This post has a soundtrack: Moving Units, "Pink Thoughts."
Despite my vast makeup collection and numerous purses, I am not really much of a girly girl. I belch and swear a lot. I'm not a petite, delicate flower. In fact, The Boy I Currently Like admitted not long ago that if he were ever to raise his hand to me, he would be the one coming out of the encounter worse for wear.
However, you might not realize I'm not a girly girl by looking at my gym accessories. My gym bag is pink. As were the two before it. Yesterday, I got new gym shoes. Guess what: they've got bright-ass pink Adidas stripes on them. Oh, and there's that hot pink hoodie I often wear during yoga to stay warm for Savasana.
You know, it wasn't even that long ago that I refused to wear or buy or have anything that was pink. It was damn near impossible to even find shoes yesterday that weren't super-girly looking. Jesus. It's 2009. GIRLS DON'T ONLY WEAR PINK. We can shoot rifles that aren't pink and maybe, just maybe, we would like to wear our actual team colors, not pink ball caps and t-shirts.
(Side note: I AM DYING from the cuteness of Puppy Bowl -- and a Pedigree commercial that was just on. YOU ARE KILLING ME, ANIMAL PLANET.)
But whatever. My gym bag just hauls my shit to and from the gym. And my new Adidas running shoes seem to have the arch support I need. They felt like a dream today on the elliptical. So they're all pink and girly. I suppose I'll live.
Horrible segue: Football is almost over. *sniff* Despite the fact that I really can't stand Kurt Warner, I'm pulling for the Cardinals. I picked the Steelers to win, though. You'd think I'd go for the team with several former Gophers, wouldn't you? But I just hate the Steelers for some reason. Plus, the Cardinals have Matt Leinart and his hotness trumps a lot of stuff.
My party is going to be small this year. My nephew's party is going to be at least twice the size of mine. Awesome! Of course, after imploring my friends to let me know if they were coming, a few didn't, but oh! You're coming now. Thank goodness I have a pathological need to have about five times the amount of food necessary for the number of people coming over. It'll actually be nice to watch the game this year. I can't remember the last time I actually spent most of the game watching the game and not running around cooking and making drinks and trying to be a good hostess. An intimate affair will be a nice change of pace.
Super Bowl Sunday has taken on a little extra significance the last couple of years, since it was two years ago that The Boy and I struck up our correspondence. Two years? Damn. It doesn't seem like it's been that long.