*I was at the boys. Most of you know about the boy. Some of you may not. I'm still playing it incredibly close to the vest because it makes me anxious for about a kabillion different reasons.
But then it got better! Dad came home with the dogs and Angela, who had the day off. After he got in the house because I locked him out by instinctively hitting the locks when I entered, they joined me in the sweltering backyard to tan and enjoy some food. Dad mentions, "I was going to text you today. I got tickets to the game tonight. Angela's cousin's club level seats. You interested?" As my idiot brother would say, "Does a bear shit in the woods?" FUCK YEAH! A baseball game where I don't have to wear a sweatshirt? I know those of you in any place but San Francisco will be shocked by this but this does NOT happen in SF. It was college before I understood the concept of shorts at night.
THEN! My dad starts making margaritas! Best. Monday. EVER! I'm sitting in a bikini in my own backyard talking to two people who crack me up, drinking in the middle of a day on a Monday with plans to go to a baseball game that night? All you people at work yesterday?Buahahahahahahahahahaahahahahahahahahahahahahahaha!
I head back to my house to rinse off at 5. Dad picks me up at 6. We head to Pete's Tavern for a free drink from Rachel, the friendly bartender. We are heading into the game when we see our brother on the back ramp at Momo's (where else?). We have a beer there. We chat with him and his friend for a bit. We get another beer but Dad wants go so I just hand mine to some random girl. She was thrilled. We go up to club level. We get beers. We eat food. We laugh hysterically. Hanging out with Dad and Angela never ceases to be super fun.
I do, however, idiotically, smash the hell out of my big toe in the bathroom. Okay, here's the deal: women sit. Duh. But we also flush using our feet. No one touches the handle of those toilets. I am wearing flip flops, which I almost never do when out in public. I've also had a few drinks. So when my super coordinated self goes to flush with my foot, I manage to catch my big toe on the corner of the mounted garbage can for feminine hygiene disposal. Just nail it. Giant blood blister and bruise almost immediately. I'm awesome.
We head back to the ramp after the game. I'm pretty toasty. I don't recall those last three runs being scored. Although they were the equivalent of a garbage time TD. I chat with Doug's friend who I find out is some sort of something at Bar None. I like Bar None. I get in trouble at Bar None because it's Doug's bar. But now I know this guy who thinks I'm awesome because as Doug's blondetourage fawned over him, I stood against the railing making fun of how ridiculous they are, he is. He was totally ignoring his friend. I was not. I *may* even have been flirting. A little.
Then Dad and Angela drop me off. As I'm getting out of the car, Angela says, "By drop off you mean she's gonna get more beer and meet us at the house, right?" I say, "Since I'm not going to Mountain View** tonight..." Dad says, "What's in Mountain View?" "Uhhhhhhhhh. Nothing?"
**The boy lives in MV. I figured at some point Angela mentioned the boy to dad because I mentioned it to her but apparently she did now. So much for playing it close to the vest, I guess.
And that's my oh so very close to perfect Monday. Followed by a completely and utterly useless Tuesday. When there are so many decisions to be made and things to be done, I somehow manage to do none of them. Here's to a much more productive and busy Wednesday. Which it really won't be because I'm going to yet another baseball game. Suhweet!
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