Blizzard of 2009

I spent the blizzard of 2009 stuck in Philly. I say stuck, but I wasn't really - I knew it was coming. Philly got almost two feet of snow. It was gorgeous. We walked to a house party through the blizzard Saturday night, stopping at a bar halfway to stay warm with yes, more beer, watch the end of the Cowboys/New Orleans game (Cowboys, you've redeemed yourself in December for once), and contemplate how crazy we were to walk right past the Eastern State Penitentiary for yes, more beer and a mini IC reunion. I was freezing cold on the way back but really, really happy because how often do you get to wander through two feet of snow with your friends or walk smack in the middle of a normally very busy and very clear city street? And the next morning, four strangers not only helped us clean off two cars and clear a parking space, but it was really nice to see all these people out trying to figure out what the hell to do with all this snow. You don't get that in the 'burbs -- you just get people cursing at their long driveways and sidewalks that they have to shovel off. 

I liked seeing all the people out on a freezing cold Sunday morning, I really did, even when I had free tickets to the Jets game -- which would have been my first live NFL game EVER -- that I couldn't use because I couldn't get back up to Jersey in time. Hell, they lost anyway. But I WILL see an NFL game in the flesh already. Now I'm just determined.

This is my life. Or my brain. Or both.

I overanalyze everything. It's just how I roll. It's a take it or leave it part of my personality -- you have to appreciate or at least respect that everything plays through my mind on repeat because I can't make an inherent part of me disappear. Now do I like this? Of course not. It'd be awesome to just go through life without questioning what happens, but conversations run over and over again through my head. Just when I think I'm done overanalyzing, I've moved on to the next piece of the word puzzle. Why was that brought up first? Why was this said at all? Did I say everything I needed to? When is it okay to keep the conversation going if it happened days or weeks ago?

I usually think I've said something dumb, but don't realize it until two days later -- and can you fix what you said or do you just let it go? Did the other person even notice? Or if you've done something you know they wouldn't like or aren't a fan of, not major, a little thing, did you lose them forever? Should you have thought before moving or talking or looking or thinking? And the real question -- did you even do anything wrong at all if you were being yourself, saying whatever you were thinking, or simply asking questions? Probably not, feels like that anyway. 

I wasn't always like this. Sure I've overanalyzed my entire life, but the point it's at now can only be blamed on one person and/or incident, however you (or I) would like to call it. Over-analytical? Sure. Over-emotional? No. But times change, the people in your life change, even if you're still in the same spot. And so now I'm stuck being that girl who can't shut her brain off, who would be so happy if she could, and is betting anyone else she's had a conversation with has all but dropped it from their brains while it's still running through hers.

When someone discovers how to fix the broken record that is the human brain, let me know, eh?

Time to move to Vegas & become a Monopoly millionaire!

A 19-year-old Norwegian kid with more o's in his name than Bill Gates' bank account won $20,580 in the Monopoly world championship.

Why the weird number? Well= kids, that's how much money is in your 20-year-old board game. And why is there a Monopoly world championship? Well kids, because there are also champions of Guitar Hero, Nathan's hot dog eating contests, and curling. And since this tournament was held in Las Vegas, the same city that holds a rocks paper scissors championship and let Celine Dion live for almost five years, it really comes as no surprise that a board game bonanza such as this one exists.

Now if only I could use $20,580 of Monopoly money at the mall, I'd feel as lucky as that Norwegian boy with no life and a bigger bank account than I have.

Or I'd roll like Kanye West and buy these:

The most expensive water bottle in history.

Oh, Mangini. Remember when we thought you were going to take the Jets somewhere, back when Farve donned a gangreen #4 and the team was still 8-1. Somewhere between the Jets hitting 8-2 and your current 1-6 record with the Cleveland Browns, you decided you had to prove how tough you really were. After all, you are the same coach who prefers to play it safe over taking chances, which is respectable in many games. Like when you play, say, the Patriots.

Mangini, we know you come from the Bill Belichick School of Say Nothing To The Press And Wear Sleeves-Cut-off Hoodies [fine education at that university], but did you really have to prove this by fining one of your players $1,701 for forgetting to pay for a bottle of water from his hotel room...that cost $3? That is one expensive plastic bottle. And here I thought Poland Spring had gotten pricey.

We get it, Mangini. You've got to teach those players a lesson! Show them that they can't get away with nothin' round these here parts of Ohio! But maybe asking him nicely to pay the hotel the $3 would have been acceptable? Hell, charge him interest - make him pay $5! There's a very thin line between hardass coach and trying-too-hard coach, and, Mangini, you've proven that you are still a Belichick student. Almost there, head coach. Almost.

Could be worse for that unnamed Browns player though. He could have worn a Jason mask during pregame introductions and been fined $10,000 for being an idiot. Yes, I'm talking to you, Sheldon Brown. Save that for Halloween, eh?

Photos: Courtesy of Deadspin.com; US Presswire

Sometimes we're all just a little bit crazy

For someone who prides themselves on thinking like a boy, I do excessively dumb girl-like things. You know, because I am one. Like, being needy or over-texting or running conversations (or non-conversations) through my brain over and over again until they're nothing but crazy sounds.

The funny thing is, I have told myself many times to change, to not do things that I know are stupid or that might get me hurt or, hey, are just plain crazy. But you know how trying to change other people never gets you anywhere? Trying to change yourself can be just as difficult. We all have deeply embedded habits and tendencies and trying to make yourself, well, less nuts, is often very difficult. It takes time and tripping over yourself and screwing up until you figure it out for yourself, not because other people tell you what you should or shouldn't do.

This probably sounds like a random rant, but truth is there are certain things that have bothered me for a very long time and that have gotten worse rather than better in the last year or so. As much as I want to fix some of the dumb things in my brain and stuff I've said to others, I'm just making things worse. As Leah made the valid point of: "I think you have a tendency to try to fix things, and that's where you get in trouble."

True. So the question is - how do you fix something you can't control? Trying to change your personality is like, well, trying to change your boyfriend. It ain't never gonna happen, honey. Move on to the next boy if this one isn't working. But I can't move on from my brain. In conclusion, I may pretend I can think like a boy, but clearly I do not about many, many things. And that just sucks sometimes.

January Jones Is My New Hero

I don't watch Mad Men. I recognized January Jones' name from being on fashion pages before anyone knew anything about her. I certainly knew nothing about her except that she has a cool name. But I learned lots of fun facts from her GQ cover story like:

1. "I hung out with dudes in high school,” she says. “We were the hippies—into the Dead, Zeppelin, Phish. I was a lifeguard at the water park, and I remember the day Jerry died."

2. "I’m a beer-pong champion! Among my friends, anyway."

3. "I don’t really go to clubs all that much—I just like going to friends’ houses, playing Wii, having a beach fire in Malibu. I’m always the first person at every party to ask if we can make a fire.”

4. “Dear men of America, I like beer, I like football. I’m probably the most interesting girl you’ll ever meet.”

Aside from the fact that January Jones is insanely hot and much blonder than I am, the majority of those quotes could have come out of my mouth. In fact they have, save the one about the day Jerry Garcia died (though I did just buy a dancing bears bumper sticker, and when I was 13, my biggest goal in life was to be a hippie).

I like beer and football and hippies. I've tried to take boys down in beer pong (that story will come soon -- don't you worry). I have told many boys before that I like bars and sports bars and sports, and I get one of two reactions -- one, that I say that so they'll like me but I'm really lying, or two, that I'm a really cool chick who can hang with the boys and not make fun of their beer guts. Little do they know that I'm like any other needy, over-analytical chick, but let them figure that out later. Truth is, it's not a lie. I hate wine and first date dinners and ruffly shirts.

I like dive bars and house parties and mix tapes and not needing to make excuses for it, but turns out, you always have to make excuses. If you're too girly, if you're too tomboy-ish, if you try too hard to please others, if you're too selfish, if you're too sexy, if you're too prudish. Ever notice that boys never have to make excuses for who they are? They just... are. Most things in life are full of double-standards for girls and guys. Just saying "I like beer" can be taken as something besides, oh, "I like beer." Sometimes I think it must be so much easier being a dude. Actually, I think that all the time.

But then again, doesn't "I'm a beer pong champion" seem way hotter coming out of January Jones' mouth than say, your frat boy ex?

Thought so.

Photo: Courtesy of GQ

She may have been on American Idol, but Kelly Clarkson is a badass.

I went to the absolutely sick Kelly Clarkson show last night. That girl can sing. I kept turning to Leah and going, 'My voice doesn't do that.' Sure she looked, well, awful in those black & gold bell-bottoms, but she was so damn cute and happy and talking to the crowd and rocking out to a cover of The White Stripes' "Seven Nation Army" and her own songs off All I Ever Wanted (that I didn't know most of because Leah gave me that album during my post-breakup traumatic stress disorder, and I therefore didn't want to listen to anything involving boys. Couldn't listen to my Pink CD during that period either, and I heart Pink. So sad).

Kelly's "Since U Been Gone" was our anthem senior year. Every time it came on at Moonie's, you sang-screamed at the top of your lungs. Even the nerdy asexual boy who squeaked as he sang rocked out, to our ears' dismay. Every time. Always hammered.

I've sang that song a billion times with friends and looked like an idiot belting it out in the car, but does anyone actually pay attention to the lyrics with a melody that catchy? 'Cause Kelly is saying some decent shit -- worth a listen if you've ever had your heart broken into itty bitty glass shard-sized pieces.

As in: "how can i put it / you put me on / i even fell for that stupid love song / yeah yeah / since you been gone / how come i never hear you say / i just wanna be with you / guess you never felt that way."

And: "i can breathe for the first time / i'm so movin' on / yeah yeah / thanks to you (thanks to you) / now i get (i get) / you should know (you should know) that i get / i get what i want."

It's badass. Kelly (or whoever wrote it) was all like, 'Look loser, you suck ass, I always get what I want, and, yeah, you suck.' But eloquently. And with a catchy tune behind it. I think I've lived my life more in the refrain part than the chorus part as of late, but I'm working on it. The reason for that will come up in due time. For now, let's enjoy the ex-free posts, shall we? I'm going to go find some more Kelly lyrics to tweet about and think, 'Wish I wrote that. Wish boys weren't stupid. Kelly, why aren't you going back to those red and blonde highlights that I'm gettin myself this Saturday, as I do every fall?'

So many important thoughts tonight...

Photo: Courtesy of Getty Images

He muffed a what? That makes perfect sense!

I wish I knew more about sports. Baseball I'm golden -- I used to play softball. But football? I love watching it. I like dating those who play it. I just don't know shit past the fact that touchdowns are 6 points, footballs are called pigskins, and the 'J-E-T-S, JETS, JETS, JETS!' cheer is very easy to learn.

Okay, I know more than I give myself credit for, though I thought I knew a whole lot more until I read Sports Illustrated's 2009 NFL Preview. I starting reading it 3 weeks ago, and I'm still only on the AFC East. Look, the tiny print makes for difficult reading on an elliptical. Plus I had to make my dad thoroughly explain the difference between a 3-4 vs. a 4-3 defense and why the Dolphins' Wildcat formation can't possibly work forever before continuing said reading. Thanks, Dad, for the crash course in football 101 you would've thought I learned 5 years ago.

Then I read this week's Sports Illustrated and felt stupid all over again. In "Who's Hot, Who's Not," they describe one of the Titans' Ryan Mouton's mistakes against the Jets as "muffing a punt after calling a fair catch." I'm sorry -- muffed a punt? That just sounds dirty. Granted I laugh at the word balls and any "That's what she said" joke uttered, but how does one muff in a non-dirty context? Lady Gaga would not be pleased with a clean use of this word, nor am I. That's why I said, 'That's what she said!' out loud to no one after reading it. High five!

Then again, at least three guy friends told me they stopped their Sports Illustrated subscriptions a few years ago because the mag started sucking. So, hey, I've got that in my confused favor.

Photo: Courtesy Knoxnews.com via AP/Mark Humphrey

I probably should've started blogging a week ago...

My sister asked when I got so into football. She was getting ready to head back to her new apartment, and my dad and I were trying to shove her out the door because she had the audacity to leave after kickoff. C'mon, the Jets were playing the Patriots. Sanchez vs. Brady. It was a big freakin' deal. My response? College.

Fact is I've always liked sports; I played softball, basketball, and soccer growing up (all poorly), then threw heavy metal objects in the air during high school (track & field accepted me when b-ball said, 'Oh hell no, you can't even pull off a layup... because I still can't). And I've always got along better with guys, even if I had pretty much only female friends before college. Luckily, I made up for that in undergrad, thanks to six boys living behind me senior year, my best guy friends who could quote every Family Guy episode ever made, and only dating, well, football players. I made an exception for a wrestler, but that was after I graduated anyway.

But a ridiculous pattern of O-liners in my life is not the reason I like the Jets or football in general. I mean, hi, I like the Mets, too; did you think my blog title was just about alliteration (okay, I do really like that, but besides the point)? I like sports. I like writing. I might as well combine both.

Thing is, there are a million blogs. There are even more people who think they're the most important person in the world, people who think everything they has to say is fantastic, people who think anybody can write, and people who think everyone gives a shit about everything they have to say. None of us are as awesome as we think we are, or wish we are. And I don't know where I stand in general, but one day I'd like to write something that matters. Right now, I'm just a twentysomething chick who really likes sports and tries way too hard to be just one of the boys, and I'm just trying to figure out my life, but hey, that might be good enough.