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.

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.