Put the kids to bed, the men are blogging!

After looking back at the last month or so of posts on “our” blog, I realized that our blog is really gay. I mean no offense in that phrase, but come on, Britney Spears, Fraggle Rock, Calgon, Fergie, and Hairspray, these are some pretty effeminate topics. It’s no surprise that very few guys blog, because while reading their wife’s and their wife’s friends posts their testicles are slowly shrinking, sucking-up and turning into ovaries. From now on I will try to post a little more often to try to balance out the testosterone to estrogen levels on blogspot. So ladies, brush up on your football lingo and penis jokes because you’re going to get a little more testosterone over at the Smith’s. Hopefully some of the other guys I know will get in on the action, because I only know so many slang terms for genitalia and my NFL watching has slowed in recent years.

My first blog topic is college football. I love my wife, but my Mormon heritage tells me it’s ok to have another wife, even if it is only on the weekends from September to January (Monday night is also part of the weekend and occasionally Thursdays). I have been out of the game for the last two weekends due to moving and painting, but I was able to catch a little bit of action at Buffalo Wild Wings for lunch and Deadspin has kept me up to date. My first conclusion for this season is that University of Michigan player’s huevos have shrunk, and not like Ken Caminiti’s. (Is it ok to make a joke at the expense of dead baseball player’s steroid issues? If not, then tough; I figured it was more safe than a Chris Benoit reference.) Having attended games at the big house I must admit that I am a pretty big fan of the Big Blue, but it may change if Lloyd Carr isn’t taken in the street and shot like the rabid dog that he is. Has anyone heard from Marty Downen lately? If UofM loses to Notre Dame this weekend you may want to put him on suicide watch. The only relief I have is knowing that at least my nights after the losses were better than Coach Carr’s. Our friends at EDSBS gave a touching narrative of the night after the game at the Carr home:

Lloyd sits in his garage, alone. A single light bulb burns above him. The floor is swept clean; he sits on a lawn chair in the dark. A bottle of scotch sits next to him; two buckets in front of him.
[SQUEEEEEEEE!!!! (Snap!) ]
Lloyd Carr: (sip.)
Laurie Carr: (from somewhere in the house.) Honey? You coming in for dinner?
Lloyd Carr: Hrrrmph.
Laurie Carr: Honey?
Lloyd Carr: I hear ya, I hear ya. Just another–
[SQUEEEEEEE!!!! (Snap.) ]
Lloyd: –few, I swear.
Laurie: Recycling’s going out tonight, remember?
Lloyd: Hrrrrmph.
Laurie: I said, did you remember to–
[SQUEEEEEEEE!!!! (Snap!) ]
Lloyd: Yes, yes, YES. I heard you the first time.
Laurie: Then why didn’t you say anything, honey—
Lloyd: Because I’m BUSY, that’s why! Busy…
Laurie approaches the door, looks in and sees Lloyd with his head buried in his hands.
Laurie: Oh, Lloyd.
Lloyd pauses in his work. He stares, a lost man looking at his hands.
Lloyd: …trying to figure this whole thing…out.
[SQUEEEEEEEE!!!! (Snap!)]
Laurie: You know I love you, right?
Lloyd: I know, honey.
Laurie: And the kids? They love you, too.
[SQUEEEEEEEE!!!! (Snap!)]
Lloyd: Yes, yes, I know, honey.
Laurie: And you’ll get through this, you know this, right?
Lloyd: I know, I know.
Laurie tenderly touches Lloyd’s shoulder. He puts his hand over hers, and together the years of marriage and shared love reveal themselves in one single, touching gesture.
Laurie: Tell you what. I’ll take the recycling out, and you just come into dinner when you’re ready, okay baby?
[SQUEEEEEEEE!!!! (Snap!)]
Lloyd: Okay, darlin’.
Laurie leaves, then ducks her head back in the door to the darkened garage.
Laurie: Any idea when that would be, sweet cheeks?
Lloyd: As soon as I work through this bucket, sweetheart.
Laurie: And how long is that?
Lloyd: I dunno. There’s a lot of kittens in this bucket.
Laurie: And you have to kill them all, right?
Lloyd: Yes, dear. Every last one of them.
Laurie: See you then, baby.
[SQUEEEEEEEE!!!! (Snap!)]
(End scene.)

Now that 90% of the readers of this blog are offended it is time to sign off until next week when I can mock either Michigan or Notre Dame.
(I don’t expect this blog to stay up too long after “The First Lady” takes a look at it so please tell your husbands to blog for my support, sanity and satchel of fury.)