Saturday, April 14, 2012

I should wear earplugs

I should.  Honest.

There would be so many benefits.

I'd be less frustrated with the people in the world.

I'd be less likely to get annoyed in public.

But then you would all miss out on posts like this one...

We went to the Rockies game last night and sat in a section we've never visited before.  Someone should do a study on stadium seating and general misbehavior.  How just being in certain areas makes people more prone to becoming obnoxious assholes.

The look at me girls that start acting way drunker than they probably are, getting up and shaking their asses between every batter.  It's just a sad and desperate cry for attention.  Really.  You can't dance, no one cares.  And you're blocking my damn view. Sit down.

You know it's never a good sign when people are mouthing off and yelling at the players on the opposing team in the second inning.  Oh goody.  I just can't wait until you drink for a few hours.

A few seats over was a girl with a laugh that could only come from some bizarre mating between Fran Drescher and Maria Menounos.  Good lord.  I wouldn't even be capable of making those noises if I tried.  If I had a laugh like that, I'd hope that my friends told me how horrifyingly embarrassing I am.  Then I would tell them to sew my lips shut.

In the fifth inning, a fan not far from us was actually convinced by the crybabies in the crowd to throw back a home run ball hit by a player on the opposing team.  Good job giving into that peer pressure, dude.  I hope you learned your lesson after you got hauled into custody and dragged from the seats.  Listen to the masses, go to jail.

The guys behind us cracked me right up.  I had to work pretty hard to stifle my laughter when the concession guy came down the aisle and they were bummed he didn't have the right beverages in his cooler. Because all men come to baseball games to request Mike's hard strawberry lemonades.  Yes, it had to be the strawberry ones, the plain wasn't good enough.
I don't even drink this crap, and I'm a chick.
I was drinking good old fashioned beer.  Because that is what you drink at a baseball game, not a foo foo girly drink.

I made a comment to my husband that I'm pretty sure I have bigger balls than those guys.  He didn't disagree.

Then they started to try to talk about the game, and it took everything in me not to turn around and teach them basics about the game.  You know, like you don't generally turn a double play when the only runner is on second base.  Or, how from the angle we were sitting, at the end of the right field foul line, it was impossible to tell if the referee was making the right call.  Oh, and that guy calling the shots is not a damn referee.  He's an ump.

I don't know how people make it to adulthood without knowing this stuff.
You really can't see a damn thing from these seats.
I really should wear earplugs.  Either that, or I should just accept the fact that I'm a crotchety old fart now.  I'm just there to watch the damn game.

I'm gonna buy me an old school set of headphones and listen to the play by play on AM radio, start yelling down in front and start shushing people.

I'm that guy.

Oh, wait.  I'm not a guy....

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