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!
hoodyhoo 
Goddamn hall monitors. Good that you didn’t start shit, though. Real good. There must be a bad gene that makes people like that. Like the people who one day they’re going to become a parking cop or work for the IRS. What is wrong with them?
And there’s at least one in every building. Like the woman who lives across the way from us who’s the ONLY one who has no kids and bitches constantly to the management if the kids are seen anywhere.
Not that I have anything against people with no kids, but when she came to view the apartment there were all of these kids playing just like they are now, like about a hundred of them. Did she not KNOW that there were kids around?
Wait. We have two gay couples in our building, too, and they don’t have kids, either, but they always seem to look at us like haaa haaaa I get to sit outside on my patio and drink wine while you bitches are caring for children ha haaaaa.
And they don’t complain to management.
Types of complaints:
kids playing soccer
kids riding bicycles
kids riding scooters
kids standing around
kids playing on the playground
kids walking
kids pissing in the bushes (come on, kid piss doesn’t smell)
See, if she were SMART she would cultivate those kids like I do. You know, the ones who are almost teenagers. Who will, in just a few short years, be able to supply me with weed and ex.
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If she lived in Ye Olde Apartment Complex with me, KIDS pissing in the bushes would be the LEAST of her problems! She’d LONG for the days when only KIDS pissed in her bushes! And one of next week’s tales involves How to Make Mothers of Small Children Hate You Because You Ain’t Got None.
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A 110 year old hall monitor? Was she in a walker? No doubt she is bitter about always being picked last for the baseball team as a child, back in 1910.
I hate that kind of thing.
But I am seriously looking forward to “How to Make Mothers of Small Children Hate You Because You Ain’t Got None” because right now those mothers just make me feel small and selfish. Bitches.
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yeah, I got me a big ol’ dose of karma, though, so stay tuned!
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Natty Boh? Hells yeah!! I will have to check that out next time I’m at a game. Next week maybe. And go O’s!!
And really, the attendance at the ballpark lately is bleak! They should be happy that anyone is buying any tickets. They shoudl be even happier yet if people move down to the good seats, because when you are watching the games on TV and all you see is empty seats behind the shot of the pitcher? Sad. So very sad. So really, I think you should be applauded for your seat filling initiative. Given a medal maybe. Be deemed honorary Orioles even. Baseball Hall of Fame? Possibly . . .
Oh and this: “well-lubricated enough not to start no shit, but not SO well-lubricated that shit HAD to be started . . .” Brilliant. We’ve all been there. That is the best state.
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EXACTLY! Me filling in your empty seats makes you look BETTER! It’s a goddamn public service!
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I would have said the whole hall monitor comment to her… make her feel like the whenchwhore she is… I would have also thrown a diet coke on her (not beer that is precious)… but I digress…
And I’m a mom of smallish children and I COMMEND those who don’t have any smallish children…because having smallish children is like Saudi torture prison camps! Those fuckers never S.H.U.T U.P (the kids not the Suadi’s)!! Like EVER!! and they always need snacks…like constantly… and they are flithy little beasts! I say get a snail.
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Thanksfully years of working in newsrooms surrounded by squawking police scanners has enabled me to tune out anything I don’t care about… which includes most things.
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Orioles games are the worst! My dad used to always have us move to better seats and they would ALWAYS find out and make us get up! Seriously, I think that must be one of their stadium golden rules, which I found hellish as a child because I was shy so just wanted to stop getting in trouble!
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I’m always torn between showing my ass and being the bigger person… of course, that’s pretty much the story of my life!
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I console myself by thinking that these hall monitors are sad, sad people and they just need to spread their misery around. The best thing to do is respond with delight and glee — “Move? Why of course, we’ll move! Thank you Ma’am, that is awesome!” This serves the dual purpose of confusing the fuck out of them, and letting them know that their misery-spreading campaign has utterly failed.
I’m a mom of medium-ish children and I can honestly say that small kids are the debil.
Also, I have a BFF who is a Red Sox fan, and who recently married a Yankees fan. She said the most vicious fights in their household are about baseball. I hope that’s not your situation.
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Oh, Lord, that would have been PERFECT! Especially if I could have burst into tears and said “We’ve been looking for our real seats ALL NIGHT! Bless you, good citizen!” I’m totally doing that next time.
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D
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Did I really just post a comment consisting of “D”? That was my dog’s comment, not mine. I was trying to say something about damn ushers and usherettes, but now it’s gone, gone with the wind, because my brain is full of holes….
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don’t feel bad, I am a veteran of the “Now what did I come into this room for?” puzzled stop in the doorway. And your dog is wise.
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i love you, you make me snort my drinks.
do you have a twitter? i would love to follow the crap out of that. : ]
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I don’t have a twitter, mostly because I’m kinda bad at technology, but also because I’m fairly sure that the past tense of “to tweet” is “to twat,” and I can’t be having that.
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Remember – we were all small children once. And some of us were fortunate to make it to an older age (ahem, Hoody). However, I do generally agree with the comments. But, I loved listening to little great niece’s comments – I especially liked, “fogidabout it, its NOT for babies” I still don’t know what the hell she was talking about – maybe a few too many margaritas in the pool.
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little great niece is either a genius prodigy or we are raging alcoholics. I’m betting on number 2…
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Ok. So in 8th grade we went to a toronto Blue Jays game as our grad trip. We had excellent seats down by one of the bases. I don’t know which one – I don’t watch baseball.
Anyway, I”m going to blog about the story becasue it’s toolong for here. Stay tuned.
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why would you go to a baseball game if you don’t like baseball AND you’re too young to drink?
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I can’t wait for the beach saga. And I can’t wait for a full night’s sleep so I have a better comment than “I can’t wait for the beach saga.” Lame. Lame, and so hard to type saga because it’s so close to sage.
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I’m figuring on a multi-day saga… possibly the whole week! And “beach sage” makes me want a turkey stuffed with crabcakes.
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Oh my gawd, turkey stuffed with crabcakes! That sounds so delish. Please, someone get on that and send me one ASAP. Ok, now I’m hungry. And no crabcakes in sight. Great.
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That’s so weird. I wonder whether the hall monitor spent the whole game working her way through all the seats, and whether people just moved back after she left their section.
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the best part was that we were near her section (in our ASSIGNED seats, mind you) the next day… and Chuckweasel was just DYING for her to show up and start again!.
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