My child has definitely inherited daddy’s ability to create nasty farts. However, she has taken it to the next level of toxicity. I’m so proud.
I would be worried if I was a Steelers fan. Your team was almost beaten by a Peyton Manning-less Colts team because your offensive line couldn’t stop Mathis and Freeney. Plus, about seventeen of your offensive linemen went down with injuries last night. Good luck avenging that Ravens beating you took in week one.
Well, well, well, Notre Dame. I see you are back to your old let’s-gain-500-yards-and-turn-the-ball-over-in-critical-situations strategy. It didn’t work this time. You actually won. I’ll see you next week.
Speaking of football, I had a strangely satisfying, yet completely weird conversation about this weekend’s games. See it here.
My dog is dumb enough to think that hiding only her face is good enough to keep me from seeing her, but she’s smart enough to know that it’s raining even though all the blinds are closed. I don’t have a joke for this, just know that dogs are weird.
Brownies are delicious.
Dee and I got to go out for drinks with our friends on Saturday night. She’s still good at looking sexy, everyone.
I know I’ve said this before, but watch the opening song to Sunday Night Football. Faith Hill is the definition of awkward.
Google should not be allowed to run that Google Chrome commercial where the dad sets up an email account for his daughter and sends her messages while I’m gently rocking my daughter to sleep. My crying wakes her up every time.