B Girl

FINALLY! It's MARCH. I'm so over February, it's not even funny you guys. For as long as I can remember, by the time St. Patty's Day rolls around, I've packed up my abominable snowman coat and can stagger around Irish bars in a thin jacket. I can only assume the same will be true for this March. Or else.

Anyhoozle, I'm also glad it's March because it's the greenest. I'm not talking "green" as in "earth-friendly". Blech. Dumb. I'm talking: green grass finally starts to show up, green rivers, clothes, and beer are acceptable - nay MANDATORY - and it's one of those awesome months when people who get paid every other week get THREE paychecks this month. Cha-ching! Thusly, it is one of my favorite months. I've been missing all that green lately.

Unfortunately, March is also the month for some big basketball tournament thingy, I'm told. Pretty sure basketball is the only sport I just canNOT get into. I can't. It's all backwards to me. The most exciting part of a basketball game is when someone DOESN'T score a point? Really? No, I like my athletes to EARN their points. Not just "miss". Dumb. Plus, much like The Bachelor, all that matters is the last 2 minutes of a basketball game. Snoozefest.

Having said all that, I went to the Timberwolves game with Geo tonight. The things I do for love... I was really planning on at least seeing a Kardashian sister or something, because we played the Lakers, and I thought "Hey, if I have to sit through a professional basketball game, I at least want to see someone famous". But twas not the case. I did get a good look at Kobe Bryant though. He's cute a good basketball player.

Now everyone's talking about March Madness. So, what, that's like a big college basketball tournament? FUN. My alma mater isn't even in the running to win anything. Why should I care? Whatever. I can't even muster the strength to focus on PROFESSIONAL basketball, nevermind COLLEGE basketball. I'm not looking forward to ESPN this month. And nothing is worse than Geo coming home at night and wanting to watch a basketball game. He's a big NBA fan. Big time. The problem is that the NBA plays like 12,000 games a season, apparently, so there's a lot of TV I'm trying to avoid. And Geo and his brother Jami are obsessed with the Miami Heat, because of Lebron James. So not only does Lebron play a sport I don't like, but he doesn't even play for MY TEAM. Color me uninterested.

But there was beer and fun little chants at the game tonight. Those are things I can really get behind. It was fun, actually. Of course the game itself came in a distant second to seeing my friend Ally there and talking to Geo about how cute the Lakers players are. I have a feeling Geo won't be bringing me to the next basketball game he goes to.

Was There Some Sort of Sporting Event On Tonight?

So, the Super Bowl is over. I'm drained from eating my face off and cheering for a losing team I have nothing invested in. In lieu of a traditional blog, I'm posting pics from our Super Bowl party. Note: My camera is jacked. I don't know what I did to it, but I messed up the settings so the pics are questionable. Oh well, enjoy this little peek-a-boo into my life. Also, it's like proof that I have friends. Yay!

Fooooooood!

Well, yes, as a matter of fact I DID make these wontons myself!

Based on my availability of black and yellow socks (go Hawkeyes!), I decided to be a Steelers fan for the night. That didn't work very well.

So then a few peeps decided to shotgun a beer outside. Here they are, pulling the triggers.

The knife they used to open the beer cans was carefully placed in the porch.

Here are a few of my loverly friends who came by: Allyson, me, Liz, and Kim.

Here's the group.

This is Geo's friend KG's dog, Grey, snoozin'.

Just when we were almost ready to fall into a food coma, these guys came on the TV and spiced up my life. I'd like one of these outfits for when I go walking at night.

Through it all, though, I represented my Vikings.

Then the food was gone...

The beer cans were empty and stashed all over the house...

And night was a huge success. I don't care who won, actually. I just don't. But I'm going to miss football every Sunday. How long until preseason starts???

Welcome back to the week, everyone. Let's do it.

Snow Place Like Home

I don’t think I need to tell anyone that, well, it snowed a little bit in Minnesota on Saturday. And by “a little bit”, I of course mean that it is Armageddon. On Saturday morning, I made the very genius decision to go to the grocery store. By then it had only snowed about 12 out of the total 20 inches. I thought to myself, as I lay in bed with grumbling stomach, “Should I go to the grocery store NOW or LATER? The answer should have been “anorexia”. It was way too dangerous for me to be driving. All that crazy snow was blowing around like the inside of a Dyson vacuum. After the most treacherous 2 hours of my driving career, I pulled up at home to park in front of my house. I got stuck. I had to have Geo come outside and dig and push me into a spot.

As soon as I crawled my way up to my front door and dragged the groceries inside, I swore I wasn’t going back out there for the whole rest of the weekend. Unfortunately, I forgot that I had parked my car on the wrong side of the street, and hours later I was back outside, digging my car out AGAIN to move it to the other side so the plows could get through. It took a snowblower, 2 fully grown men, 2 shovels, and some creative driving, but I got out (also? All-Wheel Drive is a total lie. Total. Bold-faced. Lie). Then we dug out Sanna’s car, and our other neighbors truck, and some strangers car down the road. We hauled probably 100 tons of snow, but I believe I lost 5 pounds in sweat, so I guess that was okay.

Besides all the shoveling and shivering and tire-spinning, I just holed up in various different pairs of sweatpants all weekend. At one point, I asked Geo if it disturbed him that I had so many pairs of sweatpants, and that I just kept wearing different pairs. Luckily for everyone involved, he said it did not. But I mean, what else was I going to do? I couldn’t go out, nobody could come over, and I figured I may as well be warm.

I was, however, excited for the Vikings game today. Sanna came up with a couple extra tickets, and Geo and I were going to brave the snow to scream at people and cheer on our boys. Then this happened: Metrodome Roof Caves In. Needless to say, there was no game. But I luckily had a fresh pair of Vikings sweatpants to get me through all the naps.

Then, because I had gone through so much to get to the grocery store, I decided I’d just cook all weekend. Sweet potato fries, cornbread from scratch, cookies, and so much more. Instead, I found myself googling “Why won’t my oven turn on?” and “What is a pilot light”? And “How can I tell if I have renter’s insurance?” No oven + no clue how to turn on over + fear of blowing myself up so close to Christmas = sloppy joes and peanut butter sandwiches all weekend. Flurrrg.

But my God! I felt suffocated all weekend. I like to choose to be lazy. When the choice is taken away from me, I get a headache and start having thoughts like “I think I could look really good in bangs.” Luckily, our scissors were too dull from me using them to cut pizza and using them as a hammer.

Going to work tomorrow will be a mixed blessing, then. I’ll get out of this hellhole, yes. But I don’t think I’m allowed to wear sweatpants to work. Or CAN I? No, no I can't.

Ugh. Okay, well, if you have a heart, the least you guys could do is cheer on the Vikings tomorrow night when they play their rescheduled game in Detroit. Minnesota is hurtin’ pretty bad, and they have no home field anymore. And we really just need the pick-me-up before Round 2 of Doomsday hits us this week.

Well, stay safe and warm, everyone!

Dear Santa: Here's Your Naughty List

I’m in a perpetual state of outrage today. I want to run to my window, rip off the plastic, and scream “I’m mad as hell, and I’m not going to take it anymore!” at the top of my lungs. What is going ON with people right now? Okay, so first, last night I read that an extremely talented Iowa Hawkeye football player, Derrell Johnson-Koulianos, was arrested for a number of drug violations. One of them was that he was LIVING IN A DRUG HOUSE. What a total moron…what a disappointment. Do people not learn ANYthing from other athletes who get arrested for stuff like that? And Brett Favre - HELLO!? Are you kidding me with the picture texts? Get it together, dudes.

Secondly, today I learned that the total JOKE that is the Justice System has failed again. Without getting into too many details, I’ll say this. The case Federated Insurance brought against my brother-in-law over 2 years ago has had a trial set for January on the books for over 6 months. Now that we’re getting close to FINALLY tasting justice, there appears to be a “scheduling error” and it’s been postponed. I think they mean “We still don’t have a shred of evidence that anything illegal has taken place.” In my opinion, I think they’ll be spending the holidays panicking, hiding their mistakes, and coming up with $25 words for “We’re effed”.

But what has really gotten my goad, the proverbial straw breaking my camel’s back, the sharp pain in my fleshy backside is Kanye West. I copied his latest album/musical self-gropefest last night from Geo’s iTunes (thanks, Home Sharing!) So luckily, I didn’t have to pay a cent for it. I listened to it today, and discovered a secret. The best parts of his songs are the parts featuring other performers. The collaborations. The non-Kanye self-aggrandizing parts. And as I skipped through his pukey auto-tuned sections, it hit me. Kanye West is truly a celebrity I would like to fall off the face of the planet.

At one time, I followed him on Twitter because I thought it’d be a nice break in the day to read some total bonkers, nutjob rambles. I was wrong. Instead, my Twitter feed would be full of his nonsensical hate-fueled threats to Matt Lauer, Taylor Swift, and other completely innocuous people. Get a different hobby, man. So, I unfollowed him (he’s probably still reeling). I just can’t take it anymore. The sad thing is that musically, he’s crazy-talented. But I just realized I don’t care anymore.

Chances are, a lot of “geniuses” were insane in the membrane a la Mr. West. Van Gogh should have been medicated before his chop-off-the-ol’-ear trick, and I’ve seen Amadeus enough times to know that Mozart was one note away from the loony bin. But these guys let their work speak for them. They didn’t have platforms like Twitter from which to spew their particular brands of madness. So, I wish Kanye would take a cue from those dudes, and fall into obscurity. He’s lost touch with reality, which is just cliche. He’s not the first, he’s not going to be the last. But now is the time to go the way of Lauren Hill and live inside his own private la-la-land.

So, between the d-baggery of athletes, the morally-suspect (if not illegal) actions of big companies, and the celebrities who prophesize themselves as if they are the second coming of Crystal Clear Pepsi, I am over it. Something has got to give. There's got to be a tipping point where people stop acting like idiots and start behaving like proper humans. Is that really too much to ask? I really hope not. If it is, I'm totally moving to Sweden like Elin did to get away from Tiger. Sounds like the Promised Land to me...

P.S. There is actually a great song called Runaway by Kanye West that would be PERFECT for this post, but I'm definitely not posting it. Plus, I think he took down all the "unauthorized" videos of his songs. Seriously. D-Bag.

But It FEELS Much Later

So did you all turn your clocks back? I hope so. How awkward to be the only person in the office for an hour only to realize you could have still been sleeping in your nice, cushy bed still. I almost can’t wait to go to sleep tonight, and it’s only like 9:00.

I’m definitely okay with going back to routine tomorrow. I had another awesome weekend. I spent Friday night with the fam, playing poker, and drinking wine. I watched the Hawkeye game with Kim on Saturday and then Ally and Liz meandered over to my house and we drank more wine on Saturday night. We watched a couple ridiculously awesome 80’s flicks throughout the day. One of the movies was Dirty Dancing. We all realized that, um, Dirty Dancing is totally inappropriate for children to watch. All of us had seen it a ton of times before, and love it. But in our most recent viewing, we discovered that as children, we had all unknowingly witnessed a botched abortion take place in front of our eyes. Sheesh…and people were worried about the suggestive dance moves? Really? Oh, the 80’s…how innocent we all once were.

Anyway, so today I got to go to the………VIKINGS GAME! Yay! Geo and I hit up downtown Minneapolis to watch one of the most exciting Vikings game of the whole season. A win in overtime? Deal me in! So, after drinking beer all day, eating hot dogs and chicken wings, and screaming at the defense for a few hours, my testosterone levels have sufficiently and wonderfully been depleted. But, during my jumping up and down in the confined space of the stadium seating, I smashed my knee into the seat in front of me. Owie. That’ll teach me to stay put next time.

The movies, the house guests, the football, the poker, the injuries, the beer…ugh. Yeah, I need the 9-to-5 to bring me back to home base. I need the proper lunches, the organized chaos, and the regular showering. There were so many people coming and going this weekend that it’ll be nice to be back at work, in the relative comfort and quiet office buildings can offer.

Now I’m really hoping for a slow week. It’s getting to be that time of year, where a nice, quiet house is wonderfully necessary, and it wouldn’t hurt to have a crock pot stewing in the kitchen. Will that be possible in a house of 4 people? Probably doubtful, but here’s hoping! Well, Skol Vikings, thanks to my girl friends for being awesome and hilarious, and don’t, under any circumstance, let your kids watch Dirty Dancing.

Repent!

I’m going to do my best at blogging coherently tonight. I’m writing this during the Vikings game, and it’s a tight game so far. But I’ll try my best to stay focused, because I have a lot to get off my chest.

Okay, so first of all, I want to say “Sorrrrrry, Mom….” to, duh, my mom. She has planned a birthday dinner for me this coming Thursday night (have I mentioned it’s my birthday on Thursday? Probably not…I like to be really low-key about my birthdays. /sarcasm) and I crapped all over her plans. Which makes me sound like a total jerk. I’m lucky to have almost my whole ginormous family come out for my birthday, so restaurant options become limited. And when it was decided that we’d go to the private room at Olive Garden (When we’re there, we’re family!) I couldn’t get past the thought of the unlimited breadsticks that I could eat for days. The problem is, I’m about to squeeze myself into a tiny black dress for my Halloween costume next weekend, and my will power is lacking. But instead of just deciding not to eat 20 breadsticks, I complained and sounded like an ungrateful brat. So, Mom, in front of the fives and tens of people who read this, I’m sorry.

Now that we’ve gotten that ugliness out of the way, I’d now like to apologize to the fine people at Forever 21 who may have had the unhappy sight of my Minnesota-white body squeezed into a black sequined mini-dress. I don’t typically find myself in the glaringly bright store with floor-to-ceiling mirrors anymore. But, in the interest of finding an appropriate Snooki dress (yup, I’ll be dressing up as the lovable Guidette for Halloween), Kim and I made our way to Forever 21. I was reminded immediately, that I am NOT forever 21. We filled my arms with gold, black, bejeweled and ruched mini dresses and, well, it went questionably. At one point, Kim, who was waiting for me outside the dressing room as I tried on dress after dress, had to ask “Pharon, what are you laughing at!?” I mean, people, seriously. It was hilarious. There were cut-outs and elastic in places that should not have cutouts or elastic. Plus, I’m only 5’2” and these dresses were S.H.O.R.T.! Who wears that stuff?! But finally, I found one that didn't make me want to throw up. I peeked my head through the curtain and beckoned Kim in to the room with me. I stood uncomfortably in front of my dear friend, tugging at the dress, and hoped she wouldn’t start crying at the sight. Instead, she said, helpfully, “You’ll have stilettos on, and so much jewelry! Plus, the bars don’t have florescent lights in them. I think you look great!” God bless you, Kim.

Finally, I want to say “My Bad” to my liver. On Friday night, Liz, Ally and Kim came over and we did some work on some Prosecco and other various wines. Clean up on Saturday morning was really easy because all I did was collect like 8 empty bottles of wine and throw them in the garbage. But I really pushed my body to process all that, and it did a great job. So, I’m sorry and thank you, Body.

Whew! I feel better already! Now I can start the week fresh, and determined not to commit these same atrocities again. I mean, except the last one. That one just, well, my heart wasn’t really in that one.

But for realsies, I had a great weekend, and hopefully I have no more apologies like this next Sunday!

P.A.R.T.WHY? Because I'm old.

I’d like to start off by telling you that yesterday, I washed my Randy Moss jersey for the first time in, well, awhile. I washed it and the Vikings won today. Coincidence? I think not. I washed off the bad juju! You’re welcome, Vikings.

Anyway, between naps, football games, and movies this weekend, I managed to make it out to an Ultimate Frisbee party (yeah, it’s a sport. It’s got the basic premise and contact level of soccer, but with a Frisbee. And no goalie. And also, you don’t kick anything. And it’s not written in stone that every player needs to be wearing matching jerseys. Also, there are no referees). Geo plays and their season is over, so they celebrated by throwing a party. It was really fun. And I was reminded how much I love going to parties. Especially when they are at other people’s houses. I opened a beer, and casually tossed the cap on the counter, and when it fell on the ground, I looked at it and then just walked in the other room. Yay! Rebellion! I was the party-goer that I typically hate. When we have parties at our house, I always think to myself “God! What kind of person just tosses their beer caps on the floor?” Answer: People who don’t have to pick up the next day.

So we haven’t had a party here in a few months. For the past several Sunday mornings, the house looks pretty much the same as it did on Thursday morning. No sticky floors, no beer cans shoved in the book cases, no strangers on the couch, no random sock under the coffee table (this has happened like a half dozen times. Who takes off one sock and leaves it somewhere? Crazy…). It’s been nice. So, that’s why I’ve decided to export my birthday party to the exotic bars in downtown Minneapolis.

While Kim and I were watching the Iowa football game on Saturday, we were talking about what to do for my birthday party in a couple weekends. We were considering the possibility of just hosting a little get-together at my house, because we just have “that house” that has the parties. But the blur of noise violations, broken glasses, and hours of clean up kept clouding my thoughts. We decided it best, for my sake and sanity, to NOT have a party here. And I’m now officially excited to celebrate getting older AND not have to clean up after. Everybody wins!

Okay, so now that we’ve got that settled, I can just focus on keeping the depression about getting old at bay. Birthdays are fun...

Wednesday Winner

I think my Amish studies have gotten to me. Turns out, there’s a lot more to being Amish than sneaking out to do drugs, shunning people, and wearing bonnets. There’s a looooooot that is, uh, boring. So, in honor of recent developments, I have done a total 180 for this weeks Wednesday Winner. Without further ado….I declare the Wednesday Winner to be:




Show boaters! Braggarts! Boasters! Show offs! This morning, I learned that my beloved Randy Moss is returning to his NFL roots and comin’ home to me! He’s signed with the Vikings for the rest of season, and I couldn’t be happier. A common misconception of Moss is that he pouts, does exaggerated celebration dances, and acts like a total A-hole most of the time. But guess what, people? I DON’T CARE! I love him! I love his jumping, running, one-handed snags for the touchdown, his faux-mooning of Packers fans! He’s incredibly talented and now he’s back on the VIKINGS, so come Super Bowl time, all you haters will be glad to have him. Maybe it’s because I don’t have any kids who are all “I wanna be juuuuuust like him when I grow up”. But man I just, I love him. I’m so glad to see him back.

Also, in the same show boating line (though not in, like, the "I'm better than everyone" way), I’d like to also honor my favorite Vikings defensive player, Jared Allen, who was in the news this week as well. Jared Allen, who for EIGHT YEARS has done the same awesome celebration dance after getting a sac (he kneels down on the ground, simulates roping a calf, then throws his arms up in the air with world‘s biggest, most genuine smile on his face) has now suddenly been told he cannot do that any longer. He suddenly can’t kneel down, unless he’s praying. Seriously. Jared Allen. The mullet-sporting, culinary-school-graduating (listen to his own hilarious “alma mater” when they introduce the D-line during any game), truck-driving, down-home cowboy has been told he can’t kneel down to pretend to rope a fake calf. Might I remind you all that Michael Vick abused ACTUAL animals and is currently enjoying the best season of his career? Welp, turns out, I have also loved Jared Allen for a long time, and feel like he’s being totally screwed. All because of a little celebration. A LEGENDARY celebration, from a legendary player. For shame, Fun Haters!

So, now my two favorite show boaters are on MY TEAM! God, I can TASTE the controversy! The tongue-clicks of Squares and Nerds. The people who think football should be calmer and quieter. LAME. I love football because the performances on the field can be super-human. These guys can do things NO ONE ELSE can do without suffering major arterial hemorrhaging. So who cares when they want to celebrate? I certainly don’t.

Okay, so, initially I was going to have a third non-Vikings show boater, but no one else deserves this honor like my boys in purple. I’ve been watching the humble, talented Twins who don’t do so much as an air-hump after a homerun. Yes, they are awesome. They are fun guys to look up to. But my beloved Vikings make the competition real. I feel like their celebrations and frustrations are my own. I’m down on that field with them. They’re working, and they’re working for me. I love my athletes to show their emotions. I mean, I know they don’t need to be total jerks and they don’t need to do all kinds of smarmy things, but I’m not greedy. I’m proud of them on the field. I like their creativity and their passion.

So, on that note: Thank you Show Boaters and Field Clowns. You make me passionate about, and inspired by, professional sports. You guys are entertaining and incredibly talented, and I whole-heartedly salute you. I love you guys. I will always love you guys, and I will cheer for you for as long as you want me to. Thanks, dudes. Thanks for everything.

In Heaven There is No Beer. In Iowa City There is Definitely Beer.

Well, the good news is that the previously mentioned blister that was eating my face went unnoticed this weekend. It didn’t end up to be nearly as bad as I had thought. Phew! The bad news is that I’m back home, and missing Iowa City and my friends already. Oh well, I’ve gotta move on.

But my God, I’m tired. It was a beautiful, fun weekend. But it was short. Geo did the math, and we were in Iowa City for all of 35 hours I guess. My body feels like it was 3 weeks though. Perek, Leah, Geo and I did some work in that short amount of time. The Hawkeyes won, we only had one minor trip n’ fall incident (not me for once), and we all made it out alive.

Now I’m just a hot mess. I ran out to Walgreens tonight and discovered very quickly upon entering the bright, mirrored store that I should NOT have been let out in public. Dirty clothes, dirty hair, no makeup. Seriously. Hot. Mess. Plus, I still had on my Hawkeye face tattoo all day, and to remove it, you take a piece of tape and rub it on the tattoo. Then, after about 10 tries, Voila! The tattoo is gone. So I did that tonight before braving the outside world, only to realize IN WALGREENS, that it leaves behind a giant red mark in the shape of a tiger hawk. So yeah, I looked horrible. Luckily, I didn’t run into any one I knew.

What is it about weekends in Iowa City that leaves me so wrecked? Is it the late nights? The long days? The horrible diet consisting of beer, late-night gyros and grilled cheese sandwiches? Yes, it’s probably all of these things. Yet, I willingly do it over and over. I look forward to it, even. Unfortunately, I don’t have any more trips to IC planned this year. It’s a pretty big bummer. A big part of me would love to live there again. I mean, I totally love Minneapolis, don’t get me wrong. But you know how some people “summer” in the Hamptons? Maybe I should “Autumn” in Iowa City. Best of both worlds…just like Hannah Montana.

But do I really have to wake up and go to work tomorrow? Really? It’s nights like these that I seriously consider playing the lottery. If I could just strike it rich, I’d stop working and sleep late every morning, in a bed made of money. Well, I’d have to get two Money Beds. One for my house in Minneapolis, and one for my 2nd home in exotic Iowa City. Dream big, people.

Well, I’ve gotta just finish chugging this gallon of water to rehydrate myself, and then it’s off to bed. In my plain ol’ bed made out of plain ol’ fabric. I’m definitely going to buy a lotto ticket tomorrow. Wish me luck!

Mama I'm Comin' Home

This weekend shall be bittersweet. The sweet? I’m going to Iowa City again for Homecoming. The bitter? I have a huge blister on my chin that is, well, unsightly. So all the pictures, if I allow any, will consist of me doing some random hand gestures that will strategically, yet not subtly, cover up said face-eating virus. So, yeah. I’m excited to go and see my friends again and hang out with a bunch of other aging college grads. I just hope they don’t cower in fear upon seeing my mangled face.

I haven’t been back for a Homecoming game since I graduated. There’s the whole parade thing and all kinds of events that college students participate in. Or so I’m told. After my freshman year, I literally did nothing special on Homecoming. But my freshman year, when I was in my sorority, we built a float for the parade, went to the pep fests, won a spirit award, and all kinds of stuff, so I know these things exist. I remember wondering if and when there would be the Homecoming Dance. We had them in high school, and I loved those. But, alas, there would be no dance. There would be awkward conversations and getting beer spilled all over me in the huge crowds at the bar, just waiting for someone to come talk to me.

I love the idea of Homecoming. They should have these in real life, like outside of schools. Imagine it: Homecoming for your favorite shoe store. For one weekend, you go in, hang out with other regulars, reminisce in the boot section about the days you came in for Birkenstocks and espadrilles. Oh, the memories! Or Homecoming at work. All the people who quit or were fired would come back, have a glass of wine, and after the awkwardness dissipated in a haze of alcohol, people would stand, arm in arm, and sing Piano Man together. Aww…everyone loves Homecoming.

Also, why aren’t I involved in more parades? I love parades. If it were at all possible, I’d put streamers, balloons, and a novelty horn in my car and drive real slowly around the city. Throwing candy out of the window. Fabulous!

But this Homecoming weekend, I’ll miss out on all that because it’s happening as we speak. By the time I get there, the streets will be littered with wet streamers and popped balloons. It’ll be like the city already has the hangover I’ll have on Sunday morning. However, the Homecoming football game (that I’m not GOING to, but simply tailgating for) is a night game. Since it doesn’t start until 7:05 p.m. I will actually have a chance to go in to downtown and shop on Saturday morning. It’s the little things, I guess…

So okay, maybe I won’t be wearing a sick body-hugging black velvet dress with a fur trim at the bust (yup, that’s the bombest dress ever that I wore to my high school senior year Homecoming dance), and I’ll miss all the crazy floats and old men playing bagpipes at the parade, but I’ll be with some of my dearest friends visiting my old stomping grounds again. If that’s not a great Homecoming, I don’t know what is. Plus, I can just buy my own 2 year-old stale butterscotch candies and I’ll just throw them around to my friends all day. I’m guessing they’ll love it. And it’ll take the attention away from my gnarly face.

Have a great weekend, everyone!

Fantasy Football

Sunday blues are no more. I know that tomorrow is Monday, and the work week starts all over again, but Sundays are wonderful now because of football. I love it. I love my team, even when they are, um, inconsistent. But I love them so much more when they’re good and they win. So, Sundays are great in my book. Thank you, NFL. That being said, here are the reasons I could never play football (professionally or otherwise).

Reason #1: I am not in good enough shape. I’m not even talking about like RUNNING BACK shape, either. Have you seen the defensive players? They are roughly 1,000 pounds. They sweat when they bend over at the line of scrimmage. And I imagine that 90% of their weight is straight up French fries and pizza. But even these guys get more exercise than me. I mean, I could PROBABLY beat them in the Sit n’ Reach, but that’s of little consolation. There’s not one position I could play on the field. Sure I played soccer for 17 years, so I could MAYBE try for a kicking position, but even that’s pretty far-fetched. My hands are tiny, I’d drop the ball. And even if I held onto it, I’d probably only be able to kick it about 25 feet.

Reason #2: I would cry. I don’t know how these guys don’t just sit on the field after getting smashed by two ginormotrons and have themselves a good cry. Plus, have you heard the kind of mean things these guys say to each other? Sticks and stones will break my bones, sure. But words will ALSO hurt me. If I dropped the ball, or missed a tackle, I’d be sitting on the sidelines blubbering, “But they were YELLING at me! Right in my face! They wouldn’t leave me alone! Why won‘t they just shut up?” But mostly, it’s the physical contact. My eyes start watering when I stub my toe. If I got hit late, or I wasn’t expecting it, I’d just start crying and say that my knee hurt so I could go to the locker room and sit in the shower with my uniform on and just cry.

Reason #3: I don’t have the focus. When I played soccer in high school, I’d play terribly if a guy I liked came to watch. I’d be distracted by who he was talking to, wondering if he’s looking at me, or thinking about how good that pretzel he’s eating looks. There are a LOT of distracting things at football games. I would dance around to the music in between plays, tuning out the audibles. I’d be looking up at the Kiss Cam to see if anything embarrassing happens. I’d try and count how many people were wearing my jersey, or how many people painted signs that expressed their love for me. I’d constantly be wondering if I looked fat in the spandex pants and would miss the snap completely because I’d be checking myself out on the Jumbtron to see if I had panty lines. Game? What game?

Reason #4: I don’t like people getting all up in my personal space. All the butt-slapping, helmet-bumping and shoulder slamming that goes on would drive me nuts. I like the idea of huddles, and telling each other secrets or whatever they do in there, but that’s as close as I want to get. Stop spanking me. Stop coming up behind me and smacking my helmet. And for God’s sake, stop jumping on top of me after I get a touchdown. I know it was a good play, but instead of suffocating me, just give me a high five, or a firm handshake.

Reason #5:Finally, I couldn’t be a football player because it just sounds like a lot of work. All those practices and games? Sheesh. Plus, they work on nights and weekends and that’s when I do some of my best napping.

So, despite the thousands of offers I’ve received to try out, I’m going to have to just come right out and say Thanks, But No Thanks, NFL. I’m sure you’ll find a way to go on without me on your team.

Week. End.

I am the bride left at the alter. I’m sitting here, in my Vikings jersey, cradling a can a Coors Light, and thinking about what Might Have Been, reliving what went wrong. We lost today. The Vikings lost. Two in a row. It’s getting rougher to cheer, the triumphant words getting stuck in my throat. But, we must move on. The next game is a blank slate. We can begin again.

I’m moving on like any sane woman would: by watching a movie about polygamy. Yes. Thank you, Lifetime TV. Nothing heals an open wound like a movie about multiple wives and a foreshadowed murder. Sweet, sweet catharsis.

I feel like I developed a relationship with my weekend. The Honeymoon Phase started with a late afternoon nap on Friday, and concluded with an early afternoon nap on Saturday. I was gently (abruptly) awoken by the appearance of Geo and his dad at our front door, after a round of golf. Me + snoring nap on a recliner = where’s my time machine? Gah!

Oh well, the relationship moved on, steadily. Reliably. I ran my errands, wore my sweatpants, neglected to brush my hair. Still, the weekend was good to me. Then came Temptation. I spent a night at Liz's drinking wine and envying every last detail of her perfectly-designed new apartment. I came home feeling like a frat boy. The mismatched furniture, the dirty rugs, the framed posters of celebrities hung at odd angles. I thought I wanted more. But I bought Swiffer dusters, I reorganized book shelves, I moved books around. The whole house smelled like 409 and a Clean Linen scented candle, and I felt better.

After the rush of temptation passed, the weekend and I moved into experimentation. Geo and I visited a coffee shop this morning that I had never been to. We bought gooey cinnamon rolls, something called Puppy Dog Tails and black coffee. I was glad for the new experience.

Alas, after the utter disappointment of the football game, I realize I must cut my losses. I’ve decided to officially break up with the weekend, and move on with my life. Our relationship has run it’s course. And now, sitting here in my Vikings jersey, and watching the droplets of condensation on my beer can slip onto the coffee table, I know that this was not meant to last. You know, we had our ups, our downs, our tests, and our triumphs. But I must move on. I am in search of something greater. A week-long vacation, perhaps. I want the Real Thing.

So, I welcome this coming week with open arms. We are defined by our past relationships, and this weekend has taught me that complacency does not a perfect weekend make. Sure I may have spent the majority of the weekend in a ponytail and sweatpants, but I wasn’t ready to give it my all. Next weekend, maybe. Maybe next weekend will be The One.

Farkle Family Goes to the Races

The Farkle Family went to the races this weekend. The Farkle Family is what we’ve always called my family. We are a big ol’ group of people who all look alike and always seem to be clueless about our surroundings. We piled into the ridiculously gigantic conversion van that my little mom drives around town, and headed out in search of big bucks at the horse races at Canterbury Downs.

I initially thought it was just going to be Padrin and Prinna and me. Then Perek and his wife Leah decided to join us. Then came my mom. And after a little encouragement, my Dad agreed to come too. I noticed, on our way there, my dad knew exactly where to go. The exits, the parking lot, everything. And my dad is not a gamblin’ man. But, we pulled up and parked the crazy big van in a handicapped parking spot (my mom had foot surgery several weeks ago, and was rewarded with a handicap parking pass. She is currently without cast, and appears to be walking just fine). So, already we’re “that family".

As we walk in, my dad picks up a brochure for a Yearling Sale. My dad went through a phase a long time ago when he was obsessed with the horse business. To this day, I’m surprised we don’t have one. But when he picks up the brochure, I saw the spark in his eye that gave me hope that it could still happen.

We wandered around, spreading out across walkways and blocking doorways, taking a quick little tour of the place. We don’t really know where to sit, where to go, or what to do. In times like this, it’s customary in my family to wander aimlessly, blocking doorways and TVs, and just generally get in people’s way.

So we get a quick bite to eat, and then it’s time to place some bets. Ooooh Lordy. The Farkle Family does not bet outside of family blackjack games. But my mom (thankfully) hands me $20 and wishes me good luck. So we each go up to the little automated betting machines, and we are a bee hive of questions for Perek, who’s the only one who actually knows what to do. Perek gets a little stressed with the 5 women each poking him saying “Perek, what is this? How come there are no horse names on here? Why won’t it let me bid just $1?” He’s bouncing in between us all answering our questions, looking like he’s trying to teach a dog to do algebra. My dad, in true Kip fashion, sits off to the side and minds his own business.

At this point, I’m already stressed out. I do not like being in a big group of confused people. I think, ‘This is gonna be a looooong night‘. We take our places outside, filling 2 rows of seats. By this time, my mom and Prinna have somehow managed to gather up about 100 different newspapers and booklets about the races and are reading them diligently (I think it‘s important to note here that after the first race, my mom and sisters discovered the Recycling Bin of discarded programs and race info. They picked up some booklets from the GARBAGE and I immediately distanced myself from them. After about 30 seconds of them being very proud of themselves, Prinna declares “Wait, these are from last night!” and my humiliation dissipates into red-faced giggling).

It’s about at this point I learn that my dad worked at Canterbury Downs. He was the doctor who rode in the ambulance after the horses to clean up any carnage that may happen, though he assured me nothing ever really happened. I was like, “What? You WORKED here? Well, I must not have been born yet, then.” No, I was 5 at the time. This happens a lot. My dad could be Batman for all I know. I’m told he’s a doctor, and that he works at some hospitals. But that’s about all I know about his job. I kind of like it that way. He’s not one of those men who takes work home with him and gets distracted by it. But every once in awhile, I’ll find out something like this, and it connects so many puzzle pieces. THAT’S why he knew exactly where to go, where the horses come out, and it definitely explains his fascination with horses.

After the first race, I’m crushed to find out there’s a LOT to know about horse racing, and it all involves stupid numbers. And when I won, I won like my original bet back plus $0.40. But it was cheap to bet, and every once in awhile, I’d “go with my gut” and pick horses like Red Shoes because, well, I love shoes. I started getting into it, and snatching up a racing guide for myself (NOT from the garbage). In between races, we’d each study the next group, make some notes, and then head inside to bet. By the third race, I feel like a pro at using the machines.

I was no longer distracted by the constant chatter among us, and my mom’s combination of confusion and oddly high level of confidence is the hit of the night. She was standing alone at a table, with all her racing info spread out, studying it and making notes, with her reading glasses on her head, and a bystander commented to Leah, “Wow, she really knows how to play the horses!” No, Sir. She doesn’t, but it’s working for her. I mean, she looked like Rainman. It was awesome.

By the end of the night, I didn’t want it to end. It was so fun. Padrin and my mom each won big a couple of times, we sat around talking about who picked which horses, and it was an excellent way to spend a Friday night. When we left, we walked back to the ginormo-van and I was soooo happy that we were able to park so close. As we drove home, high on our modest winnings, I thought about how great the night ended up to be, and let the thought wash over me that maybe I’m a little too hard on the Farkle Family. Maybe.

Ya, Sure, You Brettcha

Big news today, everyone. Like him or not, it’s been reported that Brett Favre is retiring from football. I’ve already been angry and sad today. Currently, I’m suffering through the stage of Denial. I believe Bargaining comes next.

Before you go tuning me out completely because this is sports-related, and even worse Minnesota sports-related, let me get something very clear. I hate ESPN, I have no idea who won the Super Bowl 2 years ago, and I couldn’t tell you one athlete’s name on any college sports team.

I have no retention of memory when it comes to sports. I am not one of those people who can pull facts and statistics out of their butt whenever the time calls for it. Or even when it doesn’t. I will, however, watch about 5-10 minutes of sports and then go Fact-Dropping to anyone within earshot as long as it happens that same day. Tomorrow, I’ll probably forget who even played.

Now, I don’t want to go selling myself too short here. I know the rules of the games I watch (primarily football and baseball). I know what’s good, what’s bad, and what’s just plain stupid. I know the great athletes on my team and the team’s record for the year. I have a lot of basic knowledge knocking around inside my head. And I yell at the players as much as any psycho who paints his chest and goes to a game in -30 degree weather (I was a cheerleader, after all).

Case in Point: I was watching a Vikings game two seasons ago with my friend Kim (pre-Favre). At the time, I was living with the three boys. However, on that day, I was under the impression that it was just me and Kim at my house. The Vikings were stumbling their way down the field pathetically. Then Tavaris Jackson (QB at the time) launches this huge rocket towards the end zone. The football just plummeted to the ground and I jumped up and screamed, “COME ON! UGH!! WE HAVE NO F%^&*$G RECEIVERS!” (sorry, Mom. Twas but a rare lapse in my otherwise eloquent and advanced vernacular) and just generally emphasized my displeasure with the team’s lackluster performance for several minutes.

All of a sudden, Perek came out of his room, looked around, and said “Who are you trying to show off for?” I was bright red. I hadn’t intended anyone besides Kim to be privy to my tirade. I don’t want to show off for people. I know I embarrass myself more than anything when I open my mouth, but I just can’t help it sometimes. I get realllly into games. I don’t get all bogged down by facts, performance statistics, and all that other garbage . I’m about 40% knowledge and 140% passion.

This is why Brett leaving MN is so lame. It’s like Randy Moss leaving MN all over again (he, for those who don’t know, is one of the greatest receivers to ever play, and he played for the Vikings from ‘98-‘05. He happened to have a tiny problem keeping his ego in check. People hated him. I loved him. I still wear his jersey during Vikings games). Anyway, guys like Brett and Randy make games exciting. They know how to play well, and when they do, I get to cheer for them, rather than yell at them, and that is a very good thing.

Anyway, my hope is that Brett Favre doesn’t leave. I hope he stays one more season, leads the Vikings to a Super Bowl victory, then runs for governor of Minnesota. Skol, Brett Favre. Skol.