I'm never again talking about marriage before going to bed.
I had a horrifying nightmare last night where I dreamt I married some random dude. I was disillusioned with love (which is true, I suppose) and just agreed to marry the first schmuck to ask me (something I claim to be able to do). Within minutes of saying "I do," I felt like shit. I asked for a divorce... actually, I clearly remember saying "I WANT THIS ANNULLED!" and he was refusing, so I screamed "I DON'T LOVE YOU!" and he was like "I DON'T CARE! YOU'RE NOT GETTING ONE!" and I started to cry.
I was having a damn anxiety attack when I woke up with my heart beating out of control... at six in the morning.
Ugh... horrible.... just horrible.
I had a horrifying nightmare last night where I dreamt I married some random dude. I was disillusioned with love (which is true, I suppose) and just agreed to marry the first schmuck to ask me (something I claim to be able to do). Within minutes of saying "I do," I felt like shit. I asked for a divorce... actually, I clearly remember saying "I WANT THIS ANNULLED!" and he was refusing, so I screamed "I DON'T LOVE YOU!" and he was like "I DON'T CARE! YOU'RE NOT GETTING ONE!" and I started to cry.
I was having a damn anxiety attack when I woke up with my heart beating out of control... at six in the morning.
Ugh... horrible.... just horrible.
Anyway, to forget all this, I'll write a story about what comes to me first: Basketball.
That Rebels game last night... I was in pain for most of it.
What bugged me most was this one relative of mine who is a clear-cut example of a fair-weather "fan."
He will lick UNLV's balls when everything is going great:
When the school gets ranked.
When they're on a winning streak.
When they make it to the big dance.
He'll be looking for anything UNLV related. He will rock UNLV, tweet UNLV (when he's not too busy hashtagging "eurolife" at the end of all his fucking tweets. Shit drives me INSANE, considering he has never stepped foot outside of the US. How the fuck you gonna claim Euro Life when you've never even seen it? One day, when I was in no mood to hear his bullshit, he eurolife'd a photo of pho [which, FYI, that shit's VIETNAMESE]. Sister and I had enough, and we openly mocked him and his eurolife buddies. We hashtagged "rancholife" meaning... well, "Ranch life," 'cause that's what we are-- we're Mexican hillbillies, regardless of how many fucking blazers and oversized sunglasses we may own... it's just in our blood to know how to start a bonfire, how to pick out ripe fruit, and we'll always love the smell of wet dirt after it rains. We're rancho people. Accept it! Embrace it! Sorry, that was a very long tangent), claim UNLV (he DIDN'T go to ANY college)... basically, he'll be an obnoxious motherfucker.
But Jesus Christ, the moment the Rebels fuck up in the slightest, he's the first one to put them down. "I've said this all season: UNLV IS OVERRATED!" "It's official: UNLV SUCKS!""UNLV DOESN'T KNOW BASKETBALL."
Yeah, ok, prick, and that's why we have one of the top ranked basketball programs in the country and why we're one of the winningest teams in history (I feel my grammar sucked dick in that sentence... I just don't care to fix it). Shut the fuck up!
What bugged me most was this one relative of mine who is a clear-cut example of a fair-weather "fan."
He will lick UNLV's balls when everything is going great:
When the school gets ranked.
When they're on a winning streak.
When they make it to the big dance.
He'll be looking for anything UNLV related. He will rock UNLV, tweet UNLV (when he's not too busy hashtagging "eurolife" at the end of all his fucking tweets. Shit drives me INSANE, considering he has never stepped foot outside of the US. How the fuck you gonna claim Euro Life when you've never even seen it? One day, when I was in no mood to hear his bullshit, he eurolife'd a photo of pho [which, FYI, that shit's VIETNAMESE]. Sister and I had enough, and we openly mocked him and his eurolife buddies. We hashtagged "rancholife" meaning... well, "Ranch life," 'cause that's what we are-- we're Mexican hillbillies, regardless of how many fucking blazers and oversized sunglasses we may own... it's just in our blood to know how to start a bonfire, how to pick out ripe fruit, and we'll always love the smell of wet dirt after it rains. We're rancho people. Accept it! Embrace it! Sorry, that was a very long tangent), claim UNLV (he DIDN'T go to ANY college)... basically, he'll be an obnoxious motherfucker.
But Jesus Christ, the moment the Rebels fuck up in the slightest, he's the first one to put them down. "I've said this all season: UNLV IS OVERRATED!" "It's official: UNLV SUCKS!""UNLV DOESN'T KNOW BASKETBALL."
Yeah, ok, prick, and that's why we have one of the top ranked basketball programs in the country and why we're one of the winningest teams in history (I feel my grammar sucked dick in that sentence... I just don't care to fix it). Shut the fuck up!
This hater-ism brought me back to my basketball days.
I wasn't on the team back in my Durango days... because I detested my time there and all I wanted to do once the first bell of the day went off was return home and get as far, far away from the kids there. They were MEAN.
No, my basketball days began at my other school, which was brand new when I was a Junior.
Since we were new, guess what... we SUCKED.
It wasn't that we wouldn't try... it's just that we were all so young, we had no chance against the well-established schools who had Seniors on the squad.
Our practices were brutal as hell, too. Every single day.
The entire season, I vomited twice. I cried once... and I would have cried more often, but each time one of us wimped out and began to cry, we'd have to tack on a suicide (that drill where you run back and forth, at intervals, the entire court. The biggest pain in the world). FUCK. THAT! The girls already hated me because I was once responsible for TEN of their suicides (consecutive, no break in between. They wanted to kill me by the third suicide)... all because I couldn't make a left-handed layup (SO. HARD. I still get cold sweats when I think about making one). So crying was out of the question.
Anyway, I can still remember which games we won, and what the final score was. Why? BECAUSE WE ONLY WON TWICE! Once against Clark (worst. team. ever) and another time against Durango. I remember the Durango one most because I scored the first 14 points of the entire match (I did that shit out of spite. Fuck you, Durango!).
During practice (you know, as I gasped for air and complained of side cramps and all that typical shit losers complain about), the coach always "encouraged" me to play ALL my games like the Durango game (she would have encouraged me to play like I did the Clark game, but that game I was ejected for elbowing a stupid fat bitch in the face after she charged me. Fuck that shit. I ain't scared of no goddamn rhinos), and I'd be busy fighting the urge to say "Awww... but I like losing! There's nothing quite as fun as faking an injury to be able to limp off court as if you only lost because you severely rolled your ankle as you were going for a rebound. Losing's fun! It's the only reason I do it!"
Of course losing sucks! Of course I wished I could be rebounding every fucking ball. Of course I wished I could make buckets from all angles of the court. But shit just doesn't work out sometimes, and that's when you need your people the most.
I was lucky to never have any of my people during the two games where I kicked ass OR the rest of the season, where I'd be benched for missing an hour of practice due to me choosing AP History study sessions, but I'd be lying if I said it wouldn't make me sad.
Ehh... all this talk made me forget the point of the entry... so I'll end with this:
Bandwagon, fair-weather fans: EAT A DICK.
The entire season, I vomited twice. I cried once... and I would have cried more often, but each time one of us wimped out and began to cry, we'd have to tack on a suicide (that drill where you run back and forth, at intervals, the entire court. The biggest pain in the world). FUCK. THAT! The girls already hated me because I was once responsible for TEN of their suicides (consecutive, no break in between. They wanted to kill me by the third suicide)... all because I couldn't make a left-handed layup (SO. HARD. I still get cold sweats when I think about making one). So crying was out of the question.
Anyway, I can still remember which games we won, and what the final score was. Why? BECAUSE WE ONLY WON TWICE! Once against Clark (worst. team. ever) and another time against Durango. I remember the Durango one most because I scored the first 14 points of the entire match (I did that shit out of spite. Fuck you, Durango!).
During practice (you know, as I gasped for air and complained of side cramps and all that typical shit losers complain about), the coach always "encouraged" me to play ALL my games like the Durango game (she would have encouraged me to play like I did the Clark game, but that game I was ejected for elbowing a stupid fat bitch in the face after she charged me. Fuck that shit. I ain't scared of no goddamn rhinos), and I'd be busy fighting the urge to say "Awww... but I like losing! There's nothing quite as fun as faking an injury to be able to limp off court as if you only lost because you severely rolled your ankle as you were going for a rebound. Losing's fun! It's the only reason I do it!"
Of course losing sucks! Of course I wished I could be rebounding every fucking ball. Of course I wished I could make buckets from all angles of the court. But shit just doesn't work out sometimes, and that's when you need your people the most.
I was lucky to never have any of my people during the two games where I kicked ass OR the rest of the season, where I'd be benched for missing an hour of practice due to me choosing AP History study sessions, but I'd be lying if I said it wouldn't make me sad.
Ehh... all this talk made me forget the point of the entry... so I'll end with this:
Bandwagon, fair-weather fans: EAT A DICK.
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