Regardless, I'm wearing a very "springy" blouse to work today. I don't really have the closet space or cash to invest in an entire wardrobe for each season. I think it matches my mood.
|Excuse the mirror shot.|
And, more specifically, my lack of ability/interest/obsession with it. Don't get me wrong, I love going to football games. I don't mind watching the Patriots play on a breezy afternoon. But I'm far from a super-fan.
My roommate and my boyfriend (and practically everyone I know) does Fantasy Football. In case you live under a rock, that's where you pick players to make your own team, except your players come from all different teams. And then there's some mystical points system for every play or do-dad that happens on the field. Whatever. Point is, I don't get it. It's like, the average game of football is too boring with the teams that have been carefully selected by coaches and draftsmen (I may have made that title up) and the teams... so let's have everyone make up their own imaginary teams. I really think it's just an excuse for guys to sit around all day on Sunday (and Monday night... and Thursday... and Saturday sometimes) and drink beer and yell at the TV. That's fine, you want to act like a barbarian for the 4-hour game where your team is playing their rival? Cool, go do that. But you're telling me you're going to spend twelve hours yelling at an inanimate object because some running back for the Jaguars didn't get you enough points for your imaginary, non-real, pretend game?
Am I the only one who thinks this sounds completely insane? Maybe I'm just bitter because I have to hear about how many points Wes Welker didn't earn anyone yesterday... but then again, how long could you listen to complaints about a completely made-up and pretend game? Thought so... looks like I'm not alone.
I'm not going to lie, when I originally heard of Fantasy Football, I thought it was women playing the sport in lingerie. Which, apparently, is also a sport in it's own league, also (confusingly) named "Fantasy Football," but at least that one makes sense for guys to be glued to the TV for hours on end. Oh, no, instead of gawking at beautiful and toned women in lacy thongs, our men are hooked on watching sweaty, 400-pound, dreadlocked men run around in tight spandex pants and grunt at each other. I know when I put it in that perspective, you're thinking the only thing gayer would be if the half-time show was a chip-n-dale pole dance. In which case, I might start watching more football...
Alright, since you think I'm a huge hater of everyone's favorite fall activity, I'm going to go now.