Nic Narrates » the Madness

No Brain Cells Were Injured* in the Writing of This Post

Nic — Wed, 17 Mar 2010 19:41:52 +0000

Vacation is imminent (2 days!) and yet work is as crazy as ever and my immune system has succumb to whatever late winter/ early spring ass hattery sinus contagion I must have encountered on public transportation. And as an added bonus, I haven’t been able to eat solid foods for two weeks thanks to my unholy bitchass digestive track. So yeah. Posting? Reading and commenting? Tweeting? Not so much.

BUT….

It’s that time of year again. The time when competitive sports become interesting before their long winter (AKA baseball season), the time when words and phrases like “and 1,” “brick,” and “in the paint” once again become a part of my lexicon. When I marvel at Krzyzewski’s perma shoe polish hair, and am reminded of such animals as terrapins and catamounts and lobos, oh my!

March Madness is nearly upon us and while my body valiantly attempts to absorb this z-pack, I’ve also tried to absorb what sports commentary was available on ESPN for free (read: very little). Thus, my final four this year consists of Kansas, Kansas St., West Virginia, and Villanova. I know, I know…what, no Kentucky? Kansas St. over Syracuse? Really? Yes, really. Suck it, haters.**

And for those of you who are “meh” about The Madness, there’s that other bracket. My final four there? Lady Gaga, Taylor Momsen, Juliette Lewis, and Rhianna. I think Little J is the dark horse here in that while she may be young, she doesn’t have an excuse for being such a dumbass about fashion like Lady Gaga (it’s her thing), Juliette Lewis (she’s just cracked out anyway), and Rhianna (who actually can pull off most of her crazy). Little J, I am not amused.

That’s all I’ve got, kids. Back to drinking green*** tea and not sleeping at my desk. And you, well, you’ve got some brackets to fill out. So get to it, yo!

*Or applied.

**My apologies. Blame the cold medicine for my snarkiness. Also, GHatorade.

***Because it’s green and it’s St. Patrick’s Day. Ahhh, snap.

Baby Shower Bamboozling

Nic — Wed, 03 Feb 2010 15:33:25 +0000

Kill me now.

Can someone please explain to me what the hell a “Couples Shower” is? Because I just don’t even know anymore.

My friend Mara, the same one who got married in all kinds of annoying ways, who went AWOL after ascending to the state of wifedom, and who is now in the family way; has sent me a preemptive “baby” shower invitation via email. While I anticipated this invite, I am completely thrown by her version of it. She’s turned the requisite 3-4 hour baby shower experience into a day long/ overnight extravaganza complete with BYOM (Bring Your Own Meat for grilling- nevermind that it’ll be March and only 30 degrees outside if we’re lucky).

The whole concept of this event annoys me. I simply cannot understand why she has to turn a typical celebration like a wedding or a freaking baby shower into a major production. Why can’t she just do what is expected in these situations? What the hell is her deal?

As for inviting spouses/significant others, maybe I’m missing the point here, but what exactly are the invited men (all husbands/fathers except for my boyfriend) going to do at this “Couples Shower”? Eat pink and blue frosted cupcakes? Play pin-the-diaper on the baby? Commend the diaper cake bringer for her craftiness? Fake smile as the soon-to-be-mom unwraps breast pumps and the like? Really? Why would I EVER want to expose my boyfriend to that kind of nonsense?

I cannot fathom how or why it would be appropriate, let alone expected, that men participate in such antics. I don’t even want to participate. I’d rather just send a fancy gift; spend a little extra to compensate for my absence. Especially since it’s a six hour drive round trip and the shower is scheduled for the first weekend of March Madness. Salt in the wound, people. SALT.

Regardless of my utter confusion and subsequent scheduling crisis, I feel obligated to attend. I feel obligated to smile and ask questions pertaining to Baby, to act like I give a shit. Maybe it makes me a bad friend to admit this (and there’s no way in hell I’d ever say this to her because you just don’t do that sort of thing), but I don’t give a shit and with good reason.

She’s always told me she never wanted kids, even on “her” wedding day she said “maybe in a few years” she’d think about it, and then swiftly capitulated to her husband who was adamant about having kids immediately. Sure, it’s her choice, but why should I also have to capitulate and support a decision I think is wrong and unfair to both her and the unborn? Does my friendship mean I’m required to be complicit, to condone what I view as a mistake?

I have to wonder though at my apparent inability to feel genuine happiness for her. I wonder why I can’t just be a good friend and be more supportive. It’s her life, her marriage, her choice to have a baby if she wants and it has nothing to do with me. In spite of all that, the truth is she can knock herself out calling this “Baby Couples Shower” whatever she likes. I’ll still be wishing I was watching the college basketball tournament instead of participating in what I feel is nothing short of a train wreck.

The Whimsy, The Madness, and Me

Nic — Fri, 27 Mar 2009 16:37:51 +0000

At this stage in the game, I’ll pretty much go anywhere alone. Sometimes my friends are busy or working late (or think March Madness is stupid- GDF, I know you can’t help it). Sometimes plans change, people cancel, or you miss your stop and wind up somewhere you haven’t been before. Sometimes you just really want bay scallops- or at least I do. Sometimes you just let whimsy take you.

I’ll catch a play at Steppenwolf, an in-town musical, the ballet, the CSO, an art exhibit, dinner- whether it’s just Chipotle or Atwood Cafe, a Sunday matinee, even travel to great big cities and far away lands (Dubai, I believe we have a rendezvous). I’ll do it all alone. But I can’t seem to conquer the bar. It’s the one place that remains an enigma to me.

It’s a curious thing being a single girl alone in a bar. To walk through that door, sit down, order a drink, and then casually linger; I think it takes a sense of bravery that I struggle to posess. It also tends to invite the kind of speculation I’d rather not have tossed in my direction.

Maybe I’m waiting for someone, maybe they’re running late, maybe I’ve been stood up. Maybe I just really needed a drink- maybe it had been that kind of day. Maybe I was trying to meet someone, hoping for maybe something more. Or maybe I just really like college basketball and the TV Gods thought I’d rather see the all-but-foregone conclusion of Villanova whupping Duke rather than Memphis fruitlessly shooting three’s and breaking my heart.

I stayed just long enough to explain this to the bartender who seemed to begin to take an interest beyond merely keeping a drink in front of me. Last year, I found myself having a random conversation with a Ph.D. candidate from NC who was still blowing dry the ink on his divorce papers and seemed keen on my input into the gift he planned to bring home for his four year old daughter. Oh my. Been there. Done that.

I walked home alone that night and again last night, breathing a sigh of relief in the hallway of my apartment as I locked the door. I don’t think the single girl alone in a bar thing will ever come easily to me.

Currently Away from the Blog

Nic — Wed, 19 Mar 2008 22:16:00 +0000

During March Madness, I will be away from my blog. My brackets (now in their 12th iteration) have eaten up all my brain power (and blogging time incidentally) and it’s not looking good for the rest of the tourney. Also, we’re going on a cruise next week…so there’s that.

Good luck to all those in their office pools and bon voyage!

The Ides of March

Nic — Mon, 12 Mar 2007 21:27:00 +0000

I’m dragging ass today. Another sufferer of DST-lag. But that hasn’t kept me from prepping my brackets for the better part of the afternoon.

Normally, I’d be poking fun at the sports fanatics, rolling my eyes and such. But this sport and this time of year, well, you see, it’s like… Christmastime.

It’s a time of festive face paints and shiny multi-colored confetti and blaring fight songs played by brassy bands in uniform, sung by colossal choirs of fans. It’s a time for mystical things like “drawing the foul” and “quickness” and “swing men” (no, not that kind).

And it all happens in a magical, coveted “dance,” wherein sweaty, hairless-chested boys cry and spank each other’s butts and sometimes lie in the middle of the court and cry some more (thank you for the memories, Adam Morrison).

Oh yeah, and they play basketball. Lots and lots of glorious basketball. Which is best enjoyed with a Guinness (or two or six), at a bar, with pizza or wings or both.

It’s the time of year when you learn of exotic far off places called Wright State and Oral Roberts, Creighton and Xavier. When you make new friends like Winthrop and Memphis and groan when you see crotchety old Krzyzewski and his crew back in town.

It’s a time when a strange sense of camaraderie is afoot. When co-workers who haven’t spoken to you for a year come out of their cubicle caves, rubbing their eyes, and smiling as you talk smack about how kickass your bracket is over everyone else’s in the office pool.

Suddenly, there are lunch plans for cramming in every possible second of game time action. There’s a score-update relay system set into place to skirt the I.T. ban on ESPN’s live Internet coverage. And there are those sagacious souls who vacation this Thursday and Friday to partake of said basketball, beer, pizza, and wings.

Madness? Nah…