Holy Sunday Batman!

So, I'm home with a cold today. In the cold, with a cold, it's kinda the same. Kinda.

And so, this morning, in my sweats, awaiting eagerly the start of the Steeler game, I was online, and I met a guy who thinks he's the Pope. No, I'm not visiting ReligiousFanaticSingles.net again, c'mon guys! I was playing Ticket To Ride. Bringing Eurotrash to a home near you.

Anyways, a conversation struck up between this guy, Mike, who I thought lived in Minneapolis, and myself, about Michael Jackson. The Beer Hunter, not the pedophile. We were talking about beer, football and all kinds of good stuff, when all of a sudden, this other player, Johannes IV pipes in, and says "I'm the Holy Father". Yeah, cuz that wasn't random.

So, in my newfound Minnesota niceness, I respond, "Oh, you mean your name means 'Holy Father'?" Nuh-uh. This freak thought he was the Pope. He really did. What is it with me and the religious freaks? No seriously. Those of you who know about my recent Ghost Hunter blind date, well, you're feelin' me.

Anyways, back to the Pope. I gave him another chance to 'splain himself Lucy. But he held his own, and said he was the Holy Father, His Holiness, the Pope, Johannes IV. It was all downhill from there - the beer conversation turned into "wine into water" jokes, and no matter how many religious references I threw at him, he maintained he was the Pope, without actually responding knowledgeably to my witty quips.

Hmmmm.... Then, my laptop battery died. And it shut down. The first words that came to mind were nothing I'd repeat in church. I was so pissed - Mike and I were just getting on a roll of religious jokes. Then I missed it. - how it ended.... what did Mike tell him? What did the Pope say back? Were there any miracles.... did he really bless the crappy tickets I had, or was he able to pull a miracle from out of his sleeve and get me to Athina with only four red trains? Dang it! Guess my Sunday watching football wasn't so blessed after all..... well, maybe we'll get a Holy Mary in the game.

In other news, but speaking of Europe (I kinda was) - I'm my own new hero. I made homemade, with love, from scratch, knock your winter socks off Irish Cream home brew. Oh yeah! This was my Christmas present to friends this year, a small bottle of that, and some homemade hot cocoa. The cocoa could've been dried, ground turd in a bag for all anyone cared. It was the Irish Cream that stole the show.

And I do admit, it is daaaaaaaaaamn good. Better than Baileys. Better than that Carolina's crap. Chock full o' Jameson's and strong enough to put bright red hair on the chest of your favorite Leprechaun. And as I sit here writing about it, I realize it might be just what I need to knock this cold out of my system. I'd get up and get a glass, if it weren't for the fact that I'm holding the cord to my battery pack between my knees in the hopes that if I don't move it will not short out and I'll shut down again. What I need now, is a miracle..... Oh Johannes IV??????