#11 Take me out to the triple-digit ball game!

I'm not a sports person, so I really had no business covering the AABC Mickey Mantle World Series in McKinney a couple weeks ago.

They sent me anyway, as they needed a heat-related story for the coverage of the triple-digit heat streak (which was broken 1 day before it tied the all-time record. Boo that).

The following post is my acount of what happened when they sent a non-sports fan to the ballgame:

It was hot. My trusty hardware store thermometer read 106 in the shade when the 2 p.m. game started. I don't know about you, but the sun and I don't get along, I'm fair skinned and freckled, so SPF 50 was a necessity, and I sure hope the boys on the field had some.

As parents settled in for the long haul, and the rather cute boys running the PA system started introducing players and positions -of which I know nothing about-- I setttled in for the long haul too and tried to at least look informed. I  think I probably failed at that, but the parents seated around me were nice enough to let me think I blended.

I didn't know then what you called the dirt part of the diamond (the infield, see, I know it now), but this poor guy ran out there at 1:30 and wet it down, he also wet down the circle where the pitcher stands (pitcher's mound, yeah, yeah..at least I know he's a pitcher), and the triangle-ish area where the batter/catcher/umpire stand (home plate?).  By the time the first inning came to a close (at that point, I had no idea what actually makes an inning end), the infield (look at me with my new knowledge) was dry again. Clouds of red dust rose up from the scorched earth everytime a player...ran/took/stole/slid (?) into a base.

The parents, though they appeared to be melting, along with their other children who were red-faced from running in the now-107-degree-climate that was the bleachers (metal. with a metal overhang), were still finding the energy to shout and cheer for the boys in white (both teams wore white uniforms, this led to much Ananda confusion as it was sometimes hard to see if a jersey had the bigger logo of the Canadian team, or the smaller, two letter logo of the Indiana team).

By the time the second inning rolled to an end, I was totally confused as to which team was ahead 2-0, and couldn't figure out why the coach of the Canadian team was sometimes standing in front of the dugout of the Indiana team and vice versa (post-game theory: does it have something to do with which team is batting, and which team is pitching??)

As people left the stands for water and popsicles, I was wondering where the stereotypical hot dogs were, I guess it was too hot for them. The stands did have their fair share of peanut and sunflower shells littering them, guess popsicles were too childish for the fans of the previous game. Some of the parents were super-hi-tech and were keeping track of the teams stats and the pitcher's/batters speeds with one of those radar-gun things. It was pretty intense looking. But I was informed that at 16 years of age, as the boys in the tournament were, college scouts are already looking, as are some MLB scouts. (MLB =Major League Baseball, I knew this before I attended the game).

By the start of the impossibly-long third inning I had sort of figured out what the numbers on the score board meant, and I was about 90% sure the Canadian team was winning (based solely off fan cheers). In my defense, the teams' scores were labeled "Home" and "Visitor." As both teams were visiting, I just didn't get it. The third inning included such high-octane moments as the Canadian team's score going from 7 to 8-9-0 (the scoreboard doesn't go past nine) in about a minute (what do you call it when everyone makes it around the field like that, including the batter?) and the Indiana team getting annoyed enough at that to score their only two runs in the entire game.

The fourth and fifth innings came and went with no change in score, but as the fiftth inning ended, the Canadians cheered and the Indiana fans were slightly subdued. I couldn't figure out why at first. Then I realized there was some sort of mercy rule, and as the score was 10-2, the officials had ended the game at five innings. The players shook hands and the stands quickly emptied as people went in search of air-conditioning.

My thermometer spiked to 111 degrees walking back to the car (it was on the top of my open bag, which was hanging off my arm). It was hot. And that's an understatement. When I got to the parking lot I stripped off any piece of extraneous clothing I could (I had a shirt over a tank top, with shorts. I'd changed before leaving work because I had no desire to be a victim of heat stroke). Of course, the 40 minute drive back to the office with A/C on high the whole way helped out, as did the office itself: a balmy 70 degrees, I didn't bother to change out of the shorts/tank top combo, though I did add a second tank top so I didn't look so underdressed. It's the only day I haven't been cold at work. Though I was told I didn't look nearly as bad as they'd thought I would after being in the heat from 12-4:30 pm. (Goody for that?)

The story I wrote sounds like I'm aware of the game (thanks to an editor who does actually care a bit about the sport), and I'm more aware now than I was in the previous 22 years of my life. However, I think I either need to purchase a copy of "sportswriting/sports for dummies" or spend more time in sports bars asking cute guys what the rules of the game/s are!

#10 Catch-ups and a sneak-peak at what I have to write about

I hadn't realized that the last post I made was 1. in February, and 2. was about my Honors Thesis. Wow, so much has happened since then: I stress fractured a bone in my foot, I got a Fellowship at a major newspaper for the next year, I finished the Thesis and presentend it, I GRADUATED, I MOVED to Dallas, and I'm in the work force instead of being a student.

That's the quick update, the following anecdotes and life happenings will be documented in subsequent posts, but I wanted you to know what's coming down the pipeline for your enjoyment (if my life has to be this nuts, someone should at least get a laugh out of it, right??).

Stay-tuned for further updates on the crazy things that happen to me on a semi-regular basis.  :)


*Note: these won't necessarily be posted in the order they happened.*

- Baseball games: I wrote about one for the newspaper, I'll write about it here for the general public's enjoyment. (Post # 11: Take me out to the triple-digit ball game)

- Pigs as pets: My brother is now the proud father of a pig named Zoey, I'll share her story. Update: He's also rescued a small feral hog named "Pevo," her story will be added to Zoey's.

- Moving into my apartment: It was a lovely little misadventure into the world of leases, maintenance, and renter's remorse. I do love my apartment [now] though.

-The foot fracture that just keeps on giving: The tragic tale of how I broke my foot and it's not-quite-healing despite months of rest. Update: New doctor, new walking cast, new game plan.

-Raccoons and their rescuers: This is another tale from the work files, it's a doozy of a story though.

-Bobcats and their right to life: Once again, a tale from the work files, it's another must-read.

-Coachroaches who ride yoga balls: another "you can't make this stuff up" tale of the roach who took a ride across my apartment, and the lengths I went to ensuring his demise.

-A Pennsylvania Wedding: One of my college roommates and I went to the wedding of my swing dance partner and his wonderful fiancee in Pennsylvania, it was a great trip and I'll share the highlights with you.

- Snakes inside my Grandmother's Texas home: I hate snakes, so does most of my family. But when serpents invade my Grandma's house, there's truly nothing sacred anymore. This will be my secondhand account of the horror.

-Oh my goodness I'm not in college anymore: the obligatory "OH NO WHAT HAVE I DONE I'M NOT READY TO BE A GROWN UP YET" post. I promise it'll be hilarious.

#9 I've misplaced my Thesis Advisor.....again?

So, here's the thing - I've lost my Thesis advisor, again...

I had a Thesis advisor once, I called him Dr. Evil. Then, he decided to leave (and while I understand his very good list of reasons as to why, I'm still mildly bitter about the leaving me). Yes, that's right, he left me.

I got a new Thesis advisor, who also heads up Tiger Nation, and things were going well. My research was wrapping itself up nicely, I had started the mental process of self-loathing and revulsion that ultimately snaps and turns me into a whirlwind writing machine, he was on board with my project; yes,  it was going well indeed. But then I started turning in pages and somehow lost him.

I blame the Internet. He was fine when last I saw him crossing campus, but then I e-mailed him and I am convinced that when he opened my message it sucked him into a vortex of never-ending information that is so overwhelmingly HUGE that he cannot determine which way is up and therefore cannot escape and critique my partially-written thesis.

Or, perhaps he found out that I root shamelessly for the University of Texas at Austin's Longhorns in football and decided to punish me, as he attended their arch rivals, the University of A&M at College Station's Aggies.

Or..maybe he found that I'm not a huge sports fan, and I only watch and root for UT during football season out of respect for my Grandfather (someone who trust me, you do not wish to irritate or root against).

Or, perhaps he was contemplating reasons two and three when reason one, the big, bad Internet came on the scene and swallowed him whole.

Or, perhaps I really need to get more sleep and stop thinking of crazy conspiracy theories as to why I've misplaced my second thesis advisor.

Or, better yet, I should find some computer and Internet savvy friends and mount an Internet search-and-rescue party to save him from the Web he's caught in (unless he's somehow stuck in a virtual College Station, then I think I'd let him stay stuck)?

Nope, I've got it, I will write up more pages of Thesis, and hopefully, when I send them across they will take the same path as the first two sets and this will confuse the Internet into letting him back out into the real world where he can read and critique my Thesis. Yes, that's it. That's the new plan....Or.....is it?

#8 Saving Face: the battle of the bills.

As previously published in The Signal of Ouachita Baptist University, where I'm News/Features Co-Editor:

       You can't spend one-third of a $10 bill. However, you can spend one-half of a $10 bill if that half includes half the face of Alexander Hamilton (the dead guy on it).
       How do I know this this random fact, you might be tempted to ask? I know this because ATMs are out to get me.
       Last week, I used the U.S. Bank ATM on campus to pull cash for my trip to Washington D.C. Knowing I would need real money to pay for things like taxis, metro fare cards, and Dr Pepper, I asked the machine for $70.
       It hummed and thumped and tick-tick-ticked as it counted what I naively thought was my money. Then, it spit out three pristine, brand new, never spent twenties, and one-third of a new, pristine ten dollar bill.
       One-third - as in slightly less than one half. Clearly, this was some grave mistake on the part of the ATM, right? Wrong. When I called to let U.S. Bank know of the issue, they explained - after several minutes on hold while they discussed the issue and how to fix it - that, as it was my bank [as in my bank back home in sweet, sunny Texas] that would need to get the $10 back for me, I would have to deal with them.
        I was mad, but I called my bank too.
        After about an hour of hold music interspersed with re-explanation of the situation and the e-mail of one piece of paperwork, I was done.
        Just kidding. The form had to be filled out and signed, then faxed to them (thanks to the marvelous folks at Student Services, it didn't take too long).
        The hard copy. with a copy of my ATM receipt, but not the offending bill, needed to be mailed as well.
         Long story short, I will eventually be getting $10 credited to my account, but I'm now wondering, if one can spend one-half a $10, can one spend it twice? I'm going to assume there's a rule that prevents that from being legal, thought I've yet to research it. (I'll work on that this week.)
         Sometimes the truth is just too complicated to make up.

# 7 Valentine's Day a.k.a. Singledom Blues

I have been single for 21 Valentine’s Days.

Granted, the first 12 or so didn’t really matter, I was a kid. Even then, in high school it wasn’t a huge deal, but once I hit college, it was a big deal. A very big deal.

My freshman year I saw a guy carry his girlfriend around all day. Yes, all day. Yes, you read that right, carry, as in her feet were not on the ground. How do I know it was an all day thing?

Simple. While I was trudging the slow walk of a single 18-year-old girl with a heavy backpack, I passed them three or four times. He had her backpack on with his own and was carrying her like a guy does in movies. I wanted to trip him.

My sophomore year I was in Spain, studying abroad. Spanish is the language of love, and Spain the country of PDA-to-the-max so Valentine’s Day rolled around and merely meant the girls on the street were sporting red lace thongs instead of black, and everything else was as normal.

Last year, My suite bought flowers for each other. Put together into one big vase, we had a really nice bouquet, and the half price candy from Walmart also helped.

This year, I don’t have flowers, my mother’s Valentine’s candy for me won’t arrive until Thursday, my life in general is skewed something crazy, and I’m sick of seeing couples. Everywhere.

I feel like all but a handful of my friends are dating, engaged, or married, and are off being couples on the over-commercialized day of Saint Valentine. And I’m jealous.

I currently have a love/hate relationship with Valentine and his lousy-but-lovely day.

You’ve got to understand something about me for the statement I just made to make sense. Bear with me and I will explain it to you.

I love romance, romantic comedies, spur-of-the-moment dates, just because flowers, chocolates when you’re sad, chick flicks, happy endings, and everything in between.

I hate sitting on the sidelines watching my friends and classmates, and former friends and classmates living out their own modern day fairytales, and I realize that sounds jaded.

Trust me when I say I’m truly happy for them, I love that they’ve all been so richly blessed. I just can’t help but sit here and wonder, when is it my turn?

And yes, there are guys I probably could have dated –if I’d dropped an already lower-than-it-used-to-be standard. (It’s got 6 things right now. Christian, Funny, Smart, Taller-than-me, Dark Hair, and a Love of Travel. That’s it. I feel that that isn’t unreasonable. I really don’t think I need to dumb it down or change it.) So yes, I’m technically single by choice on my 21^st Valentine’s Day, but is that really even a choice? Hold out for a guy who fits a simple list or date whatever is on the street? Fail and not cool.

So for right now, I hate Valentine’s Day. I hate it. I love the idea, and the tradition, but I hate the practicing of it. Of feeling like there is something wrong with me for the 24 hours a year that everyone I know (or so it seems) are paired up in the little cutesy couples I write about in my short stories, or wondering what I’m doing wrong that I don’t get my mini-happy-ending, etc. etc.etc…

For right now, I’m glad it ends in an hour, that the pink and red and white roses will die and be thrown out, that the teddy bears will lose their bows and get worn down on someone else’s pillow, and that the candy will be eaten. Because that means I have 364 days left to be my usual self, to be okay with being single (well, mostly okay with it. Let’s face it, I’d love it if a guy, just one, would step up to the plate and say “hey. You should date me.” And yes, I may or may not have a guy in mind, or at least…a type of guy, or a list…pick one. It’s potentially right).

Because right now, the only thing wrong with little old me, is a little old day named after a dead guy and the overcommercialization that has turned it into every taken girl's dream and this single girl's nightmare.

~Nanda