Tom Brady vs the Plott Hound

  Since I met Him, I've watched more TV than I can ever remember watching. Probably because we now have access to every channel known to satellite TV (and some that are unknown, I believe).  It's great because I've been exposed to a lot of shows that I never knew existed, but it's frustrating because I think I'm suffering from programming overload.  And that makes me cranky.

 I mean, seriously.  That squealing Geico pig was cute the first 576 times I saw it, but now I feel I'm being harassed. I know I'm paying too much for car insurance.  I get it.

 Mike...I'm sorry you have mesothelioma.  I really am, but I STILL don't know anyone to refer to your lawyer.  Move on, eh?

And although I realize that now IS the time to invest in gold, I can't very well just clean out my Swiss bank account overnight.  Sheesh.

As if the commercials aren't bad enough, there's the news. I'm not sure which aggravates me more right now.  The coverage of Newt and the other Republican political candidates or the hype that is The Super Bowl.  Granted, the Super Bowl will be over in less than 8 hours and I may win big in our office pool, but Mitt & Co. will continue.  Ad nauseum.

  Lucky for us, we have no big plans for Super Bowl Sunday and I like it that way.  You may not have noticed, but I'm not really much of a people person.  Don't get me wrong.  I'm not anti-social. I like humans. In small doses. When, where, and for as long as I want them there.  I just wish someone would explain it to them.

Regardless, I take comfort in knowing how the evening will go:

Him and I will get comfy.

We'll turn on the game in HD (while we bask in the heavenly aroma of the garlic-encrusted standing rib roast that will be emanating from the kitchen).

We'll critique Kelly Clarkson singing the National Anthem and wonder why they didn't get CCR to do it.

I'll stare blankly at the TV thinking that I really should have vacuumed better back in that corner.

Eventually I'll doze off until he screams "You've got to be fucking kidding me!?".

Then we'll debate who decided that Madonna was the right choice for the halftime show.

We'll deliberate over which commercials were best and end up deciding that none of them were really all that funny.

I'll suggest that the game sucked worse than an Amish virgin and he will explain to me why it's the Pats that sucks, why Eli Manning played the game of his career, how at 4th and 6 with 3:24 to go that they were pussies not to go for it,  and how that turnover in the middle of the third quarter was a game changer.

And I'll wish that we'd listened to Huck and Charli and spent the evening watching Puppy Bowl VIII.

Pizza and chickenwingness Prime Ribness,  y'all,

Ach