Sunday. Mid-morning. I am on the couch in my pajama bottoms and a long-sleeved 49ers shirt. Campfriend sits next to me, his feet wrapped in a blanket.
We’re supposed to be watching the 49ers/Bengals game at the bar, but a crazy Saturday night that consisted of me performing the entire "High School Musical" soundtrack in my friend’s living room followed by an intense game of Hearts, made it so I could not get my lazy ass out of bed before 9:55 a.m.
Yes, life in your 30s is depressing. But only if you’re thinking about it when you’re in your 20s. Mostly, it’s just kind of amazing and nothing like what you hoped. (What? Once you're in your 30s, you don't have to make sense anymore. Fact.)
So they we are, happily and adorably not really talking, while eating cereal and watching the 49ers seriously suck. Sometime around 11:30 a.m., otherwise known as the start of the third quarter, Alex Smith throws Michael Crabtree the ball on third down. Crabtree drops it.
“FUCK YOU!” I scream at the TV. Loudly. Like, the people in my apartment building probably think I'm a super-abusive girlfriend kind of loudly.
I am frustrated with Michael Crabtree for a million reasons. He was a first-round draft pick in 2009, but then missed half of his rookie year because of a contract dispute. He’s also missed every preseason since then with injuries. Not his fault, but still frustrating as that’s a missed opportunity for him to learn offensive schemes and get comfortable with new players, changes, etc. He also got into it with Vernon Davis during a practice last year. Yes, Michael Crabtree has a ton of potential and I hope to see him live up to it while he’s still on the 49ers, but until then, I reserve the right to scream and cuss loudly at the television when he drops balls.
Fast-forward a few minutes and Frank Gore loses a fumble on the San Francisco 16-yard line.
“God dammit,” Campfriend yells. “Why’d you bother renegotiating your contract if you were going to SUCK THIS MUCH?”
“Don’t yell at Frank Gore,” I say.
“Don’t yell at Gore. Just don’t do it.”
“Wait. Why can YOU yell at whomever you want, but I can’t yell at Gore when he fumbles the ball?”
“I yelled at Crabtree,” I explain. “It’s TOTALLY different.”
And it is. Frank Gore is the face of the franchise, the heart of the team. He’s been selected to the Pro Bowl twice and was chosen this year to be a team captain. Yes, he held out for four days (ooooh) at the start of training camp, but all he wanted was a fair deal and a contract extension (which he got). Why did he want that so badly? Because he wants to finish his career as a 49er. Because he’s loyal. And so I, in turn, am loyal to him.
Which is why we don’t talk shit about him in my house.
In case this isn’t making total sense to you, let me try to explain it in terms that more of you may understand. On Friday night, Campfriend and I were watching “Grey’s Anatomy.” (I have no life, it’s true.) I can’t remember exactly how it went down (thank you delicious entire bottle of Fumé Blanc), but Campfriend said something in Meredith Grey’s defense. (You’ll recall she tampered with Derek Shepherd’s Alzheimer’s trial in an effort to help the Chief’s wife.)
“Sorry,” I said, “but she kind of deserves to be fired. I mean, she did screw up the entire trial.”
“But she did it for the Chief! And his wife!” Campfriend protested. “She did it for the greater good!”
(I disagree since the greater good would actually be the good that helps lots of people, not just two, but anyway, whatever. Am I still talking about a TV show? Yes! And I’m not even finished.)
A little while later (two hours season premiere’s wreck me), Dr. Bailey was mean to Meredith after Meredith helped a patient even though she'd been fired and Campfriend called Bailey “a troll.”
“Excuse me?” I said. “We don’t call Miranda Bailey a TROLL in this house.”
“What?” he said. “She IS a troll. She’s being mean to Meredith.”
“But Bailey is, like, the best character ever. She’s being mean to Meredith because Meredith deserves it. WE DON’T CALL HER A TROLL.”
Now before you get all (rightfully so) high and mighty on me and tell me I need to get out the house more, just let me finish my lingering point.
Meredith Grey? She’s Michael Crabtree. She means well, but she screws up A LOT and therefore doesn’t always deserve my unquestioned sympathy.
Dr. Bailey, on the other hand, she is Frank Gore. A leader. Full of heart. Passionate. Kind. Good. And certainly not a troll.
There’s probably a lot to learn from these ridiculous spats. I shouldn’t tell Campfriend what to say when we’re watching bad TV or horrible football games. Campfriend shouldn’t name-call. I should chill out and not care what he says. He should never insult Frank Gore or call Miranda Bailey a troll.
And mostly: I probably shouldn’t passive aggressively try to win the argument by writing about it on xoJane two days later. Oopsie!
What's the most ridiculous fight you've gotten into with your significant other? How did you resolve it? More maturely than I?
And who do you think was right in my fight? Please don't say Campfriend just because he has those sad eyes that twinkle so adorably. VOTE FOR DAISY. I'd do it for you. xx.