Yeah -- we're thinking the same thing: "I wait all year for the opportunity to celebrate George Washington's birthday by purchasing housewares and end-of-season shoes at steep discounts from department stores!!!!!"
Don't we all.
Calphalon, here I come, baby.
But there's more.
While a handful of people might be getting excited about a snow-less winter Olympics (I say a handful, because I've got it on good "local morning news" authority that the border crossing at Blaine was completely free, clear, and empty this morning - and this on the morning of the Opening Ceremonies), this classy kid is, frankly, less interested in figure skating (UNLIKE legions of otherwise intelligent, respectable women) and ski jumping than she is in this:
Oh yes.
I may enjoy me some fine wine, pricey jeans and reusable shopping bags, I may live in an urban area with a particular cultural bent, I may be young, left-coast, upwardly mobile, politically independent and drive a fuel-sipping car, but make no mistake about it: I was born near the Brickyard. RACING IS IN MY BLOOD:
This weekend is the Daytona 500.
It's NASCAR season, darlin!!!!
Richard Petty will lead the field in the pace car - this year: a special edition 2011 Mustang GT with Ford’s new 5.0-liter V-8 engine. Incidentally: this is the first time a Ford has played pace car for the Daytona 500 since a Ford Torino GT convertible started the 1970 event altogether. I'm no particular Ford fan, but I like landmark car events....this would be a pretty landmark event for American heavy metal motor enthusiasts.
Once upon a time I had an itty bitty little Daytona t-shirt with the sleeves cut off. I'd wear it with some shiny fake leather pants from time to time when I wanted to seem particularly...supportive of the second amendment. Back when I drove a truck and owned a fake Stetson and threw down some cash at the state fair for an EXCELLENT belt buckle to go with the fake leather pants. Keep in mind: Coyote Ugly was hot at that point and all co-eds wanted to look like Bridget Moynahan. These days I'm shopping for something a little more trashtastically 90's to display my mostly-dormant hick-pride. This would do nicely.
I hear Valentine's day also happens this weekend.
That means I enthusiastically revert to my intermittant and much-loved single girl tradition of buying the HOTTEST matching lingerie set I can find and wearing it on Valentine's day for my own self-indulgent enjoyment.
No one will see it but me, and it will look fantastic, and I'll feel fantastic, and I'll take an entire day to glory in the fact that I don't have to worry about picking out a meaningful Hallmark for anyone, don't have to worry about snagging reservations at a restaurant with appropriately romantic ambiance (only to show up on time and have to wait en masse with other hungry love birds for seventy four minutes past my reservation time, be eventually seated at a table in the middle of the room, slapped with an overworked waitress anxious to get on with her weekend and feel rushed through our "romantic" dinner), and don't have to remember shave my legs (et all....) for any sort of post-dinner, ate-too-much-therefore-feel-less-than-sexy-by-virtue-of-food-baby Lovin.
Righteous.
Instead, I can shell out for an amazing red bra for the day and then spend that day laying around on the couch for a Bourne movie marathon with a sixer of Peroni while reveling in my carefree singlehood and working my way through a pizza. Ridiculously excited.
Then, of course, I'll get up early on Monday to hit up all of those "Extra 45% Off Already Reduced Clearance Prices!" sales at the mall and come home with, oh, I don't know, the casserole dish to end all casserole dishes in a deeply reverent display of respect for George Washington.
Also worth getting excited about: The 2010 Houston Rodeo series kicks off in a few weeks. I didn't realize I was a HUGE rodeo fan until I caught a particularly nail-biting showdown a few weeks ago in a local sports bar. I was TRANSFIXED. The way those bulls can practically bend themselves in half trying to toss the guy off its back is impossible to tear your eyes from. Watched a man get truly trampled, dead-center of his chest - felt certifiably light-headed when he rolled out of the way and started coughing blood and was carried off on stretcher. That sport is for REAL. MEN. I was hooked. It's like modern gladiator warfare. I don't think I even touched my burger the rest of that evening, I could not look away from the Rodeo Screen. However. What makes the Houston Rodeo better than the average local arena iteration: the concert series. It's a who's who of country chart-toppers. Alan Jackson, Dierks Bentley, Brad Paisley, Tim McGraw, Toby Keith, Lady Antebellum, Keith Urban, Gary Allan - hey, even the Black Eyed Peas. So, my favorite tunes, wild bulls, Real Men and a stadium full of other people in their best NASCAR t-shirts makes me wish I lived in Houston. If only for the month of March.
Meanwhile, back in my less backwoods Real Life: hoping that the ensemble cast flick "Valentine's Day" featuring my future baby-daddy Bradley Cooper turns out to be as awful as the reviews say - I'm really looking forward to a laughably bad, horribly-scripted, cookie-cutter Holiday Movie that makes me giggle aloud with it's plastic dialogue. I love those movies. Even better that I'll be seeing it at a theater that serves alcohol - meaning after a glass of bubbles it will seem that much MORE entertaining. Bottoms up.
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