Football is Stupid. Especially on Thursdays.

I had 3/4's of a good day.

Maggie went to school this morning.  I came home and worked in my garden.

I planted my antique roses I received from Rose Petals Nursery ~ a place I dream about in my pleasantest of dreams.

Souvenir de la Malmaison

I planted a Maggie rose, a Souvenir De La Malmaison, two Clotilde Soupert, Cl. roses, and a Peggy Martin.  I still have a Maman Cochet to plant.

I moved a jasmine plant to make room for the Souvenier de la Malmaison, and dug out some other plants...moved things around.

And let me tell you~ summer has come to Florida.  Wow.  I was sweating like a stuck pig.  Not pretty.

I laid down and read a bit of this awesome book that I have been working on:

 Every book of Sarah Waters that I have read so far has been extraordinary, in a quiet sort of way.

So, I was reading, then I dozed off a bit.

And... after a shower, Wes and I went to Goodwill and some various fun stores (fun for me; not so much fun for him).  

It was "Take Your Child to Work" day and Chris took him for part of the day.  Then he brought him home to me.    I took him shopping and "browsing" with me, because that is what I do.  And you would have thought someone was killing him.   

I was looking forward to getting the kids to bed, and relaxing with a nice glass of Pinot Grigio and enjoying some Thursday night programming .

I didn't expect that the NFL Draft would be on tonight.

These little sports specials always sneak in at moments that kill my joy.    And this particular NFL draft is  an anathema to me anyway:  how can an association that may not even be FUNCTIONING this fall, have a celebratory and drunken fan draft?

At one point at the beginning, enraged fans began chanting and booing when  the NFL commissioner came onstage.

Now, **I** thought it would have been an entertaining draft to have all of them continue with their heckling and insults, only to have the police called and have them all arrested.  Now THAT would be something worth watching.

The commissioner kept saying "I hear you, I hear you,"  like a dumbass. Of course he could hear them.  The three hundred pound Packer fan with a hunk of cheese on his head in the front row is a tad hard to NOT hear.

It was shortly after this that I poured myself the rest of the Pinot and resigned myself to my room.

(Actually, I squeezed what was left out of the bladder.  We is BOXED wine folk round heah, y'all.)  

I'm going to find an scary movie on my Netflix instant queue and watch it, because I can.  

I hate football.