When Clothing Decides To Speak

Oh hey Erin's fake but kinda real friends.
The names Jerz.
Aka Erin's New York Giants jersey.
 
 
That's me right there.
I rep #10 because Eli Manning is the best QB in all the land.
Even this ridiculous blogland you all like to write on.
 
A lot of you are from the south so you probably like Tony Romo.
 But I think he looks like the naked mole rat from that Kim Possible show from way back in the day on Nickelodeon.
 
 
We shall call him Romole.
 
Or maybe since you're all girls you don't really like football at all (gasp!) you just pretend to like Tom Brady because he's the cutest or whatever.
 
Miss Erin hates Tom Brady.
 
But I know all of her dirty secrets and she once told me that she would probably boycott her beloved Giants for a whole year if she had the chance to hook up with Mr. Brady.
Shh, I definitely DID NOT tell you that.
 
 
I mean for a dude, he's not too shabby.
But only when his hair's not shaggy.
No homo...Romo.
I'm such a good rhymer.
 
But anyway, Eli = the shit (I'm a football jersey and my name has a Z at the end, obviously I'm allowed to swear in public) plain and simple.
If you don't agree then I'll just have to make Miss Erin chug more beers every Sunday so that she still likes you by the end of the night.
 
I'm blabbing to you all today because tonight marks the return of the NFL season (haaaallelujah) and what better team to kick things off (get it? I'm super hilarious, I know) than theee Super Bowl Champions themselves.
 
Oh and for those of you girly girls that only watched for the commercials and Pinterested finger foods - that'd be the New York Giants.
Obviously.
 
 
This means that I was yanked out of the closet this morning and laid right smack dab in the middle of Miss Erin's bed so that she could stare at me all day in excitement.
Apparently she thinks it's like Christmas morning or something.
 
Weirdo.
 
This also means that I will fine-a-ly be making my return to the sports bar.
Do you understand how hard it is to sit in a closet full of girl clothes from February to September all while remaining sober?
 
That's like an entire pregnancy worth of sobriety.
And you know how those sober preggo ladies get.
It ain't pretty.
Miss Erin definitely couldn't accomplish what I did in these last seven months.
I deserve a few shots tonight.
 
I have sincerely missed making my Youth Medium sized presence known amongst an entire bar of burly men.
 
I have even missed smelling like those burly men after a three hour game.
'Cause that means I get to have fun in the washer.
 
I have sincerely missed being doused in blue cheese by Miss Erin who apparently actually likes football since she's too busy watching the game to remember that wings do in fact go in her mouth.
 
And I, of course, have missed listening to Miss Erin give any "man" hell for pretending to be a football fan when they don't even know what pass interference means.
Yikes - I can't blame her.
She sure is a pistol, that one.
 
 
But I love her and I'm so glad she found me because I sure as hell wouldn't have wanted to be stuck on the prissy little body of some chick who couldn't even tell you who my man Eli's brother is.
 
And don't even get me started on the crazies that mutilate my species with, what do they call 'em, BEDAZZLES?
Holy hell in a hand basket - no thank you.
 
So cheers to another season of football and cheers to the massive amounts of beers we'll drink and cheers to Miss Erin refraining from sceaming and swearing too often in these next five amazing months.
 
Now let's go sack some Romo and win this game!
 
Deuces.