At the thought of one dedicated eyeball per game, I chuckled out loud. Billy didn’t even glance up. Maybe if I fell to the ground and pretended to pass out, he would notice. Of course in order to get his attention, I would need to make a really loud thump when I struck the floor.

Or, I might catch his eye if I posed in front of the screen dressed in a tiny red, white, and blue string bikini with a six-pack nestled in each arm. Boobs and beer. Budweiser increased their sales a thousand times using that lethal combination.

A last option was the old standby, no clothes at all, just green body paint and a pair of gold pom-poms. If I stood directly in front of his chair and jumped up and down while shouting, Go Packers, Go Packers, Go Green Bay, Go Packers, well at the very least, he’d tell me to move.

BUT WAIT. THERE’S MORE!  To celebrate the start of football season 2010, I’m offering a COUPON because, darn it, I just love COUPONS! Use code FM69L to save even more mola!  

Go Vikings! Go Vikings! Purple People Eaters arise again. I promise to buy the horned helmet with the attached fake braids if you play good!

Please pass along this AMAZING offer which is good through the end of September!

Click here to purchase and download the book. http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/22207

Multiple football screens...Yikes!

Here’s the weekly excerpt from  my novel, To Kill An Armchair Husband, a dark comedy. This one is short but sweet in a Sports Center kind of way!

When the moon ducked behind a caravan of clouds, I downed the last of my wine and stood up. As I passed through the family room, I heard a commentator remark that the current football game was tied at the end of the fourth quarter. He went on to say that right after the commercial break, sudden death overtime would begin. The team that scored first would prevail. According to the announcer, nine times out of ten, the gutsy or unexpected play secured the win.

I glanced at Billy and saw his face brighten, his spine straighten a little. Sports Center and he both thrived on these moments. Soon, a glorious victory for one team would result in agonizing defeat for the other.

Tired of waiting for her husband to snap out of his thirty-six month slump, suburban wife Charlie Score executes a gutsy and unexpected play to win the game. The crowd roars. The commentators go wild. The victorious woman starts a new life.

“It’s the best time of year,” one burly ex football dude proclaimed at my daughter’s soccer practice. I thought I saw a tiny tear of happiness roll down his cheek.

I found a few statistics. 40 million men watch football every week. On average, fans watch ten hours of football a week.

Football sells recliners and big screen TVS. Satellite TV and Digital Recorders. Chips and Beers. Clothing. Headgear including fake yellow braids and big pieces of plastic cheese. Face paint. And beer. Footballs. Coolers. And beer.

In my house, we have all of this and more. We even have a cookbook featuring recipes by football players.

Every September, no make that August (I forgot about preseason), I ask myself the question. And I ask it again every time I hear the Monday Night Football song.

Terri, are you ready for some football?

My answers.
Do I have a choice?
In small quantities.
If all my chores are done.
If the score is close.
If there’s a cute quarterback.
If my husband whipped up something tasty out of that football cookbook.
If I can sit in his recliner and HE brings me a beer.

Then yeah, bring it on baby!

 A year ago, after catching a rerun of Archie Bunker, I crafted a short essay about Billy’s chair and sent it out to half a dozen women’s magazines. I hoped a savvy editor would recognize the relevance of the topic for thousands, maybe millions, of married women.

Reflections on Man and His Beloved Recliner

If man’s best friend is a dog, then man’s best mistress is his recliner, commonly referred to as THE CHAIR. THE CHAIR provides a refuge of comfort and total acceptance. Wrapped in THE CHAIR’S loving embrace, a man can relax to the point of letting it all (see enclosed picture) hang out.

A most savvy mistress, THE CHAIR demands nothing but a warm body. She doesn’t expect flowers or expensive jewelry. Conversation is not required. Eye contact is never an issue. THE CHAIR tolerates mood swings, profanity, and flatulence. She doesn’t nag about date night or sex. She doesn’t care about dirty dishes or unfinished household projects.

Most importantly, THE CHAIR loves televised sports. She offers multiple positions suitable for watching sports, reading about sports, eating and drinking while watching sports, and dreaming about sports.

THE CHAIR is the perfect mistress. No woman could ever compare. No woman should ever try. 

Sadly, the essay was rejected by all six publications. Only one editor provided feedback. In capital red letters she wrote, THIS TOPIC IS TOO DEPRESSING FOR WOMEN. Underneath, in faint, barely legible print, she added; just ignore the chair, that’s what I do.

In retrospect, I realized I should have sent the essay to a men’s periodical like Sports Illustrated. There, it might have won an award for insightful journalism.

It’s original.

It’s visual.

We KNOW the reviewer is serious because she is willing to undergo self-mutilation, DISMEMBERMENT FOR PETE’S SAKE, for a chocolate bread pudding drenched in bourban sauce. 

Barbara Yost, I salute your gusto for food AND your oh-so-clever analogy.

For now, I can’t stop thinking about that chocolate bread pudding with bourban sauce.

I must have it.

I must find out if this dessert is worth the sacrifice of a limb.

If you live in the Phoenix area, you can find out too.  http://www.thegrindaz.com

I find it extremely funny and outrageous and yes, it’s very crude, but that’s okay. I like crude.

Mr. Leary is from the East Coast. From personal experience, I know those dudes always tell it like they see it.

Crude gets a bad rap. Which is ridiculous.

Look at these synonyms for crude.
Natural
Green
Homemade

Now look at these antonyms for crude.
Formal
Refined
Stilted

I don’t know about you, but I’d much rather be in the first category. And yeah, I hand-picked the adjectives that supported my stance, but that’s my right. It’s my blog.

With crude, there’s no need to read between the lines. No need to worry about offending . . . ’cause most likely you will, and in fact, you want to.

Sure tact is nicer. But lets face it, tact requires thought. And discernment. And usually a little white lie. Or a really big white lie. And of course empathy. Frankly, being tactful is a lot of work.

Crude is much easier. It kicks you in the face and the butt at the same time.

And that’s why I laugh.

Crude Alert! Just read an interview with Drew Barrymore in Elle magazine. She describes her forthcoming movie, Going The Distance, as ” a romantic comedy with the raunchy dialogue of a Judd Apatow movie.” I’m so gonna love it!

Who’s afraid of the big, black dog… the big, black dog … the big black dog….?

Ah … nobody. Dudes! I’m a lover not a fighter. I love giving love and I love receiving love.

In that spirit, here are five surefire tips for maximizing the love in your life:

1. Keep the talking to a minimum. Barking for no reason other than a fondness for the sound of my own voice, or because I can, or because I’m bored, doesn’t bring the love. So unless it’s important, I keep the barks down to one or two a week. Sure, I’ll produce a quickie if someone waves a biscuit under my nose, but hey, a biscuit is food. And food equals love. Right?

2. Cultivate the sad whine not the annoying persistent whine. Here’s what I do. Walk across a room occupied by people, stop, let out one soft whine, follow it with a long sigh, and then continue to the other side of the room. People WILL hurry after you and ask what’s wrong. People WILL pet you. People MIGHT give you another biscuit. If you whine continuously you WILL get LESS love not more.

3. Be the rug, don’t eat it. My fur is way silkier and softer than a rug. I have found if I position myself directly under people’s feet I get foot rubs that last a long time. This easy tip really racks up the love hours whereas chewing the rug does not.

4. Embrace your creative side. If my owners wanted to, they could dress me in a bonnet and nightgown, throw some granny specs on my nose, and pop me under the bed sheets. With my handsome head and toothy smile, I’m a shoe-in for the big bad wolf in Little Red Riding Hood. Good performance, bad performance, it doesn’t really matter for I’ll receive mucho love for my acting efforts.

5. Every dog is a lapdog. I weigh in at 100 lbs. No matter. I allow my owner to pick me up and with a not inconsiderable effort place me upright on his lap. It’s pure heaven. I get to kiss his face. I get to put my head on his shoulder. He scratches my belly. I play guitar. Sure, being held upright IS a little uncomfortable but the love benefits are unbelievable.

Take it from this love expert, if you follow my top five tips you WILL maximize the love in your canine life. Heck, most of these tips work well for humans too!

Sincerely,
Elvis, the dog (Slurp! I just licked your face!)

Not to worry! I'll take care of your problems!

Wonder Woman, attached to my daily planner. Her super powers come in handy!