Monday Night Blog-Ball

It's too early in the season for me to hate on football yet. But..... Saturday, Sunday, Monday, Thursday, and who knows what else in between is a lot isn't it?

I bet there was a time when football was only on maybe two days a week. Maybe even only one day. And then with the expansion of networks and the availability of space Monday Night football happened. And then Thursday night. And then and then and then.

Now we have entire cable packages dedicated to just one specific sport at a time. Want every single game ever played at any time? Done.

There is always a game on in this house. Always.

At least now I can say I understand it. I didn't know half the rules before I was married. And now. Well, I still probably don't even understand half of them. I certainly don't understand what was so upsetting about that hit during Saturdays game. I mean, I get the arguments, but seriously, it's like the Army, you should know what you're signing up for.

And the same goes for me in this little marriage I'm in. I should have known what I was signing up for.

But you can tell a girl that her future husband watches a lot of sports, but I don't think any girl, I mean any girl, even a girl that has grown up with three brothers, can truly understand what that statement means. A lot of sports doesn't mean a soccer game when it's conveniently on at three in the afternoon and we happen to be home, or the weekly Nebraska game like I had once thought.

Oh. No.

A lot of sports actually means waking up at 6 or earlier on weekend days to watch all of the soccer games he can get in. A lot of sports means every football game ever. Even old ones that are being replayed on the classics station. Even old good ones that were dvred from the week before and haven't been erased. A lot of sports means basketball, tennis, golf, hockey, baseball, rugby, curling, volleyball, pro football, college football, premiership soccer, US soccer, Italian league, french league, German league, Champions league, International friendlies, all the qualifiers for any tournament anywhere you name it soccer, (Oh, I'm not finished.) pool, bowling(Yes, bowling...), cricket and let's not forget ping pong.

Ok. That my friends is a lot of sports. Needless to say, we can always find something on!

So why on earth should I let Monday Night football the middle of October get to me? I do know that the Superbowl isn't even until February, right? I mean, I'll have had a baby before the end of football season.

Just in time for March Madness.

Oh my.

I've got to pull my crap together.

Plus we all know if it's not on actual TV then there is a PS3 or XBox game around ready and willing to fill in.

Trust me, I can complain about it because it is my constant. But I would much, much, much rather have my man into sports and video games than whatever alternatives there are out there. He's a man. He loves sports. But he loves me more. And more often then not, I am graciously allowed Monday night television for the all important viewing of Gossip Girl. So, pick your poison. I'd like to hear him blog about that just one time! Haha. Or maybe not.....

Besides it's not him. It's totally, 100% me. Or at least the weird, unusual, how should we say..... Bitchy pregnant version of me.

Like to the extreme.

To say that I can barely tolerate humanity is a gigantic understatement.

I don't know what my problem is. I hate everyone and every thing.

Crabby. Irritable. Grouchy. Kind of angry.

And it's very draining. Very. Draining. I don't like being like this at all. Which of course makes it worse. I feel like I am about to become the prophecy of every child's youth, when your mother warns you that if roll your eyes too often they'll become stuck like that forever.

Waiters don't stand a chance with me. I've even found myself yelling and honking at other drivers. Frequently! Store clerks. Telemarketers. My boss. Ahem, ahem. Have all gotten to see this ugly face of a suddenly short temper.

Forget dealing with real issues going on around me. And forget Facebook. That is the worst. I've barely allowed myself on there for fear of snarky remarks at people I haven't talked to in years and have no idea why I'm even friends with them.

Whatever my personal feelings are, I can't just berate someone for posting too often, or boring me out of my eyeballs just because I don't care that you have the best blah blah blah, or have asked a question and want me to respond and then repost. The logical part of my barely functioning brain reminds me that that's what Facebook is therefore. And I have no place to judge those people for fulfilling the very purpose of the all encompassing Social Network.

There have been moments of weakness however when I'm afraid I'll just delete the whole damn thing and chuck my computer out the window. But then again, I logically remind myself what is the big deal? There isn't one. Plus there are a handful, or like thirty people I really do like on there!

So I avoid and ignore.

That's the only strategy that seems to be working for me.

It's terrible. And by it I mean me. Which is even worse, because generally I like to think of myself as the champion of mankind, accepting all for who they are and refusing to judge on the basis of what I understand human nature to really be.

Come on, we all know I think highly of myself.

And although, I'm obviously not always above reproach, especially on the whole not judging other people issue. I am usually a lot better than what this ugly version of self is.

See? This isn't me.

An alien has invaded my body. A mean, hateful, irritable alien.

It doesn't seem fair. I prefer to love rather than hate.

Love. Or at least liking people is way easier than not liking them.

I don't know what my problem is. Plus, because I'm used to liking rather than not liking, I feel like the guilt and remorse is much stronger because suddenly I'm having an emotional identity crisis than if I would be hateful all of the time.

I'm snapping at people! Like verbally short and rude. The poor Bakers check out cashier never stood a chance. And what did she really do to me that was so terrible? I could pay for potatoes twice, it would not have killed me.


Oh, but let me tell you. When I'm not acting out in a juvenile, aggressive, bully-ing fashion I'm definitely more air headed than I ever thought possible.

It's bad folks.

Today, my mother(Which I will tell you the whole story, but trust me, tonight is not a good night for that....) was at the doctor and since we were her ride we found a park nearby to play at while we waited.

Which another side note! The park was full of sand. SAND. I hate sand! My children just absolutely love sand. Like, I'm not kidding, when we got to the park they both laid down in the sand and rolled around in it. And the only thoughts going through my head are what neighborhood cats are using this playground as their own personal litter box! Or what crackhead's needles are sticking just far enough out of the ground to give my children both AIDS and Hepatitis. Yea, that's what I associate sand with. Totally crazy, I know, but I can't get over it. PLUS, it's in all of their clothes and between their toes and fingers and deep inside their nails and Scarlett eats it and it gets in her diaper and all in Stella's hair and it doesn't come out!

Can you see why I hate sand?


So anyways, we are there and another woman comes with her little boy, who is about Scarlett's age and so the two of them start to play.

The woman, who is totally dressed straight out of Africa, so you know I'm already wanting to be friends with her, find out where's she's from and then get to know everything about her, comes over to talk to me.

She has a thick accent and I am loving hearing about how she has seven children and her oldest are twins, which you know I want twins, and all of this stuff. So finally I ask her where she is from and she tells me the Sudan and then she extends her hand for me to shake it and tells me again, "Hi, I'm from the Sudan."

Well, it was totally just awkward enough to catch me off guard. I had thought she was going to say her name, so I was prepared to say mine.

Except that when she changed the direction of the conversation to where she was from it prompted me to do the same thing.

So in her thick accent, dressed in clothes from the Sudan, she has explained where she is from.

I respond, dressed as an American, in America, with white skin and freckles and white children and the whole works, "Hi, I'm from.......... (Not knowing how to finish it now....) here." And I gesture around.

Like, possibly I'm actually from the park. Born right under the tall, winding slide....

She just looked at me funny.

So I recovered, "Oh, I mean, Um, I mean, My name is Rachel."

Smooth, huh?

She was obviously too frightened to give me her name back. I would have been.

So that is where I'm at. I'm lost and confused inside of this only half-functioning angry brain of mine. Thankfully we've reached the third trimester so the end of this insanity is in sight, but unfortunately my issues just seem to be getting worse....

Is there some kind of herb or vitamin I can take that adjusts my mood???? I doubt Ambien is in the approved pregnancy mood adjusters....


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