Super Bowl Shenanigans

So I hosted my first ever Super Bowl party at mi casa this past Sunday. What I thought would be a fun little get together with some close friends turned into a Jeney-drank-way-more-than-she-should-have-and made-a-complete-ass-out-of-herself kind of night.

Anyone surprised?

No?

Me either.

Exhibit A:

I was one of about two and half people actually rooting for the Saints. Most of the people who attended my party were actually Vikings fans and felt a bitter hatred towards the team that thwarted poor, old man Favre from retiring* with another Super Bowl ring. So everyone else was rooting for Manning and the boys in blue.

Voice of God was one of them.

As a result of the game not going exactly the way he wanted, Voice of God kept walking out of the apartment to roam the hallways cursing. Every time he did this I locked the door because I'm an obnoxious little shit because I thought it was funny.

Voice of God did not agree with my sense of humor.

Voice of God Skools Jeney from Jeney Anderson on Vimeo.

This was after the fourth time I had locked him out.

After about the eighth or ninth time I locked him out, he felt the only proper punishment was to throw me over his shoulders helicopter style and began to spin me around like I was a rag doll.

I, being as intoxicated as I was, clutched to Voice of God with everything I had in me hoping and praying that I wouldn't hit my head on the wall/vomit/fall off him mid-spin.

Awful, terrible, bad idea, folks.

Once he stopped spinning and started to let me down, my Vulcan death grip on his shoulders caused all 290 lbs of him to start tipping over as well. This left him with two options. Neither of which would end well for me...

1) Continue tipping over with my momentum and fall on top of me risking the possibility of breaking my arm, cracking my ribs, and/or snapping my neck.

2) Just dropping me and hoping I don't land on something crucial.

Well, kiddos. Voice of God decided to drop me six feet and four inches on to our hard, cold, poorly carpeted floor.

Luckily, I only landed square and directly on my noggin rather than on some other more important body part like my hip or shoulder.

I woke up Monday morning with a headache that would have crippled Sasquatch and I still can't wash my hair without wincing.

Exhibit B:

There is no long, entertaining story behind this one. I simply danced like a damn fool when the clock hit 0:00 and the Saints had a larger number in their score box. I have no idea if this behavior was caused by Coors Light or my quasi-not-really concussion.

Dancin' Like a Fool from Jeney Anderson on Vimeo.

The moral of this story, kids, is that one should not lock one's very large, strong, and irate roommate out of the apartment. One should especially not do this repeatedly. You'll end up ass over elbows.

And celebrating a win like you ride the short bus when there are cameras around isn't such a good idea either.

* SIKE!

Dear Chicago Bears

Dear Chicago Bears,

I know you've been struggling this season. I honestly don't blame you, either. What with the heart of our defense out for the whole season and having to deal with the biggest mistake your owners have ever made this couldn't have been an easy season.

But today? I really need you to not fuck up.

I don't care if we lose the division. I don't care if we lose every game for the remainder of the season. Tonight, at 7pm, you need to not bend over and take it from those purple clad, braided mascot toting, Wrangler wearing quarterbacked, Minnesota Vikings.

I'm not even asking you to win! I just want to you actually put up a fight this week. Pretty please?

With a cherry on top?

Thanks.

Regards,
A lifelong, disappointed fan

I'm Just Sayin' - Freak-outs, Football, and Friends

So as I said yesterday, I had an absolutely shit-tacular couple of days last week which started with Sparky giving me the old heave-ho. Considering he was my first relationship in five years and I actually kind of liked him, I went all “woe-is-me-stupid-girl-why-didn’t-someone-smack-my-face-off” on everyone. Sorry about that...

This is my apology dance.

Then I remembered we had only dated for a couple months. After that I realized that I’m a beautiful, smart, not at all funny girl and there is no reason for me to be crying over a boy.

I meant beautiful in the "only a mother could love this face" kinda way.

So I drove twelve hours to my old stomping ground to spend time with some of the greatest people on this earth… and watch the Irish finally break the Boston College streak.

Too bad the Bears decided to take it up the rear on Sunday.

Although the drive was monstrous whore and I'm still exhausted and single I couldn’t have asked for a better weekend. How could I wish all that free booze around?

I really do have the greatest friends a girl could want.

I'm just sayin'.

Dear Chicagoland

Dear Chicagoland Area,

I must say that after twenty four years, your sports teams have finally damaged my heart and blood pressure beyond repair.

I know that it is partially my own fault for cheering on teams that haven't won the World Series in over a century or the Super Bowl in almost a quarter century. But you can't blame me for being loyal! I was raised this way...

A fan since poddy training. (Damn, I was a cute kid. See what you did to me?)

I have stuck by your teams through thick and thin. Through heat waves and blizzards. Through the glory days and the shit storms. But this weekend? I actually flipped over to Spike TV and watched CSI because the tears were too much to handle.

Why do you do this to me?! How many blatant opportunities do you want to screw up in one game? How often do you need to be in the red zone until you realize they call it so for a reason? What does it take to make you see that being within ten yards of the goal line should mean you are going to be scoring a touchdown?

I love you dearly, Chicagoland. I really, truly do. But I don't know how much more of this failure I can bear...

Regards,

Jeney

Conundrum

I have a crisis.

Tonight has the potential to be one of the most epic of Monday Night Football battles ever. For those of you who do not follow the sport as religiously as you should as I do, let me fill you in.

Tonight's contest is between the Minnesota Vikings and the Green Bay Packers. Not only are both of these teams apart of the same conference (NFC - National Football Conference), they happen to be of the same Division as well (NFC North). This means that they are battling each other for the division title which will, in turn, give them a chance at the conference title. Winning the later of the two means you get to play in this game called the Super Bowl. (Shoot yourself in the face and Google it if you don't know.)

Anywho. Brett Favre, who is the current quarterback for the Vikings, was the quarterback for the Packers until two years ago. This was not a drama-free transition. All non-retirement jokes aside, this makes this game FUCKING EPIC people.

Now, here is my problem; I am a Chicago Bears fan.

Again, for those of you who fail at life don't know, this means I hate the Vikings, but not as much as I hate the Packers. I already know that Lovie's Boys are not going to win our division, so this little fact makes me want to root for the Vikings who are kind of a shoe-in for it.

BUT! I strongly dislike Brett Farve. This makes me want to root for the Packers.

However, Adrian Peterson is completely bad. ass. This makes me want to cheer on the Vikings.

Sparky also has this annoying habit of rooting against every team I root for just to piss me off. He's a Vikings fan, so this makes me want to cheer for the Packers.

What colors do you think I should wear tonight? Baby poop green and piss yellow? Or prissy purple and bimbo-blonde gold?

I'm Just Sayin' Wednesday - Get Pissed!

I have no idea if the stars are aligned all janky or if there is a disturbance in the force this week. But why the hell is everyone so damn angry?

First, Michael Jordan decides to give a few snarky remarks during his Hall of Fame Enshrinement speech.



Then, tennis stars start going all batshit and throwin’ down all sorts of Ess-Bombs and Eff-Bombs at the US Open!





Theeeeeeen, Kanye West does what he does best.

My coaches have been crabby all week. I’ve had my own panties (Ew. I just typed the word ‘panties’) in a bunch since Saturday. I can’t even speak to my own mother on the phone without her trying to eat my face through the receiver. Hell, My iPod has been throwing fits at me all week, too!

Apparently we all need a time out. And a drink.

I’m just sayin’.

I'm Just Sayin' - Goodbye

Saying goodbye is probably one of the most difficult things to do in life… unless of course it’s as a result of a long night of vodka and Lady Gaga remixes.

Saying goodbye to something you love, something that defines the very essence of you, may be the hardest of all. However, goodbyes are inevitable.

Music said goodbye to ground breaking bands like Soundgarden and the Smashing Pumpkins. Not to mention musical geniuses like Kurt Cobain and Jim Morrison.

The world shed tears of farewell to grand figures like Princess Diana and JFK.

The athletic world pounded brewskis of mourning to legends like Ernie Davis and Brian Piccolo. Sport legends themselves like Tiki Barber and Michael Jordan hung their jerseys up eventually.

Goodbyes are a part of life. And for the love of God, someone needs to tell this to Brett Favre.

Don’t get me wrong, I have a lot of respect for the guy despite the fact that I’m a devout Bears fan and the Packers are the devil incarnate of professional sport teams. He’s a great athlete and a decent person-- but this kind of uncertainty and mind games is the reason He’s Just Not That into You became such a success.

I don’t know if you realize this, Brett (Can I call ya Brett?), but your “retirements” are right up there with Adam Lambert’s coming out and Billy Mayes’ cocaine problem in terms of shock value.

“Brett Favre is retiring… again.”
“Oh, that’s nice. Wanna go shave a dog?”

Say goodbye, Favre. Your losing more than your devoted fans and all you're gaining is an old man gut.

I’m just sayin’.