Hmmm. There’s beer. We win 60-10. Then there’s the G&S. Wheee!

Game 2: Ohio State

I begin my day with a baby shower for Madame V and a weird rash on my arms and stomach. Weird rash leads to one Benadryl combined with one Bloody Mary. I crash—heavily—around 4 p.m. GWH wakes me up on the stroke of six:

“Get up! Get up! Game time, one hour! Let’s go, get up, get up!”

I’m still in a Benadryl haze but GWH is jumping on the bed, trying to shove me out of it.

“Come on! One hour till game time and we got things to do! We need beer and sandwiches! Let’s go!”

Ugggh. I move very slowly to the closet to find my newest Longhorn halter top. So if I look hot, does that mean this will be a lucky shirt?

“Are we going to have to take separate cars?! Are you going to get excited about this game?!” GWH asks me.

“Benadryl,” I mumble, tying my shirt up around my neck. If we lose today, I will never be permitted to wear this shirt again. Come on Longhorns, pull through.

After our beer and sandwich run, my Benadryl haze is lifted, and we’ve made it to GotsGame’s house with 15 minutes to spare.

Mmmm. Beer.

The game is, to put it mildly, nerve-wracking. I’m shot-gunning beers and moving back and forth from the couch to the TV outside, trying to find the luckiest place to watch the game. In the middle of the second quarter, we’re on our feet, waiting to see what happens to our field goal and—the electricity goes out.

“This party sucks.” GWH’s buddy Mackity-Mack goes to the kitchen to throw away his empty beer.

The electricity comes back on in less than a minute but the TiVo is still powering up. We manage to get the radio on and hear all is well with the kick. We breathe a sigh of relief.

When Vince Young starts making mistakes, we all get quiet. The mood is somber going into the second half.

“What’s Vince going to do now?” I ask.

“I’ve seen him fly before,” GotsGame says, and I find this so funny I spit beer all over the couch.

By the fourth quarter, things are looking up and we’re huddled on the back porch while I’m screeching about how I can’t move from the spot I’m standing in because it’s a lucky spot for the Longhorns. Each time we make a good play, GWH and I high-five, hug, dance and then he slaps my ass.

The Longhorns win! GWH smokes a stogie, I commend myself on my hot and lucky shirt, and we live to fight another day. OU, here we come.

Game 3: Rice

Rice begins at six and GWH’s family is coming in to see the game. That’s right. Ninety-seven degrees in the shade and we’re headed to Memorial Stadium to watch the Longhorns in all their glory.

What can I say about this one? It’s damn hot, the Longhorns kick ass...okay, well, I mean, we are playing Rice. It’s less a matter of ass-kicking and more a matter of Rice just sucks.

Upcoming: Okay, I shouldn’t even say this. Here’s my promise. If Texas wins the national championship, I will get a Longhorn tattoo somewhere in my nether region. Yeah, I said it! Hook ‘em!