How Winning the Superbowl Is Like Losing Your Virginity


Hot damn, the Seahawks did it! We fucking KILLED THE BRONCOS yesterday in a total Rain City Redemption.

But can I be totally honest…

I was bored.

I love football. Not to the crazy chest-painting level, but definitely more of an appreciation than your average girl (whatever the hell that means). But yesterday’s game was exciting for maybe the first half, and then…snorefest. Even the commercials were over the top sappy and I spent my time texting some friends who were at least drinking on the East Coast at their Super Fan all-expenses-paid-party (did I mention the party I was at was dry? Yeah, maybe that contributed to my apathy).

When we left, Boof said “well, that was hyped up like Prom movies and I have that feeling of letdown like when you get to prom and realize that it’s really just not that cool.” I mean, don’t get me wrong, I loved winning, I loved hearing the fireworks and knowing that we FINALLY have a Super Bowl championship under our belt, but it kinda felt like losing one’s virginity in the back seat of a Dodge Dart. Ya know? Like, sounds good in theory (does it? really?), but isn’t as exciting when you’re experiencing it as you first thought.

At any rate, I’m glad we won. I hope we win again. But I was hoping for a little more spice. My buddy Russ said it perfectly, when he tweeted out “So, the NFC championship was the Super Bowl,” because THAT game was balls out amazing.

Though, can we talk for a second about Percy Harvin? Talk about a ferrari of a player! Looking forward to his continued contribution next year…

What were YOUR thoughts on the Super Bowl yesterday?

On Housing a Football Star in My Womb

I’m not really sure what moms-to-be really mean when they say they all felt “flutters” as the first kick, because let me tell you…Baby Boof (now that we have established that it is, indeed, a gentleman baby inside of me) was certainly not dainty like a butterfly. The first kick felt distinctly like a finger-thwack from the inside, as if to say, “hey lady, just wanna let you know I’m in here,” or maybe he loved/hated what I ate for dinner that night and was asking for more of it or to never have it again. It’s hard to tell what a certain alien-like creature inside me is really trying to communicate, since English hasn’t yet begun, and I don’t speak Thwack. Although, perhaps I could teach him the lost art of Morse Code?

Now, at the beginning of 25 weeks the kicks have become more distinct and I am always wondering what the hell is going on inside of me (and why he prefers the right side of my belly to the left) and then I got THIS ultrasound:

Well golly gee, doesn’t that just explain it all? Though help me decide…is my uterus currently a USC football field with Baby Boof as the star quarterback scoring the winning touchdown (notice the Heisman pose he’s got going on there) or am I birthing a 70’s throwback to John Travolta and Saturday Night Fever (referencing a movie I’ve never actually seeen, and am only guessing at the star actor. It could have been Kevin Bacon or Dean Martin for all I really know).

So here I am, trying to live a normal existence as a pregnant lady, and my child is throwing a dance party inside my womb. Brilliant.