The hubs and I share many interests. We both love to read. We both harbor the same unnatural attraction to reality tv (although his preferences are for the upper echelon of reality programming-Survivor, The Amazing Race, American Idol-and my love encompasses the entire spectrum of train-wreck reality television, but you know this already). And he even loves Broadway musicals as much as I do. Oh yes, this is true.
The hubs is in no fewer than five fantasy football leagues. He pulls his arse out of bed each Sunday morning at 7am (and often, this is before Isabella decides to get up) in order to listen to a fantasy football talk-radio show on Sirius. Once that's over, and the pre-game shows begin on tv, he's fixated on the tv, and runs up and down the stairs to his computer in our basement before the games start to make last-minute changes to his fantasy teams' line-ups. And once the action begins, he sits in our living room, my laptop on a table in front of him, checking his stats over. And over. And over. For hours.
.jpg)
The party was a lot of fun, as it is ever year. It was particularly fun for me. You see, at last year's party, I was breastfeeding. The year before that, I was in the middle of my IVF cycle. And up until two weeks ago, I was still breastfeeding. I hadn't touched more than a sip or two of alcohol in over two years. See that bottle perched so innocently at my side? Mommy had a cocktail, friends. And it was so very, very good going down.
.jpg)
But on each fall Sunday, the hubs morphs into Red-Blooded, Heterosexual, American Male. Sundays in my house are pretty much synonomous with football.
The hubs is in no fewer than five fantasy football leagues. He pulls his arse out of bed each Sunday morning at 7am (and often, this is before Isabella decides to get up) in order to listen to a fantasy football talk-radio show on Sirius. Once that's over, and the pre-game shows begin on tv, he's fixated on the tv, and runs up and down the stairs to his computer in our basement before the games start to make last-minute changes to his fantasy teams' line-ups. And once the action begins, he sits in our living room, my laptop on a table in front of him, checking his stats over. And over. And over. For hours.
Four years ago, we started an annual tradition with my best friend Jenny and her boyfriend Adam to make Sundays a bit more bearable (ahem, FUN!) for the womenfolk. We began hosting a tailgating party. This is not just your run-of-the-mill beer and chips in the living room kind of deal. You see, we party in our detached garage. What does such a party entail, you ask? Allow me to show you.
It consists of four (count them, four) televisions, each tuned to a separate sporting event. At one point yesterday, the tvs were showing two football games, golf, and a NASCAR race. This year, the party also included the addition of a Sirius satellite radio tuned into yet another football game. To save our sanity, and that of our neighbors', only one television/radio has the volume turned on at any given time.
It also consists of some really good food. And when your weekly meals are essentially supplied by leftovers from the little-known Italian restaurant ThankSweetJesusForSundayDinnersAtMyGreatAunt'sHouse, food made by someone else becomes really, really important. Adam channels his inner Southern gentleman and brings over a smoker which, by some combination of water, coals, fire and wood-chips, cooks amazing chicken, the likes of which I've not tasted before. And Jenny, who is a master chef, supplied most of the rest of the food, including Pizza Dip and bread and Jerk Chicken Nachos.
See that sad little veggie tray on the left? That was my contribution. Oh, and also the plates. The plates are totally mine.
This year, our annual tailgating party was a bit different in that the little girl who essentially snoozed through last year's event at two months old, this year at 13 months old, didn't feel like taking an eight-hour nap during the afternoon. The nerve.
Instead, she tried in vain to tune one of the four tvs into Kid Nation because she overheard her parents talking about sending her there next year if she didn't start changing her own damn diapers.
When that failed, she decided to just take off with the remote, figuring no one would miss it anyway.
The party was a lot of fun, as it is ever year. It was particularly fun for me. You see, at last year's party, I was breastfeeding. The year before that, I was in the middle of my IVF cycle. And up until two weeks ago, I was still breastfeeding. I hadn't touched more than a sip or two of alcohol in over two years. See that bottle perched so innocently at my side? Mommy had a cocktail, friends. And it was so very, very good going down.
That's excellent! My boyfriend pulls the same nonsense with the computer checking and fantasy football leagues while watching every game possible. And since this is only his first year, I am deeply saddened by what this means for the long term.
Thankfully, we team up with another couple friend on Sundays to make things more fun for all as well. Unfortunately, they do not have a smoker. Wah!
OK- I have to admit, I am as bad as the hubby with the fantasy checking and such (though we only have 1 league) Until the invasion of his big screen, we used to have 2 tv's in the living room every Sunday to watch various games. At least now it is a little less confusing!
What a riot! All the sudden I feel very lucky to have a husband who's not into sports! Up at 7am to listen to a radio show? That is funny!
Love the garagio partio!! The food looks fantastic, and Isabella is so precious in denim!
Haha! Looks like a fun way to spend a Sunday afternoon. Fly loves the remote, too. We are always looking for it and usually find it among his toys.
That looks like a lot of fun... I have never gotten this fantasy sports crap lol... but that really really looked like fun yesterday...
That looks like fun! I married a former jock, but lucky for me, he doesn't care to watch much of it on TV, until the playoffs and championships.
Oh, how funny! I won't be showing this post to my husband, however. Somehow, he has managed to escape the gravitational pull of Fantasy Football (don't ask me how).
Holy crap, Shishi can hang! And how the heck did you get all those tvs? PS - Isabella is single handedly redefining the fashion rules about the denim suit. Holy cute attack!