Nothing rhymes with April

[muckefuck]

It was a little taste of summer today. The mercury hit the 80s, the kids were out sunning themselves on the grass, and the Cubs have started their June Swoon just a bit early.

monshu's lucky I don't believe in jinxes. I came bounding into the bedroom earlier tonight to tell him that the Cards had just scored in the fifth to lead 2-0 against the Cubs. "Isn't that the same as what happened in that other game?" [Last Saturday's 5-7 loss.] I scolded him, saying "That's not what a supportive boyfriend would say!" Within two innings, the Cardinals had made two errors and the score was 3-3. I was glued to the television for the next couple hours until they pulled it out in the 8th. (Can't really cast stones what with Schumaker dropping a routine fly and all, but, really, how sucky do you have to be to let Pujols steal bases in back-to-back games?)

So, to recap, two things I need if I'm going to be watching Cards-Cubs games on a regular basis: (1) sympathetic boyfriend; (2) alternative audio so I don't have to keep listening to the suck that passes for calling in the bleak post-Brickhouse era. Usually the chuckleheads just babble on instead of, you know, describing the action on the field, but tonight they outdid themselves. When Pujols made it home, one of the nimrods said, "That's three for the Cardinals!" Um, they had three from the end of the fifth inning on, moron. But a win is a win, even when it's the fourth one in a row. (Beating the Cubs is nice for the bragging rights it gives over our neighbour, but sweeping the Mets is what warms the cockles of that 12 year-old's heart inside me.)

I should go easy on the Old Man, however. He was too sleepy for our planned trip to Andersonville, so I took him out to Uncommon Ground instead. On false pretences, as it turns out: They were the only place around that has outdoor seating, but I don't know what made me think they left it out all year round. It also turns out we'd stayed away just long enough for me to forget what ruined the meal I had there before. When my pork belly arrived dried out, I thought That's right, didn't they fuck up the meat then, too? Looking back, I see that they did, but what really exasperated me was the burnt cornbread, so it turns out I can't blame them after all for the Heartland Cafe mistake of letting the vegetarians cook the meat.

I lacked the conviction to send it back when I should've, but still whined about it anyway, which caused our server to softheartedly comp both my beer and our dessert. "You really don't want me to leave in a bad mood, do you?" I told her. And I didn't, but I'm really tired of paying $20 for a piece of meat and have it turn out more poorly than at someplace which would've charged me half as much for a more generous portion. Bitch, gripe, moan. I blame my pissiness on something in the air. After all, the couple right next to us got into an argument in front of their young child and, on the back porch earlier that evening, our neighbour was cursing his wife into his Bluetooth receiver. Seriously, people, what about doing your laundry at home?

Comments

[muckefuck.livejournal.com]

I grew up in a household where we were all very critical of each other, so I always worry about being too picky. Generally, if I get served a bad meal, unless it's seriously inedible (like that undercooked chicken last year), I just suck it up and then don't go back. But it's tough to avoid this place because it really is one of the few good restaurants around. So I figure I either need to (a) figure out what dishes the kitchen really can turn out flawlessly and simply stick to those or (b) come prepared to send something back every other time we go there. The latter is hard for me, because it's just not the way I was raised, but I can't justify paying the prices they're asking there otherwise.

On baseball: It's funny to hear you describe this as a generational thing, because I probably wouldn't be into baseball at all if not for my ex Nuphy, who is at least your age or older. Until I met him, I'd also only been to one ball game and been bored out of my life, but I did have fond memories of the 1982 and 1985 World Series. Without me even realising it, he taught me how to watch a ball game and get something out it. So about six years ago when I starting going to a gay bar that broadcast the playoffs, I was surprised to discover I could get into it. (monshu--who's cut from much the same cloth as you--calls me "my little jock" when he sees me getting excited over a game.)

But I suppose I am sort of "post queer" in other ways, in that I was always into things--nature, science fiction, punk, fat old guys, etc.--that weren't a part of the traditional gay aesthetic.