You're a Real Peach

I'll be commuting back and forth to Chicago this week, so I'll either be (a) in a car; (b) in a classroom, learning how to do my job; or, (c) sleeping. I'm not sure about the commuting part, but I'm all good with exercising my brain cells every now and then. (Well, I will be eating, too-- but, it will be while I'm in the car or in training. I don't think I'll be eating while sleeping, though.)

Hear that Rumble? No, it's not my intestines--it's the Thunder! The Rockford Thunder women's professional softball team is back on the field. You KNOW how much I love the Thunder. Yum!

(BTW, we profess our love to Coach of the Year Cheese ball Neighbor, who is on her way to softball glory--congrats and good luck with Thursday's game!)

We try to go to Thunder games whenever we get the chance, as it's great fun and it's always a plus to support women's sports (especially when such sports are in town). There is really no excuse--the field is right up the street from us, much closer than their last home field (of which I cannot truly call a field but more like a pit) and it's cheap fun in the sun.

We went to our first Thunder game of the season yesterday-- turns out it was an exhibition game between the Thunder and Chicago Bandits. (Perky Potholder grrrl, where were you? We looked for your Sky Blue Crocs...) Quite to our surprise, the Thunder team was sporting throwback uniforms--of the Rockford Peaches--dresses!!! How awesome is that? Everyone should play fast pitch softball in a dress at least once in her life, I suppose. (I apologize for the poor quality of the photos--I took them with a camera phone and was shooting through nets and fences.) I thought it was great fun.

Besides the dresses, another bonus: getting to see a whole slew of pitchers in one game. In true exhibition style, each team had their pitchers play an inning or two and then switch to a different pitcher. That means we got to see Jenny Finch and Cat Osterman take the mound. Double Yum! You should NEVER pass up the chance to see either of these two women pitch, as they are literally the two best pitchers in the world. The WORLD! It's a double yum squared when they are pitching against each other. Always say yes to Cat and Jenny. We also got to see Cassidy Scroggins (hope that's how you spell her name), my favorite non-Jenny/Cat pitcher, hurl a few.

Hurl a few pitches, I should say.

The wife and I were very surprised that we knew only a handful (and that's stretching it) of the Thunder players. Let's see--Amanda, Jamie, Cassidy, Cat......that's about it. What happened during the off season? Guess I should pay closer attention. I'm sure it will be fine and we'll figure the roster out in little time.

FYI, the wife and I both have Thunder jerseys to wear this year, so watch out! We look like true fans....although, our jerseys are from last year and our two players are long gone. That's okay, we still look good.

At least we didn't buy throwback dresses to wear in support of the Thunder. I'm not sure I'd wear those to any games.....

........although I do have the legs to pull it off.

heh heh!!
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Batter-ed and Bruised

Please refer to Blog Entry about not eating your boogers to learn more about this injury.....

Here is a photo of Master Reiki, her bruise and the ball that gave her the bruise. Notice that the ball is hand-signed...by Rockford Peach Barbara "Bobbie" Thompson!

If you have to get hit with a softball, it's (1) always good to get a bruise as a battle wound; (2) it's always good to take a photo of the bruise; and, (3) it's always good to get the ball autographed (preferably by someone famous and not just some schmuck on a recreational softball league).

We'll be going to another Rockford Thunder game tonight. We'll see who else in the Addiverse can get a bruise....

Don't step on the grout, Don't Eat your Eye Boogers
(and other words of wisdom)

For some reason, the wife decided we needed ceramic tile in the bathrooms. Me? I liked the linoleum but what do I know? I thought the linoleum looked brand new--after all, the wife literally cleaned it EVERY day for the past 12 years. I thought she should take me to a tropical island, instead of "wasting" money on a floor, but she went with the ceramic tile. Sigh. It IS her money, I suppose. So, new tile it was to be. Thankfully, I was at work during the time the tile men were on the scene. I wasn't very happy about having to "shower" at the kitchen sink for a day, but otherwise there was very little inconvenience for me. (Some day, I'll tell you about my sister who went like two months without a bathtub/shower in her home. Gives a whole new name to sponge bathing.) Unfortunately, the photo of the bathroom doesn't show the floor before or after the tile, but I thought it'd be fun to post of photo of the bathroom, anyway. Why I have a photo of our bathroom, I don't know, but I do....

The wife warned me: "don't step on the grout." Well, let me tell you, I was NOT about to step on the grout. I'm dumb, but I'm not stupid.....I don't know what stepping on the grout might do, but I wasn't going to ask OR chance such behavior.

The photo of Lucy (dare I say this is one of the most absolute awful-est photos she has every taken in her five years) illustrates the look the wife would give me had I stepped on the grout....

...the only problem is that the wife had said, "don't let the DOGS step on the grout." You should have seen me dancing around in that bathroom trying not to step on the grout. This is a difficult task for someone as blind as me when getting out of the shower. I muttered under my breath, "don't step on the grout don't step on the grout don't step on the grout." I was very proud as I didn't step on the grout. As I was preparing to leave for work, I proudly announced my success of not stepping on the grout to the wife. That's when she corrected me that it was the DOGS that can't walk on the grout. Bigger sigh. And here, I thought I had been such a good spousal unit.

On a different note, Freckles continues to eat her eye boogers. Actually, the official word for eye crusties is "magmus," or so I am told. I think that sounds like a rock band: "Dude! Have you seen Magmus in concert? Rockin!" It's her left eye and I've spent too much money on it already. I've decided to live with booger-eating, even though it really is gag-producing. The medicine didn't help. If she goes blind, we'll change her name from "Freckles" to "Winky." Or, maybe we can put an eye on her patch & make her a Pirate Dog named Jack Sparrow.
Side side note: The dogs have earwig bites. Isn't that disgusting? Man, that's brutal. I think the wife and I have captured all the house-bound earwigs, so the dogs can rest safely now. I'm not sure if this is better or worse than having fleas but I'm sure it sucks for the dogs, either way.

(Side side side note: Praise Jesus! Paris Hilton is alive, well, out of jail and ready for recovery. This is much more exciting that our house being free of earwigs.)

Lest you think I've been missing any softball, I assure you that I went to three of four Rockford Thunder softball games this week. The wife was 4-for-4 for Thunder games. I had to stay home at least one night and contemplate the meaning of work. It's been brutal at work, so sitting on bleachers has been therapeutic. I'm pleased to report that both De De Justice and Mackenzie Vandergeest hit home runs in the first game of the series against the Michigan Ice (a team, by the way, that has the ugliest uniforms on the planet) and that Kristen Zalewski got her own home run a game later. I love the photo to the left and thought I'd post it again. "Pitcher Scoggins Seeks Fate in Magic Eightball."
"Will I pitch a no hitter, Magic 8ball?"
"Ask again later."

Actually, Pitcher Scoggins has been busy saving games for the Thunder. You go, Thunder grrrl! We continue to enjoy the games and are beginning to become one with the fans....

For the Friday Night Thunder game, a whole slew of us gathered together to be obnoxious fans. That's one thing about Thunder games that has bothered me--it's so dang quiet. All those people, so little noise. What's that all about? So, we brought along the Sky Clappers we got at the Sky game and we armed ourselves with the worst cheers from our youth and we made some noise. The old guy in front of me didn't look very amused but the kids around us did. After all, how many times do you ever see a bunch of middle-aged ladies yelling, "We've got spirit, yes we do!" We were delighted to see several of the ROCKFORD PEACHES in the stands--really! The real, actual players from the Peaches were there to enjoy a little women's softball. Master Reiki went and got a few autographs, god bless her.

Speaking of Master Reiki, she got a sports injury while being a spectator. Again. (The two of us are like accident magnets.) A high pop up floated over the stands--we're talking ozone-layer high--and it started coming down, down, down toward the fans and it headed for poor Master Reiki, who unfortunately had two hands full of stuff. She couldn't decide if she should put down her noise makers, her sweatshirt, her beverage or what. Suddenly, there was this sick THUNK sound. Believe it or not, Master Reiki managed to catch the ball by using her upper chest/shoulder/upper arm area. You had to see it to understand it. We were all so proud of her for catching that pop-up and the crowd cheered her on. Too bad it left a nasty bruise. That's gonna hurt in a few hours. She can be proud of this sports injury. Being resourceful, she went and got a Rockford Peaches autograph on the ball. What a woman!

The next few days will be very challenging at work, so pardon me if I am tardy in blog-posting. Please feel the love no matter how long it takes me to make my next post. Come visit the wife and keep her company while I'm at work the next several days. Please feel free to step on the new grout....

The Girls Next Door

The wife's "Little People, Big World" obsession has waned and now replaced by "The Girls Next Door." For those who haven't had the pleasure of accidentally come across this A&E show, be glad-- er, I mean, you really should check it out. It's not exactly brain surgery, but it's so ridiculous , you just can't look away. The plot: Hugh Hefner (81 years young) and his three babes, each younger than the next. That's it.

I told you it wasn't brain surgery.

It's very entertaining. You almost can't believe that people can be that....that....cognitively limited...and still be worth watching. As the wife says, "One is dumber than the next."
Well, I wouldn't have put it that cruelly, but the truth does hurt sometimes. I would have said "One is blonder than the next" and that there is a giant vat of bleach missing from the store. All that bleach can't be good for the brain.

I admit to taking a sneak peek at the TV screen when the wife is watching the game. My favorite girl is Kendra because of her laugh. Well, that and her I.Q. She is a wild one.

Now, I don't want "Cheeseball Neighbor" to feel bad that we don't think of her when we hear the words "The Girls Next Door." First of all, Cheesball Neighbor's I.Q. is higher than all three of these girls' I.Q. combined. Second of all, Cheeseball Neighbor isn't blond. (Well, neither are the girls on T.V. but who's checking roots?) And, third--the Girls Next Door don't have cheeseballs, so take that.

My question is: why are these three girls in bed with Hef? I understand why Hef is in bed with them, but them? Their total age is less than his age. Really.

God love ya, Hef. You're certainly doing something right. (Apologies to all militant feminists for my acceptance of the Playboy Mansion and all that goes on within its confines. Have a sense of humor, will ya?) But, why do they call you "Puffin?"



As for me, I've decided to call this year "SPORTY FIVE." Every day for one year, I shall be part of at least one sporty thing. I did not mean to say I would be DOING a sporty thing every day--rather, I will be somehow be LINKED to something sporty every day. That covers everything from doing yoga in the living room to watching my nieces bowl. So, that means going to Rockford Thunder Games, attending Chicago Sky games, bike riding, lifting weights in the basement, gardening (only if I break a sweat while gardening), going to watch Cheeseball neighbor play softball, golfing, pee wee golfing, running through sprinklers, chasing clients, chasing Lucy (when she runs away because I dropped the leash), walking in general, riding Eisteina Vagina's wave runner, riding on a pontoon boat, playing touch football with Cheeseball Neighbor's friends (not that I have recovered from my ankle injury sustained last year when I joined them for a game)....

....Walking the dogs and eating Dairy Queen Blizzards will NOT qualify for being sporty. I have to draw the line somewhere. (It's my canine-owning obligation to walk the dogs daily, so I can't count that. That's like a job, not a sport. Besides, Freckles moves so slowly that we are barely even walking....)

Watching "The Girls Next Door" does not qualify as sporty, either, although all the laughing I do might be aerobic in nature.

The jury is out if eating more than one pound of chocolate a day qualifies as sporty. I'm thinking not but not everyone can do that, so I may have something there. Getting a new tattoo is pretty sporty because it hurts and makes you break out in a sweat, so I'll go do that and call it sporty squared.

So, when you see me, just yell out a big "SPORTY FIVE" and wish me luck for a full year of sportiness. Wink Wink!

Vacationing at the Shell Station

(I really wanted to use yellow lettering for the title of this blog entry, but yellow is just a lousy color to read. So, go with the orange. It's kinda yellow.)

Thanks to my"Dave Ramsey total money management diet" and Governor Blagojevich's arrogance (is he somehow related to George W?), the wife and I are on a VERY tight budget this summer. So, we've decided to schedule our summer vacation.....at the new Shell Gas Station in the neighborhood.

(Side note: If I don't get paid anytime this summer--or even late this summer--or never--because "Mr. Love-my-hair-I-want-to-be-President- pompous ass" (who makes me embarrassed to be a Democrat) is too busy styling his hair instead of working on the state budget, I'm going to be very crabby. And mean. If I can't buy my daily pound of chocolate, I won't be responsible for my actions. God, I hate politics. I hate politicians more. I really don't like politicians that hang up my paycheck. Don't come crying to me when there are hoards of mentally ill people camping out on your lawn, pee wee.)



Back to our vacation. Oh, this isn't just ANY Shell Station--this is the world's nicest Shell station. It's like going to the spa--only closer to home and cheaper. I'm not kidding when I say the wife goes there to use the bathroom because it's so nice. Beautiful, shiny planters, kick-ass (and expensive) landscaping, stainless steel garbage cans, aesthetically- pleasing brick and rock work, spa-like lighting, silent, tinted sliding glass doors, calming adult contemporary rock lofting above the masses, feng shui-inspired interior...GRANITE COUNTER TOPS....tiled bathroom walls and floors, custom hard wood floors.....a car wash with WINDOWS...I'm telling you, this is right up there with the Miravel spa we went to from Oprah. This is the TAJ MAHAL of gas stations!

Here's the rainbow that glows over the Shell station in the early morning dew.....I hear the choir of angels singing to me: "Come to the Shell." See? It's not just a regular gas station-- it's the double rainbows of gas stations.

I think the wife should apply for a job there because she goes there every day--if not for a car wash, then for a smoothie. (Actually, if I don't get paid, I'll be the one there applying for the job. Ugh--don't get me started again. Do I get an employee discount???)

This brand-spanking-so-called gas stations by far the nicest gas station I've ever been to....and, I've been to a lot of them all over the United States. The Corner Market is the perfect vacation spot as (1) they have my bank's ATM machine; (2) they serve chocolate AND coffee; (3) the wife can get a car wash every hour on the hour. I'm sure there is plenty for the dogs to do, too. I have no idea if they have high or low gas prices, as I've never been there to purchase gas. We've heard that it cost 2.5 million to build the place, but I'm thinking it must be more than that. Heck, the fieldstone on the building looks like it costs more than that.

I can't tell you how many times the wife has said, "I'll be right back--I'm running to the car wash" in the past three weeks.

I wanted to take photos of the station but I thought they might think I was some weird psycho felony-seeking robber casing out the joint. You have to see it to believe it. Maybe I can get some photos while we're vacationing there and I can post them in a later blog.

This is what our life has come to be: hanging out in gas stations. Heck, the Rockford Thunder aren't in town--we have to do something with all our free time.....

Hey, on a completely different note, I'm happy to say I'll be going to a Chicago Sky Women's Professional basketball game this weekend, so that will take my mind off of hair-impaired governors. And, it's the Warrior Princess' 7th birthday, so "Happy Birthday, Freckles!" Hope it's not a snoozer......

Bucky Badger Crashes Illinois Wedding

The Addiverse has been such a blur with so much action that I don't know where to start....so, I'll start with last night's wedding reception. The wife and I traveled to the Chicago Suburbs to attend what we mistakenly thought would be just another nice wedding reception, complete with a "Chicken Dance" and a few drunken groom's men. It was one of my long lost cousins getting married and although I don't really know him, it sounded like a good time.

I have three words to say about this wedding reception:

OH.................MY.........................GOD!

(I know it's not nice to take the Lord's name in vain, but even he was thinking "what the heck are these two doing? You could buy a house for what this is costing you.")

The couple had reserved the hotel lobby for a two-hour social event, complete with open martini bar and string quartet. Waitstaff wandered through the crowd offering tasty morsels of what appeared to be very complicated, expensive "horse dervies." The liquor was flowing, the music was wafting....when in bounds Bucky Badger!
Okay, so you flatlanders from Illinois probably have no idea what I'm talking about but all the cheeseheads in the crowd--with the wife being one of the biggest cheeseheads on the planet-- were a ga-ga when BB arrived. Seems the bride and groom are graduates of University of Wisconsin, Madison....and, how could they party without the biggest party animal. Literally. Bucky got himself in a load of trouble when he started dancing in the decor of the lobby. Specific problem: dancing in the rocks and plants of the lobby, hopping around above the poor string quartet. (See photo above to see illustration of this Bad Badger act.) The manager looked like he was going to remove Bucky out of the lobby using his teeth. Bucky behaved the rest of the evening.

Once Bucky was calmed and the manager was sedated, the festivities continued. As for the reception, here's a few photos to illustrate the ostentatious display of....of....love....right from the Godiva-dipped bionic strawberries at the front door to the fireworks over the bride. I was all about those strawberries. I was knocking people down to get at a few extra of those. The groom's sister said, "please eat them--they cost $5.00 each!" What could I do but oblige this request?

You thought I was kidding about the fireworks? Hey, if I'm not kidding about Bucky, you know I'm not kidding about the 15 minutes of Fourth-of-July-caliber fireworks. I'm thinking I should have taken some time to get to know this cousin!

The reception was held in what was a "tent." Well, it really wasn't a tent but it was made to make look like one and it would be the most air-conditioned tent in the free world. I'm not sure why you'd make a reception hall look like a tent when it's not really a tent but whatever. It was freezing in that there tent. Good for wild dancing--bad for freezy people in sleeveless dress clothes.

Here's a little view of the head table from our table--that's a fountain right outside the "tent."
The table was complete with butterballs, fancy flowers & edible foilage. The meal was two hour long and the wife said her filet was so tender it melted in her mouth. I was all about the butter balls. I never thought about making butter balls before, so I think I might try it with my "Smart Butter" some time this week.

I must admit, the highlight of the bash for me (besides Bucky Badger--that was OVER THE TOP cool) was Youngest Niece's unveiling of her first softball injury--a bruised thigh, complete with the stitching marks of the softball branded on her leg. The wife and I were so proud! It hampered her dancing a bit but she was able to dance without limping, so it was all good. You go, girl! The Rockford Thunder may be looking for another player in ten years....

Confessions of a Softball Whore

It's happened. I've finally crossed the line. I am now DREAMING about the Rockford Thunder. Literally. I woke up after only a few hours of sleep last night and felt like I had been to yet another game....and, I had already been to a game that night. See these dogs pictured above? They are sad and lonely and feeling neglected because I am gone so much, watching professional women's softball. It's only eight home games into the season and the dogs are already moving out, loading up the SUV....you know what Lucy's saying? "Mama, you used to love us so much!" Freckles, on the other hand, isn't saying anything--that crabby patty face of hers says it all.

...before I get to my softball slut-ness, I have to share this tidbit about the wife. She is having quite the time (and you can imagine how happy she is that I'm talking about it in the blog). Before the game on Sunday, she managed to destroy her bike tire while trying to fill it with air; she left the car keys on the ground next to the car (blaming me for losing the keys); she left her purse in the shopping cart at Walmart; and, she managed to literally leave the car door open while parked in the driveway. This is all very uncharacteristic for her and to have all these things happen on one day is like the planets lining up and the Cubs winning the pennant on the same day. Peri-menopause? Loss of brain cells finally catching up with her? Distraction by too much softball? Blinded by my beauty?!! Time will tell. (BTW--Incredibly, the purse was still in the cart when we returned to the store; the neighbor had an extra bike tire tube and fixed it for free and the keys were left for us to find. She may be having an uncharacteristically unusual time, but it all worked out in the end.)

Back to softball....So, I now have the autographs of every player on my Rockford Thunder cap. I have Cat Osterman's autograph on the original photo proudly displayed on my desk at work. I have become one with my 'bleacher butt.' I know the names of the players when I see them walking by (without peeking at the names on their uniforms). I am basically a softball stalker and I can't stop myself.....you thought Madonna madness was bad last year. This is just as bad (albeit much cheaper).

Here's a softball story from Sunday. I swear the entire thing is true. I needed to get Ms. Mac's autograph on my cap so I would have the full team. She had been busy peeing in a cup the night before (drug testing!) and so I stalked her after Sunday's game. (The Thunder won, with Cat on the mound. Was there a doubt?) It was a crowded one, with lots of excited, giddy young girls giggling their way to the outfield. I have some decorum left, so I didn't knock any of them down--I waited patiently with a gaggle of them to get my signature. Now, there is not much more energy than a bunch of ten year olds waiting to get autographs of softball heros (well, besides that group of 300 eighth graders I was talking about a few blog entries ago). I was entertained beyond all belief--those kids had me laughing out loud. One of them had secured three balls to get autographed; she proudly announced she was going to keep one for herself and sell the other two on eBay, so she could be a millionaire. I kid you not!
Above: Maybe De De Justice has decided to make a little extra spending money, selling Cat's signature.

The players are so good with the kids. It was heart warming and I am not in any way being a smart-ass about this. The players talked to the kids, asked them questions, thanked them for coming to the game, took the time to look each kid in the eye. You could see how excited those kids were, how much it meant to them. Kudos to the ladies of the Thunder for being such professional, genuine ambassadors to the sport and to the city.

Of course, I just wanted those kids OUT OF MY WAY so I could get Mackenzie's autograph.

The look I get from the players is much different than the looks they give to the kids. For me, it's more, "Oh geez, another middle-aged queer stalker. Just let me sign the ball and move on." (Actually, the players are polite and thankful to everyone. Well, thankful for everyone except those people who live across the river that make the Park District turn off the lights and the music so early in the evening. But, that's a whole 'nother story.) Thankfully, I won't have to stalk them any further for autographs....until I get my ten year old niece to town--then, all bets are off.

Here's a photo of Cat high-fiving a teammate. In the foreground: two fools--er, I mean, two brave souls (Kristen in white and Anna in pink) waiting to try and hit off of Cat's pitching. (See previous blogs.)

While I was writing this blog, I started thinking about how I needed to take a day or two off of watching softball. As the wife is out of town for the next three days, I figure this is a good time to go through withdrawal....I tell the dogs I'll be around for the next few evenings and they look like they might forgive me.....I want to stop dreaming about professional softball. I think about watching some favorite Xena episodes during my down time....

....then, the doorbell rings. I AM NOT MAKING THIS UP! It's my season-ticket holding neighbor--you know, Cheeseball neighbor--and she's standing there with a ticket to tomorrow night's game (Chicago Bandits vs. Venezuela). Who am I to say no to Venezula or anything free? One ticket. Hmmm. The wife's out of town, I'm not on call, it's one ticket......

ENABLER! ENABLER! What kind of neighbor are you?!! The pain, the horror, I can't tear myself away from the diamond....

....then, she comes back and gives me a SECOND ticket as there are TWO, count 'em, TWO games tomorrow night......AAAAAAAGGGGGGGHHHHH! What else is there to say except.....

....PLAY BALL!

Guess where I'll be tomorrow night???!

Photos from the Land of the Rockford Thunder

I don't usually post photos of "real" people--I like to keep the anonymity of those in the Addiverse--but, by popular demand, I've been repeatedly asked to post the photos I have from the Opening Game for the Thunder. Not of the Thunder, mind you--rather, of the birthday grrl and her friends:

I like the "pucker lips" of "Wear you collar up Grrrl." Birthday Girl "Clint Black's Wife" is on the right. (No whining if anyone stalks you after seeing your photo on this blog. You asked for it.) The other participants in this photo shall remain anonymous. (Well, unless I get some better photos of those involved in cheeseball-related incidents. I WILL post 8X10 glossies of them.)

A more serious shot of the Bleacher Grrrlz:

It was certainly a beautiful evening at Ol' Sportscore. The photo of the sunset doesn't do it justice, but I tried--as seen from the left field foul ball post:

Clint Black's Wife: Hope you had a fun, Thunder-filled birthday. Give my love to Jenny Finch, won't you?

Softball Hangover and other musings
The wife and I have spent the last four of five days sitting in softball bleachers and I have to tell you: I have one serious softball hangover. I feel lost without a softball-related activity to do on this fine Saturday. (Rockford Thunder photos "gleaned" from thunderprofastpitch.com) We went to the promotional day, opening game, third game and fourth game of the season. For anyone keeping score, the Thunder swept the Bandits. Take that, Jenny Finch!

Just so we're clear, Lindsay Gardner is MINE. (Not in a weird, stalker way, but in a I'm her fan and you'll have to pick someone else to cheer for way.) She's number three-my favorite number AND she hit in the winning run last night AND she does weird things with her hair, so you know it was meant to be.

Friday night's game was really fun as "Bea Chick" was there, leading the cheers from the stands. I had forgotten her cheering prowess from the past and it was like a bad acid flashback hearing, "SHAKE THAT BAT AND BUST THAT BALL!" flying out of her mouth. Old memories from the "Ace of Diamonds" days came flooding back. The only differences at the Thunder game as opposed to "our" days on the diamond were that everyone was sober, none of us were wearing softball uniforms and none of us were pulling Mayflies out of our bras/hair/teeth/ nostrils. Bea remembered all the good cheers--one of my favorites being "Hit it, rip it, knock it around!" Bea brought out the best in the fans and I'm still trying to recover my voice. I think all that cheering (and staying out so late so many nights in a row--remember, I go to bed at 9 PM and these games went well past 10 pm) led to the dreaded softball hangover I am now plodding through. I will have many a story to tell about my sordid softball past.....

The only other highlights from the week were eating a moldy bagel & attending my neice's eighth grade graduation. No, I wasn't purposefully eating a moldy bagel--I was driving and eating at the same time (never a good idea) and didn't take a good look at the bagel when I pulled it out of my desk. It wasn't until I got to a stop light and looked down--and only after eating HALF of the bagel--did I notice the thick film of fluffy white and green mold covering the majority of the bagel. There was nothing I could do about the part I had already eaten, so I tried not to gag and tossed the rest to the birds. I'm still gagging about that one....at least I won't need an antibiotics for awhile....

As for the graduation, may I say there is not a more spirited group of people on the planet than 300 8th grade students. They are all about energy! We should have brought them all to a Thunder softball game--the stands would have BURST with all their enthusiasm. I needed a nap after being surrounded by such excitement....

Finally, the hair is all good, although the fog at last night's game kinda made it tough to keep my "Jackie Warner" 'do looking good. When I say it was foggy, I mean it was "rolling off the river where's the left fielder" kind of foggy. I thought they were gonna have to call the game on account of fog, but Lindsay saved the day with her RBI.
On a completely different note, I had to copy and paste this musing into the blog, as we are big Suze Orman fans. Who woulda thunk it? We sure missed the boat on this one:

In the Feb. 25, 2007, issue of the New York Times Magazine, financial guru Suze Orman revealed that she is a lesbian and has been with her partner, Kathy Travis, for seven years.

During the interview, which covered her latest book, Women and Money, due out at the end of this month, writer Deborah Solomon asked Orman if she is married, and Orman replied initially, "I'm in a relationship with life."

Solomon then prompted, "Meaning what?" and Orman replied: "K.T. is my life partner. K.T. stands for Kathy Travis. We're going on seven years. I have never been with a man in my whole life. I'm still a 55-year-old virgin." You go, Suze! We knew we liked you. You either love her or hate her. We love her. We even bought her book and CD. We are all about Suze Orman and Dave Ramsey. Show us the money! Um, but what's that comment about being a 55 year old virgin? Suzi, you're gonna have to explain that one to me....

...Back to us: Thank goodness we'll have a night at home. I'm sure the grrrlz (aka the dogs) will be happy to have us home for a change. They probably have "softball abandonment issues" since we've been gone so much this week. Maybe we'll take them along next week....maybe Lindsay can autograph Lucy's collar.....

Stalking Cat Osterman Part II

So, you think you can hit a softball pitched by a girl, do you?

be my guest.

Stalking Cat Osterman


Okay, so we're really NOT stalking Cat Osterman, but I thought it would make for a catchy title to this blog and after all my picture-taking, she was probably feeling a little stalked. Some of you are saying to yourself, "who the hell is Cat Osterman and why would anyone stalk her?" Cat is the pitcher for the Rockford Thunder Women's Professional Softball Team. "So what?" you foolishly ask. Well, she is only the BEST pitcher on the entire planet right now and somehow she found herself standing in the middle of Rockford wondering what the hell happened.

(Above): Cat Crying because she is stuck in Rockford, IL.

(If you really don't know who Cat is, go to her website at catosterman.com but go there only after you finish this blog. Hey--we have to have priorities here.)

We got to "meet" Cat & her teammates at a promotion this morning. One of our peers had the chance to take five strikes from Cat. I would personally have peed on myself if I had to do this, but our friend did us proud. She got a hold of a couple of those pitches and she's the only one of the five that made any significant contact. (Addendum to the Addiverse: There was the one foul ball that I neglected to mention during the original posting of this blog. My apologies to Anna, as she got a piece of the Cat with the bat and that is something I could never do....that most of us couldn't do. You go, girl! Apologies for missing you the first pub.) Of course, since the five celebrity batters only had a chance at five Cat Strikes, that left a lot of time for stalking and goofing around. I don't think Cat was amused by me but what the heck. I was excited about the whole thing and if I want to act like a deranged stalker, more power to me. Below is a photo facing the esteemed pitcher. She doesn't look scared but I'm guessing she is close to hyperventilating:

In case you don't know, Cat is TALL. Like, really tall. Like, I'm a short pee wee next to her tall. She's a lefty--all the more reason I am very glad to be in the stands and not in the batter's box. (Hey, it's been 23 years since I hit a fast-pitch ball. I'm not stupid. I'm not going near her.)

(Above): Lest you think only Cat matters, here are two other Thunder players smiling for the camera as they autograph some softballs. You go, grrlz! We promise to stalk you, too.

The Poor Rockford Thunder. Last thing they knew, they were in Texas, in a state-of-the art softball field. Now, they are in an embarrassment of a ball park where the dugouts don't even have cement floors yet, the bleachers are made of tacky plywood and the bathrooms are more like outhouses than not. I'm embarrassed for our town. What were the people who brought the Thunder to town thinking? This is big business, not some po-dunk gradeschool league. They are still working on the field and it needs a LOT of work. In fact, there is no way any of this is going to be done by tomorrow's sold-out home opener. The fields are okay for park district play but not professionals. I'm surprised the team didn't just get back on the bus after taking a look at the facilities. Cat probably needed a Valium and a raise after coming to the park the first time.

The good news is that Rockford will provide them something they didn't have in Texas: FANS. That's right. Rockford is a HUGE softball town. The opening game tomorrow night has been sold out for months. The place will be packed every game. The Thunder might not hate the field so much when there are all those screaming fans bursting out of the stands. That will be our only saving grace.

I have lots of questions for the Rockford Thunder but I figure I have the whole season to get answers. Where do they live when in town? What do they do when they are not playing softball, both during the season and off season? How the hell did they get to Rockford? Did they even know there was a Rockford? Will any of them stay in Rockford after the season is done? Why do so many of them have facial piercings? (This is a good thing in my book, but a question, nonetheless). Why do they wear make-up when playing softball? Do they have tattoos? Will they still love us even if their home field sucks? How much do they get paid? Do they get their equipment as part of the deal? Do they have to do their own laundry? Do any of them like Madonna, Xena and/or cheeseballs? Are they freaked out about having a 44 year old stalker? Are they scared by my hair? Do they wanna hang out in the Addiverse or with Pat? (That's Pat PAT to you.) What can we do to help them feel the love?

Help them feel the love: http://www.thunderprofastpitch.com/ Go out to a game. Buy some of their merchandise. Buy some cement for the dugout floor. Stalk Cat. In a legal, non-weird way, please. Until they get cement floors for the dugout, I'll be praying to St. Jude for a ballpark intervention and watching the neighbor dog try to climb our tree:

You think I'm kidding about this? We do not kid in the Addiverse. That is a dog climbing our tree. Happens every day. That should give Cat something to think about between innings: "why is that dog climbing a tree? Is this some weird Rockford thing? What the hell am I doing here? Why do I have to go where dogs climb trees?"

Maybe that dog is looking for a cat. Ha ha. Get it? A cat? Cat? Never mind.....