It’s that time again! It’s that uber exciting time of year where I get to watch a televised football game for 4 hours straight!
And it’s the time of year where Tara is Bored. Straight up like a no joke, I don’t do football, why can’t I bring a book, why can’t I write a book while I’m there, blog, video blog, or disapparate into oblivion type of situation. Look – It’s not the company that I’m with. It’s NOT! It has nothing to do with them; they’re fantastic and entertaining and never boring. But, when the game comes on, everyone’s eyes are glued; people are actually watching the running and the throwing and the celebrating of the field goal touch down thingies, and unfortunately for me, this is when the boredom begins it’s 99 yard course.
- Stock up on Candy Crush lives. I mean like stock the F up. Get like 300 spares, and create the biggest binge game of all entirety.
- Stockpile tiny memo books painted the same color as my arm hairs so I can maybe dream of coming up with new blog ideas or books, and actually for once for Pete’s sake get some work done during still, lifeless idle time. #nothappening
- Knitting! Why would anyone be offended if I brought my knitting? To do while I’m sitting there watching the super of all bowls. I can even knit a logo in there, if I knew to knit logos, and if I cared about football. I’ll probably opt out of the logo thing. But it’s definitely a good fibber to lay on throw on the crowd.
- Where can I get those black surround sunglasses that can display n the inner lenses a movie or a book that I can read while I completely look involved in the game? I’ll even shout: “Go, phenomenal Falcons!” or “Oh yeah, prancin’ Patriots!” every few minutes to ensure that I have the belief system of my crowd neighbors. Acting is key here. Oh, but they can’t really be noticeable and beg the question: “Why is that moron wearing aviator sunglasses indoors, at night?”
- I can dress up like a cheerleader. I’m pretty sure if I bamboozle people with a cheer uniform, they will be so bewildered to not only see me wearing a dress, but to trick them into thinking I have a sudden infinity for the football, that they will avoid me at all costs anyway. At that point, I can strictly do whatever the eff I want. Just confuse them, I say!
So, just in the slightest, tiniest case that these ideas don’t work and I find myself snoozing with my eyes open, here’s a list of helpful hints to get me home safe and sound, in a deviously maniacal, untrustworthy kind of way. And without falling asleep at the wheel.
- At 6:45, (because really, that is the perfect time) start filling the guests’ and the hubbies’ head with the fact that I don’t ‘feel well,’ and maybe need to drive home (if I can pull myself together long enough). I need one of those fake blood squirter outers, or a bottle of ketchup, because, listen – I have to all but pass out on my grindy stumps than for my husband to let me leave his most proud and glorious day.
- Drink myself into a stupor so that I can create my own fun. Like lampshade on my twerking butt kind of fun. But, since hangovers are not too incredibly ‘enjoyable,’ this grand idea only limits me to 3 beers. Tops.
- Pay one of my kids to start feeling sick/green/putrid. Or to start throwing an unrelentless tantrum. I know just the kid for this job.
- Accidentally spill my wine all over myself, specifically the genital region, where it’s such a shame for me to go all the way home and change, so I should just stay there and bask in my humiliation after I’m done doing the “Haha yeah me, side butter churn I’m such a genius” fun, reward dance.
- Jump up and scream about how my girls’ bearded dragons (that we really do have and that’s a whole ‘nother blog post entirely) are missing and start frantically running through the house screaming that when they’re missing, their bellies start to swell and at anytime they can start spewing Number 3. (much worse than Number 2).
The bottom touch down line is this: I want to love football. I want to relate to people’s elation with this popular past time. I want to belong! I don’t want to feel excluded. It makes me sad emoji face that I can’t cheer along with the rest of the fans, and that I don’t understand what the eff is going on half the time. Especially during half time. (Except this half time – WHAT UP, LADY GAGA IN THE STADIUM HIS-OUSE!!) But, I attend the parties and I put my best foot forward and I attempt to muster up interest. It just never works. The mind trickery that I try to lay on myself falls short and never makes it past your own one yard line. #supersademojiface