If you wanna feel better about your family, just read about ours...

Starring: a dad, a mom, a son & daughter-in-law, a daughter & son-in-law, a teen, a tween, 1 grandson, 3 granddaughters, 3 dogs, and a whole lot of love.

Family Story Pic

Family Story Pic


Saturday, November 26, 2016

Football Games

Things I've learned about my husband:

1. Football is considered a life source and therefore he eats, breathes, and lives it. More specifically, football played by THE Ohio State Buckeyes. (Emphasis THE, pronounced thee, for some reason.)

2. Nothing elicits an eye roll from him faster than a tall-feather-hatted marching band UNLESS it's THE(E) Ohio State Band. aka; The Best Damn Band In The Land. (Not THEE best damn band. Just The. Keep it straight.) And you will stand on your feet for the damn band, or else.

Things he's learned about me:
1. I read books during football games.
Don't judge me. I cheered for football in high school, I force my daughters to pose for annual cheer uniform photos with me wearing mine...and sometimes theirs just to shake things up...and I still remember the routine, and have been known to perform it, when the Buckeyes score, because the OSU tune is the same as Shawnee's fight song. So, play the song and I will dance, but as for watching the game, no. But I'm still totally cool, just so we're clear.

2. If he doesn't roll his eyes when I pull out my book, I won't roll mine when the drum major high-kick-leads the tuba player to dot the "i" in script Ohio. I'm not saying they're not the best damn band, because they really are, but I don't get all teary-eyed.

With our agreements in place, we try to attend a couple games a year, because according to him, there's nothing like watching the game in "the shoe." See, it's called the shoe because the stadium is shaped like a horse shoe, not a tennis shoe, and that's a really dumb question to ask, so don't. Not that I did. Just, don't.

Last month, we attended a game with our son and daughter-in-law, and we decided to give tailgating a try, because we've never done that. So, Ron bought a tiny charcoal grill, we threw some meat in a cooler, and cornhole boards in the back of the van, because we're not gonna look like virgin tailgaters, peeps.

That is, until our flame kept going out, so we gathered dry pine needles to drop in there and then we'd douse the grill with lighter fluid, (between the hamburgers and hot dogs, we're not idiots), dodge the shooting flames, and try not to make a scene. Then we figured out that you should wait until your charcoals actually start burning before you put the meat on the grill, so we used sticks to lift the searing hot grate of meat off the grill and put it on the ground on a campaign sign we conveniently had in the back of the van, because you never know when you might need one. Remind me to throw a pair of pot holders in there, would ya?

The Ohio State Medical Center might wanna seriously reconsider their "Game Day Charity Parking" in their lot.

We choked down our smoke-flavored-chemical-seasoned meat off the ground and walked to the stadium like a boss. We're like tailgating pros now.

We found our seats and it occurred to me. I forgot a book. I was sitting in a shoe with no freaking book. And then it got worse. A loud obnoxious guy directly behind me began frequently standing up and yelling, "It's GAAAAAAAME DAYYYYY" in case the other 100,000 people there didn't know that, because he's helpful. So to escape the situation, I made trips to the bathroom with my daughter-in-law, but 2 out of 2 times, I got hit on, because I wore the only red thing I own, and apparently a tank top that says 'Take Me To The Weekend' makes for a perfect invitation for creepers to offer to take me. Ron scolded me for wearing it and stopped letting me go to the bathroom. I think that's called victim blaming.

So there I was, grounded to my seat, searching for something to busy myself. And that's when I saw him. The kid sitting next to Zac, and I knew he looked like somebody, I just couldn't put my finger on who the somebody was. All I knew was that the somebody was a cartoon kid. Not a cartoon cartoon. But like, a pixel cartoon. Zac agreed and thought maybe the Polar Express kid, so I googled him but that wasn't it. Then I did that thing where you stare at somebody and try imagining them in different scenes (insert loud intrusive "It's GAAAAAAME DAYYYY" from over my shoulder...SHUT UP!) and then I closed my eyes and began picturing him talking to Santa and....O.M.G!!! He's the Rise Of The Guardians kid!!!

And there it was. My mission was to get a picture of the real life pixel kid, who became my hero in the final battle scene of The Rise Of The Guardians, when he looked the boogie man in the face and said, "I do believe in you. I'm just not afraid of you." Because that's what I envision myself saying every time I square off with Satan.

Leave me alone, you wouldn't survive a day in my head. The voices alone would eat you alive.

Anywho, the real life pixel kid was not makin' a discreet photo op easy on me. Just look over here at my phone without realizing I'm taking your picture, dammit!!

By 4th quarter, I'd had enough. This was gonna happen one way or the other. I tried the one way. Time to try the other. The straight forward approach. By that point, some people in the seats in front of us had left, so Zac and Barbara moved down to make more room. That placed me directly beside pixel.

Be friendly, not creepy. The kid's like 15 and I'm wearing a shirt with the words "Take me" across my newly-implanted chest. Play it cool. Be Casual. This calls for discretion. Here goes...

"So. Has anyone ever told you that you look just like the pixel kid on The Rise Of The Guardians?"

Ok, so I suck at discretion.

He answered, "No, but that sounds like something my Grandma Judy would say."

Grandma Judy?! Your GRANDMA JUDY?!?
Why you little son of a ......

"It's GAAAAME DAYYYYY"....I'm going to hurt you in the parking lot.

So today Ron and Zac are in the shoe for the big Ohio State/Michigan Game. They didn't take me.
Mustn't embarrass ourselves.
Or something.

No comments:

Post a Comment