Updates: Coming Out of The Dark

1) Yes, Anonymous, it's true. A little more than one month after my initial posting (back when the Wizards had a losing record), my fair Buffy, as if through ESP (or self-Googling?) heard my cries of pain and reached out to me via email. Her message reads as follows:

A friend of mine showed me your webpage. It is a hilarious story but none of those things are true. Sometimes better opportunities arise, that's all.

So, what better opportunities might she be speaking of? Perhaps Dean Witter finally called. Perhaps her small business loan was approved and she's opened a small stationary store in Silver Spring.

Or perhaps... no. I shouldn't say any more. I should just keep my mouth shut. A gentleman doesn't tell.

(sigh)

Fine. But you didn't hear it from me.

Let's just say that, one week from today, a certain dynamically talented, former Washington Wizards Dance Team member and a certain mustachioed Eastern European gentleman of questionable nobility, dressed in nothing but a Speedo and his faithful smoking jacket, will be lounging by the pool on a private estate in Mustique eating frozen grapes, sipping on Thug Passions. By night, the two will dine by candlelight on lobsters and truffles, and dance to an oft-played Gloria Estefan mix CD. It will be a magical week, and neither will want it to end. But both will know deep down in their hearts that it must end. For the dynamic former dancer will have to return to her struggling stationary store, and this random European noble will have to put his pants back on and start smoking his pipe once again. And the owners of the private estate will arrive for their weekend stay, only to discover two sunburned strangers passed out by their pool with "Y-Tu-Conga" playing on repeat, blasting out of a CVS-purchased boom-box.

A better opportunity indeed.

2) I am pleased to report that, despite earlier reports, Kevin Federline did not eat Rocky in order to gain strength in his quest to defeat John Cena. I may have overreacted on that one. Turns out Rocky was just pulling his yearly mini-Rip Van Winkle/Costanza, sleeping underneath his desk, where I never thought to look.

3) Wizards v. Suns. Tonight. I'll be wearing all seven of my Tough Juice t-shirts as I scream like a 13 year-old girl, trying to get Gilbert's attention in the nosebleeds, though I don't think he can throw his jersey that high. This game is Derek Foreal - it's gonna be awesome. Not only are the WizKids on a tear at home this season, having only lost three, they've already beaten Phoenix once at Phoenix (ending a 15-game win streak). The Suns currently have a 13-game win streak that will have to end at some point, and this is the first game in a five game East Coast road trip. They're ripe for the pickin'! Needless to say, I'm styched.


Update: Ugh. That wasn't very much fun. At least I got upgraded this afternoon to awesome seats, giving me the opportunity witness the glory of Clinton Portis (who was at the game with a lady friend) from up close.

The Return

I must admit. I underestimated the potential of blogging. Other than Sir Frankencow getting an occasional shout out here and there, I thought that Styched would not yield much for either of us.

I was wrong. Very, very wrong.

When the Duke first showed me his e-mail from the “lost” Buffy, I was awash with excitement and perplexity.

Perhaps she only contacted him to dispel the (now widespread) rumor that she was pregnant, but Frank T.J. Mackey once told me, “In this life, it's not what you hope for, it's not what you deserve - it's what you take!” Naturally respecting the opinion of any character portrayed by the High Witch Tom Cruise, I have to suspect that Buffy took action here out of her esteemed respect for Styched, Inc.

The fact that your friend and mine Sir Frankencow can pull people out of the woodwork quicker than Robert Stack has changed me.

The Rock is BACK!!!!

Where Art Thou, Fairest Buffy?

There's something missing from my life
Cuts me open like a knife
It leaves me vulnerable
I have this disease
I shake like an incurable
God help me, please

There's a hole
in my life
There's a hole
in my life

One of the great joys of attending the WizShow the last two seasons was without a doubt having the opportunity to witness the glory that is Buffy. Sonnets have been written, wars have been waged, and bar brawls have broken out over women who, for lack of a better word, are heffers by comparison. The young lady you see above is probably the most gorgeous member of any NBA Dance Team to grace the hardcourt. I was always so enamored of her that I would spend about half the game watching Agent Zero sew the seeds that would blossom into "The Takeover," and the other half gazing upon the pint-sized voluptuous and talented Buffy shaking her, ehm, pom-poms. I'll admit, I have a well documented obsession with cheerleaders, but this is different. Long before CMT even considered sending a camera crew to Texas Stadium, Buffy held my heart in her hand. Besides, she wasn't technically a cheerleader anyway. So you can only imagine my excitement when I saw that Buffy was to be the Dance Team captain for the 2006-2007 season. This could only mean 33% more Buffy, right?

Wrong. Without any warning or explanation, Buffy was yanked from the Wizards' Dance Team page, and in turn, yanked from my heart. Those who say that it's better to have loved and lost than to have never loved at all clearly have never felt what I'm going through right now. Instead of my heartbreak weakening a little each day, it merely grows stronger. Each morning, I rise from bed, grasping my chest, tearing my shirt and screaming to the heavens, "WHY, GOD! WHY, DID YOU HAVE TO TAKE HER FROM THE WASHINGTON WIZARDS DANCE TEAM!? SHE WOULD HAVE LOOKED GREAT IN BLACK AND GOLD!" Let me reiterate: every morning. My roommates can attest to this.

"... and this is only 60% of my sass potential."

Rumors have been flying. One states that Susan O'Malley, jealous of her beauty, disguised herself as a Chipotle cashier and fed her a poisoned burrito. Another one had her cutting up potatoes at the Gallery Place 5 Guys by day, dancing at Camelot by night, but I investigated this one thoroughly, only to find that it was sadly false. Perhaps the most common, and least plausible one said that she was "knocked up" by her boyfriend (husband? - is it still "getting knocked up" if you're married to the knocker?), but I find that really hard to believe. A delicate flower like Buffy would be saving herself for the Duke and all of the glorious velvet-smoking-jacket-cloaked riches that accompany him. Besides, "knocked up" is such a vulgar term, and it should never be used around my belle.

So where art thou, Buffy? We miss you. I miss you. And the Wizards have a losing record without you. Coincidence?

I may have to employ the bacon-fueled powers of the Wizznutzz and maybe even the journalistic prowess of future Pulitzer winner Agent Steinz to help in this quest.

Styched Fieldtrip: Redskins Victorious Edition

This is a little late, thanks to a massive amount of beer imbibed over the course of Sunday afternoon. Starting around 11 in the morning upon our arrival in the Purple Lot, until around 6 in the evening, hours after the bizarre finish, the celebration maintained the fame. But, of course, there was reason to celebrate! The Cowgirls were in town, the Redskins were (are) struggling, and we had amazing seats to the game, thanks to a friend with a strong sense of decency and a mother with insanely good season tickets:

These stupid advertisements for The Dan's threesome of static that soothes the Washington area awaited us when we got to our awesome seats. Front row, suckah! Someone in the Skins' marketing department came up with this clever slogan, written on the sign with a Sharpee. Get it? We're in DC! Politics! Big election coming up! Alliteration! Perhaps the Snyder-Cruise marriage has also resulted in the acquisition of a troup of rejected Jimmy Kimmel Live writers. On the plus side, no surface is left untouched when it comes to the marketing machine that is the Washington Redskins under Mr. Snyder's leadership. The back of this sign? How would you like a little Easterns Motors with your Redskins radio? Ah, yes... Easterns - just what Washingtonians living below the poverty line with no credit need.

Note the score:

Note the cheerleader:

Oh yeah, and some football was played too.

The Duke was quite distracted for all of the 4th quarter, despite the intense football game going on in the background. Rocky thinks this might be becoming a problem, noting that a bit of a pattern is emerging.

Ah, Señor Novak. How we hated ye back when ye played for the Maryland Turtles. Times do change, eh, Nick? Keep warming up, my man, because I have a feeling we'll need you again, despite the fact that you just missed that field goal that would have given us a 4th quarter lead.

Moments before von Vincent's miraculous block.

Uhm, 0:00 on the clock, score tied at 19 all, hot cheerleaders standing in the foreground, action occurring at the opposite end of the field, and six straight hours of boozing... needless to say, we have no idea what's going on right now.

Ah, victory is sweet.

Eh, the stats? Not so much. Let's just say that Tony Romo, despite the loss (and our repeated chants of "ROOOOOO-MOOOOOOOO! ROOOOOOO-MOOOOOO!") still has some job security.

You mess with the bull, you get the horns. And you rush the field after everyone has exited the stadium, you look like a jackass, and you get carried off in a headlock. Actually, this guy's buddy gave the FedEx field security a run for their money.

The final score:

What? This was next to our tailgate all along?

Howie Long is a large man.

Curt Menefee is a VERY large man.

Ah, Howie. We really do think you're actually a pretty good guy, despite Firestorm. Give us a smile. That's the spirit.

Who is that balding, bloated, pale woman who's just taken the set? Oh, dear God. Tom Brady, is this really what you have to look forward to?

Aaaaaand... ACTION! Terry pulls out the ol' half-lens reading glasses and gets to work reading through the day's highlights...

... and the Duke suspects that his ride back to DC has left without him. He must leave the Fox NFL Sunday Visa Halftime Report, along with the ecstatic Washington crowd and the stunned Dallas fans.

A Moment of Weakness

I'm pretty sure I just had a religious experience, and I'm sad to say that it involves the Dallas Cowboys. As a lifelong resident of Washington DC and someone who lives and dies by the daily goings-on of the Redskins, it's been ingrained into every inch of my being to loath everything about our hated rival. But there is a television show on Country Music Television, or CMT (don't feel bad, I'd never heard of it either) that follows the rigorous process of becoming a Dallas Cowboys Cheerleader called, appropriately enough, "Dallas Cowboys Cheerleaders: Making the Team." This will be my one exception to the "Dallas Sucks" rule that guides my life. Don't like it? I dare you to watch "Dallas Cowboys Cheerleaders" and say any differently.

In a word, this show is brilliant.

While the title of the program pretty much sums it up, cameras sit and watch - nay, gaze upon the cheerleading squad as they rehearse their routines and choreographers separate the outrageously gorgeous wheat from the not-quite-as-outrageously gorgeous chaff. Highlights include: looking on as the squad shakes pom-poms, looking on as the squad does jumping jacks, looking on as the squad crawls through an obstacle course, and looking on as the squad gives each other moral support (i.e. jumping up and down and hugging one another). Tiny shorts and sports bras are the required uniform.

And what on earth does this have to do with country music to warrant its airing on CMT? I'm not really sure, but I also don't really care.