time spent on the suicide hotline to highandinside last night: a. lot.
Two things that should have told me that the Yankees' game was up.
1. Day before yesterday, my little sister comes home to find that the sleeker, better-groomed and generally cuter gerbil of her pair died -- she comes down, looks in the cage, and finds it in the corner with its head all bloody. She'd noticed some odd behavior from this gerbil for the past couple weeks, and it was getting up there in age, but there wasn't anything that should have resulted in a bloody head. Running theory is that Peanut died and had its brain cracked open and munchie'd by its cagemate.
Peanut is the nickname that highandinside and I have for Captain Derek Jeter, who hit .200 in the ALCS.
2. I have an ex-boyfriend who is an Astros fan. I mean, this boy goes to town on them -- I suspect that he may have tickets to fly out to see a game of the WS just in case they make it. We live a thousand miles away from Houston, and he nevertheless an Astros-colored foam #1 finger in his closet. When people are chatting about proud days in their lives, he mentions the day he went to see a Rice baseball double-header and saw Berkman hit for the cycle over the course of the day. Therefore, ever since our relationship ended and ended badly, I've felt utterly justified in hating not only his motherfucking guts but, also and particularly since he started tautning me about the swoon of my beloved Reds, those of the Astros.
Yesterday, though, I get called on in class. I get examined by the prof, and I get into trouble because I haven't done all of the reading. This ex-boyfriend, who, admittedly, has been nothing but pleasant and generally a gentleman ever since the breakup, tries to step in and take some of the heat off of me. He isn't successful, but yeah, there's a shifting of karmic balance right there.
What does this tell us, infant prognosticators and reader of bird gerbil entrails?
The first event foretells the demise of the Yankees. The second foretells the shifting of my rooting interest to the Astros.
Like ansley, I'm now rooting for the maroon and orange and all the colors of the warm rainbow. Unlike ansley, though, I am not yet mature enough to be able muster any sympathy for the Red Sox fans -- maybe at a later date, hmm? Right now, I'll just make like highandinside and, in her words, visualize how nice it will be to watch "Roy Oswalt shoving his foot up David Ortiz's ass in Fenway Park."
GO ASTROS.
PS: Thanks, dylanb. Fuck Boston.
1. Day before yesterday, my little sister comes home to find that the sleeker, better-groomed and generally cuter gerbil of her pair died -- she comes down, looks in the cage, and finds it in the corner with its head all bloody. She'd noticed some odd behavior from this gerbil for the past couple weeks, and it was getting up there in age, but there wasn't anything that should have resulted in a bloody head. Running theory is that Peanut died and had its brain cracked open and munchie'd by its cagemate.
Peanut is the nickname that highandinside and I have for Captain Derek Jeter, who hit .200 in the ALCS.
2. I have an ex-boyfriend who is an Astros fan. I mean, this boy goes to town on them -- I suspect that he may have tickets to fly out to see a game of the WS just in case they make it. We live a thousand miles away from Houston, and he nevertheless an Astros-colored foam #1 finger in his closet. When people are chatting about proud days in their lives, he mentions the day he went to see a Rice baseball double-header and saw Berkman hit for the cycle over the course of the day. Therefore, ever since our relationship ended and ended badly, I've felt utterly justified in hating not only his motherfucking guts but, also and particularly since he started tautning me about the swoon of my beloved Reds, those of the Astros.
Yesterday, though, I get called on in class. I get examined by the prof, and I get into trouble because I haven't done all of the reading. This ex-boyfriend, who, admittedly, has been nothing but pleasant and generally a gentleman ever since the breakup, tries to step in and take some of the heat off of me. He isn't successful, but yeah, there's a shifting of karmic balance right there.
What does this tell us, infant prognosticators and reader of bird gerbil entrails?
The first event foretells the demise of the Yankees. The second foretells the shifting of my rooting interest to the Astros.
Like ansley, I'm now rooting for the maroon and orange and all the colors of the warm rainbow. Unlike ansley, though, I am not yet mature enough to be able muster any sympathy for the Red Sox fans -- maybe at a later date, hmm? Right now, I'll just make like highandinside and, in her words, visualize how nice it will be to watch "Roy Oswalt shoving his foot up David Ortiz's ass in Fenway Park."
GO ASTROS.
PS: Thanks, dylanb. Fuck Boston.