Happy Super Bowl Monday!
Oh wait, that’s right, that’s not a thing. But it freaking should be because it’s America and I’m pretty sure most Americans care more about the Super Bowl than they do the presidential election so why is the Monday after the Super Bowl not a federal holiday? Some of us get a little wine tipsy. 🤐
Thankfully I didn’t have to wake up and roll into a day job, but I do now have to wake up and keep a 6-month-old alive, so just saying, it would’ve been nice to also have Anthony on call this morning. 😂
Anyway, like most of the country, I loosely watched the Patriot & Packerless Super Bowl stuffing my face with buffalo chicken dip and brownies while side-eyeing JLo & Shakira as they flashed their nether regions to the entire nation. All the while feeling rather strongly that even Janet’s boob slip of 2004 was somehow more appropriate than 50-year-old JLo scaling a pole in front of her daughter. But I mean, whatever falls under the ever-broadening definition of “art” nowadays, I guess?
After Anthony’s parents left and the 49ers started to take a beating from some team called the Chiefs, I was getting annoyed because I arrogantly proclaimed they would win in the second quarter. It was then that Anthony went to do dishes and my SIL and I sort of shifted gears and turned on Hulu reruns of The Bachelor so that she could catch up before tonight’s inevitable shit show.
Yes, I sometimes watch the Bachelor. I am a woman after all. This season in particular I’m tuning in because I liked Peter on The Bachelorette, and the never-ending drama is just what I need during my hormonal post-partum roller coaster, as I being to wean from pumping. If I didn’t hate my own gender enough these days, Hannah Ann and Alayah have certainly got me wanting to wring a few more necks than normal.
I can say with 150% certainty that there are only three women I even remotely like– Kelley, Madison, & Victoria P, who’s all wrapped up in some lying drama bullpoo with Alayah who is somehow back after pulling a Luke P. from the Bachelorette. Which Pilot Pete was there for and thought was ridiculous. But now it’s totally cool when it’s his giving out the flowers. Ok Pete. I see how it is.
I’d much rather see Pete rolling through the airport as a single hot pilot than suddenly melting into an idiot drool puddle listening to all the phony baloney falling out of these girls’ mouths. Or worse– ending up with one of them. (Who are you rooting for though, seriously)
In closing, so help me, if ABC doesn’t save Mykenna’s rose for last every single ceremony, this bus stops here and I’m getting off. Because her overly emotional meltdown every time someone else’s name is called is what’s giving me life these days. Because I have to say, between Fotis Dulos offing himself whilst proclaiming innocence and the whole world suddenly crumbling over the death of saint Kobe whom, last I checked, was a rapist, I am welcoming the scripted drama with open arms. Give me the fiction, the real world is cray cray.
Disclaimer: I know this may make me an awful person, but full disclosure? My actual internal reaction to Kobe Bryant’s death wasn’t one of overall concern. It wasn’t until I found out his daughter was also on the helicopter along with several other innocent people that it really made me sad. The reason this media storm is most bothersome to me is that Kobe is getting tributes and attention as some basketball hero while his wife lost her daughter, and there is a 16-year-old girl out there whose sister, mother and father were all on the helicopter. So like, yeah I’m sorry your basketball legend is gone, but I hope we aren’t forgetting the countless other people grieving right now.