I Got Robbed

Not literally robbed. So don't go freakin out. What I mean is, I got robbed because I was in college at Nebraska during the four most embarassing years in Husker football history: The Callahan Era. Every game day, Clayton and I fantasize about what it would have been like to be a student at Nebraska during the golden years - ya know the nineties. We always talk about having a 1994 party, complete with the National Championship game on loop on multiple rear-projection tube televisions. We would wear multiple colors of neon socks with our white Keds, black bike shorts underneath neon Umbro shorts, cropped tank tops, terry cloth wrist sweatbands and tease our bangs. Perhaps we would crimp our hair (Clayton included, he is a whiz with a crimping iron) or even get a perm. We would also have celebratory Nebraska earrings that looked like corncobs.

Seriously, we really missed out. I know I had entirely too much fun in college and probably would die if I went back to redo it...like, I would probably actually die. With a funeral and everything. But I wouldn't mind risking it. I would seriously consider paying another 40K to go back to school at a time when our team was back-to-back dominating every other team and conference. I was pretty fortunate the first time around, what with not having any student loans or anything, but I would consider making the investment, especially now that Slimy Steve is out of the picture. I love Creepy Carl and Bi-polar Bo, and I have a real soft spot in my heart for Tom "Octogenarian" Osborne.

Last night we went to the American Royal BBQ festival thingy out at Kemper Arena, which I didn't know existed. Its located in the butt-ugly industrial part of Kansas City. Great scenery. Lots of rusted train parts, crushed vehicles and meth labs. Beautiful round them parts. Well get this, its $15 per person to enter...for all living, breathing human beings. That means we had to pay $15 for our SIX MONTH OLD to enter. I contemplated just leaving her outside the fence and checking on her every couple of hours but I relented and shelled out another 15 bucks, but not before semi-chewing out the box office personnel and looking at them like they had three heads.

So we stroll up to the box office, which is fashioned out of a lifted double wide trailer. She sees Clayton behind me, manning the stroller, and this lady says, "Forty-five dollars please." I said, "It's $22.50 per person?! Are they serving BBQ on fine china and beer in Waterford crystal???" "No it's $15 per person and there are three of you."

My jaw hit the floor.

"She's 6 months old. Unless you have a food processor handy, she ain't eatin. And she's driving, so she's certainly not drinking."

Homegirl gave me a blank stare.

"Wait a minute. So you are seriously going to charge me $15 to push her around in a stroller? You have got to be kidding me. You have  alot of nerve! I am not paying $15 for an infant!" I looked at Clayton who just shrugged. We'd already paid $20 to park, and considering this part of town, I was pretty sure that when we left and went back to the car, we would find it completely stripped. So what are we gonna do? Burns and Mac was kind enough to give Clayton an invitation to an invitation-only event...so I handed her my debit card through the tiny slot in the bulletproof glass.

I just cannot believe the nerve of the American Royal. The BBQ at Burns & Mac was ahhhhmazing though. We had to leave right around 8:15 - just when all the good-looking people were entering. When we got there, the only people that were there who weren't working it were morbidly obese people who wanted to get their fill before the rations ran out at all of the 4000 BBQ exhibitors. I felt like a supermodel walking around.

Thus I have decided to befriend only morbidly obese people in an effort to raise my stock value.

And I don't mean stock as in livestock however that may also apply here.