Ticket, Tickets
Last night, Larry & I attended the third of 20 Nationals Baseball games for which we bought tickets. For somefriends, my attendance at the games seems comical since there is a belief that I know nothing of sports.
It’s true I know nothing of most sports. There would be no reason for me to watch unless Bernadette Peters was playing on one of the teams. I do love the fact my son has lesbian mothers because I don’t even know who’s playing in the Superbowl each year. And frankly, I don’t care.
However, the two sports I know and like watching (in person, not on TV) are baseball and hockey. I learned to play hockey freshmen year in college when my corridor decided to participate in intramurals. I wasn’t half bad and broke the stereotype that my people all are Brian Boitano’s. As for baseball, I never played, but I find the games easy to follow, the food is decadent to eat, and the people-watching is awesome. For these many reasons, I agreed to let Larry order tickets.
(This is one of the many things I pretend to sacrifice in order to get other items in trade. It is the emotional bank from which I withdraw when I want something. I really did like the idea of getting tickets, but pretending to sacrifice only helped solidify the purchase of a king-size bed!)
Anyway, last evening was our first “weeknight” game. This meant the debate of who drives home to get the dogs fed and pee’d. The answer, 99% of the time, is me! Yes, I get off work at 4:00, but the agony of having to drive from Tysons => Silver Spring and then ride metro from Silver Spring => RFK stadium is pretty painful for anyone, let alone someone who will turn it into a nasty-ass blog the next day.
Being a wonderful spouse, I laid out the tickets on the dresser as I depart for my 6:00 AM commute. Later than day, Larry leaves me a message and says, “Thanks for leaving the tickets out. That was smart. I’m guessing you’ll bring them to the game. Where should I meet you?”
Now, tt’s my habit to talk back to voice mails as if it were an answering service that somehow could repeat my communication. “Why couldn’t I have just met you at your seat?” I mutter. “Was it that hard to take your ticket with you?” The voice mail does not answer nor pass along my message. I am now forced to deliver the same conversation over the phone.
After receiving a toned-down version of the above, Larry indicates that taking the ticket with him would have been a good idea. He offers a distraction to remove the focus from him, “Gillian is coming to the game with us tonight.” I collect another EB (emotional bank) point and let him off the hook. I agree to call him as I arrive at the Stadium Metro stop.
As if channeling Dionne Warwick, I already know there will be a voice mail waiting. Similar to a SAT question on logic: Steve is to multitasking as what Larry is to impatience. Larry's voice mail doesn’t direct me to go anywhere, but rather to simply call him back.
The conversation goes something like this:
Larry: Are you here?
Steve: Of course, I’m calling you, right?
Larry: Good. We’re waiting outside. Gillian’s here too.
Steve: That I figured from the correct pronoun use. And where “outside” should I find you?
Larry: Just come down the stairs.
Steve: Babe, there are many sets of stairs. Be more specific.
Larry: To the right, Gate A. Gillian’s with me.
Steve: Unless Gillian has the ability to expand herself 10 times her own size, that is not going to won’t make me find you any quicker.
Larry: Huh?
Steve: Never mind. I’ll see you soon.
So lessons learned. I will pack him the ticket the night before, like a child’s lunch the day of field trip.
It’s true I know nothing of most sports. There would be no reason for me to watch unless Bernadette Peters was playing on one of the teams. I do love the fact my son has lesbian mothers because I don’t even know who’s playing in the Superbowl each year. And frankly, I don’t care.
However, the two sports I know and like watching (in person, not on TV) are baseball and hockey. I learned to play hockey freshmen year in college when my corridor decided to participate in intramurals. I wasn’t half bad and broke the stereotype that my people all are Brian Boitano’s. As for baseball, I never played, but I find the games easy to follow, the food is decadent to eat, and the people-watching is awesome. For these many reasons, I agreed to let Larry order tickets.
(This is one of the many things I pretend to sacrifice in order to get other items in trade. It is the emotional bank from which I withdraw when I want something. I really did like the idea of getting tickets, but pretending to sacrifice only helped solidify the purchase of a king-size bed!)
Anyway, last evening was our first “weeknight” game. This meant the debate of who drives home to get the dogs fed and pee’d. The answer, 99% of the time, is me! Yes, I get off work at 4:00, but the agony of having to drive from Tysons => Silver Spring and then ride metro from Silver Spring => RFK stadium is pretty painful for anyone, let alone someone who will turn it into a nasty-ass blog the next day.
Being a wonderful spouse, I laid out the tickets on the dresser as I depart for my 6:00 AM commute. Later than day, Larry leaves me a message and says, “Thanks for leaving the tickets out. That was smart. I’m guessing you’ll bring them to the game. Where should I meet you?”
Now, tt’s my habit to talk back to voice mails as if it were an answering service that somehow could repeat my communication. “Why couldn’t I have just met you at your seat?” I mutter. “Was it that hard to take your ticket with you?” The voice mail does not answer nor pass along my message. I am now forced to deliver the same conversation over the phone.
After receiving a toned-down version of the above, Larry indicates that taking the ticket with him would have been a good idea. He offers a distraction to remove the focus from him, “Gillian is coming to the game with us tonight.” I collect another EB (emotional bank) point and let him off the hook. I agree to call him as I arrive at the Stadium Metro stop.
As if channeling Dionne Warwick, I already know there will be a voice mail waiting. Similar to a SAT question on logic: Steve is to multitasking as what Larry is to impatience. Larry's voice mail doesn’t direct me to go anywhere, but rather to simply call him back.
The conversation goes something like this:
Larry: Are you here?
Steve: Of course, I’m calling you, right?
Larry: Good. We’re waiting outside. Gillian’s here too.
Steve: That I figured from the correct pronoun use. And where “outside” should I find you?
Larry: Just come down the stairs.
Steve: Babe, there are many sets of stairs. Be more specific.
Larry: To the right, Gate A. Gillian’s with me.
Steve: Unless Gillian has the ability to expand herself 10 times her own size, that is not going to won’t make me find you any quicker.
Larry: Huh?
Steve: Never mind. I’ll see you soon.
So lessons learned. I will pack him the ticket the night before, like a child’s lunch the day of field trip.
posted by Anonymous at
2:24:00 PM
1 Comments:
I'm so glad a journal has been added instead of just AI recaps. I will be laughing all day with that story!! I must admit, it took a good 3 or 4 rereads to actually believe you like and watch baseball. The hockey in college is still a head scratcher.
Love ya!
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