From Hockey Hater to Lightning Lover

 As I still wipe away tears of joy from the Tampa Bay Lightning's second Stanley Cup Championship in a row, and throwing all my money at new championship merch, I realized that all this was not for my beloved Buccaneers. What was I doing and how did this home-wrecker of a team glide into my heart too? I'm adding more Lightning blue garb to compliment the Bucs red in my home, accidentally displaying enough blue and red to look that kind of "patriotic" I'm not going for. Now that I'm in too deep emotionally and financially, I'm reflecting on how I accidentally became a hockey fan and self-diagnosing a new mental condition. So join me on my journey from hockey hater to Lightning lover!

come glide with me.

My Double Axel Saga in My...

This is 30.

WARNING: I'm going to have real talk in this article about my age that I'll forever deny in future clucks. 

Since I turned 30 and began my midlife crisis fading away from show hen life, I have been clinging to recording my go-to, somewhat-challenging trick: the double axel. The video recording started on my 30th birthday, when I thought it would be cool to capture me doing a double axel on this
significant, ancient birthday, as well as on a battered hip. (30-year-old birds bruise easily.) That same week, I left my Hen on Ice show of 4 years and faced midlife confusion, rejection, and existential dread, with some ice skating in between.

Learning to Fly: This is Not the Ice Show!

It's been a whirlwind of life again since quitting my second job of 2017.  Although I've proven unsuccessful at quitting ice skating, I'm now a pro at quitting soul-sucking office jobs. Since flapping away from office job attempt #2, I returned to the ice show, lost a grandma, and took a flying leap of faith into an entirely new career path. Free time and humor have been sparse, but the universe can't cluck me out yet! In fact, my new career makes too much sense in retrospect: I've learned to fly.

I Quit. Part II

Did you read "I Quit?" That's part 1 and you'll be confused and left out if you don't read it first.

...Continued from "I Quit."

23 years old. After beating my sunburnt competitors for a silver medal in Hawaii, I found the fresh training environment I needed to reach my competitive potential to regularly finish "middle of the pack." I got so good, I could beat my toughest rivals when they made at least 3 mistakes! The 2009 Eastern Sectional Championships was my shining moment as a competitor. I skated my best performance, ending with tears of joy to a standing, slightly drunk ovation. I never knew I could be so proud of a 7th-place finish! I couldn't quit in my prime, so I continued to train for the next year.

I Quit.

"I quit."

I QUIT!

Don't fear - I'm not quitting the volunteer blogging business. But these are words I'm not good at saying, along with "no" and "Britney's past her prime." I'm good at leaving things unfinished like cleaning and writing books, but once I'm committed, I'm not a quitter. I don't even quit jobs; I just move or I'm asked to stop showing up because I "graduated." And technically, I'm still working on my book and my room, even if my work's been on hiatus since 2012.

I have quit ice skating: many times. But in quitting skating, I've been an utter failure. I'm the hen who cried wolf of ending my skating career. After my tearful, dramatic farewell to Hens on Ice lasted a mere 6 weeks, no one believes me when I cry again at the next show and say, "This is it!" You'll all be sorry one day when you don't take my sobbing farewell to the ice seriously, whether that day comes this year or before my 2048 presidential run. Until then, let's reflect on my history of quitting.

The Hen's Biggest Race Ever

It's just so good.

I am done acknowledging time gaps between Hen articles that are longer than I want. Typically, this is every gap between every article because I'd love to have a new article daily. But this is not feasible with my busy schedule of part-time work, getting fingerprinted for each individual teaching job I apply to, and keeping up with American Idol. Now that that's off my breast, onward with my huge announcement! (It's not Trump-related. Keep reading.)

Tomorrow is a big day for The Hen! I won't be trying to steal an acting role from a 12 year old - I've already done that. I'll be flapping in my first 5K run!

The Comeback! Stages of Emotional Coping Leaving Hens on Ice

After my longest hiatus in Hen history, I am back to pecking with a vengeance. I won't waste your time with apologies or excuses, and now that I'm unemployed, let's get clucking!

I've given much thought to exactly how I want to come back, especially since I didn't plan to be absent long enough for a comeback. I'm hopeful this return will be more like a Justin Timberlake or Kelly Clarkson splash, and less like a Jessica Simpson "who cares about her anymore?" Please care about this Hen and tell your friends.

How mature hens bruise.

The big news for this bird: I have retired from Hens on Ice. I know you're thinking that I'm too young to retire as a probably-maybe-maybe-not 21 year old. Well, these thirt...twenty-something bones and feathers don't quite have the spring of an 18 year old (they have learned to bruise nicely), and I decided to walk away with fond memories before ending up in a wheel chair or the bitter barn. Since Hens on Ice has been a huge part of my life for 4 years, it's been an emotional roller coaster to get to the numb, unemployed hen living in denial that I am today. But for future birds who try to leave Hens on Ice, I've compiled the emotional stages of leaving this whacky bird tour.

Are My Room Decorations Trendy or Humiliating?

Britney demands height order.

Now that the 15 minutes of attention for "Pretty Girls" seems about over, it's time to dust off these writing wings and get clucking for my first article since getting home from my most recent Hens on Ice scholastic year. Since this is my 4th tour with the skating birds, I've already covered some juicy topics about getting off the road for a hot minute. There are big pros and cons with such a lengthy tour with the same group of crazy loons, but I did that. I found some weird stuff in my room while trying to unpack, but that's been done too (in 2 parts!). But instead of crying, retiring, and squawkingwriting about not writing. Thankfully for you, I've realized again I'm a bit more insane than I'd originally thought.
at you to just read those old articles, I'll do better than

Tupelo: Not Spanish for "Your Hair"

Real American. Real English.

As we travel weekly to a new city with Hens on Ice, I try to assimilate into the local culture. Last year's tour through Europe was a challenge in some ways, but easy in others. I avoided flashy clothes or anything with an American flag to blend in on the streets, and with my WASPy complexion, some locals even thought I was from there...until I opened my mouth. When I opened my mouth, no matter what country and what language they spoke, I was done assimilating. My accent was like an American flag sweater I couldn't take off.

I first thought this year's tour through much of the U.S. would be far easier to blend. I live in this country - consider me assimilated! I've had twenty...something years to learn and live. No menus in foreign languages or women asking me for directions in French this time. While Florida was easy since I live there, many of these southern cities have been worlds of their own. My parents never took me to the south to assimilate.

Hens on Ice

It's comeback time for The Cackling Hen! I didn't shave my head or gain 30 pounds during this three-month hiatus, but I did join my first Hens on Ice tour. Being on the road and on the ice full time leaves far less time to write, let alone anything semi-clever, compared to working part time and living in my parents' house. The Hens on Ice world also makes a different kind of blog material. "I spent 12 hours in my skates and three hens fell awkwardly and we all cackled"  doesn't even make a paragraph.