sports
Ah, sports. It's a helluva weekend comin' up. First, there's the Super Bowl, which means I get to put in my earplugs and hear hubby scream. His team is playing, and he's excited about it. I'm beginning to feel slighted by my brother #3, who hasn't called us back to make plans for the big day. Chicken wings are in order- whether they're for 2 or for 6 is the question.
Ahem. Sometimes it's fun being a girl, and being a blonde girl too. At a hockey game a few years back, I pissed off a fan by screaming "TOUCHDOWN!" when a goal was scored. Hee hee.
Another time, I went bowling and began asking in a loud voice "What inning is it?" Ah, people, calm down, it's a joke for crissakes.
In other news, our city is overrun with Bud beer-drinking, sweaty, wrestling fanatics, due to the "big show" on Sunday night. Oh, it'll be on TV, guaranteed. And no, you won't see me in the audience amongst the giant-breasted, bleached-blonde fat former teen moms with "f*ck me red" nailpolish on their claws.
No, I'm not talking about Greco-Roman wrestling, but the steroid-induced, greasy crazies that "break" folding chairs over each other's heads. Can you tell I am NOT a fan? Now don't go flaming me if you're a WW-Whatever-they're-calling-it-these-days fanatic (lunatic)- it's just my opinion. Take your "rig" back to the dump you call home and keep watching it on your 9 inch black & white TV with the foil on the rabbit ears. I dare ya.
Goddamn, I'm in rare form today, aren't I?