Ravens send the Chargers their 1st and 3rd rd picks this yr and next
Dallas sends the Jest QB Romo for their 2nd rd pick
the Bears send Miami QB Cutler for their 2nd rd pick
Miami sends QB Tanneyhill to the 49ers for their 2nd rd pick
JERK OF THE WEEK: Jerks with Awesome Girl Who Loves Football Part II
I'm almost fully recovered. I've been having recurring nightmares about angry, fedora-wearing Asian men stealing my French toast, as detailed in the Jerks with Awesome Girl Who Loves Football Part I, but I'm nearly over it now. I've been able to sleep four or five hours the past couple of nights.
After everyone left my house that morning, Awesome Girl Who Loves Football and I watched a marathon of the Walking Dead. We then had a conversation pertaining to several key jerks she's encountered at her school, one of whom teaches her:
4. Professor Hobbit
One of Awesome Girl Who Loves Football's recent tweets: "Talk about you hobbit! Talk about you hobbit!" I didn't know what she was talking about at first, but I eventually realized that she was imitating her Chinese professor.
Not only is this a Chinese professor; but this professor also happens to take Chinese. Yes, Awesome Girl Who Loves Football is learning Chinese, which is very cool. Unfortunately, this professor, whom I'll dub Professor Hobbit, can't speak English very well. Her pronunciations are terrible. In addition to calling a habit "hobbit," she transforms the following names:
Haley = Harey
Mark = Marker (or Martin)
Cassidy = Casey
Suzanne = Storms
Taylor = Tyla
Ashlen = Brennan
Bill = Beer
Awesome Girl Who Loves Football and her friend Haley both assumed that Professor Hobbit had been talking about beer quite often until they realized that she was simply referring to a student named Bill. Bill, apparently, is the worst student in the class because Professor Hobbit ranted about him recently:
"Beer not here again, Beer need come here more! He get 40 on last test!"
Speaking of tests, Professor Hobbit goes nuts with them. It seems like every time I ask Awesome Girl Who Loves Football what she's doing, she's studying for a Chinese test. She seriously gets 2-3 of them every week (four total classes per week), and to make matters worse, she seldom knows what they're going to cover. Here's a conversation she had with Professor Hobbit:
Awesome Girl Who Loves Football: What kind of test do we have on Monday?
Professor Hobbit: Ya we have test Monday.
Awesome Girl Who Loves Football: Yeah I know, but what kind? Like is it writing, listening, or character matching?
Professor Hobbit: Ya we have writing listening and chacter matching tests for unit.
Awesome Girl Who Loves Football: Which one is Monday?
Professor Hobbit: Yes we have test Monday.
Awesome Girl Who Loves Football: Ugh... OK thanks...
How is Awesome Girl Who Loves Football doing in Chinese class? Well, on one hand, she seemingly always gets As on her tests, which is quite impressive because it's a completely difficult language and she doesn't ever know what sort of test she'll be taking. On the other hand, she and Haley are constantly yelled at: "You and Harey! Paytention! Paytention! Wook on chacteh!"
Awesome Girl Who Loves Football wanted to know her exact grade, so she asked Professor Hobbit about it - which turned out to be a colossal waste of time:
Awesome Girl Who Loves Football: Hey, I was wondering, is it possible for us to find out what grade we have in this class?
Professor Hobbit: Yes I have grade in grade book!
Awesome Girl Who Loves Football: I know, but are we allowed to see it?
Professor Hobbit: Ya I put grade in grade book I have your grade there.
Awesome Girl Who Loves Football: ...I know, but can we see it?
Professor Hobbit: I keep grades ya!
Awesome Girl Who Loves Football: Uhh OK... never mind thanks...
Awesome Girl Who Loves Football told me about a couple of other jerks she met at her school, including one creeper who won't stop hitting on her, but I'll save those for next time. For now, on with the weekend!
Awesome Girl Who Loves Football and I went to my sister's birthday dinner at 7 p.m. We were already late - we left the house at 7:05 and it was about an 8-minute drive - when Awesome Girl Who Loves Football realized that she received a text from my sister when we already drove a couple of blocks.
Awesome Girl Who Loves Football: Wait, I just got a text from your sister. She said to remove the flowers her boyfriend gave her from the cup and to take the end stems and put them in a plastic bag.
Me: I guess that means we have to go back?
Awesome Girl Who Loves Football: I guess so.
Me: Oh well. I guess that means we have an excuse for being late. Let's tell them that we were almost there, but we selflessly went back for the flowers!
We drove back home and went to my kitchen, where we located the flowers on the countertop.
Me: What did her text say again? Something about stems?
Awesome Girl Who Loves Football: She wants us to take the flowers out of the cup and put the end stems in a plastic bag.
Me: End stems? What are end stems?
Awesome Girl Who Loves Football: I have no clue.
Me: Maybe the stems on the end? But why wouldn't she just say stems? Obviously the stems are on the end, so isn't end stems redundant?
Awesome Girl Who Loves Football: I have no idea. I know absolutely nothing about flowers.
Me: And that's why you are awesome.
Seriously, flowers are the most useless thing in the world. I'd hate to be a girl because getting flowers would be the worst. Like really, where would I put them? What if I were allergic to them? Do I need to water them? Do I plant them? How would I know if they were dying? Do I just put them in the garbage if they're dying? So many questions - being a woman must be impossible.
At any rate, we put the flower stems in a plastic bag and drove to the restaurant. We arrived just before 7:30. All of my relatives smiled at me, complimenting me on the flowers they thought I bought for my sister.
Random Aunt: Your flowers are very beautiful!
Me: Thank you, thank you, that's why we're so late.
I gave the flowers to my sister and just had to know if I followed her instructions correctly.
Me: Did I do the end stems thing right? We had no idea what you were talking about.
My Sister: Yeah, you just put the stems in the bag. That's why I sent that text to Awesome Girl Who Loves Football. I knew you'd be clueless about what to do with the flowers.
Me: Well, we both hate flowers, so we were both clueless about it.
A girl who loves football and hates flowers? I hope you're no longer wondering where the "awesome" in her nickname comes from.
6. My Dad, Toasts and the Gay? Portuguese Waiter
The restaurant we went to, by the way, was the same one with the Gay Portuguese Waiter. Yes, the place that tricked me into thinking that Bruschettas were mozzarella sticks. I lost sleep over this several years ago, but I've learned to forgive this establishment because they have awesome cheese fries and Strombolis.
They also have the Gay Portuguese Waiter. Now, there's some controversy about this. Gay Portuguese Waiter takes dancing lessons, talks with a lisp and checks me out, so we've always assumed that he's heterosexually challenged. I even asked Awesome Girl Who Loves Football what she thought, and she quickly said, "Yup! He's gay!"
One of my aunts, however, doesn't think so. She takes dancing lessons with him, so she might know best.
Aunt: Gay? No, he's not gay!
Me: What? Are you kidding me? He's the epitome of gay. Not that there's anything wrong with that.
Aunt: No, I know for a fact that he's not gay. Trust me.
Aunt: I dance with him. I can tell by the way he moves.
Hmm... why would he take dancing lessons, talk with a lisp and check me out if he weren't heterosexually challenged? I mean, is it possible that straight dudes would dance, talk with a lisp and check me out? I guess anything's possible nowadays.
Well, whatever his sexual orientation, my dad was pissed at him. He chided Gay? Portuguese Waiter when he went to take his order.
My Dad: Hey, you, you see that bowl of mussels?
Gay? Portuguese Waiter: Yeah?
My Dad: I'm going to dump it on your head if you forget my order this time! You forgot to take my order the last time we were here!
I guess Gay? Portuguese Waiter didn't find my dad as sexy as me. My dad quickly forgot about this, however, because he started drinking. And when he starts drinking, he begins toasting to everything.
I warned Awesome Girl Who Loves Football about two things at this dinner: One, my parents would make at least two dozen toasts to the most irrelevant of things, which is the worst because I absolutely hate toasts. And two, my dad would make her try everything. He's the most persistent individual when it comes to that. Here's a typical conversation between us at dinner:
My Dad: Walter, try this.
Me: Nah, it's OK.
My Dad: Try.
Me: No thanks.
My Dad: Try!
Me: Nah, I don't want it.
My Dad: Try now!!!
My Dad: TRY THIS NOW!!!
Me: No, I have my own food!
My Dad: I'LL NEVER SPEAK TO YOU AGAIN IF YOU DON'T TRY THIS!
Me: I DON'T WANT TO!
And he doesn't speak to me - until he asks me to try something else.
Why don't I just comply? Because I hate trying things. Why would I want to try something if I already know something else is good? Makes no sense. Awesome Girl Who Loves Football feels the same way as I do, so I assured her that I would defend her if my dad forced her to try some food.
Sure enough, the toasting commenced. I couldn't even keep track of things they toasted to; they drank to normal things at first like my sister, but then it turned into "to us" and "to love" and "to kids" and "to money."
I refused to toast with a drink, so I raised my plate of food whenever did this. Soon enough, I decided that the best strategy was to counter with ridiculous toasts of my own.
My Mom: To kids!
Everyone Except Me: To kids!
Me: To the painting on the wall!
My Mom: To the painting on the wall?
Me: The painting on the wall!
I later toasted to the painting on the other wall, which further confused my mom, who was drunk at that point, according to my dad, who continuously called her, "Drunk Woman."
And then the cakes came. There was a chocolate cake, which I was all over, and then there was some sort of abomination that was called a Madonna Cake, which had almonds, cream and other disgusting things in it.
My dad, who took a slice of this Madonna Cake, offered some to my girlfriend.
My Dad: Try this.
Awesome Girl Who Loves Football: No thanks, I'm going to have some of the other cake.
My Dad: This cake better. Try.
Awesome Girl Who Loves Football: No thanks.
My Dad: You never had cake like this.
Me: Dad, she doesn't want it.
My Dad: She'll want it if she'll try. Try!
Me: But she wants the other cake!
My Dad: But this cake is better! Awesome Girl Who Loves Football, don't listen to your boyfriend. No, listen to your boyfriend about everything except cakes. He knows nothing about cakes.
Awesome Girl Who Loves Football: Really, I'm OK, thanks.
My Dad: You don't know what you're missing. Don't listen to your boyfriend. Try.
Me: Dad, why don't you try?
My Dad: Try? I try! I'm eating a piece of cake!
Me: But you're not eating that specific piece of cake! Try!
My dad stopped bugging her once I said that. I managed to save the day. I was quite pleased with myself until I took a bite of the chocolate cake and wasn't too thrilled about it. My mom must have seen me make a face...
My Mom: How's cake?
Me: The chocolate cake needs more chocolate and less other disgusting stuff.
My Mom: What do you mean? It's chocolate?
I saw my dad trying to listen in on the conversation, so I just said "never mind." If he heard me complaining, he would have once again forced me to try the other cake. And if I eventually gave in, he would've toasted to it, making it so much worse.
I parked in lot A this time, remembering that I mistakenly went into Terminal B when I picked her up. We walked to Terminal A, but saw that it said "US Airways - International Flights." Confused, we went in and asked. Indeed - Terminal A was for US Airways' international flights. We asked where US Airways' domestic flights were, and we were told to go to Terminal B.
I almost freaked out. So, to pick up Awesome Girl Who Loves Football, I had to go to Terminal A even though the Expedia ticket said Terminal B, but to drop her off, I had to go to Terminal B? Why can't these a**holes keep things consistent? No wonder there are crazy bums roaming the hallways at night. The ridiculous configuration of this place made them lose their mind.
Anyway, we walked over to Terminal B. Fortunately, there was no line, or Awesome Girl Who Loves Football would have missed her flight. We approached one of the kiosks, where a black man with a cheery disposition was standing behind the counter. He greeted us and said something in some sort of a Jamaican accent that I couldn't understand.
Airport Employee: iewg ehow kr bnoelrkng w Charlotte!
Airport Employee: rgwhoi ghweu we rgkjfn o3ho rlgns rj Charlotte!
Airport Employee: RGRWIOHG OEWHWG OER N HRN 35H54 CHARLOTTE!!!
Me: Oh, OK, yeah!
I have no idea what he said besides the words "Charlotte." Each time he repeated himself, he would get progressively grumpier. When I said, "Oh, OK, yeah!" hoping that we would think I understood him, he looked at me so menacingly that I thought he was going to place some Jamaican voodoo curse on me.
We took the plane tickets and went up the escalator to the security check line. We stood behind it, ready to say goodbye, when some trashy employee with a mullet and tattoos on his neck shoved us both into the security line, shouting, "Y'all gonna have to go dis line!"
We were both in the security line, which made me nervous because if they saw me duck out of line, airport security could have decided to detain me because I did something suspicious. They would then do an anal cavity search on me, and even though someone like Gay? Portuguese Waiter may want one, I sure as hell don't.
I panicked. I kissed Awesome Girl Who Loves Football goodbye too quickly and jumped out of the line before any of the security guards could see me. I then went down the escalator, and it sank in that I wouldn't see her for quite a while, which made me very sad.
On the bright side though, I had an incredible weekend and obtained some great writing material. I'd be up for doing this every weekend - even if it meant the risk of getting lost at the airport and transforming into a crazy bum.