alcohol would put me to sleep. That’s what I get for running around doing deliveries all day. To bed and reading I go!

*****************************

Later: I just had to add this, because I thought it was pretty funny. I wanted to go to bed, but decided that it’s a Saturday night, and I’m 22 years old, so I shouldn’t go to bed before 1am. So I decide to keep myself up, instead of doing schoolwork (which might put me to sleep, and therefore, defeat my goal), I decide to play Madden. So I’m playing Madden (2002 Niners vs. 1994 Niners–because I wasn’t feeling very creative tonight), and I miss a field goal. That’s my favourite mini-camp drill to play, so that I missed it is disapointing. And so I say, “I’m pouting!” After I realize how I’m brooding, I turn to Regina and say, “I’m such a girlie girl when I play Madden.”

And then I thought about what I had just said. I don’t think the creators ever expected that sentance to come out of anyone’s mouth while playing Madden.

(By the way, to further support this theory of my girlie girlness, I went back and did a field goal mini-camp drill and totally screwed up. It’s just not my night with field goals. While I kept missing, I said, “Gosh, I’m going to throw a hissy fit.” I’m so Legally Blonde at times that it’s just not right.)

Kat Goes to a BU Hockey Game…Alone

There is one thing about Rochester that I’ve always loved and that I always miss, and that’s the sheer number of ice rinks, hockey teams, skating clubs, and the like–if it has to do with ice, we have it. I mean, we have at least 10-12 ice rinks in the area, and every one is always booked. There’s always all this worry when new rinks open up, that older ones are going to feel it, but they never do. Everyone knows someone who plays hockey or figure skates or even curls (as in curling). My cousins play hockey, I’ve figure skated recreationally since I was young, and my father’s tool shop has fourth row off center season tickets to the Amerks game that they divy up among the workers. This is a town where everyone my mom knows rushed to get digital cable after the Empire Network was moved from basic cable to the digital sports package, because you can’t see Sabres and Amerks games anywhere else.

I hadn’t seen a hockey game since last May, and while I was home, I didn’t get to go because my father had to work late. I would of gone alone, but if he was working late, that means the car was called. (It stinks to have 1 car for 4 drivers. Really kinda does.) So, when someone illegally posted a flyer about a Binghamton University club hockey game on one of my bullitian boards, I was interested. It would cost less than a B Sens game, and direct transportation was available–the team was renting a bus to take fans to the rink. (Let me take an aside here and say that there are 3, count them, 3 indoor rinks in the Binghamton area: the Arena–which is just for concerts and the B Sens, the new BCC rink, and the Polar Cap in Chenango Bridge, 15-20 minutes outside of Binghamton, where the game was. There is one seasonal rink, but I don’t have a clue where exactly it is. Now, compare this to Ithaca, where there were two indoor and one seasonal–which means, proportionally, I think Binghamton is out of wack.) So I decided this was how I was going to spend my Friday night.

Now, I tried to recruit people to come with me, but hockey isn’t really a downstater thing. Actually, it’s not really a “anyone not from Western NY, Minniesota, Michigan, and Canada” thing. So I went alone. I felt a bit odd–but then again, I’ve attended several sporting events alone, especially since moving to Binghamton (Binghamton is not the biggest sports campus in the world, unfortunately for me, apparently fortunately to everyone else on campus.)

Here are my most pressing observations about the game:

-The bus driver was late, old, a townie, and disgusting. He also charged us more than had been advertised.

-In talking with a girl who was also alone, but was going because her boyfriend was on the team, these games are popular among freshmen and sophmores under the age of 21 because the Polar Cap has a bar and their bartender must be especially bad at being able to pick out fakes. Hooray. My little orientees running around with NO KNOWLEDGE OF HOCKEY WHATSOEVER getting wasted on bad beer. It was true–most of the people there stayed in the bar area and drank the whole time with their backs turned away from the game. The bar area, however, was nicely heated…

-…but the arena was colder than outside. My aunt had warned me about this. Her sons (my cousins) play travel hockey, and have played in tournaments at the Polar Cap several times. “That is the coldest arena I have ever sat in–it’s at least ten degrees colder than outside,” she always says. It is–I was shivering and was forced in the bar area at times because I was chattering so much that I wasn’t able to focus on the game.

-Note to all: PLEASE DO NOT MAKE OUT AT A HOCKEY GAME. I know that you need to keep warm, but please, don’t do it that way. I am sitting in the stands, watching the third period, and this couple in front of me starts necking. Now, don’t get me wrong, dinner, a hockey game and an evening of making out sounds pretty darn good to me. But don’t mix the making out with the hockey game. I beg you. It’s awkward.

-Funniest comment of the night: “I don’t know about hockey. I do think we should win because we have prettier uniforms.” -one of the many drunk freshmen. (And you thought I was shallow with my “5 Hottest QBs” List, but I have been beaten.)

-Second best: BU fans were seriously jeering the Syracuse goalie. A few rows up sat two girls cheering for Syracuse, and I think they had to be girlfriends of players. One girl yells down at the jeering fans at one point, “Can’t you guys say anything NICE?!”

-Oh, the game. Okay, for one, this is seriously club hockey. These guys are…okay. I’m being nice. They are…obviously not ready for non-club hockey. But the game wasn’t bad. Binghamton was on a nice scoring streak for a while in the second, and then the rhythm was broken by a BU guy crossing the crease and just completely leveling the Syracuse goalie. However, Syracuse is a pretty dirty team themselves, and those officials aren’t exactly ready for prime-time work either. I haven’t seen more blantant offenses not being called since the Cowboys used to beat up on the Niners in the 92 and 93 seasons. We won, 3-2. Binghamton totally mailed in the last period and was lucky to pull it out, because Syracuse came dangerously close with 30 seconds to go.

-On the way back, the bus stopped at the clubs downtown and house parties. Gotta love the drinking culture of this campus. Remember when I used to worry that Ithaca was becoming a party school? Well, gosh darn it, Binghamton has them beat by a ton. It’s sad. Glad I only have 100 days left here.

All in all, it was enjoyable. I got my hockey fix, which was important. Next time, however, I’m wearing four layers instead of three, and I’m dragging someone–ANYONE! I don’t like having to face my little drunken orientees by myself.

And next year, me and the Beanpot tournament have a date. GO TERRIERS…or wherever I end up going.

****

On this tangent, I must bring up a point. I was seriously checked out tonight by two Syracuse guys. Very flattering, because they were both pretty nice themselves. But it reaffirms my new theory. See, I go home to Rochester, and I get checked out. Guys seriously hit on me. New Year’s was a prime example. So is going to Wegmans (Wegmans is a prime pick-up location in the Rochester area, in particular the one on East Ave.) At Ithaca, I had several interested guys. Whenever I’m up in Boston, I seriously get hit on and checked out.

And then I come here, and nothing. I couldn’t get a Binghamton guy to look at me if I walked by offering free beer. And my theory is this: Bing guys just don’t like me. I’m definitely a Western New Yorker–from what I wear and my lack of serious blonde highlights up to the minute I open my mouth. Unless I want to walk around doing my Allie Hilfiger impression (which, I must say, is quite good–for those of you not aware, there was a show on MTV called “Rich Girls,” and it followed the daughter of Tommy Hilfiger and her best friend around for a summer. It was the best show MTV has ever made. My family had “Rich Girls” nights over break. My father loves the show because he thinks I look like Allie Hilfiger. I really don’t, but I’ll take what I can get.) and get blonde highlights and not snarl anytime someone mentions how absolutely wonderful Manhattan is, I don’t think I will ever appeal to these Binghamton guys. They want downstaters. Even the upstaters want downstaters. And they have downstater radar or something. I’m obviously attractive to guys in a number of other geographic areas, just not here.

Something to think about…

Okay, screw it, I forgive the blond highlights. The guy has now won more Super Bowl MVP awards than Steve Young. Therefore, I officially give Tom Brady spot #2 on my list of Hot QBs. Sorry, Mark Brunell.

Give me a few days, and I will tell you about what watching the Super Bowl in somewhat football naive suite 115 was like.

Okay, it’s Super Bowl Sunday, and I’m taking a break from becoming a permanent fixture in the common room love seat and having my hand stuck to the remote to amend my “Kat’s 5 Hottest QBs of All Time” List.

One, I realised that Tom Brady highlights his hair. Uhhh…he’s staying in #3, maybe going back a spot just for that. A NFL Quarterback is not allowed to be a metrosexual. I’m sorry. I’ve highlighted my hair myself once. I’ve never gotten it done professionally (or even by my mom, who I would consider semi-pro because she did go to cosmatology school for a bit back in the mid-70s). I don’t have the time or paitence or desire required to get it done. And I’m a pretty girly girl when it comes to appearance. So…yeah. Minus points for that one.

Two, I feel like I should differenciate between “hot” and “sexy.” Steve Young is “hot.” He is not, however, “sexy.” In Katherine World, “hot” equals handsome (it’s just shorter to type) and “sexy” means “I wouldn’t mind having sex with him.” For many reasons that you can figure out, Steve Young is not “sexy.” And no, I am not going to tell you who I think is sexy, because that is a topic for another day…or not. Maybe.

Three, (and this is a big one), I need to add someone onto my list. Marsha and I discovered him during CBS’s HORRENDOUS (I mean, it’s really really really bad) pre-game show earlier this afternoon. Kyle Boller of the Ravens. He has to be the cutest thing ever. So adorable. Oh my gosh. I hate the Ravens, because I hate Ray Lewis (I am so my dad’s daughter), but man, I may have to watch them in secret if Boller comes back to start. I don’t know exactly where he fits on this list, because, well, he’s an unproven QB, and I feel that you have to be at least mildly successful to be placed on the list (I know what you’re going to say, and here’s my response: Steve Walsh was successful for a year.) But if he does start and do well at some point, Boller’s getting added. Maybe above Brunell. Yeah, he’d be #2. He’s better than Brunell. Yeah, wow, he is. Wooooowwwww. Told Sara to keep an eye out, since she is my favourite Maryland-ite, and I think she would enjoy him very much.

Okay, really, I should do work before the Super Bowl starts. Darn ESPN, why can’t they have a seven hour long pregame. I hate CBS’s. I don’t care about freaken Crank Yankers and “the Frankinstein of NFL Players.” No. I want football. And please go easy on the sad features–I wept my eyes out at the Trent Dilfer piece on ESPN earlier. I can’t handle stories like that at all.

Happy Super Bowl Sunday!