penetrating the end zone

The Super Bowl is just hours away, and I'm glad my co-worker Brad took some time out of his busy schedule to teach me football's basics last week. None of which I remember, by the way. But that's hardly Brad's fault. Let's just say I'll forever be reluctant to embrace a game in which "positions" can't be researched in monthly editions of Cosmo. Sorry, football fans...I'm sticking to the Aqua Sutra.
I'm still partying this evening, only not at the Picasso Pizza shindig I initially fantasized about attending. Which brings me to my weekend picks. Color me failed. I'm all of one for three. A horrible showing, and one that I'll attribute to my desperate need to conserve finances in view of next weekend's Vegas vacation.
You know what the worst part is? The only pick I achieved was going to Wal-Mart, which was in summary the most horrible experience of my entire life. I spent 30 minutes perusing the crowded aisles, interrupted of course by the inevitable white-trash family reunions.
Then, when I finally approached the cashier, I tried to pay with a Visa gift card, which the credit card machine wouldn't accept. Boo. Just as the cashier was about to call backup, I surrendered, left my bagged items in the cart and offered a curt "I'll just come back later."
In hindsight, I probably overreacted. But I was mad...and it wasn't the right time of the month to mess with a girl who just needed to buy some damn Hefty garbage bags. So to assistant manager Gerald, and all the other already underpaid Wal-Mart workers who had to deal with my wrath, I'm sorry.
But I probably still won't come back later.