I have the best name ever.
All right, story number two should happen before I get to far into my bottle of Shiraz.
So my mom called me Sunday night, after the Packers-Vikings game. It was at the Metrodome (in Minneapolis, making it a Vikings home game, for those of you who aren't Packers fans or from the Minneapolis-St. Paul metro area), and my parents had tickets. I think this was the first Packers game they've gone to since we went to a preseason game in Green Bay a million years ago (or the year after they won the Super Bowl).
So anyway, she calls, we're talking about the game, and my mom goes "oh, and I almost got into a fight."
Now, my mom is about 5'4" and the quietest lady, though she does get worked up over the Packers.
She tells me she almost got into a fight, and obviously I needed more details.
So in her own words, more or less-"well we were sitting behind this guy, a loud Vikings fan, you know. He kept turning around and giving me shit. He wasn't saying anything to your dad, just to me."
(Which I think makes this funnier, because my dad is 6' and ex-Army, and this guy was talking shit to my poor mom instead.)
"So he kept turning around, saying rude things whenever the Vikings had a good play. Your dad was there, and every time he turned around and said something, I'd just stare him down until he turned around again. I didn't say anything to him. So then your dad left to go to the bathroom, and he turned around again to say something. I just looked at him, and I go 'what is your fucking problem?' and he just sort of sputtered and said he was just trying to have fun. I go 'well no one is having fun, so why don't you just turn around' and he did! He didn't say anything for the rest of the night."
I told her how impressed I was, and I told her if I was there I would've yelled at him for giving my mom shit, and then I would've poked him in the eye. My mom's reply? "Or you could've just punched him in the face."
My mom is hardcore, you guys.