"War Eagle" might be an overstatement at this point

Spent an awesome Saturday afternoon watching the tragic Auburn game at a local watering hole with my two favorite partners in crime: my brother Scott and our drinking companion Molly.  The tailgate trifecta!

About an hour into the game, I looked into the beer cooler and told the bartender that he needed to restock the Smirnoff Ice.  I'm nothing if not helpful.  He checked the back of the bar, and then told me that there wasn't any more. Cue violins for this tragic turn of events.   And then he said he'd be right back, and he ran across the street to the store and bought more for me.  I freaking love this guy!

I drank from noon until 3:30 p.m., and ate lunch, and when I was presented my bar tab it totaled $19.88.  That's right - less than $20!  Either the cash register was broken, or I got the drinking bargain of the century.  Or both. Guess who still gets free drinks from hot bartenders? *This* girl!


What bartender in his right mind wouldn't want to provide complimentary beverages to this crew?

 I blanked out our last names on the name tags so some 

of you assholes can't track us down & stalk us.

You know who you are.

Losing with grace, people.  The Auburn way.

Molly and I decided after the game that we all needed to go to the liquor store.  It was the obvious choice.  Scott was driving, but it wasn't too hard to convince him. What could be more charming & delightful than two drunk women in their 40's stumbling through the liquor store? Not a damn thing.

As we left the bar, three different bartenders thanked us for the "entertainment".  Ummm.  You're welcome.

We headed to the liquor store and when we got there I walked in and grabbed a cart, at which point Scott jumped in front of me and said:

Scott: Whoa, whoa, whoa.  What are you doing?
LAB:  Getting a case of wine.
Scott: While Jeff is out of town? I'm not sure I want to be a party to this.
LAB: He gave me money to buy a case of wine.
Scott:  Uh huh.
LAB:  I swear!
Scott:  Oh, hell.  Whatever.
LAB:  *Thinking: Jesus, it's not like I'm loading up on flavored vodka again.  I already learned that lesson.*

I bought my case of wine.  And some Smirnoff Ice.  And Scott helped me unload it at home, which was my goal in the first place.  #winning

The 2012 football season is shaping up to be ugly for Auburn.  And possibly uglier for me.  I may be watching the SEC Championship game from Passages. I hear Malibu is lovely in the fall. So there's that.

Monkeys v. Doorknob

Jeff was home this morning while I was getting ready for work, which almost never happens.  After watching me overflow the glass while pouring a Diet Coke, then roll around on the floor playing with the dogs, then trip and walk into the door frame, he said the following:

Jeff:  You're more of a disaster than usual in the morning.  It's like watching a bunch of monkeys trying to hump a door knob.
LAB:  Two things.  First of all, that's a quote blatantly stolen from the movie Dodgeball.  Second, thank you for providing me with my new personal motto.  "LAB:  Better than a bunch of monkeys trying to hump a doorknob".
Jeff:  You're welcome.  I think.

In other news, I found my first gray (American spelling, thank you very much) eyebrow last Saturday. What. The. Hell.  I was surprised, since I have very few gray hairs at all.  At 44 years old, I still have "virgin" hair.  No chemicals, no color.  I won the genetic lottery when I was born and I've been abusing it in every possible way ever since. You have to really be looking for the grays to even see them.  So I was somewhat shocked to have one in my eyebrows.  I plucked it and figured that would be the end of it.  Until this morning.  I found three, count 'em...three! more gray eyebrows.  Two on the right side, one on the left.  For some reason, I find them much more offensive than the ones in my hair.  If I keep plucking them, eventually I'll have bald patches in my eyebrows.  But if I pencil over them, I'm afraid I'll look like Cruella de Vil. What's a not so gently aging girl to do?

I'm trying to age gracefully.  I tried Botox last year.  Once. Didn't like it.  And Jeff, who I didn't tell I was going to try it, kept saying "Why do you always look surprised?" until it wore off.  I think it worked a little too well on me. It froze my forehead which was not a problem area for me quite efficiently, but the two tiny vertical lines between my eyebrows that I wanted to get rid of didn't disappear, they just got further apart.  Guess I'm destined to always  be #11.  Or Roman Numeral II.  Screw it!  May be the gray eyebrows will distract attention from the vertical lines.  I'm putting this in the win column.

Meet Becky (she's not a squatter)

Now that our garage renovation is well underway, Jeff and I are gearing up to finally (finally!) get started on my new kitchen.  Can I get a W00T! W00T! up in here?!?!?!

Jeff asked me to make my wish list, which was extensive, and we got together last night to go over it. After reviewing my list (none of which was vetoed, thanks to Garage-Mahal currently under construction in our back yard) we had the following conversation:

LAB:  Do you think we should show the contractor The Cube when he comes to look at the kitchen?
Jeff:   What the hell is "The Cube"?
LAB:  You know, the big square in the middle of the house with the bathrooms and closets that we're renovating after the kitchen.
Jeff:   The Cube? 
LAB:  Because it's square.
Jeff:   You named it The Cube?
LAB:  I just said that.
Jeff:   You're a moron.  Who names sections of their house?
LAB:  Ummm.  Me?
Jeff:   It was a rhetorical question, you dope.
LAB:   What's wrong with The Cube? It's catchy and it makes sense.
Jeff:   If you're going to give it a dumb ass name, why don't you just call it Becky?
LAB:  Huh.  I didn't think of it.  But you're right.  Becky's a much better name.  Becky it is, then.
Jeff: Oh Sweet Jesus.

I know some of you guys were wondering what I was thinking when I let Jeff build this monstrosity behind our house:

 

 The left side is where the lift goes, so we'll be able to park 

6 cars  under cover on our property.   Because what 

2-person family doesn't need to be able to park 6 cars?

Side view.  I don't ask why.

What I was thinking when I let him build that monstrosity was: Hells Yeah!  I'm about to get a kick ass kitchen (...and bathrooms ...and closet).  It should all make sense to you now.

This? Is how you start the football season (except for the loss)!

You might be wondering how I fared for the rest of the evening after 7 hours of tailgating prior to the Auburn game last Saturday.  Just fine, thank you.  The game proved to be less fun than the tailgate (since we lost), but there were certainly some bright spots.

#winning...even when we're losing!

Let me begin by saying that I love me some Clemson fans.  Classy, friendly people both before and after the game.

Except one.

I’d like to introduce you to my new friend, whom I’ll call Blondie.  Based on her attire, I assume she was a Clemson fan, although she pretty much just cheered for whoever was playing offense. Go Team(s)!  Blondie appeared to be shitfaced overserved.  

This picture isn't out of focus.  That's how she really looked.

Blondie was struggling a bit with her wardrobe.  As you can see, her shirt didn't quite meet her skirt.  And the problem was compounded by the split up the back.  Which would have been fine, but she refused to sit down (even when asked), so we spent all evening looking at her plumber's crack.  I see London, I see France...Blondie's got no underpants.  But then it got worse.  She started struggling with the tag in the back of her skirt.  That little tag kicked her ass for 2 straight quarters. She kept trying to tuck it in, but it kept popping back out.  So she did what I'm sure made perfect sense in her mind.  She pulled the entire skirt down to mid-thigh level, and then yanked it back up.  That's right people, she mooned us.  Full-on butt crack just before halftime.  See that nice lady sitting behind her?  She reached back, grabbed my hand and said "Ohhhhhh.  LAWD!"  It was beautiful.  For some reason, her husband appeared to be less offended by it.  You know how you see a traffic accident on the highway, and you don't want to look, but you can't look away?  That's what the remainder of the game was like for us.

Here are a few other nuggets from the game:

I have no explanation for this.

Drunk Guy Quote of the Day: “That Clemson fan was being a dick, so I threw a pom-pom at him to start a fight”.  Because nothing says “I’ve got huevos grandes and I will make you my bitch” like tossing a pom-pom.  I should note that he was also wearing a giant necklace of gold beads with a medallion that said “Chick-fil-A Kickoff Game” while trying to start said fight.  So there’s that.  

Drunk Text of the Day (from a member of my group who got lost in the 75,000+ people in the Dome): "Sitting on bench.  Find me."

Best Quote from a Stranger:  "Ma'am, you don't have to keep coming here and paying me $3.50 for bottles of water.  See that water fountain right next to us?  Use it to refill."  Duh.  I would have figured it out eventually.  But thanks to the pizza vendor who clued me in (after $21 of water).  I was trying to sober up to get us home.

Departure Quote of the Day (from my pal Chappell, who I last saw in person around 1992):  “Today was fun.  See ya in 2032”!  Well played, my friend.

And one final gameday gift, just for ya': Camo hat with bottle opener on the bill, people.  It was going to end up on my head eventually. It was inevitable.  You're welcome.

 Oh, Dear God.  Why?  Why? Why?

LAB vs. Tailgating (I kicked its' ass)!

My brother Scott scored us tickets to the Auburn vs. Clemson game at the Georgia Dome last Saturday.  Since the game was in Atlanta, we had a lot of friends who were also headed to the game.  Most of our pals were taking MARTA (the local subway system) to the game, but our tickets included a parking spot so we decided to host a tailgate for everyone. 

As with many Southern girls, I tend to get a little excited when I'm hosting an event.  And by excited, I mean bat shit crazy.  We were expecting about 10 people and we tend to make new friends as the drinking day goes on (I'm nothing if not pathologically friendly), so I figured I'd bump up the numbers a little.  This is what I considered a reasonable amount of food & drinks to take with us to the game:

• 72 Bud Light
• 24 Corona Light
• 24 Mike's Hard Lemonade
• 12 Smirnoff Ice
• 2 Jugs Margaritas
• 2 bottles of Champagne for mimosas
• 1.5 liter bottle of Ketel One vodka
• Water, cranberry juice, orange juice, assorted soft drinks
• Sliced limes and oranges
• 12 Beef Tenderloin sandwiches (Jeff grilled the steaks the night before - he's the best!)
• 24 Ham & Cheese mini-sandwiches
• 15 chicken salad croissants
• Mustard, mayonnaise, horseradish sauce
• Cheese tray with crackers & beef summer sausage
• Assorted chips, brownies and cookies
• 1 pound Twizzlers (it's a family tradition)
• And no tailgate is complete without Advil and antacids, so I threw those in there as well.

In addition, friends chipped in pasta salad, an additional 12 beers (Miller Light), more chips and dessert squares. 

This was after my first beer run (before I decided it wasn't nearly enough).

For those of you who are math-impaired, that's 108 beers alone.  Oh, WHAT!?!  It's not like that's a lot.  Quit judging me.  And I'd like to mention that two different guests asked if I had any wine, so obviously I was understocked.

I knew three of these people prior to Saturday.  What can I say?  Strangers love me!

You may think that it seems excessive, but here's my Post-Tailgate Booze Inventory: 10 Corona Light, 1/2 jug Margaritas, 1 bottle champagne, 6 Mikes' Hard Lemonade, 2 Smirnoff Ice and half the vodka (although I think a handful of Bud Light may be left in Scott's cooler).  I freaking love my peeps!  I'm pretty sure we could have wiped out the entire supply, but I quit drinking at 6 p.m. to make sure I'd be able to drive home at midnight.

This is my Auburn pal Chappell and my new friend Madison.  

Chappell claims we haven't seen each other for 20 years,

but I don't see how that can be true since I'm only 25 years old.

In other news, the battle with my arch-nemesis, the port-a-potty, continues to go in my favor.  I was able to "hold it" from 11:00 a.m. when I left my house until 6:45 p.m. when we entered the game.  I'm sure my bladder is eventually going to rebel, but for now...#winning!

Tomorrow's blog post will feature: enjoying stadium seating two rows behind a drunken butt flasher, pom-pom throwing fistfights, Jimmy Buffet's unfortunate twin, how beer makes a separation of 20 years feel more like 20 minutes, and why, even with a couple of hundred of dollars of food on the table, a free Chick-fil-A sandwich is irresistible (even though I really hate their politics).