All I can say is Thank the Dear Lord that football season is now fully in swing.
I didn't even have to question what I was doing on a Monday night.
In fact, I was overloaded with things to do.
I spent the night flipping amongst the Miami vs. Florida State game (Go 'Noles!!! Though you dearly suck this year because everyone, including lovely Bobby, is overestimating your infantile quarterback Weatherford . . . Weatherford, if by some miracle of internet fate you run across this blog, know that you suck - kisses, B), a poker game (Go Negreanu!! Honey, it's totally not your fault that the table quaded twice within a 20 minute span, that's a 1 to 2000 chance, I know because Gabe Kaplan told us, but that's no excuse to keep playing in pots you shouldn't be in, honestly, did you think your Queen Ten was going to hold up with a Straight draw on the board, even if you did pair your Queen? No, no, sweetie. You're normally such a better player. Most days I would put you well above Hatchem, Helmuth and even Ivey . . . but, babe, put this bad day behind you and move on, you can do it. We're behind you.) and one of the best shows on TV, bar none, Weeds (Nancy, are ya gonna tell the kids that you got married in Vegas to a DEA agent to keep him from turning you in for being a dimebag selling ex-housewife?).
Though I'm loathe to admit that my night revolved around a TV screen . .. umm, why am I loathe? Like you kids did anything better? Okay, it's possible that you were all out at friends and family cook outs celebrating the labor free-edness of Labor Day, but not me kids. Because, true to form, B gets sick on holidays.
Yes, it's true. It has always been like this, even when I was an itty bitty thing. I wait til holidays and vacations to come down with illnesses. Just ask my momma. So, of course, Friday, when I had to work, I was feeling fine. A little tired from the Nickelback, Hinder, Chevelle and Hoobastank concert from the night before (which, in case you wondered, was fan-freakin-tabulous and I recommend you all get tickets, unless of course you live here or closeby because you guys missed it), but otherwise fine. Friday night, I wasn't feeling as chipper as usual, but hey, when do I ever feel completely well?
Saturday, I was well enough to journey to the land of the Hogs to watch our NOT (amazing!) humiliating defeat, though if you only looked at the scoreboard, you might think differently. Though, note here to Houston Nutt, you friggin waste of oxygen, ummm . . . hey . . . think it's a coincidence that we score ONCE the entire game with your miserable excuse for a quarterback that you let start and finish 5 games last season - - 5 games, 4 of which we lost because he's so incompetent - - and then you bring in, miracle of miracles, the NUMBER ONE draft quarterback in the NATION and within 60 seconds we score again?? Ummm, was that PRUDENT planning to keep him out until the LAST THREE MINUTES OF THE GAME?? I mean, seriously, if you're going to take off his red shirt, make it for something GOOD. The last three minutes SO does not count. WHY didn't you take your sorry behind to Nebraska?? They were RECRUITING you?? Ummm, I wouldn't fight traffic for you. Just so ya know.
Anyway, that was Saturday. And Saturday night I felt like butt. I thought it was just because I became a little emotionally overwrought at the game. Tends to happen with me. Football obsessed, but we'll let that slide. I actually cried at the end of the game. Yep, I cried. Deal with it. But, again, I thought it was just me being upset about the game. It sometimes presents itself physically. It always gives me a migraine from Hades. And by "it" - I mean my constantly cheering and yelling and possibly my snide comments to my friend about Nutt and RoJo the moron quarterback. But when I woke up every hour to hour and a half and felt my body aching and my eyeballs burning, I knew . .
So, yes, I canceled all other plans and spent Sunday, Sunday night, Monday and Monday night safely tucked away in my sick-blankie (no judgements, everyone has their comforts) on either my bed or my couch ignoring most all phone calls and any emails. Sorry kids, I pamper myself when I'm sick. Even to the point of allowing myself to watch bad TV.
I could have watched at least 3 hours of Lifetime Movie Network and might have watched something called "Mother, May I Sleep With Danger", ummm maybe, but I will neither confirm nor deny the truth of that statement. Just acknowledge I was burning up with fever and therefore delirious. However, I was NOT delirious enough to believe in the second movie that JACK WAGNER, who is hot in his own right and was playing a super rich plastic surgeon, would EVER dump his hottie girlfriend to go after a married Judith Light AKA Horseface with a bad bleach job from Who's the Boss. Ummm . . . not going to happen. Though, it was interesting to draw 80's TV parallels since Judith Light's daughter in the movie was Tracey Gold from Growing Pains fame. Now . . . had they had Alan Thicke be a plastic surgeon I could ALMOST believe he was going for Judith . . . almost. But personally, I believe Judith Light NOW is the picture of Jessica Simpson in 20 years. Same bad bleach job that is doomed to continue and same horsey features which appear moderately attractive in youth but just get worse with age.
And that concludes the randomness of the day.