So, the names/pictures were taken off to protect ummm… people who ARE on the internet (because this is Facebook), but probably didn’t think they’d be on it like this.
ANYWAYS. I didn’t even post the status update that started all this, because THAT IS NOT THE PART THAT MATTERS.
The part that matters is:
- Keep your argument offline, lest I decide to post it for the world to see.
- Why are you instigating? EVERYONE on this thread is GROWN. And by grown, I mean at least 25 years old, and too old to be fanning the flames.
- I am not helpful. AT ALL.
- There’s always one…
click to embiggen
So I was pretty much getting my ass handed to me in fantasy football. Last week, I lost 101 to 158. Yeah, you know how every week SOMEBODY gets blown the hell out? Last week was my week.
BUT. Let’s talk about this week, shall we:
I thank God for every single one of my points..
Although is SAID Q(uestionable), Beanie Wells was OUT. As you can see by the fact that I got NO POINTS AT ALL for this guy. And Brandon Lloyd, who was P(robable) didn’t play much, but DID IN FACT PLAY.
Questionable/Probable…WHY CAN’T YOU JUST TELL ME WHEN PEOPLE ARE NOT GOING TO PLAY?? WHY DO I HAVE TO GUESS?!
Also, I would like to point out that BenJarvus Green-Ellis got 1.6 points. WTF does that?! I had such high hopes for him. Since, yannow, HE WAS SUPPOSED TO GET ME AT LEAST 1o points. These things would have been a serious problem if I had been playing someone else, but luckily for me, one of team Prada’s players (::sigh:: I have plenty to say about naming your FOOTBALL TEAM PRADA, but I just…can’t. And I just named my team Mine, so maybe I’m not one to talk?) got negative points ON TOP OF both her Defense AND her Kicker being shit this week.
So. All of those things happened, AND I’m still up 87 to 69 AND we both have player playing tonight. Unless, of course Tim Hightower has an UNBELIEVABLE game tonight, I can claim my first victory.
Every once in a while The Man tries to top me when it comes to “Who Loves The Brat More”
Him: I love the baby so much that I watched the Cheetah Girls with her. ALL OF THEM.
Me: I love her so much that I spent 7 months vomiting, and 13 hours of labor pushing a baby out of my cooch. I also got these really awesome stretch marks for carrying a baby around for 9 months.
Me: I win.
So last fall, I decided that taking a class on a Sunday was a GOOD IDEA. Which, in reality, it should have been. I would have had all week to do homework, no rushing home from work to change into something more comfy (read: sweats/flip flops), no stuffing my face with food on the way to class before already being tired before class even started.
EVERYTHING about this seemed like a good idea.
Except, EVERY SUNDAY was FOOTBALL SUNDAY. So every Sunday, The Man and his friends would host football at their home. From the morning game to the last game. Every weekend they rotated houses. But. It was every Sunday. Without fail. This means, food, and football, and refreshments. And by refreshments, I mean beer. And whiskey. And sometimes even wine. (But not for me. Wine does not EVER go with football.)
And I didn’t want to miss out on the fun.
Class starts at 2pm? No problem. I would catch the first few games, eat, have a drink and go to class. EVERY. WEEK. I will even admit to being dropped off at school a time or two because sometimes, I didn’t stop at the one drink. I’m pretty sure the other students in the class thought I had a drinking problem. Whatever. I got an A in the class, because even slightly buzzed, I can bullshit my way through an exam comprised solely of essay questions with the best of them any day of the week. Especially on Sunday, apparently.
I did swear that I would never take a class that was on football sundays again. And I haven’t. I have a Thursday class.
Would you like to know what fun and exciting things are happening on Thursdays?
I can look at it as the universe conspiring against me. OR A CHALLENGE.
Guess which one I’m choosing.
You know those single toilet bathroom deals? You know, not the ones with the stalls? I would like to go over the rules with you.
- You go into the bathroom.
- You lock the door.
- You do your business (WHATEVER that business is: putting on make up, turning your undies right side in because you got dressed in the dark and you’ve been walking around with your draws inside out, having naughty afternoon sex with a married doctor- I work in a hospital, guys. This is not as unlikely as you’d think)
- YOU WASH YOUR HANDS.
- You leave.
This sounds fairly accurate, right? I don’t think that I’m leaving out anything super important.
NOW. I would like to suggest that there are reciprocal rules for people WHO ARE WAITING to use the restroom when it is occupied:
- You knock/jiggle the handle.
- You see that it is locked.
- YOU WAIT.
Seem reasonable? And by reasonable, I mean that you wouldn’t see that it is locked, AND THEN UNLOCK THE DOOR?
Because THEN you might completely rip the cleaning guy a new one in the hallway in front of the nurse manager’s office because WERE YOU RAISED BY WILD ANIMALS BECAUSE WHO THE FUCK DOES THAT?! IT IS STANDARD PROTOCOL TO FUCKING KNOCK ON A LOCKED DOOR IN A PUBLIC PLACE OR AT LEAST LET A MOTHERFUCKER KNOW YOU’RE UNLOCKING THE DOOR BEFORE YOU CHARGE IN, AND YOU ARE GODDAMN LUCKY I WAS JUST TRYING TO FIGURE OUT WHAT THE HELL WAS STABBING ME IN MY EYE AND NOT DOING SOMETHING WHERE MY PANTIES WERE AROUND MY ANKLES OR I WOULD HAVE TOTALLY GOTTEN FIRED FOR VIOLENCE IN THE WORKPLACE BECAUSE O.M.G.
I’m just asking. For a friend.