There's a bit of me (the part that really wants the Hawks to win today) that thinks I'm jinxing myself by getting in here for a game day post before the game has been played.  Deep breath.  It's only football.  I'm watching the news and they are showing a bunch of people that have gotten tattooed.  Some of them look good.  Some of them look strange.  To each their own.  I'll stick to my jersey, #25, my sweet Richard Sherman.

I was listening to 94.9 (one of our local NPR stations) a few days ago, and they have a small piece where they'll play messages left my listeners regarding certain topics.  The topic was the 12th Man.  Two of the three messages called it total crap (in more elegant words) and the other person who admitted to not being a fan, said Hawk Fever and spread through her house overnight.  I thought it was interesting how passionate the people who called the 12th Man "bologna" on the radio felt.  What is the big deal behind that? No one is munchin' on your butt because you have every answer to Wait, Wait, Don't Tell Me!  Or beat the Will Shortz puzzle every Sunday.  I've said my words.

In other news, Rowan is still fighting a nasty cold that she's had for almost a month, which has left her not wanting to leave my side (for the most part) and a bit of a crabby patty.  It means a lot of snuggling which is fine with me, until I have a glass of wine and fall asleep in her bed and wake up at 12:30 wondering where the hell I am.  

Tj and I have been walking everyday.  He's more than unstable on his stork bird legs, but we've found a nice balance: he uses his hiking pole in one hand, holds my hand in the other and we're able to walk at a quicker pace than if we walk separately.  Here's what you'll find in my other hand:  a hundred pound black lab pit that is a bulldozer and a 7 pound chihuahua that entangle themselves around my wrist.  Imagine me being pulled forward by dogs, and then me pulling Tj's other hand to make sure he keeps his pace up.  It must look odd.  But it's nice to get the exercise with my main squeeze.  The good days are ok, and the bad days are awful when it comes to gauging the symptoms of his illness.  But this new trend we're setting, he puts his boots on everyday and we go for a walk.  I'm proud of him.