Are you there God? It's me, Margaret...

I generally consider myself to be what most might call a good person. Sarcastic? Yes. Cynical? Maybe. Mean-hearted? Only when it’s absolutely necessary or comedically appropriate… Yet, on the whole, I would definitely say I’m a good person. Now I’m not what you would call a deeply religious soul (At least not this month); however, I believe there is at the very least a God, and some sort of Divine balancing force at play in the universe. Afterall, how else would I be able to rationalize cleaning dog shit off of no less than 6 different surfaces (one being the bottom of my own bare foot), hungover, at 8am while dogsitting a creature who will henceforth be known only as “Satan” for a dear friend who was in a bind and needed to leave town? (By the way, the poo was only the tip of that ridiculous iceberg, so I must have some good Juju heading my way) Yes, perhaps I believe in this eventual cosmic balance because my own sanity depends on it. Nevertheless, this is what I believe.

Now let me just take a minute to say, that at first, I was rather unkeen on the idea of participating in this joint “secret” blog. You could say it had something to do with the fact that I’d be writing back and forth with Emily “Ivy League English Teacher” Sketch. Not only is editing and critiquing the English language your job, but even I can admit that my tutelage at Marquette left me far more adept in the art of dump-tackling and bonging beers than arranging prose… This being said, I do love to bask in self-pity. In fact it’s not something of which I am at all ashamed. Perhaps the best selling point of this whole blog idea went something like, “Maggie, really weird stuff happens to you. This stuff doesn’t happen to anyone else. You have to write it down somewhere.” Yes, perhaps I should. In fact, this experience may prove altogether cathartic for me. What’s more, maybe getting this long series of unfortunate events (aka My Life) down in writing will jump start the Juju. So, without further ado, let’s begin the whole healing process by pouring salt into the most recent, gaping wound sustained.

I am a Steelers fan. It is apart of who I am. It is my blessing, it is my curse. Every year from September – February my life quite closely mirrors the ebbs and flows of the men in Black and Gold. This year, the highs have been far more frequent than the lows. Yes, it’s been a good year for the ‘boys of the ‘burgh… and with that, it’s been a fairly decent season for me. Most of my free time at work, especially during the playoffs, is spent on one of three websites: ESPN.com, NFL.com, and Steelers.com. This past week, more than ever, my mind was incapacitated with different playoff scenarios and such. Afterall, it was championship weekend. To win the big game, you gotta get to the big game, and the Stees were on the doorstep… ‘Round about 2 ‘o clock on Friday, I’d had it. Did I have things to do? Yes. Was I going to get them done? Absolutely not. So I decided to do what any self-respecting, hard-working Steelers fan would do in my position: I decided to fake an illness, go home and get a jump start on the weekend. (Ahem, don’t judge lest ye be judged) Yes, I put on my coat and got real quiet, then complained of a headache, said I was starting to get the chills and feel achy. We’re talking oscar-worthy performance here. I even managed to work myself into a pycho-somatic headache. In short, I left at 2:15pm, hit the gym on the way home and was ready to settle in to the weekend by 4 pm… (Ahhhh, insert my contented self into a recliner here)

Sunday at 5:30 came and went and the Stees without a doubt put on a show to remember. (Due to the unwaivering laws of Karma, I am unable boast any further about the game.) In any case, after an exciting and fulfilling game, (and admittedly a few emotional tears shed after the Polamalu interception that sealed the victory) I couldn’t be happier. That was until I arrived at work Monday morning…

You see, as was previously illustrated by my cleaning dog poo 6 ways to Sunday, my luck isn’t the greatest. I’ve all but come to accept and expect that where there is a high there must surely follow an extreme low. After all, this is my long series of unfortunate events we’re talking about here. So, this morning my boss comes up and remarks that she had watched the game this weekend and cheered for the Stees, then offered her congratulations and good luck wishes for the ‘Bowl. As she began to walk away, she suddenly turned and revealed that one of my coworkers was given a free ticket to Sunday's game in Pittsburgh, and being a devout Packer fan, he of course had no interest in attending. Naturally, he headed to my desk, to pass along the ticket for free. That’s right. ALL I HAD TO DO WAS GET THERE. Unbeknownst to him, I had been looking up flights all week to Pittsburgh, even considering flying over just to be in the city and watch it at a bar with likeminded strangers. Flights were no more than 140 bucks. I could've been in Heinz Field, at the game, to witness the whole thing. An opportunity of a lifetime. But no, I was bored, and decided to catch a fake illness. I assure you the extra hour and a half in my recliner that night and “prime parking” at the gym, was not worth it.

Let us review. I am a Steelers fan. It is apart of who I am. I should be the happiest person in the world, but all I can think about is how wonderfully stupid I am. Juju, where are you? If you’ll excuse me, I have to go throw myself off a bridge now.

And just one more question, Are you there God? It's me, Margaret...