I went 37 years without seeing an NFL game, and after today, I'm hoping to go 37 more. Today I discovered that I'm more of a baseball kinda girl. Tony and his brother split an order of season tickets to the Redskins this year, and today was the wondrous event known as Washington vs. Buffalo.

Within minutes after exiting the shuttle bus, we were walking behind three Bills fans, and sure enough, one was wearing Zubas. Not the old zebra-striped variety, oh no. These must have been the new, reinvented Zubas. Guess what? JUST AS UGLY AS THE OLD ONES.

On the four mile walk up to our seats, we passed: a) more litter than I have ever seen in my life. Is it that hard to throw your garbage in a trash can? b) four drunk guys screaming fat slurs at an overweight guy walking up to his seat. I hate drunk people. c) Lots and lots of smokers who didn't seem to care that they were walking in a crowded area blowing their foul smoke in everyone's face.

The seats were great - we had a birds'-eye view of the entire field - but soon we found ourselves surrounded by more screaming drunk people. There were four men in front of us who were screaming and having a good time, but they were able to manage to keep it on the fun side. I didn't hear one "fuck" or "suck" or "bullshit" from them the entire time. Not that I care, but it gets old after a while. Of course all the kids around us kept turning around every time the two drunk dudes next to us yelled "Bullshit!" They were clearly enthralled with the fact that their ears were not restricted from hearing these wonderfully naughty words-o-contraband. "Bullshit" is, after all, very exciting to hear when one is ten.

After the touching tribute to Sean Taylor, the game started, and it was all over for me. Even with the annoying DJ announcer explaining every play, I have NO IDEA what the hell is happening on a football field. Run. Throw. Catch. Jump on eachother. Get up. Repeat. And what the hell is a "down" anyway? Why is it called a down and why are their four of them? Is it called a down because it ends when someone puts the ball down? I don't get it. And I didn't get to see any good pileups, which really stunk, because I couldn't make any homoerotic jokes to pass the time.

Here is what I was able to do, though, to pass the time:

1. Make annoying chewing sounds with my mouth in Tony's ear every time something happened in favor of the Bills. You can imagine how much he enjoyed that.

2. Try to make a Luna bar last an entire quarter by eating it very, very slowly in tiny bites. (Didn't work.)

3. Zip my coat up completely to the chin, cover my head with my hood and tighten it so that every breath I took fogged up my glasses. Goal: Completely obscure scoreboard. (Goal achieved!)

4. Make jokes and laugh incessantly over anything that sounded remotely like a body part or bodily function. "Cooley," "pass," and anything involving "ball" elicited the most silliness.

5. Wiggle my toes to the lyrics of some of my favorite songs.

6. Scan the crowd for anything Zubas-related. (Counted one hat and one pair of pants.)

7. Inform Tony that we could leave whenever he wanted to leave.

Surprisingly, these little activities made the time fly, and although I was glad when Tony suggested we watch the rest of the game from the concourse due to the rain, I still had a good time. After all, any time we're together, I'm happy.

I'm just more happy when we're watching football games from the couch.