Wednesday, November 4, 2009

We want a pitcher, not a belly itcher!

This week is the pinnacle of BO-RING. I’ve got nothing going on, in my brain or otherwise. You know how some weeks you have a hair appointment, dentist appointment, toe-painting party, SOMETHING to look forward to? Not this week. And it’s only Wednesday. My credit card is blowing up after purchasing maternity clothes and several emotionally-charged trips to Target – so shopping is out of the question. TV is a total suck-fest because of base and ball, which I happen to care NOTHING about. BTW, did you know there is a player on the team and his only job is to pitch the last inning of the game? What a total slacker! When hubs told me that, I seriously told him to get out of town. What’s so special about THAT GUY that he doesn’t have to run around in the fields or lob a few more balls over that hexagonal place mat? This enhances my conclusion that baseball sucks. White pants to play in the dirt? Seriously?

In other news, my hubs is orbiting around the country interviewing for residency positions for the next few months. His biggest challenge is that he has to make small talk. Me? I could chat someone up in the grocery store about their Vera Bradley purse or the coupon I found in the deodorant aisle FOR HOURS. Him, he could care less. He’s one smart cookie, there’s no doubt about that – but proving he’s the type of guy you’d want to be stuck standing in the OR with for some 8-hour penis surgery – is his biggest challenge yet (yes my husband wants to cut on boys’ nether regions. Please don’t judge me.) Don’t get me wrong, He’s hilariously charming and I’d want to converse with him on a boat or with a goat- but sometimes it’s just hard to talk to people you don’t know about shit you don’t care about.

Like baseball.

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