Spectacular Soxtacular
I get home from the first night to a roomful of people, rally caps, beer, peanuts, and extremely wary smiles. Sox are up by 4 -- to nothing. No one wants to acknowledge the fact that this could possibly be happening. I take a seat and join, leaving occasionally to change, wash my face, grab some food, some beer, etc. The game seems to drag on and on. I take up Ellie's habit of chanting "Fuck you, Jeter!" whenever the camera focuses on him. It's really fun -- I highly recommend it. At one point, we chanted, and he seemed to nod his head at us, as if he had heard, which made us exceedingly pleased.
They put Pedro on the mound and we all freak out. They take him off and we are happy. We refuse to actually refer to what appears to be happening on the screen until the game is actually over. Wow. Wow. Amazing. I have many more interesting thoughts about this that I would love to share when my head is not quite so foggy.
So the people who don't live at my house go home, and Ellie, G, and myself stride purposefully towards Wonderland, eager for more drinking, more celebration. The bar, thankfully, had the perfect level of occupation -- we were the main event for a moment, bursting in with our elation, and then everyone turned back to their respective drinks and conversations . The cutie cutie bartender (oh, what a nose on that man!) made shots of some red concoction for us on the house, and then we each have a drink. G allows as to how he still can't quite believe it -- that he keeps thinking that somehow they will find a way to rejigger the score so that the Yankees actually won. Then he buys a round for the entire bar, which was truly awesome, as I had previously seen that done only in movies.
Then we go home and play some more, and then we brush our teethies and go to sleep. Yaaaaaay!
It is now 2:20 pm. I have a five o'clock call. So far today I have: made coffee, read the New Yorker, organised our massive recycling pile, and made lunch. My head is not among the fleetest at the moment, and I sit on our lovely couch in my sweatpants writing on Ellie's laptop, wishing that I could magically fix the television so that I could watch Pepe Le Moko on DVD. This is so fun. I cannot even tell you. I write that unironically.
Ellie and I want to figure out a way to sell playing at home for a day with us. We could make so much money. People would pay to not go to work, and just come over to our house and make yummy things to eat (apple turnovers yesterday and cupcakes today, if we ever get out of the house to purchase food coloring for the frosting) and watch DVDs and wear sweatpants and have fun. It is so fun! And it's not even that expensive. But don't tell that to the people who will be queueing up to pay us to come and play!
This post is much like my brain: wandering, slightly incoherent, ebullient, but confused. Just there, I actually kept typing condused instead of confused, and I think that "condused," as a word, much more accurately conveys my mental acuity at the mo.
Tra-la! It's off to the yummy Indian import store in Langley Park!
You know you want to come!
They put Pedro on the mound and we all freak out. They take him off and we are happy. We refuse to actually refer to what appears to be happening on the screen until the game is actually over. Wow. Wow. Amazing. I have many more interesting thoughts about this that I would love to share when my head is not quite so foggy.
So the people who don't live at my house go home, and Ellie, G, and myself stride purposefully towards Wonderland, eager for more drinking, more celebration. The bar, thankfully, had the perfect level of occupation -- we were the main event for a moment, bursting in with our elation, and then everyone turned back to their respective drinks and conversations . The cutie cutie bartender (oh, what a nose on that man!) made shots of some red concoction for us on the house, and then we each have a drink. G allows as to how he still can't quite believe it -- that he keeps thinking that somehow they will find a way to rejigger the score so that the Yankees actually won. Then he buys a round for the entire bar, which was truly awesome, as I had previously seen that done only in movies.
Then we go home and play some more, and then we brush our teethies and go to sleep. Yaaaaaay!
It is now 2:20 pm. I have a five o'clock call. So far today I have: made coffee, read the New Yorker, organised our massive recycling pile, and made lunch. My head is not among the fleetest at the moment, and I sit on our lovely couch in my sweatpants writing on Ellie's laptop, wishing that I could magically fix the television so that I could watch Pepe Le Moko on DVD. This is so fun. I cannot even tell you. I write that unironically.
Ellie and I want to figure out a way to sell playing at home for a day with us. We could make so much money. People would pay to not go to work, and just come over to our house and make yummy things to eat (apple turnovers yesterday and cupcakes today, if we ever get out of the house to purchase food coloring for the frosting) and watch DVDs and wear sweatpants and have fun. It is so fun! And it's not even that expensive. But don't tell that to the people who will be queueing up to pay us to come and play!
This post is much like my brain: wandering, slightly incoherent, ebullient, but confused. Just there, I actually kept typing condused instead of confused, and I think that "condused," as a word, much more accurately conveys my mental acuity at the mo.
Tra-la! It's off to the yummy Indian import store in Langley Park!
You know you want to come!
posted by Hannah at 1:48 PM
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