I am a little tore up right now. This is what happens when your school wins the Fiesta Bowl. You go out and……FIESTA!!!!!!!!!!!
OMG, I forgot to put the picture of my man and his baby mama.
Hook ‘em Horns!
Edited: February 27th, 2009
All I can say is, “Kobe what? Kobe who?” Bwaaaaaahahahahahaahaha! Did I mention how much I loved the Celtics fans singing,” Na Na Hey Hey Hey Goodbye?” My daddy won’t take my phone calls. He already knows what I’m going to say. Oh, and Stephen, my sweet, don’t forget our bet. I’ll have your pom poms waiting for you on Sunday at the Lacrosse field. I love Kevin Garnett giving props to his mama. I almost felt bad for the Lakers. They got their asses handed to them on a silver platter 131-92. Then, I saw Kobe slinking off with his tail tucked firmly between his head and I got over it…..
State of the Union: Jubilant
Listening to: We are the Champions and ABC bleeping out all the curse words from the players during the game
Edited: August 26th, 2008
We’re about to go out and celebrate the Giants’ big win. Well, my dad and Gianni are going to celebrate. I shall be deep in the cups. I should be more upset that the Pats lost, but part of me is glad that my brother got to see his team win a big one for the last time. My idiot father and idiot brother had these Bridget Moynahan cut out faces that they were wearing at the game. My brother, little shit that he is, had a Jessica Simpson one as well, saying that it worked on Tony Romo so wearing it couldn’t hurt……
The next time I EVER mention wanting to bet on a game, someone PLEASE remind me about tonight. Remind me of the abject humiliation I will have suffered. Oh, did I forget to tell you what I have to do since I lost? I have to wear a fucking (scuse my French) Dallas Cowgirls Cheerleader Outfit to Gianni’s “I’m Dying, so Let’s Party” party that he’s throwing himself next week.
I hope the earth swallows me up whole.
State of the Union: Depressed
Listening to: My brother screaming, “Pats what? Pat’s who? Big Pussies!”
Edited: August 18th, 2008
America’s Team, what? America’s Team, who? HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!The Pats won while I was in a Boston pub this weekend. Both of my dads were gnashing their teeth, I’m sure. The Colts lost to the Chargers while I was in Logan Airport. I think everyone was happy on that front. The Cowgirls were winning when my plane took off. Then, an hour before we landed, the captain comes on. “Ladies and Gents, hate to be the bearer of bad news, but the Cowboys fell to the Giants 21-17.” There were groans all through the cabin from Cowgirls fans and cheers and whistles from everyone else.
It was a sad, sad scene as I walked through DFW last night. Poor little Cowgirls fans in their jerseys, sweatshirts and hats looking sad like they lost their best friend. One of my dads is doing cartwheels and the other is going to put me out of his house when I show up with my “Undefeated” Pats shirt and skullie I bought on Saturday.
This was officially the best weekend ever.
State of the Union: Triumphant
Listening to: Me, laughing at my coworkers
Edited: August 18th, 2008
Anyone that has read my blog at any point in time knows that I am a complete and utter klutz. I am the girl that can sprint in high heels, but trips and falls in tennis shoes. In my quest to get a “video ho” body, I’ve been going to the gym every day this week. I decided to go today before work because my friend is having her party tonight. I even successful managed to practice my zils (finger cymbals for non-belly dance people) while walking on the treadmill. I put baby socks over them so that they don’t make the clinging noise.
I go and take a shower. Still good. I wear my flip flops because you read all the time about germs. What they don’t tell you is that those damned things are super slippery from all the water they absorb. I was walking and I totally ate it. Yup, flat on my back, laid out in all my nekkid glory because my towel came open. I’m lying there and I do what I do in klutzy situations: I laughed. This old nana comes walking by, looks down at me, and asks me did it hurt. I tell her no, I’m quite used to it. She says, “No, not that. The belly button ring. Did that hurt?” What? I’m splayed on the ground and *that’s* what you’re concerned about? Uh….okay.
I get up and go about my business. I’m sitting there in my towel brushing my hair and these girls are talking about me. I wasn’t paying attention at first, but I tune in just in time to hear one of them say…”obviously not real.” I assume they’re talking about my hair, which is hanging down halfway to my butt. Duh, I think, but then one of them says, “Well, I guess we know what Victoria’s secret was,” and the other one says, “Yes, that’s the wonder in Wonderbra. I didn’t even know they made strapless pump-up bras.” What? You think my boobs are fake? Pfffft. Puh-lease. If I was going to pay for fake boobies, they would be the size of Pamela Andersons. I’d have boobs so big they could be used as flotation devices during a plane crash. I don’t really know what the deal is with my boobs. It’s not like they’re huge or anything to just seriously write home and brag about.
They’re getting all their stuff and about to leave. I “accidentally” let my towel fall to my waist, exposing my girls in all their glory. They stare at them, obviously looking for the tell-tale marks that I’d got a lift or implants. I tell them, “The ’secret’ is called good genes. ‘Wonderful’ some would say.”
They, at least, had the good graces to look embarrassed as they scurried away.
State of the Union: Exasperated
Listening to: The Blower’s Daughter by Damien Rice
Edited: August 18th, 2008
Anyone that knows me knows that I bleed burnt orange. Yup. I am a rabid Longhorns fans. The Holiday Bowl with U.T. versus Arizona State was today and I can honestly say, I’ll probably be hoarse tomorrow because I screamed my happy ass off. I was yelling, I was cheering, I was booing, I was clutching my lucky pillow and I was jumping up and down (note to self, make sure to wear a bra during all football games from now on because I damn near knocked myself out). We won 52-34.
Things that must be said:
*Chris Jesse is a dumb ass. Even I, meager fan with no real knowledge other than “run, fool, run,” knows that you don’t touch a live ball while it’s in play.
*If you’re gonna fumble, fumble in the end zone. That leads to touchdowns.
*Rudy Carpenter learned the hard way that it’s not a good idea to taunt the Texas Defense because they will sack your ass every time, and then serenade you as you leave the field in defeat. (Rudy! Rudy!)
I love football. It’s an aphrodisiac. There’s something just downright sexy about boys pounding each other and all the violence. It also doesn’t hurt that Jesse Palmer is one hot ass commentator that I tune into Sports Center just to see.
God bless Sports Center.
State of the Union: Proudful
Listening to: Texas Fight! Texas Fight! Yea, Texas Fight!
Edited: August 18th, 2008
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