How are you today? I'm superfantastic.

And Guest

I recently received a wedding invitation addressed to Me and Guest.  I appreciate being given the option.  But sadly, when I finally give up and do the RSVP card, I will be writing 1 once again.  Because there is just no one to even bring.

There was a day when I was easily able to score a non-date for these sorts of things.  That was back in the real world (i.e. not Evangelical singles group) where men weren't afraid of women and didn't flee in terror at such an innocuous invitation.  This is not a thinly veiled (pun intended!) suggestion that I want to marry you.  This is me not wanting to sit at the table full of single women during every single dance of a slow, partner-requiring nature.  Except the dollar dance, which, don't get me started.  At a wedding with a date, this is not so bad.  I cannot, however, bring myself to pay for the only dance of the evening.  Too pathetic.

Beside which, I have already brought you people a wedding gift.  And I've probably already bought you at least one shower gift.  A world in which you simultaneously get a husband and calphalon pans is a world without justice.

At least this reception will feature a chocolate fountain.  I've never personally seen one, but it does strike me as one of the best ideas of all time.  So dance all you want, happy couples.  Pay to dance, even.  I'll be at the fountain, covering everything but my shoes in melted chocolate.  Suckers!

"Fantasy" is not the correct word.

My fantasy team is currently tied at 0-3 with the Green Bay Packers.  We both suck in equal proportion.  I guess this is my penance for trying not to get any Packers on my team.  It is hardly my fault that the Packers suck this year.  I continue to be a fan, but I’m realistic about what a miserable season it’s going to be.  I did wind up with one Packer, Donald Driver, who I thought may do alright for me since the Packers have no other decent receivers.  So far, no good.

The Packers though have highly-paid football minds invested in selecting their team.  I took about two minutes to rank players on the list and never actually considered how my rankings might play out.  Or come back to bite me as the case may be.  Perhaps if I had a longer attention span I might have been bothered to invest a little more time and thought.  Plus it’s not like there’s money on the line or anything, just pride.  Money would have been a much stronger motivator. 

My star running back, Jamal Lewis has turned out to be, just after Peyton Manning, the biggest disappointment of this season so far.  I watched my tight end Tony Gonzalez last night as he was double- and triple-teamed, keeping him to low yardage and no touchdowns.  Foiled again.

So I suppose this doesn’t bode well for my career in the actual NFL.  It’s not like I was hoping for a GM position.  I just want to know how I can get a job holding the down marker.  Or working the dial-a-down thing.  I could totally do that.  Anything that throws me in the path of lots of large, strapping, well-paid men who can get me season tickets.

It’s really not just about the men in tight pants for me.  I genuinely enjoy and appreciate the sport.  Thanks to Big Daddy Lomas, I’m going to the Saints game on Sunday.  I’ll cheer for the Saints since they’re sort of our hometeam, but my stress level will be considerably lower than when I have attended Packer games in the past.  I can just sit back and enjoy the good plays, something that was rare in the Redskins games I attended.  Well, the Chiefs and Falcons made plenty of good plays against them.  Meanwhile the Redskins got less first downs than we had beers.  And barring a low-interest loan, we couldn’t afford that many beers.

So while I’m so glad it’s football season again and so glad to once again have the opportunity to watch games and nap through games and talk on and on about football, it might be a bit of a sore subject this year.  And I’m pretty sure my fantasy season is already shot to hell.  Poor Lori. 

Go Saints.

No, sketchy is not funny. It's just sketchy. That is all.

I finally got my oil changed yesterday, something I've been meaning to do for quite some time.  But as a gifted procrastinator, I've managed to put it off until far later than was advisable.  I hate getting the oil changed.

So I finally went and was sitting in the waiting room with a mom and two kids and a middle-aged guy who was there alone.  Shortly after I sat down, the mom was told that her car was ready and Middle-Aged Guy made some really unfunny remark.  Mom did a pity laugh and then quickly left.  So there I was alone with Middle-Aged Guy and my book, which, for the purpose of being unavailable for uncomfortable small talk, temporarily became the most fascinating book in the history of the written word.

The oil change guy came in to do the requisite try-to-sell-lots-of-unnecessary-stuff-to-the-blonde-girl thing and asked if my address was correct.  I started giving him my new address and Middle-Aged Guy busts out with "wait, let me get my pen."

Yuck.  Just yuck.  As a girl who goes around without a guy permanently attached to her side, you're going to get a certain amount of middle-aged guy flirt.  It's unavoidable.  But it was the sheer unvarnished stalker quality of the statement that made me want to run home and shower just after burning all of my clothes.  Because oh the sketchiness of it.

I gave him an extremely unamused look.  I didn't see the oil change guy's expression, but I have to think that even he was conveying something along the lines of "dude" (in the negative sense.)  Then Oil Change Guy asked if the phone number was still right and of course I lied and said yes because I was sure as hell not saying a mere seven digits out loud within earshot of Sketchyman who may not have even needed his pen to retain that piece of information. 

In conclusion, sketchy, sketchy, yuck, eww, yuck.

Oooh, something shiny!

So I'm pretty sure I have ADD.  I haven't actually consulted a medical doctor about this.  What if the doctor said I didn't have it and then I had no excuse for being absent-minded and directionless?  No thank you mister med school.

Case in point: Saturday night.

3:30-5:29 Clean house.  Aren't I a good and responsible roommate?  Wouldn't you like to have a roommate like me?  Well too bad because the house is full up, so back off!

5:30 Realize that I'm supposed to be at Amy's house in 20 minutes and have not dried hair or put on presentable clothes.  Freak out.

5:31-5:50 Dry hair.  Put on clean clothes.  Apply make-up in slapdash manner.  Put glasses back on because there is no time for contacts!

5:51-5:55  Get in car.  Pull out of driveway.  Drive 0.1 miles.  Remember that drivers license is still in pocket of skirt worn out last night.  Use foul language.  Execute 3-point turn and drive back home.

5:56 Park in driveway.  Realize am idiot.  Dinner isn't until 6:30 and I have an extra half hour.  Walk into house chanting get drivers license, get drivers license...

5:57 Reach bathroom and decide to use some of extra time to put in contacts.

5:59 Walk into bedroom.  Have no idea what I went in there to get.  See cute Paris picture frame sitting picture-less in pile of stuff on dresser and decide to use extra time to deal with European souvenir collection.

6:00-6:15 Put picture in frame.  Get Swiss picture clippy thing and find picture for it.  Remove old items from designated shelf on entertainment center and obsessively arrange and rearrange European souvenir items.

6:16 Realize am late again.  Leave old shelf items on floor, grab purse and leave.

6:18 Exit neighborhood.  Remember that license is still in skirt pocket!  Use more foul language.

6:20 Pull back in driveway.  Run to bedroom and extract license from skirt in dirty clothes pile.  Call Amy to see if I'm now too late to stop at her house on the way to the restaurant.  Be reassured that yes, we've met, so she was expecting me 10 minutes late.  So I'm right on time.

Still don't think I have ADD, Dr. Smartypants?