2003-08-27 ~ 2:51 p.m.

Thin Walls

I feel a little funky today. I mean, it's that time of month where blood gushes forth from my body as if to end my life on this good Earth, but yet I live, so, yeah, I'm feeling funky anyway. But I have other reasons to be funky. (Yeah, if I have to suffer, I must pass the vivid imagery on to you.)

Yesterday, I went to "the other side" and witnessed a male-bonding ritual.

The Fantasy Football Draft Day.

I think most have HEARD of Fantasy Football. If you haven't, I suggest opening the door and introducing yourself to the millenium.

And the whole thing is completely fascinating. Guys get together (usually at a bar, though, we've started to get groups of guys who make it an excuse to come to my home city of Las Vegas to do this) and they draft their own NFL team. First, they pick which order they are going to choose. (The Betrothed's group did this a week before so that everyone would have a fairly good idea who their first choices would be.) Then they start a-picking. But they don't go from 1-10 over and over. They go from 1-10 then 10-1. That way, since you're one, you may get the best player in the league, but you don't pick again for 19 picks, and if you're 10, you get 2 of the top 11 players. (Yeah, they've done a loooooooooot of thinkin' about this football thing.)

And wow. Everyone kinda sets apart. Those sitting together are the ones that have sat down and talked to each other about it, about "strategies", all that. The more seasoned fantasy footballers ask "so, you know who you're gonna pick first?" The new fantasy footballers answer with a "Wow, gee, I don't know. We'll see who's available when it's my turn." The more seasoned ones respond with "Yeah, I was thinking I would go with Priest Holmes, but I'm sure he'll be gone before it gets to me." (Priest Holmes is a running back, and that is the extent of my knowledge.)

So, yeah. The Betrothed goes, and I go with him partly to witness the phenomenon, but more because he wants me to go. He wants me to go partly because he loves me and wants to spend time with me but more because he wants to show off that he has a partner that takes interest in what he does and knows damn well that no one else's lady will be there. (He's a showoff like that.) (Yes, people hate people like us. I've come to accept it.)

Even more fascinating, the bar that we go to (which is owned by one of our past casino bosses) is set up for Fantasy Football drafts. They just ask that the group spends $150, and they set up everything else. Which means, they have a room, they have a guy, the guy keeps track of everyone's picks. And I don't mean on a piece of paper. I mean, this bar has a whole computer set up with a program specifically for Fantasy Football picking and it shows up and 4 big screens and 4 small screens. (3 teams on each of the big screens, same info on the small screens behind us.) I just mean, this is serious business.

I so wish there was something that I was this involved in. It was so neat to hear people call out their pick and three other guys going, "AWW!!! MAN!" And the LISTS! They all had lists and magazines (Fantasy Football magazines, might I add) photocopies, pens, highlighters. Wow.

Oh, so here's why I feel funky today.

While we were inside doing this, one of guys' trucks got broken into. And these people knew what they were doing. They didn't break a windshield or anything. They got in, they took his stereo, his guitar, his golf clubs, his softball equipment, house keys, ATM cards, garage door opener. (yeah, I'm not sure what some of that stuff would be doing in the truck either, but it's not my stuff, so I decided not to ask those questions.)

They decided to leave and go file a report at the police station. Later we found out that they should have stayed to see if the police could lift prints.

......Even later than that, we found out that the people that broke into his truck, had also gone to his house and cleaned him out there.

THIS WAS IN THE MIDDLE OF THE DAY!!!!

So, yeah, I feel funky. Sometimes you get hit with the realization that your walls aren't that thick. They might stand up against winds, but they don't stand up against other people. Not when those people have decided to come through them.

So, for the love of GOD(s)!!! Don't leave your frickin' house keys and ATM cards in your car. Your address is RIGHT THERE in the glove compartment.

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