Mothertrucker

I don't have it in me to write a tome tonight (though I'm sure I will anyway). I'm worn out from screaming at the Packers and Cowboys as if they could hear me all the way in Dallas. (I gave it my all. They might have heard me.) I went out to watch the game with the guys (and girl) on my fantasy football (FF) team. My dad wanted to go out and watch the game as well, so I brought him along.

I thought it would be fun to screw with the FF guys, so I sent an email out to everyone letting them know that I would be bringing my dad tonight. I also added that my father thinks that I'm a perfect angel and that it would be great if they could help me continue to perpetuate that myth. I knew most of the guys would know that I was completely kidding. I'm sure it's hard for you to imagine me ever being a demure, quiet person just from reading what I write. Imagine if you know me in person. I must have gotten my sense of humor from one or both of my parents, right? (The answer is both. They're both very funny. But while my father is very outgoing, my mother is a complete introvert.)

My sweet boy crush, the one I kissed on Halloween, had no idea that I was kidding though. He went into good behavior mode upon our arrival. He was very polite, and seemed to sit up a bit straighter. When my dad wasn't looking, he would smile knowingly; proud that he was keeping my secret.

At one point, he was shielding his eyes and I asked him what he was doing. "The glare from your halo is blinding me!"

You can imagine his surprise the first time I stood up and screamed at the top of my lungs, "Sack that motherfucker! Son of a bitch! Where's the goddamn defense in this game?!"

His head snapped to the left to see my father's reaction. My father was unperturbed. I doubt he even really heard me. He's been watching football with me my entire adult life. I'm either cussing (that's swearing for the Canadians) at the screen because of a bad play, a bad call, or just because football can be incredibly infuriating; or I'm channeling my dead grandmother by yelling, "Get 'em! Get 'em! Get 'em!" during every play in the countriest accent ever. (I try not to let my grandmother watch the games with me unless I'm in the comfort of my own home. You can't take Memaw just anywhere. What? Y'all don't call your grandmothers "Memaw?")

It was a great game tonight all the way until the end. The end was unfortunate. I hate to ever see the Cowboys win a game, and the bastards have won eleven of them this year. Every time that I go hang out with the gang to watch football, I have a great time. I really should go at every opportunity.

I have to admit I'm feeling a bit regretful (and I HATE to feel regret) about writing about my Canadian adventures. While you might think it's because I revealed that I'm a total whore when I'm outside of my area code, it's not that at all. I'm completely at ease with who I am. I'm a 36-year-old woman who was with one man her entire adult life. I'm sowing my wild oats. I've earned the right.

No, it's that I keep getting more and more visitors from the Toronto area. I didn't think to ask those who knew about the blog to keep it a secret. Truly, this is no one's fault but my own. (Please don't feel bad if you've shared the URL.) I just wasn't using my brain to its full capacity.

But I know, sooner or later, it's going to get back to Luke/Austin, and when I put myself in his shoes and read the entries, it makes me feel bad. I'm not a catty person. It's just not in me. I can laugh at other people, but I laugh at myself most of all. And I generally only laugh at people who find their situation laughable as well. I never laugh at the less fortunate. (I'm a perfect angel, remember?)

When I wrote those entries, it was knowing that I'd never see nor talk to Luke/Austin again. I knew I wouldn't call him by his real name, just as I don't use my own name here. The chances of him finding it and reading it were, in my tunnel-visioned mind, slim to none. Should he find my blog, perhaps he'll read it as it was intended - in a jesting manner - though it's more likely that he'll feel as though he is being maligned for all of the world to read. (Don't worry, Luke/Austin [should you happen upon my space on the web], my readership is intentionally small.)

Anyway, that's where I'm at ... In a state of indecisiveness.