So, I had a spectacular weekend. And by spectacular, I mean generally horrible. I spent seven and a half hours driving home Friday night. I should have turned around in Keene when I saw the DOT sand truck off the road, but I stubbornly kept going. But I made it home to see Mom, some high school basketball, and played with my nephew. Plus I made great time coming back, clocking in at 4 hours and 45 minutes.
Then the Super Bowl rolled around. I had rushed to get back in time for the game, picked up some pizza and went to Chateau de Shef. The pizza was pretty good, and that was topped off with one of my mom's famous cookies. I enjoyed some of the commercials. My top four would be 1)Tide's Talking Stain 2)FedEx's Ginormous Pigeons, 3)E*trade baby 2 - Clown Creepiness Factor and 4)E*trade baby 1, which may have foreshadowed my night. Other commercials were disappointing, odd or just plain creepy (see careerbuilder.com).
Upon conclusion of an extremely disappointing game, I prepared to leave, zipped up my jacket, took the extra Sprite out of the fridge....and suddenly had to vomit. I don't know if it was the food or the fact that the Patriots had actually LOST, but my stomach contents were coming up very soon. I did not want to puke in Shef's bathroom because, well, that just seems so rude. Upon further reflection, though, I didn't think he'd appreciate a nice puddle of frozen puke in his driveway the next morning either. So I prayed to the porcelain god just before I took off. It was fabulous. It seemed like the loudest puking ever just because I did not want him to have to hear it. Oh well. Every great Super Bowl party ends with someone's food making a second appearance, right?