The Old Bait and Switch

I have been avoiding this blog because baseball and I have not been on great terms lately and if you don’t have anything nice to say… well, you know how it goes.  Nik and I have been planning to get a dog this offseason for awhile now. Once we realized that his team wasn’t going to the playoffs, we decided we’d leave Wednesday (as in yesterday) to drive to California and pick the little guy up. Then Nik was going to have to fly back to Tampa for two and a half weeks for instructs (did I mention that he has to go to instructs this year? awesome) and he’d come back and we’d spend the offseason in LA.

Well, the night before the last game of the season, Nik was told he’d be going to Trenton to help with playoffs. His flight was at 830 Sunday morning. Translation: It is/was possible for Nik to come back from Trenton the 16^th and start instructs the 18^th aka ruining every plan we had. After my initial panic and many, many discussions about what the proper course of action would be, we came up with a semblance of a plan.

So here I find myself in California, ready to pick up the puppy tomorrow and drive back to Tampa with Nik’s mom this weekend. Bless her for being willing to do it. Then we (Nik, puppy and I) will spend about three weeks in Tampa before we drive back across the country. Not gonna lie, I’m feeling a little bad for myself and the puppy, of course.

I know the baseball gods are laughing in my face right now. You dared to make plans, heh heh heh, I’ll show you. So lesson learned. Never again will I tempt fate by thinking things will be easy and uncomplicated. On the bright side, this little guy will be all mine tomorrow!!! 

                                                           He's the one on the right

And, yes, you can expect every future post to be about him. Sorry: ) 

My Bob Evans Sunday Funday

Yesterday was so meant to be one of those days. You know those days. The ones where nothing particularly bad happens but all of the little disappointments and exasperations threaten to make you sit alone in your car and scream (which I did not, do by the way). The ones where you just learn to laugh because, really, it’s all kind of funny when you think about it.

I’m going to try a background, scenario format here or else I’ll go on forever.

Background: We are in Bradenton, last day of a four-game road trip. Decide to go to a local church that starts at 10 a.m. about 10 minutes from the hotel.

Scenario: We leave at 10:03 courtesy of Nik and his insistence on getting 8 hours of sleep no matter what. Blue dot on iPhone misleads us. Curse technology. End up backtracking almost two miles before we see the baseball field and realize things have gone terribly wrong. Find the church. Parking lot deserted. Sign in window, closed for renovations, meeting in Sarasota (20 miles south).

Background: Starting pitchers don’t have to be at the field until two hours before game time at home and whenever the last bus is when the team is away. Therefore, they always get the late checkout room at the hotel.

Scenario: Bus leaves at 2:30. Late checkout 2:30. Game starts at 5. What am I supposed to do in Bradenton for 2 ½ hours? Nik suggests I stay in the room as long as I can. The front desk calls at 3, I ignore it. The cleaning lady knocks at 3:30. Are you staying another night or do you have a late checkout? Late checkout. What time are you supposed to leave? Well, I just don’t know (not proud of that one) but ya know. I’ll find out for you. The boss lady comes. You were supposed to leave at 2:30. Really? I am so embarrassed. Let me just gather up my belongings and go then. It’s 3:45.

Background: An hour and 15 minutes to kill, no smartphone aka no way to know anything that’s around me other than the field.

Scenario: I leave the hotel as it begins to sprinkle. Sprinkle turns into downpour. I go to the field. Don’t want to get out of the car. Have to go to the bathroom. Remember I saw a McDonald’s somewhere and decide I need an Oreo McFlurry. Sit damp on a stool looking out at the storm, eating my McFlurry and wondering whether we’re gonna play this game or not.

Background: You can only sit at McDonald’s for so long. It’s still raining but softer now and I want to be at the field in case the game starts on time.

Scenario: The parking at Bradenton sucks with a capital S. There is none. You can park at businesses for $5, which you know I’m not doing because I’m cheap and entitled. So I park 3 ½ blocks away from the stadium and walk shivering in the rain. I wait outside the booth, get my tickets and go inside. I find a seat under the covering but when the wind blows, the rain gets me pretty good. It’s 5. It’s 5:30. It’s 5:45. The fans are getting restless. Many left after the giant bolt of lightning and very angry thunder. It’s 6. A man has decided to run onto the field and use the tarp as a slip n’ slide. The police are not amused. He is escorted out. It’s 6: 30. We’re listening to Yakety Yak on the loudspeakers. A woman leaving opens her umbrella and all of the water on it falls on my head. It’s 6:45. The grounds crew is sweeping the tarp again. It’s 7. The tarp is being taken off. The skies are clearing. Announcement: the game will start at 7: 20, fans cheer. It’s 7: 10. The lake in left field is clearly deep enough to support marine life. Nik starts throwing toss with the catcher. Announcement: due to field conditions and coming weather, the game is cancelled.

Sunday Funday!

Spectator Sport

One of my favorite past times is listening to people in the stands who either know nothing about the minor leagues and guess or people who think they know everything about the minor leagues and explain it loudly to those around them. In both cases, the inaccuracies are usually hilarious.

Last night I was  lucky enough to sit in front of the former. Two middle-aged women who knew nothing but didn't let that stop them from hazarding many [wildly incorrect] guesses. It started with the usual, how much money do they make? Not sure why people are always so interested in that but it's a common question. Lady 2 responded somewhere around $22,000 I think. I'm surprised I didn't laugh out loud. Lady 1 is that all? Oh, if you only knew.

Then things turned to slightly offensive. Lady 1, this is so different than a major league game. You can tell why those guys are in the majors and these aren't. Ouch. Let's remember every major leaguer was a minor leaguer once--geesh. And then the kicker. Lady 2, it must be such a hard life knowing that you're nothing. Just nothing. Wow! Beyond unnecessary. I might have actually mouthed Wow. I was very tempted to turn around and ask when the last time they had an autograph request was. (I do realize people asking for autographs isn't what takes people from nothing to something but you know what I mean).

I could talk forever about the implications of these ways of thinking and how harmful they are and how nobody wins but, you know, it's all part of the game I suppose.

The Big Move

Well, we finally gave up our life of luxury, went the way of most baseball couples and moved in with a host family... or a host person... also known as my Grandma. We've been here for five days now and I just don't know where to begin.

Perhaps the downgrade of our king size bed to a full is a good place to start. The first night was pretty sleepless for both of us. The second night, I was awoken in the middle of the night because Nik was literally laying on top of me. The next night, I woke up in the middle of the night and Nik was glaring at me (apparently I'm not great at sharing the covers). Just when we were starting to figure it out, Nik left on a road trip. First time this season I've been excited about him being gone.

Also, our room is tiny. My grandma lives alone and has three bedrooms and four closets (including a walk-in one) and yet there is no room for any of our stuff. We've already put 2/3 of it in storage but I still regularly trip over backpacks and suitcases and clothes in the four feet of walking space around the bed. The reason there's no space is because my grandma needs to be on one of those extreme couponing shows. 10 for $10--she's all over it. Four bottles of rubbing alcohol, five cartons of half&half, six boxes of kleenex, 36 rolls of toilet paper. It's slightly out of hand.

But we love being with Grammy (and her tiny poodle Rocky) and we especially love not paying rent. Everything else makes a good story and we're loving our new adventure as house guests. It's starting to feel like we're finally earning our minor league stripes!

Oh, Debby

This is usually a dock.

Not so much today.

And this is usually a baseball field.

Not so much today.

(This is the Clearwater Threshers stadium by the way--they're the High A Phillies team about 15 miles west of us.)

If You Give a Girl a Husband...

We're fresh off the All Star Break. Three glorious days off. We spent them flying across the country to go to Nik's brother's wedding in California. It was the most time we've spent together since the offseason. I loved every minute of it but the second I left for work this morning, I felt that old familiar pang. We'd been apart five minutes and I missed him. Like really really bad. Pathetic but hear me out.

You know it's weird but the more time we spend together, the harder it is to be apart. When Nik was in Charleston and I was in Tampa last year, I thought it was absolute torture. But now it's like every time I see him is a tease. Like someone putting a bowl of ice cream in front on you and only letting you have one bite every so often and a scoop or two on the weekend. A taste is not enough! (that is completely not sexual by the way). Does that make sense?

I'm not whining right now just so you know. I don't want it to come off like that because I know how lucky I am to see him at all. It's just something I've noticed in my own experience. It seems like when I had the chance to be completely on my own, I was sad but I had to adjust and make my own plans, get into my own groove and have my own routine. But now our lives are intertwined in a way that makes it difficult for me to feel established on my own. Instead of living my life, I'm waiting for Nik to get home. And I do it to myself, I know I do. But gosh it's just so much easier than making the effort to distract myself or better yet find something I truly enjoy and do it.

So until Wednesday at about 1 am, it's just me and Beary Manilow watching Euro Cup, eating cereal for dinner, missing Nik (obvi) and holding down the fort. Not a bad way to spend a road trip, right?

Meet Beary Manilow-the first Valentine's gift I ever got as a wife.

Life and Stuff

So I’ve been a very bad blogger lately. And I’m starting to get that guilty, nagging, disappointed with yourself feeling I used to get when I’d promise to write in my journal and inevitably didn’t. I’m not sure who I was promising that to. Future readers? The journal itself? Anyway, the point is I’m going to be better and you should ignore my journal when it tells you not to hold your breath.

Seriously, the thing is that I’m like really, really lazy. I have ideas and time and zero motivation. It’s so much more fulfilling to drown your sorrows/boredom in strange and random TV shows you’ve never seen before. In fact, after yesterday I have now seen at least one episode of every USA Original Series except Blue Collar—quite the feat, right? My life is sad - I’ll tell you all about it in a future post that I will write really soon because I’m a regular blogger now!

The Trouble with Rainy Days

No game today...


Two games tomorrow...

Things on my Mind

Let me start off by saying that I love and trust the Lord. I am completely aware that He, in His infinite wisdom, knows far more about the way of things than I do but... cockroaches, seriously?!? I've been thinking about what their purpose could possibly be. There are many creepy animals who have a clear purpose--spiders for example. They mostly leave people alone (unless you're in the Forbidden Forest or playing Jumanji--in both cases, I'm sorry to say, the blame lays entirely with you) AND they control certain bug populations by eating them and also spell things in their webs for little pigs. But cockroaches. Why are they here? What do they do? Except, of course, fall on the heads of unsuspecting young women who are trying to have romantic twilight walks with their sweethearts. But that hardly constitutes a reason for existence. I suppose this will remain one of life's great mysteries..

Nervous Nellie

Nik’s first Spring Training game is this weekend. THIS WEEKEND. As I’ve considered this and the fact that the season is starting in three weeks, that familiar baseball-related anxiousness has started creeping back into my life.

There are a lot of things about this lifestyle that I’ve pretty well mastered. Staying calm during games is not one of them. Which is ironic considering that Nik is completely the opposite-cool as a cucumber (today is old woman phrase day—don’t worry about it) and completely in control.

Oh, but one of us has to be a basket case, right? And better me than him, right? I mean, if you really focused in on the crowd, I’m positive you could pick me out during any of Nik’s starts. I make almost no noise—polite clapping at the end of each half inning and slightly less than polite clapping (relief clapping is what it is) at the end of each outing. So you’ll have to use a keen eye, but it can be done.

You see, I will be the one whose knees are shaking fast enough to convince those around me I have an irreparably advanced case of Restless Leg Syndrome. I will also be the one wincing randomly. And, of course, the one muttering slightly under my breath, sending my husband soft messages of encouragement that he cannot hear and that he would ignore if he could. Or else, I’m the one with both hands covering my mouth so that those nearby cannot tell that I am muttering slightly under my breath. I like to believe the hands over the mouth make me seem less crazy but it’s probably a tossup.

And so it is. Another season of baseball games begins. Another season of weekly panicking and many opportunities for me to look like an over caffeinated mental patient. Let’s play ball!

Random Musings

Payday
The first unmarked envelope filled with $100 bills arrived. Baseball season and its accompanying sketchiness have officially begun.

New Tunes
Okay, I’m kind of scared to say this—if you have younger, “hip” siblings you understand why. They’ve basically bullied me into never revealing songs or artists I like because they always respond with “that song is sooo old.” Conversation over. But I just like this song so much I can’t help myself. It’s called “Somebody I Used to Know” by Gotye. Have you heard it? Am I so late?

Hot Water Drought Update
Our hot water worked perfectly for exactly twenty four hours. Now it’s hot for about five minutes before turning to something I would classify as almost lukewarm. The maintenance man and his supervisor were supposed to come by this morning to verify (this is 100% true) that the problem is with our water heater nipples. I am officially tired of this adventure.

Hope everyone is LOVING spring training:)

The Great Hot Water Drought of 2012

It all started Thursday night. My poor husband, not unused to random screaming from myself, was treated to a “there’s a flying roach in my room/I’m being attacked by a big, scary man (pretty sure it would be the same level of screaming for both events)” decibel yell when the water hit my leg.

I asked him to call the apartment complex. He got on the phone, paused, looked at me and asked if it was an emergency. Ummm yeah! We have no hot water. What part of that is NOT an emergency?

Fast forward to Friday when I get home and realize that we still have no hot water. I call again and am told that the maintenance people are “busy.” Woooowww. I’m busy too—busy stinking because I CAN’T TAKE A SHOWER!!! No one shows up that day either, and I’m a little bit testy when I call (for the third time) the next day.

So I tell Nik, prepare to be frightened, I am gonna let whoever answers the phone have it. To which Nik he nods while giving me a look like he knows what’s really going to happen. Because, here’s the thing, I don’t particularly enjoy being mean to people whether they deserve it or not. One of my most used, least acted upon phrases is “I am going to make a scene.” This never happens, but Nik is wise enough to not invite himself to partake in the wrath of the hot water-less crazy girl stomping around the living room.

So I call and when this sweet, young girl answers I say sort of sternly that they need to send someone from maintenance NOW. I then explain the situation and use the word NOW again to further make my point. She asks me to hold and comes back with the number for the maintenance man who shows up and tells us that we need a part, but, you see, the part people are only open Monday-Friday so no hot water until Monday afternoon.

Well, Nik braved the elements and had himself a little polar bear dip Sunday. I was half asleep, half awake for this little adventure but did manage to notice that he was in there for a very long time considering the temperatures. Come to find out, he had spent about 45 seconds in the shower and the rest of the time mentally preparing for it.

(My parents were out of town so I showered there Saturday and Sunday-- just so you don’t think I’m completely disgusting.)

Anyway, the guy came back Monday afternoon with our part and voila! We have hot water again. Woo! And so concluded the Great Hot Water Drought of 2012.

The Day of Love

[Please don’t judge me. Everyone’s weird, just ask Hanson-bonus points if you know what that means.]

I thought long and hard about what direction I should take with this post. Nik and I’s relationship story? Our first kiss? Best romantic movies? Most romantic places? I decided to go in a completely different direction, by declaring my love for… Peeta Mellark.

I just finished reading the Hunger Games series, can you tell? If you haven’t read it, trust me: Peeta is the perfect guy*, which may or may not have something to do with the fact that he’s a fictional character.

So, as I started down this train of thought about how dreamy Peeta was and how I’d let you in on my love for him, I decided to do some research. I googled (Google=research) Peeta Mellark fan sites. Actually, I’m so embarrassed of myself that I googled Peeta Mellark and was relieved when one of the choices Google put forth ended in fan sites so I didn’t actually have to type it in and feel like the creep I am.

So I went to the first or second site that popped up. I think it was called Peeta Makes Bread (he’s a baker’s son in the books-cute!). So I’m checking it out seeing what they have when I come to a section where the people that follow the site can tell about themselves.

Oh.My.Heavens.

One of them began “Dragons. Dragons. Dragons. I love dragons!” and I thought what have I done? Am I now officially one of those semi-deranged megafans who troll the fan sites of made-up people? That sounds so judgmental. I mean, are we really so different, “I prefer to be called gothic because it’s much more 18th century than goth” girl and I?

My first instinct is to frantically scream YES! But you know what? It’s the day of love and if you love Peeta Mellark then we’ve already got something pretty special (and slightly strange) in common.

Happy Valentine’s Day!

*Except he’s blond. SO not my thing.

Fit for a Princess

Yesterday Nik’s sister texted to tell him that while she was looking through our wedding pictures with our two-year old niece she pointed to me and asked Bella who it was. Her response? Princess Tiana. Kids are the best :)

I see some resemblance. Eh?

One of Those Days

Do you ever have one of those afternoons where you look at the clock and it's 3:00 and you think I can do this? So you decide to busy yourself with some interesting endeavor. And you suck all of the fun and interestingness out of said endeavor and, feeling quite pleased with yourself and your time-using ability, you look at the clock only to discover it's 3:06.

My friends, oh has it been one of those days. Loverboy was so right--everybody really is working for the weekend. ((TGIF)).

It’s That Time of Year Again

Nik and I don’t have very many friends. At least not ones that are close enough to hang out with. So, since we’ve been married, it’s been a lot of just the two of us. Will Smith, anyone?

But minicamp started last Wednesday and life won’t be the same for many months. You see, my dear husband has gotten many long, lost friends back and already made some new ones. And you know what that means? A lot more plans sans the wifey and a lot more opportunities to walk into my apartment saying “Hello honey!” only to find myself talking to Matt Richardson.

Confessions

(They’re nothing like Usher’s thank heavens)

It’s time. Nik has been telling me this gently and not so gently. It’s time for me to just come out and say it.

I am a control freak.

It’s not entirely my fault though, I swear. Just look at what I found at typeapersonality.org:

“Individuals with Type A personality tend to get irritated or impatient at the slightest of changes in their plans. They also tend to get upset over the smallest issues. Individuals with type A personality often tend to display excessive aggressiveness under provoked situations which in turn causes a lot of stress and trauma in the individual and his or her well being.”

OH.MY.GOSH. It’s like they know me!

You too? Do you want to stop acting/being this way? Start dating a baseball player. It will be quite the adjustment but I guarantee you will become a more balanced person. It’s better than a stress management class and it comes with real-world experiences like dramatic breakdowns.

I know because I am a type A personality. I live for plans. To do lists, spreadsheets, detailed itineraries. They exhilarate me, they bring me joy—it’s a sickness. In baseball, there are really no such things as plans. You can make them but they rarely work out.

But the love of planning isn’t something that just goes away. So I’ve developed somewhat of a compromise for myself. I make tentative plans for every foreseeable option. Apartments we’ll live in if we’re in Trenton-check. Road trips I’ll go on if we’re in Scranton-decided. Days I’ll take off work if we’re in Tampa-you know those were set ten minutes after the schedule was released. I know there’s a large chance that none or all of these things will matter this season, but I’ve slowly become more flexible and I don’t even get “irritated or impatient at the slightest of changes in [my] plans” anymore usually (I’m a work in progress).

So why keep planning at all? One, it’s a compulsion. I can’t help or stop myself. But two, it makes me feel like I have some semblance of control. I simultaneously believe my plans will be worth something at some point and know that they won’t. It may sound crazy, but it’s the only thing that keeps me sane.

Things You Shouldn’t Say

Stop me if you’ve heard this one before…this well-meaning lady at church said something that really irritated me a few weeks ago. I should qualify that by admitting that I often get irate for almost no reason when people say seemingly innocuous things.

So, yeah, it got me thinking on a train of things you shouldn’t say to baseball players or their WAGs. I was sort of forming a post in my head about it, and I kept thinking you are a little mean and kind of petty and possibly make people self-conscious (because clearly everyone bases their self-worth on my blog posts). So I decided to not be ridiculous and just stick to the facts-what she said and why it bothered me.

This lady says to me (with an extremely serious face and tone), “That [baseball] is a really hard life. I mean it is really hard.” She continued to repeat this in different variations about four more times. I nodded politely and thought if you say the word hard or difficult or anything synonymous with those two words again, I am gonna freak out right here in the middle of the Lord’s house.

Did I mention my natural tendency is toward sarcasm? I wanted to respond with “My gosh! It’s hard? Well, these past almost three years we’ve been doing this, it seemed like such a breeze! The solo road trips, the long-distance phone calls, the crappy pay, the ridiculous hours, the paralyzing uncertainty and the copious amounts of fast food and strange roommates felt like a frickin’ Roman Holiday!”

I do you want to know, however, that [I’m not a terrible person] had she inserted the measly word “seems” as in “it seems like a really hard life”, I would’ve thought it was nice, empathetic, compassionate even. But, and trust me when I tell you this, no matter what her intentions were, it came across as if she’d said to me are you sure you wanna do this sweetie because I really don’t think you know what you’re getting into.

So, if I were bolder and, arguably, ruder and a little more hormonal at that place and time, I like to think I would’ve said the following: “Thank you for your concern. It really is hard. I panic sometimes thinking about how our lives are at the mercy of so many factors that are out of our control it’s terrifying. And I worry everyday about having enough money to do all the things we’ve both dreamed of. And I even get sick some days wondering how we can raise the family we want with a life like this. And my eyes water at the thought of ever having to say another long goodbye. And I’m scared about how to make the best decisions when we don’t know what will happen to us in five months, let alone five years. But, you know, I came into this relationship with my eyes wide open. And somewhere along this road filled with the fear and the unknown and the trials, I decided my husband and our relationship was worth all of it. So, as naïve as it may sound, I am positive that as long as we’re together we’ll always be okay. And when you believe that, the hard just doesn’t really matter too much.”

I might even have added “Good day!” at the end. Nice touch or too much? I never quite know.