How I Carry On

I dwelt in darkness today. Last night my boys' 2-1 win over the LA Galaxy was not enough to bail them out of the 3-0 hole they dug themselves into last weekend, and they fell 4-2 on aggregate in the Western Conference Finals. The rage I feel toward David Beckham, Mike Magee, Robbie Keane, Landon Donovan (I don't care that he didn't even play), and the embarrassingly incompetent assistant ref who called EJ's first goal offsides when replays show he clearly wasn't, is absolutely indescribable. My soul is shattered. After a disjointed night during which I replayed Johannson's handball in the box over and over again, I awoke, depressed, reciting "Yet, or email"--a nonsensical clue to some crossword puzzle I'd invented in my sleep.

I staggered around today in a state of zombie-like heartbreak. Lord knows what people thought of me as I wept quietly into my peppermint hot chocolate at the bookstore cafe. Only time (and career-ending injuries to the Galaxy players) will heal this pain, but these videos, courtesy of the Wait Wait blog, certainly help:

From now on I'm only saying my name rhythmically, with a head flick and an eyebrow raise.

I know, I know. This is ridiculously adorable. Try to control your emotions.

There's no arguing with her logic: it does make some damn good toast.

For those who thought it couldn't get any cuter than a snoring hummingbird, it just did.

 

This makes me feel so uncomfortable for the people having real conversations...but it's kind of genius.

This isn't a video (clearly), but boy howdy is it glorious. (Case, this has your name written all over it!)