Uh, What Happened To Me?

What just happened a few minutes ago: I walked in my front door, took off my suffocating skirt, put on comfortable pants, and sat down on the couch. Adorable Welsh Subletter offered me the TV remote since it seemed to be my turn to choose the channel. I switched on the "Guide" function of our wonderful gazillion-channel cable, and I literally had a conniption as I was presented with a terrible dilemma.

Yankees Vs. Red Sox or Lakers Vs. Magic?

And then, of course, I had a second conniption.

Why am I having a conniption!?

This is me. If you take away the couch potato bit, because I spend a lot of time out of the house. 

But really. Beer? Remote? Couch? Check. Check. Check.

I mean, okay... I'm taking solace in the fact that I'm still a little bit sad that The Real Housewives of New Jersey is ALSO on and I can't possibly change the channel. But re-read that sentence. I'm choosing TWO SPORTING EVENTS over Bravo. Count 'em, two. And this is not out of the ordinary. Ever since the summer started and I got cable, I have been coming home and flipping right to baseball. Or SportsCenter. Or, with a little guidance from The Boyfriend, the NBA finals. I hated basketball! I do hate basketball! I... I... I...

Oh shit, double play. Really, Yankees?

Sorry, sorry. I know this isn't completely well thought out, but I'm beginning to feel like my quest for Sports Knowledge in order to Entrance the Male Sex has had this opposite effect where instead of luring all these beautiful, sporty men, it has, instead, transformed ME into a man. A pony-tail wearing, tight-tank-top-sporting, pink-fingernailed man. Who drinks beer. And watches sports. And then watches the POST GAME SHOW. 

I think that's when you know it's getting bad.

When I used to visit The Boyfriend up at school, there was constantly some sort of sports game on TV and that was the norm. Walk into any room where there are men and they won't mind - hell, they'll encourage it - if you turn on a channel that deals with sports or games or physical activity or beating someone up. But when you live in a house with girls or are even just watching TV with females around there's just something very strange about going "Wait, wait, wait. Can I interrupt this broadcast of What Not to Wear to check the score for a second?" They look at you like... like your hair is blue. Or you pee standing up. Or something.

Want proof? Adorable Welsh Subletter just went on a cereal run to the grocery store around the corner and the first thing I did was turn off The Office and turn on the basketball game.

I'm living a double life of shame that involves ESPN gamecasts and not-so-secret desires to visit sports bars. But then again, my good friend just revealed to me today that the reason my gladiator sandals were sticking to her kitchen floor is because she and her multiple female suitemates have been practicing beer pong every night. So perhaps I'm not alone...

Stop. I have to draw the line somewhere. As my faithful readers know, the line used to be basketball. Well, I'm officially recanting that statement. Basketball is pretty good. It's sometimes exhilarating and occasionally really interesting. And you can't forget the freak factor - I mean, these guys are effing TALL. There's a certain Ripley's Believe It or Not thrill to basketball, like seeing a lamb with two heads or something. But mark my words, friends. I WILL NOT watch... are you ready for it?... Ultimate Fighting. There is too much blood, too much punching in the face, and FAR too much naked man-hugging. If I want to see scantily-clad man-grabbing, there are plenty of places in New York City I can take myself where I also don't have to hear the crunch of broken facial bones. Sure, it will probably cost ten bucks and a possible two drink minimum, but I'm okay with that.

Now that my secret's out, will you keep reading my blog? Now that you know I'm a cupcake lover AND that I drank all of The Boyfriend's beer he left in the fridge, will you still want to be my friend? (Heh, he didn't know that until now... we're just spilling secrets all over the place, now aren't we?)

Oh, and one more thing. The other night I came home from a late night work shift at Anthropologie (where I tend to wear a headband that has big cloth flowers attached to it and flouncy little skirts) to hang out with The Boyfriend, who was staying at my place. I had a lot of energy, and he seemed to be energetic as well, so we decided we should do something fun. I said "Hey, what do you want to do?" and he said "I don't know, what do you want to do?"

I thought for a second, and then offered a suggestion.

"Want to play a video game?"

Uh oh.