Vir's Archive

Monday, April 4, 2011

The Rifles Win the Cup!

Its a Statistical Fact: I rule!

Long story short - I won my fantasy Hockey League for the first time since I joined the league four years ago. Go me. This reunites the regular season trophy and the overall championship trophy under my sage stewardship. I'm really quite please with this result - not only for the trophies - but because I really like the guys that play in this league and consider them good opponents.

A little piece of advice for you budding fantasy players out there. Dont sweat the draft. If your team looks exactly the same coming out of the regular season as it did going in, you did something wrong. No matter what fantasy sport you play, its all about the Waiver Wire. Play your hunches on the waiver wire, not the draft, and you should do just fine.

Did I mention, "Go me?" Yeah, Go Me!

Now, if the Stars could win out and actually make the playoffs...

Friday, April 1, 2011

Terrible Gas

Let me just tell you, I hate farts. I used to love 'em. I have yet to meet a fart joke I dont think is at least chuckle-worthy, and possibly downright hilarious. However, once you become a parent, farting is suddenly deadly serious. You see, farts are the harbingers of bad things with babies. They may herald the coming of a heavy diaper. They may simply just smell like, well, like a fart. Or, in the worst scenario, they wake your baby up. Thats the kicker for me. I dont mind diapers. I dont even really mind dirty diapers. What I do hate is when my daughter is sleeping soundly, and then at 3am has to pass gas... and because she is a baby it doesnt come naturally. So, flailing commences. Legs are kicked. Grunts start. And, horrifyingly, she wakes up as her cute little intestines work the gas through her system. To a baby, even minor discomfort is usually a crying matter.

There have been nights, where I hear her little cry, knowing that she isnt fully awake. She begins to roll back and forth, kicking her legs. I know she has a fart coming. I dread it. I stay deathly still, hoping that if I am perfectly still that it will somehow make the fart pass and my daughter fall back asleep. Eyes wide open, breathing slowed, I pray that things (ahem) work themselves out. Sometimes they do, sometimes they dont and I have to get up and help put her back to sleep.

Waking at 3am hearing that your baby has a fart coming is a special sort of dread I never knew about until a few months ago. Its terrifying and demoralizing at the same time.

Farts. They wake my daughter up at night. For that, they hold my eternal enmity.