Daily Whine List

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Monday, for whatever reason, brings ultra-introspective thoughts.

I’ve blogged on this before, but upon standing by my car, talking about introspection on Monday with my delicious boyfriend outside our beloved coffee shop, I decided it was necessary to once again write my thoughts down on the subject of complacency and what that feeling means to our daily lives.

I am going to preface this with: I am happy, idiotically happy to a degree, and I honestly don’t mind. However…

For once in the last decade, I feel stronger than ever. I feel better, accomplished; ready to seize every day and whatever obstacles the universe throws my way are just added to my list of things I’ll tackle with a smile. BUT. This whole nine-to-five thing kills me. I am blessed with an amazing job, but my creative, social bug just wants to get out.

I was brushing my teeth Monday morning, thumbing through my shirts and sweaters, as I normally do, and all I could think was, “I don’t want to go in today. I want to sit outside and write something inspiring.” (though it’s about to rain) This feeling of the don’t-wants comes and goes in waves for me…as everything does for everyone. I can almost guess that the last thing I posted on this subject was three months ago, so I guess I can depend on my melancholy to only surface once a quarter on a Monday.

Instead of trying to put my thoughts together eloquently, for once I’m just going to throw this shit out here in a lazy-girl list because my motivation has been zapped.

Daily Whine List: The Don’t Wants

  1. I don’t want to adult. Ever. I don’t feel equipped for it, really. What’s worse? Basic life requirements state we must adult on all days, including and most unfortunately, on Monday.
  2. I don’t want to make my own coffee. I know this sounds incredibly spoiled, but I don’t want to. I always feel rushed and I’m not a “fix the pot the night before” kind of person. I really didn’t appreciate the Keurig when I had it, even though I found the coffee to be mediocre at best. I am that coffee diva that doesn’t bat an eyelash at paying $4.17 or whatever it is for coffee because: I’m supporting local, the coffee is perfect perfection personified every time, AND my kitchen stays clean. I used to think it was excessive, but then I decided that I would have to pay if I didn’t want to suck it up and do it myself…and I don’t want to.
  3. I don’t want to get up in the morning. I want to lay and bask in the glory that is my full-queen bed that smells like Neil and reminds me of sounds of the beach, because I definitely dreamed of being there.
  4. I don’t want to get dressed. I DON’T. I want to forever leave my face free of makeup and face wash and moisturizer and just be lathered in coconut oil all day every day. That’s unacceptable, especially considering most times my face is so covered in coconut oil I look like I’m sweating (and I’m naturally so…win-win?)
  5. I don’t want to wear underwear. I find it restricting and aggravating but do I wear it? Yes……mostly.
  1. I don’t want to answer any questions. I relish my job for this don’t-want. I’m not responsible for answering anyone’s questions except my own and I adore that.
  2. I don’t want to spend the money on getting my car serviced. DAMNIT! There are leather pants to be had. (see adulting)
  3. I don’t want to sit inside. I wish I could plop my entire desk right on the front lawn of our block and work from the great outdoors. NOT POSSIBLE. First of all, I see myself fairing quite poorly in the rain, surrounded by electronics. Secondly, it’s Louisiana, so by the time I got outside to enjoy my work day, I’d be miserable from sweat. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: Louisiana girls’ wardrobes are prepared for literally any kind of weather. I’ve been guilty of shorts and Ugg boots simultaneously, and as basic as I may have looked, I was comfortably dressed for the temperature and the event. SO THERE!
  4. I don’t want to fold or hang my laundry. A little annoying thing called “OCD” (which I’ll never admit to) makes sure that you can always see my floor and that you can always find what you’re looking for in my closet, thanks to the color-coding. But I dream of a world where I walk in my room and my floor is littered with my clean clothes, because I’ve washed and dried them all together and confetti-tossed them as soon as the cycle had finished. I long to not worry about what happened to those jeans and if they’re hanging in the correct spot next to the skirts and I would really really really just love to not think about these things right before I go to sleep.

Note: Yes, I have thought about alphabetizing my closet, but I’ve struggled with how to do it. By brand? Label? Or text? I don’t wear many things with graphic designs. What about my concert/musician tees? Do I hang them in order of who I saw first or who died last or what? See how problematic this is?

I DON’T WANT TO DO IT.

  1. I don’t want to do anything but write. That’s what this list really boils down to. I have so many thoughts forever swirling around in my head, I need an eight-hour day just to get them all down. I don’t want to do anything but finish the ever-growing list of (now 23) books I’ve already started in my head. I’ve got deadlines, people.

Jumbled in with my half-asleep, tooth-brushing closet endeavor, I thought about the word “more.” I am happy, satisfied, and lucky; blessed for those of you who are careful to use the word, and do so with same reverence as I do. But I want more. Maybe my hunger is a good thing; maybe that’s what keeps me going on the other days of the quarter that I don’t spend griping about how I don’t want to do anything but lay in bed and listen to the rain.

Dear Coffee: An Open Love Letter 

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Dear Coffee,

Oh where do I begin? I suppose  I should start by saying that I rejoice in the fact that there is a National Day to celebrate your awesome, bitter, amazingness.

You’re everything a person could want. You’re hot, you’re cold; you’re bitter and sweet…my emotions are constantly running away with me with every sip I take. I love that I can enjoy you in bed, and you are so good to me when I’m covered in covers and listening to the rain or enjoying the rise of the sun from my window. I love how perfect you look sitting on the edge of my bathtub while I shave my legs and I love that I can take you with me wherever I go.

I love that, instead of combating the delicious taste of peppermint after just brushing my teeth, you compliment the minty flavor. Maybe I’m weird and the only one who enjoys this, but after having that “oh no! I just brushed my teeth and I haven’t finished my coffee” moment,  it’s really pleasant to know that the taste isn’t completely ruined…like when you accidentally drink orange juice right after brushing. Worst taste, ever. I’m so happy you’d never do that to me. 

You’re the perfect date. There’s no pressure with you and we get to make out all the time. No one understands the way my mouth works like you do. I love that we go on the most romantic of dates, any time, any where. It’s the best feeling in the world to know that you can always be right by my side or in my hands.

I love the way you taste before and after every meal; you’re the perfect bouquet of variable tastes for my palette. I think about a cold slice of pizza, pairing it with you and I get the chills, and the chills give me the feels.; a true match made in taste-bud heaven. I didn’t appreciate this combination for some time, but you really elevate things, even plain pizza.

My parents may have called her crazy, but the day my caffeine addicted grandmother put coffee-milk in my bottle, I knew I’d gone to toddler heaven. Those were the days: coffee-milk and peanut butter sammiches* so thick I could barely swallow. I didn’t care. I was three, in nothing more than a diaper and relishing my first handful of caffeine buzzes while watching Ricky Lake with Audrey. Life was grand then and I had no idea just where that buzz was going to take me.

I love that the only time I get aggravated with you, is when I’ve spilled a very important drop that I desperately needed on the probably white or light something I’ve picked out to wear. It’s not because I fear a stain, it’s because I’m sad I wasted a splash of your acerbic deliciousness.

You take my writing where it needs to be. I can barely elaborate on this without tearing up. Thanks to you, 2a.m. never looked so good, regardless of the chaotic mess my room is in, how horrific my hair looks, or with two-day, smudged and smattered mascara that my glasses feebly hide. The words had to get down and you helped me do it, you wonder-lover.

You really get me going, wind my clock, turn my gears, get my juices flowing, all of it. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: you’re the best relationship I’ve ever had.

i just wanted to take this time to thank you for being you. I hope we never break up. 

My empty cup is waiting.

Truly and Forever Yours,
TiffanyJo, an individual and an addict. 

socially speaking

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WARNING: This blog has been doused in bold pretension. It is not for the faint of heart or those that easily find their panties in a wad. Thank you and please proceed with caution.

You know, I love to write. I love to express my thoughts and feelings creatively and usually, I feel like I do a good job adequately expressing how I feel. Let’s see if I can keep it up.

Social media is a funsucker, it sucks the joy out of everything because regardless of what opinion you’re expressing, someone is going to pick it apart with their teeth and thoroughly enjoy the taste, and they’re going to do it big and bold enough for everyone to see. Social media is negative if you use it that way.

I’m aware that by posting anything, anywhere on the web, you’re setting yourself up and asking for criticism, and I generally and genuinely appreciate that. It helps me grow as a writer and as a person and I find it intellectually stimulating.

I have stated to my friends countless times that I hate Facebook because: 1) it’s turned in to Babybook and while my friends’ kids are adorable, there are other things I’d like to see and 2) there are just endless amounts of bullshit drama that float around that I could care less to be accidentally clued-in on. I keep it only to stay in touch with people I don’t live nearby or don’t chat with frequently via text or phone. I could say that I only use it to shop for men, but most of you would take me seriously. <— Sarcasm.

It’s an ideal way to communicate, but we all do a shitty job of it most of the time.

It is quite possibly the worst place to express your opinion because no matter what you write, you’re wrong. I’ve only recently started expressing bolder opinions on my blog (and in my life because I don’t enjoy stepping on toes,) and the way light-hearted opinions are received are all but comical. Does anyone besides me and my super-hot, football-loving boyfriend (whom I found on Facebook – ZING!) read or watch comedy anymore? Or are we all just wired to immediately negate everything we come in to contact with? The world we freaking live in, the intentionally misconstrued.

A friend of mine almost line-by-line picked one of my blogs apart and right on my wall because she wanted to what? Make a point? I’m glad she has her own opinion and I’m happy she’s comfortable enough to write it down and express it, but for heaven’s sake, there are more tactful ways of going about it. I feel the same way about when I post lyrics to a song as my status and my mom/aunts/etc. immediately comment below with “what’s wrong w u?” First of all, that’s not a complete sentence, so I’m not responding to that. Secondly………they’re song lyrics. No, Neil and I didn’t break up. No, I’m not naked in the rain getting a tattoo on a train. I’m so serious, people read in to everything.

I just really can’t fathom why on earth someone would just outright launch an attack on what I can only consider to be “personal space.” Sure, the refute could be made, “well if you don’t want a comment made then don’t say anything,” and that’s a true statement. To that I say, there is such a thing as silent respect for another’s opinion and  there is such a thing as tact…but I am fully aware that a large number of people do not possess that quality. Blatant disrespect and ugliness doesn’t compute to me, though I know some people on the web defy what you say just to inspire a rise out of you. I can’t stand petty shit like that. I am horrified with thoughts of what the “dislike” button on Facebook will do. That’s alooooooot of negativity floating around and I’m super uninterested in that.

I would never dream of belittling anyone outright on social media, unless it was Lindsey Lohan or if the issue turned personal. In that situation, I would certainly choose to private message or email the person before blasting them publicly. I never ask for anyone’s opinion on my opinion unless I know 100% that the conversation will be positive, constructive and healthy, regardless of debate. DEBATE, not argument; that I don’t support or tolerate on social media – or in life – whatsoever, I think it’s silly. There’s no reason why things can’t be simply discussed without overdosing on negative energy.

I really hate making any sort of expression on social media now, though I’ll continue to use it because a writer needs her platform and if my platform is pissing people off on social media, well guess what–oh my, oh my….she’s found her niche! <— Sarcasm

It’s really a shame….whether it is a brief comment on the way you feel towards something, a relationship change, new “life event” or what have you, is so criticized under a seemingly ever-watchful eye, that it makes expressing yourself not worth the trouble. It’s amusing and flattering to an extent that people will expend such energy on nit-picking and commenting on the inner workings of your life, though they have absolutely no business doing so. Clearly, not much is happening in their lives if they’ve got enough time and focus to write negative things. (Though everyone is entitled to do so if they wish.)

Unfortunately, social media is a necessity. We communicate with it, advertise and socialize with it. It’s used for screening job applicants and it is used to stalk your exes with zeal. There isn’t much we can throw out in to the universe now without some sort of negativity or rebuttal or ruthless, public judgement and that’s incredibly frustrating.

I honestly prefer Instagram to any of the rest of it because, for whatever reason, people seem less cruel. This really amuses me because Instagram is nothing but pictures with hashtags and brief captions. The ability to belittle, deconstruct and destroy is abundant, yet there is hardly any backlash (from person-to-person, that I’ve seen and experienced, I’m sure the negativity is out there.) I like the idea of documenting the things that happen during my day without having to read 65846798675 comments of why that selfie was lame or how I could have taken the picture better or “Oh my gosh, it’s so filtered. No one looks like that.” Seriously, the general public’s attitude just sucks and everyone can agree to that to some degree. Though I know most of you reading this will disagree just for funzies.

This reflection makes it obvious I’m finding continued amusement in the happenings of the week, because those who actually know me can read a line or two of what I write and immediately determine whether or not I’m being serious. I know that the tone of what you’re reading can really determine your feelings on the subject, and as a writer I fight the constant battle of my intention and expression getting lost in translation. I know that posting anything of opinion runs the risk of being offensive, but as any sort of decent writer, that’s a risk I’m willing to take. I can’t help if my audience automatically wants to pick apart my piece just because they’re trying to prove a point. I mean really, if I wanted to read your ramblings I would just ask you how I felt on the subject. No I wouldn’t. <— Sarcasm

In additional defense – the last I’ll say – of my “football” post, the first one that really pissed in everyone’s coffee, I think it’s hilarious that it wasn’t taken as a comical piece but rather viewed as pretentious; I really find this rather droll. If you know me at all, I am the first one to ask what needs to be brought to the next tailgating party or what we’re doing for the game, true for almost any social event that I attend and I enjoy it. Feeding people is almost as enjoyable as writing…and pissing people off. <— Sarcasm

If you must know, my closet is littered with LSU caps, tees, tanks – and yes, even a dress or two – as well as a light peppering of Saints attire, sans monograms, I know what my initials are and don’t need to be reminded. <— Zing.  I don’t hate gathering for a game, I think it’s fun. I don’t think artists or actors or musicians are any better than athletes because at the end of it, they’re all just human too.

I still stand by the fact – and will rephrase my statement since the sentiment was received poorly – that no one should be paid excessively, no one should receive that much glorification, regardless of profession. Not artists, actors, musicians or athletes. I feel like the only thing that really merits such compensation is medical/environmental research because that is truly beneficial to society, regardless of whether or not you’re directly affected by the research and its outcome. To the other end of the spectrum, – and Oh gaaaad what am I doing by saying it- I think it’s wild for churches to spend millions of dollars on a building (I can say this; my former church home is spending gobs of money on renovation right now.) That money could be spent on missions, building homes and churches in other countries. I understand the notion of community outreach, but when your current building has already purchased homes only to tear them down to create more parking for your giant building, how much good are you doing? I could talk about the blasphemy that is the Susan G. Komen foundation and how excessive Nancy Brinker is, but I feel like I’d be beating a dead horse. Am I going to have to apologize for everything that seems disagreeable and offensive, so no one’s feelings get hurt? <— Zing.

I really loathe how social media spins things, though I had a lightbulb moment with it this week. I think I finally figured out how to use it. Audiences are easy to draw; you just have to push the right buttons. I wish I would have thought ahead enough to claim this as an experiment, would have been a smart move on my part.

Kudos to all of you who have read and commented, on anything thus far; I really appreciate it. I don’t think anyone quite understands how much I love this. I live for observation of the human experience and my desire to reflect and write about it; I don’t think anything has stirred me quite so much in my nearly twenty-eight years of existence. I love experiencing things, writing down my observations and gauging the reactions. I’m sure I lost a few people this week because I didn’t write a fluffy something about how in love I am. I’m sure someone read what I wrote and re-evaluated me as a person over my emotionalism about football, obviously a solid trait to judge. <— Zing!  I’m sure someone incorrectly picked up my tone and thinks I’m the most pretentious person they’ve ever met, when they don’t even know me; that’s what social media does, skews perception. It’s the age we live in and we have to live with the judgement that comes along with utilizing such a fickle tool.

Damn it, this should have been an open letter. This is what I get for writing without the correct amount of caffeine.

Here’s this lovely song. Don’t judge my musical tastes too hard.

faux football fans: tolerable indifference

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“Oh Tiff, you should have known better with this one.”

The phrase that reminded me I knew exactly what I was doing when I posted it, though I never dreamed I’d get the response that I did.
 

If you didn’t read my last post, I wrote a light-hearted (and what I thought to be funny) 800 or so words on my distaste for football, a fact that if you know me, is phony to an extent because I love to tailgate, cook for the event and drink with the best of ’em whether we’re celebrating victory or drowning our sorrows after defeat.

 
I made the statement – to paraphrase myself – that it’s a shame that I spend time pouring my heart out over love, life, death and divorce and no one ever has anything to say about those things. Yes, those are personal and seem less opinionated, but they hold the same amount of theory and speculation as my brief rant about the sport.
 

While I don’t see the point in spending 4 + hour in front of the TV, I get it. It’s fun to gather friends and grill and cheer on your favorite team; that, I totally agree with. I’ve been to several sporting events in my life and I enjoy it to an extent…I like going anywhere to people watch and observe life. I get really excited about baseball and I love watching dudes beat the hell out of each other during a hockey game. Like I said, it’s not all sports, it’s just football and I still participate in the festivities because I’m southern AF and that’s just what we do. I suppose maybe I shouldn’t say distaste and instead use “tolerable indifference,” as that seems more accurate and apparently, more pleasing to the football fans in my life. (My stepfather wasn’t too pleased with my last post, if you must know.)
 

I suppose I should explain that my lack of passion for football, SPECIFICALLY FOOTBALL, not all sports, stems from several things.

 
First, my ex-husband would have every TV in our house on different games every weekend of our entire relationship and barely looked away from either the screen on the TV or the screen on his phone for months at a time. I watched every game. I bought tickets and tee-shirts and gear and booze and tried to enjoy the experience since he loved it so much. I studied statistics and joined fantasy leagues (and won a time or two) and really tried to find common ground there. It took me four football seasons to realize that athletics will only take you so far in a marriage; a lack of similar interests in general will douse a flame. I don’t care what anyone says, there has to be one (if not some) thing you share with your significant other, but that is an entirely separate tangent all together. So, you’ll have to excuse me for being burnt out on being ignored (again, a separate, football-free tangent that I will never write about. Or maybe…) I basically lost my husband to grown men in spandex and helmets and that just really does something to a woman’s desire for more of the same.
 

Secondly, what I  really can’t stand, what is at the top of this list, what clouds my ability to appreciate a game that so many people love: the pedestal that athletes are placed on. I cannot condone the glorification of athletes. 

 
I am amazed at the agility football and hockey players have; I know I couldn’t do it. I know I couldn’t perform on that level under that kind of pressure. I mean, MILLIONS OF DOLLARS have been spent. Countless hours of practice and training have been dedicated to one purpose: to win. It really is something to marvel at, honestly. When I watch football, I compare it to watching ballerinas twirl around on stage; graceful, agile and focused. But to pay these athletes thousands of dollars….to play a game? Come on. I feel like this towards any sport. That money could be spent to fund research for Alzheimer’s or to restore a village somewhere or to create homes for children who don’t have one. I think about how much money is standing on the field collectively and what all could be done with that money and I guess it makes me sick.

 
I feel like I should cover my ass by saying that I am aware that these athletes donate their time and money to charities of their choosing, I know that they do all kinds of special things throughout the year to boost awareness for one organization or the other, but it still doesn’t change the fact that their incentive to play a game is to get that fat check at the end of it all. I know the same could be said for actors and musicians, and that’s a soap box I’m not even willing to touch, because dare I say it, they behave badly too. (They’re human! Gasp!) I just don’t see how throwing or kicking a ball should constitute living above anyone else. There are scientists that work ’round the clock, trying to find a cancer cure that don’t make that much money. Isn’t that sad?
 

Passion is passion, regardless. BUT! You don’t see artists, true artists, making money hand over fist and they pour their souls in to their work. I’m not saying that footballers don’t play with passion, but how much fervor can you possibly play with when you know you’re making bank regardless of the outcome? What else drives you to play? There just aren’t too many moments, especially in pro-ball, that I see that proud joie de vivre come across many of the players faces.
 

And yes, I know that money doesn’t last forever and I know most won’t play the game for the entirety of their lives, but the money they are paid to play a game is more money than most of us will see in our lifetime. I mean, even the guys on the sidelines, the b-string or whatever make over $300,000 and probably rarely see a game. Their talent – and that’s what it is, talent – is being laid to waste riding pine and I feel for them. I feel for them until pay-day and then I want to slap them in to football Sunday.

 

I have to say that I’m happy for this random outburst, this writing experience over something as silly as a sport. I didn’t imagine when I was plotting out my brief opinion in the pedicure chair that anyone would have anything to say about what I wrote; no one does unless it’s in a private message or something. I actually like writing opinion pieces and will probably throw them out here more often if the responses will come as easily. You see, as a writer, it is never my intention to attack. I just observe and comment as I am inspired. It’s nothing personal – unless it is – and it’s never meant to offend or hurt.

 
It amused me yesterday that a majority of the comments summarized the general feeling of “you can’t say that. that’s an incorrect feeling, your opinion is wrong. People are allowed to like other things and be different than you.” I just wanted to applaud everyone and say, “YES! You’re right. Isn’t that what I just did? Expressed my own opinion without asking for yours?”
 
This blog is open and welcome to public view and opinion. I have been blessed with a certain amount of southern grace and I am happy to receive any review of what I write, positive or not. However, I have zero respect for anyone that reads an opinion piece and gets offended and expresses it without the same amount of respect. At that point, your counter argument is that my opinion is different from your opinion and that you didn’t like it and well….the vicious cycle begins and never ends.
 

On the matter of football, lets agree to disagree.
 
 
Geaux Saints.

I don’t give a fck about football.

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The weather is crispy, leaves are falling and there is a slight breeze outside. You love the weather, the feel of fall’s arrival. You’ve eagerly swapped your summer short-shorts for autumn attire: sweaters, boots, scarves…and jerseys.

I’m sorry, but who looks good in a football jersey besides your mega-hot boyfriend and ACTUAL FOOTBALL PLAYERS? Nobody, that’s who.

I don’t care if you say you love it, there is no way in hell that you actually enjoy listening to a room full of dudes scream at the TV like the players can actually hear them. All of the couch-coaching that happens is enough to make me want to blast Celine Dion through headphones, shove my head through a wall and never come out. (The boys will be tortured soon enough by CD performing at half-time. Her once perfect-pitch has flown south for the rest of forever. Sorry, mom.)

Now, I will admit that some of the tastiest creations that have come out of my kitchen have been athletic-event based because large group meals are just easier to prepare, in my mind; it’s the southern, slightly-Cajun girl in me I suppose. My need to feed large crowds helps me overlook the thirteen sweaty, screaming dudes in the living room, and their miserable girlfriends, wives and baby-mamas that are sprawled out all over my living room, trying to look enthusiastic in matching monogrammed dresses, tanks and tops. Really? Ladies, you’re telling me that as soon as your feet hit the ground on a gorgeous Saturday or Sunday morning, your first thought is who the Rangers are going to slaughter today? Wait, that’s base-hockey, right? See, I know the things.

I just felt like I needed, nay deserved, to fuss about this. I have tried to care about football for years. I have made more crock pot chilies, seven-layer dips, wings, nachos etc etc etc than I could possibly count; football food is delicious, I will admit to that. I love the freedom it gives you to just binge-eat crappy food because it’s traditional to do so. I have housed a many a hungry man for LSU/Saints vs. Whoever games and have taken groceries out of my refrigerator to fill it with shitty, cheap beer. I figured I owed it to myself to at very least record my football woes for posterity – and perhaps other women who hate the five months of football we dispassionately endure.

I like athletics, I do. I enjoy going to a sporting event and cheering on the preferred team – baseball is actually my favorite, basketball and hockey following after. I just don’t understand why it’s so consuming…there are SO many other things to be excited about.

I mean seriously, the only memorable football event I recall was that one time I got blasted on Fireball at a bar in the French Quarter and did the Single Ladies dance in front of a larger than life projector. Beyoncé was the half-time show and I wanted to dance along….I’m really happy no one thought to take out their phone and record, though I could have been a YouTube sensation by now. FCKING FOOTBALL.

Other things to be excited about:

Example A: I am currently in rehearsal for one of the coolest shows I’ve ever been in. Its historical fiction and dryly hilarious, but do you see people getting hyped up over the arts like the Super Bowl or local jamboree? (how stupid is that? you’re literally capitalizing the words super and bowl…this sounds more like a competition on who could smoke the most pot the fastest.) No, no one gets excited about theater and that’s a shame. I’m really trying to keep this from turning in to a rant about how the arts aren’t supported, but I’m not sure if I can.

Side note: How are Super Bowl Commercials better than regular commercials? I don’t watch much TV but I still don’t get it.

Example B: Live music. You’re trying to convince me with your indoor fireworks and half-naked girls on the sidelines that FOOTBALL is better than seeing someone beat the shit out of the drums, while a guitar wails some sick solo? I’m sorry, but I’m not buying it. 99.9% of musicians are better looking, even more talented with their hands and oh I’m sorry…don’t beat their wives and get away with it. Win, win, win.

Maybe I’m slightly jilted because I had no promise of any sort of athletic career. Maybe I just hate how I don’t understand the rules or why it’s necessary to throw a flag on the field after someone breathes. Maybe I’m just jealous because I was supposed to be a famous athlete’s future ex-wife. I don’t know. Either way, I hate football and will just hide behind the egg rolls and salsa until it’s all over.