I’d Like to be a Football Player

If I haven’t mentioned it before, I love football.  I love real football and fantasy football and on Saturdays, college football.  And I love the Saints the most.

I can’t play football – I don’t know who can – and I only understand half of what is going on, but I love football season and everything that comes along with it.  Part of that is pre-season.  Which until today, I’ve never even thought about.  But I have a friend who offered me tickets to the Saints-Ravens pre-season game and without hesitation I was en route to Baltimore to attend.  It’s not very often a Yankee such as myself gets to watch the Saints live.  The only problem is that the game is today, a Thursday, and the rest of the world isn’t retired.  So, I figured while everyone who I am here to hang out with works, I’ll blog for the first time in 28 days (eeek sorry about that) and see who I can scout out.

It’s funny, because I figured the players would be difficult to spot.  Not. So. Much. While my one friend sits in her office, and my other friend preps for pre-game, I’m sipping a Blue Moon in the hotel lobby which is SWARMING with players.  Massive black men decked out in SAINTS gear from head to toe.  Like visors with box SAINTS letters, sweatshirts that say SAINTS, pants that say SAINTS down each leg.  So much for being discrete.  However, spoiler alert – they aren’t trying to be discrete!  I just watched one of them walk up to a girl,introduce himself, shake her hand and put her number in his phone within seconds of the conversation occurring.  Others are sitting in booths with their wives and kids and friends and family.  Do you know why? Because they can.  “Oh hey, we’re going to a random pre-season game in Baltimore – let’s fly in the entire family, the pets and the in-laws.”  And I don’t even know these players names – imagine being Drew Brees or Mark Ingram.

So here’s what we have concluded:  Being a football player is great.  Your presence commands the room.  If people don’t know who you are, that’s okay!  They will quickly learn since you’re a walking advertising for yourself.  You’re making enough money to spend all of your time with all of your loved ones no matter where you are located.  Your life is actually the coolest.  And you have nerdy blog girls trying to play it cool in her subtle Saints hoodie watching you from the other side of the bar.  I mean that in the least creepy way humanly possible.  And you can tell here that is true!  I haven’t even taken photos yet.  But I’ll also be on the field in a couple of hours so the non-creepy ends here.

On that note…

WHO DAT SAY DEY GON BEAT DEM SAINTS?!?!

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Not the Girl I Used to Be

I prided myself in college for my deep connection with my Irish roots and the way I could hold my alcohol. Whether or not I was fun to hang out with, I’ll let my college friends attest to, but I had no problem closing down a bar and waking up relatively hang-over free. I’m guessing they had a pretty good time too. 

  

   

I’ve often heard the age old saying “I’m no spring chicken” or “I just can’t party like I used to” and felt terrible for whomever made such an admittance. I would never be that person. At least not until I was gainfully employed with a dreamy doctor husband and perfect children and didn’t have time to over indulge in tequila shots because of my successful Doggie Daycare side business and fabulous dinner parties. 

And I was wrong.

I hate being wrong. Especially in situations like this. I didn’t open my eyes until noon yesterday because I said ‘yes’ to Fireball shots on Wednesday night. At one time- Fireball only whispered temptations in my ears and introduced me to one of my best friends, Digornio Rising Crust. Now, it comes through like a Mac truck and I’m the pavement. 

  

The only thing worse than a vicious hangover is checking your phone the next morning. When you’re in the early stages of dating is when it’s the worst. Incoherent text messages. Outgoing calls. Outgoing calls long enough to imply you left a voicemail. Ouch. You can only use the excuse ‘oh I meant to call (insert name that begins with the same initial- ideally another guy to make them jealous- even though they’re probably just freaked out- here) and must have hit the wrong name!’ So many times. 

 
Pictures can also be dangerous. Especially if you take photos with your girlfriends in the bathroom of the bar and your drunk eyes see the most gorgeous woman in the world so you decide you should send it to any and all potential suitors out there. Like the following. To my knowledge this wasn’t sent out, due to all of our lack of potential suitors- but I hate bathroom selfies in real life. I hate selfies in general. And taking a picture in the bathroom is just stupid. But apparently, my drunk alter ego deemed this the ideal way to celebrate a triple crown win- notice It was so exciting that I’m still holding soap- TAKE IT RIGHT NOW WE ARE EVEN MORE BEAUTIFUL BEFORE WE WASH OUR HANDS!!   

I guess I’m just sad because I thought I would at least carry my strong tolerance through my 20s. And it isn’t going to happen. But maybe it’s for the best. I’ll cut back on drunk dials and silly selfies and harsh hangovers. I guess I’m just not the girl I used to be. I blame you entirely, Fireball. 

  

God Bless Baltimore

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If it were up to me five years ago, I’d be living in Baltimore right now.  I went to a fabulous college in Baltimore and worked for their fantastic Major League Baseball team upon graduation.  I love Baltimore.  And I am deeply disturbed watching the rioting throughout the streets that I used to live on.  My brother lives there.  My cousin lives there.  Some of my favorite friends live there.  So please – before you go to bed tonight – say a prayer for Baltimore.