Not too long ago, Dave came home with a much-needed haircut and I was ECSTATIC. It was beyond time for him to start looking human again.
It was a sunny, breezy evening in early October when I stepped off the 2 bus down in the glorious ghettos of Hyde Park. Camera in hand, I walked briskly across the street to avoid mugging and swiftly made my way over to Washington Park, where the game was already in progress.
It wasn't just any game. It was the CHAMPIONSHIP GAME.
Team Beer had gone undefeated for years until last season's disaster in which they lost.
They DID get tapped, and it wasn't pretty.
So, this year was especially important. It wasn't just about winning. It was about redemption. (And Old Style.)
The stands were completely packed. I had never seen a crowd that large at one of these games! There must have been 8 or 9 people there. Each one glued to the action. Or something.
Matt Damon even showed up!
Okay, fine, that's just Justin, but he looks like Matt Damon.
Anyway, when I showed up that fateful fall evening, Team Beer was a few runs ahead of their opponents -- but no one dared display any cautious optimism. After all, things could go wrong at any moment.
But they didn't.
Team Beer had some great hits...
...They ran their asses off...
...They made amazing catches... (GO DAVE)
...And they won! 26-3
After the high-fives and "fuck yeahs," it was time for the finest champagne imaginable. I think it was $9.
One of the professors on the team couldn't bring himself to be anywhere near the $9 champagne, so he bought a massive bottle of Veuve Clicquot Ponsardin for everyone to actually drink, rather than play with.
And drink they did!
To commemorate this momentous win, Team Beer all signed the ball in between swigs of champagne.
What a game. I don't know if you know this, but men are much, much happier creatures when their team is slaughtering the competition. Similarly, I am SO glad they won so I wasn't in the midst of 15 cranky, angry men.
After the game, we grabbed drinks at Jimmy's in Hyde Park, dinner at Francesca's and more drinks at Beviamos, since one of the players owns it. Redemption is sweet.
And now, I give you the tireless champions, watching their bright athletic futures take off (who needs academia?):
It was a day that will live in infamy.
If I got pregnant at this point in my life, here are the things that would run through my head:
1. Shit.
2. HOW did I lose the bet that my sister would be the first one to get knocked up?
3. When do babies' motor skills kick in so they can wrap their fingers around a bottle of wine and deliver it without dropping it?
4. I foresee money being a slight problem. Do babies really NEED things like cribs and formula and dental care? Because Mommy NEEDS TiVo, Cole Haan and Mana.
5. Oh em gee, what if I have a baby with red hair? Damn Dave and his recessive ginge genes.
6. I don't care how ridiculous this sounds, I WILL pluck my Italian baby's unibrow.
7. I vow to never bring my massive, obnoxious stroller on a crowded bus...
8. ...However, I might bring my obnoxious stroller into a crowded bar.
9. If you don't like your baby, can you trade it in for a pair of shoes or a nice restaurant gift card?
10. Goodbye, sleep. God, I'll miss you. More than you'll never know.
Dear birth control: I love you.
Because my sister's five visible tattoos aren't LOOK AT ME enough, she has just started contemplating a piercing in her face.
IT'S MY GRANDMA'S BIRTHDAY TODAY!!
In honor of Drunky McDrunkerson turning 1,000, I'm posting a fun little story about her and her "special friend."
I say "special friend" because I don't know if they use the terms "boyfriend/girlfriend," or even if ANYONE in their late 70s calls themselves that in the first place.
Either way, it's uncharted territory for all of us.
For my grandma, it means she has to grapple with the complicated mix of giddiness and guilt, having spent 56 years married to my grandpa before he passed several years ago.
For my mom, it means having to talk about condoms with her own mother.
For me, it means listening to my mom retell about how she had a condom talk with Drunky. Gew.
You see, Grandma's "special friend" is someone she's known for decades, someone who lives halfway across the country. Not too long ago, she made a trip out there to see both my uncle and her "special friend." That's when my mom gave me a call.
Me: Hi, Ma.
Mom: Hi, hon. How's it going?
Me: Fine, just applying to jobs and doing some freelance. What's going on over there?
Mom: Oh, noooothing. Besides having to talk with your grandmother about condoms.
Me: Okay, we're done here.
Anyway, the big, anticipated meet-up with the "special friend" ran into some snags and had to be postponed. He was supposed to fly into Memphis to see her for her birthday, but that got postponed too, for medical reasons. (That's two strikes, in my book.)
But who am I to judge? Drunky has a man-friend and it makes her happy, so it makes me happy.
Know what else makes me happy?
Posting fun pictures of her.
Happy birthday, you crazy old woman! Wish I were home to celebrate with you. I love you!!
The Scene: I've left my dress in the middle of the floor, in Dave's way. He kicks it.
THEN
"Don't kick my dress! That's a $250 Calvin Klein and it deserves respect!"
NOW
"Don't kick my dress! That's a $30 piece from H&M and it can unravel at any moment!"
The Conclusion: I'm going to transition away from freelancing and look for a full-time job so I can continue to indulge the recklessly irresponsible fashionista in me.
Come on, economy! Bring me something good.
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