Because cramps fucking hurt, that's why.
So every year I say I'm not going to watch the Super Bowl, because honestly . . . who cares? I do not. I do not even really care about the commercials, although I must admit I did laugh at some of them. Like the Bud Light magic fridge. Oh, if only my apartment had one of those, but instead of Bud Light, wine. The only thing my apartment has are Killer Crickets and Noisy Upstairs Sex Neighbors who, by the way, woke me up at 4 AM the other morning with their activities. Four freaking AM. That is the morning time. I don't even think the world exists that early in the morning.
As the daughter of a die-hard Cleveland Browns fan (the saddest fans this side of Boston . . . well, before the World Series, so I guess there's hope for Browns fans yet), I was morally obligated to cheer for any team other than the Steelers. So, continuing my streak of throwing my weight behind losing candidates/teams, I cheered for Seattle. I'm getting kind of used to never winning at anything. I like it. It gives me an excuse to be angry/bitchy, which I tend to be anyway so that's nice.
I watched the Super Bowl at my parent's house, mostly because my dad was making chili and his chili is awesome (don't be jealous) but also because my parents are fun and again, don't be jealous, that is just the hand I was dealt. I know you wish your parents were as fun and as cool as mine, but we can't have it all, you know? I mean. I'm really short. And that is my dad's fault. So it's kind of a toss up, right?
Anyway. For some reason I seemed to think my stomach had expanded to the size of a football stadium and so I stuffed myself with chili and cornbread until I almost vomited. And is there anything more disgusting than chili vomit? Maybe hot dog vomit. Somehow, even though you chew and chew hot dogs and they spend time in your acidy belly, when you throw them up they have magically fused back together. Truly. It's science. I bet chili wouldn't really look that different coming up, but it would probably burn. Burn, burn, burn. Like a ring of fire. Sorry. I'm done.