Was it really super? Not sure. Probably not in the way that all of you faithful blog followers had a “super” Sunday.
I did not watch the Super Bowl. I think it’s an atrocity to the sport of football. I think it’s a case study in overindulgent American behavior. At the Super Bowl every year, more sex trafficking – particularly that of minor girls – occurs than at any other event in America. This is common knowledge and yet no one does anything about it and I believe that the silence of millions about this is absurd. Ultimately, I am just not interested in it all – it is all contrary to who the B(itch) is, so it would make me an hypocrite to just partake in Super Bowl activities. That wouldn’t be practicing what I preach now would it? And while I do see a lot of problems in our society that the Super Bowl represents, I also don’t care if others get into it. To each his own and all that malarchy, so as long as it isn’t shoved in my face by others (which it is…) I’ll keep my mouth shut.
So would I like to share what I did for my Super Sunday? Why yes I would, thanks for asking. I actually did three of my very favorite things.
I love shopping. Retail therapy doesn’t even completely explain how much better it makes me feel to shop. Rarely when I shop do I actually buy things – shopping is great because it gives me ideas for things I want to do in the future, keeps me active by all the endless hours of walking, and when I do buy things, it gets things accomplished.
We have a birthday coming up in less than two weeks so I thought I’d do the shopping for that, and threw Easter preparations in there as well (since we’ll be out of town for the three weeks leading up until the day before the holiday). I stuck to my hometown which meant that when I went to Michael’s Art Supplies, I had to beat the traffic of the CVS, as well as the Trader Joe’s – this not as bad because of Super Bowl Sunday, but still a little crowded nonetheless.
As I walked in to the Michael’s, I was walking somewhat close to three girls that were dressed as if they were on their way to a swanky nightclub – walking into the CVS drugstore next door to where I was going. I admit that I eavesdropped – wondering where they were going – and was a little dismayed by what I heard. Apparently these three classy ladies were dressed in nightclub gear to go whoring around the local BJ’s. You know, the restaurant and bar that claims its pizza to be “Chicago-style” when it is nothing of the sort? They were going to BJ’s to “hook up” with some innocent sports fans there to watch the Super Bowl. How do I know you ask, faithful blog followers? One sentence from the ho whose big bubble ass was hanging out the bottom of her miniskirt: “oh yeah, you know we should grab some condoms while we’re here ’cause you know ‘dem boys never have ‘dem.”
My father is a sports historian. I’ve mentioned this before, but he’s written four books, multiple encyclopedia and academic journal entries, and countless newspaper articles on all things sports. He hates the NFL – particularly the Super Bowl – for what it represents. To try and sway me not to watch (as if I needed swaying), he invited me to a free lunch. So (of course) I ate big and thus wasn’t too hungry later in the day when the Super Bowl madness was over and it was time for dinner.
My husband stayed home and watched the Super Bowl while I lunched with daddykins and shopped my heart out alongside those tainted whores but I absolutely refused to cook him the typical Super Bowl food – not only because I was not interested in the game but because nachos, hot dogs, tri tip sandwiches, and buffalo wings by the dozen are not exactly what I would call a “light dinner.”
So I made BBQ chicken with peas. Light. Healthy. Low fat. An amazing alternative to the Taco Bell 10 Pack.
Little Miss Sunshine
No matter how many times I watch that movie, it never gets old. I just love it – for its message, its humor and satire, and its parallels to one of my favorite books ever. After a long day of shopping and lunching, it seemed like the best thing to do. But while we watched it, I was astonished to learn that my husband had never read The Grapes of Wrath (which Little Miss Sunshine carries many parallels to).
This news rocked my very foundation; albeit, not for the reason you might think. While it is sort of dismaying to know that someone can get through primary, as well as a college, education without reading the book, my foundation was rocked simply because this imprints a taint of sorts on my theory that my husband is a hipster. He still swears by Pitchfork, thinks he has a far superior taste in just about everything than everyone else, and drinks PBR – but to not have read The Grapes of Wrath is almost blasphemy to anyone in the hipster community.
So was my Sunday a Super Sunday? I’m sure it wasn’t by most people’s standards because it didn’t involve six pounds of nachos with a few cases of Bud Light Lime – consumed whilst scratching my ass, belching, and updating my Facebook page minute by minute with Bowl game details as if there weren’t already fifty other updates there waiting for everyone to read.
Despite all that, my Sunday was pretty super to me.