Perhaps you don't want to see the second largest ball of twine on the face of the earth, which is only four short hours away?

I'm back! I can sense that you missed me dreadfully...anxiously searching the site daily for some new news from the trenches...I know what you were up to; I know your type. I went on a jolly little excursion back East for a little Clemson football action this weekend! It was good to see friends and family and get away from the country of Texas for a brief while. What follows promises to be disconnected and random, so fasten your seat belt and pay attention!

First things first: Clemson beat A&M properly, thus redeeming itself for last year's abyssmal performance in Texas. Attending this game was not only loads of fun, but it reaffirmed for me my theory that Aggies are a strange people who are a part of a strange cult. I'm all for school spirit and tradition, but these people take things to an entirely new level. There was a girl just in front of us who we'll just call Old Yeller. I suspect she's one of those people who give the rest of them a bad name, but I kid you not, she yelled - not a nice school spirit yell - a deep, throaty, gutteral roar for the entire 4 hour and 30 minute football game. It didn't matter who had the ball, she was roaring a constant stream of....well, noise. Not words, not chants, just a long grunt. A really loud one. While bent over at the waist, Texas tattooed arms extended, back of shirt fully visible which clearly read, "He might be shitting on your lawn" on the back. I'm not sure if it's a joke I didn't get, but it was pretty offensive to gaze at for four hours. Particularly when its owner was bellowing in such a raucous fashion.

But all of that was before I was nearly knocked unconscious by an overly enthusiastic Clemson fan. I had already endured a good 45 minutes of his wayward spittle splashing about the back of my neck, shoulders, and hair, but when his elbow came crashing down onto my headbone, that was the last straw. You can endure a lot from a fellow fan, but his less than chipper backseat coaching style had to stop. In case you're wondering, the words, "TIGHTEN UP DEFENSE!" can really produce an impressive amount of saliva. You'd think his anger would be the worst of it, but it was his physical joy over a mere field goal that was the catalyst for his fervent fist pump which almost rendered me comatose. Black passed before my eyes on my way down to my seat. I thought I'd been struck by a wayward football. What a kicker! I thought in my haze before I realized that Spitty McSlobberson had actually fist pumped me. "WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU?" I roared as I whirled around, hand over rising welp on head, eyes blazing with contempt. He muttered something of an apology and toned it down for the rest of the game. What is with people?

Also at the game: I'm not sure if I give off a "Bad Kids Come Here" vibe or what, but there must be giant flashing arrows a la cheap motel over my head that only poorly behaved children can see. I know for a fact that there must be good children out there, but darn if it's not always the bad ones who seek me out. After the game, we returned to the tailgate for a little post game rehash when the spawn of Satan began tearing in and out and among our tables, chairs and foodstuffs. Just racing around, tripping over our trash and bashing into us! Then....THEN! that little turd shot rubberbands at me! In front of his parents! Can you believe the nerve? So don't think I didn't shoot one back at him. He's not my student. I'd have tackled him and stuffed him in one of those day old Port-a-Johns if I thought I could've caught him. [insert noise of disgust here] Were you perhaps wondering about his parents? Yeah, they were definitely one of about four couples standing right there, but - Silly! - they had wine to drink and game to talk about! Who drinks wine at football games anyway?

On a different note, my friends got the Cutest Kitten Ever and I spent far too many minutes for a person with a severe cat allergy playing with the kitten, then compulsively washing my hands and arms feverishly, only to go play with it some more. It's in that adorable Big Head/Skinny Body phase and enjoys such games as "Where's My Tail?" and "Hey! A Curtain!" If I knew how to put video on the blog, I'd show you some true cat hilarity. Drop me an email if you'd like to be a part of the fun and games.
This little guy's name is Scout and he enjoys long walks up the stairs and pouncing on human legs at just the most tender moment. Kittens are so spastic and twitchy that I could watch them for hours. If only they didn't insist on growing up into cats and making me sneeze, wheeze, and swell. Those few symptoms really dampen any feline fancy I might take more permanently than a passing fling over a long weekend.

So aside from long lines at the airport, high gas prices, and learning about how our school district will be taking on many new faces from Louisiana, that's about it so far this week! Until tomorrow.

-BeatenPig