football

Tits And Bits: What Month Is It?

Well, this is awkward.  It’s been a while.  You look good, like you’ve lost some weight.  How have you been?  How’s your Mama?  Your significant other?  Your demon spawn kids?  Job going well?  Weather been nice there?  I’m sorry I haven’t written or called in a while.  I’ll do better.  Let’s do lunch soon.  Give my best to your Mama.

I’m glad we got through that weirdness.  I am sorry I haven’t written in a while.  Life has happened and shit has gotten weird the last few months but in a completely good way.

I start school on March 1st, tuition is paid, and I’ve been kind of freaking out over it.  My friend Lulu, in all her wisdom, says to take it a bite at a time, to not look at the whole sandwich.  I get overwhelmed easily and get a bit panicky so this is excellent advice.  It’s just not so easy to follow through with sometimes.

I haven’t wanted to write here on my personal blog because it’s hard to put everything going on into words.  It’s an exciting time.  It’s just exciting times in unfamiliar waters.  I’d like to wade in but I’ll be unceremoniously dumped into the educational pool on March 1st.  I imagine it’ll be much like when my Daddy peeled me off of him when I was 5, fingernails dug into his back, kicking and screaming, and threw me into the pool without a life jacket on because that would trigger my survival instincts and “teach” me to swim.  For the record, that didn’t work out too well for either of us and I’m still not a very good swimmer.

I thought I’d dive back into things with an abbreviated edition of Tits and Bits.  Remember, Tits And Bits is a semi-regular series where I clean out my list of funny and maybe not so funny tidbits (your mileage may vary) one liners and happenings which may or may not deserve a whole blog post or I’m just too damned lazy to write a whole blog post about.  So, let’s get to it.


 

It’s been tough going for music fans in the last several months with the deaths of so many greats.  E took the death of Glenn Frey the hardest.  One night a couple weeks ago, I was happily doing what I do most nights.  After everyone is in bed, I love my alone time.  I either sit on the couch in complete silence and read or I have headphones on, music blaring.  This particular night, I had opted for silence but E had decided to binge listen to the Eagles on his phone in bed.  At full volume.  Without headphones.  On fucking repeat.  What does a rational woman do when she’s a mere two walls away?  Text, of course.

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R.I.P. Glenn Frey.


 

We’re going on a cruise with our good friends Gary and Laurie at the end of March.  Time is quickly winding down, so we’re trying to take care of last minute details.  E and I smuggle copious amounts of liquor onto the cruises we go on because we’re cheap bastards.  Or we also may or may not need a 12 step program.  You decide.  Anyway, we buy these flasks that look like shampoo and conditioner bottles.  They’ve worked like a charm every single time.  Out of concern for my friends, that they have a good time (and also don’t mooch our smuggled liquor), I sent this text to Laurie earlier.

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Don’t worry, my friends.  If our liquor gets confiscated by the cruise line, we’ll blame it on Gracie.


 

My dear friend Lulu was ensnared in some college football this past season.  Her beloved Dad attended Iowa so she was really excited when the Hawkeyes played Michigan State in the Big Ten championship.  The winner would also get into the 4 team playoff.  Lulu is a very smart cookie but she doesn’t usually watch football.  Here’s what happened.

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I heart you all 3 quarters, Lulu!


 

Speaking of football, my Alabama Crimson Tide won the National Championship!  I won’t name names but you cocky bastards who’ve given me shit one way or another for the last year can shove that up your asses.  16 National Championships.  That’s more National Championships than your team has won total games in the last four seasons.

I do love making wagers with my friends who are fans of lesser teams.  My buddy Gregg is a Michigan State fan and a fellow beer appreciator so we made a friendly wager before our teams played each other in the playoff.  Whoever lost would have to send the other a local brew, something we can’t get in our area.  Gregg was a really good sport, wished me congratulations after the game, and I’m happy to share that I received this in the mail a few weeks later.

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I’m a bit suspicious that he chose to send a beer called “Raggedy Ass” to me but I’ll take it.  Roll Tide, Gregg. Roll Tide.


 

I’ve kept very busy lately getting all my school admissions crap completed but I’ve also been writing a lot for the music blog I contribute to.  You can find my latest entries here. Press passes to concerts have been booming and I’ve been inspired to write about music lately.

I will try to write here more often.  I’m not sure if that’s a promise or a warning.  You decide.  But I do miss y’all.  And I mean it – say hello to your Mama for me.

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Thank God And Learn To Keep Your Shirt On

I just ordered E not to make eye contact with me and to not speak to me unless spoken to.  Luckily, he laughed.

I sat down to start this blog about an hour ago and have had to get up multiple times to make another cup of coffee, find Landon an Alabama shirt to wear, get my headphones out of my computer bag, and make fun of Bo Wallace (known as Bro Ballace in my house) in the Ole Miss/TCU game on the TV right now.  Ignoring the TV is much harder than it used to be because I bought E surround sound for Christmas and it’s, well, distracting, especially when wonderful football sounds are emanating from it.

I always write when the kids are at school and E is at work or after everyone’s in bed for the night so this has been very difficult but here we go.  Martial law has been enforced in my house.  God be with them as I write this.

I haven’t written in a while because E’s Dad, Bob, died on December 12th.  Bob fell in October and broke his hip, leading to the discovery of advanced lung cancer.  E spent some quality time with his Dad during those last days, including watching Alabama win their 24th SEC Championship with him.  All of Bob’s family is from Alabama and one of his brothers was buried in his beloved Alabama Crocs.  We were at that funeral and I can vouch for that fact.

There are many great memories of Bob but these are mine.  He was a quiet man so when he talked, I knew to listen because what came out was usually pretty insightful.  He worked hard for his family, always.  He loved to garden and always had fresh produce either ready to be picked or growing when I first met E.  He loved to travel with his camper and he loved his demon cat McKenzie, who is immortalized in a huge picture in E’s parent’s bedroom to this day.  He loved his beer.  When we arrived in Arizona, we drove straight to my in-law’s house.  My nephew was watching Monday night football and drinking a Miller High Life, which was Bob’s beer of choice.  There was a new 30 pack in the kitchen.  I watched football and drank a Miller High Life in honor of Bob.   R.I.P., Bob.  Thank you for your hand in raising the man I have called my husband for the last 23 years.

Everything holiday related was accelerated, gift deliveries were missed because we were supposed to be here in Bama a week longer.  I was just outside on a Monday, putting up 1200 more Christmas lights to piss my neighbor off and by Friday, I was frantically packing for a funeral in Arizona and then immediate cold Texas Christmas.  I had sweet friends who stopped by to get very valuable presents off my front porch in Bama, stored the gifts I had with me in Dallas so they wouldn’t be stolen out of the truck at DFW airport, took concert tickets for me so they wouldn’t go to waste, and played the best ever last minute Santa on the phone to my kids.

As I look back on 2014, the overwhelming theme for me seems to be friends.  The good ones, the bad ones, the downright toxic ones, and how I should handle each of those categories.

I seem to have finally attained the ability this past year to simply walk away and that’s a good thing.  My zodiac sign, Capricorn, is wrong about my actual traits on so many levels that sometimes I’d swear I wasn’t born in January.  One of those Capricorn traits is the ability to walk away from a “bad” friend, emotionally and literally, without a thought or a backward glance.  I didn’t seem to acquire that ability until just this year and it’s actually quite freeing.

I can’t control other people’s behavior, as much as I have tried, but I can control mine.  I control my reactions, my decisions, who I keep in my life, who I need to lower expectations of in order to keep in my life, whose shitty behavior is worth putting up with, who contributes absolutely nothing to my life and is just an onlooker or judge, who influences me and makes me either feel fucking awesome about myself and everything in life, or who makes me feel worthless and full of doubts.

On the other side of the coin, I want my friends to hold me accountable.  Call me on my own bullshit.  Do it with love and call me a taint stain, but hold me accountable.  I don’t want “yes” friends because those aren’t true friends.  You can tell me anything with true affection and love and I can take it.  It will be hard and I’ll probably kick you in the crotch repeatedly and possibly shank you, but if it’s said with love, it will get through to my dense brain eventually.

I have no New Year’s resolutions.  I should have some, trust me.  I’m eating everything in sight like an alcoholic drinks the entire liquor cabinet after being mistakenly included in the text about their own intervention scheduled for the following night.  If you don’t hear from me for a few days, it’s because I am in a sugar coma somewhere in Birmingham.

Resolutions are pretty much bullshit anyway.  This year, I just vow to do better, on every level.  That’s all anyone can do.  Be a better significant other, mother, daughter, sister, friend, person.  I just want to be a better chick.  Period.

Happy New Year!  Thank you so much for reading my blog this year.  It still amazes me that anyone reads my shit.  I got my end of year stat report yesterday and it blew me away.  My counter at the bottom of each blog has been way off these past couple months and it bothered me, even though I knew it was wrong.  The end of year report confirmed that I’m not alone and that there are more than 7 people who read this shit.  I love you all and I wish you the very best in 2015.  Now, go do better.

Screw You, Forrest Gump! And That Geico Pig, Too!

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I know, I know.  I’m way behind.  I am still stuck in post-Halloween hangover.  Costumes are still not completely unpacked and put into storage and I’m already grappling with the fact that I’m one week away from being behind on Christmas.  What the hell happened to November?  I promise to post my Halloween wrap-ups in the next week.

I’m also still recovering from a really tough football weekend.  I won’t lie.  I had a meltdown by the end of the 3rd quarter of the Alabama-LSU game and exiled myself to my bathroom for the duration of the game, firmly believing I was a jinx to the team the longer I watched.  E would run back to give me updates from time to time.  I sat behind a locked door with the exhaust fan turned on so I could block out all football noise, temporarily uninstalled Bleacher Report from my phone so I couldn’t check the score or who had possession, wrote a Facebook rant, may or may not have called my friends “ass hats”, and rocked back and forth with a beer.  I’m not proud of that but there it is.  And we won.  So I may exile myself again this Saturday when we play #1 ranked Mississippi State.

Alabama withstood LSU but Texas A&M beat Auburn, and Notre Dame went down to Arizona State.  Even if you’re not a football fan, you will appreciate the latest round of social media meltdowns from this past weekend’s heart wrenching losses, brought to you by Roll Bama Roll.

Fans who got a double whammy of hatred for the opposing team and self-loathing for their own team became suicidal, turned on the adorable Geico pig, threatened assault on senior citizen coaches and accused leprechauns of sodomy!  I also learned that watching Auburn football can give you the Ebola.  Holy shit.

http://www.rollbamaroll.com/2014/11/11/7191807/nsfw-its-meltdown-time-week-eleven

Who knew other team’s fans called Bama fans “Gumps”, as in Forrest, I guess?  I didn’t.

It’s nice to know I wasn’t alone in my football meltdown.  Roll Damn Tide.  Also, fuck that Geico pig!

Let David Beckham Know I’m A Free Woman Now

How was my weekend?  My weekend sucked big, hairy man balls.  It was sweet of you to ask, though.

We were supposed to go to the local high school football game on Friday night but at the last minute, Landon developed a headache so I stayed at home with him.  Gracie and E went to the out of town football game, only about 15 minutes away.  This happened.  I’m sorry it’s a bit blurry.  That’s probably due to my tears.

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There will be consequences, you husband stealing, fugly child creating, shit weasel of an English whore!

Seriously, if you know David Beckham’s phone number, hook a jilted sister up.  This whole sordid affair really hurts but I ain’t got time to bleed!  Can you tell I just watched the original Predator tonight?  I did.

I hope y’all had a great weekend with no surprise bastard children from England.  If you did, please, please tell us all about in the comments.

Full Of Win! My 2013 NFL Pick ‘Em Pool Winner Acceptance Speech

Blogger’s note:  I promise, this is the last football post for a while.

I participate in a NFL Pick ‘Em Pool every year.  My friend Gary started it a few years ago.  It’s easy, doesn’t take a lot of my time like Fantasy Football and it’s fun.  The smack talk is always fun and lighthearted so that’s one of the reasons I keep going back.  It’s also because I kick ass at picking the winners of NFL football games, at least last year.

I won last year’s pool yet the fact that I still haven’t received my $1,000,000 as is promised in the actual pool description, “Million Dollar Pick ‘Em Pool”, really pisses me off and is quite disheartening.  Also, participation in the pool has doubled from last year’s number of losers so the jibber jabber has escalated.  I feel the need to remind them all (and inform the newbies) of exactly who they’re dealing with.

The following is my Winner’s Acceptance Speech from last year.  Be sure to click on the helpful link to the pool that I offered everyone right before the AC/DC video for “Thunderstruck”.

Did y’all feel that? Like a mini earthquake? But more awesome and way hotter? That was me. Stomping on your Million Dollar Pick ‘Em Pool hopes and dreams.

For 21 long weeks, we entered our best guesses as to who would come out on top each week in the NFL. Methods were varied and dubious at times.  I still am not ruling out voodoo and the almost surely illegal use (except in Louisiana) of virgin’s blood but that’s the past.  I choose not to live in the past.  I like it right here in the present.

The present that makes me…. (wait for it)… THIS YEAR’S UNDISPUTED WINNER OF THE MILLION DOLLAR PICK ‘EM POOL!

I am also the first female to ever win the pool in its illustrious and sordid 3 year history.  I am the Susan B. Anthony of the Million Dollar Pick ‘Em Pool.  I am the Neil Armstrong of the Million Dollar Pick ‘Em Pool.  I am Elvis Presley’s hips on the Ed Sullivan Show.  You can choose to pan the camera up and ignore them but they’re still shaking, baby.  They still there. They ain’t going nowhere. BAM!

The Buzz Aldrin to my Neil Armstrong, the Yoko Ono to my John Lennon, the Robin to my Batman is none other than ACUWildcats, coming in with a paltry 66.92% pick rate.  It makes me sick to type that number.  It is beneath me.  Me, with my mighty and never-again-to-be-reached amazing 67.17% pick rate.  That’s right.  A .25% difference, according to my calculator.  But here’s the cold hard facts, children.  Calculators LIE!  I kicked ACUWildcat’s butt.  He’s sitting on a medical donut cushion tonight and seeking victim’s assistance from trained professionals in the Denver area.

I spoke to our esteemed pool founder today and he assures me that the moment the $9.99 Super Bowl Spread check has cleared the bank, he will Fed Ex the million dollar grand prize for this pool to me. Of course, there will be pictures, much like the Publisher’s Clearing House thing. And balloons. And cake. Lots and lots of cake and nudity in the cake. I’ve already planned and put deposits down on five elaborate vacations which will shame and totally demoralize Kanye West and leave him wondering if life is even worth it anymore. In answer, no. It’s not, playa. Give me the damned mic and leave the stage, Kanye.

In all seriousness, I hope you all have a great off season. Don’t forget to save the pool link so you can jump back into the yellow and warm waters of the MDPEP next fall. Here’s the link, be sure to bookmark it. You’re welcome.

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I hope you all are having a great start to football season, whether you follow college or professional ball.  Also, Gary, I’ll text you my mailing address so you can finally mail that million bucks to me.

 

You’re A Sneaky Bastard, Summer!

It may not technically be summer according to the calendar but it’s summer in my book when my vanity succumbs to my survival instincts and I actually don short shorts and a tank top to go out in public.  Throw your outdoor thermometers away.  The Weather Channel should just stand outside my house and post weather forecasts completely based on the amount of my flesh I am exposing to Southern air.  They could call it the “Flesh Tracker”.  No costly satellites needed.  Jim Cantore can retire to Florida and call his shit done.

Let me count the ways I have always hated summer.

I hate the temps.  If you’re in the South, you also know what humidity that takes your breath away feels like.  It doesn’t get much better when I go back home to Texas in late July.  A couple years ago, my friend “Fantasia” threatened to take my native Texan card away if I complained about the temps one more time.  In my defense, a whole bottle of hand sanitizer exploded in my car.  EXPLODED.  If I would have been in the vehicle when the bottle exploded, I could have been killed or even worse.  It was considered a “cool front” that year if temps got below 114 degrees.  I have located the mouth of hell and it is in or around North Texas.

I hate the fashions, especially when I have “more to love” than usual and I’m really lovable this summer.  I hate trying on swimsuits so much that I skipped it altogether, played swimsuit routlette and ordered online this year.  This is one of the suits I bought:

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The ad claims this suit will make you “suddenly slim” so I completely ignored the Law of Horizontal Stripes, figuring it wouldn’t apply to my suddenly slim ass.  I ended up just looking like the damned Hamburglar.

Robble fucking robble.

Now on a personal vendetta against the Law of Horizontal Stripes, this is the second suit I ordered:

No fucks to give. Not one.

It’s like Barney and the Hamburglar had a one night stand and this came out nine months later.  Before anyone asks, and I know they will, Barney was definitely the power bottom in that arrangement.  Hamburglar has done hard time and is through taking that shit.

I hate summer because no matter how much time I spend on my makeup, an hour later I look like a contestant from RuPaul’s Drag Race who got his/her ass kicked by that coffee can full of bacon grease my Granny used to keep on the back of her stove.  Not a cute look, y’all.

I hate summer because I have a problem with swimming pools, aside from the obvious swimsuit debacle.  I can’t enter a public pool without desperately wanting to test the water for urine or even worse things.  I hate the toddlers at the local pool who smirk at me because they can swim better than I can.  One day, I’ll catch them when they’re not wearing their Disney arm floaties and it will be ON.

Before I send summer to therapy, I’ll attempt to find something positive about it.

I love the time off with the kids and the lazy schedule we strictly adhere to.  I’m usually at my fittest in the summer because we grill a lot and I’m more disciplined with my diet and exercise because I’m going home to see family and friends.  That’s another perk of summer, going back to Texas with the kids and seeing those same family and friends.  I love a really ice cold beer and summer was made for that.  I love Sonic Route 44 diet green iced teas.  I love summer action movies.  I love my summer playlist on Spotify, which I created last year and titled “Summer:  Let’s Do This, Fucker”.  I love knowing that on the other side of summer is the reward of fall, football, Halloween, cozy sweaters, knee high boots and mossy green eyeshadow.

Okay, fine.  Let’s hug it out, summer.  You’re not that bad after all, you sneaky SOB.

Let me know in the comments if and why you hate summer as much as I do.  Have a good week, y’all.  I’m down 8.2 pounds!  Woo hoo!