Tuesday, October 03, 2006

Meaningless sex is fun for twenty or thirty years, but after that, it starts to get old.

1) Fate has a way of intervening in the relationship between the Resident Female and myself that is not always pleasant. For a perfect example of this, examine Sunday. After a perfectly lovely Saturday spent together (see post 6), on Sunday our relationship was thrown headlong into turmoil. "Why did this happen?" you might ask? Well, The Resident Female and I both are faithful followers of our respective regional football teams: She loves the Queen's City Kitties, and I the New United Kindgom Minutemen. Unfortunately for us, these two noble squads clashed on Sunday in her hometown. Unfortunately for her, my boys absolutely throttled her Bengals. Unfortunately for me, I am incapable of keeping my mouth shut. Apparently, I also am incapable of resisting the urge to taunt her, inform her that there is still space on the Patriots' bandwagon, repeatedly try to put my Patriots hat on her head in the middle of the game, or laughing maniacly and pointing her out to other Pats fans so that they might join in. Needless to say, I need to buy a nicer couch because my back just can't take this.

2) That said, it was a pleasant experience to see the boys in red, white, and blue lay a wallop on a good team. And man alive, is that Laurence Maroney something! That boy stiff-armed the living crap out of two defenders in a way I haven't ever seen a Pats' running back do. Man alive, this team may still have some life yet. Granted, I still think people wrote them off a bit prematurely because a) the Jets got two long touchdowns on a fluke play and a poor tackling job and b) because they never have looked good against Denver (and I mean never). The Pats are still one hell of a team, especially once Brady gets his rythm with Gabriel, Jackson, and Caldewell. Oh, and don't forget our 9 tight ends.

3) Ah, it is with a sad heart that the Red Sox season comes to a close. A year that seemed to me as a transition year at the start to a new, better, younger team seems to have somehow made the team's prospect moving forward look worse and still disappointed like you wouldn't believe. So the 3rd place Red Sox must retool and rework a large portion of their roster this winter. Well, much like every other season (including 2004), there is always a hint of sadness when the season closes on my favorite baseball team, as the warm, halcion days of pitch, hit, and catch give way to the chilly and stagnant daily standings of football. Alas, 2006 Red Sox, I thank you for a summer filled with the joy of baseball, three hours a night. Here's to Papi hitting 60 dingers next year.

4) On another sad note, the only baseball that seems left to watch are the games where the Juicy Boys try to slug their way to a World Series title that they rightfully purchased. I've noticed that many of my Yankees fan "friends" have finally hopped back on the bandwagon, their enmeshed "Y" and "N"s once again donning their heads for the first time since they blew the largest lead in playoff history. Well, I've decided that my only recourse is to wear my "Making History: Greatest Comeback in Playoff History" "2004 Red Sox" T-shirt every single day that HGHiambi and his raucous band of millionaires take the field. Any Yankee fan tries to gloat over me, well, they better have won another 11 games before they do so. That's all I'm saying.

5) Here is an article that suggest new anti-psychotic drugs are only slightly more effective (if at all) than newer and significantly more expenxive ones. So don't be surprised in the coming weeks if a lot of doctors that prescribed the drugs that are less effective but 10 times more expensive than the generics to show up brutally murdered.

6) And on a personal note, the throngs of those in thongs are a bit sadder today. Yes, it's true, Fletcher Austin McGuffin has now officially agreed to become Mr. Fletcher Austin McResident-Female. In a lovely evening this weekend, one that was so romantic it would make even the most over-the-top French Poet vomit from the near-diabetic sugaryness, Fletcher did propose to the Resident Female. And, much to his surprise, she agreed. For those that would like the details, well, it went down a little something like this:

I sent her a FedEx package, inside of which was the ring (the finest cubic zerkonia that Chinatown can produce) and a note that said "Will you marry me? Please check the appropriate box:
Well, with hardly any hesitation, and with a tear welling up in her eye, she turned to me and said, "I'm not marrying you until you get me a nicer ring." So, a quick trip to the Jeweler and another to the black market surgeon, we were officially engaged and the ring was paid off. And so I can honestly say I don't feel like I have lost a kidney, but rather gained a lovely woman whom would not give me the time of day if she were in her right mind. Wish us luck!


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