What I Did Instead of Watching the Fourth Quarter of the NFC Championship Game

I am a displaced Minnesotan who loves her birth state and everything within it. I am a faithful Vikings fan. I yell Skol, I make paper towel roll tubes into Gjallarhorns, I force my daughter to wear a Vikings horn winter hat, make mean faces at people in Wisconsin, and get pretty used to post-season heartbreak. It’s sadly become part of our fandom and maybe that makes us endearing and true to our Minnesota Nice moniker. But if you say Gary Anderson in my presence, even if it’s like your triple great uncle’s triple cousin’s next door neighbor Gary Anderson who lived in Alaska and died in 1806, I’m still going to be tempted to throw down in a fit of rage.

Life as a Minnesota Vikings fan is not easy. It’s dotted with missed field goals, injuries, quarterback turnovers (on the field and off), missed opportunities, and crushing losses.

This season stayed true to our traditions.

As I write this, the Eagles vs. Vikings game rages on, though it’s hard to call it a game (though it was filled with rage). It was a blow out from the first quarter, and while I tried to hang on to hope, the score gap turned into a rut, turned into a valley, turned into a canyon. I turned it off as the touchdown at the end of the third quarter was caught. I have no idea what the score is or how much time is left. But I know we lost. I wasn’t going to sit in front of a blank screen,  so.

This is what I did:

• Washed the dishes
• Folded laundry
• Took off the #69 Jared Allen jersey in case I was the curse (spoiler alert: It wasn’t me)
• Made two huge peanut butter sandwiches (for Big A)
• Made one small peanut butter sandwich (for Little A)
• Watched Season 3 of The Great British Baking Show – Episode Patisserie
• Fed the dog
• Watered and spritzed the Chia Pets (a T-Rex and a Poppy Troll head)
• Poured more bourbon (Makers 46)
• Shed a tear or two
• Prepped coffee for tomorrow
• Looked into how to file my weird taxes as a pyramid schemer
• Played Words with Friends
• STARTED BLOGGING AGAIN

 

Here’s what I didn’t do:

• Turn the game back on
• Check the score
• Throw anything in anger
• Re-watch any miracle footage or reaction videos again (it still gives me goosebumps, but not tonight, yo)
• Look at Facebook
• Hate on the Eagles (except for the following Prince meme, because Prince)

I never thought I’d be THAT PERSON to cry over a football game, but admittedly, a few tears were shed tonight. I felt it this year. I felt it in my bones and in my heart. The hashtag #bringithome  meant everything, as I still consider it home and I still think of myself as one of them, though I haven’t even lived there since 2005. It’s always my home and I’m always excited to GO home, so the chance of having the first home team hosting the Superbowl be MY home team was just so exciting I could barely stand it! I mean all day today I was pretty much Jessie Spano on pills.

I mean hellooooooo do I have to %^#$! remind you of last week’s Minneapolis Miracle that had me first hiding under a blanket, then to screaming, to jumping and shrieking, to back under the blanket, rolling on the floor screaming HOLY SHIT WHAT JUST HAPPENED. It felt like it was destiny.

This was the boost Vikings fans needed. You guys, we haven’t even been to the Superbowl since 1976 and we haven’t ever WON a Superbowl, though we were in four during the days of the Purple People Eaters. Again, the 70’s, before my time, far far ago in the long away time. And last week we were boosted up up UP only to come crashing down down DOWN in the most embarrassing of fashions.

It was going to happen. We were going to bring it home and into our gorgeous new stadium and into OUR Twin Cities. I mean, it’ll all still be there, but it won’t be nearly the same. It’s now covered with a figurative Metrodome whoopee cushion of sadness.

Tonight was the opposite of what I wanted. No one likes to watch a slaughter of a game. Our season is over, our Superbowl dreams crushed. And while “there’s always next year” and all, there will never again be THIS YEAR that truly felt like it was OUR YEAR.

Please don’t placate us with niceties and pats on the back. Let us wallow in our sorrows, drink our beer, and eat our Wisconsin-imported cheese curds with sadness in our eyes. If you know a Minnesotan, place your hand on their shoulder with a softly spoken “Skol” and offer to buy them a Grain Belt.

I suppose I should see what the score ended to to be. I wish I had a Grain Belt right about now.

 

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Getting Political Once More

Lololol just kidding.

Four years ago, this was happening. I was full of hope, dreams, and rainbows. Can’t say the same about this year.

At one point, I openly admitted I would have voted for Jesse Ventura had he ran. I despise Jesse Ventura and the weird-ass legacy he left in Minnesota.

A few days ago, both kids were spinning in circles and Big A declared “it was just like the election!” I wanted to say Mini B was like Hillary, but her hair was all Trumpy-catawampus and she, as Big A stated, “was more hateful” (which is true, she is a fairly vicious little girl). And Little A was just bumping into things and giggling. Abe (the puppy) was running around not knowing what to do, making him Gary Johnson, and the cat peered from around the couch, mostly forgotten. He was Jill Stein. And we laughed. And died a little inside.

I’m not going to say anything else. I already stated that I would have voted for %^%$@#$@^#$T@EF@#$ VENTURA and that pretty much sums up my feelings.

Maybe, like those same-sex marriages, our children will look upon this and see change. Either a woman as a leader, or a non-politician in the role. Maybe this sets off changes that will benefit them in the future. Maybe the country won’t implode.

But maybe it will.

Here is how we spent the morning four years ago:

This morning, Mini B sat half naked on the clinic floor, waiting for the pediatrician and eating goldfish. (I would show you a picture but I don’t know the rules on nudity and I don’t want any creepy peepies because eww). Since I can’t vote today (not registered in the state), I figured this was just as fitting. In a diaper, on a floor, eating crackers. Happy and unaware. I may go sit in the kitchen and do the same right now.

Is it too early for a drink?

I’m Back and My Kid Got Shitty Halloween Candy

Well, hello there! I’m back. And if you’re reading this then so are you and that makes my bitter heart just soar through the heavens or whatever. It’s been a busy year for the Dear !@#%# Family, but I won’t lie, I wasn’t here much because I didn’t have the energy, had nothing to say, or most often just couldn’t be asked to give a shit. I wanted to, believe me, but it seemed to be so much of a struggle to muster up the strength to write and be witty.

For a quick update: Little A is 4, Mini B is 15 months, our dear Pit Bull Baxter died, We got a dumb Pibble puppy named Abe in his place, and our cat currently has fleas because he’s a jerk.

Now on to the sweet stuff.

Or not so sweet stuff as it would have it.

We live in a pretty great neighborhood. Friendly families, lots of kids, quiet streets. However, neighbors seem to get pretty shifty when it comes to haunted candy. Pretty sure we were one of the few houses last year that actually handed out chocolate. You know, the GOOD SHIT. Kid’s bag was filled with stale gum and Jolly Ranchers and that shitty peanut butter taffy that no one eats.

So this year, I bought the good stuff again, kept out a sizable amount for myself so I wouldn’t have to eat the kid’s crummy haul, got the kids dressed, and out we went. Turns out, the neighbors stepped up their game and there was a fair amount of edible treats. There were, however, some true crimes against Halloween. We totes got TRICKED.

Exhibit A
Christmas Candy. Christmas candy that, based on looking up candy expiration codes that I decoded thinks to random candy blogs, had expired in 2009. TWO THOUSAND FUCKING NINE. Thanks for almost giving my kid the plague, asshat.

Exhibit B
More expired Christmas candy that was discovered after the first batch was thrown out. Kid chose to eat his Golden Oreos. As I cursed under my breath because I was going to eat those when he wasn’t looking, I happened to see the date. Aaaaaand those $^%$#! expired December of LAST YEAR. This is just getting rude.

Exhibit C
Apparently an elderly household (I mean, I can only assume it’s elderly because no other reasoning makes sense) thinks the little hooligans in the neighborhood need to be more regular and handed out Fiber One brownies. ARE YOU $%@# SHITTING ME RIGHT NOW?!

Exhibit D
This is more a rant on the candy industry than the neighbors, but the neighbors still bought and handed them out, so screw them both. Chocolate bars shrinking was horrific enough, but what in Sam Hill is this abomination?! I don’t even like Tootsie Pops and this offends me to the core. Shown in photo: Regular sized Tootsie Pop and the new teeny weeny sized one that would take way less than three licks to get to the center.

Bonus WTF
HOW CAN SOMETHING BE SMOOTH AND CRUNCHY?! THAT CAN’T BE A THING. I’m still going to eat it. For science.

Thanks for coming back! I hope I can once again live up to my not-even-that-high “funny” standards.

Did you find any weird/crazy/atrocious Halloween candy when you were taking your parental candy tax?

What’s the Deal Here, Guys?

Dear #%!# Mini B.

Is it because I didn’t write prenatal blogs about you like I did with your brother?

Is it because I threw caution to the wind this time and ate ham and drank coffee and soda and an occasional (late-term) beer with reckless abandon?

Is it because every kick, punch and cervix bounce over these last nine months didn’t earn you praise, recognition and squeals of WTF-induced excitement?

Is it because your room isn’t totally finished? Or that I can’t just say yes to the name?

WHAT’S THE DEAL, DUDE?!

The Waiting Game

First, let’s discuss some missing details and catch up things because I’ve been absent from this blog, for the most part, for the last nine months.

That’s my Over It face.

I’m due tomorrow.

It’s a girl.

She is still not 100% named.

I have been calling her Mini B because she is baby #2 after Little A and she is showing signs of my bitchiness. Mini Bitch. Mini B. Get it?

I guess that’ll help fill in the gaps. On to business.