Thursday, January 21

I don't want to grow up

 I am just going to say this, and let the chips fall where they may. I hate sports. I do! I really have a place of loathing for them in my soul. Now, I understand that people really like to watch their favorite teams and its all about the whole experience and blah blah blah. I think the only way I could get on board with sports, is if I lived in England. Because then I would be a football hooligan. Right, that's the way sports fans should be. Drunk and ready to bash in your brains at the drop of a hat.
The other day I had a conversation with the dudes at my work. One of them mentioned how one of his friends was getting ready to graduate with a fine arts degree. He was quite for a moment, then he said "Dude, I don't know what I am going to do if my kid wants to do art!" To which he received a rousing murmur of agreement. I let out a big gust of air and said "Seriously, because I fear the day my child comes to me and says he wants to play football, I literally fear it!" to which I received a communal "Are you kidding me!"
Which to answer obviously "Hell NO,  I HATE SPORTS!"
So, it surprised me when I was told that our office had tickets to a Jazz game and to mark the date on my calendar. Which initially it really surprised me they just assumed I wanted to go, and that they want me to go, and that I am going. I mean, I have never actually, ever, been to a Jazz game. And part of me thinks it should be a good time, while this other part of me is secretly praying that some other really fantastic invitation- to Neverland Ranch-will come my way instead. Fingers crossed.

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