Jason Giambi
Last night, there was a pretty good crowd at the Bar to watch the Yankees night game, as usual. The boys in pinstripes did their jobs well, and came away with a 5-1 win over the Tampa Bay Devil Rays.
I don't think I've mentioned before, but I'm single right now. I'm a little ashamed to admit, I suspect one of the reasons it's difficult for men to impress me is that I have a crush on Jason Giambi, and who can compete with that? He's beautiful, he's an incredibly talented athlete, and he plays for the Yankees. (Okay, he also makes twenty million dollars a year, but officially, that part doesn't enter into the equation for me.) It seems like whenever he's at bat, I manage to find myself doing something that doesn't involve serving drinks for a minute or two until he's finished. I know he's married, but I sometimes find myself hoping he'll just stroll into the Bar one night, take my hand, and lead me out the door.
Hey. I can dream, right?
Well, last night, Jason had a few at-bats as the Designated Hitter, but didn't do anything very helpful. That's okay - like I said, the Yankees won, so it's not a big deal, but I enjoy their wins more when Jason has something to do with it. I got home after 3 in the morning, completely worn out from the busy shift, and fell asleep almost as soon as my head hit the pillow.
I dreamed about Jason Giambi. Oh, yes, I sure did. And lest there be any doubt in your minds, this was a good dream. Let's just say I woke up with a big smile on my face.
I'm not ready to share details. After all, I hardly know - um, all 827 of you.
Early this afternoon, my roommates Cassie and Jill and I pile onto the Comfy Couch in our PJs, spread out a pile of bagels and cream cheeses and Other Stuff™ on the coffee table (along with some of that fantastic Ethiopian coffee Cassie discovered), and tune in to the 1pm Yankees/Devil Rays game. Naturally, I have to tell the girls all about my late-night interlude with Mr. Giambi (sorry - as my roommates, they're contractually entitled to the details), and I spend the next half hour regretting it as they torture and tease me about it.
Then, in the third inning, Stinnett and Cabrera both walk, and Jeter gets hit by a pitch, loading the bases for - you guessed it, dreamboat himself, Jason Giambi. BOOM. Right over the centerfield wall, career grand slam number eleven.
We celebrate like crazy! Boys and girls, there are poppy seeds everywhere. After we settle down a little, Cassie pokes me in the ribs, and says, "That one was for you."
Jill adds, "Yeah, you ought to have sex dreams about him more often, it seems to agree with him."
Baby, that's just fine with me.
P.S. They lost 6-5 anyway. :-(
I don't think I've mentioned before, but I'm single right now. I'm a little ashamed to admit, I suspect one of the reasons it's difficult for men to impress me is that I have a crush on Jason Giambi, and who can compete with that? He's beautiful, he's an incredibly talented athlete, and he plays for the Yankees. (Okay, he also makes twenty million dollars a year, but officially, that part doesn't enter into the equation for me.) It seems like whenever he's at bat, I manage to find myself doing something that doesn't involve serving drinks for a minute or two until he's finished. I know he's married, but I sometimes find myself hoping he'll just stroll into the Bar one night, take my hand, and lead me out the door.
Hey. I can dream, right?
Well, last night, Jason had a few at-bats as the Designated Hitter, but didn't do anything very helpful. That's okay - like I said, the Yankees won, so it's not a big deal, but I enjoy their wins more when Jason has something to do with it. I got home after 3 in the morning, completely worn out from the busy shift, and fell asleep almost as soon as my head hit the pillow.
I dreamed about Jason Giambi. Oh, yes, I sure did. And lest there be any doubt in your minds, this was a good dream. Let's just say I woke up with a big smile on my face.
I'm not ready to share details. After all, I hardly know - um, all 827 of you.
Early this afternoon, my roommates Cassie and Jill and I pile onto the Comfy Couch in our PJs, spread out a pile of bagels and cream cheeses and Other Stuff™ on the coffee table (along with some of that fantastic Ethiopian coffee Cassie discovered), and tune in to the 1pm Yankees/Devil Rays game. Naturally, I have to tell the girls all about my late-night interlude with Mr. Giambi (sorry - as my roommates, they're contractually entitled to the details), and I spend the next half hour regretting it as they torture and tease me about it.
Then, in the third inning, Stinnett and Cabrera both walk, and Jeter gets hit by a pitch, loading the bases for - you guessed it, dreamboat himself, Jason Giambi. BOOM. Right over the centerfield wall, career grand slam number eleven.
We celebrate like crazy! Boys and girls, there are poppy seeds everywhere. After we settle down a little, Cassie pokes me in the ribs, and says, "That one was for you."
Jill adds, "Yeah, you ought to have sex dreams about him more often, it seems to agree with him."
Baby, that's just fine with me.
P.S. They lost 6-5 anyway. :-(