- Have to attempt to tape the games, shut off my phone, ignore all hoop conversations, and not watch or listen to any sports channels for 20 hours.
- Have to drive to fucking Harvey. Population: Depressingly Small.
- On said drive, must pass through both Devils Lake AND Fort Totten, a little stretch of highway I like to call "The Choad of North Dakota."
- I have only met Alex's dad once, and many of the extended family never. So I had to walk the tightrope of being drunk enough to dance, so I'm not the loser boyfriend who can't have a good time; and being coherent enough so I'm not the drunk-ass boyfriend who can't hold his booze.
- Initially I was excited about my new shirt and tie ensemble, but now I'm thinking I kind of look like an assistant coach for North Carolina.
- Did I mention I had to miss the Final 4?
So here's how things played out: The drive sucked, although I did hold my middle finger out the window all the way through Fort Totten, which was surprisingly therapeutic. I did have an epiphany regarding part of the reason why I hate Devils Lake: it is never sunny there. Never. Not once have I been through the town, or in the town, when the sun was shining. Today was no different, as it was raining on and off the entire drive. Maybe I would like the town if it was sunny just once while I was there......on second thought, fuck Devils Lake.
I successfully avoided any and all information about the games, although, during the present-opening this morning, I had to put my fingers in my ears and yell "lalalalalalala" when a convo about the games unexpectedly broke out. Yeah, that's exactly what I want to do around a girlfriend's family that I just met. Not weird at all.
Best of all, I walked the drinking tightrope like the pro that I am. I have to say, I had the 'A' game working. Grandmas and Aunts loved me; Grandpas, Uncles, and male cousins respected my drinking ability. I even won over the female cousin contingent by dancing the Macarena. Don't EVER underestimate the importance of knowing the Macarena and the Electric Slide. Plus, I had the stereotypical shitfaced cousin Jason (for a little clearer picture, let's just say that he brought his own can coozy) who played the part of the guy who can't hold his booze, taking some pressure off of me. He almost sucked me down his drain by buying me three jag bombs in a five minute stretch, but like I said, all facets of my game were on.
However, the other shoe had to drop at some point, and this afternoon it did, when I found that the VCR did not record. UNBELIEVABLE. In my life, this has never worked out for me. At least the games sucked (so I've heard.) However, this is only the second Final 4 I have missed since 1989 (1998 being the other.) Not a good feeling, and it begs the question: am I destined to miss the semifinal games every 9 years? I'll let you know in 2016.
National championship and opening day for most of baseball tomorrow, and the Masters on Thursday. This is my excited face.
