Last Sunday, I went to the Chicago Cubs versus Colorado Rockies game in Denver. A few things I should note: I drink at baseball games, I yell at baseball games, and people in Chicago agree with my actions.
Not so much in Colorado.
A Cubs fan wearing a Ryne Sandberg jersey while drinking during a game at family-friendly Coors Field discovers the following things:
There are a lot of kids at this game - They are everywhere. There were 2 seated behind me and 6 on the row of 20 seats where we were sitting.
Rockies fans do not cheer very loudly or passionately, but they will "boo" an obnoxious Cubs fan - Seriously. They aren't as disinterested as Rangers fans, but they are close. At one point the Rockies pulled together a pretty miraculous double play and I think I heard a guy behind home plate clap. Of course he might have just been keeping time with the big screen in center field that tells fans when to cheer. The operators of the big screen actually have to tell these fans to cheer. If you are attending a game and you see "LOUD" or "NOISE" appear on the big screen, you should feel ashamed that you are watching that screen instead of your team.
They do the wave - As a rule, you shouldn't do the wave. It's embarrassing. You look really dumb doing it and it is too obvious that you aren't even watching the game. When you cheer louder for a wave that goes all the way around the stadium than you did when someone stole third base, you deserve to be banned for life from any live event. Anyone who participates in a wave is an awful sports fan.
Making fun of Todd Helton's facial hair will increase the frequency of the boos - Good hecklers have two basic rules: No family and no cussing. Making fun of someone's family is just hurtful and cussing will get you thrown out of the stadium. So, making fun of someone for having a badger on his face is a good way to get his attention. Also, when Todd Helton hits a fly ball and everyone stands up to cheer only to sit down disappointed when it is caught in center field, shouting, "Ahhh, you guys got soooo excited! Now you must be sad!" Will cause more boos.
There are a shitload of children at this game - When I was a child going to games, I never realised that a baseball game is hardly the place for a 10 year old. I taught our neighbors some neat words, though. You're welcome, parents.
If it took me to get those people in the stands excited to see there first place team do well, then I'm alright with that. I can only imagine how quiet that section would have been had I not been just drunk enough to be bulletproof without spilling my beer. The Cubs lost that day, but that's ok. I'm sort of used to it by now.
Coors Field is an amazing venue and I greatly recommend seeing any game there. Beers are (somewhat) affordable and the Rockies are a great team. So, get out for an afternoon and enjoy the nice weather this summer.
Tuesday, April 19, 2011
Thursday, April 7, 2011
Evil + Spring kickball = Sprevilball
Well, my evil brethren and sistren, I believe we’re ready.” Said Captain Brett “Darnell” Stanilka said to the team in black. The rest of the team howled with laughter.
The plan: ruin as many people’s days as possible. The entire day was planned to the millisecond like a riverdance of fucking evil. Jeff “Toaster Oven” Evans and Emily “The girl from The Snug’s homepage” Berman arrived at the Rockies’ opening day. Here is where the plan really began to unfold. First, they drank heavily, all the while feigning interest in the game. But, get this, they didn’t actually care about the outcome! Oh man, were people pissed to hear that. Fan’s days: ruined. Evans checked his demonic phone’s clock (fashioned out of brimstone and other outdated technology) and saw that it was time to depart for the kickball grounds. Berman prepared herself for the next step in the plan.
As Jeff set out for kickball, Emily denied a cab driver the chance to continue rubbing her foot. Cabbie’s day: ruined.
At the Cuernavaca Park, Captain Brett and AJ “Elevator Fart” Lipka began phase 319 of the evil plan by refereeing a game and making calls that were sure to make someone upset. It worked. Those teams’ day: ruined.
It was time to take the field and Captain Brett destroyed a player on the blue team in a chug off. Blue ninja’s day: ruined.
The team in black executed an unparalleled defensive strategy that one onlooker described as “unholy.” On offense, INGTKI was nearly unstoppable. Both Captain Brett and Daniel “You may NOT touch my beard” Linn kicked uncatchable homeruns that soared over the aloof outfielder’s head. Left fielder’s day: ruined.
The incredible gameplay culminated in an 11-0 victory for It’s Not Going To Kick Itself over Liquor Balls. As the losing team sulked off the field they were mocked for having a stupid name. Liquor Balls’ day: double ruined.
The dark team then set out to Rex Lounge and laid down a dominating bombardment of the flip cup table, leaving undefeated. Flip cup opposition’s day: ruined.
Hysterical laughter bellowed from the headquarters of INGTKI as the team in black reminisced on the perfect execution of their plan.
Thursday, March 3, 2011
Nemesis: Genesis
The universe operates in a predictable pattern. For every good there is an evil. Light must cast a shadow. Every Superman has a Lex Luthor. Every Lion-o has a Mumm-Ra. If you haven't discovered your personal antagonist yet, you will. My nemesis? Shower Curtain.
In our bathroom, a somewhat unassuming shower curtain passively hangs. It is suspended from ten stainless steel rings and possesses a white, quilted cloth exterior, a clear plastic liner, and the soul of an asshole. The curtain rod has two pieces that need to be twisted to extend and maintain proper pressure against the tiled walls for support. The curtain rod is not the issue. The extremely inconspicuous shower curtain is the issue.
My first confrontation with Shower Curtain happened a few years ago after a night of competitive imbibing at a local barre and grille. I entered the bathroom while Kristin Luszcz and Sarah were in the living room practicing their Wii bowling (un)skills, preparing for their eminent defeat because I rule at Wii bowling. I lifted the toilet seat for a standard urinary experience. Suddenly, and without provocation, I was propelled backward and engulfed by Shower Curtain. "My, what on earth is happening?" I eloquently whispered. (The people in the living room claim that I screamed, "BBRRAAAMMMMBBBLLLOOOO YIIIIIIEEEEEEE TOOOOOOORRRRRMMM BBBBBRRRRRBBBBRRRFFFFFF?!" They heard wrong.) My field of vision was filled with nothing but Shower Curtain and I was laying on my back in the bathtub, attempting to free myself from his death grip. The curtain rod, being a pacifist and wishing to remain neutral, lay on the outside of the tub. Overcoming the incredibly unbelievable strength of Shower Curtain was difficult, but after a short struggle, I won. (The unhelpful ladies in the living room claim a sound resembling a man tumbling down a 300-foot aluminum ladder, trying to grasp at the rungs with soup pans taped to his hands remained constant for thirty minutes. They heard wrong.)
It didn't end there.
I cajoled the curtain rod into a brief alliance and spent the next few minutes trying to reestablish Shower Curtain in his original position. (The nosey nuisances in the living room claim that I cursed at Norse gods for 15 minutes, fell completely silent for 5...they didn't seem to worry...and continued with a rant about my distaste for hygiene in general. They heard wrong.)
I was pissed off and ready to bring the Wii-thunder when I exited the bathroom. I couldn't have been in there for more than 3 minutes, but when I exited, I found Sarah asleep on the couch and Kristin cleaning up a wine spill. (They claim I had to have been in the bathroom for at least 45 minutes due to the fact that they watched an entire episode of Gossip Girl in my absence. They are dicks.)
I let Sarah sleep (Sarah claims I sat on her and tried to make her take a tequila shot), helped Kristin clean up the wine spill (Kristin claims I spilt the wine in the first place), took a tequila shot with Kristin (always a good idea) and proceeding to lay down Wiidacious victory at bowling (because I'm a winner).
That night, my nemesis revealed himself. I have had many run-ins with Shower Curtain since our initial struggle and the tales of my confrontations with that piece of shit will continue to be told.
 |
| What did I ever do to you? |
The universe operates in a predictable pattern. For every good there is an evil. Light must cast a shadow. Every Superman has a Lex Luthor. Every Lion-o has a Mumm-Ra. If you haven't discovered your personal antagonist yet, you will. My nemesis? Shower Curtain.
In our bathroom, a somewhat unassuming shower curtain passively hangs. It is suspended from ten stainless steel rings and possesses a white, quilted cloth exterior, a clear plastic liner, and the soul of an asshole. The curtain rod has two pieces that need to be twisted to extend and maintain proper pressure against the tiled walls for support. The curtain rod is not the issue. The extremely inconspicuous shower curtain is the issue.
My first confrontation with Shower Curtain happened a few years ago after a night of competitive imbibing at a local barre and grille. I entered the bathroom while Kristin Luszcz and Sarah were in the living room practicing their Wii bowling (un)skills, preparing for their eminent defeat because I rule at Wii bowling. I lifted the toilet seat for a standard urinary experience. Suddenly, and without provocation, I was propelled backward and engulfed by Shower Curtain. "My, what on earth is happening?" I eloquently whispered. (The people in the living room claim that I screamed, "BBRRAAAMMMMBBBLLLOOOO YIIIIIIEEEEEEE TOOOOOOORRRRRMMM BBBBBRRRRRBBBBRRRFFFFFF?!" They heard wrong.) My field of vision was filled with nothing but Shower Curtain and I was laying on my back in the bathtub, attempting to free myself from his death grip. The curtain rod, being a pacifist and wishing to remain neutral, lay on the outside of the tub. Overcoming the incredibly unbelievable strength of Shower Curtain was difficult, but after a short struggle, I won. (The unhelpful ladies in the living room claim a sound resembling a man tumbling down a 300-foot aluminum ladder, trying to grasp at the rungs with soup pans taped to his hands remained constant for thirty minutes. They heard wrong.)
It didn't end there.
I cajoled the curtain rod into a brief alliance and spent the next few minutes trying to reestablish Shower Curtain in his original position. (The nosey nuisances in the living room claim that I cursed at Norse gods for 15 minutes, fell completely silent for 5...they didn't seem to worry...and continued with a rant about my distaste for hygiene in general. They heard wrong.)
I was pissed off and ready to bring the Wii-thunder when I exited the bathroom. I couldn't have been in there for more than 3 minutes, but when I exited, I found Sarah asleep on the couch and Kristin cleaning up a wine spill. (They claim I had to have been in the bathroom for at least 45 minutes due to the fact that they watched an entire episode of Gossip Girl in my absence. They are dicks.)
I let Sarah sleep (Sarah claims I sat on her and tried to make her take a tequila shot), helped Kristin clean up the wine spill (Kristin claims I spilt the wine in the first place), took a tequila shot with Kristin (always a good idea) and proceeding to lay down Wiidacious victory at bowling (because I'm a winner).
That night, my nemesis revealed himself. I have had many run-ins with Shower Curtain since our initial struggle and the tales of my confrontations with that piece of shit will continue to be told.
Tuesday, March 1, 2011
2010 weekly kickball updates (in one convenient post)
Week 1:
A harmonious and precisely timed chorus of “WE ARE…YOUR MOM!” is crooned from deep within the Rocky Mountains and triggers hidden steel gears to whirr, slide into place and open the main door. Gliding down the fabled ancient staircase and passing with absolute ease through Your Mom’s musky V.A.G.I.N.A. (Vast And Grassy Idyllic Natural Archway), Your Mom makes her way toward the exit. The faint *KRI-TING* of a kickball bouncing on cretaceous rock echoes through the corridors as the assembled deities, collectively forming Your Mom, approach the pony-shaped doorway. [Look, we asked the guy to make it shaped like a lion poised for attack but it sort of looks like a pony, OK?]
Arriving at the kickball grounds, the team falls into a precise formation and promptly disposes of the Ballstars, a formidable opponent, 14-4. Your Mom, disciplined and polished, knows that more competition lies only moments away. The masses shout to the opposition, “BE GONE WITH YOU!” as Your Mom vanquishes one foe after another on a sticky and hastily prepared flip cup table. Victorious, strikingly beautiful and sort of hungry, Your Mom retires back into her mystic cave in the mountains to prepare for next week.
Until next time kids, here’s some advice: Don’t let your goldfish do your homework for you as it will be almost entirely illegible.
Week 2
An Irish green eagle circles, unnoticed, thousands of feet above the kickball grounds. A bolt of lightning rips across the purple sky and the eagle folds her wings into a high speed dive. Still accelerating, the majestic bird strikes the earth just as a crack of thunder booms through the city. While the impact’s shockwave spreads throughout LoDo, Your Mom appears in the bird’s stead. With eyes ablaze with concentration and breath saturated with alcohol, Your Mom charges the field. Brilliant offensive and defensive strategies were surgically laid into place by the marvelous captain, resulting in a 13-1 victory over Afternoon Delights.
After another successful evening of humbling opponents at the flipcup table, the masterful kickball combatants depart back to their recondite cave in the mountains. As the entrance to the cavern nears, Your Mom’s huge B.O.O.B.S. (Big, Ornate, Owl-shaped Bronze Statues) appear on the horizon. The owls symbolize Your Mom’s infinite wisdom. Visitors to this site are known to stand and stare at Your Mom’s hooters for hours.
Until next time kids, here’s some advice: Do not wear salad dressing as a hat unless you are being ironic.
Week 3
Dizzying displays of diamond-dashing defense secured Your Mom’s victory over 24 Man Wolfpack. The fielding charge started in the first inning as Liz “Cirque du” Indart showed off her innate acrobatic ability at second base. She dived, whirled and delivered precise throws to all of her intended targets. Calls of “I GOT IT!” from the outfield were cleverly disregarded by other players in a successful attempt to befuddle Your Mom’s opponents. Millennia from now, once the Earth has recovered from its impending housecat uprising, paintings will resurface that colorfully depict the defensive prowess of Your Mom on that great day.
After the victory, the players decided that a vacation to their hideout in Arizona would be refreshing, so the kickballers spent a relaxing weekend in Your Mom’s hot, sweaty Cave UnderNeath Tempe.
Until next time kids, here’s some advice: Eating a hotdog without using your hands, while sanitary, can send mixed signals to passers-by.
Week 4
Deep in the Rocky Mountains a crowd gathers, staring at Your Mom’s C.O.O.C.H. (Ceremonial Outdoor, Outlandish Cougar Hopa). The singers from The Lion King chime in with a harmonious “Hohmmmmmmm” and 30 decorated drums are pounded rhythmically, in accordance to the tradition. A cougar has been born. The pageantry climaxes with the customary keg and pinata being carried down the mountain atop the muscular shoulders of pool boys and tennis pros.
The festivities continue as Your Mom staggers onto the kickball field to battle Just For Kicks. Lissa “All My Accents Sound Asian” Mokrohisky shows off her defensive skills with a miraculous grab in the outfield. “Mustang” Hallie Myers, celebrating something or other, manages to score two runs and own a keg stand. All the pomp results in an 11-1 victory for Your Mom.
Until next time kids, here’s some advice: When life hands you lemons, use the zest for a lame Rachel Ray recipe, take a shot of bourbon, chug a beer and throw away the rest of the stupid, worthless lemon.
Week 5
Last week was a good week for Your Mom. The class she is teaching, “English for Morons: Grammar and the Social Networktard,” has had record attendance during her four-part lesson on the differences between “its and it’s,” and “your and you’re.” While the majority of Facebook users insist that egregious spelling errors are acceptable and somehow endearing, Your Mom will not stand for such atrocities.
In addition to educating nimrods, Your Mom took some time to grace the kickball field to face Random Play. Amazingly displaying strength, stamina, inebriation, patriotism, sleevlessness and fundamentals, Your Mom’s domination resulted in a 12-0 victory. Brett "Darnell" Stanilka even managed to pitch a strike out as three straight pitches zipped over the plate for called strikes.
Until next time kids, here’s some advice: Perseverance is a virtue. Just because you have vomited on both your shirt and shoes, doesn’t mean that the flipcup table is just going to dominate itself. Get back in the game and flip those cups!
Week 6
As many of you know, last week Your Mom began filming the new reality show, “Gods Among Us.” This show will chronicle the lives and adventures of the kickball giants. The producers of the show suggested the team forgo their traditional, eccentric transportation medium (such as the rocket tank) and take public transportation with the idea that it would make better television. This did not go over well. The team left their hidden cave in the mountains via taxi and caught RTD’s #16 bus to the kickball field. En route, several other passengers sustained debilitating injuries during a particularly raucous practice round of flipcup. Ensuing lawsuits are expected to bankrupt the reality show’s producers and filming has been suspended indefinitely.
On the kickball diamond, the damp weather resulted in a muddy field, but Your Mom was buzzed enough not to notice. Battling That’s What She Said, Your Mom managed a 13-2 victory and parlayed the winning attitude onto the flipcup tables and dominated the evening.
Until next time kids, here’s some advice: Always be punctual. Showing up late to happy hour will seriously affect your ability to reach sufficient levels of inebriation before 7 pm.
Week 7
While going over fundamental kickball strategies and trading casserole recipes in their hidden cave deep in the Rockies, the members of Your Mom heard an ear-splitting crash resonate from the upper observatory. Rushing up the stairs, the team discovered that their high-powered telescope, said to have been designed by Galileo Galilei himself, lay tragically bent and shattered on the Irish green tile floor. Never again will some random dude using Your Mom’s MEAT SOCKET (Massively Expensive And Tactfully Stationed, Observational, Chrome-Knobbed, Expensive Telescope) be able to witness the size and scope of a black hole. Shouting obscenities, Captain Emily “EZ Eeee” Berman, climbed into her Hyundai (which is fueled by the crushed souls of those who ever dared oppose her in flip cup) and sped away in search of answers. Sensing that her absence might interfere with the kickball game, relief captain Jeff “Derek” Evans dutifully and heroically claimed the Captain’s Throne for the week.
Too distraught to concentrate on the game, Your Mom fell behind in runs to Where My Pitches At? in the early innings. However, as alcohol began to fog out the memory of their captain’s absence, the members of Your Mom began to fall into the athletic rhythm for which they are known and adored. With a respectable 8-3 victory over Where My Pitches At? in the books, Your Mom fell into the soft embrace of flip cup followed by karaoke and ultimately, vomit in the parking lotaoke.
Until next time kids, here’s some advice: Saying, “I like jazz,” is just like saying, “I’m a pretentious a-hole that does not share any common interests with you.”
Week 8
A 72-hour fireworks show signaled Captain Emily “EZ Eeee” Berman’s return to the hideout lair and hoards of people gathered at Your Mom’s poorly-maintained MEAT CURTAINS (Mystically Ethereal, Alabaster Theater Chairs Unearthed in Remote Tanzania And Ironically Not Stolen) to watch the spectacle. Preparing for their next opponent, Amanda “I’ll show YOU a string of #!%@ing obscenities” Weeks managed to incorporate interpretive dance into her weekly Advanced Fundamentals seminar that left all attendees weeping and awestruck. Sarah “Easy on the tonic, please” Lipka made traditional kalua pork to bring to…
A LUAU!! Maui came to Denver as 99 Problems but a Pitch Ain’t One joined Your Mom for a feast of Hawaiian proportions. Mai Tais, grass skirts, little paper umbrellas and a rain shower whipped all involved combatants into a frothing frenzy. Your Mom hustled to tally runs as 99 Problems proved to be a tenacious opponent. In a dramatic finish, Your Mom staggered away with a 6-5 victory. With an undefeated regular season in the books, the kickball legends begin training for the playoffs.
Until next time kids, here’s some advice: If you are at a bar and overhear someone yell, “RAMMING SPEED!” prepare your camera phone to capture the events that follow.
Week 9
Your Mom had a strong showing in the regular season and did not want to disappoint her growing masses of admirers in the first round of the playoffs. So, not unpredictably, Your Mom got together with HER SLUTTY FRIEND (Haitian, Egomaniacal, Respected, Strong-Languaged, Utilitarian Teacher That Yells Fundamentally-Reliable Instructions, Educating Non-Dramatically) for some help playing the field. When those two get together, be advised that things do not typically end well for their prey. Your Mom has several STDs (Strong, Technical Defenders) and will always fill those that foolishly approach her with regret and remorse.
You Mom faced BAllstars in the first round of the playoffs and strode away with a 16-0 victory. Eclipsing all other incredible plays was Kelly “’Awesome’ is my middle name” Awesome Dodd’s unassisted double play to end the inning. After defeating BAllstars, Your Mom retired to her hidden cave in preparation to face Bayside next week.
Until next time kids, here’s some advice: Taking shots just prior to last call is not a good hangover cure, but taking shots prior to breakfast sure is.
Week 10
Your Mom had secretly hoped that a matchup with Bayside would occur this season and her wish was granted. The week before the big game, Bayside contemplated strategy, examined game films, and wishfully tossed coins into the empty fountain at DIA’s main terminal while Your Mom got ready by belatedly celebrating a tremendous regular season. Although the second round of the postseason was upon them, Your Mom remained awash with the glow of a first-round victory. It seemed that Your Mom’s GENITAL RASH [Grossly Egomaniacal, Never Intentional (Though Almost Laughable), Rotten And Scornful Hubris ] might have finally caught up to her.
Pride could have potentially cost Your Mom a victory but, alas, the team powered through. Bayside proved to be a prepared and fiery opponent, opening the first inning with an inspired offense and an impenetrable wall of defense. Your Mom’s confidence began to restore as Brett “Darnell” Stanilka pitched an incomparable THREE strikeouts. Your Mom managed to force extra innings and Sarah “LOOK AT THE SQUIRREL!” Lipka saved the game with a beautiful catch in the 8th inning. Kelly “On the first day, light was created by” Dodd scored the game-winning run in extra innings. That close call was an eye-opening experience for Your Mom and the team retired to their hidden cave in the mountains to diligently prepare for the final rounds next week.
Until next time kids, here’s some advice: Pizza rolls baked in an oven taste WAY better than those that have been microwaved.
Week 11
Sorrowful expressions overtook the faces of those in attendance as Thursday’s championship game came to a close. News of the fact that Your Mom had a HUGE DICK (Honorable, Undeniable, Graceful, Egregious Defeat In Co-ed Kickball) spread quickly and many admirers of the team wept. The Irish green cool kids of kickball were defeated in extra innings by the Upper Deckers.
AJ “Kickball? More like, DUCKball” Lipka, when asked how the team’s loss felt to him, replied, “Imagine you’re riding around in the backseat of a full Volkswagen Jetta with no air conditioning on a hot day and the windows are rolled up. Someone has shoved a dirty sock in your mouth while six other people are blasting ice cream farts with reckless abandon. Got it? Now imagine that the person on your left is randomly poking you in the forehead with an unsharpened pencil, the guy on your right is laughing at his own bad jokes, and you are fairly certain the driver is on mushrooms. Following me so far? Good. The car stops and you get out. Your eyes are stinging with tears and, just as you stretch to breathe in some fresh air through your now-snotty nose, someone swings a bucket full of filthy mop water that hits you square in the chest and takes your treasured breath away. It sort of feels like that.”
Your Mom certainly had a good time this year and [insert some sentimental bullshit].
Until next time kids, here’s some advice: When confronted with adversity, drink some grape-flavored vodka. You’ll feel much better.
A harmonious and precisely timed chorus of “WE ARE…YOUR MOM!” is crooned from deep within the Rocky Mountains and triggers hidden steel gears to whirr, slide into place and open the main door. Gliding down the fabled ancient staircase and passing with absolute ease through Your Mom’s musky V.A.G.I.N.A. (Vast And Grassy Idyllic Natural Archway), Your Mom makes her way toward the exit. The faint *KRI-TING* of a kickball bouncing on cretaceous rock echoes through the corridors as the assembled deities, collectively forming Your Mom, approach the pony-shaped doorway. [Look, we asked the guy to make it shaped like a lion poised for attack but it sort of looks like a pony, OK?]
Arriving at the kickball grounds, the team falls into a precise formation and promptly disposes of the Ballstars, a formidable opponent, 14-4. Your Mom, disciplined and polished, knows that more competition lies only moments away. The masses shout to the opposition, “BE GONE WITH YOU!” as Your Mom vanquishes one foe after another on a sticky and hastily prepared flip cup table. Victorious, strikingly beautiful and sort of hungry, Your Mom retires back into her mystic cave in the mountains to prepare for next week.
Until next time kids, here’s some advice: Don’t let your goldfish do your homework for you as it will be almost entirely illegible.
Week 2
An Irish green eagle circles, unnoticed, thousands of feet above the kickball grounds. A bolt of lightning rips across the purple sky and the eagle folds her wings into a high speed dive. Still accelerating, the majestic bird strikes the earth just as a crack of thunder booms through the city. While the impact’s shockwave spreads throughout LoDo, Your Mom appears in the bird’s stead. With eyes ablaze with concentration and breath saturated with alcohol, Your Mom charges the field. Brilliant offensive and defensive strategies were surgically laid into place by the marvelous captain, resulting in a 13-1 victory over Afternoon Delights.
After another successful evening of humbling opponents at the flipcup table, the masterful kickball combatants depart back to their recondite cave in the mountains. As the entrance to the cavern nears, Your Mom’s huge B.O.O.B.S. (Big, Ornate, Owl-shaped Bronze Statues) appear on the horizon. The owls symbolize Your Mom’s infinite wisdom. Visitors to this site are known to stand and stare at Your Mom’s hooters for hours.
Until next time kids, here’s some advice: Do not wear salad dressing as a hat unless you are being ironic.
Week 3
Dizzying displays of diamond-dashing defense secured Your Mom’s victory over 24 Man Wolfpack. The fielding charge started in the first inning as Liz “Cirque du” Indart showed off her innate acrobatic ability at second base. She dived, whirled and delivered precise throws to all of her intended targets. Calls of “I GOT IT!” from the outfield were cleverly disregarded by other players in a successful attempt to befuddle Your Mom’s opponents. Millennia from now, once the Earth has recovered from its impending housecat uprising, paintings will resurface that colorfully depict the defensive prowess of Your Mom on that great day.
After the victory, the players decided that a vacation to their hideout in Arizona would be refreshing, so the kickballers spent a relaxing weekend in Your Mom’s hot, sweaty Cave UnderNeath Tempe.
Until next time kids, here’s some advice: Eating a hotdog without using your hands, while sanitary, can send mixed signals to passers-by.
Week 4
Deep in the Rocky Mountains a crowd gathers, staring at Your Mom’s C.O.O.C.H. (Ceremonial Outdoor, Outlandish Cougar Hopa). The singers from The Lion King chime in with a harmonious “Hohmmmmmmm” and 30 decorated drums are pounded rhythmically, in accordance to the tradition. A cougar has been born. The pageantry climaxes with the customary keg and pinata being carried down the mountain atop the muscular shoulders of pool boys and tennis pros.
The festivities continue as Your Mom staggers onto the kickball field to battle Just For Kicks. Lissa “All My Accents Sound Asian” Mokrohisky shows off her defensive skills with a miraculous grab in the outfield. “Mustang” Hallie Myers, celebrating something or other, manages to score two runs and own a keg stand. All the pomp results in an 11-1 victory for Your Mom.
Until next time kids, here’s some advice: When life hands you lemons, use the zest for a lame Rachel Ray recipe, take a shot of bourbon, chug a beer and throw away the rest of the stupid, worthless lemon.
Week 5
Last week was a good week for Your Mom. The class she is teaching, “English for Morons: Grammar and the Social Networktard,” has had record attendance during her four-part lesson on the differences between “its and it’s,” and “your and you’re.” While the majority of Facebook users insist that egregious spelling errors are acceptable and somehow endearing, Your Mom will not stand for such atrocities.
In addition to educating nimrods, Your Mom took some time to grace the kickball field to face Random Play. Amazingly displaying strength, stamina, inebriation, patriotism, sleevlessness and fundamentals, Your Mom’s domination resulted in a 12-0 victory. Brett "Darnell" Stanilka even managed to pitch a strike out as three straight pitches zipped over the plate for called strikes.
Until next time kids, here’s some advice: Perseverance is a virtue. Just because you have vomited on both your shirt and shoes, doesn’t mean that the flipcup table is just going to dominate itself. Get back in the game and flip those cups!
Week 6
As many of you know, last week Your Mom began filming the new reality show, “Gods Among Us.” This show will chronicle the lives and adventures of the kickball giants. The producers of the show suggested the team forgo their traditional, eccentric transportation medium (such as the rocket tank) and take public transportation with the idea that it would make better television. This did not go over well. The team left their hidden cave in the mountains via taxi and caught RTD’s #16 bus to the kickball field. En route, several other passengers sustained debilitating injuries during a particularly raucous practice round of flipcup. Ensuing lawsuits are expected to bankrupt the reality show’s producers and filming has been suspended indefinitely.
On the kickball diamond, the damp weather resulted in a muddy field, but Your Mom was buzzed enough not to notice. Battling That’s What She Said, Your Mom managed a 13-2 victory and parlayed the winning attitude onto the flipcup tables and dominated the evening.
Until next time kids, here’s some advice: Always be punctual. Showing up late to happy hour will seriously affect your ability to reach sufficient levels of inebriation before 7 pm.
Week 7
While going over fundamental kickball strategies and trading casserole recipes in their hidden cave deep in the Rockies, the members of Your Mom heard an ear-splitting crash resonate from the upper observatory. Rushing up the stairs, the team discovered that their high-powered telescope, said to have been designed by Galileo Galilei himself, lay tragically bent and shattered on the Irish green tile floor. Never again will some random dude using Your Mom’s MEAT SOCKET (Massively Expensive And Tactfully Stationed, Observational, Chrome-Knobbed, Expensive Telescope) be able to witness the size and scope of a black hole. Shouting obscenities, Captain Emily “EZ Eeee” Berman, climbed into her Hyundai (which is fueled by the crushed souls of those who ever dared oppose her in flip cup) and sped away in search of answers. Sensing that her absence might interfere with the kickball game, relief captain Jeff “Derek” Evans dutifully and heroically claimed the Captain’s Throne for the week.
Too distraught to concentrate on the game, Your Mom fell behind in runs to Where My Pitches At? in the early innings. However, as alcohol began to fog out the memory of their captain’s absence, the members of Your Mom began to fall into the athletic rhythm for which they are known and adored. With a respectable 8-3 victory over Where My Pitches At? in the books, Your Mom fell into the soft embrace of flip cup followed by karaoke and ultimately, vomit in the parking lotaoke.
Until next time kids, here’s some advice: Saying, “I like jazz,” is just like saying, “I’m a pretentious a-hole that does not share any common interests with you.”
Week 8
A 72-hour fireworks show signaled Captain Emily “EZ Eeee” Berman’s return to the hideout lair and hoards of people gathered at Your Mom’s poorly-maintained MEAT CURTAINS (Mystically Ethereal, Alabaster Theater Chairs Unearthed in Remote Tanzania And Ironically Not Stolen) to watch the spectacle. Preparing for their next opponent, Amanda “I’ll show YOU a string of #!%@ing obscenities” Weeks managed to incorporate interpretive dance into her weekly Advanced Fundamentals seminar that left all attendees weeping and awestruck. Sarah “Easy on the tonic, please” Lipka made traditional kalua pork to bring to…
A LUAU!! Maui came to Denver as 99 Problems but a Pitch Ain’t One joined Your Mom for a feast of Hawaiian proportions. Mai Tais, grass skirts, little paper umbrellas and a rain shower whipped all involved combatants into a frothing frenzy. Your Mom hustled to tally runs as 99 Problems proved to be a tenacious opponent. In a dramatic finish, Your Mom staggered away with a 6-5 victory. With an undefeated regular season in the books, the kickball legends begin training for the playoffs.
Until next time kids, here’s some advice: If you are at a bar and overhear someone yell, “RAMMING SPEED!” prepare your camera phone to capture the events that follow.
Week 9
Your Mom had a strong showing in the regular season and did not want to disappoint her growing masses of admirers in the first round of the playoffs. So, not unpredictably, Your Mom got together with HER SLUTTY FRIEND (Haitian, Egomaniacal, Respected, Strong-Languaged, Utilitarian Teacher That Yells Fundamentally-Reliable Instructions, Educating Non-Dramatically) for some help playing the field. When those two get together, be advised that things do not typically end well for their prey. Your Mom has several STDs (Strong, Technical Defenders) and will always fill those that foolishly approach her with regret and remorse.
You Mom faced BAllstars in the first round of the playoffs and strode away with a 16-0 victory. Eclipsing all other incredible plays was Kelly “’Awesome’ is my middle name” Awesome Dodd’s unassisted double play to end the inning. After defeating BAllstars, Your Mom retired to her hidden cave in preparation to face Bayside next week.
Until next time kids, here’s some advice: Taking shots just prior to last call is not a good hangover cure, but taking shots prior to breakfast sure is.
Week 10
Your Mom had secretly hoped that a matchup with Bayside would occur this season and her wish was granted. The week before the big game, Bayside contemplated strategy, examined game films, and wishfully tossed coins into the empty fountain at DIA’s main terminal while Your Mom got ready by belatedly celebrating a tremendous regular season. Although the second round of the postseason was upon them, Your Mom remained awash with the glow of a first-round victory. It seemed that Your Mom’s GENITAL RASH [Grossly Egomaniacal, Never Intentional (Though Almost Laughable), Rotten And Scornful Hubris ] might have finally caught up to her.
Pride could have potentially cost Your Mom a victory but, alas, the team powered through. Bayside proved to be a prepared and fiery opponent, opening the first inning with an inspired offense and an impenetrable wall of defense. Your Mom’s confidence began to restore as Brett “Darnell” Stanilka pitched an incomparable THREE strikeouts. Your Mom managed to force extra innings and Sarah “LOOK AT THE SQUIRREL!” Lipka saved the game with a beautiful catch in the 8th inning. Kelly “On the first day, light was created by” Dodd scored the game-winning run in extra innings. That close call was an eye-opening experience for Your Mom and the team retired to their hidden cave in the mountains to diligently prepare for the final rounds next week.
Until next time kids, here’s some advice: Pizza rolls baked in an oven taste WAY better than those that have been microwaved.
Week 11
Sorrowful expressions overtook the faces of those in attendance as Thursday’s championship game came to a close. News of the fact that Your Mom had a HUGE DICK (Honorable, Undeniable, Graceful, Egregious Defeat In Co-ed Kickball) spread quickly and many admirers of the team wept. The Irish green cool kids of kickball were defeated in extra innings by the Upper Deckers.
AJ “Kickball? More like, DUCKball” Lipka, when asked how the team’s loss felt to him, replied, “Imagine you’re riding around in the backseat of a full Volkswagen Jetta with no air conditioning on a hot day and the windows are rolled up. Someone has shoved a dirty sock in your mouth while six other people are blasting ice cream farts with reckless abandon. Got it? Now imagine that the person on your left is randomly poking you in the forehead with an unsharpened pencil, the guy on your right is laughing at his own bad jokes, and you are fairly certain the driver is on mushrooms. Following me so far? Good. The car stops and you get out. Your eyes are stinging with tears and, just as you stretch to breathe in some fresh air through your now-snotty nose, someone swings a bucket full of filthy mop water that hits you square in the chest and takes your treasured breath away. It sort of feels like that.”
Your Mom certainly had a good time this year and [insert some sentimental bullshit].
Until next time kids, here’s some advice: When confronted with adversity, drink some grape-flavored vodka. You’ll feel much better.
Wednesday, February 2, 2011
How to enjoy the cold weather
If you are like most of the country, you have been affected by the monstrous winter storm that toilet papered the country. If you took a look at the weather forecast, shrugged your shoulders and said to no one in particular, "Only in [your state of residence]," then you are seriously under-informed. Just because it was warm yesterday and will be cold tomorrow does not make your state the focal point of some kind of weather anomaly. It means that you should put on a coat.
OK, so you're wearing a coat now. Good. It's still fucking cold, though. It's not exactly go-outside-and-enjoy-the-weather type of weather. Or is it?
Next to my hotel is an empty parking lot covered in ice and snow. Being as how I was given a Dodge Charger for a rental car this week, I thought I'd see how the Hemi-equipped, grocery-getting sedan handled through a few donuts. [For those of you located under a rock, a "donut" in this context is a complex maneuver performed by turning the steering wheel of a rear-wheel drive vehicle all the way to one direction and stomping on the gas pedal, resulting in an impressive display of controlled chaos. Chicks dig this.] I hurried to my cloud white Dodge parked out front and tried to not lose my footing since I couldn't help but skip a little. Closing the door behind me, I sat down in the driver's seat, breathed into my hands and rubbed them together to rattle off some of the cold. Turning the key, my grin widened. The Charger queefed to life. I hadn't really paid attention to the vehicle's underwhelming engine sound until this moment, but I really expected something more thunderous. No matter, though. This is going to rule!
Excitedly, I changed the station on the satellite radio to my favorite rock channel. Nickelback. Delete preset station. Whatever, I'll just find something else. This was a pretty important part of my plan. A proper exhibition of careless driving requires a certain ambiance. I've already conceded to having a vagina fart for an exhaust system, I'm not about to give up my tunes without a fight. I flipped through the stations. Lame, lame, laaaaame, lame, lame, "ALL THE SINGLE LADIES, ALL THE..." I mean, lame. The next station was empty silence and, just before I continued on, I heard the bell ring. "DUR DA DUN DAA DAA DUN DA DAH DUN DAAA" I glared down the hood and cracked my knuckles as "Hell's Bells" began to play. It's on.
With the windows down (ambiance), I crept into the center of the empty lot and put the car in neutral. After holstering my air guitar, I goosed the gas pedal a couple times. "Pffffft. Pfffffffffft." Oh yeah. Forgot.
With one arm hanging out the window, I cranked the wheel all the way to the left, shifted into drive and FLOORED IT!!! The 2011 Dodge Charger responded to this carefully executed demonstration of masculinity by creeping forward like it was being piloted by a nervous septuagenarian driving in the big city for her first time on the way to her grandson's graduation. TRACTION CONTROL!!!
WHAT THE HELL?!
I tore open the glove compartment and rifled through the owners manual, searching for the section on traction control. Turns out, this vehicle does not have the option to turn off traction control. A vehicle sharing its name with the greatest bootlegging vehicle in Hazzard County does not allow tire spin.
Sigh.
Windows up.
Volume down.
Park.
Martini at the hotel bar.
The moral of this story (write this down): If you cannot find something fun to do outside in the bitter cold, drink a couple martinis.
OK, so you're wearing a coat now. Good. It's still fucking cold, though. It's not exactly go-outside-and-enjoy-the-weather type of weather. Or is it?
Next to my hotel is an empty parking lot covered in ice and snow. Being as how I was given a Dodge Charger for a rental car this week, I thought I'd see how the Hemi-equipped, grocery-getting sedan handled through a few donuts. [For those of you located under a rock, a "donut" in this context is a complex maneuver performed by turning the steering wheel of a rear-wheel drive vehicle all the way to one direction and stomping on the gas pedal, resulting in an impressive display of controlled chaos. Chicks dig this.] I hurried to my cloud white Dodge parked out front and tried to not lose my footing since I couldn't help but skip a little. Closing the door behind me, I sat down in the driver's seat, breathed into my hands and rubbed them together to rattle off some of the cold. Turning the key, my grin widened. The Charger queefed to life. I hadn't really paid attention to the vehicle's underwhelming engine sound until this moment, but I really expected something more thunderous. No matter, though. This is going to rule!
Excitedly, I changed the station on the satellite radio to my favorite rock channel. Nickelback. Delete preset station. Whatever, I'll just find something else. This was a pretty important part of my plan. A proper exhibition of careless driving requires a certain ambiance. I've already conceded to having a vagina fart for an exhaust system, I'm not about to give up my tunes without a fight. I flipped through the stations. Lame, lame, laaaaame, lame, lame, "ALL THE SINGLE LADIES, ALL THE..." I mean, lame. The next station was empty silence and, just before I continued on, I heard the bell ring. "DUR DA DUN DAA DAA DUN DA DAH DUN DAAA" I glared down the hood and cracked my knuckles as "Hell's Bells" began to play. It's on.
With the windows down (ambiance), I crept into the center of the empty lot and put the car in neutral. After holstering my air guitar, I goosed the gas pedal a couple times. "Pffffft. Pfffffffffft." Oh yeah. Forgot.
With one arm hanging out the window, I cranked the wheel all the way to the left, shifted into drive and FLOORED IT!!! The 2011 Dodge Charger responded to this carefully executed demonstration of masculinity by creeping forward like it was being piloted by a nervous septuagenarian driving in the big city for her first time on the way to her grandson's graduation. TRACTION CONTROL!!!
WHAT THE HELL?!
I tore open the glove compartment and rifled through the owners manual, searching for the section on traction control. Turns out, this vehicle does not have the option to turn off traction control. A vehicle sharing its name with the greatest bootlegging vehicle in Hazzard County does not allow tire spin.
Sigh.
Windows up.
Volume down.
Park.
Martini at the hotel bar.
The moral of this story (write this down): If you cannot find something fun to do outside in the bitter cold, drink a couple martinis.
Thursday, January 20, 2011
The end of days
"O-M-G. L-O-L. You are so funny."
Maybe Nostradamus predicted this. Maybe the Mayans were right. Maybe the first of the Seven Seals has been broken and the White Horseman is upon us. Maybe the great titan, Atlas, has grown tired and will toss Earth aside like that time you were helping your buddy move and he told you, "Man, I forgot to hit the ATM, would you mind grabbing some beer?" and you unshouldered the box labeled "collectibles" into the hot tub.
Whether the Frenchman's, Mayan's, Christian's, Greek's or any other definition of the apocalypse fits your beliefs, I might have overheard the beginning: "O-M-G. L-O-L. You are so funny."
The flight from Denver to Omaha on a Monday morning is usually filled with frequent business travelers and a few families heading home. It was in this few that I discovered the person that I have feared meeting. As I waited for the gate agent to start boarding the flight, not unexpectedly, several people began crowding the boarding area, assuming their tickets declaring "seating area 4" meant they would board before seating area 1. In the middle of this particular group, seemingly indifferent to her surroundings, was Kate.
Wearing skinny jeans, blue sunglasses and a pink Ramones t-shirt, Kate was the kind of person that owns a Justin Bieber poster and has no idea that Sheena is a punk rocker. She stood, surrounded by her parents and two younger brothers, talking on her bedazzled iphone and shifting her weight from one Ugg to the other. Teenage Kate spoke to her dad with perpetually rolling eyes and focused all of her attention on the person on the other end of her 3G connection. She impatiently stared at the ceiling and flicked her fingernails as the person on the other end told a story. When the tale ended, she responded, "O-M-G. L-O-L. You are so funny."
Kate neither said this ironically nor sarcastically. And I totally get the "O-M-G" thing. I've watched a total of 6 minutes and 23 seconds of Gossip Girl and know that this is sort of normal...infuriatingly annoying, but normal. However, she was genuinely amused by the story. Instead of giving the courtesy laugh ("hahahaha...'working hard or hardly working.' Funny every time, cubicle neighbor"), she said "L-O-L." Is this necessary?
I understand abbreviation. I abbreviate my own name...awesomely. Many years ago, while working together at Cinco Ranch Golf Course, my friend Jay told me, "Brevity is key." He's right, but Kate is a nimrod. Is she over-abbreviating? Where do we draw the line?
Kate's conversation might just mark the beginning of the end. But maybe not. I think if we start under-abbreviating, it could counteract her atrocities.
Semicolon, close parenthesis.
Maybe Nostradamus predicted this. Maybe the Mayans were right. Maybe the first of the Seven Seals has been broken and the White Horseman is upon us. Maybe the great titan, Atlas, has grown tired and will toss Earth aside like that time you were helping your buddy move and he told you, "Man, I forgot to hit the ATM, would you mind grabbing some beer?" and you unshouldered the box labeled "collectibles" into the hot tub.
Whether the Frenchman's, Mayan's, Christian's, Greek's or any other definition of the apocalypse fits your beliefs, I might have overheard the beginning: "O-M-G. L-O-L. You are so funny."
The flight from Denver to Omaha on a Monday morning is usually filled with frequent business travelers and a few families heading home. It was in this few that I discovered the person that I have feared meeting. As I waited for the gate agent to start boarding the flight, not unexpectedly, several people began crowding the boarding area, assuming their tickets declaring "seating area 4" meant they would board before seating area 1. In the middle of this particular group, seemingly indifferent to her surroundings, was Kate.
Wearing skinny jeans, blue sunglasses and a pink Ramones t-shirt, Kate was the kind of person that owns a Justin Bieber poster and has no idea that Sheena is a punk rocker. She stood, surrounded by her parents and two younger brothers, talking on her bedazzled iphone and shifting her weight from one Ugg to the other. Teenage Kate spoke to her dad with perpetually rolling eyes and focused all of her attention on the person on the other end of her 3G connection. She impatiently stared at the ceiling and flicked her fingernails as the person on the other end told a story. When the tale ended, she responded, "O-M-G. L-O-L. You are so funny."
Kate neither said this ironically nor sarcastically. And I totally get the "O-M-G" thing. I've watched a total of 6 minutes and 23 seconds of Gossip Girl and know that this is sort of normal...infuriatingly annoying, but normal. However, she was genuinely amused by the story. Instead of giving the courtesy laugh ("hahahaha...'working hard or hardly working.' Funny every time, cubicle neighbor"), she said "L-O-L." Is this necessary?
I understand abbreviation. I abbreviate my own name...awesomely. Many years ago, while working together at Cinco Ranch Golf Course, my friend Jay told me, "Brevity is key." He's right, but Kate is a nimrod. Is she over-abbreviating? Where do we draw the line?
Kate's conversation might just mark the beginning of the end. But maybe not. I think if we start under-abbreviating, it could counteract her atrocities.
Semicolon, close parenthesis.
Tuesday, January 11, 2011
How to prepare for the drought
The sports fan looks forward to the Super Bowl with impassioned anticipation, not necessarily worried about the outcome, but desiring to watch a popular sporting event. He is most likely the same sports fan that knows the basic rules of all of the major sports (including soccer) and will watch the games attentively. Sure, one of the teams playing might be the home team, adding the much sought-after rooting interest, but it isn't necessary to make him tune in and cheer. Bringing water cooler conversation starters like "Did you see that catch last night?" and "When are they going to fire that prima donna?" are what is expected of one of these fans.
But what happens after the Super Bowl? To the sports fan: a dry spell.
The gap between the Super Bowl (2/6/11) and the start of the NCAA tournament (3/15/11) is a bummer for the devoted viewer. This is the time of year with the fewest televised sporting events. Of course there are games to be watched, but these viewers will be switching back and forth between regular season hockey and basketball. ("But AJ, things could be worse. I like watching...") Shut up. I'm trying to help.
But do not despair! This message was not intended to depress, but to inform. What should the sports fan do with these 37 days? I have some ideas.
Learn to do a handstand - If you already know how to do one, fashion yourself a medal made out of I'M SO PROUD OF YOU. If you're not a braggart, wouldn't it be cool to one day just think, "I feel like doing a handstand" and then do one?! Everyone watching will be impressed and doors will open for you (probably just those sliding ones in front of Walgreens though). [I cannot do a handstand.]
Learn how to do that water drip sound that Cameron makes in Ferris Bueller's Day Off - This will provide seconds upon tens of seconds of entertainment when you unmute your phone during a conference call, make the sound and attempt to stifle your giggles.
Balance your checkbook - HAHAHA! Just kidding, nerd.
Watch The Godfather (all of them) - You know you've been putting it off. Find out what all of the fuss is. Understand more of the jokes on Family Guy. You can't lose here.
Gamble on Antiques Roadshow - I know! There is no way that tea kettle and spoon could POSSIBLY be worth $8,000 but you had the under. Pay up.
Play Guitar Hero - You know people who are pretty good at this game. You've been over to a buddy's house and watched your friend look totally bad ass wielding his plastic axe (not a euphemism...this time). Wouldn't it be rad to join the button-clicking fiesta and not look dumb while doing it? [I suck at Guitar Hero]
Learn to knit - I don't know. This is mostly directed at my wife because I want some fucking mittens.
Master the art of putting on your hat in creative ways - A couple of flips in the hand, a toss around the back, caught on the foot and flipped onto your head?! Instant applause and admiration.
Solve a Rubik's Cube - Nevermind. This is hard.
Peel the stickers off a Rubik's Cube and reattach them well enough to give the illusion of solving the puzzle without cheating - SUCCESS!
Hopefully this will get you through until March Madness. I wish you the best of luck and hope these activities help maintain your desire to live.
But what happens after the Super Bowl? To the sports fan: a dry spell.
The gap between the Super Bowl (2/6/11) and the start of the NCAA tournament (3/15/11) is a bummer for the devoted viewer. This is the time of year with the fewest televised sporting events. Of course there are games to be watched, but these viewers will be switching back and forth between regular season hockey and basketball. ("But AJ, things could be worse. I like watching...") Shut up. I'm trying to help.
But do not despair! This message was not intended to depress, but to inform. What should the sports fan do with these 37 days? I have some ideas.
Learn to do a handstand - If you already know how to do one, fashion yourself a medal made out of I'M SO PROUD OF YOU. If you're not a braggart, wouldn't it be cool to one day just think, "I feel like doing a handstand" and then do one?! Everyone watching will be impressed and doors will open for you (probably just those sliding ones in front of Walgreens though). [I cannot do a handstand.]
Learn how to do that water drip sound that Cameron makes in Ferris Bueller's Day Off - This will provide seconds upon tens of seconds of entertainment when you unmute your phone during a conference call, make the sound and attempt to stifle your giggles.
Balance your checkbook - HAHAHA! Just kidding, nerd.
Watch The Godfather (all of them) - You know you've been putting it off. Find out what all of the fuss is. Understand more of the jokes on Family Guy. You can't lose here.
Gamble on Antiques Roadshow - I know! There is no way that tea kettle and spoon could POSSIBLY be worth $8,000 but you had the under. Pay up.
Play Guitar Hero - You know people who are pretty good at this game. You've been over to a buddy's house and watched your friend look totally bad ass wielding his plastic axe (not a euphemism...this time). Wouldn't it be rad to join the button-clicking fiesta and not look dumb while doing it? [I suck at Guitar Hero]
Learn to knit - I don't know. This is mostly directed at my wife because I want some fucking mittens.
Master the art of putting on your hat in creative ways - A couple of flips in the hand, a toss around the back, caught on the foot and flipped onto your head?! Instant applause and admiration.
Solve a Rubik's Cube - Nevermind. This is hard.
Peel the stickers off a Rubik's Cube and reattach them well enough to give the illusion of solving the puzzle without cheating - SUCCESS!
Hopefully this will get you through until March Madness. I wish you the best of luck and hope these activities help maintain your desire to live.
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