2:30 p.m. - 2005-08-24
the pirates and dumbo
I am convinced that I am good luck for the Pirates. I have been to three games this year and at each one they have either won by a whole lot or the game has been amazingly exciting with a Pirates victory in the end. Perhaps they should get rid of that stupid parrot mascot that dances and hugs people and hire me to just sort of, I don't know...walk around, people watch, eat stuff, ask Kevin questions like "Hey, why is that guy standing in the middle there....oh, really? He's an umpire? Is there always one there? REALLY? I never noticed that. Doesn't he, like, get in the way?"
At the Pirate game last night, I managed to get two large blotches of Gyro sauce on my shirt within ten minutes of walking into PNC park. My shirt was pastel colored, of course. I am telling you, I am becoming a magnet for stains. I am a freaking laundry detergent commercial lately. There was the time Kevin and I fell down that hill while I was wearing white pants, the time my mother cleaned a bench in our house with some powerful solvent and set down a light pink shirt of mine on top of it, the day I chose to apply my non-invisible though it claims to be invisible deoderant and THEN put on my red polo shirt...I did not discover this until suddenly Kevin started rubbing my rib cage area in a very non-sensual sort of way while at his friend's BBQ. Then there was the time the other day when I took off those white, denim pants I performed a Clorox miracle on just last week to discover that it looked like someone had taken a blue ball-point pen and written a large, slightly askew "Z" on my ass. Nice. How the hell does this happen?!
Regarding the Gyro sauce, and I don't mean the Tzaziki sauce that is white and fairly manageable...no, we are talking drippy juicy brown meat-derived sauce. Drip-drip. Right on my chest, of course. And not two hours later....sixth inning is officially ice cream time, if you didn't know...a drip of chocolate chip cookie dough, right on the mammary gland, once again. I guess really fat people drip on their bellies. People with prominent boobs drip on them. Where do thin, modestly-breasted people drip? On their shoes? Is there a legion of people out there with ketchup on their New Balances?
In any case, we had really good seats and good company...Marc and Kelly were there as well and I like them. Speaking of Kel, here is a picture of her that I totally love. This is the picture I took right after she ate the ice cream of death that for some reason, about 10 minutes after this picture was taken, turned her into a zombie who slept in her room for the following 24 hours.
