Bored & (sometimes) Witty

My husband is absolutely on fire right now. In addition to him being insanely good looking, even with a shaved head (it’s only more endearing that he did it to break up a “slump”), he is 3-3 with three home runs. Every time they have pitched to him, he has homered. I’m sure this is all because he is trying to win me over so fine David Wright, I will move to New York and marry you. I give in. You can stop showing off, you have won my heart.

In case you have forgotten how adorable he is, I will remind you.

Since the Mets and Yankees are playing right now, that brings up an excellent opportunity to discuss Interleague baseball. I’m not a fan. I don’t think the matchups are fair and I liked the tradition of the only time the American League faced the National League was in the World Series. How come the Atlanta Braves have to face the Boston Red Sox? Because of the “rivalry” there? I’m sure. If you think about it, the Braves are in the NL East with the Mets and Philadelphia, in addition to the Marlins and the Nats. So the Braves take on the Red Sox, who are in first place in their division, and the Phillies get Toronto? Here’s Philadelphia’s chance to pick up some ground.I know everyone else in the free world is a fan and attendance is up and blah blah blah but save the interleague play for the World Series. In the mean time, I will put my opinion of interleague play on the shelf labeled “not going to go away no matter how hard I wish”.

Lately I have been thinking about how I need to get back into my exercise routine. I’m really starting to drag by the end of the day and I’m not talking about an extra chin either. So I thought that I would start running again. Usually my MO is to work out at night, after work.

That, however was when I used to shower at night. Anyone who knows me is aware of the fact that I value my sleep in the wee hours of the morning and showering before I got into bed was an easy way to procure precious minutes in the morning. But now that I have cool red hair, I don’t like the way that it looks when I wash it at night, blow it dry, sleep on it and wake up. This is totally an inside peek into my head.

So the solution was easy. Don’t work out, go to bed earlier, and wake up and shower with fresh, bouncing hair. I had to give a little.

Except now I need to work out. So what is a girl to do. I can’t work out at night because of aforementioned hair issue but I can’t not shower after running then go to bed because that’s just gross. So since I was so super productive a couple weeks ago that Friday morning when I woke up, showered, went grocery shopping, paid the rent and got a tank of gas all before my 6:15am ride to the airport arrived getting up early and running would be a perfect solution.

So on Monday night, I went to bed at 9pm and set my alarm yesterday for 4:45am we all know I need at least 15 minutes to get used to the idea of getting up. Which reminds me, whoever has a 707.333 something cell number and who sent me a text at 9:30pm, I don’t have you in my contact list so saying “Hi what r u doing?” isn’t going to warrant me rallying out of my sleep to respond.

Well, 4:45 came around and I literally laughed out loud. And rolled over.

So I thought I would try it again this morning because I really wanted to run. I even made a kick ass playlist full of pump-me-up-early-in-the-morning music and again, set the alarm for 4:45. I thought it was an even loftier goal today because I got to bed at 11pm last night. Um, SVU was on, in addition to the SERIES Finale of Gilmore Girls and I don’t care that people think the banter is annoying, I like it. I also like Elliot Stabler. So there.

So the alarm goes off this morning and I actually get up. I brush my teeth, pop my eyeballs in, strap on my running shoes and pull my hair back and I’m feeling good. I grab my mp3 player and it’s only 5:15 so I’m doing ok. I may have hit the snooze once…or twice. And I go to get my mp3 player and it occurs to me that I don’t have headphones. I search my apartment high and low, let out a few swear words because my bed was warm and it’s still dark and I wind up not running. Again. I can’t run without music. That’s like having oreos without milk. Practically un-American.

Fast forward to right now when the next opportunity I will have to run in the morning will be Thursday morning and who wants to start a new exercise regimen on a Thursday?

This is the OCD in me coming out.

In other news, Jersey J and I secured our tickets for the Chicago Cubs game on July 30. I’m very excited. I’m also very excited that when I told BHenry to get ready to get her drink on she responded with Fo Shizzle. I heart her.

Yesterday was big. Huge, in fact.

There were some big PR goings on which was cool. That’s all I’m gonna say about that.

Then I took the afternoon off to go to San Fran. I had actually planned to see Tony Lucca play at the Borders in Union Square but he had to cancel so rather than give up my afternoon off, I went into the City and shopped anyway. Go me. And go me in these super cute new shorts I’m sporting.

Truth be told, my original purpose for my trip was because I had Giants-Mets tickets and we all know that the Mets third baseman #5 David Wright is my husband so I knew that tickets with the rest of the wives would be waiting for me at will-call.

At about 4, I thought it time to battle the parking nightmare that is a trip to San Francisco on a night when the Giants have a home game. I finally found a spot not super far away and snatched it because it was outside of the Hotel Utah, which is the little bar/club I use the term club loosely that I frequent.

While I’m waiting for my cousin Jimmy to get off work and join me, I say to myself, “self, you have never been to right field to watch BP and you can get right up on the field. Go check it out.” So I do. I get in there and there are tons of little kids waiting to play the National Anthem and these pre-pubescent girls are going crazy being so close to the major league players. The Mets are taking batting practice which means the guys in the pen are shagging. Billy Wagner is out there messing around…all sorts of good times.

One of the players comes over and gets his picture taken with a girl who goes totally American Idol and practically cries she is so excited and then the wife of the couple next to me asks for a photo. He obliges. Then he looks down at me and asked if I wanted one. I felt bad about cutting into his shagging time and trying to not be the psychotic baseball because I definitely did not make reference to picking up the tickets reserved for wives earlier I tell him that’s ok, I didn’t want to interrupt.

So he keeps chit chatting with the husband and wife and me and eventually gives the wife a ball and I promptly take advantage of my opportunity and say “you know, if I could have a ball, it would make my day.” And off he jogs to get me one.

Enter dumb Giants lady who says we have to leave to let the National Anthem singers onto the field. So Pedro (as my new BFF is named) shrugs and I tell him thanks anyway, maybe next time.

But apparently no one told the Mets BP pitcher that it was time to shut it down because the next thing I know, a ball is hit out to Pedro and he snags it and motions me over to the next fence to the opening and hands it to me.
 Mets Pitcher Pedro Feliciano aka the awesome guy who gave me a baseball

Not only does he hand me a BP ball, he says while giving it to me, “can I get your number?”

“Can I get your number?”

I’m so taken aback that the only thing that comes to mind is “I’m sitting even with the third base bag and I’m 14 rows back. Come find me.”

I’m an ass.

Of course I didn’t see him again. Until the 8th inning when he pitched and struck out Barry Bonds.

Clearly the baseball gods were confused when I send word that I wanted to catch the attention of Mets #5 and they sent Mets #25.
 My one true love, yep I said it.

After the game is over, I head back to my car outside of the Hotel Utah grinning like an idiot at the evenings’ events and who is playing inside the Hotel Utah but Tony Lucca so I naturally head inside and grab a beer and enjoy the show. I’m so content.

But I’m still an ass