Take Me Out To The Ballgame

Baseball, without an ounce of doubt, is America's past time. I care not that basketball and football get higher ratings, nor will I admit that the steroid scandal has damaged the games reputation. Sure, when Barry Bonds was accused (fuck it he's guilty) of using them, I stopped being a Giants fan. A team that I had loved since as far back as I can remember had a fucking cheater and it killed me. It was one thing for other teams to have their Mcgwire's and Sammy Sosa's, but not my Giants. It wasn't until recently, maybe 4 or 5 years ago that I began to enjoy the game again and LOVE the Giants. Before the World Series win, mind you. My baby sis was and is a bit of a baseball nut. Just listening to her go on and on about stats and records and mostly the Giants renewed my love of the game. Brian Wilson's beard also helped, have you seen it? He's pure awesome. James Harden of the Thunder can only aspire to this amount of greatness.

So with this renewed love of the game, and a husband who played it for years, we enrolled Little Bug in T-Ball. Soccer was pure chaos, all they did was run aimlessly and get a lucky goal, but T-Ball would be different. She would have to focus and hopefully, with the right coach, love the game. Unfortunately, we will never know about the right coach part because Hubby and I were the only parents who were willing to coach.

We're a few weeks into the 11-week season right now. It's hot as hell in the Sun City and windy to boot. The fields are this red/orange-dirt that covers everything and anything. And the kids, well, the kids are 4 and 5 years old. Anyone who has ever met a 4 or 5 year old knows that they can't remember to wipe their ass, have the patience of a full bladder, and the attention span of Snookie. Well, probably a bit better than Snookie. It's been challenging, to say the least, but they have made INCREDIBLE progress.

Little Bug still prefers to play with the dirt than pay attention. She still thinks Mommy and Daddy should drop everything to pay attention to her. Oh, and she is one-half of our terrible twosome. Her and this blond haired blue eyed boy have been drawn together like magnets since the first day. They quote Adventure Time, finish each other's sentences, laugh at the silly faces they make, and his mother says she has to write this in a memory book because it's his first case of puppy love. It's cute, really, but I want to separate them just so I can get them to listen.

We had a buy last week and practice wasn't great. It was almost 104 that day and even though we didn't practice until 7pm, they were just miserable. Couldn't pay attention to save their lives. I held out no hope for a good game today. It has been stormy here and I prayed for our game to be rained out, but no such luck. We were at the field with plenty of time before the start of our game and Little Bug sat in the bleachers playing with the other kids. We talked with the photographer the rec center cleared about our team pics, went over the roster one more time to make sure we had a good batting order, and as the kids started to arrive, I already saw it their faces. It was hot and I could go fuck myself.

To make matters worse, our game started 15 mins later than it was supposed to. The other teams that were playing went over their time limit because they wanted a second inning. T-Ball rules are really simple: don't let them kill each other and as long as every kid hits once, you're good to go. No one is keeping score (I am), there are no outs, who cares how many at-bats your kids has? Gotta make sure they get bat time in front of all the scouts? By the time we start, I've already lost any energy required to wrangle them. Whatever, they'll suck but at least they'll have fun. Oh, and we only had 8 out of our 12. So at least batting would be quick right?

We took the field first. Just getting them to stand in the right place is a challenge and today was even worse. I told one kid to go to first and he said "Where's first?" Because you've never stood at it or played it before right? He spent the whole game whining that his leg hurt. Maybe if you didn't dive for every ball (even though there was never a need to) your legs wouldn't hurt. His dad came out on the field and tried to correct him, but he's that kid. The one who has an injury or has to pee or has dirt in his eye or needs his mom, anything to avoid actually playing. Between him and Little Bug dancing in the outfield, I was exhausted. Hubby just gave up and stopped trying to correct. I should have too.

OH! Before I mess up the timeline, after the first 4 at-bats, one of the rec center staffers brings out one of our team members. This kid got dropped off (late) by his dad, but to the wrong field. The dad just took off. What's worse is the kid didn't even have the situational awareness to realize that it was the wrong red team and tried to bat for them. The team was 6/7 year olds and the coach was great. He made sure the staffer knew that the kid was just dropped off, no parent and told him that it looked like he belonged on our field. This kid doesn't really talk, but won't talk at all to adults, or even turn his head in acknowledgement that you are speaking to him. He cries because his glove is on the wrong hand but when you tell him to switch it, he won't. Telling him to pay attention is a waste of time because it's like he goes out of his way to get hit by the ball. His father is a jackass that all the other parents hate and a small part of me thinks he may be abusive. His dad didn't show up until the end of the game. I made sure we reported it to the rec center director because of the no drop off policy and I also mentioned the dad and his rage issues. I confided in them my abuse suspicions as well, and they assured me that they would pass it along to CPS. No child is that fearful of adults without a good reason to be.

BUT that was not the most eventful part of the game. During our first at-bat, we were rather slow in getting the kids up to the plate. Quite frankly, I was the only person in the dugout and I was more concerned with getting water in them than how quickly they got on deck. Hubby was at the plate with them, another dad in the practice box and I was trying to put on helmets, take off their gloves (and assure them they'd get them back), prevent the fist fight that was brewing between two of the boys, and keep their water in their cups or mouths and not their clothing. We did pretty well, considering, but not well enough for the third base coach of the other team. 

He was old and obviously a grandpa, and apparently, our speed enraged him. He yelled out "Come on batter, get it movin', get it movin'." I was trying to get the possibly abused child up and he froze immediately. I assured him he was okay and the old man kept it up. "Get up there, we ain't got all day!" I looked right at him and said "Stop, please. They are 4 and 5 years old." He didn't listen, just got louder. "Knock it off," I added. "They're little kids. You need to be quiet." When he started up again, because how dare a woman tell him anything, the dad helping in the practice box raised the bat in his hand and said "SIR! Knock. It. Off." The dad's size and stern voice did it. Got the attention of the umpire as well and he kicked him off the field. After the game, he came into our dugout and tried to shake my hand, but since they were full, felt the need to pat me on the back. He said "It's cool coach." His pat was more of a full-on slap and I winced. I said "It's not cool. You don't yell at children, especially the ones on my team. And you don't need to touch me." He stepped back, aghast, but then walked the fuck away. I am against elderly abuse, but ol' dude needed an ass whoopin'. If he had said anything else, I probably would have knocked his ass out. He just screamed mean ass old man. I hate mean ass old men.

Any who, the kids got ice-cream after the game and all seemed well. The worst kids from week one were the best behaved today. Little Bug has further affirmed that she'll be a drama/music kind of gal, and that's okay. And I get to drink booze and eat chocolate with my gals tonight. All in all, not a horrible day.

Not On The Test

I was running a bit late tonight and was not the first one to class. Mexican Snookie and Clown Face were here before me, studying. Yes, studying. You see, tonight we have an exam on the first three classes' material. We were given all the power point slides during week one so we can study them in preparation for the exam, but apparently, they didn't know until tonight that the exam is going to cover what was in the power points. Even though it was explained to them several times, they said they didn't know. Even though I personally explained it to Clown Face, they didn't know. So here they sit, speaking in Spanglish LOUDLY about the difference between a search warrant and the Supreme Court. They are actually debating if the Supreme Court gets the search warrants or issues them and if the Supreme Court is only for Texas.

Clown Face: The police get the evidence from the Supreme Court.
Mexican Snookie: Yeah but that's just for Texas. That Evans guy had the porn that they searched and the Supreme Court told them to keep it for Texas.
CF: Oh si, that's right.

No, no it's not right. Not at all. They went on and on and three minutes before class I snapped.

Me: Seriously, you're doing too much. It's not a hard test. If you even remotely looked it over the slides, you'll be fine.
CF: Oh you think?
Me: You're going to psych yourself out. (Looking up at I-USA) No offense, but it's pretty easy.
CF: Oh I didn't take offense.

I would hope not, I was talking to him, not you. She giggled at him and said "You'll go easy on me 'cause I'm easy on the eyes, right?" He walked out of the classroom to pretend to take a call. I know it was pretend because he winked at Juarez Teenager Female and I as he did it.

Right now, he's reading us jokes from Larry the Cable Guy. No one, well no one beside Clown Face, is laughing. He keeps looking at Stoner White Boy Cop and I like we are supposed to laugh, presumably because we're white. Well, guess what buddy? I'm not going to laugh, mostly because it isn't funny, but a tiny portion is because you can see the hurt in his face when we don't. He just gave us our week one performance rewards and Stoner White Boy Cop and I won. He gave us pens. I guess I can't complain, I left mine at home today.

Ten after the hour and we have finally started. I'm staring at Judge Dread on the screen and he's babbling about efficient cops. Since week one, Judge Dread has been on four, maybe five slides. Someone loves him some Stallone. He brought up informants and said "Snitches are an important part of the federal system, and the state system." Do you know how hard it was to not say that snitches get stitches. I had to fight to not go for the quick laugh.

Carlos Brown, SWBC's friend just walked in wearing ANOTHER striped polo, buttoned all the way to the top. His posture is killin' me. He scoots his chair as far as he can to the table and then slouches down. All I can see is head, shoulders and neck. Oh, and his hairy ass forearms and hands. He twitches a little bit, more of a junkie twitch than a palsy twitch. I'm not quite sure why I find him so fascinating, but he is. He's chewing gum and the whole right side of his head bulges out when he does. It's like Alien, but in his head. I feel like I've seen him before, perhaps on a Gangland episode.

We've started on Tennessee v. Garner and everyone has an opinion. It is the case from 1985 in which the Supreme Court ruled that you couldn't use deadly force on felony suspects that were not complying with commands. You could fuck 'em up if they are an immediate threat but Fat Alberto said "Oh cause like the book said if a robber is leaving your home you could shoot them." No Bro, just no. Home invasion and a police officer using deadly force are not the same things. Catch up. I wanted to ask what the pre-conditions for deadly force were and then answer before anyone else could, but I'm at the point where I don't need to show off, I did win a pen after all.

I pretty much zoned out for the last 10 min or so. I watched the final out of Matt Cain's perfect game (GO GIANTS1) and only came to just now when I smelled the oh-too-noticeable fart smell that wafted my direction. My money is on Fat Alberto. I-USA just isn't providing any gems tonight. I want to shake him and say his dullness is killin' my flow. He hasn't even graded out papers from last week yet. Maybe he had a bad date this week and is too depressed to attempt humor. He is combing his hair to the left now instead of straight back. Oooh, maybe it wasn't a bad date, but a good one. He's been gettin' some so his class doesn't matter anymore. Whatever it is, I'm baiting him with leading questions that should spark debate and he's not biting.

I did just inform the Hispanics in the room that they are not Mexican unless they are actually from Mexico and you should have seen the outrage conveyed on their faces. Classic. I'm right and now you're entire identity is called into question. Nationality and race are not the same thing people. I win. I guess I shouldn't brag about that, it's quite sad that they never knew that. I-USA told them that white people can be Mexican and I thought I saw a tear roll down Blob Zombies cheek.

We're on break and Hipster Gordo is stuffing his gob with vending machine snacks and Dr. Pepper. He doesn't have a neck. No exaggeration, he's got a chi-neck. It's making my neck feel creepy. I keep touching it to make sure it's still there.

Just took the test and I got 38/40. And it was the two questions I changed even though I knew they were originally right. God damn it. I shouldn't be upset, I still got the highest grade but I'm disappointed in myself. I-USA said to the class that if you got less than 30, then you need to study more. I laughed and Katniss said "How do you get less than thirty? Wow." and I saw Juarez Teenager Females test. It said 29/40. Whoops. Oh and we got to grade our own tests. Every time I-USA would say an answer you would hear a "YES!" or "NO!" in what was intended to be a whisper but was anything but. I thought Katniss was gonna cut somebody. "Seriously?!" she said. "We're gonna go all first grade and do this with every answer?!" I almost died. But the other side of the room did, in fact, do it with every answer. I'm not saying that one should cheat, but as I am certain of their level of integrity, you'd have thought they would have gotten higher scores. What was even better was when they asked what their grade was. Um, you graded your own test, how could you not know?

Mexican Snookie and I-USA just made a joke about serial rapists, because apparently, rape is funny. No people, it's not. Only if the serial rapist is a clown. We've moved on but I'm now ready to pounce. When I-USA mentioned Atticus Finch, Mexican Snookie said "Who?" I-USA and I said "From To Kill a Mockingbird" and she still looked confused as fuck. She tried to play it off but I am now fully aware that Mexican Snookie cannot read. And I discovered that her real name is that of the local mall. Seriously. Those of you who live in Sun City will get that and LOL real world.

We're sort of going over next week's lesson and we've been promised that we get to contiue our not Nazi movie. Oh joy. Let's watch an Asian documentarian's flick about Juarez. BTW according to the flick, I should just kill myself because it is all the white man/America's fault. I cannot wait for the gasps and gagging sounds that are sure to happen when the camera man zooms in on blood on the floor or a body covered in a sheet. Seriously, that shocks you? We see that shit every damn day in movies and TV. You care that an average of 8 people are killed a day in Juarez, but don't bat an eye when someone mentions a soldier dying or another bullied teen committing suicide, even when it happens in OUR town. I intend to keep up my RiffTrax-esque commentary the entire time.

I'm going to end this now so I can pack my stuff up. I have considered writing an op-ed on this "film" and turning it in to I-USA, if I do, it'll post it on here for all of my lovelies.

Why Don't You Get A Job?

My first job (that wasn't babysitting) should have never happened. I am certain that had it not, I would swear less, never have smoked, and would be far less versed in verbally destroying lesser individuals.

The summer of my 15th year, I was living in a town CCR allegedly got stuck in, California. You know what there is to do in the aforementioned town? Not a damn thing. Sure, people hung out in the Walmart parking lot til all hours, saw one of the two movies playing at the only theater in town, went partys out in the vineyards, and if you were me and my not-yet-ready-for-hard-shit friends, hung out at Sno-White Drive In across from Town Name Lake. Oh, and by lake I mean man-made cesspool of filth and river waste that was closed most of every summer due to high Ecoli levels.

Sno-White used to be part of a chain in California, but I choose to believe that when the health conscious hippies took over the state, so went the way of awesome burger stands. These chains got sold off to locals and even with it's burnt out sign that read "Home of the Super Burger", cracked paint, even more cracked wooden picnic tables, and all around dilapidation, people still flocked to Sno-White. Or Super Burger as people sometimes called it because they were idiots. There was (and is) a Foster Freeze in town, complete with the ice cream cone named Mr. Freeze neon sign, but their ice cream wasn't as good and their bathroom was too clean. Everybody knows the food is always better when they have a nasty bathroom.

So the summer of my 15th year, my girlfriend KiKi and I (not to be confused with a one Ms. Quiverbone) were sucking down some bomb-ass milkshakes and spotted the ice-cream splattered help wanted sign in the corner of the window. We both applied on the spot. Who wouldn't want to work across from the lake and flirt with all the hot guys that were sure to flock there? About a week later I received a call from Jade, the manager. I was excited, my first real interview, but she manically explained to me that I was the youngest who had applied and no one else had called her back and could I start the next morning and somewhere in all of her crazy, I said yes. I called KiKi right away and told her. She wasn't happy. She was almost 8 months older than me and was higher on the hire list, but apparently didn't get a message. She implied that I should have turned down the job, but I didn't care. I was going to be making money all summer and shopping and flirting and she should be understanding of that.

I took the GrapeLine (our town's bus equivalent) from my place to Sno-White and showed up a good 15 min early. Even before the AF I was prompt. I knocked on the back door and the oldest living hunchback I have ever seen opened the door. "Are you Tiffany?" she asked in an obvious Arkansas drawl. I nodded and said yes as she ushered me inside. I should have ran to catch the bus as soon as I saw the inside. Ick. The outside was dilapidated but the inside? The inside was comparable to what I would imagine I would see in a third-world country's diner would look like. Straight ahead from the door was the front window and the view of the pristine Lake Ecoli. But to my right was a walk-in freezer and sink area, to my left was a set of deep fryers and a grill, and right next to the back door was a mini-freezer that was dripping some sort of fluid. I'm still not confident it was really only water.

Joy led me to the front left of the establishment with a waddle and a wave and sitting at a tiny desk surrounded by shelves of cups and napkins sat Jade. She had buck teeth that gap in the front, a femme-mullet, broad shoulders, a broader waste, and she wore a man's XXL polo with coolots and sneakers. I saw a hint of mustache over her sweaty lip (in all fairness, it was like a sauna in there), and she reached out her hand for me to shake and said "Heya kiddo. Welcome to Sno-White. Let's go out back and chat." We stood outside for what seemed like hours as she smoked Marlboro Red after Marlboro red and talked mostly about herself, her kids, her grand kids, and her husband, all of whom (mind you, I had not seen them yet) seemed like they would go well on a Jerry Springer stage. I nodded and tried to ask questions about the job when I could, but eventually gave up. 1130 hits and Joy yells out for us that there were cars pulling in. Jade hands me an apron and a pencil, literally pushes me towards the cash register and says "You've done this before, right?" and goes back into the freezer to grab some stuff.

I made due. It wasn't rocket science, but you'd have thought I was Stephen Hawking. Joy cooked the orders and Jade made the shakes and Ice cream when those orders came up. I filled drinks, wiped tables when it was slow and with every good deed, praise could be heard from both women. "Girl, you're so smart. I ain't never seen somebody work that hard" Joy said to me at the end of my shift. I smiled and said thank you, despite my thoughts that they must have the worst employees ever if doing your job made you "so smart." Within 3 days I was making shakes and perfect swirls on ice cream cones, working the deep fryer, slicing buns for our Super Burger (Big Mac rip-off), restocking and organizing, and each day, Jade and Joy sang my praises. I worked from 9 to 1 for the first week and had only met the two of them. The night crew didn't come in until 4pm and the owner, Dan, hid in his trailer/office that sat behind the building.

I eventually would meet Dan, a reservist Warrant Officer (Helicopter pilot), who had a white hair comb-over, 1980's clothing, and a pedophile smirk. He never looked at my face, always my chest (yes, they were big then too) and I always wanted to bathe immediately after being remotely near him. Years later, his only son would be killed execution-style in a meth deal gone bad on the outskirts of our town. Very sad and still unsolved. He sold the business to some woman who painted it pink.

As the summer progressed, I started meeting the rest of the employees. Robin ran the night shift. She was barely 5 feet and skinny like a crack whore. Sores in the corners of her mouth made me think this could have been true. She had a smokers growl and a Lorrie Morgan hairstyle. I made the mistake once of telling her she looked like Lorrie and she said "You know what, I get that all time 'cept I sing better." I laughed but she wasn't joking. She spent the rest of the night singing "Watch Me", "Something in Red", "Except for Monday" and "Fancy" which I wanted to tell her was a Reba song but I let it go. She quit not long after that and the last I had heard circa 2004, she had hanged herself in her garage.

Shawn took over for Robin after she quit. Big, burly, tatted up, fucked up grill and a woman. She never wore a bra and her tits hung down to the middle of her belly button. She fought with everyone, had a boyfriend who was just as nasty and abusive (and she hit him too), and had a southern accent for no apparent reason. Seriously, how do you have a southern accent when your are born and raised in CA? I hated working with her. She gave me the willies. I was always scared she might hit me or eat me or touch my no-no places. Her and Chris, the other night shift "manager", hated each other. Chris was a single mother of two and a super Chola. Butt crack lip liner, sharpied eyebrows, actually used to be in a gang, but she liked me. Said I was the baddest white chick she knew, because only a white chick who was bad would talk back like I did. She would tell me, while pointing at me with a knife that never left her hand, "Girl, you're a funny white chick. I wouldn't have kicked your ass back in the day." Thank you? She also gave me pointers on how to fight white bitches. Always punch, don't slap. Don't pull hair unless you're going to rip that shit out. Oh, and my favorite, "don't stop crackin' theys skulls til the cops pull you off." I actually took notes once, you know, in case I ever had to testify. Chris ended up with another kid and a parole violation and Shawn went head first into an overpass after a night of heavy drinking. She died.

Tony was a teenage boy who worked there as well. He went to the other high-school in town and was the definition of in the closet. He was over-weight, super feminine, and the biggest drama queen I have ever met. He would start a fight over who had to do dishes, who had to clean the ice cream machine, who touched his apron...it was never ending. I told him once that he didn't have to be a stereotype. He asked me what I meant and I said "No one cares if you're gay. Just don't be a catty little bitch." He raised his hand like he was going to slap me, but I didn't bat an eye. I just said "Tony, that is soooo Dynasty of you. And Chris taught me how to fight." He walked away crying, from that and several more verbal beat downs I gave him. It wasn't because he was gay, I have to make that clear. It was because he was a bitch. I love me some gays, I just hated me some Tony's. He tried to set me up on a date with his "friend" once. But he came along too. We saw a movie and Tony sat in between us. I'm pretty sure I was the beard. I got a free movie out of it, plus popcorn and a soda, so I'm not complaining. He found me years later on Myspace (you read that right) and he looked great, lost a ton of weight, started taking care of his skin, came out of the closet...called it. He was going to school in Southern California (Not SoCal because I am not a douche) and modeling. He thanked me for being the only person who understood him, to which I wanted to ask what the fuck he was talking about, but just let go and said "Your welcome." He looked happy. Good for him. Probably still a bitch though.

Tasha was our resident Teen Mom, before it was cool to be knocked up and still in high school. She had the roundest, fattest head I have ever laid eyes on and the intelligence of the grease that coated the walls. She had this rolly polly of a boyfriend who knocked her up my second summer at Sno-White. She was such a smug bitch. I know most pregnant women are smug bitches, the way they rub there belly when talking to you as if to say "You want what I have", but Tasha was super smug. I'm sure her mother's life's ambition was to have an unwed teen mom for a daughter and her mother's before her. That's not sarcasm. She had her baby shower at Sno-White and bragged about how her daughter beat her because she was pregnant at 15 and she had Tasha at 17. While writing this, I think I found her on FB through a mutual friend. I was horrified and deleted the mutual friend as well. Anyone who knows that can't know me.

There were random coke heads, perverts, lesbians, and other low-lifes that Sno-White employed over my tenure there, but they all came and went so fast, I can barely remember them. I still pride myself on all that learned there, you know, don't be filthy, work hard, how to make the most amazing mint-chocolate chip banana shake ever, and I loved having a job. When all my friends had to bum money off of there parents, I didn't. Very liberating. And while I picked up some awful habits there such as smoking (also where my mom caught me but that is it's own blog), swearing, and talking down to everyone I saw, I can look back and see how far removed I am from that. I don't smoke anymore, I don't curse...as much, and I treat others with respect. Okay, the smoking part is true at least.