Okay, so I’ll be beginning the saga of Hoody’s Great Adventure with the initial over-the-weekend trip to Baltimore courtesy of Chuckweasel and Chuckweasel’s Boy. Let me start by saying — I will never complain about Callie Jean’s noxious farts again… teenage boys seem to convert everything they eat into DEATH. And they (and their father!) think it’s FUNNY, so you get an extra-special warning of a soft, muffled giggle… and you know it’s too late. I seriously considered sleeping in the hallway with the room service trays. But I digress.
I love to go see the Orioles because A) I really like Baltimore as a whole and B) they serve the best damn chicken basket in the history of ever. And for all you fellow beer geeks out there — NATTY BOH IS BACK AT THE BALLPARK! Supah Sweet! We went Saturday night and Sunday afternoon — the Reds (Chuckweasel’s and Chuckweasel’s Boy’s favorite team) won Saturday and the O’s (among my second-tier favorite teams — I have a system) won Sunday…. BUT the O’s had also won Friday, so that’s 2-to-1 for the series, baby! I was obnoxious. I know, you’re surprised.
The weirdest thing that happened was at Saturday’s game. We were practicing the time-honored Major League Baseball tradition of buying cheaper seats high up, then waiting to see where there were big empty patches and moving down. Like ya do. So we’ve been sitting in relatively-better seats (in that the Lads could see the game and I was close to the bathroom and the beer — I told you, the Reds won on Saturday, so I had stopped giving a crap.) So anyhoo, we’d been there for several innings, and round about the seventh (yes, the seventh!) this Evil Hall Monitor of an usherette (is that still appropriate when they’re 110 years old?) comes over and MAKES US MOVE! And it turns out the people whose seats they were had been sitting up a few rows for the entire game ANYWAY, and SHE MADE THEM MOVE INTO THEIR “ASSIGNED” SEATS even though they specifically said they didn’t want to! She then proceeded to check that everyone was where they were supposed to be… I guess she didn’t get picked for Safety Patrol as a child and now she’s pissed. I mean, have you EVER?
Lucklily, Chuckweasel and I were well-lubricated enough not to start no shit, but not SO well-lubricated that shit HAD to be started, and we have yet to train Chuckweasel’s Boy in the fine art of shit-starting, so we went on our way. But SERIOUSLY! Talk about a power trip!
Stay tuned for next week — I’m spending the weekend watching the new True Bloods and writing up the Family Beach Saga!