Pizza and Depression

I had big big hopes and dreams for Super Bowl Sunday this year, most of which involved being on the slopes while the menfolks are howling in front of their TVs. Unfortunately, my previous excitement over being rained on all day yesterday only resulted in some greasing on the sheet of ice they sometimes call a ski resort.

So I took much comfort in hanging out with the guys and their pizza eating, beer swilling ways. Our host for the game, Harold, like Jesse was also from Chicago, so he went all out and ordered pizzas from Chicago to celebrate the Bears making it to the Super Bowl. I have to say, I really love real Chicago pizza. The ones I’ve tried from around here really doesn’t compare because usually they grease the hell out of the pizza dish so you get this thick pizza dough soaking in oil, which while still good by its own greasy pizza right, would stop your heart half-way through the second slice. He also picked up this amazing dessert pizza/cheesecake thingie, sooo good:

Harold told us we would all be killed if the Bears lose – so hot damned, even if you weren’t a Bears fan, cheering for your life might be a good idea. The first quarter started out great for the Bears and then it pretty much went downhill from there. I’m not much of a football expert but from the untrained eyes’ perspective, it looked like the Bears kicked their own ass. Between the extremely homoerotic commercials and the Bears not making their plays, watching the game became more and more painful until the final bitter end.

In the end, Harold forgot to kill us in his depression. That and I’m sure he just wanted to be rid of us so he can cry in peace. To imply that my male friend cries might seem like I’m calling him a wuss but I’m pretty damned sure that written somewhere in Man Law is:

You are allowed to cry only in two events:

1) When your dog dies.

2) When your team loses the big match.

If your cat dies, bury the cat and everything that suggests you’ve ever owned a cat, then get a dog. If a family member dies, clench your jaw and look emotionally wrought. If you’ve just witness the birth of your child, cover your eyes and feign feelings of being deeply moved. If your team loses the Super Bowl, sob your eyes out, wail with grief, tear at your clothes in agony…if you don’t cry when your team loses something as important as the Super Bowl, you just might be gay*.

*Extensions could be granted if the team losing caused you to go into shock in which case you can stumble around eyes-wide, soulless and feeling cold inside. Be sure to cry when you snap out of it.

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