Well. Thank You, Captain Obvious.

Above is a Christmas gift from my sisters.

In case you can't clearly read below "Middle Sister" (Yes. Me.), here's a closer look:

Yes. Yes it does say "drama queen." (Yes. Also me.)

However, you also must have noticed the disparity in fashion:

Yes. Yes, also me.
In fact, I am currently watching bowl games while sporting a chic little trench (um, grey yoga pants and black t-shirt), a classic black handbag (er, my iPhone in my pocket) and my hair in a chic twist on top of my head (uh, a ponytail contained by a Goody(TM) elastic) and pumps and Jackie O. sunglasses (no, really; that's the truth ... it's tres fetch).

I'm also holding a glass of the clever California vintage above. Oh, yes. And sipping it. Today's still officially a holiday, so daydrinking isn't quite as risque. But still ... there's a little thrill. 

So Happy New Year's and chin-chin, my friends. May the coming year bring us all much more laughter, fewer tears and more love than you can possibly imagine.


Oh -- and plenty of high heels, comfy clothes, ponytails and tiaras, relaxing beverages and a diva attitude. All at once. Whenever you want.


Why the hell not?


Cheers, my dears.


(BTW, as far as accuracy in labeling goes, yes, my little sister does have bigger boobs than my older sister. Just in case you were wondering.)

Of Fat, Fun, and Football

Team Wedding is not a big proponent of New Year's resolutions.


Rather, we are of a mind that if you mean to do something, then you can make up your mind to do it any day of the year.


Having said that, it has come to my attention that we do, perhaps, subscribe to the theory of resolutions made at the dawn of a new year. Only, our year doesn't necessarily end on December 31. Rather, it ends when football ends.


So with the high gridiron holiday approaching, we have a kitchen stocked with meats, cheeses, salties, sweets, crunchies, chewys, and all manners of numminess. And, a fully appointed bar stands at the ready to take us from breakfast Bloody Marys to midday brews to Kentucky nightcaps.


We've got all-day SportsCenter, pre-pre-game, early fringe ad time, pre-game, kickoff, halftime, post-game celebration and post-game analysis.


We need sustenance, people.


And, going forward, we need to consume far less of it than we'll be devouring this weekend. And we need to get off our collective masses and exercise more than jumping up and down when the Colts pound the Saints.


And we will. Right after the new year.

Mr. Manning, You Know What Must Be Done

Dear Peyton,

You know I love you so. Your leadership (on the field, and as evidenced by your work with children so beautifully chronicled by SNL). Your athletic prowess. Your determination.


You also know how much I despise the Saints. I know, I know, your father was (is!) a legend in New Orleans and throughout the NFL. And deservedly so. Inasmuch as I can love Archie and hate the Saints, I also love certain family members who, much to my chagrin, do include "Who Dat?" in their lexicon.

My brother-in-law is a diehard Saints fan.

[sigh]

While I wish my brother-in-law all happiness in every other way, I just cannot stomach the thought of the Saints in the big game (sorry — can't afford to pay NFL licensing fees, but I know you know what I'm talking about). Seriously. I've been ill all day. Even more troubling to me than the Saints actually being in the game is the thought of them actually winning it.

So. Please. My dear, sweet Peyton: You know what you must do.

I shan't distract you anymore. See you in two weeks.

Sincerely,
Me

STILL IMAGE FROM SNL DIGITAL SHORT "UNITED WAY" ©2008 NBC UNIVERSAL

Fra-Geeeee-Lay

Big weekend at Team Wedding HQ: Chili and NFL wild card playoffs.

No. No, there's not a trace of sarcasm in that statement. That is what passes for a big weekend 'round here. We're easily entertained.

A snippet for you:

WHERE: TWHQ


WHEN: Saturday evening


THE SCENE: Mr. J in his chair; me on my couch; Tilly running between the two spots hoping against hope that this will be the day someone sets one of those steaming bowls of smells-so-good down for her to dive in; on the tube, a promo for a new Jerry Seinfeld-produced show on NBC called "The Marriage Ref," in which a couple argues over the wife's insistence on keeping her first husband's fake leg. Don't believe me? See it for yourself here. But come back.

MR. J: "I'd like to think you'd make mine into a nice, tasteful planter."

ME: (mouth filled with chili) "Mmm-hmm-grbrbaw ... I was so getting ready to say just that ... Grbrbaw-hmmm-mmmm."

MR. J: "I thought so."

ME: (taking time to finish the next mouthful of chili) ... "Or a lamp."

MR. J: (thumbs-up)

So easily entertained.

Damn Good Dawg

Rest in peace, Uga VII.

Our Blood Runs Red and Black. And Thick.

(sigh)

My oldest and my youngest bulldawg babies. 

My niece Hilary, almost 19, (Left, at age two. Hilly, you'll be glad to know I cropped out your baby acid-washed jeans. You're welcome.) is babysitting my nephew JC, almost 11 months, (Right, just last month. Really.) today while their moms are in Athens between the hedges.

GO DAWGS! SIC 'EM! WOOF! WOOF! WOOF! WOOF! WOOF!

(sigh — and smile — but, yeah, sigh)

Closer to Fine

If last weekend was close to normal, then this one is inching ever closer.

It's opening weekend for college football, which ranks just behind (barely) Christmas, and just above my birthday, the Super Bowl, Team Wedding's anniversary, NFL draft day and the Fourth of July.

Yes. Yes, those are in the correct order.

And the TW anniversary is of our first date, not our nuptials.

Which was at a football game. The date, not the nuptials. However, nuptials were scheduled around college ball. And one of the last days of our honeymoon did just happen to be almost two years after that first date. And the same weekend in the NFL schedule. And we did spend it back in those same seats (yup, that's us up there looking like newlyweds in the Georgia Dome).

So, yeah. Yeah. Football's kind of big deal around here.

And yesterday found us starting the day with Bloody Marys, slowing down with beer and eating something out of the crock pot (Jambalaya. Too early for chili.) while watching every game possible.

Was Mr. J moving slower than usual? Yeah.

Did he drink less (oh, you don't even know) liquor than usual and a lot more ginger ale, H2O, and Gatorade? Yeah.

Was the jambalaya a lot less spicy (again, you don't even know) than usual? Yeah.

Did Mr. J fall asleep long before I did, not even catching the end of the left coast game and need me to wake him to tell him who won? And did I wake up before he did this morning and put the coffee on and bring him a cup? Yeah. And, yeah.

But—did we yell, laugh, clap, dance and sing just as much as usual?

Yeah. Yeah, we did.

In fact, the most not-normal thing about opening weekend is that South Carolina won their game and Georgia lost theirs. Crap.

We Interrupt Regularly Scheduled Programming For This Important Message From TNN

This is Tilly, CEO of Tilly News Network (TNN), with a breaking story.

Actually, this news is not news, but we at TNN have been too engrossed in what we are getting ready to report as news to have reported it when it actually was news.

Got that? Good. There won't be a repeat explanation, so if you didn't follow that, you are SOL. And with that carelessly tossed out colloquialism, it should also be noted that most journalistic conventions will be hereby disregarded during the activity we are getting ready to report.

'Cause we just don't care about being professional and what-not. Clearly.

So we now go live to Team Wedding Headquarters with this urgent (yeah, it's late, so what) announcement:

Football supersedes everything in TWHQ.

EVERYTHING. E-V-E-R-Y-T-H-I-N-G. EVERYTHING.

Even cancer.

Now you know.

Go Dawgs!

Wordless, Whimsical, Wednesday