You know you love a good marathon blog...

This was certainly a wkd that requires Monday off. But since I now work for a place that ridiculously gives its workers 6 holidays a year and I have not acquired any vacation/sick time yet, I’m here. I’m exhausted. And I’m not into working at all. Fuck work. I’ll blog for a good hour and a half. Then I'll go eat some breakfast.

Mondays are hard enough without it being a rainy Monday, where you realize that you spent more money over the wkd than you will on your next 3 bills that are now overdue because you didn’t have time to buy stamps yet. I hate the fact that I’m technically trying to save money for a house, but I don’t get anywhere when there is fun to be had, and friends to get drunk with and craps to be learned after all that at a casino.

Friday. Seriously. Where to begin? Fri nite was a mini reunion of Red Cross at Mohegan, which should pretty much say it all for those in the know. It was so much fun. Dancing, drunk ass, requesting Madonna one by one, getting denied Madonna by the DJ one by one, doing redheaded sluts shots, oatmeal cookie shots, Michelob Ultras (since when do I drink that, seriously?), getting back humped on the dance floor by ugly guys who have no chance in hell, going to bed at 4am and recapping the entire night the next hungover morning drive from CT to RI fun. And dry heaving in the toilet fun.

Man, I love my old college roommates. I just fucking love spending time with them.

Saturday, of course, meant that I was a waste of space. But I spent that time with Murph and mom mostly. We even went out to dinner and grocery shopping. My mom is so cute. She is really the cutest mom ever… she is into this new part of her job that lets her be creative and she’s like, can you help me type up a proposal? And I’m like, course, but how are you gonna email it if you don’t have email (she's pretty much the most technically challeneged individual on the planet)? And she’s like, you can email it. She doesn’t get that it looks pretty silly to send a proposal from a HOTMAIL account with someone else’s name. Ha. So then she’s like, well, I’ll just mail it then. Mail it. Seriously. MAIL IT. With a stamp.

It was actually good to go grocery shopping while still a bit hungover b/c I didn’t want ANYTHING. I was like, meat? HELL NO. Cookies? I’d rather poke my own eye out. Dairy? Someone shoot me. So basically I ended up with fresh pineapple, pomegranates, kudos granola bars, real granola, strawberry rhubarb pie, OJ and a bag of plain bagels.

Sunday we went to the Pats game. Now, lets just begin this story with the fact that my bro in law has season tickets. He has been on the waiting list for about 6 years and just this year he gets SRO tickets. Standing Room Only. So Saturday of course was the most beautiful 65 degree sunny day you could dream of for November. SUNDAY? Sunday was pure rain when we woke up. Cold. But not too cold. FOG that you couldn’t see 2 feet in front of your face. Hi. Perfect football weather, no? Part of me is like, well, I really want to go to Gillette because it’s the goddamn PATRIOTS. And part of me is like, FUCK this. Let M go with his brother or a friend… I’ll just stay home and recuperate (since I’m a hundred years old and drinking on a Friday night requires about 3 days of bedrest now). But the tickets were a xmas gift from my sister and her hubby to ME. So I feel like I have to go. I want to go, but I also have to go. Ya know what I mean?

So I get dressed: Dark jeans, fake Uggs, heavy wool socks, thermal long sleeve shirt under a sweater, snowboarding jacket under a rain coat, northface mittens, Columbia fleece hat. I take a couple of pulls off M’s hooch (scotch at 1pm on Sunday in a parking lot full of drunk meatballs seemed like a good idea since we wouldn’t have to pee too much as opposed to drinking beer). I wont even get into traffic here but lets just say that we prob should’ve planned on getting to the stadium at 6am. Since we arrived about 10 minutes prior to kick off at 1pm (we nixed the whole tailgating in the rain thing), we had to park pretty far away for OH ONLY $35. Good thing M and I combined only brought with us $38.

But we are excited anyway, the rain let up and was barely spitting by the time we start walking… we both stop at the porta-potties and M goes, do you have the tickets? Uh, no. So he runs back to the truck while I venture into the most disgusting porta potty I’ve ever been in. Seriously. I look down while I am squatting (bad idea, I know) and PEE. There is like a half inch of yellow water that I’m stepping in. Someone MISSED the hole and here am I, unavoidingly getting my Uggs caught in their pee. AWESOME. So of course I get out and stand in the biggest puddle I can find. And anyone who has Uggs knows that they are in no way waterproof so you do the math.

We get inside and the place is pretty amazing. Its huge. Its clean. Its brand new. Wicked nice. But we are looking for the standing room only section. UM. SRO just means that you stand. You walk around. You hope to find a good spot and when you get there you hope that some asshole in a neon jacket doesn’t tell you to MOVE. Its cool because you can walk wherever you want and move around to the appropriate end zones, but it SUCKS because you are standing/walking for hours at a time and you are only hoping to find a spot. You aren’t guaranteed one. Pretty much for the first half we didn’t have a spot that we could see the entire field. We walked. We ate a $7 sausage. I cried. Seriously. It just seemed like a big waste of time. And then it happened.

My right eye started to bother me. I couldn’t see. Something was scratching it. It was so uncomfortable that I stopped M and took it out. Course, I had no mirror and my hands were prob covered in disease but I took it out and it was RIPPED. So guess what. I had to take the other one out and chuck it off a ramp at Gillette. I had no case, no glasses backup. Nothing. So I couldn’t see anything. And immediately following that we find a perfect spot to watch the game. And since all I could see was blurry white spots on the field, I just hoped for the whole thing to end. And it did. The FUCKING PATS LOST. So there you have it. So we walk the perp walk back to the truck and spend a crapload of time fighting people to get in line in the parking lot that is going nowhere. M, for those of you who don’t know, is prob the prime candidate to one day be on channel 7 breaking news getting out of his truck on I 495 with his mag light, beating some unsuspecting line cutter to a pulp.

All in all, it was a fun experience just because we were together and we made each other laugh (ie, TAKE IT OUT MATT! I cant get it out without a mirror! But Jill, I was just in the men's bathroom!). I’m pretty sure that my days at Gillette are now numbered. I will only go if he moves up the list to actual seats and if the day is not wet and foggy. And I will, of course, bring back up eyewear.