Hold the Superbowl, pass the nachos.

I had an awesome time with the people from Center City Church last night. I am honored to call you my church family.

Also, those were the best nachos I have ever had. I literally dreamed of their superior tastiness.

Now here are my thoughts on my first official Superbowl:

Disapproving turtle disapproves. 

I tried to watch the game for a full five minutes. I tried to be interested. I dare say that I gave it the old college try, but I dropped out of that too, so there's that. The game itself is full of confusion and pausing. I have concluded that I am not a fan, but I do so adore watching grown people get weird about something. That was a hoot. (Get excited about something, friends, even if it's a lame sport.)

My next qualm were they righteously inappropriate ads that broke up an already broken game. For the love of Susan B. Anthony! Tell me how the food taste, don't give me a crotch shot of some near naked dame eatin' a burger. Jeepers. Almost every ad was full of hyper sexual images and complete degradation of women. If sex sells, friends, I am no longer buying. I know how the word "feminist" strikes fear into the hearts of most of my friends (and probably even my husband), but feminism is needed until ads like that no longer exist. I am ashamed of what is allowed on air and appalled that my children have to grow up in a world where women are portrayed as replaceable commodities. I could go into a full feminist tirade here, but I will spare you all, because I like you. Just know: I am not buying it, Mr. Media.

And then there was the half time show. I like my entertainment to mean something; I like it to matter. I don't hide the fact that I don't get Beyonce or her music. She can sing, yes, but so can Susan Boyle. Friends, last night's "show," that was not talent. That's jiggly bits in a bustier. Expect more from your favorite artist than just sweating shaking. Make better entertainment choices, friends.

I enjoyed the fellowship and laughs with my  dear friends and the food was plentiful and most delicious. However, if the actual Superbowl (game/ads/halftime) is considered an American pastime - I will cheerfully pass time elsewhere. Like in the other room, eating nachos and chatting with awesome people.

The Fernando Ritardando Method.

Fernando Ritardando is my Furby. I came up with this jargon, but I named it after him. (No, a Furby will not life coach you.)

First, Mr. Ritardando and I would like to say: Happy New Year. Or Noo-loo New Year, if you are down with Furbish.

Anyway, this is The Frenando Ritardando Method for a happier year:
Pray more.
Post less.
Be kind.
Read more.
Turn off the news.
Hug more. Or as Fernando would say, "May-lah koh-koh.)
Turn off phone while with people.
Feel fancy.
Pray Psalms over my children.
Pray Proverbs for my husband.
Share good news - Not stories that made you mad.
Forgive.
Finish a puzzle.
Sing.
Sew more.
Listen to more Aquabats, Five Iron Frenzy, and Fun.
Make choices to help others.
Be thankful.
Be thankful you're not "Keeping Up" with any reality star. (Don't make fun of your friends that do.)
Go outside more. Get dirty.
Take longer baths.
Practice patience.
Dance.
Make someone wonder.
Have hope even when it doesn't make sense.
Be a comforting spirit to be around.
Fix it rather than fuss about it.
Do what you were told. Don't worry what the other jerks are doing.
And whenever you want to post your opinion about politics - Talk to a Furby instead.

13 is going to be delicious, my genius noo-lahs.