I used to blog. Blog alot. Years even. About myself mostly. But lately that's gone by the wayside, but my desire to write never has. And now I'm going to write letters to my girlfriend and soulmate while she's on assignment. It's like a blog, but better because people care. She's a cool chick. She's read my whole blog. She's the introspective type too and the type into capturing moments - like she's saved every text we've ever shared. And work e-mail too I think. She's my other half. But it's not like a 2 halfs of an apple coming together, or even a yin and a yang. It's more like she's the plutonium to my flux capacitor.

I've loved the NFL since around '93 when I'd watch our VHS recordings of the Cowboys on repeat. I kind of owe my stepdad for wanting to record these things, since I'm not even sure if he was the hugest poor football fan. I think he just liked to get free stuff on tape: re: every movie we ever rented ever.

He'd rent it, play it, while having another VCR hooked up recording it. In the end, I don't think it was worth it. We probably didn't watch Cops and Robbersons any more than once, and you can't even show off to your friends that you have 300+ movies, recorded on shitty quality VHS. Especially in hindsite.

But my time dedicated to watching football and listening to its analysis (8+ hours a day) has paid off, as I've won the weekly NFL pool 2 straight times. That makes 4 years of me winning atleaset once (which covers the whole years' entrance fees).

I like getting handed monies for how good I am at guessing winners. It's even easier than getting handed monies for delivering sex to 50+ year old ladies. I don't even have to brush my teeth.

I hope this good work (I refuse to call it luck) streak will continue so I can buy all the stuff I want (re: all the stuff I already have).

Ah, Sunday night. My longtime nemesis.
Since the days of yore, I have fought thee.
You bring depression, introspection, internal mayhem of the highest magnitude.
As elementary school faded into cubicle life,
Your power only intensified.

Sunday evening.
Harbinger of things to come.
The Grim Reaper of Nights.