Uh, yeah. I was in a band once. I was a dancer.

Last night I went to a piano bar downtown. Being my first time there, I didn’t really know what to expect…

What I didn’t expect was for the first question a random guy asks me to be “Were you in band in high school?” I was stunned and couldn’t figure out I he was calling me fat, ugly or both. Instead of punching him, I went for honesty. I told him I was in band, as a dancer and as a xylophone player in concert band. His reply: “You don’t have a sense of adventure.” I quickly informed Sir Douche that I do, in fact have a sense of adventure. He then asked, “would you rather fly to Tijuana or sit alone in the corner of a bar in Mobile?” I told him I have been on too many adventures lately and alone in the corner of a bar was good enough for me…

As of this morning, I am back to rollin’ solo. Mom went back home Wednesday morning and Daddy decided this morning that he was homesick and I needed to learn to function one-armed on my own… Again.

It’s strange having the house to myself after two weeks of having someone here caring for me.

In the spirit of my aloneness, here are some songs that came to mind as Daddy drove off into the tornado debris littered distance:

“Here I Go Again” - Whitesnake
“Alone” - Heart
“All By Myself” - Eric Carmen
“All Alone” - Fun.
“I Drink Alone” - George Thorogood

Annnd..

“Ridin’ Solo” - Jason DeRulo

S-O-L-O… Wildkat out.

I cried again… My PT caught me and I only admitted to my eyes watering. She said I was making her feel bad. During manual passive motion, she got my arm to 90° and according to her I am doing “really, really well.” This was followed by “now, don’t got home and try this on your own this weekend.” Don’t worry. I won’t…

In other news, Auburn sucks and I hate Notre Dame.

Johnny Manziel, Johnny Football, Johnny Trollface.

He is definitely not cute. However, here is my prediction: Johnny Football, Heisman Winner.

He is a troll, but only if that troll can get 43 touchdowns, pass for 3400 yards and rush for almost 1200.

The kid is a white Cam Newton. Not only did he carry a team that would have otherwise been somewhere around the level of, oh, let’s say, Ole Miss, he also has another thing in common with Cam… *rustling of papers*… Police investigations. But hey, it’s Texas. If you aren’t bar brawling, playing football and getting arrested, what ARE you doing?

Lawyered.

Wildkat Score: 3 

*He gets a 3 for being a great QB. Nothing else. Sahara Desert, y’all.

As most of you already know, back in October, I had a great fight with a mechanical bull. I dislocated my shoulder and fractured the top of my humerus.

Since October 18, I’ve been in an immobilizer, which equates to wearing basketball shorts (primarily Alabama, Kentucky and Saints, you know I gotta represent), side ponytails and half-assed makeup.

When the fracture healed, the new X-rays revealed the bone had splintered into a bunch of pieces. The fracture happened to be right where my rotator cuff attaches, so it was completely detached.

I am now a week and three days out from surgery that was a little more intense than expected. It turned out that I also had a tear on my labrum, so I am now sporting three nice scars from the surgery.

I started physical therapy last week and let me tell you, shit is no joke. I remember seeing people in rehab for shoulder surgery after my knee scope and I was like “why are you crying?! Weaklings!” Now I realize shoulder rehab means you are going to do one of two things: cry or shit yourself. Here’s a little summary for you of my three sessions so far:

Day One: Shoulder shrugging, shoulder blade pinching and manual passive motion. I’ve never been so disappointed in shrugging my shoulders. I thought I was doing pretty good until the PT put me in front of a mirror. My first thought was WTF. I’m not even moving. Second thought: “This sucks.” After my dreams had been crushed came the manual passive motion, which mean my sadistic PT moved my arm for me. This resulted in me crying and slobbering on myself while saying “just ignore me” and the PT saying “relax, give me your arm. My thought was “You’ve already got it, I can’t move it anyway. Just cut it off.”

Day Two: More manual passive motion. I managed to not cry this time. While I was there, a little old lady was doing rehab for her knee… and crying. My thought was “yeah, yeah, shut up Skeletor. At least you can pick up your bingo card.”

Day Three: I was still sore from day two and by sore, I mean it felt like a pack of wild grizzlies had gnawed my arm off. I had a new PT today and during manual passive motion, she said “oooh, the soreness has got you!” I thought “No shit, lady. You’re lucky I’m not crying right now.”

I actually feel pretty good this evening. I’ll be back in for round four tomorrow. Maybe I won’t shit myself…

I call this the game of the week, but I should really call it the game of conflicting sentiments.

Mississippi State v. Kentucky

I’m calling Mississippi State on this one. Mainly because I love them and Dan Mullen is an evil genius and I like to watch him make his dramatic chipmunk face.

Secondly, Cameron Lawrence is hotter than any other weakside tackle I’ve ever seen. I want him to tackle me. It sounds like a damn good idea. Dude is one of the leading tackles in the SEC. 6’3, 230. Wildkat: 8

As most of you know, improper grammar makes me sick. When someone texts me “your smarter than there,” I get the same feeling I get when I see Gene Chizik’s face: I want to punch babies, vomit on myself and anyone nearby and set a nursing home on fire.

Knowing this, Travis sent me this picture. I am very pleased and hereby endorse this.

This is what happens when you whine to the guy at the package store that you can’t buy your favorite beer anywhere in town… He orders it and hides it just for you.

A while back, I declared Texas A&M and Missouri to be like my newly adopted children. They haven’t quite learned much yet, but they can learn if you beat it into them.

Now, thanks to Dorial Green-Beckham being a dumbass, I’ve now decided that Missouri is my adopted child that is mildly retarded and drools a lot.

With this reefer scandal, I’m thinking he would make a great transfer to Auburn.

But then again, when you’re 6’6, 220 and are running a 4.4 40 dash, I honestly don’t give a shit if you need to carry the bong with you… However. Dude. If the best you’ve got is an 80 yarder against the high school team you played last week, and maybe 115 yards in 5 games, let’s get real. I could do that much and I’m a girl.

Lawyered.

So, unless you’ve been under a rock today, Alabama has the number one recruiting class, but are you really surprised? 

I mean, really. If I remember correctly, the SEC just KILLS when it comes to recruiting. By KILL, I mean having numerous schools in the top ten, typically no less than three in the top five pulling in some big names. On the real, that doesn’t necessarily mean jack shit. Look at Tennessee… 2010, they had one of the better recruiting classes and couldn’t do anything with it, aside from mop floors and dye Derek Dooley’s pants some ugly ass color. 

The real story is Landon Collins. I wish we would unsign him before his dumbass of a mother does/says something stupid. I won’t even bother to type anything else about her because it is pointless. Wait. FIX YOUR WEAVE, WOMAN. Done.

I’m going to spend a little time looking at the legal recruits and give out some WildKat scores, but not just yet. I’m still fuming about someone’s mother.