In the wee early days of CLSL I came on here and professed my mad crush on NBC’s Friday Night Lights. This time around, be prepared for a full on slobbery make-out session. Because the Academy of Television Arts and Sciences finally got their heads out of their self-absorbed and politically misguided asses and gave it some due.

Adopt me, please!

Coach and Mrs. Coach got Emmy noms today. That made today a good, good day in Dillon country.

For the record, I watch a LOT of TV. People ask me what shows I watch and I have to go by day of the week. And I still lose track. I like to use the fact I’m in the entertainment industry as an excuse, but really, I just love TV and I’m not ashamed. I love coming home with nothing to do, getting into jammies and snuggle up on the couch with a cocktail or glass of wine and the DVR busting at the seems. Although I love a lot of shows (Mad Men, Modern Family, Entourage to name a few…), I will only take a bullet for one show. Friday Night Lights.

I started watching this show after I first moved to Los Angeles at the urging of two of my guy friends. Once I started, I couldn’t stop. Pre-football season that year, catching up on past seasons of FNL was my home away from home. This show IS Texas. It looks like it, it sounds like it…it even tastes like it. It had me wishing to tattoo TEXAS FOREVER on my rear end.

It specifically embodies high school football in Texas. It is a religion. When you’re in high school, on a Friday night in the fall, whether 100 degrees or snowing, you’re suiting up on the field, on the sidelines with pom poms, in the stands with a trumpet or wearing a drill team uniform, or your just there to watch. Regardless of why you’re there…you’re there. There is a joke in some towns that property values go up the closer you are to the high school football field.

But you don’t have to be a football fan of any shape or size to get this show. That is just how it’s Texasness sucked me in to begin with. Above all else, this show is…it’s REAL. I triple dog dare you to get where we’re currently at in the series without thinking that Connie Britton (Mrs. Coach) and Kyle Chandler (Coach) aren’t a real couple. In my brain, there is a cozy house in the middle of West Texas with “Welcome to the Taylors” written on the doorstep, home of a high school principal and a high school football coach. You can visibly SEE the chemistry between these two…and it’s gorgeous.

I dare the ladies not to the fall in love with Riggins, the guys not to fall for Lyla. I dare everyone not to get caught up in Julie and Matt’s aura of first love. Right now I dare everyone not to want to go out and buy a Dillon East Vince Howard jersey. I dare you not to sit down and have an anxiety attack before each show.

Most of all, I dare you not to find that its addictiveness and AWESOMENESS are palpable. I dare you not to believe clear eyes and full hearts can’t lose.

P.S. another good post about the nod, from one of my Twitter followers, here.

Seventeen years ago “Mighty Ducks” turned me into a hockey fan. That’s officially over half my life. Very odd for someone who was born and raised in Texas and a sport that was born and raised in Canada. Before Norm Green moved the Stars to Dallas about the only thing the countries of Canada and Texas had in common was a love for beer and the ability to produce a good bull rider. Now, there is absolutely no doubt Texas is THE predominant hockey state in the South and kids are growing up in Dallas loving the Stars just as much as the Cowboys, Rangers or Mavericks. There are two main reasons for its popularity: the Stars have produced Dallas’ only championship in 14 years…and Mike Modano.

Meeting Modano for the first time, 1994

Although it was pretty much apparent at the end of this season that Modano was more than likely not returning, the Stars officially sealed the deal yesterday. So it’s time to say goodbye. When it came to the growth of a sport, Modano was twice the hockey ambassador to Dallas than Gary Bettman only wished Sidney Crosby was to the United States. Our appreciation for the game, mine specifically, is about 90% thanks to him. In 17 years I’ve only had two actual legitimate favorite players, Mike Modano and Jamie Langenbrunner. The others (such as Petr Buzek) were total personal infatuations and took on a stalking life of their own. So basically, Modano will forever be King of Hockey in my world and in this neck of the woods. I call mutiny if 9 isn’t hanging from the rafters of American Airlines Center before the first puck drops next season.

Modano wants to keep playing and should he do so, seeing him in another jersey won’t be anything less than weird and heartbreaking. I want him to be happy, so a fresh start (as with Marty Turco) just might do the trick. I agree with Mike Heika, “a happy Modano would be fun to watch“.

I know this isn’t officially goodbye, as much as Mike loves Dallas, it’s more like see you later…just not on our ice in our colors. All I ask, for the love, don’t go all Favre on us, Mo.

I had no intentions of returning to Southern California until August. Tis BFF’s birthday and the Cowboys are in Oxnard for training camp then San Diego for a pre-season game. However, three weeks ago BFF calls with the news she’s scored tickets to the Eclipse premiere. I’ve NEVER hid the fact that I’m a Twi-hard, so I’ve no taste for your haterade. Just be thankful the squealing 14 year-old stays contained within. And besides, I promise this is going somewhere.

At the premiere party...check out that mad tan line!

Although my financially-sound, better judgment attempted to be the decision maker on whether or not to fly out, it took all of 18 hours for it to be overpowered by my dominant better half who has a penchant for obsession. Not to mention my entire self needed a getaway before I went bananas in a bad way at work. So a plane ticket was booked, a dress was bought and the Disneyland annual pass was ready to go. It was time to go back, back to Cali, Cali. I must admit mixed feelings ensued. I’ve enjoyed my life in Dallas thus far, despite a work load and temperatures created by the Devil himself. I have a great duplex in a neighborhood I’ve wanted to live in for forevs, a 13-minute commute and access to all my long-term friends and family. The only thing missing right now is football season and the Spanish and/or French lover I’m on the hunt for to tide me over till I finally get my hands on Taylor Lautner (more on that later, duh!). So I knew this trip could have it’s emotional consequences. And it did, more so than I’ll tell anyone in person. I do NOT – let me infinitely repeat, do NOT – miss Los Angeles. The traffic, lack of parking, soul sucking atmosphere and kryptonitic cute Jewish boys…get a sister outta there, stat. However, California (not to be confused with LA, they are NOT one and the same) I miss so much it hurts my heart. I spent quite a bit of time on the beach at Crystal Cove (Newport) and it’s all I could do not to leave LAX in tears on Saturday. Had I possessed a job or a man I loved and gotten the hell out of LA, I don’t think I would have left. In no way do I regret my decision to move back to Dallas, I did what was best for me at that (and this) point. Having said that, there was a moment on Saturday morning, right as the sun broke through the June gloom, with my toes in the sand, that I realized the rest of my life is TBD and I am okay with that…FINALLY.

Breakfast with BFF on the beach...pure perfection!

So the entire trip was as perfect as it could have been. The premiere was fun, although  I DEFINITELY almost went bananas in a terrible, very bad way whilst in the trillion-person line to retrieve our cell phones after the screening. I fell absolutely, positively in love with little Taylor all over again. I still want to put him in my pocket, feed him Reese’s Puffs cereal and let him watch football with me. (If that’s all you think I want to do with/to him…you’re delusional). ANYWAY, pros of the after party were mac-n-cheese, Crumb cupcakes, champagne and I managed to look hot. Cons of the after party were decorations that looked like an illegitimate, deformed child of a  Costco camping display and a really bad prom. Carnations and fake snow do not make an appropriate center piece for most occasions, most of all for a premiere party for the biggest movie of the year. Just saying.

So TO THE POINT…the celebrity guest list for this gig was leaked hours before. It so happened to include Kim Kardashian. You just had an A-HA! moment, right? Let me just say, as far as I know, she wasn’t there. On the off chance she was and I ran into her (i.e. stalked her down after a bottle of Cabernet), I made a solemn public promise to friends and fellow Cowboys fans on Facebook that I would not cause a scene. Although I have tried to stay Team Switzerland on this issue, it appears I must make an official statement on the RUMORED union of Miss Kardashian and Miles Austin.

Let there be no mistake, the day I found out, my intern thought someone had killed one of my dogs and I made multiple threats (in my head) to cancel my Shoe Dazzle account. After sleeping on the issue, I discovered I’m as okay with it as possible. There are many reasons to actually like Kim, other than the fact she’s smoking hot. She has a real figure, talks about her cellulite publicly and started a shoe of the month club. And I gotta give her mad props for moving up in the football player food chain. The only set back in my acceptance of their RUMORED relationship was on Friday during cocktails with my Cowboys group in Santa Monica, I was informed that Kim and Miles were apparently cozied up one night at Casa Vega…my absolute favorite restaurant in my former neighborhood. Not gonna lie, I felt a little violated.

But you can take it to the presses that CLSL is officially, albeit maybe a little begrudgingly, okay with Miles Austin dating Kim Kardashian. But probably only till the Taylor Lautner high wears off. Let’s be honest.

You know you’ve been away too long when you come back to find the ads pop up for you as Overstock.com and some political campaign. Someone needs to get her priorities straight. Having said that, I have every intention of getting back into the swing of things. If I don’t die of mosquito bite poisoning. For those of you keeping score at home -  Mosquitoes: 26; Nikki: 0. Welcome back to Texas.

So this is what actually happened while you thought I was dead and look! I have pictures to prove it!:

1. The Cowboys beat the Eagles in the last game of the regular season to secure home field advantage in the Wild Card game. Yes, we’re going back that far. Because I can and life was good. Vindication for that bitch slap of a game we went through at the end of the previous year.

My last regular season game with the Cowboys group, sad!

2. The Cowboys ALSO beat the Eagles in the Wild Card game. 100 words could not describe how I felt that night. If God himself came down to Santa Monica and took me away I would’ve offered him a tequila shot and gladly gone with a smile on my face and “Such a Night” playing in my heart. Instead, I was left to my own drunken devices here on Earth. Too much Patron + Cowboys playoff victory that also marked the pillaging of the Eagles THREE TIMES in one season + random encounter with a cute Dallas boy who was also on a victory high = very questionable judgment.

It’s almost a blessing to my emotional state (and reputation) that we didn’t go any further in the playoffs.

I always ended up in the middle of these pictures. But look at that face! It was like my birthday and Christmas and possibly Valentine's Day all ended up on the same day!

...and I never stopped smiling.

Sorry just had to post one more. Best night ever. We waited a LONG time for this. And Mike looks like a pimp in this picture.

3. The Longhorns made it to the National Championship. And that’s about all I have to say to that. Not only did Colt McCoy and Jordan Shipley have to go through the most terrible “what the f**k was that sh*t?!” championship game, um, EVER…they both were rewarded with one-way tickets to careers in Ohio. Insult to injury, much?

They did not hook 'em...

Trust me, there is more…

..Continue reading..

Getting my Mint Julep on at the Derby

That’s right…I figured I  best be coming back. Reasons I fell into a black hole include the following:

1. I moved back to Dallas. And no one has warned Miles Austin…yet.

2. I started a job where I actually have to work. For a company I worked for before. They moved me back and all, I’m THAT important.

3. I tried to be a girl. Didn’t work out too well.

4. Had to recover from trying to be a girl again. At least this time it didn’t involve of month of living on Chinese food and chocolate chip cookies and reading the Twilight books twice.

So get your popcorn and cocktails ready, Readers.

You think this post is going to be about football now, don’t you? No, no…think again, Readers, THINK AGAIN. This is more or less a conversation betwixt me and my BFF Lisa from this past weekend:

Me: I found me a cowboy!!!

Her: Like a real live one?

Me: Um, yes. Not the kind the plays football on my TV. The kind that wears hats, buckles and…BOOTS! Not, you know, helmets and spandex.

So basically, CLSL has gone country. Not that it was THAT much of a stretch, really. I already have someone telling me I sound like the talking pothole on the Geico commercial. Whatevs, he’s from Jersey and likes the Eagles. Therefore, doesn’t count. A little background (as if you don’t already know enough about me), I grew up in a hardcore farming, ranching and rodeo family. Bull riders, barrel racers, team ropers. Lots of cows. Mainly bull riders. I flirted with the idea of barrel racing when I was much, much younger. But I’ve not been on a horse in probably 20 years. About as country as I’ve gotten over those years is attending Eli Young Band shows at Gilley’s in Dallas and helping my mom feed horses the last time I was home. The year I grew out of my rodeo phase is coincidentally around the same time I grew ginormously into hockey. Much to the chagrin of my mother. Having said that…apparently there’s still hope she’ll get the daughter she’s always wanted.

Fireworks! Confetti! Big shiny trucks!

Readers you know I went to The Vegas this past weekend. I failed to mention (quite possibly on purpose) is it was actually for the PBR World Finals. That would be pro bull riding, not Pabst Blue Ribbon…you alcoholic. Let me rephrase that, I went to The Vegas to see The Family…The Family went to The Vegas for The PBR. My dad is TOTES a bull rider groupie. It’s awesome. I had no intention of actually attending any of the rounds. I just wanted to drink. A lot. Then sleep that off and go drink some more. (I did that too, don’t you worry…apparently I like Jack now?). After arriving on Thursday I found out there are AFTER PARTIES each night. My dad was all “would you be interested in going to that?” I was all “have we met?” Silly father.

So the rest of the story goes something like this: Girl goes to the first after party. Girl drinks. Girl meets hot cowboy (again, the real kind!). Girl drinks more. Girl really likes hot cowboy. Hot cowboy seems to like girl and is ridiculously charming. Girl all of the sudden decides to go to bull riding next night. Girl drinks some more. Girl finds out that YES, she does like bull riding. Now girl is HOOKED. Then girl goes and drinks some more. The end.

Not really.

They don't need no stinking red cape

But seriously, bull riding is the shit. I was tremendously entertained that Sean Willingham comes out of the chute to “Ice Cream Paint Job” (I’ll forgive him the fact it was stuck in my head for FOUR DAYS). The PBR calls bull riding “the toughest sport on earth”. That ain’t no shit, son. I grew up around this crap and still tend to forget how ridiculously dangerous it is. As if the bull rider himself isn’t a crazy enough motherf*cker, the bullfighters are batshit crazy masochists. And retardspices, I’m not talking about the kind that come in red capes and gold get-ups. You know them as rodeo clowns. Ain’t gonna lie to you…IT’S ALL KINDA HOT. These boys have grown up doing this, rodeo is TRULY a way of life. They probably mounted (haha, mounted) their first bull before their voices changed. Their fathers did it. Their grandfathers did it. And trust me, rodeo wives put up with massive bullshit (no pun intended). Not only do they suffer WEEKS of separation, but also? Buckle bunnies are much worse than any puck bunny I’ve ever met.

Million dollar cowboy

So I guess you can take the girl out of the country and she can do EVERYTHING in her power for two decades to rid herself of said country, but…it don’t work. Can’t take the country out of the girl and it might just slap her in the face one night wearing a black felt hat and Southern smile.

Poor Miles Austin, he’s gotta make room for “the real live kind” now. Bless his heart.

P.S. To your left you will find 2009 World Champion Kody Lostroh. Womenfolk, I TOLD YOU SO. I fancy myself a Luke Snyder girl, though. When the Ladies… are up for a hump day hotties rodeo version (should it not have already been done)…call me. I got this.

All pics are from ESPN.com’s Rodeo and Professional Bull Riding section cause by golly they actually have one…who knew?!

This book might have made me like baseball a little bit more

I hate reading books where authors write to hear their own voices. Look at me I’m so smart, I know all these fancy words and amazing information, blah blah blah. I LOVE books about the history of the movie industry. But the ones that don’t read like text books and/or weren’t written by snooty d-bags are few and far between.

Despite the fact I am a frequent visitor to Deadspin, there was just something about “God Save the Fan” that made me hesitant to read it. I was afraid it was going to be like someone puked all their insane sports knowledge into one book. But I bore witness to Buzz Bissinger’s attempted rape and ass chewing of Will Leitch on Costas Now, so I knew at some point I had to read this book. And lucky for Leitch, my “God Save the Fan” was paperback and my “Men With Balls” is hardback and I was flying. I detest flying with hardbacks. See how I make decisions? Just go with what’s lighter and softer. Apparently I make all life choices as if I was picking out toilet paper.

Anyhow, my worries about “God Save the Fan” proved absolutely, positively untrue. I zoomed through this book during my trip, which is astounding since I barely have free time when in freak convention mode. I started in on it the minute I finished “The Football Fan’s Manifesto”, which actually didn’t help my hesitations because Manifesto is bloody hilarious. No one wants to go back to class after recess. But “God Save the Fan” is not only up to snuff humor wise, but also very informative in a not so in your face I’m smarter than you, dumb ass sort of way. The only chapter that threw me was about race relations in player/fan relationships, so to speak. I think I knew what he was trying to say and I THINK I agree with him, it’s just the type of chapter you read and at some point go “wait, what?” Other than that, the Fans section (in which you can find said chapter) is by far my favorite.

Backing up, I have to give Leitch mucho kudos not only for watching ESPN for 24 hours straight, cause really I can’t deal with much more than PTI after I watch one round of SportsCenter on MUTE in the morning at the gym (and the occasional viewing of NFL Live), but also for dedicating an entire chapter to his continued fanship of a Could Have Been. I talk about former NHL player Petr Buzek a LOT on here and my fanship of him falls into that category. He was a Could Have Been. But I still love him. Something tells me Leitch didn’t want to have Rick Ankiel’s babies, but still, you get the gist.

Back to the aforementioned Fans section, it holds lots of truisms. How our love for our fantasy team can outweigh that of our actual team on occasion because we are actually somewhat in control and his guide for “How Not to be a Jerk at a Baseball Game”, in my opinion, crosses the lines of all professional sporting events. Especially why it’s unfortunately not cool to cut the annoying kid behind you, etc. In addition, his stories about a small Cardinals group that formed in New York during their World Series run epitomizes a lot of the ways I love my Cowboys group here in Los Angeles. I’ve often thought about what I would do when we make it to the Super Bowl again. First and foremost, I OBVIOUSLY would try to go. But what if I don’t? Do I go home? Do I stay here? I’d like to think I would stay here, because the way Leitch and his fellow Cards fans celebrated the NLCS is the way I’ve envisioned victory would be for our little group:

Suddenly, the bar wheeled out cheap champagne…I shook up two bottles and sprayed anybody in sight, then poured a bottle over my own head. Then I grabbed two more and repeated the process.

The madness continued for about two hours…everyone in the bar was immediately bonded for life at that point, and we busted out digital cameras and Kodaks and anything to help us record what was happening. I kissed a woman I had never seen and might have been standing next to her husband, who just smiled and danced.

The night wore on, and nobody stopped screaming until 3 a.m.

P.S. Two days till THE VEGAS!

That's me! Number 19! I'VE HAD IT FOR A YEAR.

Home safe home from nasty and humid Orlando. Very, very happy to back in Los Angeles. I did jack nothing for Halloween, as I’m having a terrible time adjusting to both the time difference and now the time change. I did make it out to Santa Monica to hang with the Cowboys peeps yesterday, tis been awhile. I’ve decided that 10 a.m. games + bloody marys have taken 3rd place in my ultimate list of soul mates (right after peanut butter + chocolate and me + Taylor Lautner will be when he’s legal…as mentioned before). Anyhow, the Cowboys peeps? Yeah, they’ve decided I’m some sort of oracle thanks to the fact I’ve had a Miles Austin jersey for a year. Have I mentioned I’ve had my jersey for a year? Cause I’ve totally had my jersey for a year. They want to know who I’m buying next, Bennett? Ogletree? What they fail to realize is I put SO MUCH EFFORT into this relationship that I’m tired, fool. I just want to sit back and enjoy the fruits of my labor. You can’t force amazingness, yo.

A funny thing happened whilst walking into a movie theatre yesterday. As I was finding a seat in a sold out auditorium of “This Is It” I swear to Jebus I got the loudest SHOUT OUT ever for my jersey. This dude was like “Wow, Miles Austin…NICE!” I was like “I know.”

So that was a first. Dearest Miles, I’m invisible most of the time to folks…so between me getting a shout out and you getting your own post on Kissing Suzy Kolber, dude, it’s safe to say…YOU HAVE MADE IT.

Speaking of amazingness. And luck. I WON A PS3 LAST WEEK! True story! This makes me happy for multitudes of reasons. I owned a PS3 at one point in time, but I lost it in the Heinous Split of 2008. So here I’ve sat with Blu Rays and no way to play them and a burning itch to finally learn how to play Madden. Not only that, but I use to be pretty bad ass at the EA NHL game. Now you can bring it on, bitches.

There was totes something else I was going to say, but I don’t remember what. Plenty of posts coming this week if I’m not coming down with the pig flu. And I don’t have time for the pig flu, cause I have the Vegas in THREE DAYS!

Before I forget, I have to send a shout out to the bartenders of and highly recommend High Voltage, the sports bar at Marriott World Center in Orlando. Those guys were the shit, despite the fact one was a Philly fan. They were so cool to me, the only girl and only person in a jersey for almost four hours Sunday before last. Three beers and two Miles Austin TDs later I was everyone’s BFF. Especially the guys from Buffalo sitting next to me who kept offering to give TO back and the table of Patriots fans behind me who tried to get my attention for two hours and finally cracked me with “everyone knows Romo is just an ugly version of Brady”. That one got me.

I actually kinda hate Florida

Cheers from sunny Orlando, Readers. I’m here for our industry’s second largest convention, basically we spend a week drinking, sucking up (or “schmoozing”, if you will) and watching movies. Good times. I was going to partake of Disney’s Animal Kingdom today. However, after being up for close to 36 hours -  naps on planes do not count as actually human sleep – I ended up in bed till Noon. Spent two hours (TWO HOURS!) in the gym, then enjoyed college football (poor Minnesota), lunch and reading poolside. This ONE day is as close to a vacation as I’m getting until sometime next year…if I’m lucky. I am going to Vegas in less than two weeks, that’s not vacation, drunken debauchery is a full-time job. Which I take seriously, thankyouverymuch. Tonight will be baseball and some Longhorn football in the hotel sports bar (which is quite nice) or a trip to Tampa for the Lightning/Sabres game. We shall see.

I'm a fan of the malfeasance fantasy football league

Anyhow, please don’t misconstrue this as blatant ass kissing, but I believe Kissing Suzy Kolber is one of the most badassest football blogs on the webternet. If you disagree with me you’re a humorless moron or Communist. Take your pick. I can appreciate a hot lady and dick jokes just as much as most. It comes with being an obsesser of football. Much like the acquired taste for beer I picked up about two years ago. Co-founder Michael Tunison penned a novel,  “The Football Fan’s Manifesto“. And if you fancy yourself a die-hard fan of all things gridiron and actually, you know, READ…books, not just blogs/stats/bullshit on the internet, you should pick it up toute suite. Actually, even if that is all you read you should pick it up. Cause it kinda makes fun of you. Thought you should know that.

I laughed many a times while reading this book, enough to make fellow morning gym rats question my mental stability. But they frighten me for different reasons, so I’m okay with that. Tunsion breaks down every single aspect of being a one-track minded football fan. I never thought I’d find myself reading a thought-out analysis of the various forms of high-fives. But that happened. I would say his pokes at Cowboys fans tarnished my amusement, but 1. he’s right and 2. I’m used to it.

Highlights for me were his ground rules for female fans (his anti-pink jersey stance that I totally effing agree with and already discussed here), the “Letter to Brian Westbrook Regarding His Questionable Playing Status for Sunday”, the detailed hatred for bandwagon fans and the consistent and accurate profiling of Eagles fans and their evilness.  Thus, I leave you with my favorite passage:

There are some stadia, stadia located in certain cities in the southeast corner of Pennsylvania, where it is unadvisable to root for the visiting team. Not that it’s necessarily bad form, but because you’ll be left for dead in a portable toilet and rolled down a hill.

It’s funny because it’s true. Not that I have or will ever try to find out for certain. I like taking risks, but I’m not retarded. I would have to lose a bet to the Devil himself to even think about going to a game in Philly. And I’ve been told even if I wore not a single thread of silver or blue, my “Cowboys accent” would give me away.

It’s been a very, VERY busy time at CLSL the last 12 days. And I have you to thank for that, Readers. Well, mostly Miles Austin and all the crazyspices searching for information about his personal life or pictures of him nekkid. But you, too. In those 12 days my hits have been into the multitudes of thousands, numbers I’d reached all together in the MONTHS leading up to the switch to the official domain. Months, not days. It’s pretty bad ass. Because of that I made a few changes. I fancified the header, having Photoshop back in my life has its advantages. Thanks, again, to the quote from LittleMoe. Anyone who uses Varsity Blues to compliment a person is aces in my book. I re-did the about me section and added an FAQ page. Did I make most of the questions up? Absolutely. However, I just KNOW that people actually think them.

It’s search term share time again. As always, I’ve got some doozies. The stuff you people look for on the interwebs is astounding. But entertaining nonetheless. Especially since it somehow leads you here. I’ll take what I can get.

1. “[insert several athletes names here] nude.” Next to general searches for Miles Austin and Jamie Langenbrunner, pervs looking for nekkid athletes is at the top of the list of what leads people here. I hate to disappoint them ALL, but there’s nothing here about any nude players. That’s better left for the imagination.

…wait, what were we talking about?

2. “lady giants patron.” I don’t even know what this means. And it’s generated several hits. Am I missing out on something? Is this some new hip cocktail the kids are drinking?

3. “me at the bengals game.” I’m dead serious. Someone typed that in. I know how it led them here, but still, it’s hilarious. What goes through someone’s head when they search for that? Let me do some googling to find out if there’s anything about me being at a pro football game. Cause I’m kind of a big deal.

Not really. But welcome!

4. “matt niskanen lost myself lyric.” Hmmm…a Niskanen original recording? “matt niskanen dating”. I wouldn’t call what young hockey players do dating. “real men wear pink niskanen ad campaign.” A hockey player, recording artist AND model…apparently.

5. “tony romo gay caught with marion barber”. SERIOUSLY? Whoever you are, I’m glad you have the internet to hide behind. Barber will cut you.

6. “miles austin eye color.” They’re a color I like to call GORGEOUS. (Too much?)

7. “character traits of Donovan McNabb.” Is mentally unstable a character trait? How about insecurity? Jackassery? I’ll stop.

8. “ed hochuli penis.” I can’t make this up. Cause WHY would I make that up?

9. “crazy lil sports lady.” True story! And that’s me! *waves*

10. “taylor lautner longhorn.” HA! My plan, it’s working…

The downside of talking about Taylor is the sudden appearance spam comments linking to naked pictures of Miley Cyrus and Kim Kardashian. Since THOSE are applicable to this blog. Well, apparently anyone naked is. Good times.