Monthly Archives: November 2010

Giving Thanks, Sassy Style

I love Thanksgiving. Who doesn’t love Thanksgiving? We spend time with family, eat like there’s no tomorrow, and watch some awesome football. We all gain anywhere from 5 to 25 pounds (don’t deny it, it happens to everyone), and get to eat leftover turkey and ham sandwiches on leftover biscuits with leftover mashed taters and leftover green bean casserole. It’s also the day before everyone goes nuts for the sale at Best Buy and Kohl’s. Let me tell you, Miss Sassy loves her some sales. But lawd help anyone who buys me something from Kohl’s. Ick. Anywho. But Thanksgiving really isn’t just about buying the biggest turkey ever or eating leftover biscuit sandwiches and watching VT beat up on UVA for the 85th time in a row. It’s about family, friends, and acknowledging all the great things in our lives for which we are so thankful. And so, here we have a complete enumeration of all things for which Miss Sassy Pants herself is thankful.

Firstly we’ll start with the family, because what’s more important than family? Not much else, if anything. No, actually, there’s nothing. I have a super special family, something which I feel most everyone will say about their family, but for reals my fam is awesome. So here’s to you, Mummy, Daddy, aunts, uncles, cousins: you love me, you support me, you enable me, you encourage me, you tolerate me, you teach me, you make me a better person. Plus most of you take some time to read this jank. Lovesies. I am thankful for and love you all bunches.

Next up on the list is a group of people who really are not next. They are concurrently listed with my family because they are my other family. Yes, this means you, pseudo family. You know who you are. My Uncle Gus and his wonderful family. Twin and Mimi, the sisters I never had who are just wonderful and keep me in line and up to date on hair care. My pseudo mothers, grandmothers, and aunts who treat me like their own. You support me, you listen to me gripe, you feed me, you encourage me, you push me to succeed, you discipline me, you give great hugs, you send cute cards in the mail which happen to arrive at just the right time. You love me. Plus, some of you even read this jank, which is totally cool of you. I am grateful for you and your love.

Of course these next people I am grateful for are really just the awesomest and make a list of people useless. Of course I could never love anyone more than my mother and father, but these people come close. These people are my Hokies. I love them beyond my capability to put it into words. And of course this group is dinifitive, there are specific names on the list. But it’s also abstract. I love meeting Hokies 3,000 miles away from Blacksburg in San Francisco and having just as much fun with them watching Hokies kick everyone’s tush on the gridiron as I do with my closest friends. And what’s great about this is that I’ve added friends to this group who aren’t even Hokies. You know who you are. You’ve got Hokie love in your heart, and I’ve got love for you in mine. Of everyone, my Hokie fam has listened to me gripe and complain and just in general be miserable in the most unladylike way more than anyone else. And they are still my friends. I mean seriously. This is the truest test of love and friendship, and I can proudly say with 90% confidence that they all still love me. Plus, some of them even read this jank, which if you haven’t noticed, gives them some extra points. MSP loves readers…otherwise, why the heck am I even writing this… I love you guys. You also give great hugs. I am thankful for awesomely awesome friends who are my chosen family.

Other things I am thankful for include but are not limited to the following:

  • Fried potatoes…whoever came up with putting potatoes in oil and cooking them at a high temperature with some salt and other ingredients was a genius.
  • My puppies…they are precious little hairballs of love and bring me joy when I am down.
  • Job: it is sad that so many people are unemployed, and I am thankful for my job and my steady income which I don’t always spend so wisely, and I’m not always sorry about it.
  • Aforementioned job and steady paycheck also enable me to afford one of the loves of my life, my little Rosie-Rose, for which I am thankful. She runs good and never fails me. 
  • Good health: I’ve never had the flu, other serious illnesses, broken a bone, or anything else majorly bad. It’s great.
  • My shoe size: it makes it extraordinarily easy for me to purchase shoes anywhere and anytime. Seriously. No one has size 6 feet, therefore everyone has size 6 shoes available at all times for little ol’ me to put on my little tootsies. It’s the small things.
  • Just like the iPhone…it’s small, but I am thankful that I have one. It has kept me from getting lost many-a-time.
  • In-unit washer and dryer in my apartment…because really, who ever has quarters?

Anywhooz. Bottom line is, I am thankful for a lot of things. Life is great. And it is sassy to be thankful, because no one likes a whining ungrateful person. Big hugs, virtual smooches, and a very happy Thanksgiving to everyone.

Real Life Rookie Year: Trife Disrespect

Oh desk job, how I love thee. Arriving each day and opening my email is such a thrill. I love doing little mundane tasks, answering emails with the quick tappity-tap of my little fingers. I enjoy my perfect gray-walled box, complete with minimal air flow and temperature which is just the other side of comfortable. It’s really great. Each day the same, over and over, challenge after annoying obstacle, I earn my paycheck.

One day last week was no different. I arrive at work at the usual time (which I will not disclose…ahem), drag out my computer, greet my fellow minions, put my english muffin in the toaster. I am optimistic today, as I always try to be in the mornings. Better to start out right than start out grumpy, no? Eventually my slow-as-molasses but brand-new laptop starts up. Thanks, corporate security, for taking 40 minutes of my day away. Yawn. I hear the toaster pop behind me and am excited for my delicious breakfast tradition. It is important, as a Rookie, to watch your health.  I swagger back to my desk.  I open my email and lo and behold, good mood ruined. The first email to greet me reveals to me that someone thought I was incompetent! How fun! And thusly my day begins.

I think it is really great when the “grown-ups” in the office treat me like a small child who has never seen a computer before. What’s that? You mean if I have admin access to this server I can change settings which could crash it? No way! I didn’t know that. Of course I’m so glad you warned me. Or I might have just shut the whole thing down, on accident! Maybe even set it on fire! Thank goodness for you, Mr. Old-Server-Admin-Guy. Who knows what would have happened if you had set me lose on this! I might have blown up the entire server room! Brought the entire company down! Stock price in the toilet! You saved the day! You deserve a raise for putting little old me in my place. Oh, there’s more? Oh nos! I didn’t realize how little I actually know about restarting a computer. I didn’t realize that my qualifications for this job are actually useless. You are so smart. Thanks for being so condescending. I wouldn’t know what to do if you hadn’t sent me that smartass email telling me what any monkey who’s spent 5 seconds near a computer would know. It’s really nice of you. Where can I send my thank-you note and fruitcake? You know us southern girls, all about hospitality and being thankful. [Eyelash flutter]

Sarcasm alert, bee-tea-dubs.

My favorite part of all of this was when I got to give dude a big ol’ BOOYA from my desk. In my head of course. I proved once again that I am not a little girl pretending to know what I’m doing. Note to everyone I have ever worked and will ever work with: I’m not a dumbass girl. I actually did get a degree, go through a rigorous interview process, and have been doing this for over a year. So watch me prove you wrong. Biotches. The best part is I can slyly give this person a little slap via email, providing a dash of irrefutable smarts and logic and coating it with Brenda Lee type sugar. Take that. I can’t decide if this happens to me because I am female, because I am young enough to be most people’s daughter in this office, OR because I have cute shoes. REGARDless, it should not matter. But it will continue to happen until such time as…actually I have no idea how much longer it will continue. Some of us Rookies actually look like 16 year old girls (shut up) so I will probably look like a teenage intern well into my 40s (something which I refuse to complain about) and must accept that some people will think I’m an idiot for many years to come. Whether because I’m short, thin, young, pretty, female, or all of the above. Here’s a couple headlines for you: young does not equal stupid. Female also does not equal stupid. So if you want to question me, do it in a respectful manner. I don’t need you to assume I know what I’m doing but I do need you to be respectful. Because I earned the right to be here as much as you. Plus I’m nicer and you have poor grammar.

So next time I ask you to do something for me and I do not provide enough background facts for your liking, just ask. Don’t get all up on your high horse and assume I don’t know what I’m talking about. Ask me like you would the fat old man sitting in the cube next to you. He’s not as cute as me, but you wouldn’t treat him poorly because of that. I’m not as experienced as him (because he’s old), but you shouldn’t treat me poorly because of that.

I don’t understand why this is difficult. I am willing and able to learn but I am not willing to handle your disrespectful ‘tude and condescending, snide emails and phone calls.

As Rookies, this is something we must deal with, though I just said I was not willing, it is the facts of life. Just like the birds and the bees. It is hilarious sometimes to watch the “grown-ups” hesitantly giving us responsibilities while providing ridiculously detailed directions and tips, and not hiding their intense anxiety over letting us handle things. But we must handle their attitudes and tasks we are given with grace and class. Because again, we are here to prove ourselves. This doesn’t mean it’s super awesome to be treated disrespectfully, and receive condescending emails insulting our intelligence. No one should assume we know anything…you know the old saying about what it means to assume things. But no one should assume we’re idiots either.

Dating, we hate you. Please come again soon.

Once again I have had inspiration come to me in the form of an awesomely long heart-to-heart convo with Miss Foxy. She is so wise, and together we make a brain. Together, we also discuss many-a-man and many-a-trifling situation, as I have mentioned many-a-time before. The most recent revelation we’ve had is that we hate dating, and we also love dating. Who’s with us? Yes! Everyone hates dating! Everyone loves dating! It sucks! It’s so fun! It’s so terrible!

First dates are probably the most awkward thing in the entire world, and I challenge each and every one of you to find me something more awkward. Each person trying to figure out if the other likes them, while simultaneously trying to figure out if they even like the other person. Then comes the end of the date. What to do? Make plans asap? Is this creepy and too fast? Make vague statements of future calls and text messages? What if you’re not ready to leave yet? Does the other person want this as well? What if they never want to see you again? How does one know?! Here’s the answer: One doesn’t know. You just have to figure it out and go with the flow. This is why it is so awkward and fun and terrible. Getting past this first date awkwardness is obviously easier in some cases more than others, but I think we’ve all had at least one date where you were all like, ohmygahd, this is awkward but he is kind of cute soooo whatever. Or something along those lines. Right? Right.

Well what about after that first date? Doesn’t make things easier after you pass that first landmark. Now you’ve been on a couple dates, you actually think you like this person, they actually like you, things are hunky-dory and progressing fine. You learn secrets about each other and gradually are opening the door to letting this person in and baring your soul. But LORD you’ve done this 80 million times before and that last rejection was pretty difficult. I know ya’ll think Miss Sassy is all up on doing the rejecting (it’s true, I am) but trust me, this girl has had plenty of rejections and gets just as bruised as the rest of you chickens. It’s a blow to the ego, and when you share things with another person all that does is open the door to being hurt. And no one likes being hurt.

So why do we do it? Who knows. Momma Sassy says it’s something to do with our Lord and being drawn together like Adam and Eve and being fruitful and multiplying. Sounds good. I guess that’s part of it. The other part is that men are just so yummy, we can’t help ourselves. Seriously. How many times have you been dumped / rejected by some sweet talking man, got your heart and possibly your fist bruised (LOL/JK), and swore to all your BFFs that you’d never lay eyes on another man? Be honest. A lot. And what would you guesstimate is the average time it takes you to fine another something delicious to take you out? About 3 seconds. Because this one is different. Or at least  better looking. After a couple cute dates and fun times hanging out with him, you find yourself just waiting for the bottom to drop out. Because it usually does. They get bored or they find some hotter piece of ass. It’s inevitable, we think.

But why do we wait for the end? Why do we always expect the worst? Why do we always go back for more when so many of these little dalliances end in heartache, pain, lower self-esteem, and a couple extra pounds? Lately I find myself expecting dudes to just work me over. I assume it’s all a game, and so I put up my guard. I’m on the lookout for a phony and a guy who’s read too many books on the art of the pick-up, and usually I find exactly that, hiding beneath the smooth talking and ridiculous over-complimenting (I mean really, telling me I have beautiful eyes 5 times is not increasing your chances of getting anything except my annoyance level higher). It’s tiring. It tells me nothing about you except that you’re lame and insecure with who you actually are. So when I do actually find a real man with a real personality under those muscles, I am pleasantly surprised but still skeptical. I don’t know what to do with it when I actually find what I might be looking for. A real man. And I dislike this about myself. I am too young to be so jaded and always expecting to be disappointed. If I end up 40 and still single (yikes), then I will have earned it. But not now.

So this is what I promise myself, and what you should promise yourself, here and now. I promise to be smart and to protect myself from the scum bags who just want to…you know. Harsh but true. I also promise to have an open mind and let in the nice ones. Because the nice ones do exist, and they should be given a chance – as they are being open enough to give me a chance. And lastly I promise to take risks. It is harder and harder to share life with people the more we all get hurt. Who’d have thought. But we don’t want to be a bunch of old maids with 9 cats, do we? No. We want to have fun. And in order to do this we must take risks.  I have to open myself up to the possibility that someone, somewhere, who is not a pick-up artist, will be willing to take a risk on me. And I must be ready to take a risk with him. So bring it on. I am Miss Sassy Pants, after all.

The Real Life Rookie Year: It’s a Hard Knock Life

We’re back ladies and gentlemans, with the latest and greatest on what it’s like to be a rookie. Aside from being young, hot, and clueless, we have lots of depth. We’ve got problems. We’ve got drama. We’ve got a skimpy paycheck. And we just want to drink and make it safely back to our apartment (or someone’s apartment) just like we did in college. Unfortunately, if you live in a real town and not a college town, achieving this most basic of goals is actually kind of difficult. Why? Because we’re all broke, that’s why!

I am slowly working my way out of this mentality and state of financial being. In fact, I’d say now that I’m 1+ years into my career and have now received greater than or equal to 30 paychecks, I’m not all that broke anymore. But go ahead and ask me if I want to make a quick trip to Vegas for a long weekend, or plan a week-long getaway on a cruise ship of my choice with some of my closest fellow rookies. My response will be something like raucous laughter followed by some kind of sarcastic comment regarding money and trees, followed by more raucous laughter. Such a good joke, planning a vacation.

But if I actually sit down and examine my financial situation, it’s really not all that bad. But for the sake of argument and the validity of this post, let’s go with it. Who’s not broke? No hands? That’s what I thought. Thought I go shopping significantly more often that I did in school, and I go out to eat a good amount more than I used to, somehow I am not just scraping by paycheck to paycheck. It’s all a mentality. We got so used to being broke and planning the cheapest possible spring break trip and/or hitting up mom and pop for some extra cash during college, and now that we actually have legit money of our own, it’s hard to not laugh immediately when thinking of planning some kind of exotic vacation with pals or your woman. It’s an instinct, and one that is not always correct.

So maybe you’re thinking, well Miss Sassy, I’m not broke…I have an awesome paycheck and I live it up thug style in a baller high rise condo. Bam. Fine, I say, must be nice.  But you have friends who are totally broke and still eating PB&J for dinner every day. We’re all in different stages now. Some of us have jobs in cubicles or corner offices with a steady paycheck from some kind of corporate hoo-ha, but some of us are still looking, or still working through an unpaid internship (ick), or feeding our souls and working for a non-profit (aka getting paid in pennies). So even if you yourself have plenty of spare cash to plan a cool vacation to Bora Bora, your friends are laughing at you when you suggest it. Not to mention days off of work! Who’s got that kind of time! We’re all new, which means we have something ridiculous like 4 hours per month accumulating of time off. Slight exaggeration. And we have to reserve those days for things like family and holidays. No one wants to work over the holidays, everyone wants some 3 day weekends every now and then, and most people have a nagging / loving mother who wants to see them sometime. It’s a challenging chore to try to save those days and use them as wisely as possible. Because you never know when some way cooler event is going to come up later in the year and you might need that day. I can’t complain really, as I entered 2010 with 20 choice days off. This is what we call “money,” or $$$. But not everyone is as lucky as this girl. You may actually get that 4 hours a month, which means by the end of your first year you’ve only got 48 hours, or a total of 6 days. Trife. Personally I think HR makes these ridiculous time-off policies on purpose. They’re all old so they figure all the new young kids just came off years of fun and games, so we deserve as little time off as legally feasible. I see both sides of the argument, you know, earning your stripes and all. But doesn’t change the fact that your old lady HR rep is just jealous.

The bottom line is this: as a rookie, we struggle. It’s a hard knock life. They give you a measly little paycheck, stick you in a corner cube (sniff), and give you 5 days off the whole year. Good luck getting to the top. We watch our parents and elders taking sweet vacations and long weekend trips. Our bosses drop work on us as they take their second summer vacation. I could never reach one former colleague because he always seemed to be cruising. The Mediterranean. Never have I been so irritated with seeing that stupid out-of-office auto-reply. It seemed to mocked me: “Sorry Miss Sassy, you cannot get what you need this week or next because Mr. Too-Cool-and-Senior-for-Work is out, yet again, with no access to email because this particular remote island resort doesn’t come with wifi. But don’t worry, he’s going to post pictures of his cruise(s) on the shared drive so you can bitterly view them and cry silently at your desk, whilst falling further and further behind in your work!” I love also that these notifications are always accompanied by something like: “If this is an urgent matter, please contact someone else.” AKA if you’re having a major issues, too bad! I don’t give two monkeys about your problem because I’m basking in the sun on some island! Ha!

But whatever. We rookies are nothing but resourceful. Plus, rookies are known for being some of the hardest workers, even on the baseball field. So bring it on, I say. Give me as little a paycheck as you dare, be unavailable to work with me, reward me with triflin little days off, and watch me flourish and take your job in less than 4 years, while you drown in your mortgage and college fund for your 5 kids. Who’s laughing now, old man!

Sass on, ya’ll. And remember. The most important time for which to save days off is football season. Don’t let a mid-winter and early summer getaway distract you from the prize.

MSP Got Her License!

This here Miss Sassy Pants blog, as created by me, Miss Sassy Pants, is now licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 United States License. This means that you can’t copy or use any of this jank, past, present, or future, on this here site without getting the expressed permissions of Miss Sassy Pants herself, aka me. So don’t be trife, or I will send my sass thugs after you. For details, read up on it. For permissions, send me a little love note at Smooches.

You were cute until you opened your mouth. Next.

Breaking news. This past weekend I actually had a life, AND I went out on a week night. I know! I’ll pause a moment to let that sink in. I really enjoyed myself, and I attribute it in part to the fact that I was hanging out with some Hokies, of both old and new acquaintance. Something about being a Hokie which bonds us together and makes new friends seem like old friends. But I already waxed poetic about that jank so let’s move on to the hilariousness.

It has been a long while since I got hit on. Totally kidding. I don’t like to brag, but in fact it has not been a while. It has been a hot sec. It’s all good though, it keeps me on my toes, and it gives me something to write about. I love watching it happen and anticipating how everything will go down. It’s like watching TV sometimes when the plot is all too predictable, and you find yourself in a situation in which you predicted all to accurately, which renders you bored and/or laughing at the predictability of it all. It’s comical really. Plus, seriously, guys will hit on anything when they’re drunk, and some will hit on anything at any time, so this really isn’t even a compliment to me. I’m just there, enjoying my Corona Light. And I’ve been told my short stature and poofy hair makes me more approachable. Whatever. The following is indiscretion at it’s best.

I’m hanging out with a group of people which I have met recently (I’m going to be intentionally vague to protect the sources…I know, such honorable journalistic ethics), and there’s this dude. There’s always a dude. Or two. He’s decently good looking, friendly, etc. He’s chatty. The first time we met was a while back at a previous gathering. He was friendly, cute, and chatty then as well. And also extremely drunk. Recognizing this, I was appropriately holding back. I don’t like getting into deep convos or becoming extremely involved with super drunk dudes. Because one of two things happens: they forget they talked to you / had an awesome connection / got your number OR they just stare at your chest all night while babbling about something they incoherently feel is an awesome pick up line, which gets old. SO. We had this conversation which included him asking me inappropriate questions (which I will not enumerate here or anywhere) and making equally inappropriate comments. He informed me he had a girlfriend when I asked, so I was appropriately appropriate, despite his inappropriateness.

Fast forward to this past weekend. He’s at the bar, sans girlfriend and we’re chatting again. He’s getting to the point where he’s almost as drunk as he was the last time I saw him. We start talking about that last interaction. He tells me, a bit contrite, that he has only vague memories of our last conversation but remembers enough to know he should apologize. Inappropriateness, while sometimes comical, is not always the best course of action. We then talk about his girlfriend. It comes out in conversation that he did not, in fact, actually have this girlfriend the last time we talked. Only he thought it would be an awesome way to “get me” if he told me he had one. I politely inform him that typically this is not the tastiest bait for girls. He disagrees with me and says he’s had success with that line in the past. I shrug because really it doesn’t matter. You said you have one, I’m me and I’m special I guess so to me that closes the door, even if she is not present. I guess you could say I respect myself. He’s a bit more shocked by this than I thought he should be, and we go on talking about his “chances” the last time we met. He says, “so I could have gotten you last time?” I am unsure what he means by that statement, so I clarify and say that he could have asked me out and I would have at least considered it. He wants clarification. Does “asking me out” mean hooking up? Negative, I say, they are not synonyms. I tell him that next time he’s interested in a girl, perhaps he shouldn’t claim to have a girlfriend who is waiting for him at home. He nods appreciatively like he’ll definitely keep that in mind. I attempt to move on to some other more friendly and single people we’re out with. This guy is annoying me now because he just wants his ego stroked.

Then we have an exchange that went something like this:
Him: Those jeans are soooooooo tight. [slurring slightly]
Me: [blink blink] Sorry.
Him: What color underwear are you wearing?
Me: [blink blink] [unamused raised eyebrow]
Him, trying to give me a cute face but failing: Awww come on. Just the color?
Me, glancing at my not-empty-enough beer, sifting quickly through all the available bitchy comments I could choose from: [blink blink]

Luckily (for him) at this moment a much cuter and more single friend comes over and makes a remark about how weird it is that west coast people use 10 cups for beer pong instead of 6. Mr. Drunk Undies is captivated by this and wanders over to bother the two very attractive females who are playing said game. I feel bad for them but happy for me that he left and I didn’t even have to comment. Much better and more appropriate and adult conversation ensues with cuter, singler, less ridiculously drunk guy. Victory.

So, question. Actually couple of questions and comments. Do many guys think it is a good idea to claim a girlfriend to up your chances with another girl? Does this work? Ladies, is this attractive to you? And dudes, what does knowing the color of my undies have to do with anything? When I see a tush I like, I simply use my imagination. It’s more creative that way and to my liking. Maybe just be creative, that way you don’t have to risk offending said lady by inquiring about her undergarments.

Regardless. The conclusion is this: boys are smelly and stupid, throw rocks at them. And I learned that sometimes time should just not be wasted on those who are wasted. Keep it classy, San Francisco.

No better way to say it: How Bout Them Hokies!

Happy Friday people. I know I missed the next entry of the Thursday Rookie Series, but I was otherwise occupied getting excited for, being excited while, and reveling in the excitement of an awesome Hokie victory versus that other school in Georgia. We all know there is only one Tech, and that is VIRGINIA TECH. Or as the Voice of VT says, THE University of Virginia, TECH. However you say it, we rocked it last night and it was awesome. I ventured into SF to enjoy the game with other Bay Area Hokies at TOTS’ San Fran location, otherwise known as the Bus Stop. We were drinking PBR, eating pizza, and yelling LET’S GO….HOKIES like we should. It was glorious. Then we played flip cup at another bar and I discovered I’m still a master like I was in school. Baller. And I discovered yet another weird thing people on the west coast do: play beer pong with 10 cups instead of 6. While I have certainly seen this before on the east coast, I learned specifically that it’s a self-proclaimed west coast thing. Another thing I learned: west coast people like to claim things as a “west coast thing” even when they’re not.


It really is something to be a Hokie. The cool thing is that I think I actually have gotten at least 3 people formerly uninterested in college football to watch some games! This is exciting for me, because now I have at least a couple people with which (which whom? with who? with which sounds best) to discuss game happenings and polls on Mondays. It is so non-exciting to have no one to gab about QB stats, Heisman possibilities, and how terrible UVA is this year (regardless of if this last one is true, I have to say it).

But back to the Hokies. I freaking love them. I love us more now than I did yesterday before the game. It is the best game I have watched in a while. And as we all know, there is nothing like being in Blacksburg on a Thursday night for a game, even if we’re not physically there. It’s freezing cold, it rains, we skip class ridiculously to enjoy pre-game activities, and we love it. Or in my case we leave work super early to travel to the bar, sweat on the bus because it’s 80 degrees and a gorgeous sunny afternoon, and are near tears when we see fellow Hokies on TV shaking the stands at Lane. It’s jealousy but it’s love because I’ve been there and had my fair share of Thursday nights in that town. It’s just as glorious on TV. And I especially love it when even the commentators admit that there is nothing like Blacksburg on a Thursday night. No, I’ve never been to other schools on a Thursday but I’m willing to bet we do it best, as we do most things best. Because we’re the best. I could go on because I’m just so full of love and happiness for our victory and awesomeness but I’ll stop.

Here’s to you Frank, Bud, T-Mobile, RMFW, Wilson, and again to you Greg Nosal just because you lack a finger now, the O-line (who were freaking aweosome, btw), and to the rest of you. You’re awesome. I raise my Corona Light which I will have in my hand  momentarily to you. Here’s to my new “Get MSP to the Bowl Game” fund. Here’s to my parents who took me to games when I was a wee one of 12, braces and all, and created a little Hokie football loving monster. Here’s to my parents again for paying my way through 4 years of awesome college and here’s to me for making it all the way through and only missing one game (stupid lottery). I’m just all blubbery now. Someone get me a tissue. Go Hokies. Virginia Tech for Life.