Number 11? US watching the SKANKTASTIC series over the weekend.
Those should be YOUR tears, Bobby Valentine!!!!
I think I relate most to the Brad Pitt clip from “Legends of the Fall.”
No. I couldn’t save them… I just… COULD NOT.
I have been working a lot. Which is why you haven’t heard from me.
You know who hasn’t been working?
THE RED SOX.
Sure, you scooted by the Twins, Bobby, but you allowed THIS to happen:
So, thanks for that.
I like how it’s the same anniversary of the Titanic. I thought that too. Thanks, Bobby.
Seriously. This weekend was like the movie “John Carter.” It cost a billion dollars to make, panned, and got people fired.
You suck like the “John Carter” movie, Bobby Valentine.
A friend was at Fenway and said cries of “Tito” echoed the monster.
Seriously. I think my feelings regarding this weekend are best expressed in the following video clip:
Well, it’s all up from here. Right, Dawson?
Go Bruins. Game seven, baby.
Red Sox. I just… I…
So many movie references. SO MANY.
What are your thoughts, Soxies? If you could describe the season so far in one movie quote, what would it be? Mine would be, “I think we’re going to need a bigger boat.”
Really guys. It’s just April. It’s just… APRIL.
PS- I am going to familiarize myself with THIS scent so I know who to avoid at bars. I suggest you do the same.
It’s 7:10 p.m. and I’m off work, damnit. And I’m going to watch this game, damnit. With or without you. AND- if you’re lucky and this game is boring, I’ll even respond to hate mail about my post yesterday.
Hate mail from people who clearly don’t read my blog.
Otherwise they’d know how much I LOVE hate mail.
And how much LESS sorry it makes me.
Oh. A base hit. Oh. A guy at first. A guy at third. Oh.
You know. I said all along Bobby V’s not a longterm manager. I have this theory that he’s a place holder until Farrell’s contract in Toronto is up.
Lesterrrrrrr… double play… Kills the half. Sweetness.
We are two minutes late and Jerry Remy is killing time with the Don.
They’re talking about Bobby V and how it’s “blown over.”
“Everybody seems to be on the same track with this thing,” Jerry says.
I’m not, Jerry. I AM NOT.
“It’s a learning process between both sides right now,” Jerry says.
I have lots to teach.
Again on how this is SOOOOOO not about Youkie. I would be this irate if Bobby V talked smack about anyone- even… JOHN LACKEY. Talk smack, seriously. I take that back. Talk the smack all you want. In the clubhouse. In a sternly worded letter to Youkilis. To Cherington. Hell, trade him. Fire him. Make him run laps. Take his beard away. I don’t care. But DO NOT TALK SMACK TO THE MEDIA.
All I ask.
7:12. Jon Lester is out. So I have to try to swallow the grumbles. FOR NOW.
Strike two. I love you, Jon Lester, and your keen ability to turn my frown upside down. Seriously. It was a Cody Ross scowl and now it’s an Ortiz high five grin.
Oh. I’m frowning again. As he singles. You know.
My boss today tapped my Red Sox season schedule (the small office one, not the massive one at my house) and smirked and said, “Have they won a game yet?”
Why yes, surely they have.
Because we are winners. As we shall show you nine innings from now. Jon Lester last faced the Rangers on Opening Day last year- that game we lost ridiculously. Thanks for the reminder, Don.
Strike out. K-count? ONE.
I want to be one of the K people. If I make it to Fenway, can we make sure that happens? Thanks.
I do not want to judge, but the crowd does not look focused today. I’d be focused. I would be.
7:24. Bottom of the first and Aviles is on first, guys!
Dustin Pedroia………. air to center field… AND HOME RUN.
That’s a two run home run.
That’s a two nothing lead.
THAT is my Dustin Pedroia.
AND a hit from Adrian Gonzalez? WHO ACTUALLY RUNS?
What world is this? Oh. Our world. OUR world, damnit. 7:27.
And THE David Ortiz steps up…
Caught. But it’s okay, see, because KEVIN YOUKILIS is up. Did I hear a boo? Did you DARE boo MY husband?
Righhht… a “groin” problem. Right. I would have kept him out of the lineup yesterday too.
It’s okay, baby. It’s just you and me. And… um… right. Everyone… um… else.
Oh. I’m getting angry again. Oh.
Strike three. Am I being redundant when I say I blame Bobby V?
Who’s with me?
It’s okay, see, because Ryan Sweeney is here. Off the wall! Boo. Yah.
My boyfriend is on second. He did that for my husband. Weeeeird.
It is 7:32. Cody Ross. The guy I want to like. And kind of do. But kind of don’t, just because of his frowny faces…
Hi, Cody. I get why you frowned yesterday, those silly crayon calls and all…
But today is a new day. And we have two people on base. Smile it off, Cody.
Pedroia looks perplexed in the dugout.
Or awkward. or something.
Probably because Bobby V asked him to pass the chewing gum or something.
Ross retired at first.
2-0 RED SOX.
You are in the Ohio Valley?! There IS an Ohio Valley? Is there an Ohio mountain? I’ve been to Ohio. This one time. It was cold. And a piece of my hair broke off like in “Cool Runnings.” And I cried about it. And my tears froze to my face. (mostly) true story.
Hi, Mr. Buck.
Another K. That means strike out. I would be such a great K gal. Just saying.
I have been to West Virginia. It is cold there too.
I think my most favoritist K-Youk collector, Paul, is going to join us as well.
You know what’s NOT the Bees’ Knees? A double.
Who “takes” strike two. Takes? Sometimes baseball phrasing confuzzles me, Don.
Remember that time last year when they had Mike Lowell in the booth? I’d like to see that again. I’d like to-
FRICKDOUBLEFRICK. Napoli homers. And now it’s an even slate at 2-2. Which, if you think about it, completely negates all the funtastic hitting our most favorite Dustin Pedroia did…
Whateverwhateverwhatever. It’s just the top of the second, people.
7:42. I think that is the best comment I have ever seen, Bruce. The BEST comment. I shall make one. That’s perfect. Like my wedding. Initially, I wanted swans, but they’re quite nasty creatures, actually. I think we’re going to get dolphins instead.
Jon Lester is on his 30th pitch. Which is fouled. Full count. You know. Because that’s how he rolls. With my heart in his fricking knuckles.
I do NOT like this. One out walk for Alba. I DO NOT LIKE THIS. Oh no. Larry Lucchino joins us in the booth. Actually, I kind of want that. I have some things I’d like to say to Larry Lucchino.
You have MET Kevin Youkilis? Buck, your next comment better contain a detailed description followed by contact information.
7:45… the announcers seem to be having some trouble filling time today.
Is it Troy Alba or Troy Alber? I don’t care.
Still only one out in the inning that takes forever… oh. A base hit for Gentry. Oh. Third hit of the inning for Texas. Jon Lester… Jerry just called you “shaky.” Unjello yourself and FOCUS, damnit.
Oh. Larry will be here to “tell us about that special day,” more 100 Anniversary stuff.
That is NOT what I want to hear from you, Larry.
You better ask him some actual questions, Don.
You asked Mo Vaughn questions. Remember that?
Do you think Stephen King is there tonight?
I am not going to argue with a call in our favor… but that looked a little sketch…
Not a good day to misstep, ump.
They keep closing up on this guy who is constantly scratching his head. I shall call him Scratchy. Ball four.
LOADED bases. From crappy pitching.
I think I just saw a “damnit” from Bobby V.
Doesn’t seem so snarky today, does he? How’s that spray tan working for your home life, Bobby?
Oh… down the third base line… and Lester just holds the ball. For funsies? So it’s 3-2. Because Jon Lester felt like watching. Bet Bobby V told him too.
“The wise thing by holding onto the baseball,” Jerry says.
Don’t get it.
Scott Atchison is warming up. FDA is thrilled.
Hamilton hits to left. ROSS FORGETS TO CATCH. AGAIN.
And THAT doesn’t make you frown?
Two outs. Bah.
You know who I miss? Adrian Beltre. Well, hi, Adrian….
Crapola! Computer…. Mozilla… Crashes… Have to relaunch MLB… Have no idea what is happening! Crap, crap, crap! Chaos, I say!
It is back. 8pm. Something about dustin? What did Dustin do? Why are our bases loaded? Dear god, why are our bases loaded?!
It is 8:02. And, if the Rangers weren’t clipping fouls, we would walk our way off another cliff.
Lester is broken!
I bet it was Bobby V.
8:03. Inning ends. But, you know. After 43 pitches and four Texas runs. Maybe the spray tan is contaminating the bull pen. You know, making Lester’s eyes water? It could happen. It could happen, right? Does spray tan cause leprosy? Has anyone studied that?
“Let’s take a look back at last inning,” Remy says. Of course. Let’s. I mean, it was four seconds ago. But sure. Let’s do it.
Hey, do you have any chickengate footage while you’re at it?
Salty. Salty will fix this. He’ll… SPICE it up. (I am hilarious)
Best Salty pun wins a smile!
Bobby Valentine is going over to talk to Lester. Oh. Yeah. That’ll fix it.
It was odd that it took Lester awhile to get to the mound earlier, I agree, Don.
Jason Repko is coming up…
Strike one. It’s the third one that counts, Jason. For a second, you looked like Mike Lowell. I miss Mike Lowell. Do you know mike Lowell, Repko? You should look him up.
I feel like he is watching over us today. I really do.
Strike three. And Repko is super out.
Looked like an outside ball to me….
Hi, Mike Aviles. Continue to defy my low, low expectations for you, please.
Aviles’ bat went somewhere. That’s… um… not the goal…
And that’s over. Texas at bat after an annoying commercial with animated birds.
It is 8:13. And they are talking to some meteorologist INSTEAD of watching the game.
Todd Gutner? I do not know who you are. And I do not care. And I do not like your tie. Wear Red Sox colors when you are going to be wasting my FENWAY time, buddy.
And we have enough spray tanner in the clubhouse, Todd Gutner.
Well, I’m glad the booth missed that spectacular dodge. That not-catch looked intentional. Man on first. Blah.
Todd Gutner is feeling reeealllyyyyy cool right now.
Don is asking him if he’s a storm guy or an in-studio guy.
Um. Don, he wears makeup and spray tanner. Let’s hazard a guess.
Can we watch the game now?
Yes, Buck, EVERYONE loves Mike Lowell.
Look. Ball four. Another on first.
How’d that convo with Lester work out, Bobby V????
See, some people think the Bobby V poomouth is a tactic. Is this a tactic too, Bobby V?
I know! Let’s load up the bases and THEN think about Atchison.
Zero outs. Mm-hmmm.
It’s okay, Jon. It’s not your fault. You’re clearly broken.
It’s Bobby V’s fault for not forcibly lassoing your shaky ass onto the bench. A move he probably learned from Curt Young. I bet Curt Young and Bobby V are friends.
I bet they throw pennies in fountains together, braid hair and go for double pedicures.
“Getting very close to having to make a decision here…”
Ball four. Bases loaded.
Oh good. Yes. Here you go, Scott. Bases loaded. No outs. But hey, at least you get a pep talk from Bobby V…
Best Bobby V pun wins… um… something!
Seriously, take Youk-gate out of the convo- how annoyed are we with Bobby V right now?
And why do you think Lester was late on the mound? Bet it has something to do with why he’s early off of it…
WHAT?! MIKE LOWELL? WHERE?! Don’t toy with me, Bruce…
8:23. In case we forgot, Don’s reviewing the damage. Instead of stalling with a monologue about our faults, I’d like to see CARTOONS, Don Orsillo. Can you make that happen? Who should I talk to?
Hi, Scott. Want me to make you a Blame Bobby t-shirt? Oh, Youkie… way to force an out. I love you SO.
5-2 lead. Rangers.
“he’s lucky he didn’t get spiked at third…”
Yikes. Youkie made a Jacoby face and I was worried for a millisecond. I blame Bobby V.
Scott Atchison reminds me of Dennis Quaid. I have said that before.
We WILL do better, Buck. Farrell. You wait and see.
I DID like Bobby V. I think that’s why this hurts so much…
I’m not angry. I’m just disappointed. AND ANGRY.
Another full count. Ball four as Scotty catches the Lester disease and throws one in the dirt. Bobby V looks uncomfortable. Maybe it’s pre-leprosy. check his fingers!
This guy’s name is Elvis Andrus. And he will strike out. You’ll see.
Bases are loaded.
LOADED. Just the way Lester likes ‘em. Only it’s Atchison up there treading water.
“Pretty good test here for the Red Sox…”
What about the Tampa “test?”
Thanks Remy. He’s got our backs, see.
And it’s in the air… deep… Sweeney makes the catch because he loves us, but it’s still now 6-2.
Matt Albers is warming in the pen. Because, why not?
Base hit. Another score. 7-2. Yep.
Think I can blog and make food at the same time? Bet I can during THIS game…
I mean, if I could stop getting e-mails. Smartphones kind of mean you are allllwwaaaayyyysss working.
I like adding extra letters to things. Kind of like how our pitchers like adding balls to things.
Ryan Sweeney makes another catch. I’d like to point out that MY husband and boyfriend made ALL the outs in that inning.
I think the pitching coach is a figurehead. He’s like the Queen of England to Bobby V’s Tony Blair.
I see it.
8:34. Dustin Pedroia will save us all. He’s like that midget in that movie where the dwarf saved everyone. It was like, fantasy or something, and I didn’t actually see it, I just told people I saw it.
Like the first Terminator.
First out? FIRST OUT? That did NOT happen in the movie I just referenced. I don’t think.
Adrian Gonzalez is hitting. He is going to smack it out of the park so that he doesn’t have to run quickly. You’ll see. Adrian is 7 for 8 in his career against this guy, so I am expecting Greatness. GREATNESS.
Weird camera angles tonight, no?
I think the umpire just said “I’m sorry, two and one.”
Bah. Out. Two outs.
Hell, bring back Wakefield? No hell about it. I wanted Wakefield to stay all along.
Because Wakefield is like Batman. He may not have actual super powers like Superman, but he is a badass and his movies make more money.
El Tiante? That sounds like something I would like to yell.
David Ortiz should play the entire lineup. He should- Oh, Hi, Kevin Youkilis.
I love you.
I’ve always loved you.
I will always love you.
Like in THIS song.
Well. Um. At least I have something to sing during the commercial break.
And it’s totally relevant, right?
I think I have this amazing talent for finding the perfect song, really.
It is 7-2. And Larry Lucchino is here.
I mean, he’s going to do a PR vomit, but hopefully he’ll also say something about Youk-gate.
He’s wearing flannel under his suit. Is he wearing flannel under his suit? Or just plaid. It is a poor choice, regardless, Larry. we KNOW you can afford clothes.
Okay. If we’re not going to watch the game, I’d like to watch you answering some actual questions, Larry.
Like why the FRICK you people made investments in soccer and not baseball?
Oh. And why the FRICK you didn’t forcibly tweeze Farrell from Toronto.
Oh… and why the FRICK you didn’t buy us an Oswalt? Or an equivalent.
Oh. And Scutaro. EXPLAIN THAT, Lucchino.
Oh. Sure. Talk about plaques instead. I’m sure that’s what everyone wants to hear.
“The Friday thing has got tremendous national attention…”
Oh look. He’s done talking.
AND YOU CALL YOURSELVES JOURNALISTS. Do Don and Jerry call themselves journalists?
I’d like to know when the next YACHT trip is.
Your dad looks like WAKEFIELD, Buck? Interesting…
It is 8:47. I know Scotty struck someone out. But I don’t really know what happened because Larry Lucchino was talking a lot. Maybe that’s why we don’t have Roy Oswalt.
Comeonnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnn. Can you just make contact with the fricking ball already????
Oh. Um. Not like that. Um. Beltre catches for the first out.
THEY ARE STILL TALKING ABOUT PLAQUES? Can’t you do that on your own time? Or on Twitter or something?
I want a lemonade.
Cody Ross. Doing the Ross. That’s my new phrase for horribly sad grimace. Oh…. And he is on FIRST BASE! Oh, Ross, that’s nothing to Ross about! Turn that Ross upside down!
Salty does nothing.
Oh. And there are two outs.
Jason Repko. This will not end well for us.
Pray to Fisk for a MIRACLE.
Off the wall… Ross makes it to third and… Repko is out at base.
I bet Bobby V eats miracles. I bet he fries them up and eats them like chicken.
Yes. Wine is good, Jup. I was having glasses of wine. But then I decided drinking from the bottle meant I didn’t have to keep pouring glasses of wine. It was a decision based on efficiency, really.
Hi, Dennis Quaid.
Maybe Mike Lowell can pitch. I mean, if he applies himself.
The Yanks got Pettitte back. I’ll start a letter writing campaign. Dear Pedro…
Atchison STRIKES out… one out… yay…
I’m still writing to Pedro.
Dear Pedro Martinez,
Please come home.
Through the legs and into center. Of course. And Genry is on first.
Maybe Aviles should play target at a county fair. You know? And dodge water balloons or something. He’d be good at that.
Considering him and Cody Ross like to dodge balls so much.
It’s like the worst game of dodgeball EVER tonight.
Mike Aviles goes down face first…
and those of us still traumatized by Jacoby CHOKE ON OUR WINE.
He is okay… He is okay…
He is okay, right?
And another out. But it’s still 7-2, see, and I’m still not pleased about that.
9:02. Maybe my wine is kicking in- but I really think it’s going to be okay now. I have a really good feeling about this inning, guys…
Rock out with me (it’s more fun than listening to Don talk)
I do not like thinking about balloons floating around and killing birds in Boston, guys. But Bobby McFerrin wants me to stop worrying and be happy, so…
Mike Aviles, see, is going to-
Oh. He’s out already?
Bobby McFerrin! There is NOTHING in your song about-
Okay… every little thing… is going to be okay…
Not worrying…. about a thing…
Hi, Dustin Pedroia! I’m not worried.
About a thing… Because every little thing… is going to be-
Okay… okay… not worrying… nope…
When you’re worried call me…
What’s your number, Bobby McFerrin?
Okay, okay. Adrian Gonzalez. You’re right, Bobby McFerrin.
“When you’re worried, your face will frown and that will bring everybody down…”
How can you listen to this song and not bob your head back and forth? Seriously. Which beats what I was doing before. The glaring at Bobby V and swigging wine thing.
I really feel like we’re-
What a STUPID song.
“It will soon pass, whatever it is.”
Well, you got that part right, at least, Bobby McFerrin.
You tell ‘em, Louis.
Oh look! More game!
7-2. And a ground ball!
Oh. He’s out. He’s out?
He is out!
Maybe there’s like, an inning delay on Bobby McFerrin magic?
“It’s just one of those nights. Everybody hast them.”
DO NOT pander to us, Jerry Remy.
Adrian… catches it?
Thanks, Bobby McFerrin. It’s nice to have a Bobby on our side. A Bobby that gives us hope. A Bobby that supports us and-
Oh. A home run.
Nobodddddyyyyyy knows… but Jesus…
8-2. Inning is over.
It’s okay, you guys. Eighth inning MIRACLE time… sixth inning? Really? Damn.
Right, BRUNO MARS? RIGHT?
Really, Bruno? That’s what you look like? And one out.
Clearly, Ortiz, you need to watch more Sesame Street.
Kevin Youkilis is batting. But he’s Cupid Cursed. So…
See? Strike out. That was YOUR strike out, Bobby V.
A double! A double! By who? MY Ryan Sweeney, of course.
Oh look. The Cody Ross scowl. He should listen to Bobby McFerrin, but on his own time. We have a game to play, see.
Inning is OVER.
I mean, I do blame someone. But you know how I hate calling people out.
I like wine. And music.
Baseball is better with both. Seriously. Let’s create Baseball: The musical! We could Skype it?
9:23. Hi, Matt Albers. It is the top of 7th and not the 15th, apparently. Even though it feels like the 15th.
I am jealous of your Merlot. I am zinfandeling it tonight.
Rossssssssss… catches it. Whew. Was worried. What with it coming toward you, Ross. Thanks for remembering how to catch. THIS time.
Jup, have you ever seen “The Guild?” It is on Netflix. And it is about gaming. And I have never played video games. But I do play sports spectating, and sometimes I think it’s the same thing.
We could write a much better musical. There would be so much drama. I mean, obviously, it would star Jason Varitek. And, obviously, a side plot would be my fantastic love with Kevin Youkilis. It would be heartwarming. And we could include Lugo for comic effect!
Mike… Timlin… yes… do you think he needs a job? Because we may need a manager soon…
That is EXACTLY what I mean, Jup!
Hi, FDA! Jon Lester broke.
I like Salty. I do. I don’t care. I think he COULD save us. Maybe he needs inspiration. He’d get some if life was a musical.
Ohcrudmuffins. They caught you, Salty. And there is an out.
And Jason Repko is up. Should we just skip ahead to the out? Everyone cool with that? You know, time constraints and all…
Oh. Apparently not, because he’s still batting.
Oh… high ball… oh…
Never mind. Strikes out. For a second I thought…
Why is the booth talking about chihuahahs? I can’t even spell that, apparently. And I REFUSE to look it up.
Because it is IRRELEVANT.
Mike Aviles strikes out.
Everyone strikes out.
I mean, at least they’re bonding as a team?
MIRACLE inning. I feel it.
Come on. Turn your volume up and belt it out Mariah style. It’s our ONLY SHOT!
Jup… I think Tek wants us to do this. I think he… SAFE?
And then Kevin Youkilis will sing a song about vengeance. And rip his hair out in anger. And that’s why he’s bald…
It will be very dramatic. Like that suicide Javert song in Les Mis! Where the lights swirl! The lights will SWIRL.
What a dumb game.
I don’t even know if animated musicals can save us now…
It is the top of the 8th. Which is fine. Because all we need are seven runs, really. That’s all.
What a STUPID game.
Josh Hamilton allegedly got a home run. Um. Allegedly. And it’s allegedly 11-2.
Zero outs. Oh. Look. Another deep ball. Oh. Look. Another home run. Oh. Look.
I love that. I love that so much. And John Lackey could realize the error of his ways and purposefully pull his hamstring in a moment of great self-awareness and self-sacrifice.
It would start angry. And then end in swirly lights. Like THIS.
Cole Porter was right. It is so much more fun to write musicals than watch baseball. And, um, Jup… we’re kind of AMAZING at this.
Mark Melancon could be the subject of an ensemble comedy song. See, you know, as people try to pronounce his name…
12-2… The world I have known… is lost in shadow…
Oh look. A home run.
I can’t stop looking…
Can’t stop… Can’t…
Yeah. So… Um… Bobby V… we are SO broken up.
This time it’s because you let Jon Lester stay in forever.
My music taste is random tonight. Um.
Jed Lowrie is an understudy’s DREAM, Jup!
You and I could be an angry girl chorus! Like those girls in Little Shop of Horrors? But ANGRY. And with better hair.
I am paying much more attention to the musical in my mind than this game… 9:57.
Youkilis can’t catch. Yep. Bobby V’s fault.
Why do we let them do this to us, Jup?
Do you think we could get Bernadette Peters to play Dustin Pedroia? She could pull off ANYTHING.
I love her.
Oh look. Another score.
Anything but down…
Everything is crashing to the ground… well maybe I’m not your perfect kind… maybe I’m not what you had in mind… and maybe we’re just killing tiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiime.
I love music.
Jup. For homework. We need to come up with some fantastic musical scenarios. It has to be us. Because we are so talented. This might be why we’re here, Jup. To share this talent with others.
I love you, Youk. For throwing it, even though it’s a foul. Because you are TRYING. Because you are IN THE GAME.
Oh. Off the wall. Oh. 16-2. Oh. No matter. I am PERFECTLY CALM. Go ahead, Rangers. Just GO AHEAD. I don’t care. You and the umpires make a very happy couple, really. This is for you too, BOBBY V.
It’s 16-2, of course. OF COURSE.
Oh. The inning is over. Oh.
Yes. Oh… and Larry Lucchino could big in an ominous spotlight in the background….
Maybe we could end with controversy… you know? Like Bobby V laughing because he thinks he has won. It would be a nice set up for a sequel…
Oh no. They are giving up. Clearly. WHY ARE THEY GIVING UP? It’s just 15 runs, you guys! That’s all!
HOME RUN FOR A-Gonz!!!
See? Just fourteen more and…
YAY, home run for A-Gonz!!!!
Tottttally going to be fine.
Two outs? Fiiiine.
All we need is one.
Fiiiiiine. We. Are. Fiiiiine.
Oh. Look. And Bobby Valentine strikes out to end the inning. YOU HEARD ME.
Vincente. We need your serial killer eyes now.
And then we need heads to roll. SERIOUSLY. 14 home runs. ANYTHING LESS IS UNACCEPTABLE.
Vincente. He might wrestle crocodiles (he totally does that) and kill people with his eyes, but he LISTENS.
Another home run.
And a hit. Oh.
Okay. We can.
Um. 17 homeruns? We need that extra homerun.
Jup- a step ahead of you. Just makes you nauseous.
Betrayed enough to do…
Music, I would MUCCCHHHH rather listen to you than Don and Jerry right now.
I am so angry.
I am angry.
I am angry and nothing can appease me. NOTHING.
Oh, yay! Ryan Sweeney!
It’s Ryan Sweeney, you guys! He’s on a base! And there are zero outs! And… um… only 16 runs to score! That’s all you guys! It could be worse. It could be 17. They were trying really hard to make it 17. And by they, I of course, mean US.
Desperate times call for… MORE ANIMATION.
WAIT. Celine, you are NOT in the Lion King…
You have cursed us all. Two outs.
Thanks a lot, CELINE.
I have had more wine and decided we will be fine. Because-
Wait… is that Jason Repko? WHY WOULD YOU DO THAT, BOBBY V????
Vincente and Adrian are asking themselves the same thing.
Oh look. a STRIKE OUT. How very UNFRICKINGPREDICTABLE.
I am angry. Too angry for hate mail. Hate mail, I will deal with you tomorrow.
And Jup. You know the mission.
We have work to do.
And. Um. Things to drink.
To everyone except for Bobby V. And Jason Repko. And Celine Dion.
So. Um. I’m ticked off.
Instead of watching the game during my twenty minute break to walk the El, I’m talking to YOU, Bobby Valentine, in a way I have NEVER talked to one of our managers before. Not Grady Little. Not Tito. Not even John Lackey.
An abridged version of what I wrote earlier today- without the leprosy references and the part about hoping you dissipate into a thousand molecules and that the brain molecules float to Raleigh…
Dear Bobby Valentine,
Maybe, instead of experimenting with spray tanner, talking to the media, practicing your smirks in front of the mirror, oh and TALKING TO THE MEDIA,
You should be developing our players. And not making enemies. Especially ones vindictive enough to start a new segment (look for it tomorrow) with a fun fact about you every day.
And a sidenote- for those of you who think this is about Kevin Youkilis- it is NOT. It is about a team MANAGER talking smack about his own fricking team. Unprofessional and Unintelligent.
It doesn’t matter if Kevin Youkilis walks in every day with a Frick-You-Tude. It’s something you deal with privately, a PERSONNEL issue. And not in the media. NEVER appropriate. That’s one of the things that had us as fans so ticked in September, remember? One of those things that was going to STOP in 2012?
For the first time, I want Kevin Youkilis to leave the Red Sox. Because you can’t play in that kind of environment. It’s going to break my heart to see him go- but I don’t think he has a choice. What if your boss was on the radio saying this crap about you?
Bobby V, we’re done.
I’m going to root for your team. And root for you to leave Boston. We need someone who will UNIFY the clubhouse. Not crap all over it.
I don’t like watching people crap, personally.
I really wanted to like you.
So, I’m not the only one questioning this, Bobby V.
“I know he plays as hard as anybody I’ve ever seen in my life. I have his back and his teammates have his back,” Dustin Pedroia said. “I really don’t know what Bobby’s trying to do, but that’s not the way we go about our stuff around here. He’ll figure that out. The whole team is behind Youk.”
No. It’s not, is it, Dustin Pedroia?
Screaming at the Shortstop’s Jup thinks it could be trouble…
If you have a blog- and you write about this- e-mail me the link at firstname.lastname@example.org and I’ll add yours too.
So. Today I did something. It was a big something. And it’s something that I’ve been meaning to do for awhile. I just couldn’t keep living the double life. I have to be myself, you know?
So I came out.
As a Red Sox fan.
To the boy. The one I date from Boone. The one who visits me.
Remember the perfect-dream-guy? The one that didn’t call me months ago? And the one that decided to call me before I moved to Raleigh? The boy from Boone?
Yep. That one.
So, he knew I was a Red Sox fan.
But he didn’t know I was a Red Sox FAN.
To prepare him, I took him to a minor league soccer game yesterday. The Railhawks.
We all know I don’t give a frick about soccer. But I do love yelling. It was interesting to see his eyes do that “I’m-with-crazy” thing when I threw my thunderstick and yelled obscenities at the ref.
He said, “Oh. I am beginning to get it. This must be what you’re like.”
I said, “Yes, except I actually CARE about the Red Sox.”
I then had to explain to him what a Soxzombie is. I started out with a few benefits of dating a Soxzombie- of which there are several.
I mean, how often can you predict a girl’s mood with a single click of the mouse? I showed him the Red Sox website where he can easily see my mood in advance of seeing me (convenient) and I showed him the extensive baseball schedule (“See, Matt? I’ll never be clingy!”).
Then I showed him my wall calendar where I color code the games by broadcast schedule. Then I showed him my Sox paraphernalia. Of which I have a lot. Then I showed him my collection of Sox magazines. Then I showed him my Kevin Youkilis bulletin board. THEN I showed him who Kevin Youkilis is (thanks, GOOGLE).
Then I paused, smiled sweetly, and said, “Go Sox.”
And then the pause got longer.
And the smile got awkward.
And he said-
“I think I can be okay with that.”
But he said it strangely, right?
And then I said-
And he said “Um.”
He “UM-ed” me.
So there was this other pause, right?
And I told him the PawSox are coming into town in a few weeks, and that I wanted him to come.
“I don’t know.”
And there was a longer pause.
I said, “This is important… and kind of a big deal… and please.”
I swear to GOD he said…
“So, I mean, does this mean you’ll dress up as a guy?”
“Like, will you still like, dress up and stuff?”
“Like, when you go to the game, are you like one of the guys, or do you still look hot?”
“I ALWAYS LOOK HOT.”
That conversation really just happened.
And I wanted to share it.
And, in my defense, this guy is 99.999998 percent perfect. Oh. And he fixed my window. And brought me a koozie. And takes me on the river.
He doesn’t know about the blog, really.
I think we’ve come far enough for today.
If you’re in Raleigh- hit the Bistro on Hurricane starting at noon today- Triangle Red Sox Nation is blood driving it and watching the game- and I’ll be live iPhone blogging it…
So… see you in a few.
So. THIS really just happened.
Sometimes, when I’m on a really bad Red Sox trip (and our fandom, Soxies, seems a lot like a bad drug trip. Not that I would know. You know, sometimes I wish I would know…), I wake up in those cold sweaty things, and I think, that didn’t really happen. Nope. No. It. Did. Not.
And then, Gordon Edes of ESPN smacks me with my morning news alerts.
Because THIS isn’t a Soxtrip hallucination:
The Red Sox announced it was a right shoulder injury, and that Ellsbury will be evaluated further. But a baseball source said Friday night that Ellsbury had sustained a dislocation or subluxation (partial dislocation) of his right shoulder. No timetable was offered as to how long Ellsbury will be out.
I’d look for more Google news alerts… but I don’ t want to. What if there’s one that says Jacoby’s done? I don’t think I could handle that.
I heard on the radio that they made Jacoby watch and he had to turn his head. Well, UM, YEAH.
Ellsbury collided with Adrian Beltre exactly two years ago. Broke ribs. DL. ELLSBURY, STOP COLLIDING WITH PEOPLE.
Reid Brignac says Ells was yelling and screaming.
“It would not be a stretch to guess he’s going to miss a good bit of time,” Edes says.
I just… can’t… stop…
So, I’m transitioning from that “Oh, my god, they broke my Jacoby” reaction to the “oh, my god, they broke my offensive lineup” reaction.
They’re talking about pulling up this Lin guy. They’re talking about getting Ross, Sweeney and Lin to combine rings and conjure up a super scorer.
I imagine it would look a lot like this:
And then, rising from the glowy lights, an image would materialize. I imagine it would be like, if you smushed together Mike Lowell and Jason Varitek from eight years ago… and David Ortiz and added tattoos like Brett Lawrie’s… and then added evil looking Padilla eyes…
It would be exactly like that, except less animated.
And then, the Lowellbeast would arise and inflict fiery batted doom on all balls in the strike zone (and some that aren’t in the strike zone, because the Lowellbeast is a BADASS).
“I shall avenge thee, JACOBY,” it shall say. In a somewhat gruffy voice.
Kind of like this (you know, except with a shorter name):
And then he shall precede to score 18 runs. EIGHTTEEN.
Yeah. It’s going to be great.
We’re going to be fiiiiiiine.
Jacoby, if I were in Boston, we could do crossword puzzles. I’d even do the writing so you wouldn’t have to. And I’d play as much Go Fish as you wanted…
Oh, Jacoby… I hope you are okay.
Don’t worry about us. Just worry about your shoulder. And about not joining the Stankees.
Don’t worry about us at all. We’ll be fine.
We have Captain Planet.
Yay! We won! I’ll get to that.
But something with way, WAY more longterm impact than one win smacked us in the face today. Like a mac truck.
It started… with REID BRIGNAC.
Reid Brignac is officially the most hated man in Boston. Think about that for a minute.
The most hated man in Boston.
And you’ve got Joe Maddon to compete with today, buddy… AND Danny Ainge. AND Tom Brady.
The reason Reid Brignac is the most hated man in Boston?
I am glad you don’t know, if you have to ask that question.
I wish I didn’t know.
See, Reid Brignac broke Jacoby Ellsbury.
And my heart…
I don’t know how. I don’t know why. I missed most of the game because of… you know. My job and stuff…
And I’ve been angry about work all day.
But my anger, see… it hasn’t had any focus.
I can’t be angry at my job. It pays me money.
I can’t be angry at MLB. They pay my Red Sox.
But I CAN be angry at you, Reid Brignac.
While I was waiting for your remorseful apology Tweet…
I took the liberty of WIKIPEDIAing you, Reid Brignac. 26-year-old Reid Brignac, who made your major league debut on July 4, 2008. You spent most of your career about ten miles from where I am right now. In Durham. With the DURHAM BULLS.
Your career statistics (as of 5 p.m. Friday wiki-fied) put you at a .231 batting average with 10 homeruns.
It doesn’t list you as a certified maimer… but, I’m sure “kill count=one” will be added to your wiki soon enough, Reid Brignac.
For when you curse his name later, know that his name is pronounced Brin-YAC.
And I HAD TO FIND OUT ON ESPN.
I mean, yes, I wanted Ryan Sweeney to play today. But not this way. Not this way.
Jacoby gets an RBI. Jacoby breaks.
Such is the circle of sh#$.
I have said that Jacoby’s slow start doesn’t bother me as much as it should… because I kind of want him to stay in Boston and not be stolen for his badassishness…
But this is SO not what I meant.
Is this my fault?!
Ellsbury was running on a 3-and-2 pitch when Rays shortstop Reid Brignac, who moved toward second when Ellsbury broke for the bag, fielded a ground ball by Dustin Pedroia, stepped on the base and threw to first. Brignac was upended by Ellsbury’s slide and fell heavily on the Sox center fielder’s shoulder.
I can’t talk about this now.
We WON (but at WHAT COST, Soxies? At WHAT COST????)!
So there’s that.
I did get to see the Tek/Wake sob-a-rama. I am, of course, talking about everyone else. You all know how I am excellent at maintaining that cool demeanor… Not even a sniffle.
IT WAS ALLERGIES.
Seriously. This game was bawl-worthy. And they do this crap to us on purpose. First they bring out Pesky… oh, Pesky… lead him on with two girls holding him up…
Then they bring in JETS. So you have patriotism.
And THEN… Just when you think you’ll be able to hold it together and actually watch some fricking baseball… they have the AUDACITY to bring out Wake and Tek.
This day was extremely emotional for me.
I need some time to process.
I’m still at work, by the way…
My anthem playlist ran out and I’m humming “Mama Mia” by Abba. Over and over and over and over…
PS- Really. Do you think this is my fault? Did I love Jacoby too much? Reid Brignac must have picked up on that… Jealousy. Foul, foul jealous.
PPS- Seriously- It could be my fault! Like in “the Craft,” with Neve Campbell? Even though she really wasn’t the star? It was that chick who looks like the chick who is in “the Truman Show” but isn’t? It’s the girl from that show on CBS that I don’t watch? Oh! And the girl from that classic of all classics “Worst Witch?”
In the Craft, when they do spells for personal gain, it comes back times three.
What if, when I ranted, “Why can’t Ryan Sweeney play today?” to my mirror self this morning… what if the magic from “the Craft” heard me and broke Jacoby?
PPPS- Oh GOD. What if it’s because I left the bar after my lunch break to go back to work? This is because I went back to work, isn’t it?
PPPPS- Do you think it’s because I called Jacoby Ellsbury a benchwarming paperweight and questioned his existence because no one needs to weigh papers in a dugout? Because, if he’s broken, then he’ll really be a paperweight. Like… like… John Lackey… which is REALLY irrelevant because paper does NOT need that much weight…
PPPPPS- Maybe this is YOUR fault.
PPPPPPS- Do you think, that if I wish really hard, it could be yesterday when all we had to complain about was 1-5? Remember those happy days of complaining about 1-5? Is it too late to go back in time and lose today? That would be a fair trade, right?
PPPPPPPS- This is YOUR fault. Yours. And ESPNs. And the MORON. And all those haters who HAD to complaina bout 1-5. 1-5. ONE AND FIVE.
Well, look where we are NOW, jerkwads! Frickdoublefrick.
PPPPPPPPS- Do you think this is my fault?
Good morning, Soxies. And what a morning it is! Slough off those losses in the shower because today is the REAL opening day… as we return to Fenway for the 100th- (um, technically it’s the 101, but don’t get me STARTED)- and Josh Beckett remembers how to play baseball… and Kevin Youkilis returns to us in hit-tastic fashion… And 1,000 runs each for Pedroia and Jacoby (um, long game?)… and my new boyfriend Ryan Sweeney will continue to be a delight… oh! And David Ortiz will slug them out of the park and Jason Varitek will-
But NOTHING can keep us down today. NOTHING.
Except work. Because, as you are all reveling in Beckettesque glory… I will be here. At work…
But it’s okay, see, because I have a plan. I’m going to catch bits and pieces- and when I’m not watching, I’ll be listening. To Red Sox anthems.
There are the obvious ones. Like:
And, you know-
And, of COURSE I’ll be singing this in my cube (my coworkers are sooooo lucky):
But there are not so obvious ones too.
Songs that just get you in that happy, poptastic mood I like to call SOXY. Like-
That’s YOU, Josh Beckett.
So help me out- let’s create a playlist of badass awesome…
Shoot your victory/peppy anthems to the comments.
NO Avril Lavigne-esque pity songs, please. We’ll let Tampa take care of that later.
Because we don’t need pity.
We’re going the distance…
And, if you want to laugh ’till you burst, just imagine your favorite Cleveland fan in a Damon jersey. Ohahahaha. That is never going to get old…
Youk’s coming back today, you guys!!!!
I am at work waiting on phone calls. So you, (you lucky soxies, you!) get astute ramblings, per yours truly, on the IMPORTANT news of the day. NOT stuff like this. I will NOT comment on that. If you want my comments on THAT, click here.
Okay, kids. I am officially (you know, as his wife) filing a missing person’s report for Kevin Youkilis.
And there’s bullet pointed evidence to back up my he-was-abducted-and-replaced-with-a-robot theory. Ahem:
- He is skinny. Seriously. Look at him. HE HAS CHEEKBONES. My husband does NOT have cheekbones.
- He is well kept. SERIOUSLY. Look at his beard! It’s… dare I say PRETTY? WHO ARE YOU, NUMBER 20????
- Oh. And he can’t fricking hit. MY HUSBAND CAN FRICKING HIT.
You may be able to fool Bobby V with a paltry imitation of that sexy batter’s dance… but you can’t fool me.
This is EXACTLY like what happened in Terminator 1.
Okay. So. Um. A secret. I never actually saw Terminator 1. But I imagine it was a lot like that…
I’M SURE THERE IS A MADE-FOR-TV-MOVIE I COULD COMPARE THIS TO.
I haven’t gotten a ransom note- and that’s what worries me. What if, instead of ransoming him, the evil robot overlords (there are evil robot overlords, see) want to use him for their baseball team?! Their baseball team on like, Mars or somewhere? WHAT IF THEY DO NOT WANT TO GIVE HIM BACK????
Seriously. My switched-by-a-robot theory explains a lot of things. Like Julie Brady. Just saying…
So, as Kevin Youkilis’ wife… I am making a personal appeal. Just drop him off at my house. NO QUESTIONS ASKED.
See, I know you didn’t mean to start serious trouble, evil robot overlords. You just wanted to win your company baseball league or something. I totally get that. But, see, because of what you did… well… there’s talk.
Just give him back to me and I’ll reward you personally. I am a HELL of a crayon sketch artist. Just ask my Soxy readers. I will give you a Lauren crayon original. IN A FRAME.
Or, if it will hurt too much (don’t want you to fizzle into your own guilt after seeing my stricken, stricken face), just drop him off in the dugout tomorrow. No one has to know. Just make the switch.
And… um… if you’re not using the robot… I mean… I’d take it off your hands… um…
Is Josh Beckett a robot too? You can tell me…
Blogger buddy PAUL sent this to me earlier today… mighty suspicious…
By the way, I LOVE it when people send me things. email@example.com!
In other news, because the paranoia train isn’t full yet… there’s talk about Dustin Pedroia… OUR DUSTIN… LEAVING. Leaving because Larry Lucchino might not cough up the cash.
I swear-to-fisk I will JUMP IN FRONT OF YOUR CAR, Dustin. It will cause a traffic accident. And so much TMZ drama.
Larry Lucchino and I will have this huge fight. And not even non-robot Kevin Youkilis will be able to contain my massive amounts of wrath. There will be so much wrath that you can bottle it and sell it at Belks Department Stores NATIONWIDE. Except you will not be able to contain it in a bottle. And it will leak out into your shopping bags and onto your car seats and cause TRAFFIC ACCIDENTS. And that will back up traffic on the interstate and everyone will be late for work. Which will piss me off even more because I HATE being late for work. Don’t do that to America, Larry. DO. NOT. DO. IT.
In Salty news- there are some who think Lavarnway could do a better job. I’m telling you. It is going to be Salty’s year. Mark my words. Don’t feel like marking my words? Well, have you been paying attention to your boy Lavarnway? Boom. But really, I LOVE Lavarnway. LOVE him. I’m just saying this is Salty’s time…
Regarding Bobby V on the radio. Hah. Hah. Hah. But it still doesn’t make up for your blinky eyes where our hitting (or lack thereof) is concerned. It’s going to take more than a mustache and fake glasses to get me to take you seriously.
Speaking of seriously…
People keep asking how I feel about the Tito snub. Confused, honestly. I mean, it’s not like we’re asking you to stick your tongue down John Henry’s throat (WE WOULD NEVER ASK YOU TO DO THAT). We just kind of wanted you to pat Ortiz on the back or something. Maybe smile at the camera.
I mean, the celebration is about history. And you made history. But I get it… I do. It’s just, you meant a lot to us- enough to overlook chickengate, pill rumors and your nasty sunflower seed spitting habit. I guess I kind of hoped we meant a lot to you, Tito.
It’s eyeroll worthy, but not enough for me to get really stewed over. I’ve got 99 problems and your bitchiness “ain’t one.”
I mean, the man gave me 2004. I did kind of give him a lifetime carte blanche. You know. Except for the Lackey thing…
But really. I’m not going to take it personally. I just kind of thought you were more of a badass, Tito. Maybe you’ve been out of the hat too long.
And… because he clearly hasn’t burned ALL the bridges in the ALE… Johnny Damon is aiming his ego at…
The land of Drew Carey is now the land of the unemployed caveman… or will be soon if this statement by Johnny Damon is more accurate than his humility-
Well there you have it. Because there’s no reason not to take Johnny Damon’s word for it…
Seriously, Johnny. You are the gift that keeps on vomiting all over our feet.
Do you think he has collected an unemployment check?
Now THAT’s something you should look into, Media.
Well, Johnny… All you need are Toronto and Baltimore and you’ve got a virtual full house of eye rollers.
Wow. I just read THIS letter. I TOLD you Johnny Damon reads my blog.
Now, remember to visit TooSoxy’s Cleveland buddy Bheise and congratulate him on his SWEET new addition. Hahahahaha.
PS- Even some RED SOX players would rather watch hockey. Um…
We’re going to be fine. FINE. See? Josh Beckett thinks so too.
On our game. Tomorrow. On… um… Friday. The thirteenth. Um…
Apparently, some of us are ready to just…
And, unless you’re James Cameron and have a neat submariney thing, it’s really not that fun down there, guys.
The following is an ACTUAL e-mail exchange from earlier today. The name has been changed to protect the identity of a “fan” who can only be described as a complete moron.
So, Lauren. What are you going to blog about now that the Red Sox are fudged*?
(*he didn’t say fudge)
Um. Hi. Well, considering it hasn’t even been a week of baseball… I think we’ve… um… still got a shot.
If you were a real fan and had watched baseball as long as I have, you would know there’s no coming back from this. Obviously you don’t really pay attention.
That REALLY happened.
I have started about eight e-mails to you, MORON, but I… I just can’t…
Okay. Hold on. Let me clear my throat. Shake out my shoulders.
So. In my other job (my, you know, actual job), I do this thing where I let numbers tell stories. Numbers are fantastic. My math geekiness aside, numbers are the COMPLETE opposite of people. They don’t lie to you. They don’t e-mail you ridiculousness. And they don’t make ridiculous assumptions. And they would never EVER make you watch a Nicholas Cage movie.
So let’s look at the numbers.
SIX days of baseball.
SIX games of baseball.
Let’s see… 6/162.
Let’s do iPhone math, shall we, MORON?
Not even FOUR percent.
My advice? Get out more.
No, seriously. Put on a belt (and pants. Try pants!). Slap on some sunscreen (because, let’s be honest, it doesn’t sound like you’ve seen Mr. Sun in a hot decade). Trek out of your mom’s basement (she’ll still be there, trivial pursuit and all when you get back) and hit the sidewalk. Take a walk. That’s what a sidewalk is for. If you’re feeling randy, invest in a scooter!
Because, clearly, baseball spectating is NOT for you.
Let me put it into perspective for you- throwing in the towel NOW is like-
Going ahead and investing in cats now because you’re fifteen and no one asked you to the sock hop.
Making the pudding switch at age 30 because you know you’ll likely lose your teeth at 95.
Never getting out of bed because you know you’ll be sleeping in 15 hours anyway.
Turning off a movie because Nicholas Cage is in the opening credits. Okay. That one is legitimate.
But you’d have to be a MORON not get my point, right?
Here’s something else that’s moronic- Blaming our rotation.
Go back a few years. Pre-Pedro. Perfect rotations? Wasn’t in the pre-season expectations. It was hitting, hitting, hitting. Am I wrong?
You can have the best rotation on the planet (and I am NOT saying we do), but if you can’t hit, you can’t get a run. You can’t get a run, you can’t win.
You can have the WORST pitching on the planet and still outhit another team.
Logic. Math. Numbers. See why I want to snuggle up with them? Math is so sexy, you guys.
I find it interesting that everyone blamed Santos for OUR win. No one said, hey, look, the Boston bats are back.
I find it interesting that everyone blamed Daniel Bard for OUR loss. No one said, hey, look, the Boston bats are paperweights.
I find it interesting that a TEAM sport is an individual sport when you lose…
And that individual is ALWAYS a pitcher.
It’s six games. SIX games. I’m hardly panicking. But I will tell you that my cloud of concern- it’s not hovering over the pitcher’s mound.
I mean, we managed to win Lackey games last year. Remember?
I am flummoxed.
But still planning to watch our boys come Soxtober. You heard me.
It’s going to be okay. I know it looks bad. I know it smells like Nicholas Cage now. But I am here to tell you- those of you too young to remember 2003… that it DOES get better.
And what’s the alternative? Really?
It’s like that dream Romeo keeps having in Romeo and Juliet… Where Romeo knows “untimely death” is ahead- and yet-
“But he that hath the steerage of my course, direct my sail…”
He embraces it. It could be that Shakespeare degree I have (the one that just keeps making me bank, you know), but it’s exactly the same thing. You know the crap is about to rain from the cruel, cruel heavens… It’s going to smack into your soul like smushy hail… and yet you STILL leave your umbrella at home. Because, damn it if you couldn’t use the fertilizer…
You can complain. You can curse. You can shake your fist at the television. And you can throw things at that tissue effigy of Jacoby Ellbury you made under the table during your date last night… but you can’t quit.
You know it. They know it.
Such is the way of RedSoxism.
Boy does it blow.
Better bend over. It’s easier that way.
You know what helps me? This song. It was playing on my way home from work today. So, I rolled my windows down and blasted it through bad neighborhoods in Durham. In the Chevy Aveo. Because I am THAT cool.
Do it with me. Let’s do it together. Turn the volume up on your computer, stand in front of your mirror and let the tears flow…
Because… no matter how HORRIBLY you hit…
We’re going to … KEEP ON LOVING YOUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUU.
Am I singing by myself? Again?!
I DON’T WANT TO SLEEP… I JUST WANT TO KEEP ON LOVING YOUUUUUUUUUUUUUU.
Is it helping yet?
You are NOT alone!!!!!
And seriously. It’s been LESS than a week. It will be OKAY.
It’s Jason Varitek’s birthday today. I miss him so.
The REAL “It Gets Better Project” is really neat and worthy of your attention- it’s a valuable resource if you know anyone in trouble. Click HERE.