...bowl season has ended. I adore college football season, and am generally sad to see it end in January, but at the moment I'm just relieved that I get my boyfriend back temporarily.
I never thought I'd be a sports widow - heck, I love sports, and do not generally complain about watching football, baseball, basketball, hockey, etc.
But as D. tiredly fell into bed at 2:30 this morning after coming home from the national championship game, all I could think, as I snuggled into him and went back to sleep, was - "Whew. It's over...at least for a few moments."
I did learn a few things last night:
-Kevin's a gracious host (and such a diehard Buckeye that his living room decor is inextricably linked to the fortunes of Ohio State sports).
-Dennis Dodd is most definitely a jackass. (True story.)
-Urban Meyer needs to stop visiting Mystic Tan.
-LSU's confidence is something, isn't it?
-D.'s totally right - Ohio State has become the Buffalo Bills...almost there, but never quite managing to make it work.
-6 murders in NOLA already this year? Yeesh.
-It's going to be a long, long trip to Hobbs, New Mexico - 16 hours, to be semi-precise. I hope D.'s sister won't mind our incessantly offkey singing and bizarre conversational stylings. I wonder if I have time to hit up a bookstore and make some mix CD's...?
-Our dog is apparently sensitive to aspirin. Hmmm. Must remember to buy enteric-coated aspirin next time. Then again, Jake's stomach is sensitive to everything except pricey dog food, Greenies, organic dog treats and trash. Yes. TRASH.
Anyhow, tonight is the long-awaited Date Night. Tonight, after what may be the. Most. Expensive. Haircut. Ever.* we will make our champagne risotto, seared scallops and roasted asparagus, and exhale deeply. Tonight at least, we can shut out the world and relax.
*So yeah, that haircut? I love Paris Parker, and desperately want to get my hair cut before we leave for New Mexico - it's been 3 months since my last trim, and I resemble an awkward 12 year-old. Given that I work in St. Rose, there aren't so many options for my hair out here. Paris Parker only had one stylist working late this week, and he just happens to be their "best." When I was told how much it would cost, I asked the the receptionist wryly if my haircut would be a life-changing event. She replied, without a trace of irony and more than a dollop of fervent zealousness, "Oh yes. Yes, yes. He's amazing."
So I'm expecting to roll out of there looking like Heidi Klum. Heh.