Thursday, July 7, 2011

♫...Talk about your revolution...♫

Monday was a holiday! The 4th of July. Independence Day. The birth of our nation.

As irritated as I am with our nation right now, all I wanted to do was sit alone in my room, watch Doctor Who and wish we were still a British that, you know, it would be 100 times easier for me to move to London...England, I love you, please let me live in you forever, like the deity of choice lives in your heart...

England, I love you, and I'm not rude or obnoxious and I'm pretty smart and I want to work hard, and I have a degree in a social science field...which America doesn't seem to value...I'll love you long time!
However, I didn't do any of those things.

The 4th of July comes with directions...a list of ingredients that you must mix together in various ways and add your own spices, according to taste. The ingredients that you MUST have (allegedly) are:

  • Family/Friends.
  • Barbecue 
  • Fireworks
  • Booze
I don't know about you, but to me that sounds like a recipe for disaster. Think about it for a moment. Family, people who barely get along under normal, sober circumstances, mixed with liberal amounts of alcohol and given access to explosives. You can count me out. Especially if their 4th of July recipe is highly seasoned with Toby Keith...and I live in the deep South, so that's practically everyone.

Most of the people in my family are hardcore Southern Baptists so we don't have booze at our family you know, Baptists only drink alone, hidden in their closets. Actually only a few people in my family drink and they drink a glass or wine or something girly every now and then...except me...but this post isn't about my rampant alcoholism. It's about our 4th of July 'spice'.

As I said, most people take those 4 ingredients and then add their own 'spices'. Those 'spices' could be anything from spending the day out on a lake to blasting 'I'm Proud To Be An American' at soul shattering volumes all day long.

This year, our 'spice' was going to a minor league baseball game.

Yes, it was storming, and yes we had to sit in the drizzle during our 2 hour and 15 minutes of rain delay...but that is not what I want to talk about. 

I want to talk about how every single time I go to a baseball game I find myself wanting to be Annie Savoy from Bull Durham...just, you know, with someone else playing Kevin Costner's role. Annie was played by the equally sassy and sexy Susan Sarandon. Wikipedia, which unlike 90% of the people I went to college with, I did not use as a major source of information when researching and writing papers (please take note, people in charge of letting me become a loyal citizen of the UK), describes Annie thusly: "a lifelong spiritual seeker who latched onto the "Church of Baseball" and has, every year, chosen one player on the Bulls to be her lover and student."

Now, I've long since given up my 'Puma' ways...but when I'm at a ballgame, I complete forget that...especially when the 3rd baseman for the opposing team looks an awful lot like Kit Harrington as Jon Snow on Game of Thrones. 

My entire brain just turned to mush. I'm not even interested in the fact that he's probably 10 years younger than me. Brain. Mush.

Normally I'm interested in individuals who are older than me and really heavy on the nerdy side of things...someone who would, you know, dress up as The Doctor if I asked nicely. Something about baseball players (and I'm not saying they can't be nerdy, just that usually they are far younger than me) makes me a bit crazy....maybe it's those kinda tight pants...or when they wear their socks up to their knees and over their pants...


It gets me every time. 

I have absolutely no idea what went on during the game, all I know is that I had a lot of pretty to look at and keep me entertained...and what's more American than me ogling baseball players on Independence Day? It's my god given American right! 

The fireworks were pretty too.

It was fun.

However, how I felt the next day was NOT.
I've been playing insane amounts of The Sims Medieval in an attempt to distract myself from the fact that no one has offered me a job...or an interview...yet. The night before the 4th festivites, I stayed awake until 4am playing this game...then we didn't make it home from the game until after midnight...and I stayed awake playing it again until 3am....and crawled out of bed the next morning at 10am. I am now in Sims Rehab and not allowed to touch the game for a few days.

I'm going to tell you right here and 31, not getting enough sleep feels like the really, really bad hangovers of my 20s...and now I'm terrified of what a 31 year old very, very bad hangover might feel like.

Annie, you are awesome...except, I can't watch you anymore because Kevin Costner creeps me out.

"I believe in the Church of Baseball. I've tried all the major religions, and most of the minor ones. I've worshipped Buddha, Allah, Brahma, Vishnu, Siva, trees, mushrooms, and Isadora Duncan. I know things. For instance, there are 108 beads in a Catholic rosary and there are 108 stitches in a baseball. When I heard that, I gave Jesus a chance. But it just didn't work out between us. The Lord laid too much guilt on me. I prefer metaphysics to theology. You see, there's no guilt in baseball, and it's never boring... which makes it like sex. There's never been a ballplayer slept with me who didn't have the best year of his career. Making love is like hitting a baseball: you just gotta relax and concentrate. Besides, I'd never sleep with a player hitting under .250... not unless he had a lot of RBIs and was a great glove man up the middle. You see, there's a certain amount of life wisdom I give these boys. I can expand their minds. Sometimes when I've got a ballplayer alone, I'll just read Emily Dickinson or Walt Whitman to him, and the guys are so sweet, they always stay and listen. 'Course, a guy'll listen to anything if he thinks it's foreplay. I make them feel confident, and they make me feel safe, and pretty. 'Course, what I give them lasts a lifetime; what they give me lasts 142 games. Sometimes it seems like a bad trade. But bad trades are part of baseball - now who can forget Frank Robinson for Milt Pappas, for God's sake? It's a long season and you gotta trust. I've tried 'em all, I really have, and the only church that truly feeds the soul, day in, day out, is the Church of Baseball." ~ Annie Savoy


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