You know what really grinds my gears? The next 30 days. And not just these specific next 30 days, but these thirty days every year. Personally these days cause me to be a slave to Rose. As the people whose Facebook relationship status reads either "In A Relationship", "Married", or "It's Complicated" (especially those retards) know tomorrow is St. Valentine's Day. Ah Valentine's Day, a day created by the law firm of Hallmark, Zales, & Whitman celebrating love -- well if one defines love as a man trying to appease his significant other but always falling short in the end. No man enjoys Valentine's Day. Some men may enjoy Valentine's Night, but the odds of not fucking up once the entire day and thus nullifying sexy playtime are slim to none. I'm sure rest of you just wind up in the bathroom at 1 AM rubbing one out to your 2009 Golden Girls wall calender like me. (I perfer the month of September because that's when Grandparents' Day is. What about you?)
But Valentine's Day is only the start for me. A few weeks later is Rose's and my anniversary, March 4th (right?). That's another day for "the both of us". More flowers, more cards...all things that you throw out in less than a week a cost a fortune. And you can forget all about sexy playtime then. I mean who hasn't gotten into a fight on your anniversary? But the "fun" doesn't stop there. Only 9 days later and it's Rose's birthday. At least this is one doesn't pretend to be for the both of us. It's her day and I accept that, so I'll do the dishes, take out the garbage, vacuum the apartment, get my own beer, chew my own food...you know, everything that she would normally do for me. It's just a lot to have to deal with next 30 days.
But you know next 30 days, there is something else that you do that I can't stand. Could you have a worse selection of sports? I mean seriously. You know it's bad when on a Sunday afternoon ESPN is showing bowling and women's college basketball. Have you seen SportsCenter recently? For the past week the lead stories have been A-Rod, Michael Phelps, and Brett Farve. None of these sports are even in season right now! They don't even show any highlights until halfway through the show, and it's not like I'm dying to see all of the top plays from the Okalhoma City Thunder vs. the Charlotte Bobcats. How am I supposed to unwind? Oh I know, let's hear about A-Rod for the 10 millionth time. This is all the coverage that they need to do:
"Do you think that this will affect how people view Alex Rodriguiez now Mr. Mackey?"
"Well, uh, see, drugs are bad, m'kay. You shouldn't take drugs."
"And what do you say about Michael Phelps and the picture of him allegedly smoking marijuana from a water pipe?"
"Well, again, drugs are bad, m'kay. You shouldn't take drugs."
"And finally, do you think that Brett Farve will stay retired this time or do you see him trying to come back with another team? Your thoughts."
"Well, see, Brett Farve is old, m'kay. You shouldn't play football when you're old."
Period. End of story. That's all the coverage necessary. These wouldn't even be stories during football season. Michael Phelps could have done lines of cocaine off Caylee Anthony's rotting corpse and people would have just said, "Fuck that, tell me how many fantasy points Larry Fitzgerald got me on Sunday." Oh, I just get so angry at sports this time of year!
So the next 30 days, you here and all I can do is bitch and moan on my friend's blog. I hope you're happy. You bastard...you fucking win...you always fucking win!