Of Beer, Football and Cell Phones

E is still in town, which rocks. I am still using his Mac*book, which also rocks. And still does not bode well for my checkbook.

We have done a lot of driving since E has been here--Homebase out of the condo, but travels none the less. E starts his new, shiny real career here shortly, and is taking full advantage of his last few precious "able to sleep till noon and do whatever the hell I want until 3am" days. T has six days off this week (Cue excited noise here) and I don't have to do anything for school for a couple of weeks, so we are all having a glorious little vacation.

Today, we are heading out to the AT*&T store, due to the fact that E and I are both experiencing cell phone woes.

E cannot find the charger for his phone (A brand new LG "shine", which he hates with a passion) and my new i*Phone has decided that it doesn't like to tell time properly. I didn't pay that much moolah to have a super-device that can't figure out what time it is. This is effecting the way I receive text messages and phone calls, which drives me totally insane.

I will be bothering my super effeminate cell phone salesman and weeping at him. (Nothing wrong with his effeminate ways. Seriously. It is, however, sort of strange to see a man who weighs at least 300 pounds wearing eyeliner and having severely plucked eyebrows. Not something you see all the time. Nice dude, however. That being what matters.)

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Last night we went out to my buddy A's new swingin bachelor pad to admire his orange counters and carpeted kitchen, and drink beer.

None of us are big drinkers (anymore) which put a cramp on our style a little. What could have been an uproarious evening of drinking and laughter and the shenanigans therein turned into a "lets watch a movie, talk about football and scare each other when we come out of the bathroom" sort of evening, which is normal. Also proof that we are adults now. Well, aside from that bathroom thing.

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Went to T's little bro's football game last night. Sat right behind the band.

Nothing has changed, to the naked eye, however.

The football team is still not great. The band is still not great. The HS students are still clique-ey bastards.

The band, however not great they may be....is not spunky.

When E and I were in pep-band, those many years ago, we were spunky--had attitude, got involved in the game, were rowdy and often got ejected. (More in basketball than football, but ejected just the same.) The band now just treats it like a chore, whereas we treated it like a game, which is what it was. We all knew each other and were friends, we knew all the football players (some of whom were in band too....), so why not treat it like a social situation where half of us have musical instruments and the other half are beating the shit out of people/getting the shit beaten out of them. How could you not have fun?

Anyway, T's brother is a fucking brick wall of a kid. I never really noticed before, as I am usually praising him for his manners, feeding him or smiling while he mows my lawn. I knew he was an ox, as he often picks me up with one hand/swings his brothers around his head/moves the refrigerator for fun, but it didn't register until he went running out on the field with his pads and gear on and knocked two men over two hundred pounds to the ground without so much as a strain.

I thought T's head was going to fly off. Few things get my normally mild-mannered husband-to-be riled up like football--Defiantly football played by his old team, involving his baby brother. He couldn't sit still, couldn't have a conversation, couldn't answer a question. It was cute and endearing for about 45 minutes. Then I knitted and made fun of people with E, so everyone was fine.

(They lost. By a large margin. But it's ok. I don't know that T or his brother know that, but it's true.)