Under The Wagon

I'm going to a Superbowl party today. I stopped keeping track of football after the Bears broke my heart one too many times, so I really could give a shit about the game itself. But I'm always up for a social gathering, provided we're gathering around booze, and I'm looking forward to it. It'll be nice to make fun of the commercials with other people this year.

Side Note: One of the 6th grade teachers at my elementary school used to play for the New England Patriots. Serious. The kids in Mr. Smith's class were always exceptionally well behaved. In fact, after he started teaching, we were ALL exceptionally well behaved. He was a really nice guy, but when the shadow of 6 feet, 2 inches and 250 pounds of pure ebony muscle suddenly looms over you...That spitball doesn't seem quite as important.

Additional Side Note: I will tell this story at least 10 times during the course of the next day.

However, with 12 hours to kick-off, I've already managed to be the worst guest ever.

Yesterday I bought a case of beer to take to the party, and somehow a third of it ended up in my gullet. And there's still 12 hours to go...

Guess what? I am totally bringing half a case of beer to a party. I'm justifying it by also bringing the crackers and french onion dip that I'd purchased for my own selfish consumption. These have not been tampered with, even though I had every intention of devouring them in a stomach wrenching fashion. But I will be generous. The host requested merely that you bring either something to eat or drink. But I shall produce both. The case may be missing a few bottles, but I am a good person, and a gracious guest.

12 hours, huh?

Do you think they'll notice if I dig into the dip? Just a little bit?


Yeah, I know. I suck.

Just wait 'till I actually get there. People really need to learn not to invite me places.