Football on Steroids

I’ve got about forty-five minutes to write my NaNo words before Sunday Football begins. I checked to see what channel my favorite team,The Ravens, would appear on today. And forgot that I now lived in Ohio, and they’re not on our local television. You know what that means?

I will have to turn to the dreaded Red Zone. Don’t know what that is? Let me explain in one little sentence:
The Red Zone is football on steroids, with a little ADHD added as a bonus. Every time any team playing at any particular time in a seven-hour period gets into the ‘Red Zone’ (twenty yards from the goal line) focus shifts to that game. Sometimes, there’s four screens on at once. Most of the time just one screen, jumping between games.

It’s enough to give me a headache.

No down time here. No commercials. No celebration when your team does score, because once that happens, they move to another game. Wait! I want to see a replay!

Ahh, there’s my purple team. What? No, that’s Minnesota. Crap.

I so looked forward to today’s game with Benny out. Let’s just hope that Flacco gets that offense into motion like he did last week and the Red Zone will pick them up. Often.

Damn. Now I have thirty minutes to write. Does this count for today’s words?

Hold on. Whoa. Ravens are playing tonight. That means they WILL be on national television. YAY! Guess what, honey? Ravens are on tonight! What was that? You ordered a Pay-Per-View. Wrestling? Survivor Series?

Anyone know a good divorce lawyer?

The Ohio DMV

I’ve got NaNo on the brain. I’m constantly thinking about the story line, where it’s going, writing loglines for each chapter, planning and plotting in my head. When I’m away from the computer, I still think about it.

Until my darling husband decides to go on a rage.

Picture this: We go to get our new drivers licenses for Ohio. Nope, can’t get it until we go to the next town and take the written test. OK. We do it. I pass, missing one question. He passes, missing three. (I’ll let that one slide). Take the vision test. Pass. But, oh wait. We’re both diabetic, so now we have to get a doctor’s OK that we can drive, because, gee, we might pass out while we’re driving. Fine. Two weeks later (today) we go to the doctor, he fills out the paperwork. We go back to the DMV. “We don’t know what to do with this form. You have to go back where you took the test.” Drive to the next town. Relinquish forms. Go to get license. The woman leans forward and lowers her voice. “Honey, you can’t get a license. You didn’t pass the test.” YES, I DID! I missed one question! What the hell??? “Well, let me go next door to the testing office and check.” Fingertips drumming so loud, the man next to me looked over and sidled away. Woman returns. “Yes you did pass. It just wasn’t in the system yet.” YAY! Process begins. Sign here, sign there, wait a minute. I don’t have five names. First name, former middle name, maiden name, previous married name, current name. WTF? “Umm, excuse me. This is my legal name.” I show her. “Well that’s not what the DMV tells me.” AHHHHH. She changes it, I get my license. All is well.

Wait. My husband is sitting there, waiting for me. “I can’t get my license. I have to get a new social security card because my mother laminated mine, and my birth certificate is not an original copy.” That’s when he blew up. Right there in the DMV. The government was a Nazi regime, the people who worked there were all hicks . . . I dragged him out before they arrested him.

What do I care? I have MY license. And I’ve got to go home and write. “Come on, dear. Time to go home and cool off. Have a beer. Better yet, go in the basement and leave me alone. Love ya!”