Ah, yes, the weekend. My work ends at noon on Saturday, or rather, it’s supposed to. My weekend got a little delayed due to a couple of critical issues that popped up not thirty minutes before I was supposed to leave. I don’t feel right about leaving my relief in the middle of a crit even though I was officially off the clock, so I stayed an extra thirty minutes to make certain he understood exactly what was going on and what was expected to happen in the next hour. Unfortunately, that meant
I totally blew my diet away this weekend, and I knew I would. I had pizza, hot dogs, clam chowder in a sourdough bread bowl (I love PBP), and fried Menchi. Yeah, that’s right, sports fans, I ate fried Menchi. There’s a little place in Japan Center called “On the Bridge,” and they serve Menchi Katsu. These guys love anime, I’m telling you. You can sit in there and read manga (you can borrwo one of theirs, or bring one of your own). However, I did work out both days. I walked, I DDR’ed, I walked some more… PBP isn’t a bandbox, y’know. And speaking of the park, on Sunday night, I got seats in the sixth row from the first base side, on the west part of the section just to the east of the bag. I could smell dirt, and the two horny girls sitting to my right could apparently see underwear lines in the baserunners as well as J.T. Snow. I kind of wondered if they were also ogling the first base coach for both teams.
They drank; I didn’t. I draw the line in the sand pretty thick when it’s me behind the wheel. Not that I drink anyway… I had stomach problems through the eighth grade and it weakened my ability to process certain things; cheese and alcohol being the top two. This isn’t the case anymore, of course. I drink alcohol on occasion, although the very first time I tested it, I was scared out of my mind thinking I was about to throw it all up. I couldn’t even keep NyQuil down before. Anyway, when I figured it out, I drank wine. First, cabernet, and now merlot. I love the merlot. Back to the story… Sunday night after the game, these two crazy people dragged me over to Momo’s, so I could sit there and drink cherry coke while they tried to pick up ballplayers. ****** Let these six astericks attest to the fact that upon writing that last sentence, I laughed out loud. Not that they’re not attractive, but it’s about as likely that they were going to convince A.J. and Dustin to go to bed with them after downing Kamikazes, a Brain Hemmohrage, and I forgot what else. By the way… had Pudding been actually able to convince A.J., that pretty much meant my ass was going to be sleeping in the tub. No, wait.. screw that! They had another hotel they could go to 😛
Man, I can wait for the MLB to induct women players.
Sidenote: How can anyone… anyone not like For Love of the Game? This movie rules all.