Clareified

Okay, okay. I’ve stopped crying salty, salty tears of the damned. Although, one thing I can say for having my heart stomped and my dreams crushed, I got the best night’s sleep that I’ve had in weeks. So…good looking out Giants.
The results notwithstanding, I went to a great Superbowl party.
“Um…I prefer Superbowl gathering.” – Alceste.
Okay. Superbowl gathering.
Mary got another shipment of bacon from Al Can’t Hang after winning his essay contest, and offered to fry it up for the group. Alceste offered up his TV and I offered up my car. Plans were made, guests invited and a party…nay gathering was born.
Mary, KJ, Kaz and I were headed to Jersey City, though as we sat in traffic to the Holland tunnel we wondered why exactly we had agreed to this.
“Because we’re retarded?” I offered.
“Yeah, I think that’s it,” Kaz agreed.
Ah, but wait…let me rewind.
Saturday. Day before the Superbowl.
I was playing in a poker game with CK and KJ. I picked him up fairly early considering we had been out till like 2:00 a.m. the night before playing poker at my friend Charlie’s house. We were both pretty bleary eyed and I wasn’t sure I would be able to stay awake for the whole game. Plus, I promised Pi I would go with her to an Obama fundraiser that night. KJ and I got to the block in Park Slope where the game was being held and we drove past a house with a huge Eli Manning plastic cut out in the window.
“Ooh, I want one of those of Tom Brady!”
“The Patriots are going down!” He said.
“Yah, right.”
“I’ll bet you right now!”
“Okay, KJ, you tell me how much money you want to give me and I will take it.”
“No, you decide.”
“No. You. Look, I like you, you’re a young kid, I want you to decide how much your hard earned cash you just want to give away.”
So, he decided that we would bet whatever amount I won or lost at the poker game.
“Okay, you have a deal.”
Of course, and I’ll write about this more on my other blog, I don’t know how to play Omaha or Stud Eight and now, that I’m being honest, my Hold ‘Em game is also pretty shoddy. So, when KJ was horrified as I rebought for my third hundred and said to the table “well, I didn’t think she’d lose $300,” when I explained to them the bet, I only laughed.
The whole table was amazed that he would make such a terrible bet. “She’s not even giving you points or anything?”
“Nope, I said proudly.”
The guy to my left was like “dude, you’re freerolling…just go all-in on every hand, he’s basically paying.”
Even crazy Asian gambler CK was amazed.
“KJ, sweetie, I know you like Dawn, but you’re just giving your money away.”
Finally, he cracked.
“Bet’s off, Dawn. Or we have to change it to something else.”
“No way. I let you set the terms, these were the terms you set.”
He sulked in his chair.The next morning, on my way to Church, I get a text from him saying “Okay, that bet is off. Here’s what I’ll do, I’ll give you 1.5, so that I have to pay you $145 and you pay me $245” Or something like that, I basically was like okay, bet’s off. I’ll give him a break. During mass, the priest is dicussing this week’s gospel: Jesus’ sermon on the Mount. You know the one: Blessed [are] the poor in spirit: for theirs is the kingdom of heaven./ Blessed [are] they that mourn: for they shall be comforted./ Blessed [are] the meek: for they shall inherit the earth. And he says the gospel is about how we find God in the most unlikely of places, for instance “Who cannot see God’s hand in the Giants making the superbowl?”
Really? Why is this dude trying to get me to heckle his homily? Honestly, he’s supposed to be looking after my immortal soul, not putting it in jeopardy.
I gave him a good solid glare.
I went to the gym, arranged to pick up Mary and Kaz and then got a text from KJ saying he was blowing us off for “company.”
I would have texted him back that he’s dead to me, but he’s dead to me.
There was some kind of fire/accident/bomb threat near Mary’s house, so I couldn’t pick her up and she had to walk to my car.
Kaz, however, got door front pick up service.
I hadn’t seen her in a while.
“It’s weird…I never realize that I haven’t seen my friends with blogs because I’m totally caught up on their lives.”
After we made it through the horrendous Holland tunnel traffic, I set the GPS to take us to casa de Alceste.
“Turn left,” Fred said.
“No! Turn right,” Mary countered.
I turned left.
“Look, we do what the man in the box says…it may not be the fastest way or most efficient way, but we’ll get there.”
Of course, minutes, later the screen went black and the GPS shut down.
“That thing is stupid and weak…just like all men.”
I laughed. That Mary.
We got to Alceste’s place shortly thereafter and even found parking out front.
Mary and Dawn 2 set out a frying bacon, while Kaz helped them set up.
As I am a firm believer in equal opportunity, I played videogames with Alceste.
He set up the Rockstar game on the Playstation.
I played guitar.

I was not good.
Then I played drums.
I was even worse.
AND THEN!
I became lead singer and rocked the house with Radiohead’s Creep. I think it was Radiohead.

“Hey, Alceste, how does it feel to be watching the football with four women! It’s like a guy’s fantasy, we’re all in here frying bacon and making brownies for you.”
Kaz…or Mary invented the wholly disgusting bacon wrapped brownie. AND ATE IT!
EWWWWW.

And then it was time for the game.
The horrid horrid game, which started out all horridly when the Giants won the cointoss.
I will say this…I felt the Patriot’s loss coming pretty early on.
I was so upset that Kaz was like “aw, Dawn is so sad, I almost feel bad rooting for the Giants.”
Almost.
Groan.
Oh, and the commercials were so bad…what the hell is with budweiser and the fire breathing man. And that gross monster.com one where the chick’s heart tears itself out…ewww. I guess my favorites were the Justin Timberlake one where he gets dragged through the city streets and the Chris Kattan “What is Love” one.
Though why they would bring that back after all these years is anybody’s guess. (Though, if they’ve got animated dragon’s doing the Thriller dance…)
So, what’s it like watching the Superbowl in a room full of women…well, there’s much commentary on how the football uniforms are unflattering (tight, but not in a good way, was Kaz’ analysis.) And then there’s the incessant “can they kick a field goal from there,” from the black girl in the Brady jersey biting her newly manicured nails off.)
When the Giants took the 10-7 lead, KJ called the house, Alceste put him on speaker. I hung up.
When the Giants scored the final touchdown, KJ called back and Alceste said “I cannot guarantee that she will not hang up.”
I did.
The game was over, we watched the award ceremony. As we watched stupid Eli Manning talk, I was look “look what you did! We could be looking at Tom Brady right now, ladies. TOM BRADY!”
Alceste cheered me up by letting me sing lead on Oasis’ don’t look back in anger. Which I rocked out…but then I was kicked out of the band and replaced by Dawn 2. Much like Bewitched did to Darren.
Despite swearing that if the Patriots lost I was leaving everyone in Jersey City, I decided that was too cruel…even for Giants fans.
On my way back home, I stopped to get gas. I forgot I was wearing my Riots jersey, until this dipshit in the Camry at the pump behind mine started chanting 18-1.
I looked back.
In anger.

This entry was posted by Dawn Summers on Monday, February 4th, 2008 at 4:12 pm and is filed under Sports. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.