One of the cheerleaders for the New England Patriots is a Yale graduate who works as a researcher in molecular biophysics and biochemistry at MIT and Harvard.
The Boston Globe
Dear Diary–
How are you? I mean since I wrote in you yesterday, there was nothing but a blank page when I opened you up and turned to where I left off. LOL–just kidding, hope you can take a joke!
A new girl is joining the Patriots cheerleaders tomorrow, I hope her name isn’t Jennifer or Alyssa, we already have two of each of those! It’s hard enough learning the numerous glamorous routines in our “playbook.” Just like Coach Belichick says–“Do your job!” My job is to make little whirly things with my mini-poms . . . or is it mini pom-poms? Have to look that up before pre-game “chalk talk” tomorrow. We’re gonna kick those Atlanta cheerleaders butts–because we’ll be better-prepared!
G2Go–I’m getting my eyebrows plucked. I need to have my “game face” on for the Super Bowl!
Dear Diary–
The new girl is very nice, but that’s no biggie, all the Patriots’ cheerleaders are nice. We never deflate balls, contrary to what that mean old NFL commissioner says.
Like I say, she’s nice, but not nice nice, if you know what I mean. I couldn’t understand what she was talking about half the time, she rattled off words like “Oxytricha trifallax.” What’s up with that? All we ever had to know before was “2 bits, 4 bits, 6 bits, a dollar. All for the New England Patriots, America’s most hated professional football team, stand up and HOLLER!”
Oh well, I guess I’ll have to try to communicate with her. Everybody’s so “team-oriented” in Foxboro, I’d hate for Coach Belichick to think I’m a “Debbie Downer” and trade me to Cleveland for a dance team member to be named later.
CUL8ter, I have to go pick up my eyelash curler, it’s been in the shop for repairs. Have to look my best for the sports event watched by more people than a Donald Trump inauguration!
Diary Dearest–
Can you tell me why they called this year’s Super Bowl “LI”? There was this Chinese girl in my algebra class in high school named Li, but as far as I know she didn’t become a cheerleader. Probably went to med school or something stupid like that.
Duh–doctors don’t want to marry other doctors, they want to marry nurses!
I don’t think the new girl is going to work out very well. Yesterday she offered to take a sample of my DNA and tell me where I came from, as if I didn’t know.
I came from Seekonk, Mass., Home of the Fighting Quahogs!
We’re not supposed to say anything negative about another cheerleader, so I’ll just say she’d better watch herself or maybe the bottom leg of a “cheer pyramid” might collapse one day when she’s up on top!
Fighting Clam sideline pants.
Diary, I hate to say I told you so, but I told you so.
The new girl has become a real snot, just because she has a degree from Yale. So what? I have a degree from the Bay State School of Aesthetics, one of the “Beauty Ivies.” It’s very selective, you have to get at least 650 on your HMATs, the Hair and Makeup Aptitude Test. I also took a lot of summer courses, so I’m like way ahead of some of the other girls who only had to take their classes once. Ask me anything in French–as long as it’s “Where is the library?” or “How much is that crouton?”
Anyway, little Miss Brainiac says “Why don’t we do a double-helix formation in honor of Rosalind Franklin,” who she says really discovered DNA.
I hod ta loff, as we say here in Boston. I says to her I says “Don’t you know Rosalind Franklin isn’t a real person? It’s just a character on Sesame Street.”
That shut her up.
Rosalind Franklin, Roosevelt Franklin: Curiously, never seen in the same room together.
Diary, I am so mad I could spit!
I just saw the roster for the Super Bowl–and I’m a “healthy scratch, coach’s decision!”
All because I dared to criticize Little Miss Intellectual’s skimpy figure.
All I said was “If you’re such a scientist, why don’t you get a boob job? It’s better living through silicone implants!” Now they tell me we have a “Dignity in the Workplace Policy.”
Nobody ever told ME I was supposed to read the Employee Manual.
Read? Read? Who reads nowadays? People can’t even spell! 😉