In all my 43 years, not once do I remember being called “low-key.”
SO WHY START NOW?
I literally turded on the floor when I realized JR was shot 32 YEARS AGO.
(I know. I’m a picture of class.)
If anyone would have simply said, “Quick! How many years ago was JR shot?” I would have more than likely tried to subtract back to when I was still living with the folks beacause I was a rather mature 11 year old prodigy and eating shit like oreos for dinner dipped in chocolate milk and lathered with whipped cream with no concerns of my girlish figure one day needing maintenance.
Then it would have clicked how bad and hard I suck at anything to do with numbers and I would have said, “Uh, I don’t know…12?”
Because really. Wasn’t it just a few years ago?
HELL TO THE NO IT WAS NOT.
(Reality punched me in the neck when I was yammering about it at the work joint and a co-worker said, “Who is JR?”)
(She’s like 4.) (That almost pissed me off.)
I was all up into loving to loathe some Ewing boys on Wednesday night. That loathing brought back some really feel-good memories.
(And how sad is it that I love to loathe?)
‘Dallas’ is now cemented into my DVR thing. Fo reelz.
(Now here is where I am really going way over the top. Which I do understand is tough for you to grasp…but roll with me here.)
Second. NBA Finals.
Oh, sweet mother of all things sweaty and beard-y. And tall.
I am so completely obsessed with the OKC Thunder, my co-workers hate me. It’s all I can talk about.
(They kinda hated me before but now they have a legitimate reason.)
(If you’re not watching or the least bit into the Finals…sayanara. Go on and consider this post completed.)
Any game night this week, I could have heard a bang on my door and the words, “Open up, lady…POLICE!”
Then I could have been thrown against the wall and hand-cuffed. And maybe even frisked?
(Who am I kidding. I ain’t living THAT good.)
Why? Because I have been so into the NBA Finals I can’t contain myself. I should be ashamed, but…well, we all know how lacking I am in that department.
I’m sure the neighbors think I’m rocking and rolling with some hot, inked up stud (who could possibly resemble Johnny Depp or Adam Levine) from all the “OH MY GOD!!” screams and “WHAT THE HELL?!?” yelling and “ARE YOU KIDDING ME?!?” bellowing.
And then there’s the old faithful of, “GO GO GO GO HELLZ YEAH…GO GO GO!”
My poor, poor neighbors.
(And let me dream.)
It’s been ages since I’ve been this into something sportish-y.
Beings Kevin Durant played one year here in Austin at UT…I act like I know him.
Which I do not.
The Durantula – HELLZ YEAH!
Beings James Harden has this ferociously now famous beard…I act like I know him.
Which, it appears I do.
FEAR THE BEARD!
(Unfortunately, not much to fear here. Move along.)
I even follow this beard on Twitter.
Oh, yes I do.
I even have a giant cut-out of the beard to wear at the work joint when The Thunder blow the roof off these finals and wins.
Oh, yes I do.
And if I can find a FEAR THE BEARD t-shirt…the party is on.
Don’t say I’m not a team player. Or that I don’t show full support.
I mean, for the love of all things big and fuzzy on your chin…I grew a damn beard.
(Turded. It’s a good word.)