Always Anna

Well, the Lakers may have just lost Game 4, but we’re going back to LA where we will KICK SOME PHOENIX *SS!  Boys – don’t let me down. 

Whew. Now I need to think happy thoughts… perhaps I should replay last weekend in New York in my head?  Yes, I think that’ll do that.

After chilling with Em in CT on Friday night, I took the train into NY on Saturday to hang out with Ali & Alexis, and prepare for a night of drunken debauchery – the Post Show Season 3 Launch Party.  Those boys inspire me to the best drunkard that I can be.  My favorite (admittedly hazy) memories?

* Getting to second base with Alexis before the party even started.  THAT’S why I go to NY, people.

* Getting to wear my favorite new shoes.  They may make my toes go numb, but they’re d*mn cute.

* Red-headed slut shots with White Windbreaker and Alexis – not red-heads, but sluts nonetheless.  Oooh, BURN!

* Meeting Helen for the first time, and making fun of lame boys.  I love her attitude.

* Doing Lemon Drops (the most girly of the non-girly shots) with Poop, and creating a mess of lemon juice on my arm.  My arm was sticky for two days. (What?  I don’t shower on Sundays – too much work!)

* Watching Alexis throw her drink glass at the wall, for no apparent reason, then break into her diva routine before ditching me for a boy. 

* Watching girls throw themselves all over the Post Show Boys and the rest of their Posse.  More entertaining than Tom Cruise’s craziness!

* Late night pizza.  Mmmmmm….

Ah, good times.  Drunk times.  Post Show times.  It’s all good.

Of course, all will be better when the Lakers get up off their *sses and play some GOOD basketball! 

Today is the best day EVER. 

And now for some eye-candy:

Thank you, Zora, for showing me the page with all the yummy pictures!

 

And even though Brett is giving me a heart attack by taking so long to make his decision, I am totally still in love with him:

“I know I can still play. My confidence has been shot a little bit, there’s no doubt. I had a lot of chances to pull us out of the fire last year and I didn’t do it. My confidence is in question a little bit. Some will understand that. Some won’t. But it’s the truth. I can’t tell you what people are going to say. They can believe what they want. But the people that know me also know that I’m a team player. I have to make a total commitment. It’s not just what (the Packers) are going to do. It’s what I honestly can give to the team. I’ve never (half-assed) anything my entire life. I’m not going to start now. When I put on the uniform I can’t help but be a competitor. It’s in my blood.”  

Go Packers!

So my site’s been down for the last few days, giving me an undesired break from blogging.  But now that it appears to be back up, my mind is more blank than George W. Bush’s.  Zing!

Anyways…

Last night I went to the Lakers/Celtics game here in Boston.  Now, as y’all know, I’m a huge Lakers fan (if you didn’t know that, you are clearly not paying attention).  In spite of the fact that I grew up hating the Celtics, ever since I moved to Boston I’ve rooted for them – when they’re not playing my Lakers, of course.  It’s fun to root for the hometown team, and since I hate every single non-Laker NBA team in existence (except for the Clippers, who I am curiously ambivalent about), I figure I might as well root for the Celtics when I go to their games.

Of course, this does not hold true when they play the Lakers.  And I don’t bother trying to hide my allegiance, which makes for an interesting experience.

Boston fans have a reputation for being… umm… how do I put this nicely?  Hmmm… I don’t think there is a nice way to say this. 

They’re loud. 

And angry. 

And rather than cheering on their own team, they like to scream obscenities at the team they are playing against.  

In general, I find this extremely annoying.  But when people are screaming AT my team, or cheering when one of my players gets knocked to the ground and stays down, I get a little fired up.  So it was nice when one of the Massholes sitting two rows behind me got kicked out last night.  And even nicer when my boys kicked some Celtics butt.

Y’all can keep hating on Kobe.  And keep wishing he was on YOUR team.   

Actually, eff that. I am the champion, my friends!

As you may recall, I fell in love with fantasy football this past season. It was fun, fun, fun to match my football wits against 5 other girls. I loved our posting board, full of things that I can pretty much guarantee no league with boys would post about. I loved talking fantasy with my fellow GMs – Triple D, Fast Gurls, Philosopher Kings, Beantown Busters, and Baby Daddies. But it was I – the phenomenal Golden GRRLs – that stormed back from last place in the league to become the Champion. That’s right – I won it all.

Now, my league didn’t play for money. No, we are way too classy for that. Instead, we played for drunkenness – the losers had to take the champ (moi!) out for dinner and drinks. Luckily for them, I have ridiculously low tolerance.

We celebrated my reign as champ on Saturday night, starting out with dinner at my favorite restaurant and then drinks at a number of Harvard Square bars. Mmmm… booze. I was drunk. And silly. And flashing cleavage in dive bars. But it was fun, and – best of all – it was free for me! I love winning.

The night ended with me laughing hysterically at a condom machine in the ladies room:

It was a good night.

I don’t agree with most of Chuck Klosterman’s new Page 2 column. But he hits the nail on the head when he talks about Brett:

…the sex boat situation still bothers me. And it bothers me because the Vikings are football players. When Minnesota beat the Green Bay Packers 23-20 that week on a 56-yard field goal, and the Fox cameras cut to a close-up of Daunte Culpepper kneeling on the ground in prayer, I found myself disgusted. This felt like a travesty. You see, Brett Favre would not have been on that sex boat. I know this. I know this because BRETT FAVRE JUST LIKES TO PLAY THE GAME. BRETT FAVRE JUST WANTS TO GO OUT THERE AND THROW THE OLD PIGSKIN AROUND THE OLD BACKYARD. AND YOU KNOW, SOMETIMES BRETT FAVRE HURTS YOU, BECAUSE BRETT FAVRE TAKES A LOT OF RISKS. HE’S A RIVERBOAT GAMBLER! BUT YOU CAN NEVER FAULT BRETT FAVRE, BECAUSE BRETT FAVRE LOVES TO PLAY THE GAME. BRETT FAVRE WOULD PLAY FOR FREE. IN FACT, IF THERE WERE NO OTHER OPTION, BRETT FAVRE WOULD TAKE OUT A SMALL BUSINESS LOAN FROM A LOCALLY OWNED BANKING INSTITUTION AND PAY THE NFL FOR THE OPPORTUNITY TO THROW THE FOOTBALL TO THE LIKES OF DONALD DRIVER, BECAUSE BRETT FAVRE EMBODIES A DYING MYTHOLOGY WHICH SUGGESTS THAT THE ICONS OF A SOCIETY CAN REPRESENT (AND AT TIMES TRANSCEND) THE HIGHEST VALUES OF THAT SOCIETY IN A WHOLLY ALTRUISTIC CONTEXT. DO YOU NOT REALIZE THAT BRETT FAVRE LOVES TO PLAY THE GAME? WELL, HE VERY MUCH DOES….

I love Brett Favre. And I love Chuck for managing to define what it is that makes Brett great.

The Packers may be killing my soul, but my fantasy team is officially making a comeback! Woohoo! And I just won my office football pool! Double woohoo!

I’m taking my winnings to Filene’s and buying a new work bag. Nothing is cooler than combining football and shopping. Ooh, unless you can work some food in there….

And on that note, I’m leaving you with the funniest thing I’ve heard in a while:

At Hong Kong’s on Saturday night, Emily slurred/yelled, “I’m a high maintenance PRINCESS, and I get what I WANT!” Maybe you’d have to know Drunk Emily to find this as hilarious as I did… but trust me. It was hysterical.

After watching college football all day Saturday, and pro football all day yesterday, I’ve found my life’s ambition.

I want to be one of the sports reporters. Specifically, I want Jillian Barberie’s job. She gets to hang out with Terry, Jimmy and Howie (who I LOVE), and run things like the NFL’s Sexiest Man competition. I think I know more about sports as she does, and I would totally start working out if it would help my career.

So, here’s my plan of attack:

1. Start writing about sports. I don’t think it matters where – online, in print, for a sports show… whatever. Ooh, maybe I can have an article like The Sports Guy… but The Sports Chick.
2. Start working out.
3. Take part in a Maxim, FHM, or Stuff article/photo-shoot about chicks that are into sports (I envision me, some athletes, and an actress (and sports fan).
4. Sit back and wait for the offers to start rolling in.

It would totally work, right?

I’m posting way later than usual, and since everyone seems to check this thing from work, I know no one will see this. So I’ve decided to take this time to post about sports related things… I know you don’t really care, so this way, when you check in on Monday morning, you won’t feel like you missed anything exciting.

There’s an article on espn.com that asks who Shaq really is, and whether he’s deserving of all his hype. While the article rambles on for a while, not really picking any side, this stood out to me:

There’s a story about Shaquille O’Neal that cannot be written. It’s the one about the flaws in his game that have nothing to do with free throws, his lack of commitment, his insecurities as a teammate and person, or how he always plays the victim.

No one will write that story because Shaq is Shaq – the nicest guy in the world, the guy with the heart of a kid, the most unpretentious superstar in professional sports. No media person in his right (or write) mind would degrade Shaq in print. It’s career suicide. It isn’t worth it.

And that about sums it up for me. He’s not a perfect player, a perrenial MVP. But he’s too good of a guy to not be written about that way, so all we’ll ever hear is how he was the best, the most dominant, etc., etc., etc. You all know how I feel already, so I’ll let it go now….

In other espn.com news, The Sports Guy pretty much perfectly summed up the OC season finale. I LOVE that he watches the OC. It’s the coolest thing ever, because it makes me feel less cheesy about loving the show…

Okay, that’s it. I’m off to a BBQ, then to Connecticut tomorrow… See you Monday!

(just realized I used a lot of ellipses in this post…)

Today, my boss told a story about a friend of hers who got in line behind a tall guy at a small market here in Boston. She thought he looked familiar, so she kept stealing looks at him, trying to place him – cute, well built, hair poking out from under his NY Yankees cap – when it hit her. It was Tom Brady. The Patriots Quarterback! Oh my god! Oh my god! The… NEW ENGLAND Patriots QB. Essentially, the BOSTON Patriots. Why on earth did he have a Yankees hat on? She got a little fired up about this, so she tapped him on the arm and rudely asked, “Hey Tom. What’s with the hat?” To which he replied, in the same tone of voice, “I like the colors.”

I love football. Love it. Sure, I love the Packers more than anyone else, but usually, I don’t have a problem with respecting my rivals. For example, I have nothing but respect for Donovan McNabb, Peyton Manning, LaDainian Tomlinson…anyone, really, who isn’t a jackass and loves the game.

But I loathe Tom Brady. First he does a Gap ad – a freakin’ NFL QB shilling blazers instead of sneakers? Loser. And now, a professional athlete, wearing a hat because he likes the colors? Come ON! Grow a freakin’ sack, Tom, and wear the hat of the team you supposedly root for. What the HELL is wrong with him?

And he’s NOT cute.