Sunday, February 9, 2014

So you're gonna have a baby?

This winter in Wisconsin has been pretty shitastic. The top 5 coldest winters ever. There were days where we couldn't leave the house because you'd freeze within 5 minutes. So naturally, everyone is getting it on like bunnies around here. Wait, no one is shaving either, so it's more like getting it on like Sasquatches. Seriously. I know someone having a baby in every month from April until September.  Some are first time moms, some are not. So I thought about some things that moms could expect and of course I want to share them, because that's what I do.


1) People are going to be happy for you: Well duh Tara, ya dipshit, of course they are going to be happy for you. But, there are some people that aren't going to be happy for you and that's not something that is ever really brought up. People are assholes. They might not acknowledge your pregnancy, ignore you or lose contact with you. We had a guy, before we ever even had kids, that was disappointed that I wanted kids soon because then Brad couldn't hang out with him. Really? Let me hit the snooze button on my biological clock so you and my husband could go hang out and drink beer. (For the record, Brad can go out and drink beer now if he wants, as long as he leaves a case of wine for me. Or vodka.)

2) You will get felt up: A lot.  People LOVE pregnant women. But, if there is one thing people love more than pregnant women is feeling up a baby bump. I have no idea why, it's like a compulsion. Some may ask to touch, like a normal human being would, but many will just come up and feel away. You have every right to tell them to step the f off. Or you can treat them like a mini dog that is humping your leg...let them do their thing, finish and walk away to look for hand sanitizer. I had to let a client into the bathroom at work when I was pregnant and she couldn't see my stomach until I got closer to her. She zeroed in on the bump and reached out for it, kind of like that fat German kid on "Willy Wonka". I swore I saw her lick her lips. But, I learned how to duck and weave, say thanks but no thanks and go on my merry fluffing way.

3) There is something seriously wrong with you: Or so you're going to think. Because your body will transform a little every day, you probably won't be able to keep up mentally with all of the changes. There will be one symptom that you'll get that will completely throw you for a loop and you'll do the unthinkable: you'll Google that symptom. The results from Dr. Google will inevitably suggest some kind of  fungus, flesh eating bacterial tumor, and because you are crazy (pregnancy hormones will do that) you will for sure think you are dying. But you are not. Probably.

4) Everyone's a critic: Men, women, old people, teenagers, parents, your parents, the random at the grocery store. Everyone will have advice for you. You may be asking yourself, "Tara, aren't you giving out advice?" to which my face would reply to you:

 
 
Uh, this is funny advice,. Anyway, yeah. The amount of advice and information you are going to get and from whom is kind of ridiculous. Some if it might be useful, but really, it's more of people's opinions than anything else. It seems as if everyone is an expert. In the words Trick Daddy, "And everybody know somebody that know somebody that know somethin bout it".   Take advice in stride. Apply it if you'd like. Or thank the person and just smile and wave, smile and wave.  But if it ends in "and MY kids are still alive", I might leave it.
 
 
 
 
 
 
 


Tuesday, December 3, 2013

'Tis the Season


'Tis the season for:

- The switching of all things pumpkin to all things peppermint (Peppermint Schnapps tastes WAYYYY better than Pumpkin Schnapps).

-Holiday cookie and wine parties. I read about parties in the '70's where you'd put your keys in a bowl and pick a different set of keys and get to take whoever they belonged to for a "test drive". I'm not saying I'd be interested in a party like that (I wouldn't tell you Noseldas if I was). But I'm curious as to how those holiday parties evolved from that into ones with a bunch of chicks getting drunk and balls deep on appetizers? Maybe there were too many broken stick shifts in the 70's..no clue.

-The Elf of the Shelf. I'm sure one day my children will enjoy the hell out of him, but until then, that creepy little fucker is staying out of my house.

-Ice fisherman, who go out on the water way too early. There's thicker ice around my cold, black heart than on the lake. Calm your asses down and go drink in the garage like everybody else.

-Shitty Wisconsin weather. There are two types of people who live in Wisconsin: Those who hate cold and wintery weather and endlessly bitch about it and those who tolerate it and endlessly bitch about it. I, however, am neither of those. I'm like an enigma, wrapped in a riddle, covered in Cheerio crumbs.

-Bundling the girls up in all of their outside gear and watching them attempt to walk. I know it's mean to laugh at their struggles, but it's what little joy I have. I'm sure they will repay me once they are potty trained and decide to need to piddle once they have all of their stuff on. They will learn to hold it. Mommies do. It's never too early to learn the value of a Kegel.

-Dealing with other people during the holidays. These can be your in-laws, family members, People of Walmart or the random person who looks like Kris Kringle blew his sack on them because they are covered in tinsel and holiday cheer.

-Buying earplugs, so you don't have to listen to everybody and their mothers rendition of "Jingle Bell Rock". I had to listen to Ali Lohan's Christmas CD on repeat when I worked at a daycare in college. If that doesn't drive you to the brink of madness, then there's something deeply wrong with you.


Overall, Christmastime and impending winter solitude isn't as bad as it seems. But, I may have to call in reinforcements. Sorry wine, you aren't going to cut it this time. Imma have to call in the vodka big guns with a whiskey chaser. (Responsibly and in a reindeer mug).

Sunday, November 17, 2013

Dirty Snuggler

I know what it sounds like, and it's exactly what you are thinking. This post isn't about twins or being a parent or anything like that. It's way worse.

There is an actual business that opened up in Madison, WI where you PAY to snuggle. Like money. To snuggle. Well, actually, for an hour of "touch therapy". The song "Tiny Dancer" immediately popped into my head: "Hold me closer, dirty snuggler. I paid you 60 for the houuuuur". $60 an hour? Fuck that. For that much money, I better be able to choose if I want to be the big spoon or the little spoon.

 I'm just confused. It brings up so many questions. What is the target population to this place? There are pictures of very attractive people, just snuggling away on the website, but I assure you, I doubt this is the type of clientele that will be patrons of this fine establishment. You know that hairy, sweaty guy that you avoid eye contact with at the store? Yeah, client numero uno. The needy, clingy chick that smells like despair? Yep, repeat costumer. Don't even get me started on all the politicians in the states capitol.

 Another question would be, what in the world is the staff thinking? What an awkward class reunion that could make.
"So, what do you do?
"I am a professional snuggler"
"Oh my God, you're a smuggler? Should you really be that open with what you do, with drugs and all?"
"No, I'm a snu...forget it."
What if you go up to a PS (pro snuggler) and give them a hug that lasts a little too long. That'll be $5 sucker. Or if  family member wants a session ONLY with you, because they would be uncomfortable with a stranger?

I'm very curious to see what a session would all entail. I picture walking into a dimly lit room with a bed (naturally). Will the bed be too hard? Do I get to pick my PS out of a lineup? Because I wouldn't want to end with a Sasquatch that mouth breathes into my ear. Ok, so you're in there, picked out the PS, assumed the non-sexual position and...and...what? Feel the loving, paid for embrace of a stranger? Is there talking involved? I wouldn't want to talk because there's nothing worse than forced conversation with someone who is ALL UP ON MY ASS. Could I snuggle for a bit in silence  and then go on Facebook or text or something? Because that's real life.

Are there options for different positions? Or is it all just hugging from the back? Can we front hug/snug? I would think that would be out of the question, because you never know if Mr. Dingy would pop up to say "hi". Of course, the website claims that it's non-sexual, but when's the last time you snuggled with anyone without humping (dry or otherwise) beforehand? It's a well known fact that spooning leads to forking, am I right? I'm sure that's not their intention. They are just trying lift up people's spirits through the power of full body contact.

Ok, last burning question. (Well, I probably shouldn't call it burning. You never know, I may someday choose to try Touch Therapy and I wouldn't want it to get back to them that anything from me was burning.) Why Madison? I could see a big city on one of the coasts or down south, but Madison? It's a town full of damn hippies! I'm sure if you went down to State Street, you'd find someone to uncomfortably snuggle with you for free. The first ones ALWAYS free.

So there you have it. Social media has depleted us of our social skills so badly, that we have to set up craziness like this. These things will pop up all over the country. Soon you'll have the Snuggle Shack, The Cuddle Corral and the seedier Poon Spoon. But, if anyone does take a chance and goes to this place, let me know how it is. And enjoy yourself, Mother Snuggler.

Monday, November 11, 2013

Mommy and Daddy Fun Time (Day 2 &3)

I had gotten sleep. Hardcore sleep. My body hurt after it. That's either a sign that I'm old or the bed was horrible. Regardless, I was able to get like, 9 hours of sleep AT ONE TIME! I had wanted to take a dip in the hot tub, but the hippie market was calling us.


We went to the farmers market day around the capitol. Brad had mentioned that a singer (Pat) that we used to see live while in college was going to be performing. I had never seen him perform any earlier than 9pm, so I knew it was going to be interesting seeing as it was 10 am. If I had to pick out my favorite part of Pat's performance, it would have to be the chorus of one of his songs, which ends in "Screw you". Loved the look on parents faces when Pat didn't sing it, but the audience sang it and fairly loud. I enjoyed what I had heard, but not as much as the middle aged blond with the short patchwork mini skirt and the two adolescent children who were singing songs verbatim. That lady was doing so much wrong and so much right. We left after a few songs, but I wonder if he encored with "Sex and Beer"?

 

Other highlights of the afternoon:

 

-Thousands of people, and LOTS of hippies, walking around a block in several different lines looking at food. Conformists.

 

-A big cardboard display exclaiming that evolution is not real. "Evolution is NOT real. SHOW ME YOUR EVIDENCE". I didn't feel like arguing with an idiot and I become physically ill at confrontation. I wonder if they believe in the Darwin Awards?

 

-Day drinking! Granted, it was only one old fashion at The Old Fashioned, but it was damn good. I got all pink-faced and fuzzy feeling. The chunks of fruit on the bottom can suck my ass though. Makes it harder to get to the booze.
 

 

And one not so good highlight. It began to rain. I trusted Brad to know his way back to the parking ramp. My trust faltered as he took the most convoluted way back. I was wet, I couldn't catch my breath (from being sick, not from severe lack of exercise my entire life) and our damn umbrella was conveniently in the car. Brad's taller than me and his stupid long legs work way more efficiently. So of course, I always walk several steps behind him. Once we took 4 right turns, I started to get annoyed. Now, I'm not geometry genius, but I'm pretty sure he didn't know where he was going. So I became paranoid and suspicious. If he wanted me to get some exercise in on this trip, he could have asked me so I could have told him no. We stopped at a bus stop hut thing, but NOT because he was getting his bearings. Of course.
 


 I do NOT like Pina Coladas, nor getting caught in the rain.
 
 
I may not have looked very soaked , but I was. And not in the "hey, we're both wet, let's make out in the rain and slip into a dry martini". More like, "hey, I'm gonna take these wet jeans off when we get back and slap ya in the head with them".  But, we eventually made it back to the car and I bit my tongue (for the most part).
 
Returning to the hotel, I believe I took a nap. We were going to go swimming, but I think we just swam on State Street.
 
A few hours later, it was time to go to dinner. Brad was going to surprise me with a place that he had found. I asked what the dress code was and now that my day outfit was drenched, I needed to know if I should wear what I wore the previous night. He told me, and I quote, "Anything. You could wear a sweatshirt. Don't matter". Oooookkk, clothes from the night before it was.
 
I'm so glad I didn't listen to him, because he took me to like a freaking 5 star restaurant, called Harvest. It was an all local, organic, hoity (but not toity) place. It was niiiiiice. Like, I can't take pictures of my food, nice. We got to sit down right away, in a softly lit room that was as lovely as any small wedding venue would be. As soon as we sat down, I told Brad that if he would have allowed me to walk into this heaven in yoga pants and a Brewers sweatshirt, I would have ended him. The waiter came up and gave us an amuse bouche compliments of the chef. I only knew what it was because I watch Food Network. It's a tiny appetizer (because I can't properly spell o'douerve) that is meant to cleanse the palate. Whatever it was, it was pretty tasty. While waiting for our fancy first course, I couldn't help but to overhear the conversation at the table next to us. It was two couples, one English and one American. They were talking about their holiday in South America and Europe. Possibly Africa, but some of the countries sounded unfamiliar or made up. I can't remember. They smelled of leather bound books (not really, well,  maybe). Just overall classy with a capital C.  I wish I could remember specific quotes, and I remember hearing some and thinking "Damn, I should blog about these dandies" but I can't remember. I don't even remember if I ate breakfast today or not. I felt very inferior to them. In fact, after I returned from the bathroom, it took all of my power not to announce "Shitter's full", just so everyone knew there was a line for the bathroom. Instead, I drank a fancy adult beverage, ate a dessert that was prettier than I was at prom and we left. Naturally, we got into Fat Kid zone and walked over to Ian's to get a slice of pizza for a midnight snack.
 
Cut to the next morning and it was already over. Sad day. The girls were happy to see us though and that makes me happy.
 
But let's hope it happens again before a year has passed.
 
 

Tuesday, October 22, 2013

To Debbie

"Uh, T-Bag. We, uh, we mmmiiiight not be at church in time".

"Don't worry. I knew you assholes were going to be late. I told you guys 5 but rehearsal really starts at 5:30.... You're welcome".

That is a brief phone conversation I had with Debbie, Nicole and Jodi the evening before my wedding. They made it to rehearsal on "time", even though they took the worst way to the church and claimed to have been stuck behind a school bus and a tractor.( Pfff, really? In Wisconsin?). I lived with those three for many years of my college life and they were an important part of my and Brad's relationship. They continued with their roles at our wedding, two being bridesmaids and one being my "bitch" (her words, not mine).  Debbie only swore twice in church. I got married and she kept her swearing in single digits. I call it a successful day.

L to R-Debbie, me, Jodi and Nicole.
The last picture of us four.
 

 
 
Three weeks after the wedding, on October 22, we lost Debbie to a car accident. I remember where I was (at home), who I was with (Brad), what I was doing (eating), what I was eating (food I won't eat anymore) and what the weather was like (cold and rainy). You can't accurately describe or portray how you feel, physically or emotionally, when you find out someone you love dies. You can't. It either sounds over sentimental and full of shit or indifferent and cold. So I won't try to. I also won't bore you with the same sentiments of "cherish the times you have" or "be grateful for every person in your life". Even though you should do all of those things. Because if I did, I could hear Debbie say "[It's] Sad that you suck so much".
 
 
 
908 Union Roomies
 
I met Debbie when I was pledging for the sorority, Phi Omega, my sophomore year of college. I dragged my roommate, Jodi, along with me to some of the events. Debbie definitely stood out. If I could accurately describe her in three words, they would be "Loud as hell". She couldn't help the fact that she was a human megaphone. We affectionately called her "Foghorn". She called me "T-Bag" but NOT for the reason you sickos might think. She liked her food hot, Schmude Hot, which is straight out of the fryer hot. New girls in the sorority, myself once included, had always been intimidated by her. She fronted as a hardass, but she wasn't really that big and bad. At a sorority retreat, the new girls were in charge of making breakfast for all of the active members. Debbie was still sleeping and we told some girls to go and wake her up. "Nuh, uh. I'm not waking her up. She'll yell at us", they said. I reassured them that she would not yell, that was just how her voice was. They didn't believe me. So I told them I would wake her up and that they should watch the master at work. I grabbed a flip flop, got a running start into her room and flew at her like a spider monkey. I smacked her on the ass with the flip flop, tucked and rolled off the bed and shouted "Wake your ass up, Debbie. Breakfast's ready". She grumbled, got up (eventually) and came out for coffee.
 
 
Debbie, Jodi, Nicole, Anna, Franny, Jess and I all moved in together (not all of us at the same time) in the shithole known as 908 Union. It was truly terrible; the house and us. We were the messiest group of bitches I've ever encountered. I eventually lived across the hall from Debbie, the only two downstairs. She wouldn't let me forget that she was there. Many days I would wake up at the crack of noon to her blaring ABBA and 80's music in the shower, which was right next to my head. Instead of texting Jodi or going upstairs to talk to her, they would both scream at one another. "WHAT DO YOU WANT FOR LUNCH" "I DON'T KNOW, WHAT DO YOU WANT FOR LUNCH?". Hey guys, you know what I want for lunch? A big helping of shut the hell up and meet at the stairs to discuss this, I have napping to do. We lived there together for two years. We laughed, cried, fought, watched horrible movies, got broken into, got egged, almost started the fucker on fire TWICE and left with five truckloads of garbage that we dumped off at the campus garbage bins. Why? Because we stopped cleaning a month before our lease was up. I could probably go on and on with stories about that house. I'll save it for another time...maybe I'll write a book :)
 
Debbie had some amazing qualities. She was fiercely loyal. No one messed with her family or friends. Brutally honest as well. She wouldn't sugar coat things and would tell you straight up her honest opinion if you asked for it and even if you didn't. I once had the greatest idea ever. I told her that I was going to take my new phone and record the ringtones from my old phone onto it so I wouldn't have to buy them again. After I laid out my plan, I beamed at her, waiting for her to tell me it was the best thing she's ever heard. "That is the dumbest thing I've ever heard. It's not going to work". I told her it was going to work and that she could screw off because she didn't think of it. Five minutes later, after it didn't work, I told her she was right. She nodded her head in agreement, because she already knew that. One thing that I admired the most about Debbie was the fact that she never put herself down. She would never sit around and complain that she didn't have a boyfriend or wish that she was skinny. She was who she was and didn't give a shit. She was like the original Honey Badger.
 
 
 
I would like to finish up with one of my favorite stories with Debbie. (Now, we had many, many stories, quite a few of them being a touch inappropriate to bring up right now.) Every year, Debbie's family (which is like 50 people) would go camping for the weekend at what was called the Thresheree. It was a small town farm equipment thing held every summer at the grounds next to a river. We never really paid much attention to what the weekend truly was about, because we aren't farmers. All we knew was that it was an excuse to camp out for an entire weekend, drink and go tubing down the river. One night, after drinking throughout the day, Debbie became upset about something. She refused to tell anyone what was going on. So I thought I'd cheer her up. I went up to her and sweetly started to serenade "Have I Told You Lately, That I Love You?" by Rod Stewart. Surely this would be the key to her happiness. "Stop it ", she told me. "Why? Doesn't this make you happy?" I asked. "No, it makes me want to punch you". Idle threat. I continued to sing, like a sweet drunken bird. She continued to tell me to stop, but I knew she secretly loved it. "You ease my trouble, that's what you do", I exclaimed. "I'm going to ease my fist into your face if you don't leave me alone". Then she ran away, but I ran after her. She let me catch her and sing to her some more. I wonder if she would've liked me to sing "Rhythm of My Heart" as an encore? (Youtube it, it's good).  She thanked me at some point, whether it was that night or the next morning.
 
I'm not sure what about that story makes it my favorite. Maybe in hindsight, it's because I was able to tell her I loved her in my own way. Well, in Rod Stewart's words, but my own way nonetheless. Maybe it sticks out because other memories that were of everyday events are starting to fade slightly. But it really described how our relationship was: me annoying Debbie but her not minding it because I was her T-Bag and I earned the right to annoy her. Regardless, I choose not to mourn Debbie today, but to think of all the crazy times I shared with her. Not just my stories with her, but her friends and families memories and stories too. She would have expected that. (I can just hear her say "Oh my gawd, did you seriously just say that? LAAAAAME!!!). 
 
 
 
 
 


Sunday, October 13, 2013

Mommy and Daddy Fun Time (Day 1)

Not THAT kind of time perverts, but sweet, sweet, glorious kid-free time! Brad and I had been meaning to get away for a weekend since our last weekend away (October 2012, which is pretty much forever ago) but it didn't happen..... until last weekend (or two weekends ago, depending on when I feel like finishing this post). We had thought long and hard about where we wanted to go this time around, since we went down to Madison the last time. Chicago? St. Louis? Vegas? The options and locations were endless! Not really. When I say endless, I mean within 2-3 hours from us because I don't want to be in the car too long with Brad; it's irritating. So with endless possibilities, we again chose Madison, naturally.

Unfortunately, the week of our trip, we all got sick. Brad awoke me Monday and told me he thought he had the flu. He rarely gets sick, so it was unusual because whatever he had knocked him the fluff out. Then, because he is a wonderful, sharing man, he fucking gave it to me. And not the good kind of give it to me, but the give it to me flu version. He then woke me up on Tuesday freaking out because he thought Teagan's eye was swollen shut, which it wasn't. We took the girls to urgent care to discover they had bookend ear infections. One on the right, one on the left. Because I didn't feel good, it took all my strength not to pass out at the doctors because I didn't want to A)incur a bill to see the dr myself, B)lay on a couch full of germs and people's DNA and C)fall over like a rhino being shot with a tranq gun in slow motion. I was even sick on our anniversary. You know shit's bad when I not only miss our anniversary dinner, but I turn down pie. PIE!!  Everyone eventually got better...except me. But I'll be damned if I was going to miss a once a year opportunity because my body wouldn't cooperate. It may be old and saggy (that's what she said) but I was going to force this old battleax into the car for a three hour trip.


Now, because I'm super geeked that I was able to have an entire weekend as Tara and not as "She Who Provides the Num Nums", I'm going to go through EVERY freaking detail. It's like being invited to someones house under the assumption there will hard liquor and cheese dip only to find out you will have to go through that persons boring ass vacation pictures. If the pics aren't of kids, people I know or people making complete asses out of themselves, then assume I'm sleeping with my eyes open. So here's our trip. Savor it...


That Friday, we had dropped the girls off at my parents house. Now this was a big deal, because my parents didn't like the idea of having them out of their natural habitat, but they have all adapted nicely. Honestly, I don't even think the girls knew we left because my parents house looks like Toys R Us barfed everywhere.

The trip was long and boring (hopefully not what she said) and we got to the hotel without incident. Before dinner, I had to change out of my mom clothes and turn into a normal human being. Now, I forgot to take a "Before" picture, so I took the liberty of creating what I thought I looked like.










 
Before                        After
**Just be aware it is very difficult to draw boobs in Microsoft Paint. And those are yoga pants, not Aladdin's pants.**
 
 
 
That first night, we decided to go out to a fancy sushi restaurant. I made sure to ask one of my friends where the best place was, as I didn't want to get the sushits. We walked in and we were surrounded by hipsters. We settled into our small ass table and order a bunch of food that we really had no idea what it was. Then, a hipster couple and their small child, I'd say about 2-3 years old, sat down right next to us. How modern of them to have their toddler eat a meal that cost more then it does to fill up my gas tank. I gave them the benefit of the doubt, even though I was irritated that we had to sit next to a kid. So irritated, that I inadvertently elbowed the waiter in the junk while I was making fun of the douchenozzles on the other side of us because he kept coming at me from my blind side. Which, because I have glasses, is both sides. I shouldn't have given the kid the benefit of the doubt, because about three minutes into him sitting down, he chucked a chopstick at the table behind him. The best part though, was when his parents began having a deep discussion on how people should parent.  You know, after their child javelined a utensil into an unsuspecting table full of people. I struggle to try to remember exact quotes because I'm not sure my mind could wrap around the shear denseness that came out of those people's sushi holes. The food was very yummy though. PS, the other table of douchenozzles next to us were middle aged women who sat down, looked at their water glass and questioned, "Hmmmm, is this sparkling water? Sir, can we get some sparkling water? Gosh, I LURV sparkling water".
 
Then we went to get gourmet cupcakes. Soooo sophisticated.
 
 
Gratuitous food shot.
 
I won't bore you with the details of the rest of the night. But it involved swimming and early sleep. Real, actual sleep, not the "other" type of sleep. You just don't do that after sushi.
 
 
 
 
If you want to read about the rest of the weekend, I'll have another post shortly. I didn't want this one to get too long (that's what she..ok that's enough of that).


Monday, September 30, 2013

My Favorite 'F' Word

FOOTBALL!!!
 
In all fairness, I also like to say the real "F" word...and my last name starts with 'F', so that's pretty high up there too, but football, my friends, is fan-fucking-tastic and the season is upon us!
 
The NFL season started last night, but it doesn't really count because I couldn't watch any of it. So my perceived real kickoff is this Sunday. In my eyes, the greatest, most magical team in the world is the Green Bay Packers. I've been a fan my entire life. When fall arrives and football starts, I'm filled to the brim with joy, green and gold and beer dip.  But there's also a dark side to this cheese product filled momma. Everyone who knows me, and probably some people that don't really know me, describe me as a "die-hard" fan. I would up that word a notch and call myself "die-hardiest". As in, don't cross me on Sundays after a loss man, because I will end you, hard. While I may enjoy being balls deep in the season, it's not always the most pleasant for those around me. I am trying to be somewhat open and honest (because if I was completely honest, I would scare people) as I outline my illness. Not only do I suffer from Chronic Bitchy-Resting Face, but I also suffer from Seasonal "I Will Cut a Bitch Who Speaks Ill of the Packers" Syndrome, both which are new in the DSM-V.
 
 
Backstory
As in all things that are wrong with people, I blame my parents for this one. Every Sunday, we would sit and watch the Packers with fervent dedication. We had a routine of standing together in a huddle during kickoff. We would then shut our mouths and watch silently until commercials. Cheering, jeering and throwing of objects were allowed, obviously, but no talking. I once voiced my sadness at Dan Dierdorf's lisp and I got my ass chewed out. Goddamn Dan Dierdorf. At half time, we would eat and then repeat for the second half. We even had a list of rules that were posted for visitors. We did not get many visitors by choice. We hosted a big Super Bowl party during the Packers '96 run. The day of, I remember as if it were yesterday, I sat quietly and nervously reflecting my concerns: What if they lost? What if no one came to our party? What if my favorite Trapper Keeper was no longer cool? I asked my mom what would happen if we lost. "Don't worry", she said, "we won't". Long story short, after being raised in this environment, is it any wonder I turned out this way?
 
Throughout the Years
This was all several years, a few lb's and 2 chins ago. But yes, I did have my wedding pictures at Lambeau Field and had a Packers themed wedding. My choice, of course. I wanted a field goal post brought in the reception, but the room wasn't tall enough and I couldn't figure out how to kick it into the uprights in a heavy wedding dress.
 
Passing on the Tradition

What can I say? One of the girls middle names is after a player after a bet I made with Brad. Plus, they were born during a bye week, so they obviously have their shit together. Oh, and they were born 9 months, 1 day after the Super Bowl. Tara for the win.
 
 

 
Social Situations and Relationships
 
Social situations become difficult. When I lived at home when I was older, my parents didn't really like to watch the games with me and I preferred it that way. I also have just recently been able to watch with other people around. There is nothing worse than sitting in a bar watching a game with several types of jackass surrounding you. There's always ONE person who is intolerable and my bullshit bar is very low. On the flip side, I don't care for my "own kind" that would watch the games with me and watch (or worse, egg on) my reaction to every bad play. One instance was when I was watching the 2010 opener with my dad and Brad and some bad play happened. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see my dad staring at me to see if I'd freak out. Without looking at him, I told him to stop staring at me. He laughed until I told him he made me this way.
 
 
And then there are relationships. I made sure to choose a husband that was a Packer fan, because if he was any other kind of fan, especially of a team within our division, he wouldn't have gotten any from September until February, if at all. I can be as frigid as the Frozen Tundra if needed. Brad knew what he was getting himself into. About three years into our relationship, the Packers were in the NFC Championship against the New York Giants. It happened to be my midnight birthday (the day before your birthday when you went out and drank until your actual bday. Thank you college). Well, old man winter, Brett Favre (whom I am still struggling to forgive) ended his career with the Pack with a big, fat loss due to an interception. Brad came over to comfort me. "Just leave me alone" I said as I cried for the next two hours. I cried in my vodka that night. Well, several vodkas. People are also afraid to talk to me after a loss. I have gotten much better within the past few years, so people can stop putting the concerned facebook posts up worrying for Brad's safety. "I'm not going to doooo, what you all THINK I'm going to do and FLIP OUT MAN".
 
 
Superstitions
 
It's like the beer commercial, "It's only weird if it doesn't work". I'm not sure when this all happened, but the first superstition I recall is my dad rubbing the belly of troll doll that I made into a green and gold cheesehead wearing badass. I eventually developed my own superstitions. Now I know, being a rational person, that nothing I do can affect the outcome of the game but I feel off if I don't perform several of my rituals. Now I can't tell you what they are, because it's bad luck, but I can say that some of them are obvious (at least I think they are) and some are pretty hidden. Don't try and figure them out, because that will only piss me off. People try, oh yes they do. But don't. It's bad luck. I will say that one of my rituals may have been in "The Silver Linings Playbook", I may have geeked out when I saw it and Brad may have looked at me immediately and slow shook his head. Hey, if Bobby DeNiro does it, it must freaking work.
 
 
Overview
 
Now I may seem a little "obsessive" or "crazy" or "awesome", but this is my passion. I love talking about football and I (usually) know what I'm talking about. I do enjoy watching other teams play, but I won't root for anyone else. Even whatever teams playing the Vikings/Bears/San Fran/Giants/Cowboys/Seattle/Atlanta/Patriots/Lions, etc, etc. I will give credit to a great play by other players, but I won't cheer for anyone. And that's why Fantasy Football can go to hell. 
 
 
 
NOTE: Some of this was written before the season began, so I was hopeful, optimistic and the Pack was 0-0. Then we lost to San Fran and I didn't feel like writing it. Then we won against Washington and I was all gung-ho and happy. Then we lost against Cincy and I become grumpy again. So, it was only natural that I finished it up during a bye week, so I'm all balanced out.