Why the Red Sox are the most stable men in my life.
So. I have had a lot of time to think today. A four hour drive with an unwanted detour in Bladen County, NC will do that for you. There’s a taxidermy place there. And a catfish farm, apparently. Anyone else get a cartoon image in their head of fish with pitchforks? No?
And. Internet at a beach house? Really. It exists.
So, with all the time to myself, I think. I think and think and think.
Awkward coffee yesterday turned into awkward Red Sox game watching. Which shifted the world around a little bit. Not only did John Lackey NOT cost us a game (what world is this? what world?!), but my company got less and less awkward. And turned into this really strange, really bizarre past blast. That was undoubtedly unhealthy. But the kind of thing that has to happen to help you figure stuff out. I am so angsty. I wish I was sixteen so this could result in angsty poetry. Then I’d find an angsty beachside poetry reading with new angsty hippy friends and we could drive some guy’s truck off to the crabshack or whatever beatnik-beach-equivalent exists and talk about life while chucking clam shells into the waves. Oh, and say “like” and “maaaaan” a lot. And drink corona. Oh. Look. I unteenagered it… Teenagers do NOT drink corona… Teenagers drink hard lemonade. Anywho.
Remember the guy I told you about that made me watch basketball? That guy. He’s sweet in that I-say-I-read-your-blog-and-your-writing-but-I-don’t-actually kind of way. Or trust me when I say I wouldn’t write this. I had the closest I get to a “feelings” talk yesterday and it yellowed my soul a smidge.
But the game…. I was on such good behavior, guys. There was this glass mug in my hand and I didn’t even throw it during that inning where Lackey decided he wanted to lose. Not even a little bit. And how definition-of-sweet is this? He found soft objects like hats and had them within reaching distance.
“Just don’t throw it at the cat,” he said.
That’s kismet, really. And he yelled louder than I did when we scored. It was… interesting.
But he’s moving. Leaving. Which is great. And I am genuinely thrilled for the guy.
But I am tired of being the one not leaving.
Seriously. My radio blew out in this place called Bladenboro. Which I think is where the world ends. It was terrible. Right in the middle of “Prairie Home Companion.” So don’t ask me if Guy Noir did anything productive today. Because I am not going to know. Because of the electro-magnetic pulse of Bladenboro. So I got into one of those depressy, reflective pout drives. Just thinking. Over the past year, I have lost two friends. Then there’s this guy. Who is not exactly in the friend category.
But the Red Sox? Still here.
How depressing is it when the following statement is blatantly, blatantly true: “The most stable men in my life are the Boston Red Sox.”
You don’t have to answer. Because the angst is dripping from the keys like teen Twilight fanfiction.
But I am of the belief that it’s all a set up. We really set ourselves up to be with people who leave. The common denominator in all your angsty issues is you. I could get psychological and say it stems from having reporter parents who leave when a disaster hits in the Middle East. They all have really good reasons. The Persian Gulf Crisis. High school boyfriend: Iraq. College boyfriend: Identity. Johnny Damon: Still don’t want to talk about it. Recent acquisition: A job. They are all extremely good, sweet, I-am-supportive-of-this reasons (except you, JD. You can suck it. Suck it HARD). I just kind of want to have a reason of my own, you know? Or, I don’t know, figure out my own issues while people are, oh, I don’t know, in the same state as me. Because the guy? Clearly crazy about me. And he doesn’t have an off-season. As usual, I am the crazy-I-would-rather-watch-a-Red-Sox-game-than-deal-with-our-shit one.
That’s why I like Kevin Youkilis, really. Because we don’t have issues. It’s easy. He swings. He hits. He homers. I smile. I take a shot. Repeat.
Best relationship I have ever had and it is through a television set.
I am going to go get a sunburn. To feel, the angsty teenager says. No. Not really. I just want to go outside. And that’s where the sun is. And it burns. Yes. Oh, a Jeb blog is coming at you tomorrow. So get excited about that. And root really hard for our Sox today. Because I’ve got a date with another stable force: The ocean.