Dear Foosball People,
I understand that it’s time to kick off yet another season, really, I do. I have just one teensy favor to ask: Please don’t make me a foosball widow again this year. It’s bad enough that I have to sacrifice Monday nights (which I’m perfectly willing to do). It’s just that my husband has a bit of a problem. More like an obsession, really. Mondays are fine….even Sundays. But I have to draw the line at Tivo’ing 16 games every Saturday. Football is, once again, about to consume every night of the week. So hear my pleas, mighty foosball guys: let my husband go.
It came!!!!!!! Who’s up for burgers, brats, and beer?
Y’all wanna know? Y’allblog has a list of questions. Here are the answers:
What part of D/FW do you live in? In the Mound.
How long have you lived in D/FW? My whole life, minus one year. Hmmmm, that makes it 29 years. (26 in Fort Worth, 2 in the Mound).
Best thing about D/FW? There’s always something to do, and nice folks to do it with.
Worst? Is there anything bad?
How long have you been blogging? 2 years.
Favorite D/FW blog? I can’t pick just one, although the husband, the Redhead, and of course, Y’allblog are daily reads.
Happy Birthday to Josh, who turns 30 today. Dude, you’re like, old and shit. Seriously, happy birthday, and wishes for many, many more.
It happens every two years: Winter or Summer, I get bitten by the Olympic bug. I spent five straight hours watching last night as Michael Phelps battled Ian Thorpe (the Thorpedo). I watched the Women’s Gymnastic team (the best in years, by the way) start strong and lose their lead to the Romanians.
Keep in mind that my life in no way hinges on the successes or failures of these young athletes, but I can’t not watch. I get excited when one of ours takes the Gold (or the Silver, or the Bronze), and I get way too involved with the minutiae (I live for the bio montages). Poor Kev. He’s unlikely to see me for the next few weeks, as I have been struck down by Olympic Fever.
Eleanor Roosevelt once said “No one can make you feel inferior without your consent.” Bullshit. I’ve been through the emotional wringer this week, and I’ve had all I can stand. It’s hit me from all directions: home, work, you name it. No, I don’t want to talk about it. If you’ll excuse me, I’m going to crawl in bed, watch tear-jerkers, and not talk to anybody.
It was pointed out to me last night (well, in the wee small hours of the morning, really) that I have not yet proclaimed my poker prowess to the world. I, being the modest sort, didn’t want to make anyone feel bad for losing….to a girl….four times in a row. Call me lucky, call me deceitful, just don’t forget to call me the winner, bee-yatch. You wanna win against the master? Remember these sage words of advice: You gotta know when to walk away, know when to run.
Apparently, in the Netherlands, there’s not much to do other than fire one up and lick people’s toes. Thankfully, a newly proposed law would change all that. Oh, don’t worry. You’ll still be able to get your fill of the sticky bud, but toe-licking is out.
Since my husband has officially declared me a Blog Slacker, I thought I had better throw something up here. The thing is, I’ve been busy (shut up, Kevin). Sure, I have 3 days off this week, but that’s only because the other 4 work days are 12 hour doozies. Plus, aside from the kick-ass new gate, I got nothin’. Really. Trust me. I’m pretty boring right now.
You may now resume your regularly scheduled lives.