Wednesday, September 29, 2010

Why The End of Summer Sucks!

While Summer officially ended on September 23rd this year, it has been flitting away from us for several weeks now. The end of summer sucks! It means trading in the shorts, tank tops and flip-flops for jeans, sweaters and boots. Since I am 9 months pregnant, this end of summer also shows that I have no fall clothes that fit, so that makes it all the more fun! Mimi needs to come soon as I will look ridiculous walking around in shorts and a winter jacket!

Summer also means the closing of all the pools, but that does not help when Indian Summer comes around. Last Tuesday, Tom and I had the day off, it was 87 degrees and we could have used a pool. We were stuck with the options of sitting inside in air conditioning or becoming sweaty messes at a Corn Maze. There is something wrong with this picture!

The end of summer means socks! I detest socks, I love to wear flip-flops and cute sandals. It is a 6-month waste of pedicures that are still necessary so your feet do not turn in cow's hooves.

Football takes over as summer ends. While it is fun to tailgate and watch the games, it is not fun to have to plan your day around the traffic patterns of 109,000 something fans who forget how to drive weekly in their search for affordable and close parking. It is not fun to show up at the tailgate dressed one way only to realize you are boiling or freezing and have made a bad wardrobe choice. You need to carry a duffel bag of clothes with you where ever you go so you can be prepared like the Boy Scouts!

Summer signals the end of baseball, something I follow with the passion of a fat kid who loves cake! It means the playoffs (yeah), but also the 5 long months before spring training where there are no good sporting events to watch on TV every day.

While Fall is fine, summer rocks! With summer ending, we are just a quick blink away from dreaded winter!

Monday, September 20, 2010

Stadium People

Every time I go to a baseball game or other event at a large venue like a stadium, the people watching is almost better than Grand Central Station at rush hour. The diversity of people is astounding, yet somewhat predictable.

First, you have your beauty queens. Women on dates or looking to impress and definitely not dressed for the occasion. Who thinks it is a good idea to wear 5 inch heals to a baseball game? If I see you in the upper deck, you are not going to get noticed by the players and get rich quick.

Next up, the partiers. These people (predominately men) really could care less who is playing as long as there is beer to be imbibed. I am all about having a good time, but when you decide to puke on the steps or pee on the railings in our section, again, I need to draw the line. How do you think this is acceptable social behavior?

Now you have the uninterested - why bother? I find it sacrilege for you to come to a game and read your book the entire time. Why deal with the crowds, the heat and the chance of getting beaned on the head, when you would rather be home with your Danielle Steele novel?

What about the idiots - by and far the predominant population at every game. The people who keep sitting right next to you infringing on your space even though the rest of the row has been empty for the 1st 3 innings. How about the people who stop in the middle of the concourse for no apparent reason? Step aside dumb ass! Or the people who get up and down 57 times in a game (refer to the partiers) - sit your ass down.

Crazy Outfit wearers are always interesting, as are ugly, fat men who take their shirts off on hot days and decide to dance for the cameras. Really? There is a reason you were not hired as a Chippendale!

Finally, there are those there for the love of the game. They were their gear, they get upset when their team is losing and they actually know the names of their players (and might even have nicknames for them). If the stadium was only filled with these people, life would be good!

Monday, September 13, 2010

More Pregnancy Ramblings

Well we talked about the basics before, no alcohol, stupid people making comments that they should really keep to themselves and unexpected alien movements. But as the time ticks down (less than a month to go), let me tell you a few more of my pet peeves.

First of all, what is with the feet swelling? I am still exercising, I am still walking around, why does water seem to accumulate - I have permanent cankles! Really, you would think I was drinking 10 gallons of liquid a day. On top of that, note to self, dropping a pineapple can from the highest shelf in the kitchen onto your foot does not help matters.

Next up, incessant, useless Dr. visits. Please tell me why it is OK to keep me waiting 20 - 40 minutes to tell me how many weeks pregnant I am and to tell me I have gained more weight. I am acutely aware of how pregnant I am and they have these inventions called scales that are miracles of modern technology. Also, I can get up off the exam table (see above, I still do sit-ups at exercise class), I do not need your assistance. Maybe there are other lazy a**es out there who enjoy hanging out at the doctor's office, but I am not one of them!

I want to be able to paint my toe nails without feeling like I hiked a set of stairs - in July when I was home, I conned my sister into painting my toe nails. She thought I could not reach toes and she agreed to it, but got mad when she realized I could reach my feet when I applied the clear coat myself. I was just being lazy and wanted to be pampered. Now I could use some help, where are you Kiki?

Wardrobe - really it needs to say above 65 until Mimi is born. I have no pants that fit, only skirts and capris and I don't need frost bite waiting for her to arrive. That would just be the icing (pun intended) on the cake!

The nursery is ready, Tom is infant CPR certified and we are off to Daddy Boot Camp and Mommy Survival classes this weekend. Now, we just need you to hurry up and come hang out with us!

Wednesday, September 8, 2010

Screwballs at Starbuck's

Wendy and I spend several Saturday mornings a month at Starbuck's, gossiping, drinking coffee and playing Scrabble. We go there to hang out with each other, not to make friends, not to influence others and surely not to get unnecessary commentary from wackadoos.

First of all, the music selection there is crazy! It ranges from Jazz, to moaning to indistinguishable sounds that are very distracting when trying to lay down Scrabble Bingos. I want to just give them my I-Pod and say, let's play something recognizable please.

The people watching is great though. One day, no less than 7 cars in a one hour period pulled out of the drive-thru, up to the garbage can and started cleaning out their cars like they were at the car wash. I am pretty sure these garbage bins were meant for Starbuck cups, straw wrappers, etc, not the collection of fast food bags that you have accumulated in the past month that litter your floor.

The nutters that feel the need to stop at our table and comment, "So you are playing Scrabble?" are always great! Unless you are Helen Keller, you can see we are playing Scrabble. It certainly does not look like rummy, so please acknowledge this to yourself and move along, Mr. or Miss Obvious!

Then we have the people who are really nosy - who's winning? what's the best word on the board? have you used the Q or Z yet? Are you kidding me? I am not playing Scrabble with you, I do not like strangers, it is still early in the morning and I am not a morning person, the list goes on and on. In other words, take a hike bozo!

We also have the people who decide they are the fashion police. Granted Wendy and I do not dress for Starbuck's and we often roll in there in work out clothes, lounge clothes, with or without a shower, but if our odor is not offending you, again, please mind your own business. We are not celebrities, you are not the paparazzi and you have way too much free time on your hands.

You have to love the time when the guy behind Wendy taps her on the shoulder and says "Your hair is sticking up." When she gave him the WTF look, he started gesturing with his hands to indicate her hair was sticking up, like she was deaf. She was just dumbstruck that some dumb ass would tell her what she already knew - she had rolled out of bed and went to Starbuck's and had not combed her hair. Again, why do you care bucko? Paul Mitchell you are not!

We still look forward to our jaunts to Starbuck's for if nothing more, a good laugh, and a yummy latte!