Just to set the stage.
So it is the first day's coverage of the second round of the greatest sports tournament ever and I can't smudge this glorious happy-asshole smirk off my unshaven, unbathed face. My fiance has decided to spend the day at the gym with her mother and afterwards are planning on going out to eat and to look at "wedding crap".
This house's ass is mine.
So where does that put me?
Well, I'm laying upstairs in my office, doors closed, in the recliner 3 feet from the television, right next to the open window pouring in the first warm breeze of Spiring, resting my ice cold beer on the window sill, while taking occasional looks across the fence next door to watch the creepy old lady mess with her garden and attempt to keep her massive wedgie from literally splitting her butt into two pieces.
Basically, here is a completely useless, non-breaking news, synsposis of how today's activites settled in with the good doctor.
1:48 p.m.
Tyreke Evans is a bad mother something. Lost in the shuffle of D. Rose going to the NBA was a very special player. He almost reminds me of a point guard-oriented Eric Gordon, because of his amazing ability to always get to the basket.
2:03 p.m.
Holy Shit. I swear to god that my mom's boyfriend looks exactly like Arizona's head coach, Russ Pennel. The only difference is that Russ probably doesn't insist on wearing Hawaiin tropical shirts that are two sizes too big all the time.
2:08 p.m.
Villanova just went up 51-32 with 17 minutes left. I was skeptical penciling them in my Final Four, but they are making me feel better and better each trip down the court. Watching the Wildcats play today is alot like watching Cops at 2 in the morning. You can't help but feel that much better about yourself as the show goes on.
2:13 p.m.
That E-Trade commercial with the white and black babies makes me giggle.
2:18 p.m.
So does that damn midget on the Burger King commercials for those miniature burger things. I would actually pay money to hang out with that little guy, but only if he wore that farmer gear everywhere we went. That and he had to say his line about how "he should know, because he's a farmer" line once an hour.
2:29 p.m.
Whhhhooooo. If it was illegal to trap hot and steamy farts in your recliner, I'd be on "Cops".
2:33 p.m. That girl in the Burger Kind miniature burger commercial sounds like she is getting off when that dude unwraps the little burgers. I wish that trick really worked. Suddenly I'd have a use for those Burger King gift certificates my Grandma is always stuffing in my stocking at Christmas. I am not sure who the hell gave her the idea that I love Whoppers so much.
2:40 p.m.
Dude. If that bitch next door bends over one more damn time she's seriously gonna hurt herself.
2:48 p.m. To make this day officially the best day ever, I will be taking a break (i'm sure you are just crushed) to take a trip to the grocery store. I'm going to pick out the biggest, juiciest New York strip I can find. But get this. I already moved the grill on the back deck within reach of the back door of the sun room. This way, I can literally watch the games in the sun room, while reaching my arm out the sliding door and flipping over my steak.
Now supposedly, watching your first child being born is the greatest thing ever, but I now think I have a good idea of what they're talking about. Besides, watching your favorite orphice expand to the size of a grapefruit just doesn't seem that great to me.
6:10 p.m.
Sorry for the delay, but I have felt pregnant for the last two hours. After taking my dogs to the lake to let them swim, I picked up that ridiculously large piece of meat I referred to earlier. Anyways, now things are in full gear. Not only did I go to Comcast and pick up a long enough cable cord to stretch all the way out to my back deck, I have gone a step further and drug my big screen out onto the deck and have created a tent by stapling bed sheets and tying them around posts on the deck. Basically, I am watching these evening games inside a magical tent of bed sheets and Michelob Light. Daylight savings time is good, but if it wasn't for the sun still being high in the sky, I wouldn't have had to go to such extremes in order to watch the television outside without the glare. But then again, I also wouldn't have been sitting in my magical basketball tent.
6:33 p.m.
Purdue is completely dispanting Washington. I'm no Boilermaker fan, but I can't help from pull for the last team left from our fine state.
6:40 p.m.
Who would've guessed. Michigan is only down one at halftime to Oklahoma. Well, besides the annoying "bracket guy" at the bar that has "called" all of the upsets and any game that he is currently watching. Seriously, is there anything worse than "bracket guy"? Now I even think it is acceptable to bring your bracket sheet (ONE only though) to a bar to check your sheet periodically, but if you have two different colored highlighters and leave the sheet out on the bar in front of you, a tool prevention program might be necessary. However, that is coming from a guy that totes his laptop computer with him to the bar to check fantasy sports stats.
7:01 p.m.
I love the commercial for Axe deodorant where the guy has water literally shooting out of his armpits. chuckle. chuckle. chuckle.
7:09 p.m.
My Saint Bernard is currently rolling around in the mulch. She looks so excited and happy. If only I could have that much fun rolling around in mulch. Then again though, I've never tried it. Maybe after another six pack I'll give it a shot.
7:15 p.m.
Washington is playing smellier than the dingleberry I pulled out of my dog's fur this morning.
7:33 p.m.
I am hearing sirens in the near distance. Maybe I should check in on my neighbor. Perhaps her "super wedgie" has finally injured her rectum.
7:42 p.m.
I wonder if Washington's Issah Thomas is a big queer as well.
7:46 p.m.
I am not going to be able to handle seeing many more of the 79, 89, and 99 cent nacho deals without giving into the temptation. However, think about it. Why the hell would you pay 79 cents for a 3 layer nacho when you can get a 7 layer nacho for only 20 cents more. Everyone knows that more is ALWAYS better. Well, except for adolescent acne, crack, and the amount of C-Section scars at a certain podunk strip club in Covington, Kentucky.
8:01 p.m.
That will conclude today's blogging session. The sun is beginning to set, so soon I will be taking down my magical tent of basketball and filling my stomach with ice cold beer and a plethora of Cinnamon Toast Crunch, with the occasional bowl of Fruity Pebbles mixed in.
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