I take pride in the fact that a solid 98% of the time I am the Fort Knox of emotions. While my face will tell you if I think you're a complete fucking idiot or if I am totally in love with everything about you, if I'm sad or mad or pretty much any negative emotion, I can keep myself in check. I mean I keep that shit on LOCK. DOWN. All of this, however, gets thrown out the window when I'm PMS-ing. Like right now. My hormones are out of control. Yesterday I was a sleep deprived psychopath who teared up at the mere mention of anything upsetting. Today I was like an ex-con who hadn't seen a member of the opposite sex in 32 years. For real. I could barely contain myself.
|Oregon: 48 Tennessee: 13. Sad face.|
Tonight was a tough night for my boys up in Knoxville. A valiant effort in the first half seems to be overshadowed by the fact they completely botched the second. We're a young team (with a pretty smoking hot coach... - damn those hormones again) and we'll dominate again. We'll dominate again soon. Up next: the Flordia fucking Gators. The only thing I don't hate about this team was Tebow. And I only liked him because he's such a douche it's comical. Urban Meyer makes me want to punch babies. But only babies that will grow up to be Gator fans.
To top off my night as your stereotypical 25 year old (HA!) I'm watching Hitch and doing laundry. In my own house. That's right. After four months I finally have a working washer and dryer. Oh, and I'm practicing my dance moves. They look a lot like this:
Also, I love America. I love everything about America. I love the stupid people. I love the smart people. I love everything from the West Coast to the East Coast and every boring state in between (I'm talking to you, Nebraska). America is where it's at. Now, go put on your best red, white and blue, turn up the Toby Keith/Lee Greenwood and eat yourself a hot dog. But without ketchup, of course, because only al-Qaeda puts ketchup on hot dogs.