37 innings and all we got were mimosas. Oh, and another win.
Many of you know I’m not good at dating.
Others of you will be shocked at this revelation, but try, for the sake of this blog, to contain yourself.
It is shocking, I know.
With my sparkling personality and dazzling good looks, you’d think I was only retaining my amateur status so I could date in the Olympics.
But no. Apparently, I come with bad references. Really. The nerve.
Apparently… I ramble about sports? And apparently I don’t answer the phone? And I have that whole habit of not showing up… Oh, and laughing at inappropriate times. Oh, and then there’s the dry wit and ridicule.
I really should stop looking at those customer comment cards. They’re not good for one’s confidence.
Whatever. I’m getting better. Except for the not showing up thing. I don’t know what I’m going to do about the not showing up thing.
I’m busy, okay?
It’s not officially standing the guy up when you say “maybe,” okay? And perhaps they should put it in writing. On a post-it or something. Set a cell phone alarm. Show some initiative, people!
So, had a date yesterday. Which is always hilarious. I charge my cell phone specifically so I can text people about my hilarious dates. Oh. And so I can check the score.
But had a dilemma. Had a Red Sox game and… with the hell schedule, knew it was the only opportunity I would have this week to watch some Beckett ball.
So… date… or baseball?
Usually I would choose baseball hands down. But see above? I’m getting better. I’m trying to… you know… show up.
Plus, I’m kind of afraid of the friend that set me up with this guy. She made me promise to “not screw it up talking about baseball.” So… if we are actually WATCHING the game, I think, I’ll be much less likely to obsess about it.
Self, I think, this is an excellent idea.
Self apparently did not remember the Orioles Fiasco of 09 (there was yelling) and the Toronto Incident of 2010 (there was condiment throwing).
Self sometimes has a selective memory when it comes to watching her Youkilis.
Anyway, choose bar where no one knows me. This is ALWAYS a good plan, see. Especially if bartenders at SOME bars start removing the salt and pepper shakers from the tables when you walk through the door.
It was like ONE TIME, John-Henry. Okay. Maybe two times. But yellow shirt deserved it.
Go to bar early so I can get my tv-yelling out. There is a special on Mimosas. Mimosas, I think! That’s classy!
It’s like I have Mimosa-amnesia.
$3? Awesome, I think. The dejavuz of why Lauren does not drink Mimosas comes this morning. But that’s a different story. It involves a headache, a Charter Internet representative and yelling. Oh, and hair product.
I am on Mimosa #3 when guy shows up. And it’s like inning five. Of what, 33 billion? There were at least 37 innings last night.
Guy not only tolerates game, when we are kicked out of the bar at 12:30 (right?) he texts me score updates until the final, mind screeching run in inning 37.
Great date, I think.
But you know what? I can’t remember: 1. What he looked like. 2. What he talked about (I remember something about sky diving and Toronto?). 3. Whether I liked him. 4. Whether I said I would go out with him again.
That’s what you get, really, when you try to talk to me for several hours and I’m watching a baseball game and drinking Mimosas. Honestly, he should have known better. It takes two to agree on a location, after all.
I do have texts in my phone implying that he had a good time. Weird, right? Something about how I’m great and adorable when I watch baseball. Something about wanting to see me again? Even after I (I have no doubt) subjected him to Johnny Damon lecture (it was Tampa. Memory or no memory, we alllll know I JD ranted).
Clearly, there’s something horribly wrong with him and I shouldn’t show up next time.
As for Friday? You will not get me to talk about that game. Stupid, horrible, evil David Price!
PS- I HATE Johnny Damon close-ups. I may not remember my date, but I remember that smug grin and lip smacking thing Damon was doing last night.
I’m waiting for the whine ripple. But I think that only comes from Baltimore.