Monday, October 25, 2010


I am finally mostly over this insane stomach virus I've had for a week. I started to lose it Saturday, crying because I was tired of feeling awful and useless, cursing a country without universal health care, angry at my mother for not believing I was actually ill until she got ill herself, the joy sucked out of almost everything, even football watching (that's more because we suck and we lost, though). I'm still not a 100%, but definitely more like 85%, which I'll take as a vast improvement. On the upside, I'm sure I did lose about 10 lbs so, ya know, that's nice.

So some things I learned while I was ill:

1. No one plays fantasy football because it's fun. It is not fun. It is the opposite of fun. It is routinely frustrating and annoying. I guess when you play in leagues for money you're at least invested more but I seriously doubt anyone is having any fun. Things I routinely do in FF: leave more points on the bench than I have earned with certain players. This week that meant benching Beanie Wells, who so far had been lackluster all season. Suddenly he has 11 point game but oh, he's on the bench, in favor of Rashard Mendenhall who had been phenomenal. But guess what? That's when Hines Ward, who had been lackluster also, decides to bust out the points. Which is great, because he's also on my team and NOT benched. But since Mendenhall and Ward play different positions on the same team it was almost like Ward STOLE my points from Mendenhall. Which is lesson a) If two players in different positions are on the same team, bench one and take the other. Lesson b) this is stupid and I don't want to play anymore. Harumph. I'm losing this week by five points (5 points that were left on the bench!). Unless Dez Bryant has a great game and Jeremy Jason Witten has a crap game, I'm going down in flames. Again.

2. Indie Romances are my absolute weakness. Seriously. Not that being sick doesn't already influence the "awww I want someone to cuddle with" genes I possess, somewhere in the not so deep recesses of my mind, but combine that with a slickly written indie story? I'm a goner. I watched a movie called Penelope, which had one of the most perfect story lines in a fairy tale EVER. And had James McAvoy, which never hurts. Later, I watched Dakota Skye. It's not perfect, the actors are young and obviously inexperienced. But almost every speech by the protagonist? I was hooked. I've watched this confessional scene at least ten times. That's not even an exaggeration. I know, it's not real life. It's movies. (Repeating over and over and over again.)

I watched a couple disappointing French films in between (Paris and Happenstance) and then watched TiMER, an interesting study of what true love is and would you want to know when it's coming? After all this, I was decidedly all squee. And still want someone to cuddle with and make me feel better. So screw you, indie romances, for showing me an idealized view, with witty dialogue, of male-female relationships. (But thanks, Netflix Instant, for keeping me entertained while sick.)

3. When you are sick, everyone and everything is supremely annoying. No, seriously, it's true. I don't know why or how this is true, but it is. So if I was bitchy in the past week...well, put on your man pants and deal with it. I don't fucking care about your problems.

4. Hey! Look! The mail came! The state bar of California FINALLY says I possess the proper moral character to practice law. How sweet of them! (For which they charged me $435 to figure out.) 2/3s of the way to being a practicing lawyer! *deep breaths, deep breaths, deep breaths*

5. Dr Pepper may have actual healing properties! I was starting to feel a skosh better when I caved and had some Dr Pepper. After all the gatorade, cranberry juice, tea, water, water, water...THIS finally got me to the 85% you see before you today. Wheeee!

And thus concludes this edition of "What I've learned". More another time...

Thursday, October 21, 2010

Fall Sports

I still feel like crap. (Headed to Walgreens shortly for something to attempt to make me feel better. I also better have lost ten pounds by the end of this miserable illness.) But in the meantime? The sun is out, we have that glorious fall crispness in the air, and the next 72 hours can be devoted to obsessing about sports and for the first time in forever: I'm not alone! This can be done without looking insane! (In San Francisco. I never look insane in Louisiana. No, in fact, I look like a freaking Rhodes Scholar there [I jest. Kinda.])

The Giants are one glorious win away from heading to the World Series. Even if we implode tonight (fingers crossed this doesn't happen), we only need to win one of the next three. I don't have the stats on this (I am not a stats geek) (and geezus with the parens already), but I bet a team up 3-1 in a best of seven is more likely than not to take the series.

Additionally: LSU plays Auburn at Jordan Hare in the middle of the day. Every journalist with a blog seems to be picking the upset of LSU over the WarEagleTigersPlainsman. This means we'll probably get our asses handed to us. In a day game. At Auburn. Sigh. But I hope against hope that crazy old testament god let's us get through. I really hope against hope to have the most epic status update ever come Saturday afternoon.

Between LSU football and Giants baseball, I am sacrificing...something. My sanity? My good health, definitely. My going to the gym for sure. I will eat something fantastically awful and revel in the fact that I get to watch all this torture unfold. Don't let me down, GiantsTigers!

I would also like to thank those converts amongst us. Hop on this bandwagon! (Just behave yourself while on it.) To Michael and Chuck with whom I watch the LSU games and who email me about the schedule. And who will both be recipients of brand new LSU t-shirts to wear this weekend. To Cheryl, who apparently had so much fun watching a Giants loss (it being fleet week and us being at a bar probably helping matters), she texted me when she arrived back from Southern California to see if the Giants were still in it and if we could go watch at a bar. If I had the funds, I would seriously consider getting a ticket for tonight. But also considering I have exactly zero energy, it's just as well to let other crazy fans go enjoy it more. This also means I will not be watching at a bar.

As an aside: I am DEFINITELY going to a World Series game (if we make it. No jinx, no jinx, no jinx.) I've never been to one. Was away at college last time the Giants were in. And I don't think any of us went in 1989. I still, btw, am PISSED at my brother for rearranging his life to go to Giants games and the like (recently flew home EARLY from Vegas to watch the Giants clinch the division) but couldn't show up for two hours for my law school graduation. Yep. This is my brother. (He later paid for a keg as my present, though, so amends. Kind of. Know I won't be sitting through any more celebration of him crap for a lonnnggg time though. Sibling rivalry, it's what's for dinner.)

To my six year old football obsessed cousin, who without any encouragement from me, has decided that one of his favorite college football teams is LSU. I look forward to steering this kid in the right direction and in 12 years making sure he picks the Tigers on signing day (this half samoan kid is destined for duty as a lineman). I need to find an LSU game to watch with him so I can begin explaining the legend and lore of LSU football to him. And in a couple years when I'm an uber rich attorney (buahahahahaha!), I'll take him to a game. I will not let my Oregon Duck alum cousins corrupt him! No, I will not.

To Kathryn, who after one home game in Baton Rouge has begun crafting a plan for us to move there. With which I am in complete agreement.

I think I've decided that fall is my favorite time of year. It's even better when you're winning. Let's keep that going, mkay?

Wednesday, October 20, 2010


When the gods think you are having too much fun, not respecting them enough, they knock you down a peg or two. It's the way of things. (At least in my too much reading of Greek mythology.)

So when I found myself without an appetite (hey! I could lose some weight!) and without energy (well I did party pretty hard for four straight days), I didn't chalk it up to what I should have: illness. I thought the sniffles in my head were just allergies brought on by the sudden, prolonged appearance of sun. I power walked through it, but the exercise was miserable hell, even anticipating it as miserable hell. I took some Benadryl, to get rid of the awful foggy feeling I was dealing with and hoped for the best. My head cleared up. But then my chest got awful. Hacking, miserable cough. Yep. Sick.

I had already planned on a quiet weekend, I had the beach house to myself, LSU had a nothing game, the Giants were playing and our amazing weather was gone as quickly as it came. But I woke up Friday feeling...just awful. Achey. I craved the one thing that makes me feel better: ramen. Well, actually, I love Chinese food when I'm sick, but, despite living in San Francisco, I don't have a go to place anymore.

I went to my dad's house and waited impatiently for him to leave. I wanted to start my weekend! He left, I ate Ramen, I took a hot bath, I watched crappy movies and played on the internet, I felt generally awful. Those general achey-ness, the cold sweat and then being hot. Super fun!

The one thing that cracked me up hysterically is my dad's three dogs. Three large dogs. A massive headed pit bull (I swear to god his head resembles that of an alligator, just without the snout), a boxer, and a boxer mix. I couldn't even get on the couch at first, all three of them were curled up there. They lovvveee me. I spent Saturday much the same way, streaming the LSU game on the interwebs, listened to the giants game and generally enjoyed being alone. Generally. When sick, someone to cuddle on the couch with wouldn't be completely awful.

Anyway, I spent my weekend with a sense of ennui. I would lament how bored I was, how there was a complete lack of stimulation, but then in petulant teenage-like fashion, I would do nothing, absolutely nothing, to alleviate that boredom. I had suggestions. Just nothing sounded appealing. It's the "Well if you're so bored why don't you clean your room..." line your (my) mother gave me when I was younger.

And frankly, even now that it's Wednesday, I still feel that way: bored and sick. I forced myself to the gym Monday but that definitely didn't feel good. I feel like my lower back (kidneys? I suck at anatomy) were hurting so I've been drinking cranberry juice like nobodies business. I started to feel better, I thought, but then a headache resurfaced Tuesday night and general achey-ness is pervasive today. WTF, body? W.T.F!? Suggestions for remedies, anyone? I'm having stomach problems and sweats. THIS IS AWESOME!

This has also lead to increased and pronounced crankiness, a general impatience with whatever the fuck people are saying/doing. Don't take it personally. I just can't stand anyone right now. (I'm awesome.)

Anyway, that is a quick, nothing update. What's going on in your world?


Wednesday, October 13, 2010

Cruise Control

I silently made a vow to myself (how else does one do it?...I mean I didn't blog about it, I suppose, or get all Scarlet O'Hara on the field), that I would get out there a little bit more. Spend less time staring aimlessly into the computer, screwing around, doing nothing. Well...I was feeling a little bit like this scene (one of my all time favorite movies, by the by). Apparently when I made this vow I didn't realize how much alcohol it would involve. I suppose it doesn't have to involve alcohol, but, well, it has. Not that I'm complaining.

And ya know what? It's been flipping FUN! This sort of post grad school let's relive undergrad rebirth? I'm enjoying myself. Immensely. I don't know if it's Indian Summer, I don't know if it's putting most of the various things that have happened in the past behind me, becoming more fully in charge of who I am...I dunno. But it's working, you guys. (More after jump...)

Thursday, October 7, 2010

ZOMG! Women have sex and talk about it TOO!

About a week and a half ago a "scandal" broke out at Duke University. A female graduate had the audacity (and stupidity) to write about her conquests while at college. Well, write about is an understatement. A 42 page power point presentation of 13 Duke athletes she had sex with in college. She sent it to a few friends, who sent it to a few friends, and ya know, now the whole world knows about her screwing Duke athletes. Including Good Morning America.

And ya know what? Good. For. Her. Now, emailing it to friends not expecting it to get out amongst more people is perhaps a little naive. Maybe being SO detailed wasn't the brightest idea. But, as someone has been in trouble for her own writing, I think it's fantastic she had the balls to do this.

First off, if a guy did this, there would be a few eye rolls, a couple rib jabs amongst friends, and everyone would snicker. They would tell us, "That's just boys being boys," and shrug their shoulders. The besmirched reputations of every girl on that list would go ignored. It wouldn't even be IN the media. In fact, pretty sure Tucker Max's whole shtick is exactly this. And there are guys out there who aspire to BE the next Tucker Max.

So why vilify a girl for doing it? I wish she hadn't apologized. Maybe apologize for naming names, sure, but overall? Own it, sister. (I hate apologies generally. I hate the "I got caught doing something I wish I hadn't and now I'm going to rehab to amend my ways" thing.) We have a problem with thinking that women could be those in control of their sexual identities, and not just the victims. I'm sure the Sexualization of Women in America is a thesis somewhere in a Women's and Gender Studies major.

Guess what, America? We take control, too. I actually have a list similar to hers, in which I've named names. Its password protected and private but the 3 people that have access could easily ctrl c and publish it if they so desired (it is extremely outdated, for those interested). If not for a general squeamishness in discussing explicit sex (thanks, Catholic school repression!), I might have something similar to this girl.

And I wish I'd been this girl in college. (The decidedly ineloquent Drew at Deadspin defends her with a similar sentiment.) Screw as many Duke athletes as possible? Awesomesauce. I bet those guys have amazing abs. As long as it was a conscious decision and she wasn't a victim and she made a choice, which it seems she does. She seems to own ALL of it. A very healthy sexual identity. If she did it because she enjoyed it? I have no problem with it. I knew enough cleat chasers in college. I didn't respect the girls that only went after athletes (girl from Omaha who chose LSU because we had the "hottest baseball players at the CWS every year), but I certainly wouldn't have complained about bagging an athlete or two, some of them ran in my circles (in fact, just recently relayed the story of my own LSU baseball player, though I didn't sleep with him...though if you've heard me talk you know my basic theory is I regret the ones I didn't sleep with more than the ones I did. He counts).

The point is: America needs to get used to women being as much in control of their sexuality as men have always been entitled to be. That we can snicker and high five each other in the locker room just as much as any guy can. That it's not all relationships and babies and getting married for us either. Wasn't Carrie Bradshaw supposed to show that to the world? Right up to the part where she got all whiny, neurotic and relationship-y herself, I suppose.

Basically, Karen F. Owens, I say come out of hiding, write your book, get your 15 minutes of fame. Stride of pride, baby, stride of pride!

Wednesday, October 6, 2010

Crystal Ball, Anyone?

I was lamenting to Andy (of course I was) about the gripping fear I am dealing with in facing (cue scary music) THE FUTURE. And of course he comes back with one of his fabulous off the cuff statements that make me cringe and nod all at once.

"Reminder: I still have no idea what I'm doing with my life.
We're in the same boat, you're just a little further downriver and have had more fun."

Yep. That. It's the "I have no idea what I'm doing" part that freaks me out. The "omg the next 30 years in an office filing motions is my future?" realization of things. The "But, what if that's not what I want?" thoughts. And it's not what I want. Which I discussed with Lindsey at lunch yesterday. "Um, this may not be the career path I wanted..." she said, realizing it may be a little later to change directions on that. I'm in the same boat, sister. And yes, there, despite trials, tribulations, and sheer stupidity, been a lot of fun. I mean, I got five mardi gras under my belt, y'all. (Chuck shout out.) 

But about this future thing: The reasons I even went to law school are all a bit amorphous right now. I wanted to be SMART. I wanted people to know I was smart. I think. I wanted some immediate authority with people, a chance to get a modicum of respect without trying. I hated my old job? I didn't want to turn into my mother (which more and more doesn't seem like all that bad of an option.) Eh. Whatever.

Because funny enough, I feel REALLY in control right now. I dunno. The weather is fantastic and fall like. My football team is being talked about endlessly four days after the most bat shit crazy ending to a game I've ever witnessed. I've stopped worrying about other stuff. Not to get too ahead of myself (as that usually sets me up for a giant setback) but, ya know, things could be worse. Child soldier in Uganda and all. 

I've been working out like a crazy person and it feels good. I'm seriously considering the Louisiana bar. As my trainer pointed out, "How do you know you don't just love vacation down there?" I don't. But as Linds counter pointed, "You won't know for sure unless you try it. And if you hate it, you always  just move back." Yeah. That. And after years of trying to get everyone in my circle to love LSU the way I do, I finally converted the one person I should have always banked on being able to: the stepsis. Who in the middle of game day in Baton Rouge turns to me and says, "Can I go to grad school here?" Absofreakinglutely! Something about being there makes me a lot happier than being here. So I'll ponder this further, take some steps to figure out what it would take to get back there. (No, seriously, the stepsis and I are discussing this for like REAL. But tabling 'til I get bar results and she saves some cash.) 

I also started writing fiction again. I haven't done that since undergrad, when I was graded on it. It was surprisingly easy to get started and I actually LIKE it. I will post for your evisceration when I have a finished product. 

So: despite intense terror and uncertainty about the future, the present is pretty awesome and I'm enjoying it. Thanks all of you are who are contributing to that. And the sun. Which I am not off to enjoy...

Update: this is what I get for bragging about perfect days. For grinning as I walk along the Upper Great Highway, as a Navy ship sits just outside the bay waiting to enter for fleet week. I get tripped by the dog. My thirty pound little beast apparently doesn't like bicycles on the Great Highway. When we walked the lake, he was fine. But the Great Highway? He chomped at every single one of them. We're on our way back, around Rivera, and I have him on a super short leash, trying to introduce the concept of "heal" so he won't go after the bikes. I have my ipod on, but not too loud so I can still hear what's going on, when he lunges and however I was standing, between the dirt and the cement path leads me to just eat it. Glasses flying, ass on the ground. Bicyclist says, "ARE YOU OKAY!?" Yes, I'm fine. I'm embarrassed at my lack of balance, PISSED at the dog, but I'm fine. Except I'm not. I have dirt and gravel and a nice gash in my hand. And now I'm sort of just generally sore. And I'm still pissed at the dog. WTF, dog? It's a BICYCLE! 

But still. The sun was shining, the day was nice, and it's fleet week! Can't wait to hear the Blue Angels thundering over head. And, ya know, boys in uniforms. 

Sunday, October 3, 2010

Letdown Saturday

Whenever a school gets a big, decisive, unexpected win, the prognosticators always warn that they need to be on alert for a letdown against an inferior opponent the following weekend. All the adrenaline and euphoria of that big win will result in lethargy and going through the motions the following weekend and they very well might lose. I fully understand this now.

And before anyone gets their panties in a bunch: I had a fabulous time hanging out with Michael and Chuck who both actually enjoyed the LSU game, at least the ridiculous end, (Chuck has had some epic LSU game watching as his last invested watching was LSU v. Ole Miss last year which ended like this). I also think were amused that a) I do scream loudly, very, at an exciting game and b) that I couldn't sit down for the final two minutes of play. 4th and 14 and you HAVE to go for it? Holy mother of god. All I had were expletives. It sounded something like this, "Mother fucking fuck the fuck!" And the loss. And then the win. WTF? It was...bananas. Typical Les Miles clock management clusterfuck. WHEEEEE!!

We bantered, we eye rolled. Neither of them can believe that I would actually watch college football from the moment I wake up on Saturday 'til the time I go to bed. Um, what else am I supposed to do on a Saturday in the fall? I watched, absorbed, read about football right up until I went to bed when I tried to understand what the hell Les was saying at his press conference. We had ridiculous exchanges where we created the "gay innuendo in football" drinking game. "That young sophomore likes to go both ways..." *snicker*. Player with last name Poole led to this exchange:
Michael: Is his last name Poole?
Me: Yes. Trouble, with a capital T and that rhymes with P and that stands for pool!
Chuck: you and your random rhymes.
Me: It's a song! We got trouble! Right here, right here in River City!

But still. Something Maybe the lack of alcohol? I was sticking with Dr Pepper. I know last weekend can never be recreated, that there were a convergence of happy accidents that led to things happening the way they did. That even if I go back to Baton Rouge right this second, it won't be last weekend. Which I understand and accept and am fine with. I love the happy accidents. (Halloween last year, birthday in Nice, Valentine's Day 1999.) We had, as I told people on Thursday, STUPID amounts of fun in Baton Rouge, and I love LSU football with a kind of ridiculous passion I can't even explain.

However, cognitively knowing all that, not being there, even for a day game, sucks. (I can't find the exact stat on how much more LSU sucks during the day than at night but I found this, which gives just under Les Miles: LSU has a 5-4 record in day games and 26-2 in night games at Tiger Stadium under coach Les Miles See! I told you we play better at night! [This could also be related to that day games are usually conference games against superior opponents, picked up by CBS and aired during the day, but don't point that out to anyone in Baton Rouge])

So I was, as I even stated yesterday, feeling melancholy. And there are lingering boy issues. About which I have to say !@#$@%. I tried to articulate this to both Michael and Irene yesterday and failed so here goes: Here's what I want: If guy in Louisiana had said, "You're awesome and I like you and I'd like to keep in touch with you when you go back to San Francisco AND I want to make out with you now" I woulda been sold. I want someone who can put up with all this (motions to self), be chill and watch football and maybe go for an occasional meal but has their own life and can deal with me having my own life. That doesn't expect me to be clingy and think I'm crazy and looking for marriage and all that crap. And ya know, physical compatibility. Basically I want my two best guy friends in someone I am sleeping with. IS THAT SO HARD?! Yes, I need to put myself out there more. This has meant fiddling around on okcupid which is so ridiculously underwhelming I can't even handle it. Time to go back to the gym and focus and join Match. Or, ya know, start going out more. (Yes. That one. I should do that one.)

The basic conclusion, after said discussions with Irene and Michael was: leave it alone. I'm not making any more moves. I'm not. I'm way too fucking awesome for that. (Yeah, that's a bit more hubris than I actually possess but I do have a text message to that effect so I'm going with it.)

Anyway, after burning my football watching chit at Michael's, I came home and couldn't even muster the energy to drink more (I finally acquiesced and had a few beers at Michael's, after debating a drive to Santa Rosa to meet my dad and general ennui). I watched College Football Final, part of SNL, and went to bed. So lame. I didn't even want to go get in trouble on my own. (I'm looking at you, Philly Club.)

So what's the takeaway? Well. Next weekend LSU plays Florida, in the late afternoon West Coast time. I think I'm going to save up all my drinking 'til then and then just go balls to the wall. We're (I'm) debating right now inviting people over to Michael's and watching it there (with his permission, natch) or going to a bar. Could use the company of others, chance to mingle and flirt, and it might be good for ALL of us to go out. Then again, I love having our own place to watch stuff, Michael has a fabulous TV...we'll figure it out shortly. But I'm gonna start making lists and crossing things off and stop feeling bleh. Even with persistent fog. There are things to be done and I need to do them... No more moping.

Saturday, October 2, 2010

Football Food: roasted potatoes

It's football day. But pardon me because I'm feeling a bit melancholy about it. It is not LAST football day which was just such epic levels of awesome that I know it will never be attained again. Sigh. Also, we have to play during the day at home. Which everyone in Baton Rouge loathes. And listen to Rocky Top 800,000,000 times. (Not an exaggeration. [Of course it is. But not much of one])

So today's football food is my version of a french fry. But healthier. Probably.

Russet potatoes, as many as you like
Olive oil, approximately 1/4 c but maybe 1/3
Tony's, lots

To make: Preheat oven to 400. Rinse potatoes, wipe dry, cut into good size cubes, leaving the skin on. Throw on baking sheet. Douse liberally with olive oil. Shake as much Tony's as you like. Toss to coat all. Put in oven. After 20 minutes, toss the potatoes again, flipping them over as much as possible. Use a good spatula, and you'll probably have to scrape them up a bit, they do stick to the baking sheet. Do not worry, they're fine. Check again in 20 minutes to see how they are doing. Leave in for a few more if you like. Seriously, this isn't an exact science. Just, do they look like roasted pieces of goodness? Okay then, take them out and consume with your favorite potato condiment.

I also love these left over. I take a frying pan, add about a tablespoon of olive oil and basically re-fry them and eat them with my eggs for breakfast.

There ya go. Roasted potatoes. I'm off to Michael's to try and shake off this funk. I hate fog.

Friday, October 1, 2010

Don't Condescend Me, Man

Possibly one of the greatest movie scenes ever. It's how I felt on Thursday at the Giants game.

The problem with late season games when in a pennant race, as astutely observed by my stepdad, is that every bandwagon hopping, fair-weather fan suddenly shows up at the game and they do not have the sense of humor or wherewithal to deal with the usual occurrences of the game that those of us who have been going all season do. I, unfortunately, ran into one such "fan" on Thursday and it completely threw off my entire day.

I attended the game with my dad, Angela, and four of her friends, two couples. We had seats in club level that we were rarely in because they were directly in the sun and the sun is hot. Club level, it should be noted, are the nice, expensive seats. I wasn't in the rowdy bleachers or the upper view reserve seats. About the 7th inning I made my way down to our row of seats, beer and hot dog in hand. Admittedly, I'd had a few beers but was nowhere near drunk. I took the third seat in the row, next to two business gentleman. I ate my dog as Angela's friends came and went. I'd been in this particular one of our seats for no more than ten minutes. A couple seats down from me was Angela's friend Ed. As one does at the game, I crossed my legs and put my foot on the back of the chair adjacent to my seat. It wasn't on top of the chair, I wasn't kicking the chair like the four year old in the seat behind you on the airplane. I'm a grown ass adult and I had the audacity to, as I've done MANY times before, place my foot there. If anything it may have added a little pressure to the woman who was sitting there, but it certainly wasn't anything that any regular attendee of the game wouldn't have been used to.

As I mentioned in yesterday's post: I don't like being scolded. It throws me completely off. I don't know how to react to it. So when the man sitting in front of me turned around and suddenly swatted my foot down and tersely said, "THANKS" I was absolutely flabbergasted. Wait, what just happened?! I was caught completely off guard. Under normal circumstances, with normal fans, if the man had turned around and said, "Hey, can you move your foot?" it wouldn't have been a problem. I would have apologized for the inconvenience and moved my foot. My bad. But I've just been swatted at AND yelled at for doing absolutely nothing wrong (it took me awhile after the incident to get to the "No, really, you did nothing wrong at all" place). I KNOW I did nothing wrong because Ed, who witnessed the event, was completely offended as well, and the two guys sitting behind me, who also witnessed it, told me, "You should pour your beer on him!"

I am not a confrontational person. I am a smartass. I have a quick wit. I do NOT like aggressiveness or confrontation. I avoid it, as do most people. I don't want to be a troublemaker. I don't want things to escalate.

Ed asks me if he can say something. I tell him exactly as above, "Really. It's fine. I don't like confrontation." Ed asks me about four more times, "No, really, I want to say something." I demure and let Ed ask them if those are in fact their seats, if they have a right to be there, and although I don't hear what the man says to Ed, I am later informed that angry man questioned my mother's raising of me. Ohrly? My mom would cut a bitch for that, jackass.

I comment to the guys behind me, who are hysterically amused by all of this, that "I want my daddy." They think I am joking. I am not. I text my dad, "Can you come down here?" A) my father is a large, imposing man. B) My father is a police officer, which angry man will neither know nor be informed of. C) Because of A&B he is good in these situations. I'm trying not to overreact here but in a LIFETIME of attending Giants games, I have NEVER ever never been treated so rudely or disrespectfully. ALL the man had to, as outlined above, was say, "Excuse me, can you move your foot?" And like I said, it's not like I was a four year old throwing a tantrum, repeatedly kicking the back of his seat.

Dad makes his way down to our seats. I calmly tell him, "We have a little situation here," and outline what has transpired. Angry guy is purposefully not looking around or making eye contact. Dad says, "Excuse me? You have a problem with my daughter?" And angry guy makes what will easily be his biggest mistake of the day, "UH YEAH WE GOT A PROBLEM HERE! Your DAUGHTER was kicking the back of the seat! I asked her to move her foot!" "She says you hit her foot." "I didn't touch her!" Um, yeah, you did, there are witnesses, asshole. Dad says, in his negotiator voice, "Well let me tell you what the deal is..." Dad is going to go into his outline of the code section on battery (harmful or offensive contact with the person of another) when guy says, "There is no DEAL here, PAL!" Oh, dude, HUGE mistake. Massive. Giant, if I may say so. Dad says, and I didn't catch the last word but kudos to my dad, "I'm not your pal, bitch." They exchange a couple more phrases when my dad abruptly leaves. I don't know what he's going to do but I'm staying in the seat and I'm fairly certain this isn't the end of it.

The guys behind me are cracking up now for the free entertainment. "That's your dad? Holy geezus, no wonder you called him." I said, "Yeah, wait 'til you see my brother." My brother was also at the game, hanging out inside the club level, mere feet from me. He may be a neanderthal but when all else fails I have a 6'3" completely tattooed brother and I know when worse comes to worse, he's got my back. Guys also observe, "Dude is having NO fun now. Look at him. Doesn't have his arm around his lady. Just not even enjoying themselves at all." "What are we at the movie theater? Don't cross this invisible line!" Thank god for them, helping me relax. I was literally shaking.

At this point, right after dad leaves, wife, whose chair I had dared to touch, turns around and says, "Can that be the end of it? Can we just agree to enjoy the game now?" I tell her honestly, "I'm content enjoying the game now, but I've gotten my father involved and it's up to him." Angry guy has not turned around or apologized at all for touching me. So frankly lady, you're husband's a dick, I'm glad to have men in my life to handle these situations, and I may not be confrontational but there are those in my life that are. So suck it. (I don't say any of this, but I think it.)

Right then, and I swear to god I didn't script this, Angela's friend Steve returns to the seat, completely unaware of the events that transpired. Steve is also a big dude and kind of a goofball. We're all sort of nervously laughing when Steve says, "Uh oh. What happened?" He looks at me and says, "I'm sitting at least two seats away from you! You're trouble!" I about double over in laughter. I am sure angry guy can hear all the comments that are being made but isn't flinching. I also know that as a matter of pride, having fought for his seat at the Giants game, he ain't going nowhere. Nor am I.

Until I realize I have a missed call from my father. I return to the inside of the club level to find him and see Angela there with Doug. I don't know where Dad is. I start to relate the story to them, obviously excited, when Doug says, "Dude. Calm down. Stop yelling." Sorry! This is traumatizing!

As I'm standing talking to Doug, two cops walk through the club level. I happen to know one of them since pretty much birth, he used to be my mom's partner. We exchange pleasantries but I don't drag them into my drama. They return a couple minutes later with my dad. Dad tells them what happened and the one who used to be my mom's partner asks them what he wants to happen. Dad says, "I want him cited." A citation is like an arrest. You get a court date. You have to deal with it. Dad doesn't just want him thrown out of the game because it's the bottom of the 8th, not really a punishment. Dad says, "I'll sign the citizen's arrest form." I start to sprint down to the seat to get the guy, when cops tell me to stay where I am. They also have to tell my dad to back down because he's frothing now. If they leave it to my dad to deal with this dude, it is NOT going to go well for angry guy. Just as the cops are about to go down to the seat, having figured out where the guy is sitting and beginning their report, guy and wife come up the stairs to exit the game. They get detained by the cops. Dad is on the opposite side of the door from me, angry guy, wife and cops in the center, and then me and Angela. I hear angry guy's exchange with the cops, "We paid a lot of money for these seats..." A) No one fucking cares what you paid, douche. B) So did we (well someone did, if not ME exactly). C) Only a non-regular fan says something about how much they paid. He denies again having touched me. Later, in the police substation under the stadium he'll tell the cops, "Well they were drunk." The cops will tell them we weren't. And regardless, even if I'd been shit faced, it gives dude no right to TOUCH me. He'll then say, "Well she kicked my chair. Isn't THAT a battery?" Way to grasp at straws, jerk wad.

Dad makes his way over to standing by me and Angela so that I tune out what the exchange between angry guy and cops. But angry guy's wife makes another attempt, "What can we do to make this be the end of it?" Dad says, "It's too late for that. The cops won't let me talk to your husband, so I'm gonna tell you, you're husband is an asshole." I heart my dad. Lady says, "I accept what you are saying, and I'm sorry but can't this just end?" Did you just Psychology 101 us? Srsly? "I accept what you are saying"? I shrug my shoulders. AND I don't want your apology, I want your husband's. If he'd apologized for overreacting, this could have been done, but he didn't, and he continued to escalate things. This is the kind of guy where obviously this isn't the first time he's had a problem like this and the wife seems aware of it, hence her apologizing for his behavior. As funny guys behind me mentioned, "He's not getting laid tonight." Funny guys also high-fived me on their way out and thanked me for the entertainment. No, thank YOU.

Guy is escorted with the police to the substation. I have to go down there as well to write out an incident report. When I get to the substation, I have to hold in that I know everyone down there. Once cop who used to be mom's partner and I are alone and he's writing down my information like he doesn't know my home phone number by heart, he says, "You always were trouble. I told your mom since you were this big you were trouble!" Dad says, "Yeah, in fact that's why her mother and I split up, we couldn't agree on what to do with her." I die laughing. (This is funny because nowhere near true.) Dad's apologized to both of the cops for ruining their day by making them do actual police work. And that's the end of it, other than the continued nerves for the next couple hours.

So, yes, essentially I had a guy arrested (which is what a citation is, just instead of taking you to jail they cite and release you) for swatting my foot. It may seem like a slight overreaction but the way the guy treated me was SO unacceptable. Sometimes being a native San Franciscan with good connections isn't ALL that awful.

It also amazes me that a few days ago I can be in a stadium, in the South, with 93,000 highly intoxicated people without incident but I come to a midweek day game in freaking tree-hugging, hipster San Francisco and am met with such utter asshattery (tag reinstated). I'm thinking I'll just watch the post season on TV.