Finally getting around to reading On Being Brown: What it Means to Be a Cleveland Browns Fan.  As if I didn't already know.

What it means to be a Browns fan is that you love the city of Cleveland and the lake effect weather.
You have a mental countdown going until the first game of NFL season, even though other teams' fans think you have nothing to look forward to.
When you buy a lighter with your cigarettes, you're disappointed if there isn't an orange or brown Bic on the shelf.
People use words like "loyal" to describe you, but you feel like that's an understatement.  Because there's something more.  Something different.

Scott Huler wrote this book and I commend him for it.  I'm actually jealous of him.  He's more than quite a bit older than me.  He has a father who passed down tales of the amazeballs awesome years of Cleveland football to him.  He got to interview people I'll never be able to meet.  This book retells all of the famous heartaches Browns fans have suffered through.

Here's the thing, though:  As a Browns fan, I've suffered more than Mr. Huler.

I'm a die-hard Cleveland fan living in Greensboro, North Carolina.

I'm 23 years old.  For three of these years, the Browns did not exist.  Other teams' fans might say this and they mean that their team performed poorly during those years.  What I mean is that my team didn't exist.  As in, Modell moved 'em to another city and we suffered.  What are you supposed to do in that case?  Pay attention to the Indians?  Pfft.  Tribe games are only entertaining if you're actually watching them at The Jake (Yes, I'm Floyd from 30 Rock combined with Ted Mosby, and I'm calling it The Jake and sometimes I still say "Fuck LeBron").*

During my lifetime, the Browns have played a total of six playoff games.
December 24, 1988: It was the 24th of December.  The Houston Oilers beat the Browns 24-23.  I was 24 days old.  I dislike the number 24.  Fuck you, Christmas Eve.

January 6, 1990: Actually, yeah, no...

I'm not going to recount each of these six games.  Because did they end in Super Bowl appearances? No.
And is that even the point?  No.

I want to keep bitching about football, but I'm around someone who wants to drink whiskey and listen to Eminem and be happy with that.  Maybe I should convert to that lifestyle.  I dunno. 

*Update to 12/7/2014:  This post was written when I was 23, and I'm now 26.  I'm certainly not converting to the Eminem and whiskey lifestyle mentioned above. But pretty much everything else holds true.

Here we go Brownies, here we go!

"Beer With Jesus"...I think he wants a Corona.

I listen to country songs all the time, and I mostly criticize them while doing so.  I want to pick apart "If I Could Have a Beer with Jesus," but it really makes fun of itself.

Skip to about 1:05.

I guess I could just post the lyrics, but I always like to make an attempt at a critique...

If I could have a beer with Jesus
Heaven knows I'd sip it nice and slow
I'd try to pick a place that ain't too crowded
Or gladly go wherever he wants to go

I feel like the establishments you frequent probably don't serve wine, and that's really the only thing ol' Jesus really drinks.  That's the most fundamental problem with this song.  Can he turn Busch Light into wine?  I'll have to consult my religious friends about this.  (Okay, I asked a questionably-religious person.  Apparently, no, Jesus cannot turn cheap beer into wine.)

 True dat.

You can bet I'd order up a couple tall ones
Tell the waitress put 'em on my tab
I'd be sure to let him to the talkin'
Careful when I got the chance to ask

How generous.  Jesus DIED for you, dude.   Simply paying his bar tab for a night seems kind of cheap of you, doesn't it?

How'd you turn the other cheek
To save a sorry soul like me?
Do you hear the prayers I send?
What happens when life ends?
And when you think you're comin' back again?
I'd tell everyone, but no one would believe it
If I could have a beer with Jesus

It's kind of funny that no one would believe you...because to be honest, having a beer with Jesus isn't much more ridiculous than half the shit that happens in the Bible.

If I could have a beer with Jesus
I'd put my whole paycheck in that jukebox
Fill it up with nothing but the good stuff
Sit somewhere we couldn't see a clock

I'm pretty sure "The Good Stuff" is also the title of a song by a much better country recording artist than you.  His name is Kenny Chesney, and Jesus would probably prefer to have a beer with him.  If he's going to drink with a hick in a dive bar, he should make the most of his time and sip a Bud with a Grammy nominee.

Ask him how'd you turn the other cheek
To save a sorry soul like me?
Have you been there from the start?
How'd you change a sinner's heart?
And is heaven really just beyond the stars?
I'd tell everyone, but no one would believe it
If I could have a beer with Jesus

No, he hasn't been there "from the start."  You're most likely talking to some trust-fund "hippie" who goes by the name Jesus, not the son of God.  He just digs the free booze.  So he's probably only been there since 10 p.m.

He can probably only stay for just a couple rounds
But I hope and pray he's stayin' til we shut the whole place down

If God and Jesus are legit, they're probably the last people (or, uh, weird father-son-holy ghost trio-thing) that I would want to see at last call.  Judgement day does NOT need to happen when I'm a complete shit-show at 2:00 in the morning.

Ask him how'd you turn the other cheek
To save a sorry soul like me?
What's on the other side?
Is mom and daddy all right?
And if it ain't no trouble tell them I said "hi"
I'd tell everyone, but no one would believe it
If I could have a beer with Jesus
I'd tell everyone, but no one would believe it
If I could have a beer with Jesus

Really?  "Is" mom and daddy all right?  No, they "ain't."  Actually, they is disappointed 'cause you don't know no good grammar.

Uhh, you can buy that shirt here.

Again, I'm wondering why I listen to this stuff on a regular basis.

XOXO,
C-Dawg, the girl with poor taste in music.

There are many things I shouldn't be allowed to do.

1. Walking: 
Last week I fell down the bottom portion of the stairs in my house.  Sober.  For the second time.  And I've only lived here about a month.  I banged up my knee pretty badly, and an end table didn't look too good afterwards, either.  The injury is located right next to the scar I've developed from move-in day at this apartment.  I like to say I injured myself "while moving" because that implies that I was carrying heavy furniture and I somehow scraped up against something.  That isn't actually the case.  Two lovely friends of mine did all the heavy lifting, and I fell over my own two feet while walking back to the truck after doing pretty much nothing.  I thought it was just a scrape until we were riding back to my old apartment for another load of household crap.  Then I noticed my knee was pouring blood all over the vehicle.  There were no napkins or anything like that around, so I held receipts and other ineffective forms of paper products onto my leg until we reached our destination.  This is what happens when you hang out with me.
UPDATE:  While typing this entry, I had to go answer the door and managed to run into the railing on the stairs.  Or something...I couldn't figure out what I hit, actually.  It will certainly leave a monstrous bruise on my leg, and I won't be able to wear shorts for a week.
(Note: I wrote this a couple months ago.  I'm aware it's no longer  "shorts season," and I've had countless self-induced accidental injuries since writing this.) 

2. Texting:
I shouldn't be allowed to text, because the most inappropriate conversations are guaranteed to occur.

 When you type "don't kick the baby" into Google, this is on the first page of image results.  Am I missing something?

My texts are in bold:

"I think the Jets are becoming the team I dislike the most"
"Really?  Dude. The Eagles and Steelers still exist, you know."
"The Eagles are up there too, but I had to watch a bunch of stuff on ESPN about the Jets and everyone involved made me want to punt babies."
"It is waaay more difficult to punt a baby than a football. Trust me. So don't just throw that phrase around unless you want your athleticism tested."
"Someone get me a baby."
"I've heard it takes 9 months to create a baby, plus someone willing to gain stretch marks, weight, and 18 years of financial responsibility.  That's difficult to come by.  Which is why the event of baby-punting only happens every 4 years."
"Is it Winter or Summer Olympics?"
"Summer, duh. No one likes a freezer-burned baby."
"But they get more distance.  But maybe during the Winter they have baby curling."
"Curling is ridiculous enough without adding babies into the mix."

(By the way, spelling, grammar, and punctuation weren't edited in this conversation, but I did edit the capitalization of proper nouns to make it more readable.  My friends and I actually *do* text with a semi-decent appreciation for the English language in mind.  Crazy, right?!)

3.  Using YouTube:
I got in a YouTube comment battle with someone whose username had like sixteen numbers in it.  About a damn REHAB SONG, for god's sake.  That says it all.  I'm pathetic.


Someday I'll function like a real person.  Until then....
XOXO,
Caroline.

If heaven wasn't so far away....it would kind of defeat the purpose.

Here I am, talking about country music.  Again.  Unfortunately.

When you actually listen to the lyrics, "If Heaven Wasn't So Far Away" by Justin Moore is one of the most ridiculous songs ever.  I've been critiquing the hell out of this song in my head for years.  Now I need to actually write out my feelings of rage.

Watch the video.  Usually I have ridiculous celebrity crushes on country music boys, but Justin Moore really just looks like a douchefag.

Every day I drive to work across Flint River Bridge,
A hundred yards from the spot where me and Grandpa fished.
There's a piece of his old fruit stand on the side of Sawmill Road,
He'd be there peelin' peaches if it was twenty years ago.

This is nonsense.  What kind of fruit stand was this?  How is there seriously still a piece of it around if it was last functioning TWENTY FUCKING YEARS AGO?  I understand that this is some hick town, but is there no roadside cleanup whatsoever?

And what I wouldn't give
To ride around in that old truck with him

He was probably a drunk racist.  Be careful.

If heaven wasn't so far away,
I'd pack up the kids and go for the day
Introduce 'em to their Grandpa,
Watch 'em laugh at the way he talks.

That'll be good for the kids.  Gramps is dead, so you go laugh at his ghostly, funny-talkin' soul and then come back to real life?  They won't need years of costly therapy or anything.

I'd find my long lost cousin John,
The one we left back in Vietnam

Fair enough, support our veterans.  No laughing here.

Show him a picture of his daughter now,
She's a doctor and he'd be proud

John's in heaven looking down on all of us...don't lie to him.  He knows his daughter is a stripper, and that she changed her name from Brandi to Candii.  With two i's.

Then tell him we'd be back in a couple of days,
In the rear view mirror we'd all watch 'em wave.
Yeah, and losing them wouldn't be so hard to take,
If heaven wasn't so far away.

Look, they earned their right to be in heaven.  By, you know, dying and shit.  They're not going to cheerfully wave you goodbye.  They're flipping you the bird in the rear view because you're that jackass who decided to chillax in heaven without paying your dues.

I'd hug all three of those girls we lost from the class of '99

My friend Kenny pointed out this discontinuity to me a while back.  So you left someone "back in Vietnam" and you're also in the class of '99?  That makes no effin' sense.  Were you fightin' the good fight in 'Nam before you were born? Impressive, dude. Today's sperm and egg cells could totally learn a thing or two about combat from you.

And I'd find my bird dog Bo and take him huntin' one more time.

Really? Ghost dogs are shitty hunting companions. Those heaven-dogs just lay around with their damn halos and wings while ignoring the angel-deer.  Take my word on this one.

I'd ask Hank why he took those pills back in '53

Isn't it in the book of etiquette to not ask about things like overdoses?  I doubt he wants to talk about it.

And Janis to sing the second verse of "Me and Bobby McGee"

She's so over that song.

Sit on a cloud and visit for a while.
It'd do me good just to see them smile.

You can't actually sit on clouds, Mr. Moore.

Then it repeats and you have to hear about John and Grandpa again.
 
See what I mean?  These country songs make little to no sense.  Why do I listen to this stuff?  I guess simply because it's ridiculous.


XOXO,
Country Caroline.

104 Days

"104 Days" sounds like a bad movie title.

In actuality, it's the number of days until the first Sunday of regular-season NFL.

Now, I'm aware that not everyone loves football as much as I do. But that's okay!  Because I'm going to compile a list of reasons why non-sports-watchers can look forward to NFL season as much as I do:

1) Gambling.  Everyone can enjoy gambling, even if they aren't a video poker star or a big Vegas fanatic. If you put money on football, you are guaranteed to start caring about the games every Sunday, even if you don't know what the hell is going on.  Pull out your wallets, y'all. You might (probably) go broke, but you'll also start finding football games to be actually interesting. Win-win....just make sure to save enough money for reason #3 on this list.

 

2) An excuse to eat junk.  I'd be willing to wager that most people can't really justify eating a vat of melted Velveeta or bacon-wrapped bacon every day of their lives. But during football season, you're allowed to eat like a fatass without judgement!  Sure, you'll gain five pounds every Sunday, but you won't have to think about it until Monday morning.  Bonus: football jerseys are very forgiving clothing items. Everyone looks kind of like a lumpy sack in them, so no one will notice the pudge you've gotten from eating one too many cheeseburgers.

 A staple for many fatty football recipes, and one of the only things I like about Philly. (www.kraftbrands.com)

3) Day drinking.  This is last on my list, but it's probably the reason that has the most pull.  Everyone I know is at least a borderline alcoholic.  This means they search for reasons (however invalid those reasons may be) to booze it up while the sun's still a-shinin'.  No one will ever judge you for drinking all day on an Autumn Sunday while watching football.  If anyone does give you any shit, just call them un-American. Works every time. If you hate sports, here's your perk: you don't even have to watch the game!  Just go to a sports bar and sit on the patio while sipping (read: chugging) a Budweiser:

If those reasons aren't good enough, then you obviously don't like awesomeness.  And if that's the case, I'd just go away now.
Join me in my countdown, y'all!

XOXO,
Caroline

Traffic school....redneck style.

So you know how I'm an expert on country music these days? Yeah, anyway. There are some easily observable trends in the subject matter of country songs. For example, sweet tea and beer are constantly being mentioned. But I also noticed that they set really bad examples for how to drive:

Luke Bryan - "I Don't Want This Night to End"

I'm set on cruise control

I'm slowly losing hold

Of every thing I got 

You're looking so damn hot

And I don't know what road we're on

Or where we've been

From staring at you, girl.

Ok, first, buddy, two hands on the wheel.  Don't lose hold of that.  Second of all, you don't know what road you're on because you aren't on a road anymore.  You're in a ditch or wrapped around a tree because you insisted on staring at homegirl instead of watching the road.  And on that note, I want to see this chickie who has captured your attention and stolen your safe-driving skills.  Is Sofia Vergara or someone in your truck with you?  I doubt it, Mr. Bryan.  Keep your eyes on the road, asshole

 I do want this song to end.

Rehab - "Bartender Song"

She broke my heart, in the trailer park

So I jacked the keys to her fuckin' car

Crashed that piece of shit and then stepped away

Is this legit country music?  I don't know.  But from the very beginning of the song, we know that the guy "broke his parole."  (That's bad, fyi.)  This doesn't need much explanation, actually.  I'll leave it at that.

  

Jason Aldean - "Dirt Road Anthem"

Yeah, I'm chillin' on a dirt road,

Laid back swervin' like I'm George Jones.

Smoke rollin' out the window,

An ice cold beer sittin' in the console.

Come on, J-Man.  This song is annoying as fuck to begin with, but I'd also like to point out that none of this is acceptable behavior when operating a vehicle.  I get that you're on a dirt road and all, but swerving like George Jones is not exactly desirable.  George Jones' alcoholism is pretty well-known.  And he wasn't even acting like a fun, jolly ol' drunk.  I'm not knocking the guy, but that's probably one aspect of his life that you shouldn't emulate.  Even if you were to claim that the "smoke" in question is coming from tobacco, you're still left with the beer in the console.  Ok, I'm no legal expert, but the law generally frowns upon drinking and driving.  Make sure this shit stays on the dirt road.  I don't want to die on the interstate because you think this is an appropriate way to drive.

 I mean, just look at the guy....

I guess I shouldn't complain too much. As long as I don't have to hear Toby Keith's "Red Solo Cup" ever again, these guys can sing about whatever they like.

But bottom line? They probably shouldn't moonlight as driver's ed instructors (that being such a desirable job and all...)

Besides, we all know that rappers set much better examples in terms of motor-vehicle behavior:

I got them 28's on the Chevy sittin' so high, Them plastic cups in the cup holders gettin' dry.                               -Three 6 Mafia, "Swervin'" XOXO, C-Dawg.

I found J.C.!!!!

You guys, I've found my Lord and Savior....Jesus Christ.

Ok, that's not what the title actually meant....

Here's what I'm really trying to say: FOOTBALL SEASON IS PRETTY MUCH HERE NOW, Y'ALL!

I guess that needs a little explanation. So, in this context "found" means "couldn't come up with anything to write about, so I poked around my unorganized photo folder until I found something that made me laugh."
Likewise, "J.C." does not mean "Jesus Christ." You should know it means "Josh Cribbs." Number 16. Heck yeah.

I found a picture from the time we met at the Pro Football Hall of Fame last year....

I mean, this photo is pretty embarrassing. Mike was pressuring J.C. and I to take pictures, and we were obviously not up for it. Mr. Cribbs and I both deal with the paparazzi on a daily basis, and clearly neither of us were camera-ready at this moment.

Anyway, this obviously wasn't a real post, so let's just all do a Browns chant and say goodnight.....




Ok, that's horrific and awesome at the same time.
It's late, so I'm going with awesome.
Whatever.
Fuck.

XOXO,
Caroline.

The Motor City Madman and Jesus are the exceptions to every rule.

There is absolutely no reason that a man should have long hair.

I have a problem with middle-aged men who have children, careers, and, inexplicably, ponytails. Are you really that confused about your age, gender, and the current time period?

I did some Googling on this subject, and the always-entertaining Yahoo!Answers gave me some good reading material:

"I am a 65years old man with long hair when should i cut it? i have a ponytail?" Well, sir, probably about 55 years ago. That's also when you should have learned proper capitalization and basic grammar. Additionally, are you unsure of whether or not you have a ponytail? I know the people who respond on Yahoo!Answers are generally brilliant, but I think only you can answer that part of your question.

"Ladies, does long hair on men do it for you? Just wandering, and would like a general opinion! please stae where your from too!" I'm just wandering, too! Just wandering if English is still taught in public schools! And don't worry, I'll "stae" where I'm from. Because I don't want to get anywhere near you, your long hair, and unnecessary exclamation marks.

"What do you think about long-haired men in church?" Ok, so I've been making the point that men with long hair look stupid. But if someone feels it's a hairstyle that shouldn't be allowed in church, that kind of bothers me even more. I'm not a church-going person, but from what I've seen, there's long-haired-Jesus crap all over those places. So JC can rock the look, but his worshippers have to get a crew-cut? I guess this will be reason #563 on my list of "why church confuses the fuck out of me."

Buddy Christ can have long hair. You can't.

I'm going to make a simple questionnaire to help anyone who is confused about this topic:

• Are you Jesus?
  


• Are you a woman?

If you answered "yes" to any of these questions, you're allowed to rock the long hair. Otherwise, you need to plug in the Flowbee and cut that shit.

A nice, good-lookin' man with GREAT hair.

I've got two final exceptions to the no-long-hair rule:

1. Willie Nelson. I can't explain it, but for some reason he's allowed to have pigtails. Deal with it, fuckers.


2. Ted Nugent. Ok, I get that people have mixed feelings about this guy, mostly because of his political views and whatnot, but that is not the point here. Bottom line: The Nuge has put in more years of badassery than you and I combinded. At 62, he's totally earned the right to do whatever the hell he wants with his hair. If you tell him otherwise, he'll probably just shoot you. Also, Anthony Bourdain is cool with him, so I am too.

So, go on and make an appointment with your celebrity hair stylist, y'all.

XOXO, Caroline.

Why West Virginia Fails

Country music. Most people I know say things along the lines of, "I like all types of music....except country." I used to be one of those stylish people, but I guess I've taken a turn for the redneck (read: worse).

The map isn't even cool. (Ok, I don't know what state has a "cool" map, but whatever.)

I blame West Virginia, simply because it's an easy target. I mean, people don't often rush to WV's defense, do they? Everyone's all, "har har har, inbreeding!!" when that state turns up in conversation.

Anyway, when you're driving home from Cleveland (GO BROWNS) and you stupidly didn't bring CDs or an mp3 player for your trip, you get stuck with a total of 1.5 radio stations to choose from in West Virginia. The ".5" represents an assortment of "easy listening" stations that don't have very good reception. So you're forced to listen to the static-free country channel. To be honest, it was entertaining. We discovered the musical gem "The Black Number 3" and other hilarious songs. (Click that link. You won't be let down.)

The problem is, after safely returning to territory with more music options, we actively sought out country stations. Now, over half a year later, the radio station hasn't been changed on Mike's stereo even once.

I play country songs on jukeboxes at bars where I once cared about upholding my reputation of being awesome. That's out the window now, I guess. Even my ipod has been infiltrated with Billy Currington and Gretchen Wilson songs. My music-savvy friends give me dirty looks these days. I used to be so trendy, but I guess now the best I can hope for is redneck chic. I just googled "redneck chic," hoping that was at least a real thing. It's not, apparently. This was the first result after doing an image search:

That isn't me, y'all.
Photocred, http://chowderheadbazoo.typepad.com

West Virginia, it's all your fault!

Hearts,
Caroline

PS: I hope to see all of you at the Toby Keith concert next month! XOXO.

Don't Google This.

Sometimes I jot down a few words to remind myself of something I want to write about or look up later. For this purpose I carry small notebooks in my purse.* I remembered I had written something down after an entertaining conversation with my boyfriend, and I flipped through my current notepad until I found it. It was written in hurried, messy writing, but I'm 99.3% sure that it says "peeing Japanese people." Umm, what? Naturally I Googled it in attempt to find out what.the.hell. we could have been talking about. Bad idea. Obviously I am not looking for anime porn. Just peeing Japanese people. Give me a break, Google!

So I wrote all of that down after Googling that phrase. Then I apparently wrote "how to use a Japanese toilet." I was probably sure I'd remember why I jotted that down, but now it is weeks later, and I'm wondering what that was all about. Well, this was the first search result I found. Clearly I should be prohibited from Googling things.

I'm thinking I need to find some legitimate hobbies before I get carried away and start looking up the proper style for using toilets in every country on the planet.



*Small notebooks also make great gifts. A lovely, lovely friend named after Ariel's nemesis gave me a badass Yellow Submarine notepad for my birthday...

Ok, so she's way hotter than this "sea witch," and she totally wasn't named after this ugly thing. But still.

...and my always-on-point boyfriend hit a home run with a cutesy floral design and some nice Paper Mate pens on Valentine's Day. (I think he just wanted me to stop stealing pens from the bar where he works, but we'll pretend it was a romantic gesture.)


XOXO.

Really important update!

Here are a few things I don't understand:

• "Professional" documents typed in Comic Sans. Really, what is that about? I never even understood why people in middle school made that their font on AOL Instant Messenger, so why would anyone ever trust a law firm or dentist's office that advertises with it? Oh, and don't get me started on Dan Gilbert of the Cavaliers. (Additionally, that article implies that it IS okay to use Comic Sans ironically, but please note: that is seriously not the case. It's only okay if you're using it in a blog, as a caption on a photo of Summer Roberts.)

• On a related note: NBA. I'm a sports fanatic, but NBA makes no sense to me. You know what does make sense to me? My boyfriend:

(See? NFL > NBA. Duh.)

• One shoe on the side of the road. You know what I'm talking about. You're walking or driving down the road and you see one shoe. Not a pair of shoes. Just one. And this is not a rare occurrence. On any given road, at any given time, you're basically guaranteed to find a shoe. Where is the other one? Did you decide to just throw one out of the window along with your empty McDonald's cup? Why is there a child's shoe in the gutter? Were they kidnapped? I'm sorry, there are just too many questions with regard to this.

That's really it. I want to talk about Jerry Jones and people who put beer on ice, but my battery life is limited, and I'm in a totally poppin' bar where I'm the only customer, so clearly I have a lot of things to attend to.
XOXO, Caroline. (Dammit, Gossip Girl!)

Me, me, me.

I like talking about myself. Hopefully you like talking about me, too. It can be sort of like our common interest. I am almost positive I am closely quoting Summer Roberts right now. Summer and Dr. Roberts mostly just like talking about Summer. Maybe you and I can have a similar relationship, Internet. I'm sure I will have better luck making this relationship work if I stop referencing The O.C., but it is bound to happen from time to time.

This is an important life experience that I've already shared with my Facebook universe. Now I think I'll share it with the three people who read this blog-thing.

One morning a few weeks ago, I was driving home and an ambulance turned into a church in front of me.
Normally, a person should feel sort of sad and think, "Oh, I hope everyone is okay!"
This was not the case with me.
I thought, "Hmm. Someone probably had a heart attack. That's what you get for going to church all the time. Yep, churches have artery-clogging cholesterol-filled potluck dinners for every occasion. Baptisms, weddings, holidays, Wednesdays. Fatty food all the time. Stop going to church. Save your heart."

You see, I've always been sarcastic, cynical, and a little bit bitchy. But deep down, I had an actual heart. At least that's what I thought until this incident. It was pretty eye-opening when I caught myself in the middle of those thoughts.

I felt really bad.
No, I'm lying here. I did not feel that bad. What I really thought was, "Hmm, you're making a really good point, Caroline. I bet it was a heart attack!"

I'm slightly disturbed by my bitchiness.
Nope, lying again. What I'm disturbed about is my acceptance of the fact that I have a heart of stone.
I shouldn't be so okay with the fact that I'm an evil stabby meanie.
Do I have a choice, though?



What would Summer do?

Texas hold 'em (mis)adventures

I don't like games in general. Monopoly? Boring. Flip cup? Just stupid. War? Kill me now. Beer pong? No way in hell. Now you're totally saying, "Wow, Hurricane Caroline must not like anything fun!" That's only slightly true. I'm in a long-term relationship with Trivial Pursuit, and PhotoHunt is the mad notes. But that's all.

My obvious hatred of games aside, I felt that poker was something I needed to know how to play. I will probably never "seriously" play poker (read: poker involving money), but I think it is a game everyone should have some knowledge of.

I recruited a friend to teach me the game. I will refer to him as GT, short for gin and tonic, which would make him quite unhappy. GT thinks that gin and Sprite is a classy beverage that is superior to the traditional gin and tonic. He is wrong, no? GT does, however, know how to play Texas hold 'em and properly slice a lime, so I think we'll continue to be friends.

With a bribe-bottle of Beefeater in tow, I headed to GT's house to expand my knowledge of betting games. Quickly memorizing winning hands? No problem. Statistics has always been my favorite subject, so I had no issue with predicting the probability of getting certain cards.

The trouble began when the actual game play started. There was no money (or clothing) at stake, so it should not have been so frustrating. I was truly convinced that all I needed to do was obtain a Royal Flush and kick ass. (I should mention that I am fully aware that the odds of getting a Royal Flush are something like one in 650,000.) The thing is, I have no idea how to bet. Do you fold? Do you bluff? I'm not a very good actress, so I ended up betting what GT called "penny chips" the entire time.
The game went on for what felt like an eternity. After slowly getting my ass kicked for approximately a million years, I decided to just commit suicide (or what would be considered in a casino to be as sinful as suicide) and go all in on a terrible hand, intentionally losing everything.

All of this being said, I like Texas hold 'em. I want to play more and get better.

I think my real motivation to learn poker is the fact that I'd like to become one of those "poker stereotypes." I'm sure you know what I'm referring to. You leave ESPN on after watching The Big Game and an hour later, you realize your TV is tuned into a poker tournament. There is always a varied and very movie-stereotype-like group of people in the game.
I'm having trouble deciding which stereotype I want to be:

• There's always "The Cowboy" (we're talking Texas hold 'em, after all), but I don't wear hats very well, so this probably won't work.
• "The Asian Business Man" is usually present at a poker tourny. I can't pull this off because I'm definitely not a business man. (Yes, that's the reason. It's not due to the fact that I completely lack Asian heritage.)
• "The Black Man" is already claimed. (GT would be upset if I ruined it for him.)
• "The Mafia Boss" likes to wear a well-tailored suit and tacky (yet expensive) jewelry and is usually quite corpulent. I don't feel like putting any sort of oil in my hair, becoming a man, and gaining a hundred pounds, so this is not an option,
• "The Vixen" is a tempting option, because I am a very vain individual and I feel good when I look better than those around me. However, she is usually (and inexplicably) wearing a floor-length dress. Said dress is often bedazzled. Being "The Vixen" might be too much of a throwback to prom for a wannabe fashionista like myself.
• "The Normal Guy" is somewhat disturbing, because he's so normal. He looks like your dad, your neighbor, or your roommate. He can be of any age or race, but he's just too normal, and it terrifies the other poker players.

(I forgot to mention "The Neck-Brace Man," but he's one-of-a-kind, anyway)

Perhaps I can create a new poker player stereotype. Maybe people will emulate me in the future. This might be my next goal in life. Thoughts?

I like sportz and I don't care who knows

This could easily become a sports blog. It won't, of course, but I do spend an unhealthy portion of my life tracking scores, watching games, and yelling at the television.

I will tell you that I have also spent an unhealthy portion of my life covering up my habit. I haven't always been a sports-crazed lunatic in cute shoes, but I have always enjoyed watching football, basketball, and baseball more than I would have liked to admit. Finally, my addiction to this drug (known on the streets as ESPN and never mentioned in D.A.R.E. class) is out in the open.
Some of my friends are accepting (even encouraging) of this fact. Others would like to stage an intervention and throw me into some sort of six-month rehabilitation facility. My mother, for one, is highly annoyed with me at the moment. She does not appreciate me yapping about how much I would like to punch (insert name of any athlete on an opposing team) in the face.
I really am trying to at least get through March Madness without making too many people mad.

I had been unsure about how and why I am this way, but I think I've gotten to the bottom of it:

My family seemingly never cared about sports. My dad occasionally watched North Carolina State football and basketball games, but never made too much of a fuss about it. I considered this, then remembered a photo of me as a toddler wearing an NC State sweat suit and crying like someone who had just been stabbed in the foot. Naturally, I wanted to look through all the family photos, find this one, and burn it. I was shocked to discover that my sister and I each consistently "owned" these outfits from the ages of infancy to six years old.

See? She is not amused. She is basically saying, "Go away, Dad. If you put me in one more NCSU shirt, I'll graduate from their rival school when I grow up as payback for this!" The pictures only get worse. We look equally (or even more) unhappy in every photo I found. We didn't want to wear jerseys, we wanted to wear princess dresses.


I do not remember this at all, but I feel like it must somehow be the cause of my addiction, and the reason I am not a State fan. As far as overcoming this problem goes, I'm sure there's a 12-step program out there somewhere. I just don't think I'm ready to commit to recovery at the time being.

Blogging is not going to be my ticket to fame.

I decided that I needed to create a blog and become Internet-famous. I am now realizing that this dream will never work out. I don't know html. I pride myself on knowing that it stands for "hypertext markup language," because I love Jeopardy! and acronyms are important, but that is where my knowledge ends. I clearly did not think about this goal before setting it for myself.

Additionally, I don't think I'll gain much support. My friends are going to smash this dream into the ground before it gets a chance to take off. After a paragraph-long rant on Facebook chat about how blogging is headache-inducing and that I was probably going to cry about it, my very dear friend says, "Whoa. You're being pretty dramatic today." This is important, and clearly no one understands. I don't think I'll really cry about it, though.
(Yes, I will.)

Wish me luck.


*Edit: I did cry. Well, I cried Internet tears. Bullet-proof, 24 karat gold Internet tears of a rapper. The conversation with the above mentioned friend continued as follows:

Me: waaaah. (that was me crying like an infant)

Him: how else does one cry?

Me: like a really depressed adult who just curls up in bed and tears dramatically fall from their eyes and they use all their remaining energy to struggle to reach the tissues on the nightstand.

Him: sometimes it's hard to get those tissues when you're looking at the screen and only have one hand free

See what I mean? I'm mourning the death of my blogging career, and my so-called friends ruin my dramatic moment by making references to masturbation.