Author Topic: Romantic husband  (Read 8634 times)

Offline NoDogNow

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Re: Romantic husband
« Reply #30 on: February 08, 2006, 09:22:33 pm »
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this is the girl who is at this moment wearing a Bears Jersey

Presumably that's one of the dreaded teams.... ;D



Sheryl, Dogless and sad

kristi

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Re: Romantic husband
« Reply #31 on: February 08, 2006, 09:25:44 pm »
well, if you had to wear any jersey - it (damn well) better be a BEARS jersey! ;)

Offline Anky

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Re: Romantic husband
« Reply #32 on: February 08, 2006, 09:27:19 pm »
well, if you had to wear any jersey - it (damn well) better be a BEARS jersey! ;)

Urlacher is the other man in my life ;)
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Offline newflvr

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Re: Romantic husband
« Reply #33 on: February 08, 2006, 09:38:02 pm »
Yes....but do you talk to him through the TV??

I had this thing for Rick Fox...and if he had been in to middle-aged dumpy women, I'd be there  :o!
Hmmm.  Vanessa Williams or me?? 

Offline Anky

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Re: Romantic husband
« Reply #34 on: February 08, 2006, 09:41:29 pm »
Yes....but do you talk to him through the TV??


I tell Matt that I'm going to leave him for Brian Urlacher all the time.  And every time he does something amazing (ie Every game ;)  ) I jump up and down and squeal "THAT'S IT BABY!"  Then I smack Matt in the head and say "That's my man!"
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kristi

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Re: Romantic husband
« Reply #35 on: February 08, 2006, 09:41:45 pm »
well, if you had to wear any jersey - it (damn well) better be a BEARS jersey! ;)

Urlacher is the other man in my life ;)

i agree - he's so nice...
we used to have season tickets - saw both of the playoff games in '85 that took them to the Super Bowl...
my grandma thinks she's a team owner - she does yell at the TV  :D

Offline NoDogNow

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Re: Romantic husband
« Reply #36 on: February 09, 2006, 04:44:06 pm »
I guess I'll hijack a little more.... ;)

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to rule out being with any guy who likes sports seems a tad extreme.

I guess it depends on how you define extreme.  I'll give you an recent (but fairly typical) example.   You decide if I'M extreme, or HE'S extreme.

I went out a couple of months ago with this guy--Tim, Tom, Todd, something like that.  Frankly, I'd rather not remember. Met him at Barnes and Noble. We were both standing in line waiting to purchase the latest instrument of torture produced by the pen of Robert Jordan.  We strike up a conversation in this 20 minute line, and after checking out, go over and have coffee, continuing to talk about books, etc. for a good 45 minutes or more.  Finally, at the end of a discussion which culminated in the fact that I'm not a particular fan of graphic novels, he invited me to see A History of Violence, saying it would prove his point about them being legitimate literature.  I said yes; personable fellow, we'd had a spirited, interesting, wide ranging conversation, seemed like a good choice for an actual date.

So, a couple of days later, this same person picks me up after work, and off we go to the movie.  Now, keep in mind we've agreed that we're going to go see A History of Violence, which I have in the meantime realized is starring two of my more favored actors, Viggo Mortensen and Ed Harris.  So even if it turns out NOT to be the most original story in the world, or a sucky script, at least the performances will be good.  I'm quite pleased at this point, with the promise of continuing what had been a few days before, a quite nice conversation.  Possibly I have found a nice guy to hang out with, I'm thinking positive thoughts.

Suddenly, standing in line, he turns to me and says, "hey, what about this Greatest Game Ever Played movie?  Would you rather see that?"

I look more at the poster.  A golf movie.  "No thanks.  I don't like golf, and I wasn't all that impressed with that Will Smith Bagger Vance movie anyway.  Let's just go to A History of Violence, like we planned."

"It looks good."

I scrutinize the poster more closely.  "Isn't that the kid from that Holes movie?  I'd rather see A History of Violence."

"Yeah, but sports movies are always so inspiring.  The other one's kind of dark and ugly." 

It took another 5 minutes of basically arguing while standing in line before I finally told him, "Look.  You asked me to go to one kind of movie--one that you claimed was serious, and substantive, and a particularly good adaptation of a graphic novel.  Now you want to go to a Disney golf movie!  I didn't agree to come to a Disney golf movie.  If you want to see the Disney golf movie, go see it.  I'm going to see A History of Violence.  I'll buy my own ticket."

"No, no.  But..."

Well, we ended up seeing A History of Violence.  But he was mad about it, and was I irritated--poison ivy ain't in it!  After we got out of the movie, we were going to go get something to eat.  So we're walking across the Farmer's Market to Maggiano's and he's just ON about why didn't I want to see the golf movie, do I not like Disney movies, do I not like those actors, do I not like golf, what's with not wanting to see the golf movie.  Finally, I gave up and said, "You know, I just don't like sports.  I don't watch them on TV, and I don't want to watch them in a movie.  Can we talk about the movie we DID see, please?" I knew it was a mistake when I said it, but he left me no choice.  I had to just put it out there, bluntly.

"OK, but I don't see why you don't like sports.  I love football, have you been watching..."

Five minutes later, he's still going on about the San Francisco Chargers or whoever as we're waiting for a table.  I break in.  "I told you, I don't like sports, and I especially hate football.  Seriously, seriously hate it. OK?  No more football!  Can we talk about the movie, PLEASE.  I'd like to finish our conversation from the other night, and you can explain to me why it's such a great example of an adaptation of a graphic novel."

"You hate football?  Why do you hate football?"

I remember thinking, why do I do this to myself?  I should have known when he wanted to go to the golf movie!  So I said, "Look.  I'm not going to have that conversation with you.  It's a very long story, and I have very good reasons, but I'm not going to get into them over dinner, because frankly, football makes me sick to my stomach.  Literally.  And I'm hungry."

"I think you should tell me, so I can explain..."

That was when I turned around and walked out the door of the restaurant.

He chased me down outside.  "Are you mad?"

"Yes.  I'm mad.  You invite me to one movie on the pretext of continuing our discussion from the other night, and then try to make me see a Walt Disney kid's golf movie instead.  And then, instead of talking about the movie we DID finally see, you want to talk about sports, even after I told you twice that I didn't like them.  Can you not hear me?"

"OK, I get it.  I wasn't paying attention.  I'm sorry.  Let's have dinner and talk about the movie." 

"No more sports."  I'm very forceful when I say this.  "I'm not interested in any of them, I don't like any of them, I don't want to talk about any of them, I don't want to hear about them.  OK?"

"OK."  We start walking back to the restaurant.  "Not even baseball?"

So I left him there.  I walked over to Fairfax and caught a cab. 

I don't think I'm extreme.  I think I'm proactive.  But you tell me!

Sheryl, Dogless and sad