this is huge

John to the rescue!

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I can’t believe I haven’t told you John’s super-exciting news.  Remember Will, who was the drummer in the band that used to practice in our basement (when we had a basement)?  Well, Will and his family moved to Oregon a couple of years ago, and Will joined a band (The Elena Leona Project).  That band has three gigs next week, and they fired their guitarist last week, and so John is flying to Oregon this weekend to be their guitarist for all three gigs.  Because they want him to, because he can, and because it’s cool.  Everyone involved is very excited.

(I’m going too, of course.  Why wouldn’t I?)

John needs a superhero name, and it needs to be guitar-related.  Ideas:

  • Capo-man
  • Strat-man
  • Strat-ster
  • The Strat
  • Strings
  • The Axe
  • Captain Strat
  • Captain Guitar
  • Fender-man
  • The Amplifier
  • Wammy Bar

Those are terrible.  I’ll keep working on it.  In Oregon!

Update: John says I should take this post down before everyone knows his secret identity.

Greetings from Maryland!

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We live in Annapolis now!

Not my picture. Who's had time to take pictures?

Not my picture. Who’s had time to take pictures?

We moved (out and in) last Saturday.  I think you’ll find it marked in the Guinness Book of World Records as the longest day ever for us.  Well, maybe the longest hard day.  I’ve been up more hours in a row before, but not working that hard the whole time.  We got up stupid-early to make sure we were first at the truck rental place (not only were we first, we were the only people there), picked up the truck and drove it back to the old apartment, and called Susan and Ken, who had insisted on helping us move out (for which we are eternally grateful).  Their insistence means we had the truck loaded in three hours.  Then we cleaned, turned in our keys (and parked John’s Camaro in the visitor lot – two drivers, two cars, and one truck = return trip), and headed for Maryland.  It took us a little longer to get here than usual, but we showed up about 4pm and met Chuck, whose help was invaluable in discovering that we definitely could not fit the couch through the front door.  I mean, we would have figured that out eventually, but if we hadn’t had Chuck around to help manhandle the couch through every possible angle, it would have taken us much longer to give up.  We left the couch on the curb and continued to unload (2nd floor is WAY preferable to 4th floor).  I finally got around to calling Goodwill to see if they would take the couch, but I nearly left it too late.  I called at 6:45.  They said they’d take it, but they stop taking donations at 7.  Two of our new neighbors practically threw the couch back into the truck, and John and I raced the two miles to Goodwill.  Our couch, which served us well for 13 years, is gone.  Hopefully someone who needs it will pick it up.  In the meantime, we’re couchless.  We finally returned the truck, totally empty, around 9pm, picked up Wendy’s for dinner, and then sat on the floor of the apartment to eat it.  We had almost nothing to sit on.  One papasan chair, one wooden chair.  Oh, and the bathroom was not exactly clean (and neither were we), so we scrubbed it and then scrubbed ourselves, and finally went to bed around midnight.

Sunday, we went to Ikea.  We did NOT go overboard, but we needed workspaces (since we were both working on Monday), and we needed at least a couple more chairs.  So now we own a papasan chair, a wooden chair, two kitchen chairs, and a desk chair.  And two tabletop desks.  We’re still considering how we’re going to replace the couch.  Do we want a new one?  A loveseat?  Two comfy (but not overly large) chairs?  That might be this weekend’s project.  Also to do this weekend: buy a new mattress.  Ours is over 15 years old, and we’re no longer sleeping well on it.

But the apartment!  The apartment is great.  I’ll post pictures after we get past the tornado-wreckage phase of unpacking.

Up, up, and away

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Guys.  GUYS.  John flew a plane, and he LOVED it.  He got on the ground and wanted to go right back up again.  (This is how I feel about roller coasters.  Maybe I’d feel the same about flying planes, but it’s not my dream we’re talking about here.)  John has wanted to fly all his life, and the last time he had the opportunity to learn, we couldn’t afford it (even with the discounted military rate, since this was 2002, we were living in San Diego, and I was still in the Navy).  Now, with the lessened expenses and the schedule flexibility we’re looking forward to, he can finally do it.  He took an intro flight with an instructor a few weeks ago at a local small airport.  The instructor had him do everything except land the plane.  It was great, and I got to go along, so I’ve got pictures.

Preflight checklist! I think he's checking the gas tank.

Preflight checklist! I think he’s checking the gas tank.

John pays close attention to the instructor before takeoff.

John pays close attention to the instructor before takeoff.

See John fly.

See John fly.

Fly, John, fly!

Fly, John, fly!

It was really cool, and I’m glad I got to go, too.  I’m not going to make it a habit – can you imagine me in the backseat of every single training flight?  It’s not like I can read, not in the backseat of a small plane.  So John will learn to fly, and I will…do whatever I do while he’s doing that.  Something.

Curbing my desire to squee

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I mentioned the other day (last week?) that I loved Amy Bai’s Sword SO much that I emailed her to tell her about it.  (Seriously, I really REALLY liked it, and I’m really REALLY glad she’s working on the sequel.)  Then I started following her on Twitter (I follow a handful of authors I like on Twitter – they’re fun).  Then she emailed me back and was super nice.  (Or maybe she emailed me back and then I started following her on Twitter – can’t remember, doesn’t matter.)  AND THEN, she started following ME on Twitter.  I am not cool enough for this.  But I’m trying to act like I am.  🙂  No public squeals of delight. I’m pretty sure the neighbors didn’t hear me.

Luckily, Jess has upped her game on Twitter, and I’ve taken that as a dare to do the same.  Why be on Twitter if I’m not going to use it?  All I do is follow a bunch of people hoping to be amused.  Boring for anyone following me, including myself (not that there are many of those (which is okay)).  So let’s be less boring (at least to me and Jess).

Small dilemma: I was going to start tweeting about the books I’ve been reading that I’ve really liked, but having Amy Bai follow me on Twitter (have I mentioned that Amy Bai is following me on Twitter now?) makes me hesitate (because hers is one of the books I would tweet about).  Does it look self-serving?  Like, “Look at me!  I liked your book!  I’m telling the world, and it’s only coincidence that I didn’t tell the world until after you started following me and would see it (wink, wink)!”  Except that I told you guys before she was following me (but she doesn’t know that), and I told HER before she was following me (she’s following me!), and since I’ve already told you, why even tweet about it?  I don’t want to look like I’m sucking up or starved for attention.  Or a stalker.

Overthinking this?  Probably.

Definitely.  Authors are people who like other people for the same reasons everyone else does, and being nice to people is appreciated (usually) and my insecurities are having a field day.  Just relax already.

It’s my party. I can freak out if I want to.

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Written this morning, approximately 10am:

There is no wrong answer.  There is a better answer, an easier answer, but any answer will have the same result.  So why am I so nervous?

I’m meeting with my boss in an hour, to tell her that we’re leaving the area by mid-August, but I’d like to keep my job and work remotely.  I have all kinds of supporting details about why and how and how this can work, but that’s the main point.  I figure there are four possible outcomes:

1. She says “Oh, how exciting!” and “Of course we can do that!”  Best outcome.

2. She’s less enthusiastic but willing to give it a try.  Good outcome.

3. She says “No, I’m sorry, but we can’t work that way.”  Not the best outcome.  I use the time to look for something that WILL let me do that while working here for the next five months.

4. She says no and fires me on the spot.  Highly unlikely, but possible.  Worst outcome.

No matter which of the four outcomes I get, we’re still leaving the area in 5 months.  This isn’t a negotiation.  We no longer have to carry a mortgage (whoopee!), so we can handle it if I end up unemployed for a few months.  I might even enjoy that.  For a little bit.  (John would totally be jealous.)  Mostly, I want to keep my salary and not have to look for a new job (because that sucks).  I’ll have to eventually, but I don’t want to now.

So…I’m nervous.  Logic has nothing to do with it.  It’s a hard conversation to have.  Deep breath in, deep breath out.

Post-Meeting Update:

My boss had the best possible reaction.  She didn’t exactly say “Oh, how exciting!”, but when I said we’re leaving the area in 5 months, and I would like to keep my job and just do it remotely, she said (very quickly and sounding somewhat relieved), “Let’s do that.”  No hesitation, no problems.  I am free.  We’re just not telling anyone until about a month out.  I feel SO much better.

Eeeeeeeeeee!!!

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And a little more eeeeeeeeeeee!!!!  It’s done!  We are no longer homeowners.  We are ex-proud owners of a house.  Proud ex-homeowners.  Proud mortgage-free people.  There’s a little sadness (we were downright weepy yesterday evening when we went to say goodbye to our little house – 9 and a half years and both dogs and I’ll just stop right there), but it’s mostly glee.  Not even a little bit of oh-my-god-what-have-I-done (which is good, because my goodness it’s too late for backing out).

Our buyers continued to be annoying right up to the last minute, but they are no longer our problem, either.  Now I can think it’s funny instead of super-irritating.  Let me count the ways they are not normal.

1. They saw our house during an open house we hosted on a Sunday afternoon.  The following Saturday morning (around 10am), they showed up on our doorstep unannounced, wishing to take another look.  Who does that?

2. They made their initial offer, including a request that we carpet the entire second story (plus stairs) at our expense.  (We said no.)

3. They made their second offer, which included us paying their entire closing costs.  We negotiated that down.

Okay, so maybe #2 and #3 are somewhat normal.  They’re first steps in a negotiation – whatever.  We were still irritated.

4. A couple of weeks before closing, they asked us if they could store some things in the garage.  We said no.  (What if the deal fell apart?  We’re not babysitting their stuff.  Besides, at that point there was no room in the garage for their stuff.)

5. One week before closing, they asked if they could come in to get measurements for the carpet they’ll be installing.  Our agent would have to let them in.  We said okay.  (We’re not heartless.)

6. They asked if they could do the walkthrough at the same time.  We said no, probably not a good idea.  We weren’t entirely moved out, and the house hadn’t been cleaned yet.  (We didn’t want them to freak out over something stupid – we weren’t ready.)

7. We finished moving out (and cleaning) by Saturday night, and they did the walkthrough Sunday morning.  We went back to the house Sunday evening to take the trash out (from Saturday) and say goodbye to the house.  We walked in, moved through to the dining room, and hey!  Someone gave us a big TV, some boxes, a child’s easel, and a pair of longhorns mounted on a big plaque.  Yes, they took advantage of the walkthrough to move some things into the house they didn’t own yet.

Well, they own it now, and we’re 100% done with them.  Or we’ll be 100% done when the check clears.  We had a celebratory dinner tonight of pie and champagne.

Bring on Phase Two!

Sharing walls

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We are officially apartment-dwellers again.  We moved out of our last apartment (in San Diego) in July 2003 – it’s been almost 12 years since we’ve shared walls with other people (hotel rooms aside).  Our first two nights were uneventful.  Quiet.  It was actually better than a typical weekend night living across the street from a bunch of teenagers, so this may be an improvement, noise-wise.  When we woke up this morning, we could hear someone chipping away at the ice on and around their car, but our alarm had already gone off, so that wasn’t really disruptive, either.

I’ll take pictures soon.  The bedroom is almost free of boxes, and the living room is very close to looking like a living room.  I may never show you pictures of the other bedroom – it’s like a war zone in there.  We can’t even walk in the room.

The stairs (three flights) are not a problem when we’re not carrying lots of stuff.  (That part has SUCKED for moving.)  Grocery trips will have to be short and often, with only enough groceries capable of being carried in one trip, but that’s okay, too, and we now live across the street from a grocery store (and the two Wegmans locations are just as handy as they were).  We’re 7 tenths of a mile from our new boxing gym, so as soon as the ice goes away, we’ll be running there.  It’ll be nice to be able to run again.

Good things are happening!

Friday couldn’t get here fast enough

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Four-day weeks are the LONGEST weeks because you still have to do five days’ worth of work.  I think all I’ve done this week here is complain about work (why? see previous sentence), so maybe I won’t do that right now.

What will I do instead?

Hm.

Well….

Hmph.  I guess I don’t have anything to talk about tonight.  Actually, I do have things to talk about (a thing, anyway), but I want to talk about it tomorrow.  It’s crowding out everything else in my brain, so I’m at a loss right now.

Okay, I’ll tell you.

We have a date!  A closing date!  A moving date!  And holy shit – it’s only five weeks away! !!!!!!!  Life just got very busy.  And stressful, but in a good way.  We made some lists tonight and sent a couple of emails, and now we’re going to beat the stress by having some tea (decaf – I’d like to sleep tonight) and cookies and watching TV.

More soon.

 

Happy New Year!

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celebratechampagne

Happy 2015!  It’s starting off well, actually.  Last night, we heard from our agent that the buyers we’ve been nursing along for the past couple of weeks signed our last counter-offer!  Woohoo!  I haven’t seen the official final copy yet, but unless our agent is playing a very cruel joke, we have a ratified contract on our house!  HOORAY!  We’re a half-step closer to our magical future.  Now we just need to get the buyers’ condo sold.  Anyone looking to buy a condo near me?

The bathroom is a bathroom again!

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Technically, the bathroom was never a bathroom as it does not and never has had a bath in it.  It’s a shower room.  Or a toilet and sink and shower room.  Lots of things with water, so let’s go with water closet.  The master water closet.  Anyway, it’s done!  Except for some minor cosmetic details like painting the trim and the window sill, but those are minor cosmetic details and so they don’t count and I can say it’s done!  Oh, and the door.  Shoot.  Painting the door is a little more than minor.  I mean, it’s white, but it could be whiter.  No, we’re done!

We’re very happy with it.

 

Deeply uncool

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I wasn’t going to talk about it (I was trying to be cool), but it just got so much better, and I can’t help myself.  The other day, The Bloggess came to visit my site.  How do I know?  She commented (TWICE!  Sorry – still trying to be cool), and I got all excited and happy and stuff, but you know, that was it, and I moved on because I can be cool about it (I can try to be cool about it – I may have told half a dozen people already).  BUT, three days later, she posted her weekly round-up, and in her list of shit-I-didn’t-come-up-with-but-wish-I-did-because-it’s-kind-of-awesome is the link to the leaping llama!  That she saw here!  Yes, I know I didn’t create it, but I found it, and she came here and liked it, and that’s small and not a big deal, but she’s cool and it’s nice to know she liked it enough to share it with her followers and…I don’t know where I’m going with this.  I’m glad I could help?  I feel like I’m part of that?  Something like a combination of those two things and just yay.

Also from her most recent weekly round-up (linked above) is this list of really funny theoretical moments just before GIFs start.  And here’s the subreddit they came from and where more can be found.  (This is another one I think is really funny.)

LOVE this (from Hank Green, Vlogbrother).  I had to listen to the one about the kleptomaniacs three times – he mumbles the beginning, but it’s so worth it.  Literally.  (Hee!)

Because I don’t know how to post gifs on my blog, here’s a link to an adorable one from Reddit.  And because I DO know how to post pictures, here’s the cutest killer kitty you’ve ever seen (also from Reddit):

And that’s enough stuff I found on the internet today.

My first dance class EVER (almost)

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I just got home from my teen/adult jazz (beginner) class.  Beginner my ass.  Out of four women, I was the only one who’d never danced before.  (I don’t count one month of tap in high school for a musical or ballet as a six-year-old that I promptly quit.)  Two of them were teenagers who used to dance when they were little, which actually meant until they were about 13.  They’re 16-17 now.  The fourth woman used to dance.  So…yeah.  This is going to sound…I don’t care how it sounds.  It’s true.  I can’t remember the last time I was the worst at something in a group of people.  It’s a little bit stressful, even when the class is fun.  But it’ll get better (I’ll get better), and I did enjoy it, and now I’m REALLY annoyed that I’m going to miss the first tap class on Thursday.  I’ll be SO behind next week.  At least I didn’t have to worry about what I was wearing.  Only one of the teenagers was wearing little dance shorts.  The older woman was wearing long loose yoga pants and a blouse-y top, and I wore my capri yoga pants and a tank top.  Perfectly acceptable.

Oh, crap.  Gotta run.  There’s laundry to do before I can pack for this wedding.

What a beautiful day

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Lots of yardwork this morning, followed by errands.  Hooray for Saturdays!  I don’t think anything we did this weekend furthered our plans, except where making our house beautiful helps, but not everything can.  I’m not being intentionally vague about our plans.  They’re just still very plan-y plans.  Long-term.  Here’s the gist: we want to move.  Away.  Far away.  Like to Europe.  It wouldn’t be permanent (probably), but we’ve realized we don’t need that much stuff, and we don’t like doing what we’re doing (9-5 jobs we don’t really care about, not enough free time, looking forward too much to weekends that are too short).  We’ve realized this over and over through the years, but recently we decided to do something about it.  Why wait?  What have we got to lose?

There are a TON of things that we need to do first, the biggest of which are selling the house and finding the right kind of jobs (like the telecommuting kind).  The dogs are the other complication.  They could go with us, but Roxy’s health problems make that difficult.  Not impossible, just difficult.  We have a long, long, LONG list of stuff to find out, stuff to do, stuff to figure out, and we’re working through all those things.  We just haven’t put a real timeline together yet.  Are we trying to go in a year?  This year?  We still have to figure a few things out before we can tell.  We’re working on it, it’s just sometimes a little frustrating that we can’t drop everything and go now.

Invasion weekend

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I have been taken over by a pod person.  Wait – I am a pod person.  I’ve been taken over by a pod?  I think it happened when I almost tripped over that squirrel yesterday.  Not that I traded places with the squirrel.  That would be more like a Freaky Friday scenario.  Hey, I was never really into that whole body snatchers thing, so I don’t know the details.  My point is that I’m not acting like myself.  This is a big build-up for just one thing, but it’s kind of a big thing for me.  Are you ready?  I COOKED today.  Like multiple things, so we’d have food for lunches and stuff the rest of the week.  Can you believe it?  It’s an obvious thing that lots of people do, but that’s my point.  I don’t do it.  I never have.  But now I have a brisket all cooked and cooling on top of the oven and chicken corn chowder simmering on the stove.  (It was originally supposed to be Mexican chicken corn chowder, but since John doesn’t do spicy, I left out the chiles, and I’m thinking that means it doesn’t count as Mexican anymore.)

Aaaaannnnd here’s why I don’t cook much.  I just stepped away from the laptop to check out the soup (and maybe take a picture), and I found that the soup was bubbling, and when I went to stir it, much of it was stuck to the bottom of the pot.  I only turned up the heat because John noticed that it wasn’t particularly hot (when he tasted it).  I didn’t mean to leave it…I suck at cooking.  I don’t think it’s ruined.  I lowered the heat a lot and stirred a lot, and most of it looks fine.  We’ll see.

We remembered!

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For reasons I cannot explain, my internet connection is really slow tonight, so this will be short.  Today is the 12th of December, as I’m sure you’re all aware.  The entire world has gone crazy about it being 12/12/12, but that’s not what this is about.  The year is irrelevant to me, except that it helps me count.  Today, 12/12/12, is the 15th anniversary of our first kiss.  This is very nearly the first time either of us has remembered this little anniversary on the actual day.  Of course, it’s a Wednesday, and John didn’t get home until nearly six, and I have yoga tonight (in a couple of minutes, so I have to be quick here), AND his office holiday party was today, so he ate there, and I ate a quick dinner when I got home.  So….we went out for frozen yogurt.  Because we’re in luuuuuurrrrvvvve.

Better

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Today was better than yesterday.  And the new yoga instructor is very different, but I don’t think that’s going to be a problem.  We had a very restful, very peaceful class.

Hey, I found out I’m a genius today.  Or at least very perceptive.  In a very narrow field.  Do you remember way back when I read Heart-Shaped Box by Joe Hill?  No?  Well, you must not be keeping up with my What I’ve Been Reading page. Here’s what I said when I read it:

This is a scary book, and I’m not sure I’ll be able to finish it. Okay, it was scary right at the beginning, and that first night, I decided not to read it in bed. After that, though, it didn’t scare me. That’s not to say it wasn’t good. It was. But I wasn’t too scared to read it. It reminded me of Stephen King sometimes, and I can’t tell if that’s good or bad.

I finished 11/22/63 today (recent Stephen King novel), and when I got to the afterword and read, “My son, the novelist Joe Hill,” I did a triumphant little I’m-so-smart dance.  Really.  Because I have a very high opinion of myself.

They were right!

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Riding a bike (after 4 or 5 years of not riding) really is just like riding a bike!  Who knew?  I was a little nervous.  Corey laughed at me when I told him this the other day, but I’m afraid of going downhill.  Because our hill is steep, and it’ll be fast.  And what if I use the front brake instead of the rear brake and go sailing over the front of the bike and die?  I mean, really.  Last night, though, it was either walk or ride.  John needed my car to go to Home Depot, and I had a yoga class at the gym.  How else was I going to get there?  Besides the aforementioned option of walking.  John pulled my bike out of the garage, put air in the tires, and adjusted the front brake so it wasn’t messing with the front tire (See?  My fears weren’t groundless!), and I couldn’t very well back out then.  He even took it on a test ride for me.

The hardest part was uphill (because duh), and I just rode the brake on the downhill.  I wasn’t exactly graceful getting off the bike, but nobody was around to see.  Yay bikes!

Did I mention that our vacation was beyond fantastic?

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One week ago tonight (plus 5 hours), John and I were in the Royal Shakespeare Theater in Stratford-upon-Avon watching a Shakespeare play performed by the Royal Shakespeare Company.  (That should probably be Royal Shakespeare Theatre…)  It was a last-minute decision.  Mom and Dad spent the day in the cottage and around the village.  John and I took the car to see the ruins of Hailes Abbey (beautiful), and when we realized it was a little too late (nearing 5pm) to see anything else, we decided to head to Stratford-upon-Avon.  We knew we’d get there too late to get into any of the touristy stuff, but we could still go see stuff.  And have tea.  I love having afternoon tea.  We got there right at 5pm (when the attractions were closing), so aside from a quick glance into a gift shop, we only got to see the outside of the birthplace of Shakespeare and that stuff.  We had our tea (a light cream tea – we planned to find dinner somewhere before we headed back to Chipping Campden and Mom and Dad), and we took a walk down Henley Street (with all its closed shops) and eventually found the Avon.  We dawdled there for a while and then noticed the Royal Shakespeare Theatre as we walked by.  The doors were open, we saw books on shelves, and all of a sudden we found ourselves in the gift shop.  Amazing how that works.  We browsed for 20 minutes or so and were on our way out when I suggested we check the box office.  What’s on tonight?  Who cares?  If there are seats available and they’re somewhat reasonably priced, we should stay, right?  Of course right.  So we asked.  Hey, it’s King John.  How much are the tickets?  Only £16 each?  Hey, it starts at 7:30.  What time is it now?  Oh, 7:06?  And we have to move the car?  We can get the car moved in time if we run.  So we ran.  Well, we walked really fast.  Turns out we didn’t have to move the car (just put more money in), so we rushed back, bought our tickets, and sat down just in time for the play to start.

It was really good.  Really good.  And interestingly staged, if that’s the word.  Shakespearean language, contemporary costumes and setting.  And music.  The wedding scene made my whole week.  (“I Say A Little Prayer For You” segued into “(I’ve Had) The Time of My Life” with the choreography from the end of Dirty Dancing.  SO.  MUCH.  FUN.)

One of many pictures of Hailes Abbey. Also, proof of the beautiful weather we had most of the week.

Hamlet says hello. Or, you know, "Alas, poor Yorick."

I didn't have the foresight to get a picture of the whole building...

...but I did get a shot of the books that lured us in.

After all this time, I still bleed blue. A little. Enough.

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I don’t think I have to tell any of you how little I care about sports.  That doesn’t mean I don’t enjoy watching a game of whatever here and there (I’d rather go to a game than watch one on TV, not that that happens very often), but for the most part I don’t care who wins.  The other day was different, though.  UK playing Louisville in the Final Four – hell, yeah, I had to watch that one.  (Let’s ignore that I don’t care even a little when they play each other during the rest of the year.  The NCAA tournament is different.  It is.)

So even though I didn’t go to UK or U of L, even though I haven’t lived in Kentucky since 1997, even though I’ve only been to ONE college basketball game in my life (and that was at GW, not either UK or U of L), I HAD to watch this game, and, like I have during every game I’ve watched since 1987, I cheered (and gasped and yelled) for UK.  (Are you thinking that that last clause sounds like I root for UK even when they’re not playing?  Well, maybe I do.  Even though it makes no sense.  I’m loyal that way.)

Why 1987?  It’s more complicated than just that that’s the year we moved to Kentucky.  That’s the year I had to pick a side.  Or else.  Picture 8-year-old me.  I was in third grade, brand new school, brand new state.  One of the first things I remember somebody saying to me at school was completely unintelligible.  “Yookay or Yoovell?”  “What?”  More insistently, “Yookay or Yoovell?”  I had NO idea what they were saying to me, and they couldn’t understand what was so hard about the question.  (I don’t even know why it mattered right then.  It was too early for basketball season, and football doesn’t really count in Kentucky.)  Somehow it got through to me what they were asking, but I still had NO idea what the right answer was, or why anyone cared which one I picked, and why won’t they stop asking and leave me alone?  I remember asking them which one they were for, getting more Yookays then Yoovells, and going with the Yookay kids.  (It was the right answer for several reasons.)  Somewhere along the line I made the mental switch from Yookay and Yoovell to the actual school names, and then Allison introduced me to Travis Ford and his three-pointers (Not literally, of course.  She didn’t know him, but he was only 5’6″ and rarely missed, and she had a crush on him.  We were 14.), and I started watching games.  Just in time, too, since that was 1993-94, and the championship wins were ’96 and ’98.

I fell off the wagon after that, though.  I watched the ’98 tournament by myself in college (I couldn’t believe I knew so many people who didn’t know what March Madness was) and then paid very little attention to basketball except for the occasional UK game (and that one UNC game we watched the night of Jess and Chuck’s wedding).  Even though I enjoy the games when I watch them, the paying very little attention part is still true and unlikely to change.

Still, UK playing UofL in the Final Four is pretty awesome (especially with Rick Pitino (the UK coach during the years I cared) coaching UofL now), and I didn’t want to miss it.  And considering what a good game it was, I’m glad I didn’t.  Even John watched it, although he was rooting for UofL (For reasons unknown.  Out of a sense of balance?  An appreciation of how well they were playing?  Solidarity with Mark?  Sheer orneriness?)  UK won, I cheered, and the championship game is tonight.  I could watch it.  I might watch it.  What time does it start?

Whoa, whoa, whoa.  The game doesn’t start until nearly 9:30?

Yeah…I’m going to bed.  UK, you’re on your own.