Friday, September 21, 2007

Don't Stop Believin'.....

*Insert Journey song as background music here*

Maybe you all are unfamiliar with my tenacity. I will hold onto something like a rabid friggin' dog if it hurts me to let go. In small words for some of you, I don't let go easily.

You think this little late September slump has me giving up? Hell to the no. I have not watched 7 months of baseball to quit now when things are just getting good. I have not cheered these boys on, snuck out of weddings to check on games, quoted stats to New York boys who thought girls in Texas couldn't know shit about Red Sox baseball, to give up on them now. I am not one of those chicks who dons the pink hat to look cute next to her boyfriend at a game. I'm in this bitch for the long haul.

You think telling me every day day how close the Yankees are to catching the pennant will all of a sudden have me jumping on the ARod train? You must not understand my desperate unrequited love for Mike Lowell or know the awesomeness that is Josh Beckett. If you think for one damn minute I'd ever consider not believing in the power of our Captain, you don't know my respect for Tek. And you damn sure don't understand what it's like to see Papelbon pitch... I KNOW how many games we've lost since Labor Day. Tuh-rust me, I know. But this team is far from done. My boys are feeling the pain that comes from KICKING ASS for 7 months- that will, in fact, catch up with you, I don't care who you are. But it's okay. We'll let them get close, let them get a little cocky and then squash them. My Manny is coming back soon.... Youk? Is going to get off that bench with a score to settle. If I were the Yankees, I'd be very afraid.

It's far from over, my friends. Don't give up now, the fun is just about to start! Now quit your friggin crying and get ready for OCTOBER!!!!!!!

Friday, September 14, 2007

The Final Showdown


Here we go, boys and girls. The final showdown of the season and it could not come at a better time for me. I have been running around like a crazy person with events and to-dos. I have chauffeured kids, worked, gone to games and appointments. My butt misses the feel of my couch. This Red Sox/Skanks matchup is Gods way of telling me to slow the hell down and watch some damn baseball.
Screw everything else. I am leaving work in 30 minutes, going home, getting in my jammies and settling in for what I know will be a damn good game. I say I'm settling in, but really, that's only for 3 innings before I'm standing in front of the TV and screaming. Or pacing. Hopefully jumping and dancing and doing my Fenway Home Run Happy Dance...
I've put my friends on Red alert. Do not call my ass tonight. I will not answer. I've told my kids- you want to go somewhere? You better find a damn ride, cause this taxi service is closed tonight. What's his name that lives with me? Make your own damn dinner. Chef's off tonight. She will be unavailable until tomorrow.
Tomorrow is a lot more of the running around and football games, taking kids to birthday parties, attending a wedding- everyone PRAY I get to catch most of the game.
Sunday is well. The 3rd of a 3 game series. You know where I'll be.
But don't call.
GO SOX!!!!!!

Wednesday, September 12, 2007

Brides Smoking Crack

Once upon a time, I too was a bride. No, really. With a veil and everything. Granted, that was 12 years ago. When I was 20.

Even at 20, when people said "Go register", I knew to go scan things I could afford too and things I needed. When was the next time people would buy me gifts for no reason? So I did. Towels and plates I would use everyday, a blender, a toaster, maybe a pretty frame for a wedding picture. The end.

I have recently perused a registry for a friend or two or 5 that are getting married soon....

And now I want to know what kind of amazing, delicious, delusion-inducing crack these bitches are smoking.

Are you fucking kidding me? A $200 gravy boat? A $175 place setting of china? And you want TWELVE of them? Bitch, you KNOW you eat more Sonic than the fry cooks who work there- why in the holy fuck do you need over $2 grand in china??? They would probably say Thanksgiving. *Eye roll* Whatever. Big screen TV, $1200 BBQ pit, $40 each for a bath towel???

Where is it written that because you are having a party where you wear a big white dress that you are entitled to a $400 mixer?

The other thing that contributes to my confusion is that these are all second marriages. Which is fabulous. It didn't work the first time. You are brave enough to try again. But you're supposed to be smarter! Not try to get more shit for the second time around. Bitch, I gave 10 years worth of blow jobs to the same man. THAT entitles me to $400 worth of something, but no one buys you gifts for that.

I get it. You're a pretty, pretty princess- it's your special, special day.... Again. Some more. You are doing it again and want things better and different than last time. That part I understand. Kinda. But damn. Shouldn't you have to earn this stuff? Why do we give wedding gifts anyway? Earn your shit and get anniversary presents. THAT deserves reward. You stay married 10 years? Here's your gift card for $2000. Go buy what you KNOW you need, not what you think you might need, but actually sits in a cardboard box in the back of your cupboard for 20 years. 20 years? Here's $5000 for a vacation you probably need waaaaay more than a TV or a friggin gravy boat that sits in a curio cabinet.

So here's my plan. I'm going to buy wine. Bottles of it. Because when you start coming down off the crack and back to Earth after your veil comes off, you're gonna need something to ease the headache.....

Monday, September 10, 2007

A Prayer

Dear Baseball God, Lord, sweet, tiny-baby Jesus/Allah/Holy Spirit/ Insert Deity of Your Choice Here....

I don't mean to come to you with evil in my heart, but if you could see your way to maiming Alex Rodriguez in some way, I sure would appreciate it. I don't mean kill him, Lord. No, even I have to admit he's got some talent... But just for the next, say 6 weeks or so, if he could just suddenly come down with a case of explosive diarrhea, or maybe some wicked bad hemorrhoids- so bad he can't walk, much less lift a bat, well... that would just be swell.

You see, those damn Yankees are only continuing to bother me because of this one man. If he were somehow removed from the situation, they would cease to even be a worry to me- I'm sure of it! Instead, they are like a cockroach. Always coming back. Even when I think it's been squashed, it keeps coming back. It's maddening!!!!

I don't ask for much, Lord... And I apologize that I seem to come to you often in the 9th inning. I thank you for all the times you've helped my boys this season. Thank you for continuing to assist my sweet Mike Lowell to kick ass and for Clay's no hitter. Thank you for back-to back-to back-to back home runs. Thank you for helping Papi start to hit like Papi again.

I look forward to your reply. No note necessary, I will know you have answered me when A-Rod runs off the field with poo running down his uniform...

Amen.

Wednesday, September 5, 2007

Going to a Happy Place...

So over the past few weeks I’ve developed an eye twitch that will not stop. Terminal? No. Annoying? Yes. Annoying as hell. It comes whenever it pleases- my right eyelid jerks like its being electrocuted. People have told me it’s barely visible and only when I point and my eye and hold them down to stare at it. “LOOK AT IT!? CAN’T YOU SEE IT?!?”

I’m told that along with my nail biting and affinity for chips and other crunchy snacks, this is a product of my stress level. Even the sweet little nurse I called from my insurance company said that all these other symptoms I’ve had lately sound stress induced. (Insomnia, hair loss, muscle soreness in my neck and shoulders, lots of fantasizing about running away from home) Stressed? Me?

I only have 4 children. Who are involved in football, cheerleading, student council, UIL, athletics, underwater-basket weaving etc… I work at a hotel that is much like the money pit right now and we are in the process of renovation. I go to work not knowing which wall will be missing on any given day or which ceiling it will be raining from. During all this, I am to pamper all my clients as though they have arrived at Trump Towers.

My marriage, well, let’s just say it… Is in the toilet. I worry about money every second of the day. One of my friends is getting married this week- which would normally be a good, happy thing, except I have had to listen to every detail in minutia for at least 3 hours a day for the past 9 months. AND I’ve spent my own time and money (LOTS of it) completing my own responsibilities as Maid of Honor.

Okay, maybe a little stressed… But I hate to admit it. Because there is always someone else who has a real reason to be stressed. Like living in a box… or has cancer….or a Yankees fan who still thinks they’re going to the playoffs (couldn’t resist)….

So Nancy, the sweet little nurse from my insurance company says if I don’t want to go see a doctor, (I don’t. They freak me out) I should just try to take a few minutes each day to be alone and quiet and relax. She jokes, “Go to your Happy Place.” (Sidebar: That reference immediately made me think of the scene from Happy Gilmore when Adam Sandler sees Chubbs playing the piano and his Grandma running around with loads of money.)

So I think- Where IS my happy place? I could say on a beach, all by myself listening to waves crash and someone handing me a froofy drink with a pineapple wedge and a pink umbrella in it, but really, how can I focus on something I’ve never had?

So I chose my happy place from places and times that could have actually been and would have stayed if time could be frozen….

I am sitting at a table in a clean, beautifully decorated room, the windows are open and a cool breeze is coming in. Baseball or NASCAR is on a big TV. There are two other people in the room- people I could sit and hang out with for hours and hours and they don’t stress me out- they make me happy to be in their space. In front of me is a bowl of homemade clam chowder. (It is very important that this was made by someone else- for me) I am eating my chowder and drinking my Cape Cod (also made for me) and being happy… And for those minutes in my happy place, no one is demanding anything of me but to sit there and enjoy. I can JUST BE. I do not have to take care of anyone or insure their happiness. My only job is to sit there and know that for those brief moments, EVERYTHING is right with the world…

I feel the breeze. I hear the gentle background noise of the game, but mostly just the laughter from these people and myself. There is no phone ringing, no arguing or yelling. I can relax and let everything else go.

And look at that- just typing about it, my eye hasn’t twitched at all the past 10 minutes. Maybe that little Nancy is onto something…

Tuesday, September 4, 2007

Randomness...

Tighten your seat belts, ladies and gents, because this one will be a wild ride. There is no rhyme or reason to this post, just a trip down the swirling, slip and slide that is my thought process lately...

I myself embrace the diverse nationalities I am surrounded by on a daily basis. I work in the damn rainbow coalition. Black, white, Hispanic, Asian. People from Mexico, Puerto Rico, Germany, Minnesota... I love learning about my friends' cultures and foods, languages and customs. But can someone 'splain to me why in the hell my Latin friends seem to have a necessity for HICKEYS????

First of all, I am embarrassed by visible bruises I get on accident, so I don't understand why in the name of GAWD you would proudly show off some nasty purple blotches all over your neck and chest that people know you got on purpose.

Are these things supposed to say, "That's right, bitches, I had someone sucking on parts that DON'T DO ANYTHING last night"? Maybe, "I have someone that likes to attach themselves to me like a hoover and break blood vessels"?

Really now. I thought we all did that once or twice in high school before sticking the spoon in the freezer, applying it to the affected area and praying it helped lessen the affect before our moms noticed it... Some guys did it when they were 16 as a badge of "I was making out with someone last night". Whatever. I'm just saying it's a little more excusable when you're a 16 year old idiot than when you're 30-something and just look ridiculous. Am I wrong in saying that if some one's going to suck and lick the hell out of you that hard, it damn well better be on a body part better suited for such activities???

And they don't attempt to hide it. No, on the contrary- it's time to unbutton that shirt just one more button to show off the islands of Hawaii hickeys near your left nipple. WTF?? I just don't get it. Anyone more enlightened than I?

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I found this new blog: http://www.survivinggrady.com/ I am cuh-razy for this guy. Not only does he do me the courtesy of posting almost every day, but he thinks just like me! Bravo!!! And anyone who can doctor up a Mike Lowell photo with a hot quote next to it is tops in my book....

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Got a request at work from a group called NWA. Now before we "Raised in the 90s" kids get all excited about a reunion tour, let me be the first to give you the sad news~ It stands for National Watermelon Association.
I know. I didn't know either. *Sigh*
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And yes, Yankee assholes, my Ralph Lauren high heels were quite tasty. Now suck it. Tampa Bay took your asses downtown to Chinatown while we kicked Baltimore butt. Kiss your WildCard goodbye, bitches....