Sux to be me...

... where sports are concerned.

Let me explain:

While some tonight were gnashing their teeth and trying not to spill their bourbon, I was pausing at the gym and in the grocery store to inquire where things stood in the Arkansas/LSU game.

Not because I'm a Hog fan.

*BLASPHEMY!*

yeah, yeah, whatever

My photographer husband shoots a lot of sports. This means frequent absences during certain times of the year -- like now, right before the holidays, when I'm remembering how he had to leave on Christmas Day 2006 so that he could be in Florida to shoot a week of practices -- PRACTICES! -- before the bowl game. I rushed the Cornish hens in and out of the oven so fast, they were still squawking when I laid their neatly little trussed-up bodies on the dining room table. Because, you know, Hubs had to catch a flight.

grr.

When we lived in San Antonio, with our toddler and newborn -- TODDLER AND NEWBORN!! -- the damn Spurs just kept on winning. And I kept cussing. Because every time they played, Hubs was there, editing photos. The night the fireworks went off on our cul-de-sac -- well, I was the bitchy freak yelling, "Could you please keep it down out there?!" as people frolicked through neighborhoods. The city filled with residents unified in joy -- all except for the snarky, sleep-deprived, breastfeeding mother over on Irish Lane. I was the beeyotch of the NBA, and I held that title proudly.

So games like tonight, games that will determine which weekends of my holiday season will be ruined -- ruined, people! -- by those *splutter* unaccommodating athletes, oh, they leave me wringing my hands and drinking my own bourbon.

How would you like to plan all your visits and celebrations around the Hogs'schedule? When you're not a Hogs fan, I mean.

It was bad enough in Texas, where A&M cranks out cult members and UT trots out a longhorn and the Tech horse ends up dead when it runs into a wall during halftime -- but now I'm living in a state where people "call the hogs" at games.

They. Call. The. Hogs. Let that settle in your brain a bit before you comment.

Never, given my apathy toward sports, did I dream I would end up married to a man who shoots sports or living in a state in which people yell "Wooooo, Pig! Soooie!" with religious fervor.

So Paige, despite my Arkansas residency, I feel your pain. Hubs won't be home for hours...

Still -- check out this photo from last year's SEC Championship -- you can tell by the photo that things did not go well.



Yes, yes, very nice. But the Hubs' talents could be much better used. Take, for example, these Clinton photos. Love them. LOVE them! (That's his nephew peeking out the house with him during a tour of the boyhood home.)





Final blow of the evening? I accidentally threw away a plate of brownies after mistaking them for Hubs' leftover lumps of deer sausage. Am weepeing...