A Sports Rant (and Rave) of Sorts

I live in a sports house. Meaning: we like sports. Having said that, there o'course are sports that are liked better than others and are therefore followed more enthusiastically than the rest. The husband has replaced basketball with baseball as his secondary sport of choice, because a) Michael Jordan retired b) Michael Jordan retired again c) I bleed for baseball. We both enjoy football as our primary sport of choice. I am a Denver Broncos fan. He is a crazeee pants Dallas Cowboys fan. He loves them, period. A Cowboys victory is his ecstasy; a Cowboys loss is his rock-bottom. He may not admit to these extremes...but, trust me...I'm right...his mom will back me up on this.

I heart baseball. I am from Northern Virginia, before the Expos moved to town under a new moniker (the Nationals), our region supported exclusively, the Baltimore Orioles. Like many others, I grew up cheering for the O's. As a fan of America's pastime and the Birds, I felt a responsibility to recruit my serious boyfriend at the time (now my husband) to the Cracker Jack loving, peanut eating cult. I looked at the schedule and decided the game between my Orioles and the Texas Rangers on August 21, 1993 would be the perfect day to indoctrinate him. You see, Nolan Ryan had announced his retirement at season's end and this was a waning opportunity to see both he and Cal Ripken, Jr go head to head, as Ryan was pitching. The Orioles won the game...in extra innings...we stayed until the very end and the husband was happy to join my cult.

Fast forward a hundred years later (give or take), I still consider myself a devotee of the Birds. Even if Peter Angelos is a giant turd from the planet, Shitstar...who has more money than half of the teams in MLB and a gorgeous ballpark at Camden Yards, yet he doesn't have the passion to invest in a winning team and won't sell the franchise. 1983 was the last time we won the Series. The last year of respectability was 1997, when we went wire-to-wire, only to lose a freakish series to the Indians in the ALCS:

Ahhhhhhh, let's recap....Picture it October 1997:

• Game 1: O's win at home
• Game 2: Grissom's 3-run homer off of Armando Benitez (memba him? Before he was our closer, he was Randy Myer's set up man...he wasn't great at either) Indians win
  
• Game 3: BOTTOM OF THE 12TH: 1-1 tie, Omar at the plate showing bunt, Grissom on third...ball was clearly fouled off, though - not called 'foul' by home plate umpire, ball gets away from Lenny Webster, Grissom scores, Davey Johnson argues to no avail, Indians win and celebrate obnoxiously
• Game 4: at the Jake a rather bizarre loss for the O's in a close game, that included a wild pitch and a strange play at the plate
• Game 5: O's win in Cleveland! Yay...back in it
• Game 6: back at the Yard in Baltimore, SCORELESS until the top of the 11th when Tony Fernandez homered for the Indians, bottom of the 11th, Brady Anderson (aka the love of my life) hit a two-out single...a pulse...UNTIL...Roberto Alomar was called out on strikes on a suspect (inside) pitch, probably because Alomar spat on an umpire the year before...revenge is a bitch and so is Robbie Alomar, who may or may not have AIDS... Indians advance to the World Series
• After the 97' season GM (and all around baseball genius) Pat Gillick's contract was not renewed and Manager (and all around baseball genius) Davey Johnson resigned because Angelos is quite possibly the worst creature in the Milky Way
• We haven't had a winning season since 1997...that's 12 years for those of you counting.

*head spinning*

Anyway, back to reality...where the Orioles are terrible....and it's fall which means Yankees in post season play (ugh) and FOOTBALL!!! My Broncos are FIVE and 0. Josh McDaniels is exactly what Denver needed...as I suspected and tweeted about after Shanahan was (shockingly...to all, but me) fiiired. Shugabetes was traded along with his insulin and tampons to the Bears for Kyle Orton...who I'll admit...I was skeptical about...but even I can't be right all the time and I'm now riding high on the Neck Beard bandwagon. Peter Angelos could learn a few things from Pat Bowlen...like how to act like a human being and how to run a successful sports franchise. Yeah, I hear you...there are like 11 more games to go this season...but the last time my Broncos went FIVE and 0 to start the season, was 1998 and they won the Super Bowl, the very same year that my Orioles began their demise.

Meet Senator Toastie

I got a new super awesome toaster, the Breville 4-Slice Smart Toaster. Okayyy, We got a new toaster. And...by we...o'course I mean...the husband ordered it and I said 'what did you do that for, our other toaster is fine'. Then I used the new toaster and wished it had been my idea...because, the new toaster is amazing...so amazing that I named it...meet Senator Toastie:


The Kennedy of toasters, all that you'd expect plus so much more: large and heavy, helps you create a sandwich, whatever your flavor (Chris Dodd and waitress not included), makes the most perfect toast (Chivas Regal sold separately) and just like the late Senator, if you find yourself drowning he won't save you...but he could possibly electrocute you (okay, Uncle Teddy never electrocuted anyone...well, not that we know of).

You can buy your very own Senator Toastie here

Another Reason to Hate on Iowa (the state not the football team...that's a whole nother thing)

The seasonal hand-off from summer to fall is my favorite time of year. There is something poetic about the changes in nature that occur introducing September to October. However, in Iowa...it is a brief introduction. By Halloween the trees will be bare, the night time temp will have likely hit freezing and we will all be wondering how long before a measurable snowfall.

Iowa's fall lasts about a month (give or take)...then it basically becomes winter with a few fall like days sporadically intermixed. Unless of course my romantic idea of fall has been replaced with cold, dreary days, followed by even worse nights...say it ain't so!

Pardon me while I vent:

The weatherman has tricked us, all but promising highs in the 50s and even 60s. As if we wouldn't know the difference between a pleasant fall fiftysomething degree day and the fortysomething degree prequel of Old Man Winter's breath blowing upon us. Did I mention I hate winter?

Today the sound of the alarm was paired with a stronger than usual urge to stay in bed, the result of a cold, rainy, infant fall morning. Following a couple of dates with the snooze button, I sat up and searched for my socks that I had removed sometime during the night. I braved the cool air of our older home as I made my way down to the kitchen. After burning my tongue on a scolding hot beverage, I headed back upstairs to start the shower and check in on the morning news. While catching up on the day's headlines, I turned on the shower allowing it to run until the bathroom showed appropriate signs of steam. After showering and getting ready, the highlight of which was the warmth of the hairdryer, I was ready to go and face the elements.

Before going outside, I perused the closet for a coat that offered the appropriate amount of coverage and protection. I choose fashion over function, paired with gloves. I could only find one. I quickly reconsidered, and stepped outside, bare handed. The cool wet air greeted my face as I walked toward the driveway. As I opened my car door, I could feel the cold mist that had settled on my tirelessly, blown-out hair. I got in the car, started the engine, rubbed my hands together as I blew hot air on them, cranked the heat and folded down the mirrored visor to get a look at the damage done. Post assessment, I pulled a hair fastener out of my purse, giving up on the hairdo that I wanted, settling for a ponytail. I flipped the visor back up, placed my foot on the brake pedal and shifted into reverse. Just as I was about to back out of the driveway, I glanced down at the ever-present temperature display on the dashboard, it read 44, reminding me that my weatherman is about as useless as that glove that I couldn't find.

Libya's Diddy Rapes Billy Joel

Qaddafi aka Gaddafi aka Kaddafy aka al-QADHAFI

(aka Libya's Diddy)
To the tune of Billy Joel's "We Didn't Start the Fire"

United Nations, Swine Flu, Ronald Reagan, Evil Jews
Adolf Hitler, MLK, Son of Africa

Saddam Hussein, India, Monkey Wrench, Foot rub
I heart Mecca, Legal pad, Homophobia

Terrorism, Afghans, I love the Taliban
Civil wars are the best, mind your own business!

Chester Cheetah, Big Bird, Conspiracy is the word
Mandingo, Apple Jacks, MTV, Mars Attacks

I love Obama
He blows my mind
It happens all the time.
I love Obama
He is not my son
But, that would be fun.

Jimmy Carter, Pakistan, Pirates aren't Somalian
New York, Big Tent, Long Live Barack!

Rolling Thunder, Sandstorm, This outfit is an art form
Co-pilot, Central Park, Night light in the dark

Led Zeppelin, Kashmir, A&W Root Beer
Clean water, Darfur, I am rich, they are poor.

Jelly Beans, Baseball, Tiffany, Daryl Hall
Capri Sun, Pop Tarts, Where the hell is Walmart?

I love Obama
He blows my mind
It happens all the time.
I love Obama
He is not my son
But, that would be fun.

Pet Rock, Kanye West, I don't have hair on my chest
Chinese food, lunch time, fortune cookie on my mind

Colonel Sanders, KFC, Ich bin ein Iraqi
HIV, Huck Finn, I have hair on my chin

Facebook, MySpace, Kelly Clarkson, Neck Brace
Ramadan, Sharia Law, Medicine: free for all

Kennedy Assassination, I demand an investigation
Jack Ruby devil Jew, What else can I tell you?

I love Obama
He blows my mind
It happens all the time.
I love Obama
He is not my son
But, that would be fun.

Buster Brown, Hogwash, Aqua Fresh, Yellow Squash
Will Ferrell, Matt Damon, Fandango

Bird Flu, Death Star, He-Man, Battle Scar
Dick Cheney, Darth Vader, I need a new Translator

UN Equality, Fifteen minutes not enough for me,
Where was I, What's today? I have so much more I want to say!!!

I love Obama
He blows my mind
It happens all the time.
I love Obama
He is not my son
But, that would be fun.

Tina Fey, Michael Bay, Matthew McConaughey
Octomom, Car bomb, Lip balm, Vietnam
Jacko, Plaxico, Costco, Anna Nicole
Eastern Europe unprotected, Ahmadinejad reelected

Millionaire, Game show, Lottery ticket, Big toe
Megan Fox, Johnny Depp, Tim Burton, Two Step
Racism at your door, Jet lag makes you snore
Peanut Butter and Foreign wars, I can't take it anymore!!!

I love Obama
He blows my mind
It happens all the time.
I love Obama
He is not my son
But, that would be fun.

Dear Facebookers: I Don't Like This

I wouldn't go as far as to say I hate Facebook...I mean, I appreciate it for what it offers: the opportunity to reconnect with and update friends and out of state relatives on what's going on in your life. As for the quizzes, (lil) Green Patch application, Farmville, Yoville and Mafia Wars...no thanks.

I usually only update my Facebook status to offer my friends my latest blog post, this is probably due to my relationship with Twitter. I tweet a lot. Facebook is a bit passive for my taste. I like the interaction that Twitter offers. Yes, Facebook has the chat option...and I do sign in to partake once in a while. But honestly...how often can you catch up with someone? And while there are some that I enjoy chatting with, there are others that I could have died without ever 'reconnecting' with.

My friend, Sam, linked this CNN article entitled: The 12 most annoying types of Facebookers, to my Facebook wall, after I posted this crotchety comment: "I hate it when I say something to someone and their response is: that should be your Facebook status. Also, I don't care how many miles you can run." Apparently, I am a self-promoting curmudgeon. Oh, well in accordance with my CNN Facebook title, allow me to add these five status updaters to the list (in no particular order):

1) Runners, Gymrats, etc. You know them, you're friends with them. Dear K'ers and Meatheads: If you can run ten miles, good for you...no one cares. If you really can bench *that much*...Giambi called, he needs his head back...also, you're a douche.

2) Love. Love. Love. You know who you are. 'Jenny has the greatest boyfriend in the whole world.' or 'Matt says thanks to Alice for making him the luckiest man on the planet.' or 'Judy is enjoying her fifth day as Mrs. Johnson. I love you, Paul.' Barf. Barf. Barf.

3) The Bar Photogs The chicks that are within an eye shot of you taking pics of each other...not because one of them is celebrating...just because they're out, they're drunk and they wanna document it for Facebook. You're sitting there at your local watering hole, enjoying a cocktail, chatting up a friend and there they are with their camera flashing every however-long-it-takes for one of them to veto the last pic because she looks drunk and or fat. Newsflash: you are drunk and or fat. Now put the camera away before I smash it.

4) Hybrid Tweeps Those that use Twitter and Facebook simultaneously. Your @ replies don't make any sense to your non-Twitter, Facebook friends...they don't know what a RT is and they probably don't care. Save your tweets for your tweeps...if you must include Facebookers...use the #fb hashtag, with care. Unless of course, you don't care...then carry on, crossbreed. (I still love you Sooper Trev).

5) Status Checkers You know who I'm referring to (maybe he's your husband): The ones that artfully design a thoughtful, witty, funny...basically *the* perfect Facebook status and then they proceed to check their wall every few minutes, or so, to see if anyone has commented or 'liked' their update. They may even go as far as to ask you: 'did you see my Facebook status?' Hugs, loser.

Happy updating! Feel free to use the comments section to supplement my list with your own Facebook grumbles. If you want to leave a nasty, troll-y comment, you can do that too.

Know Your Limits & Don't Try this at Home

Nothing says marital bliss like buying a new piece of furniture. Two weeks ago, the husband and I chose a new chair and ottoman for our bedroom. Today we brought it home...and let me just say: nothing says 'I hate you' like trying to carry new chair upstairs by ourselves. Apparently my husband is an expert furniture mover, which really doesn't surprise me since he is an expert on everything else.

For now the chair is sitting downstairs in the living room (on its side)...I am hopeful that it will be up in our bedroom soon, placed there carefully by more qualified individuals (that aren't married to one another).

Note to husband: I never claimed to be a furniture mover with super human strength. I deeply regret, whatever I did to give you that impression.

Here's the ottoman which we were able to manage (barely) without incident:

Boycott School??? Really?

As many of you have heard by now, President Obama is planning to give a back to school address to students nationwide on September 8, 2009. Some on the right think this is let's just say...not a good thing. I am indifferent to the idea. I respect the man, I don't agree with him on much of anything, but I have a kooky feeling that Obama is going to take this opportunity to discuss the importance of education goals, civic duty and *gasp* personal responsibility...which call me crazy...are not horrible things to talk about to kids. Of course, it can be argued that it is a parent's job...blah, blah, blah. Newsflash: some kids have crap parents.

The speech was originally outlined in a way that suggested the president was asking for children to offer their advice to him, that language has been removed....the updated outline can be seen here.

Some conservative parents are keeping their cherubs home from school on September 8th. I'm not sure why. Kids are already liberalized in the public school system. They seem to learn more about energy saving tips than they do on the subject of grammar and well, there's all that talk about penises and vaginas in kindergartens across America that gets cons all kinds of worked up.

Teaching your child to avoid listening to those you disagree with is kind of silly and can backfire. Fear not, I once heard Jesse Jackson speak at my school...my heart didn't all of the sudden start bleeding...quite the opposite, in fact...I went home and thanked my dad.