Monthly Archive: September 2009

[insert cliche rain quote here]

Today while I was walking my daily three miles it randomly started pouring at about mile 2.3.

Alas, I was .7 miles from my car, so I just kept on keeping on.

And I was so stupid about the whole thing that I was even singing Jo Dee Messina’s “Bring on the Rain” in my head as I did it.

Then, I was enjoying the nature of it all so much, that I did my regular stretching/calf work-out routine at the end – complete with buckets of water being dropped on my head.

Now, I’m super worried I’m going to get sick.

My immune system is weaker than a meth addicts’ will power PLUS tomorrow is my day off. The odds are not good.

Actually, I’m not really sure if the whole “get out of the rain or you’ll get sick” thing is even real. I seem to remember a Dateline or 20/20 back in the day explaining to me that it was all a bunch of crap. But I can’t remember if it was that, or the “get out of the cold or you’ll get sick” thing. Or both.

I washed my hands about 17 times today to be safe, and that doesn’t even count all the times I splattered purell on them.

Frick, I think I feel achy.

vitamin c sigh.

life is hard.

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That’s what I love about Sunday

Well, I had a crap-tastic week.

This, that and the other all crapped all over me and my little sandals with the black flowers on top.

But it’s Sunday now.

The day I do my bestest not to work.

The day I get to shine as a youth group leader for church with things like Jinga and spiritual gifts quizes.

The day I get to watch the Bears AND Mad Men.

It’s a new week.

Add to that the red and golden leaves landing all over the place – and suddenly all the crap gets a little harder to focus on.

From my view – there’s fresh starts as far as the eye can see.

Here’s hoping this week has a lot less crap.

I much prefer bliss with a side of wonder after all.

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Dear Jay Cutler,

Dear Jay, (I can call you Jay, right?)

Hey, it’s me. Crystal. We haven’t um, ever well, um. OK, we’ve never met. But my friend (ish) Tom covers your team for my newspaper and I can only assume he gets to talk to you sometimes, so I’m going to just go ahead and proceed as though me and you are old pals if you don’t mind. You don’t mind, right?

See, we really need to talk.

First, you should know that when I originally heard you were going to be the Bears’ quarterback, I thought for half a second that I’d actually died and I was in heaven, and this was God’s way of making up to me the fact that I had to wear braces for seven years.

Luckily, I was still alive.

And the whole thing was gloriously real.

quarterback sigh.

Those were the days. The days when you hadn’t thrown a career-record FOUR interceptions. The days when you had yet to lose to the team I hate more than mice. The days when you were still perfect in my eyes.

Alas, those days are gone.

I knew they would never last though. I’m not naive.

And I also know we can never get them back, so we just need to stop focusing on the negative and look to the future now.

See, I get it. Everyone in the universe expects you to literally be Chicago’s savior. They expect you to somehow beat every team single-handely, while also fixing the economy and giving us all free health care.

That’s a lot of pressure for a 26-year-old. I’m 26 too. I know.

Life must be very hard for you. It’s hard for me and the only thing I have to do everyday is remember to twitter at least once while also avoiding soda.

You though. I mean, wow. You probably have to work out for at least 32 hours a day. Then I’d guess you have to memorize plays or something (at least, that’s my impression of what quaterbacks do based on the sports movies I’ve seen). After that, I assume you try to socialize (totally understandable – you need some “me-time”).

So I know you’re working really hard.

That’s not what I’m worried about. Heck, I’m not even worried about your post-game attitude during interviews. I can look past that no problem.

Rather, I’m worried about two entirely different things.

One, I’m worried that you don’t do well under pressure.

Granted, I was watching from my comfortable little couch, but it seemed to me that you were FREAKING THE F OUT! every time one of those mean Packer’s came running at you. Don’t get me wrong, I’d probably do the same thing. But, there’s something you need to understand about your job – huge men running toward you is the kind of thing that’ll happen every time you play.

That’s why you make the big bucks.

Here’s a tip until you figure out how to deal with that though-  if you feel yourself starting to LOSE IT, do not, under any circumstances, just randomly throw the ball in the air. Chances are the other team will get it when you do this. I thought you might have picked up on that the first, second or even third time it happened Sunday. But that was not to be. I hope though, that you figure this out by Sunday’s home opener.

Moving on, I’m also worried about something that doesn’t really have anything to do with your talent, your ability to work under pressure, or your post-game attitude.

Something I’ve dubbed the “Chicago’s Quarterbacks Always Suck” curse.

It’s a proven fact that as soon as a quarterback changes into blue and orange jersey, they start to suck.

Proven fact.

And other Chicagolanders aren’t as forgiving as me. Heck, you could take this team all the way to the freaking Super Bowl, and if you lose that game we’ll consider trading you.

I know it’s harsh, but we just like to win in these parts.

In an effort to combat this curse (which I believe is God’s way of punishing us for continually electing criminals to be governor) I suggest you turn around three-times while reading from your playbook and wearing one of the team’s orange jersey’s usually reserved for Halloween. I’m told chewing Fruit Stirpe Gum during this ritual will only make it more potent.

If you need any help, don’t hesitate to ask.

Anyway, I hope this letter clears things up a bit.

And I really do wish you the best of luck Sunday.

Love (ish),

Crystal

P.S. You’re kinda cute, so if you ever want to um, call me that’d be cool. Or, you know, you could totally pass my number on to Robbie Gould. He seems like the reliable type.

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