Humpty Dumpty

I promised one of my friends that I would write a blog post about him and have spent the past half hour or so trying to think of a way I could be honest and still maintain his prized anonymity. Here's my best shot:

My friend has overcome some "life obstacles" beyond anything I can imagine. He has had his dreams shattered without any King's men to put them back together again, literally robbed of his truest passion. Yet he has accomplished far more in the past 5 years than most do in a lifetime. Only through daring determination (daring in that I, along with most, would likely have given up), does he have this markedly different, but healthy and "normal" life. I like to think that I am a challenge-oriented person, and that in the face of adversity I would muster what strength I have to push through it. Never having been tested in such an extreme way and admittedly having run from tough situations before, I, however, am less than certain about my ability to do what my friend has done.

Some descriptions of him imply a man of mythic proportions, which contrasts sharply to his short (or at least shorter than me) stature and slim frame. In truth, he is just as human as the rest of us, maybe even a little more so given the way in which his mortality has been tested. He is not perfect; besides his poor taste in music (ok, I secretly love R. Kelly too) he has made his fair share of mistakes finding it just as difficult as I do to know and do the right thing. We don't always agree; in fact, I fight more with him than all of my other friends combined, but at the end of the day, he's still a loyal friend.

He has learned lessons most of us would rather read about in inspirational books or cheesy Disney movies than actually have to live through, yet he is constantly looking to learn more. He likes being friends with me because I am unlike his other friends; he thinks I have something to teach him. The first time he said something along those lines to me I laughed, thinking he had to be kidding. What could I possibly teach him? I divide my time pretty evenly between bars and books. Books anybody can read, and we all know I'm not learning anything useful at bars. But after he explained himself, I began to better understand his point; the two of us are very different people with entirely different life experiences. In his view, I have as much to teach him as he has to teach me (although his current focus is on teaching me how to be a thug). I'm not sure how long we'll be friends, months or years, but I've already promised to teach him how to play both chess and pinochle (yes, oddly enough I know how to play pinochle). Someday maybe he'll even teach me to say things like "throw some D's on it" without sounding so ridiculous.

Oh and my apologies for the much more serious than normal post, but so it goes.

St. Patrick's Day

Last year I celebrated St. Patrick's Day in Ireland with a few of my favorite relatives. It was amazing in every way. So this year, I didn't have very high expectations having already experienced the ultimate St. Patty's Day. I, however, was not disappointed. Friday night the weather sucked so a friend and I decided we'd start the celebrating a night early. We went to an Irish bar for dinner around 7pm and stayed there (in the same bar stools) until close 7 hours later. My usually extremely docile friend was picking fights left and right, and I somehow managed to get a guy who works at the bar kicked out (in a typical drama-free night).

March 17th began with a hangover, which was quickly cured by some NCAA basketball and cheap beer. We got to the bars by lunchtime, drank until dinnertime, then took a half-time at Wendy's. Wendy's was the perfect location for some people watching. Similarly to Halloween, it seems that girls use St. Patty's Day as an excuse to dress and act like complete sluts. Also, there was this crazy probably homeless lady with huge frizzy red hair like the Magic School Bus teacher lady who was talking to herself. No joke, she was talking dirty talk to herself for like 10 minutes. Then, she got a little fed up with her imaginary partner and began to yell at him/her telling him she wasn't a cheap whore and all she was asking for was a little common decency.

We did make it back out to the bars for the night, came home a little earlier than usual, and two of us split an entire large pizza while watching Boondock Saints (perhaps my favorite movie). Overall, fantastic weekend -- and a great one to be Irish.

Pet Peeves De Jour

I actually don't even like the phrase "pet peeve", but here are a few of my current ones:

1. People pretending to be smart and say the "h" before the "w" in words like "what" and "why"
2. Girls who wear their bras so tight that their back fat kinda hangs over it, and on top of that wear shirts so tight that it is really noticeable.
3. Couples holding hands across the table (even worse when combined with staring longingly into each other eyes... I swear people really do this).
4. Women who are old enough to be my mother but shop in the Junior's department.
5. Those glasses that automatically tint and turn into sunglasses outside.
6. People who charge into an elevator, train, etc. before letting the people out.
7. People who hold the door open for you when you are far away so you have to run to the door to go through so they don't stand there for ten minutes, but you just wanted to stroll on through...
8. And then having to be all like "oh, THANKS so much!" when what you really want to say is "ass, you made me run"...actually, you made me do the shuffle feet jog.
9. People who act like they aren't impressed with my really cool magic trick because obviously it is impossible not to be impressed.

Vagina Jokes

Last weekend I went to Atlantic City with my family to celebrate two of my brothers' birthdays. The weekend was awesome, great food, great shopping, and great stories. One of the funniest things that happened the whole time was at a comedy show. The first comedian to come on was this middle aged woman from Wisconsin. A few minutes into her set, she started making fun of young women who think they are on top of the world. I guess I must have been the first person to catch her eye, so she asked me my name. I told her Meg, and she said "Oh, of course it is something cute like Meg and not Bertha"... I didn't correct her and tell her my real name is Margaret. Anyway, she said "For those of you who can't see Meg, she's beautiful.. with her big perfect eyes and her perfect hair, I bet men buy her cocktails all the time." She started talking about how someday I won't be so beautiful anymore.. that I'll start to look like her. She then asked me if I shop at Victoria's Secret. My face turned bright red because I was sitting at the table with 3 of my brothers and my father. I nodded in the affirmative and she went on to some jokes about knowing their secret. At this point, I was thinking she was finished with me.. then she started talking about bikini waxes. She literally said "Girl's like Meg have perfect little V's, but me, I've got a W... I call it my George W. Bush." I thought lingerie talk was uncomfortable, but it was nowhere near as bad as vagina talk sitting at a table with 3 of my brothers, father, mother and sister-in-law. I tried to pretend like I didn't get the joke; it seemed like no one at my table found the joke particularly funny either. Nothing beats awkward vagina jokes with your family.

Snooze Button

Each morning when it comes time to fight the urge to hit the snooze button and lie in my very comfortable and warm bed for just a few more minutes, I find myself severely lacking in willpower. According to the internet (and obviously 100% of what you read on the internet is true), the inventor of the snooze button is Lew Wallace. I am convinced that Lew practiced exceptional self-control and did not himself use the snooze button, but instead was up making money while the rest of the world got another 9 minutes of sleep. Thanks for nothing, Lew.

Pre-Existing Condition

I hate the people who answer the phone for my insurance company. Apparently for my ghetto insurance there are only two women who are the "front line," Anna and Betty. Anna is stupid, and I mean really stupid. I don't think she answered a single question I asked - I don't think she even knows how to spell tonsils let alone explain to me why the fact that my tonsils have been infected before is a "pre-existing condition" under my policy. Betty seems a little smarter, but she is approximately 100 years old and had probably been tonsil free for 92 years... maybe she had some serious complications when she got her tonsils out back when the local phyiscian/medicine man used sharpened rocks and prayers to remove them. Between the two of them, I am scared to do anything a little risky less I get hurt and my fate lies in thier hands. I guess I should be thankful that my tonsils are my only health problem these days...

About Me

A year or so ago I sent my overseas cousin 101 things about myself to try and make her laugh. Most of them are still true, and most of them I would never post on the internet. But here's a selection of the more... suitable... ones.

10. I own a lot of jeans. A lot. I think I have an addiction to buying them. When I was in Africa, I was so mad at myself for having a jean addiction... such a waste of money. But when I got back, I still bought a lot of jeans... go figure.
11. I am the middle child, but like my cousin Molly, it would be more accurate to call me the “central child”… being the only girl definitely has some benefits.
14. I like comfy beds. I am an expert at making beds extra comfy… but only for myself. When I have to share they become less comfy because of the groove I make for my body… ask Nora, she’ll tell you all about how we both kept falling into the crater in my bed so that we practically had to spoon, even though my bed is huge. (I have moved on to SpaceFoam, which has eliminated the above problem).
16. My dog Riley is really cute but also pretty annoying. She almost died once when she was a little puppy, so I think now she feels like she has to make the most of life and she runs and plays all the time that she is not sleeping.
17. I am Catholic. I don’t really agree with a lot of what the Church says, but something about the rituals and the ancientness of mass is comforting to me, so for now I think it is the right religion for me.
19. My family used to have another dog; her name was Bandit. She was the best dog in the world, just ask my Dad. My brother wanted to get her stuffed; she was cremated instead. My brothers insisted that I name my dog either Bandit 2, or Re-run... I didn't, and as a punishment to me they called her Retard instead of Riley for almost a year.
24. I am pretty clumsy. I have the scars to prove it. Except the one scar on my cheek, that one is compliments of one of my brothers punching me in the face during a game of Marco Polo on the 4th of July when I was 12.
25. My parents were going to name me either Natalie or Adrienne. My Dad wouldn’t let me be Adrienne because of Rocky and my Mom didn’t want people calling me Nat because she didn’t want her daughter to sound like a bug. So they picked Margaret. Good story, huh?
35. There is a children’s book called Do Princesses Really Wear Hiking Boots? The answer is yes, I do.
41. I have really weird dreams. A lot. Some of my friends think I am crazy. My mom thinks that Stephen King probably has really weird dreams too. Mine are insane like Stephen King’s novels.
42. I have never actually read a Stephen King novel. I’ve just seen the movies. Usually I read books and don’t watch movies, but I don’t like Stephen King anyway.
43. I do like Harry Potter. I love Harry Potter. The books, not the movies. I read them when I was lonely in Africa, which was a lot.
48. When I was 13 and in Ireland I swam with a dolphin named Fungi or something like that. I had a panic attack in the water though - it was cold.
54. I was a bit of a tomboy growing up. I guess another consequence of having 4 brothers… I even carved my initials in the tree in the back yard, such a boy thing to do.
57. I like falling in love on the train. Well not really falling in love, but I like finding a cute guy on the train and do the whole eye contact thing. It’s fun mostly because you’ll never see each other again.
62. I broke a bunch of bones in my hand and wrist when I was in high school, now I have tendonitis and arthritis, which sucks. But my doctor is the best; he was on Oprah. I call him Dr. Nose Hair and I can’t actually remember his real name right now.
63. Mean nicknames are my weakness. I try not to be mean, but sometimes the nicknames are just so funny. There were a lot at Loyola… Barbie on Crack, Jon Benet, Running Chinese Boy…
70. My confirmation name was (is?) Anne. I choose it because of Anne of Green Gables, so much for the saints.
75. I like that book Where the Sidewalk Ends. That guy is really smart. Seriously.
81. I hate mayonnaise. The grossest thing on Earth. I don’t know if I have ever even tasted it, but the smell gives it away.
83. I have never smoked a cigarette in my whole life. I have a weakness for addictions, and really don’t need that one.
85. I used to joke that I wanted to be a philanthropist when I grew up. Marry rich and travel to remote places giving away someone else’s money all while wearing a Chanel suit.
88. My favorite flavor of ice cream is mint chocolate chip. The green kind.
93. If I only had a month to live the first thing that I would do is get married. Weddings are so much fun, especially ones with an open bar.
94. There are a lot of things I want to do before I die. I even have a list. But there are way more things than I could ever fit on a list.
95. I don’t like secrets. But I kinda have a bunch of them. I guess everybody does, even though there isn’t much to like about secrets.
96. I am pretty good at badminton. When I broke my arm, I learned to play left-handed, and was really good. I play with my right now, and am still good. It is a stupid game though, I wish I were good a better sport.
99. I miss our old beach house. It was slanted, but that was part of the fun. I miss having a beach house all together. I don’t miss having to sleep in the bed near the bathroom, but I would sleep there again if it meant we could get our beach house back.

Sitcom

One of my good friends recently told me that my life is significantly more like a sitcom than a "real life." The more I thought about it, the more I think she might be right. Crazy stuff happens in my life. Weird coincidences abound - the unusual has become usual. Just in the past week or so I can think of a bunch of examples. I went to a doctor's appointment in North Philly and while walking back to the subway station I randomly run into the "Meathead". I didn't have my glasses on, so I was definitely staring at him awkwardly long. I got hit on by an almost 40 year-old man with multiple children (remind me to add ex-wives and children to the dealbreaker list). On the bus, I sat behind a craaazy couple, the woman kept saying to the man "what are you going to do about it, hit me?" When they got up, she tapped me on the shoulder and said "He's too much of a pussy to hit me anyway." I just stared at her. I lost my shoe in the subway station, but some lady found it and gave it back to me. A guy I used to find attractive was wearing a leather driving (Mr. Huxtable-style) hat at the bar on Friday night. Then one of my friends decided to make fun of said hat. I laughed excessively, only before realizing the hat and it's wearer were standing right next to us and heard everything. (I am fully aware my soul is hell bound).

Then Saturday night a cute guy was talking to me at the bar, and the only person in the whole world that we both know just so happens to be the guy I was most recently hooking up with. Later that night, I went to an after-hours place with some friends but decided to leave before them. After weathering multiple crude comments being yelled from passersby, I finally got a cab which a random stranger decided to share with me. The stranger proceeded to ask me 2.3 million questions, then told me his entire life story including his recent decision to start seeing a psychiatrist, paid the entire cab fare and gave me his business card (which I promptly discarded in the first trashcan I passed.) I woke up this morning to a text message from one of my brothers, who presumably had not yet gone to bed from the night before, that said only "Morning Large Marge" and spent a few minutes wondering how I have any confidence at all having grown up with 4 brothers, then was exhausted from thinking and went back to sleep.

Interestingly, this past week has been one of the more normal weeks I've had recently... I guess I have become used to my life being sitcom-esque.

My Weekend

Reasons my weekend could have sucked:
1. I lost one of my favorite earrings at the bar.
2. My brother's ex-girlfriend told me that I would never do any better than my ex-boyfriend and that my brother would never do any better than her.
3. A few of my friends got arrested.
4. I went to a party filled with ugly guys.
5. I took the train to New York hungover and on two hour's sleep.
6. I finally got back to my apartment late Sunday with hours of work ahead of me.

Reasons my weekend really didn't suck at all:
1. I didn't cry about it this time.
2. My brother's ex-girlfriend, however, shed a tear or two when I ignored her and told everyone else to keep her away from me.
3. My friends were really wild and fun pre-arrest.
4. The ugly guys were funny as hell (except I am still not sure about the one who told me that if I were 6 inches shorter he would have been laying down some serious game... compliment or not? I'm not sure...)
5. I took the train to New York with my Mom to see the Annie Leibovitz exhibit and it was amazing and I loved every second of it.
6. Instead of doing all of my work, I opted to sleep through my Monday morning classes.

Mystery Michael

My undergraduate college was pretty small and almost everyone's email address was their first initial followed by their last name @loyola.edu. People with common last names like mine would have a number after their last name. I, however, had no number - just the normal email address like everyone else. But poor Michael, we share a last name and he had the unfortunate luck of getting the email address with the number (although he's two years old than me, go figure). So of course, I have been getting emails for the past five years wrongly sent to me instead of Michael. Usually about once a month I get one and without fail every time I forward him the email, and he replies "Thanks again Margaret".

You really start to learn a lot about someone after 5 years of getting their emails. I know he played rugby, I know who his roommates were, I know he was a finance major, I know who his academic advisor was and the times of a couple of their appointments, I know his English Lit professor misplaced one of his papers, I know what bars his friends go to for happy hour, and I know that his ex-girlfriend got married this past summer. Last spring his friends planned a booze cruise, sent a bunch of emails out, and then one of them realized they accidentally invited "Margaret" instead of "Michael" before I had gotten a chance to check my email and forward them on to Michael who usually would then email everyone with the correct email address. Anyway, his friends were being funny, and this time they decided to take it upon themselves to invite me on the booze cruise also. Unfortunately, they all still live in Baltimore, so I couldn't make it (Not that I would have gone anyway). The following Monday I got an email from most of the guys on the list saying something along the lines of "Margaret, where were you?" or "We missed you on the cruise, Margaret." I responded to the whole list thanking them for their cordial invite and informing them of Michael's actual email address, and signed the email "Margaret". I have a bunch of friends that are their year of school, but I can almost guarantee that not a single one of them knows that my real name is Margaret. I wonder if I'll ever get to meet Michael - I do know that he goes by Mike, but if I have to be Margaret, he has to be Michael.

Here's to 2007

I don't think I have ever made New Year's Resolutions before, but if I were to start here's the ones I'd make for 2007:

1. No more late night binge eating (or catch that 'anorexia' thing that's going around).
2. Stop making up mean nicknames for people.
3. No more watching Extreme Makeover with my roommate to make ourselves feel better when we're a little depressed.
4. Actually start showing up to my job.
5. Think of a password other than "password".
6. Stop spending more money than I have in my bank account. (Sorry Mom!)
7. Find a support group for others like me who are addicted to buying jeans and Pumas.
8. Stop skipping so many AA meetings (kidding...)
9. Take myself less serisously - if that is at all possible.
10. Learn what "resolution" means.

Merry Christmas

Dear Philadelphia,

Merry Christmas!

Love,
Tony Romo and Terrell Owens

By the way, I love LJ Smith - mostly because his name is Little John, some because I've met him twice, some because he's from Rutgers, and the rest because he's a house. I love sports, and admittedly more so than most girls. I grew up with 4 brothers, a dad, and a mom who travelled a lot - So, if we weren't playing sports, we were watching them on tv. I love the Sixers in a hopeless and pathetic way. I was out of the country when the Eagles made it to the Super Bowl, stayed up all night waiting for the BBC ticker to show the results, and maybe shed a tear or two when I saw we lost. Even still, I am the first to admit that there is a line that girls shouldn't cross. I'll watch an Eagles game intently, but when the game is over, there's not a chance in hell I am going to listen to the post-game talk. I refuse to listen to any sports talk on the radio and have never sat through an entire Sports Center. Other than big news like A.I. got traded or McNabb tore his ACL, I barely even talk about sports outside of game-time. There is a line, and I respect it. Speculating about next season and keeping track of so-and-so's stats can be left to the men; it's not like the world has bigger problems to worry about or anything.

Tis The Season

I've been in the giving spirit recently and so I've decided to get some of my law professors and fellow students some Christmas/Hanukkah/whatever it is they celebrate presents:

To the girl who sat in front of me in Evidence: a how-to guide on Snood (she sucks)
To the Ichabod Crane look-alike: a Horse named Gunpowder
To my Land Use Professor: a tweed blazer and a puppy
To the guy I was accidentally really really mean to: a million dollars and a supermodel girlfriend
To Boobs: a less revealing shirt
To my Environmental Law Professor: those clippy-things that keep your shoelaces tied, preferably Sesame Street ones
To my roommate: a free night of making out with my brother and a typewriter
To Goog: a year's supply of Adderall
To my favorite cheater: my answers to every practice exam I have ever taken
To my male Crim Professor: a bra and a non-turtle neck shirt
To my Con Law Professor: a straightening iron
To the kid that sits next to me (in a class to remain nameless): breath mints, lots of them
To Dave: tickets to all the remaining Sixers games this season
To Windows 95: a copy of Windows XP
To my LRW TA: a cooler screenname
To my Professional Responsibility Professor: a megaphone and a copy of InStyle magazine
To Danny Tanner: a gold star and a pat on the back

And lastly to myself: a life

Bringing Sambas Back

I saw this dude wearing Sambas at Starbucks today. (His hair was also significantly over-gelled and he might have had a perm, but that’s a whole other story…) I used to rock those all the time in like 1993. I actually had 2 pairs - not gonna lie, I was pretty cool. My best friend (and she is still my best friend) had Umbros in every color imaginable; she was pretty cool too. That was right before the time that No Doubt was my favorite band and I got drunk for the first time in my life off manichevitz (zero clue how to spell that) in my friend’s basement. I was such a bad ass. I even got kicked out of Math class once for passing notes, which once confiscated my teacher read and in it I called him a creepy molester. He was my high school JV basketball coach later on down the road; I’ve had this bridge-burning thing down for a while. But seriously, I would go back to my Samba wearing days in a heartbeat, well as long as it meant I could trade in my law books for MAD magazines and hiding in the library for hiding my younger brothers’ Garbage Pail Kids cards from them.

Annoying

I have been trying to stay positive as much as possible, but my tonsils are infected again so I am allowed to complain a little… Anyway, here are a few things that have been getting on my nerves recently:

1. Vanity Plates – they are annoying and for assholes. Anyone who needs to put their profession on their license plate is incredibly insecure. And all other ones I have seen have all been dumb and seem like a giant waste of money.
2. Exams
3. Mr. Peanut – First, I don’t like peanuts. Second, Mr. Peanut is a big peanut who encourages people to eat much smaller peanuts – seems kinda cannibalistic to me.
4. Exams
5. People who put really long signatures on their personal emails. (i.e. Candidate for J.D, May 2008, Rutgers School of Law – Camden,… blah blah blah).
6. Exams
7. The Sixers – just lost four straight. Boooo
8. Exams – and my Land Use professor for making his closed book.

Hippies

I am not a hippie, as much as one of my friends likes to accuse me. That being said, I am taking a second environmental law class next semester - two in one year is really pushing the hippie limits. Even worse, I actually really like environmental law. (Who said that the Resource Conservation and Recovery Act was mind-numbing anyway?... Just a dumb Supreme Court Justice probably). My Environmental Law exam is on Thursday, so I have been studying for it a lot, and I figured the best music to accompany environmental law studying is hippie music (I have a large collection).

As of 12/3/2006 at 10:49am, my 3 favorite songs are:

1. She Talks to Angels by The Black Crowes (not really such a "hippie" song, but I can't bump it from #1, not even during exam week - and Chris Robinson is a huge pot-smoking hippie anyway)
2. Rising Sun by Rusted Root
3. Can't Keep It In by Cat Stevens

Just in case you were wondering, I haven't gone all the way hippie. My clothes fit, I haven't bought anything hemp, I still hate soy products, and I shower daily. I don't really get the whole dirty thing anyway. I get that hippies are trying to be more in touch with nature or whatever, but I feel like most of them never leave the city anyway. Besides, being dirty really doesn't make you feel more connected to nature, trust me. I went hiking for over a month and showered 2 or 3 times total. I was the definition of dirty, but felt no more connected to my surroundings. I guess water conservation could be an excuse for not showering, BUT you can always just filter any fresh-water and bathe in that - in fact, I have an extra water filter around here somewhere I'd be more than willing to donate to the cause.

Ok, back to hugging trees...

Cultural Fable

Here is my favorite short story; it's by Brian Andreas -

"Cultural Fable"-
Once upon a time there was a pig who spoke eight languages & did sculpture with pieces of wood & rusted metal he found on his travels. One day he was out in the woods working on a new installation piece & he met a family from a small town in Tennessee. They had been walking for days. The dad saw the pig & said what are you doing, little piggie? They were all quite surprised when the pig said working with counterbalanced forces using found objects. They all stood around & looked at the piece for a long time. No one said anything. Finally, the dad shrugged & turned to the mom & said I don't know much about art but I know what I like & then they killed the pig & ate him.

Personally, I don't really like pork all that much, but I would have eaten this pig anyway.

"Tight with the Holy Spirit"

I am weird and apparently have some hidden religious fanaticism in me. One of my Environmental Law classmates and I were emailing about the upcoming exam, and at the end of his email he wrote something like "Send some prayers my way when the exam comes around." Completely normal. I respond to his email thinking that I am being equally as normal...then a couple days later I am going through my sent mail and I see the email I wrote; it ended with "I'll send some prayers your way... I am tight with the Holy Spirit like you wouldn't believe (Ok, that's a lie, but my Grandma totally is)"

UM, WHAT? I guess I was trying to be funny, but A) that's not really funny at all (and you'd have to know my Grandma, which he does not) and B) THAT IS SO WEIRD... I AM SO WEIRD. And the craziest part is, I thought I was being completely normal when I wrote it. I wish I could say I was drunk or something, but nope, I am a just out there.

Come to think of it, the Holy Spirit is kinda the left out member of the Trinity. You hear people all the time thanking God and Jesus... you never hear an athlete thanking the Holy Spirit. If you're gonna single out members of the Trinity, at least give them equal time. Maybe my subconscious was just giving the Holy Spirit his due. Or more likely, I am just crazy...for which I'd like to thank Jesus.

Cursed

Yes, I do realize that this is the third day in a row I have posted, which officially makes me a huge loser, but this is what staying at my parents' house for a few days does to me. If I am at my computer it looks like I am doing homework and no one bothers me... at least for a few minutes.

Anyway, I think I am cursed when it comes to rooting for sports teams. I know that every Philadelphia sports fan in the world feels the same way, but I am convinced that I have an extra-bad case. Seriously, if you really want a team to win, invite me over and convince me that I should root for the other team. It's a sure-fire recipe for a W. The Eagles should just call it a season and forfeit the rest of the games to avoid having anyone else get hurt. The Sixers were good just long enough to get my hopes up, only to have them disappoint me once again. I know it is early in the season, and while I still think we might make the playoffs, it'd only be to lose in the first round once again... But even with teams that I don't really care that much about, if I root for them they lose. Football and basketball have been on our tv constantly since I got home, and I don't think a single team that I wanted to win actually has - trust me, that's a lot of losses. For example, last weekend I went to watch the Ohio State/Michigan game with a Michigan alum friend of mine. So in support of him, I was cheering for Michigan to defeat THE Ohio State Univeristy (what is the The all about anyway?), which of course meant a win for the Buckeyes. Sorry Dave, but hey at least our speculation over whether or not the OSU student body can actually count to 42 is over...

Maybe my brothers are right - girls shouldn't be watching sports anyway.

Good Luck, Coach

Tomorrow my little brother starts his coaching career at Burlington City High School. If you are from the area, you are probably laughing already - it's not exactly in the best of neighborhoods. I, however, am willing to provide you with a few more reasons to laugh when thinking of my dear, dear brother coaching basketball. Don't get me wrong, he's an awesome athlete and was torn between playing hoops or soccer in college before ultimately choosing soccer. As a certified physical education teacher, according to the books, he is more than qualified for the position. But, to those of us that know him well, this is going to be hysterical. My brother is smart but irresponsible. For example, he is a driver's ed. teacher but doesn't really obey too many traffic laws. This summer he got his ankle replaced with cadavor parts, so couldn't work soccer camps as he planned -- So instead of trying to get a desk job, he convinced my parents to get a plasma tv and digital cable and sat home all day watching movies from one of the thousand movie channels. He spent his entire savings at the bar with his friends, which he hobbled to on his crutches (and after a few drinks would start to play air guitar on them all too often.) Needless to say, this lifestyle didn't bode well for his athletic figure, and as my mom said, "no one is going to hire a fat gym teacher." Just last night, I had to take his whistle away from him at the bar before I left in fear that it would get him kicked out (as it has before) with no one there to drive his ass home.

Some reasons "Coach" is going to be amusing:

• His white-boy ghetto talk is only going to get worse.
• He is already practicing the head in the hand, head shaking "no" in disappointment thing.
  
• I have no idea how he will ever make a Saturday morning practice - I don't think he has seen a Saturday morning since he was in high school himself.
• His happy-hour routine with the teachers is going to have to take a back seat for a few months... or he'll have to start scheduling post-happy-hour practices
• None of his players are going to find his Caddyshack/Zoolander/Any number of drunk college kid movies sense of humor very funny.
• They also won't find his die-hard-can't-lose-ever-even-if-it-means-giving-up-your-first-born, attitude very funny either.
• The kid loves his whistle waaay too much (power trip, maybe?)