If Football's Not Your Cup of Tea, The End of The Post Contains Some Adolescent Poetry

So, Heather B. came to visit me.

Well, not me, so much as the World Champion New York Football Giants. BUT STILL.

You see, about a month ago, J came into some incredibly good tickets for the NFL season opener at Giants Stadium, which took place this past Thursday. He decided to take me and one of his best friends, and then, in a move easily guaranteed to win him Husband of the Year, he offered me the last ticket, and told me to invite a friend. The decision of who to take was simple. As some of you may recall, Heather and I have a long and storied history of sharing the joys and frustrations of Giants fandom together, and I could think of no one better to invite to the game with us.

In addition to being a fellow Giants fan, Heather is kind, insightful, and consistently cracks my shit up. And as I mentioned to her during our chat in the third quarter (aka, The Boring Quarter Where Everyone Loses Steam and Stops Paying Full Attention to the Game ADMIT IT, YOU TOTALLY DO THIS, TOO), I love that she and I can move seamlessly from an in-depth critique of the Giants defense to extolling the virtues of this J. Crew dress or this Lush scrub (her recommendation) without missing a beat. In short, she’s a fabulous friend.

We’ve been counting down the days, and I was like a kid on Christmas (Hanukkah?) morning once Thursday rolled around. Heather and I met up in the city and after a shopping excursion, we went back to my home. There, we attempted to play Wii (FAIL), I fed her a dinner fit for my toddler--complete with veggie soy nuggets and ketchup, and no, I am not kidding--and she met my kids for the first time.

If she ever comes back, it will be to see my children, and not for the food.

(Pictures courtesy of Heather)

J arrived home shortly thereafter, and we all headed off to the game. I know that not everyone cares about football, so I’ll simply say that it was a great game, and a fabulous start to the football season.

While Heather and I were in the city, I’d also picked up Sarah Brown’s newly-released Cringe book. It is HILARIOUS, and inspired me to dig through the ginormous bag of old diaries and journals my mom had foisted upon me when I was last home.

OHMIGOD.

There were many, MANY rambling entries detailing the trials and tribulations of my woeful, middle-class suburban upbringing and the attendant drama related thereto. (“They think they can tell me that I can’t go out after 9 on a school night? Well, guess who just snuck out and went to Walgreens with XXXXX? We got sour candy and Snapple, and then he took me home.” SCANDALOUS!) Among these entries, however, I discovered The Most Awesome Thing I’ve Ever Written. By which I mean, The Poem That Makes Me Die a Little Inside Every Time I So Much as Glance at It.

That’s right—I had an honest-to-God poetry stage. I was 16, and apparently involved in the most heartbreaking love triangle THE WORLD WOULD EVER KNOW. Because I love you, and because hey, it's almost Monday, and Monday generally sucks, I am posting the poem here to start your week off right.

Please note that: (a) I have no idea what the last two lines are (Part of the poem? A separate entry? It's a mystery.) and (b) the song I'm referring to in the twelfth line down is from a Boyz II Men song. I AM UNIRONICALLY QUOTING BOYZ II MEN OMG.

You're welcome, people.