Friday, February 5, 2010

Happy Super Bowl Sunday!


Okay so the name Scrambles the Death Dealer doesn't fit too well. I should have named her Polly. This cat has no fear whatsoever. Ed put her on his shoulder once and showed her how cool it is to ride him like a parrot on a pirate. Then Jon showed her just how far it is from his shoulder to the top of the fridge where Mike hangs out. When she's not sleeping, she runs, constantly, back and forth and back and forth. And God help the person who walks by the fridge. Bam! She runs up his or her body and jumps on top of the fridge. She startled each of us out of a few years. Mike and J.J., too. When she's done, she just jumps on the closest shoulder. If no one is there to help her down, she cries like a baby. My dear God. This is like raising kids again. The only difference is she's trained to her kitty box.





Okay, so I hate football, and could care less who wins. (Yes, I understand the game. I just don't like hard hits.) Anyway, I'm going to enjoy the heck out of myself anyway. I am going to cook.

How does bar-b-que meatballs, bar-b-que chicken wings, hot wings, tomato salad, garlic bread and open face cheese, tomato and bacon sandwiches sound? Oh, and chili, cheese dip.

A few weeks ago our angel program had a thank you party, where we sat around, got ripped, read thank you letters and ate. Our hostess made old fashioned bar-b-que meatballs, which is something I haven't had in years. The boys loved them. When the subject of a Super Bowl party came up again, both said, "Mom, make meatballs." I can't wait.

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