Hot Links: Super Bowl, Guns and Singing!

Happy Thursday y’all. One more sleep until Friday and only three more until the Super Bowl! Yes, we are extra excited here in San Francisco, because not only are we home to the World Champion San Francisco Giants, we are about to be home of the Six-Time Super Bowl Champion San Francisco 49ers!! The city is bathed in all manner of red and gold and not even the idiotic, ignorant comments of one of our cornerbacks can get us down. What am I talking about?? Here’s the link fest.

SF 49er cornerback Chris Culliver said some REALLY inane bullshiz about having gay teammates. Here is local sportswriter Ann Killion’s blog about it and what I like even more is this list of quotes from other 49er players pretty much showing that Culliver is the one in the minority here. Also, back to the SF Giants for a sec, they were THE FIRST national professional sports team to support the “It Gets Better” anti-bullying campaign. (As I noticed earlier this week while walking up California Street to my office, the destination signs on several Muni buses said either “GO NINERS!” or “EQUALITY FOR ALL.”  And that’s why we hella heart SF!)

I LOVE MAPS. Also, football. See where your team is.

I HATE GUNS. But I love jewelry. THESE are so badass I cannot stand it. I want now! (Background on the org is here.)

I HAVE STRONG DISLIKE FOR KILLER CATS. Ugh, please keep your cats inside.

No, I did not forget that Beyonce is doing the half time show, but what I am way more excited for is her HBO Documentary that premieres on February 16. I mean, you guys, she is BEYOND-ce.

And finally, best for last…

I am in that camp of not really liking Anne Hathaway, for no other discernible reason than, “idk, she just bugs.” It’s way immature I am aware, but, apparently, it’s a HUGE camp. Here is this awards season’s best parody of earnest, dramatic, musical theatre turned cinema and the Oscar it is BEGGING to win. Click and laugh and laugh and laugh!!!

For The Dudes: How To Not Get Laid

Chelsea wins, we gotta eat now.

This past Saturday was the UEFA Champions League Final, which for all the uninitiated is the Super Bowl of European club soccer.  The game was between an English Premiere League team, the Chelsea Football Club of London and the German Bundesliga team, Bayern Munich. Friends and regular readers know about my soccer love, so it should come as no surprise that I found myself in a packed sports bar at 10:45AM, Guinness in hand, making friends with an imposing gentleman named Matt who was wearing a Mastodon* tee shirt.

Matt and I did some bonding over the brilliant drama of soccer,  and within 10 minutes I found out he was 39 years old;  married (wife not a soccer fan, was out doing beauty treatments, which I endorsed having just done the same the week before); he played in college, somewhere in Ohio (?);  and he knew the entire staff at the bar. I’m very good at making friends. We claimed a respectable standing-room-only spot while I waited for my real-life friend to txt his arrival, putting Matt on notice he’d likely have to go out and retrieve him from the blight of the line. Matt was gracious and said not to worry, and yes, went out and got my friend when the txt came. We love Matt.

The three of us watched the game to much delight, reveled in the good natured and multi-culti crowd, drank several pints and Matt even quaffed a few shots of Cazadores all the while. We were also being well taken care of by a very hard working and patient waitress. She and I, being some of the few gals among the sausage fest, exchanged knowing glances every time she walked past us. We got each other.

After half time the crowd rejiggered and we ended up with two fellows in front of us that, while not totally invading our spot, were filling that luxurious extra 14 inches of breathing room we had before. They were not tall, so we could see right over them without issue. However, they could not get into the rhythm with our waitress and kept backing into me whenever she needed to pass, instead of letting her go behind them as was the more natural flow of the space. At some point, she was passing and looked at me as he backed into me with that knowing eye, and I gently put my hand on his mid back to stop him from stepping on me and to let her pass. The next time she came through she looked at me before her stride arrived, then at him, then back at me so I put my hand gently onto his mid back and said to him, “Head’s up, waitress coming through.” She nodded a thank you to me and passed on by with a giant tray of drinks.

The next thing I hear is the height challenged chap (wearing those foreshortening, baggy, saggy knicker-pants) say to me very tersely, “Don’t touch me!” punctuated with a shoulder jerk forward away from me and a bonus sneer.

Um, okay.

My real-life friend looks at me and my perplexed face and says, “Did he just say for you not to touch him? Wow. He’s got it all wrong.”

Right?!  (And then we giggled at his expense.)

I am just glad New Friend Matt did not witness that, because I am quite certain the cranky young man would have been dealing with a 6’2″ hella-buzzed menace instead of an attractive brunette having a great hair day with above average sports knowledge gently placing her hand on his back a few times.  I guess he just never experienced that before.

And probably never will again.

*Hat tip to brother for keeping me up on my metal.