When men want attention from women who are complete strangers, they get a dog to walk, or borrow a baby to carry. If you’re a woman who would like to have random conversations with men you’ve never met before and will never see again, you might want to put some kind of Longhorn sticker on your car. For the past six months, that thing has been a dick magnet. Continue reading
I drank my Shiner, called Texas a few times, and taught Dan how football works. [Pam: “I can teach you everything you need to know about football in four minutes.” Dan: “Yeah, I do believe I read a book about it?“]
Anyway, all of this post is to say: Suck it, Kamenetzky. Don’t email me three seconds before the game to tell me the Horns’ll lose.
Oh, and I kind of want to find the USC-cheering flight attendant from last night’s flight out of Memphis, because he was a little too taunty for my taste.
It took a billion hours to get home last night because every airport in this country is stuffed with Longhorns. It’s hard to get pissy when everyone’s in burnt orange, all trying hard to get to your hood.
Welcome back to the East side, Horns. Hook ’em. Continue reading