NFL Bound With Bad Car-ma

First of all,

(Yes, I said it).

Second of all, I love football. It is the only sport I understand. I know that when a team scores, it’s a touchdown. When the guys bend over in their tight spandex, there’s going to be some good action. Thanks to Just A Girl, I know a touchdown is six points, a field goal is three (one) point(s) and at the Super Bowl there used to be a great halftime show. (That was until Janet Jackson showed her nippleage).

The only problem is my favorite team sucks.

Hi, my name is Ms Puddin’ and I am a Raiders fan. (The first step is admitting you like a sucky team). If anyone follows this sport, they know that my team has sucked for a little over five years now. (Ok maybe longer). Instead of betting on whether or not the Raiders will make it to the Super Bowl, fans bet on whether or not they will actually win a game each season. I should rep my team with more pride, but it’s starting to hurt how much they suck. They're good at sucking. They suck like College Call Girl at a Player's Ball.

My boy, however, is a die-hard 49er’s fan and he had some extra tickets for the game last night. The game was close enough to home, so I said why not? A football game is a football game. What girl is going to pass up an opportunity of a night of beer, boys, boys in spandex and more beer? Not Ms Puddin’.

Although going to a 49er’s game when you’re a Raiders fan, is not smart. I should have known bad things were going to happen. I’m already accident-prone. It also didn’t help that I wore all black.

So we get to the stadium (after four hours of traffic) to meet up with my boy, who has been tailgating all day. He is already done, smashed, hammered, three sheets to the wind. On his way to hand us our tickets in the parking lot he starts puking. Mind you he has on all his 49er’s gear to the niner. I’m talking a 49er’s jersey, head shaved into a Mohawk, painted red and gold like an official 49er helmet. After puking he yells at us for being late, because the game is already into the first quarter.

We get into the stadium and after spending $71.75 on beer, we go find our seats. This fool ends up passing out for the whole second and third quarter of the game! (Great game by the way). By the fourth quarter, we decide to take his drunk ass home. The whole way to the car his drunk ass is like why are we leaving we’re missing the game. I’m like, “you slept through half of it!” Reluctant to leave, we end up leaving him at his truck and call some of his buddies (who are still at the game and have his keys) to remember to pick him up.

My girl and I head home. On the way out the parking lot, she notices that her gas light is on. We can’t find a gas station, so we decide to just stop off on the first exit. On the ramp heading home, her car runs out of gas. Now let me tell you I will never, ever, ever, ever, ever, ever, ever, ever, call road side assistance in the city again.

First my girl calls her AAA and they tell her she owes a payment before they can come out to help us. Then I call my AAA, who tell me the wait will be up to an hour to bring us some f*cking gas! So I call 911, because we are halfway almost in the middle of an on ramp onto the freeway. I figured at least someone can help give us a push into a safer spot. But oh no, the dispatcher lady has the nerve to have an attitude. She tries to tell me I’m in a whole other city than I’m in.

B*tch I am not retarded, I just ran out of gas! (Ok probably bad idea to say, “ran out of gas” and “not retarded” in the same sentence).

My girl ended up having to walk to the nearest Shell station to get gas. According to her she got into a fight with the gas station attendant, who wouldn’t help her figure out how to get the gas into the canister and she squirted gasoline in her face. When she finally got back to the car, the damn spicket they gave us at the gas station wouldn’t work, so we had to pour the gas into a water bottle and then into the car. (Well she did). By the time she got enough gasoline in the car to get us to a gas station, she was covered in gasoline and the car smelled like an atomic bomb.

Then covered in gasoline this b*tch trys to light a cigarette! I had to yell at her, "you are just as crazy as the dispatcher!" We finally made it home by 1 am. SH*T happens, but I think that experience was my punishment for going to a 49er’s game.

49er's 20. Cardinals 17. Ms Puddin' 0.