I'm noddin' my head like yeah.

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.

I shot a man in Reno.

I'm kind of on edge this today... er... this week.  No?  This month?  Ok fine.  I have a short fuse.  I'd like to think I'm usually more calm, cool and collected.  Can we blame this on PMS?  Because that's what I'm going with... who cares if I've been using this excuse for the past decade?  I would suggest against challenging me on this.  Know who the real victims here are?  Boys.  Any boys.  All boys.  Before the clog wearing feminists ignite their sensible bras on fire with the same flame that set ablaze the nag champa, let me explain:  Sure they don't have to go through childbirth, they get paid more, blah, blah, blah.  But we are looking past something that must really suck: they have balls. (Or ball as the case may be... which may be more awkward than having two.  Who knows?)  I'd much rather have a baby then have balls.  PLUS when they have their panties in a wad for no apparent reason they can't blame it on PMS.  Even though I am relatively sure that several of the men I know actually do have periods.  And if they don't?  Well then they are just dick heads. And they have balls.  So they automatically lose.  


Speaking of men:  do you know what I find to be an offense punishable by at least one flick to your cash and prizes?  When people use the term "my man," or "my girl/woman," you get it...  I find this particularly irksome when someone you know well enough to recognize the significant other's real name.  We get it.  You are in a relationship.  Unless you are a 13 year still hanging out with your mom and dad on the weekend... or 43 years old still hanging out with your mom and dad on the weekend, there is no reason to use pet names, nick names, etc.  Real names people.  Thanks.


Did you know that it is a mere 22 days until UT football starts?  Do you know what else that means?  It's almost fall... here's a little taste of what I am most looking forward to about fall:

• First and foremost:

Football time in TENNESSEE!!!!!

• Red wine
• Hoodies
• Onesies
• Sitting on the front porch and not having a heat stroke
• Cooper Young Fest / House warming partaaaaaay
• Knee high boots
• Closed toe shoes
• Thanksgiving
• Of course it's not Thanksgiving without Super T

What are YOU looking forward to?


Until tomorrow, my loves.  Here is Johnny Cash.  That's it.


smooches.