Hello there, LDs! Are you glad it's Friday? I'm glad it's Friday. :)
Had to throw darts last night, and we got our asses handed to us, nine to nothing. No worries. Jim (bar owner) and I agree that we'd rather lose 9-0 than have to forfeit because we didn't have enough players (gotta love Lynsey because she helped us out of a tight squeeze).
*deep breath*
I'm playing softball tonight, LDs. Wish me luck. I'm going to put the hated stabilizer brace on that I haven't had to wear in five weeks. I did see the doctor yesterday (the orthopaedic surgeon), and he said whilst I shouldn't ever play indoor soccer again (riiiiiiight...like that's going to happen. the playing part. I've acutally never played indoor soccer.), as long as I wear the brace, golf and softball and running should be fine. I'm nervous. I don't know how to NOT 'go hard or go home.'
I'm looking forward to tomorrow. I'm going to practice my recipe for Sunday's PC show, and I'm boxing up a bunch of shit so we can get some room to use the new freestanding boxing bag. Can't wait to do some serious cardio with Mr Realist. He's going to teach me how to box. Who knows? I might find I like it and I'm quite good and I'll get into it professionally and in several years, you'll see me headlining in Vegas, baby! (I'll believe that when me shit turns purple and smells like rainbow sherbet.)
How's your weekend shaping up so far? Got any big plans? Or are you going to laze around and be bums all weekend?
Heepwah, and be safe out there.
Your nervous and practically starving
Mrs Dreamer
PS - did you see? I've blogged three times in four days of June! I'm aiming for fifteen posts this month!
PPS - give me a topic, LDs. Anything (politics are outlawed). Sexy midgets? Spelling bees? Or something you're thinking of and can't bear to write about it?
PPPS - you think I'm kidding? I dare you.
Showing posts with label softball. Show all posts
Showing posts with label softball. Show all posts
Friday, June 4, 2010
Tuesday, August 11, 2009
Funny Ha-Ha and OMG Moments
It's been an up-and-down couple of weeks here. My full-time job is rough most days, but I'm looking forward to beginning my Pampered Chef business! Anyway, you're probably wondering about the title, and I'll tell you, Dear Readers....
~
Last week...softball game. We'd beaten this team pretty handily the first go-round (some gawd-awful score that I don't even remember), so we were feeling good going out there.
End of the first inning - us, 13-0.
End of the second inning - us, 19-0.
Third inning we decided to change it up. Everyone changed positions...I pitched (something I hadn't done in two summers). First at bat - in the park home run. Hellfire and damnation - I had to go and ruin our shutout. They scored some runs. We're up.
We batted around the order and were on the second go. I hit one into left center and I'm headed for first. Two steps away from first, I trip over my own two feet! Fall down...over first...without touching it. I had to scramble back to be safe. Stand up and brush dirt off of me.
Next girl is up...she hits one long left center and I take off for second. For whatever reason, I cut second short and had to reach out with my right foot and tag the base, heading for third. Doing this...
completely throws me off balance. I stumble. I see the ground coming up at me, so I reached out and pushed away from me, putting me in a 'stop-drop-and-roll' move. Yeah, I'm rolling around in the dirt inbetween second and third like a beached whale. Everyone...and I do mean everyone - my team, their team, the crowd, was in hysterics. Third base had the ball. She was laughing so damned hard that she didn't even try to tag me out. I brush more dirt off of myself, waved to everyone. "Just trying to keep the game interesting! I'll be here all night!"
~
Last night, we played. First go-round with this team, we beat them 25-5, I think. At one point, I got (not had to) slide into home plate and was safe. It was one of those plays that the catcher wasn't sure if she had to tag me or the base, so I made myself as low to the ground as possible.
We were losing 15 to 16, and since we were the home team, we got last at bat. Had two girls on base, and I was up. I hit a wonderful shot deep to left center, making a triple. We won the game 17-16.
~
Now for the OMG moment. I loves my friend Jen's baby Skylar. She's byooooootiful! I get to hold her whenever I can (right now, it's every Tuesday during out knitting night), and she's just so damn cute! Jen fed her and burped her, and then handed her off to me. She was on her tum in my arms, and it didn't take long for her to crash out. Eventually, my arms got tired, so I moved her from tum to back, my left arm supporting her. She was in and out (mostly out)...and suddenly, there was a ripping-type noise, and my hand...and lap was suddenly warm and wet. She'd pooed right out the leg of her diaper. (Insert either horrified sympathy or maniacal laughter here)
Took a bit to clean up, and my capris are in the wash as I type. Wouldn't have been so bad had it not been directly down between my legs and in the chair. Bowlegged it to the bathroom, stripped my capris off and tried to scrape most of the poo off (breastfed babies have slimy poo, or at least this one did)...no such luck. Mr. Realist, Jessi, Jen, Angela all thought it was hilarious (Jen seemed a bit mortified). No worries, Jen - nothing you could have done to prevent it. No harm. Mr. Realist finally gave me the dress shirt he had on from work (he had an undershirt on, pervs), and put it on over my shirt. Even as a cheerleader, I had skirts longer than this shirt. If anyone drove past and saw my ass, I do apologize! I just couldn't sit in my car in soaking wet pants. Mr. Realist calls me 'Poopsmith' now. It's ok, Skylar, you didn't hurt anything. I still loves you.
Heepwah, and be safe out there.
Mrs. Dreamer
~
Last week...softball game. We'd beaten this team pretty handily the first go-round (some gawd-awful score that I don't even remember), so we were feeling good going out there.
End of the first inning - us, 13-0.
End of the second inning - us, 19-0.
Third inning we decided to change it up. Everyone changed positions...I pitched (something I hadn't done in two summers). First at bat - in the park home run. Hellfire and damnation - I had to go and ruin our shutout. They scored some runs. We're up.
We batted around the order and were on the second go. I hit one into left center and I'm headed for first. Two steps away from first, I trip over my own two feet! Fall down...over first...without touching it. I had to scramble back to be safe. Stand up and brush dirt off of me.
Next girl is up...she hits one long left center and I take off for second. For whatever reason, I cut second short and had to reach out with my right foot and tag the base, heading for third. Doing this...
completely throws me off balance. I stumble. I see the ground coming up at me, so I reached out and pushed away from me, putting me in a 'stop-drop-and-roll' move. Yeah, I'm rolling around in the dirt inbetween second and third like a beached whale. Everyone...and I do mean everyone - my team, their team, the crowd, was in hysterics. Third base had the ball. She was laughing so damned hard that she didn't even try to tag me out. I brush more dirt off of myself, waved to everyone. "Just trying to keep the game interesting! I'll be here all night!"
~
Last night, we played. First go-round with this team, we beat them 25-5, I think. At one point, I got (not had to) slide into home plate and was safe. It was one of those plays that the catcher wasn't sure if she had to tag me or the base, so I made myself as low to the ground as possible.
We were losing 15 to 16, and since we were the home team, we got last at bat. Had two girls on base, and I was up. I hit a wonderful shot deep to left center, making a triple. We won the game 17-16.
~
Now for the OMG moment. I loves my friend Jen's baby Skylar. She's byooooootiful! I get to hold her whenever I can (right now, it's every Tuesday during out knitting night), and she's just so damn cute! Jen fed her and burped her, and then handed her off to me. She was on her tum in my arms, and it didn't take long for her to crash out. Eventually, my arms got tired, so I moved her from tum to back, my left arm supporting her. She was in and out (mostly out)...and suddenly, there was a ripping-type noise, and my hand...and lap was suddenly warm and wet. She'd pooed right out the leg of her diaper. (Insert either horrified sympathy or maniacal laughter here)
Took a bit to clean up, and my capris are in the wash as I type. Wouldn't have been so bad had it not been directly down between my legs and in the chair. Bowlegged it to the bathroom, stripped my capris off and tried to scrape most of the poo off (breastfed babies have slimy poo, or at least this one did)...no such luck. Mr. Realist, Jessi, Jen, Angela all thought it was hilarious (Jen seemed a bit mortified). No worries, Jen - nothing you could have done to prevent it. No harm. Mr. Realist finally gave me the dress shirt he had on from work (he had an undershirt on, pervs), and put it on over my shirt. Even as a cheerleader, I had skirts longer than this shirt. If anyone drove past and saw my ass, I do apologize! I just couldn't sit in my car in soaking wet pants. Mr. Realist calls me 'Poopsmith' now. It's ok, Skylar, you didn't hurt anything. I still loves you.
Heepwah, and be safe out there.
Mrs. Dreamer
Monday, July 27, 2009
You've got to be kidding...
*** WARNING! This post contains language not suitable for anyone. If the F-bomb offends you, do not read...that is all ***
No, I'm not. It was a good weekend. I got to golf on Saturday and had sushi at the Wasabi Sushi Bar in E'ville - faboosh. Mr. Realist and our two friends had never had edamame before. I ordered an appetizer of it, and everyone loves it! Go Soybeans!
Early Saturday morning (2am), Mr. Realist's sister Erika had her baby. Aubree Marie, 7 lbs, 4 oz, 21" long, dark dark hair and blue eyes. Mr. Realist says she's beautiful (he went up and saw her yesterday). You might ask why I didn't go. There's a valid reason.
My sister and I had decided that we were taking Mom Dreamer to the Brickyard 400 this year for her 50th birthday (she turned on Friday the 24th). We got lost once in Indianapolis going to the Indianapolis Motor Speedway...and once on the way home. Damn directions. :) It was an awesome race. I'll be putting pics and video (hopefully) up on my FB page. The videos will probably be pretty loud, so watch the volume. We were on the short straight between curves three and four. No wrecks, only three yellow flags, and no wrecks. If you like NASCAR, live races are definitely better ... well ... live!
~~
Seeing as how I wasn't going to get back until late, I took today off well in advance. Slept in until about 11am (Mr. Realist was out until about noon), lounged around, watched Shoot 'Em Up and The Wedding Singer (two of hubby's favorite movies), showered, and got ready for my ball game. We were playing the best team in the league this evening, and I think we beat ourselves before the game even started. I played shortstop today - made three catches to get the girl out, missed a couple (they were moving loads faster than I was). Got two hits the two at bats I had...left field just knew what the hell she was doing, so I was out. We lost... 20-something to nothing. *sigh*
~~
Drove back home and stopped at McDonald's because I was jonesing for Chicken McNuggets. Pulled in (I wasn't the first up, so had to wait a bit), placed my order at 8.29pm. I pulled up, she took my money, and I pulled on to the next window. A tidbit about the first window - say 'thank you' or SOMETHING. Be pleasant - you have a job, right? A sucky one, yes, but you have a job. Anyway...second window hands me my Diet Dr. Pepper (yum) and asks me to pull up, that they've just dropped more nuggets (time frame from ordering to second window - about three minutes). I do. Pulled out my mobile and started playing solitare. I'd look up at the clock every now and then, and it really didn't register that I'd placed my order at 8.29, and it was now 8.45!
ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME?! I shut off my car, took my keys and the receipt in with me, and waited for someone to be free. Girl asks me if there was something wrong.
"Yes - should it really take almost 20 minutes for 10 nuggets?" I wasn't nice about it.
Her: "Hey X - did you take those nuggets out?"
X: "Huh? What nuggets?"
Her: "The 10-piece nuggets. She's been sitting out there waiting for them." X walks around to the front where my empty bag is sitting with the counter receipt in it.
X: "I need a 10-piece nugget!"
Me: "No, I just want my money back. I placed my order at 8.29, and it's almost 8.49. Shouldn't take 20 minutes to make these.
Now, at this point, you might say, "Mrs. Dreamer, it takes x time for the nuggets to cook." I get that. But when I walked in, I watched the guy making stuff behind the counter fill not one, but TWO 10-piece nugget boxes and slide them across to drive through. Not filling my bag, but someone else's who'd ordered long after me. I was getting righteously pissed off.
X: "What kind of sauce do you want for these?"
Me: "I don't want any sauce, I just want my money back."
Her: hollers at the manager: "You need to come up here, now please." Manager comes up. I have to explain to him...again...what happened. I'm doing fine - I didn't blow up at anyone, I didn't swear to anyone. He turns and tells the guy: "I need a 10-piece nugget, please - what sauce, ma'am?" I'm holding my tongue.
Me: "I don't want any nuggets, I don't want any sauce, I just want my money back so I can go get something to eat. This is ridiculous." He gives me my money back, and as I'm leaving, the words "Wendy's, here I come!" rather loudly as I walk out the door.
Are you fucking kidding me? Are you FUCKING kidding me? I don't want your fucking nuggets or your damned sauce. I want dinner, and you just lost out on my business.
I'm boycotting McDonald's for, at the very least, the next month - fuck you, MickeyD's. You won't be getting any more of my money any time soon.
Heepwah, and be safe out there,
A still very angry (yet satisfied, because I had a cheese & broccoli potato and a small Frosty from Wendy's - yummo)
Mrs. Dreamer
No, I'm not. It was a good weekend. I got to golf on Saturday and had sushi at the Wasabi Sushi Bar in E'ville - faboosh. Mr. Realist and our two friends had never had edamame before. I ordered an appetizer of it, and everyone loves it! Go Soybeans!
Early Saturday morning (2am), Mr. Realist's sister Erika had her baby. Aubree Marie, 7 lbs, 4 oz, 21" long, dark dark hair and blue eyes. Mr. Realist says she's beautiful (he went up and saw her yesterday). You might ask why I didn't go. There's a valid reason.
My sister and I had decided that we were taking Mom Dreamer to the Brickyard 400 this year for her 50th birthday (she turned on Friday the 24th). We got lost once in Indianapolis going to the Indianapolis Motor Speedway...and once on the way home. Damn directions. :) It was an awesome race. I'll be putting pics and video (hopefully) up on my FB page. The videos will probably be pretty loud, so watch the volume. We were on the short straight between curves three and four. No wrecks, only three yellow flags, and no wrecks. If you like NASCAR, live races are definitely better ... well ... live!
~~
Seeing as how I wasn't going to get back until late, I took today off well in advance. Slept in until about 11am (Mr. Realist was out until about noon), lounged around, watched Shoot 'Em Up and The Wedding Singer (two of hubby's favorite movies), showered, and got ready for my ball game. We were playing the best team in the league this evening, and I think we beat ourselves before the game even started. I played shortstop today - made three catches to get the girl out, missed a couple (they were moving loads faster than I was). Got two hits the two at bats I had...left field just knew what the hell she was doing, so I was out. We lost... 20-something to nothing. *sigh*
~~
Drove back home and stopped at McDonald's because I was jonesing for Chicken McNuggets. Pulled in (I wasn't the first up, so had to wait a bit), placed my order at 8.29pm. I pulled up, she took my money, and I pulled on to the next window. A tidbit about the first window - say 'thank you' or SOMETHING. Be pleasant - you have a job, right? A sucky one, yes, but you have a job. Anyway...second window hands me my Diet Dr. Pepper (yum) and asks me to pull up, that they've just dropped more nuggets (time frame from ordering to second window - about three minutes). I do. Pulled out my mobile and started playing solitare. I'd look up at the clock every now and then, and it really didn't register that I'd placed my order at 8.29, and it was now 8.45!
ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME?! I shut off my car, took my keys and the receipt in with me, and waited for someone to be free. Girl asks me if there was something wrong.
"Yes - should it really take almost 20 minutes for 10 nuggets?" I wasn't nice about it.
Her: "Hey X - did you take those nuggets out?"
X: "Huh? What nuggets?"
Her: "The 10-piece nuggets. She's been sitting out there waiting for them." X walks around to the front where my empty bag is sitting with the counter receipt in it.
X: "I need a 10-piece nugget!"
Me: "No, I just want my money back. I placed my order at 8.29, and it's almost 8.49. Shouldn't take 20 minutes to make these.
Now, at this point, you might say, "Mrs. Dreamer, it takes x time for the nuggets to cook." I get that. But when I walked in, I watched the guy making stuff behind the counter fill not one, but TWO 10-piece nugget boxes and slide them across to drive through. Not filling my bag, but someone else's who'd ordered long after me. I was getting righteously pissed off.
X: "What kind of sauce do you want for these?"
Me: "I don't want any sauce, I just want my money back."
Her: hollers at the manager: "You need to come up here, now please." Manager comes up. I have to explain to him...again...what happened. I'm doing fine - I didn't blow up at anyone, I didn't swear to anyone. He turns and tells the guy: "I need a 10-piece nugget, please - what sauce, ma'am?" I'm holding my tongue.
Me: "I don't want any nuggets, I don't want any sauce, I just want my money back so I can go get something to eat. This is ridiculous." He gives me my money back, and as I'm leaving, the words "Wendy's, here I come!" rather loudly as I walk out the door.
Are you fucking kidding me? Are you FUCKING kidding me? I don't want your fucking nuggets or your damned sauce. I want dinner, and you just lost out on my business.
I'm boycotting McDonald's for, at the very least, the next month - fuck you, MickeyD's. You won't be getting any more of my money any time soon.
Heepwah, and be safe out there,
A still very angry (yet satisfied, because I had a cheese & broccoli potato and a small Frosty from Wendy's - yummo)
Mrs. Dreamer
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