True fact: I am an English major. As such, let me edify you with some fun new words. Urban Dictionary recently added this little gem to its wonderfully colorful vernacular: Petri Douche. Defined as a place/location where a lot of douchebags are known to congregate, the first example that came to my mind was New York Giants tailgate parties. Oh yeah, I went there. Gladly. I gladly went there and I’m not apologizing. I am so done with Eli Manning. Few have been less deserving of so much hype. His interviews, his etiquette (off the field and on), everything about him wreaks of another brilliant, if similar, UD entry: Douche Canoe. Yes, he had a great season… he also threw over two dozen interceptions last year.
What really gets my proverbial goat, however, is the comparison to Peyton. Eli is not Peyton. I’ll say it again, as it bears repeating: Eli. Is. Not. Peyton. Yes, they shared their first hotel (i.e. are brothers), and as of Sunday, have both gone to two Super Bowls, but the younger can’t even begin to touch the elder’s numbers. Peyton is also a comedic genius, and in my world, that matters. I can’t believe we San Diegans got so ornery when baby Manning wouldn’t play for the Chargers. In retrospect, that was probably a good thing. If nothing else, we now have room to focus all of our venom on Norv “I Can’t Win Anywhere” Turner.
I know, I know… I’m a woman. My inferior feminine brain shouldn’t be able to compute all the space calculus that goes into football. I’m supposed to be the beer wench, and if I keep coming out of the kitchen to bother Russell on Super Bowl Sunday, he’s clearly made my chain too long. And yet, I frequently win my football pool, have to constantly explain to my male counterparts the difference between a pick six and a plain ol’ interception, hate it when Rivers’ rating drops and I totally want to burn my Chargers’ gear whenever they play as well as the Chargers do.
I get that it’s a man’s world, but tough shit. I’ll make room for me (and these ridiculous boobs) if I have to. I’m good at getting my way. That’s why I’m the Queen of Everything. I even have a card to prove it.
Walk Away Dip
- 2-3 canned chipotles in adobo sauce
- 1 package precooked bacon
- 2 packages cream cheese, softened
- 2 cups shredded cheddar or Mexican blend cheese
Preheat oven to 350˚. Combine chipotles and bacon in food processor fitted with blade. Process until pulverized into small bits. It will look like a paste. Add cream cheese and shredded cheese. Mix until blended. Scoop dip into glass baking dish and bake for 20 minutes. Serve with tortilla chips or crackers. If you don’t have a food processor (in which case, really, what are you doing on my blog?) you can chop the chipotles and bacon and then mix everything by hand.
The irony of the above rant is that, when it’s kickoff time, I wear the daddy pants in the relationship. Russell doesn’t even know how a game of football is played. Seriously. If he were a queer, a smearing would not be misplaced. And even though I picked on Giants fans, let me expand my contempt to the entire East Coast: I’m not rooting for either of your teams this year. If only they could both lose! The bright side is that no matter which of the two suck-ass halves (of the suck-ass whole) sucks the less ass, at least the commercials will rock. I heart you, Matthew Broderick!