An Ode to Chris Davis

An Ode to Chris Davis

Who could have ever known?

That on the 30^th day July of the fine year 2011

An angel was going to be sent to us

As if he came directly from heaven.

Yes, he actually arrived via the big Lone Star

But for O’s fans he would soon become

The ONE young man who could

Totally raise the Major League bar.

It started one Spring Sunday

In faraway land called Fenway Park

A serious lead had already been blown

The day was looking extremely long and dark.

For the young designated hitter

Wearing the number of nineteen

Five strike outs were now behind him  

But, what came next, he could have never foreseen.

The score was tied at six to six

When our wise skipper approached

With what he was certain

Would be just the fix.

Seems back some years ago

This first baseman threw a ball or two

Into the waiting glove of a catcher

At some Junior College named Navarro.

After 16 or so other arms had tired

It was time to find out if he could indeed inspire

A team of frustrated and worn out men

To take this game and put it to the winning end.

The first batter he faced

Was in such shock and awe

That all he could muster

Was a few swings not even close to the ball.

When the Red Sox tried a little of the same

I was incredibly saddened

To hear hometown fans booing

And Mr. MacDonald, that’s a terrible shame.

We O’s fans stood at home

Clapped loudly and cheered

With pride and hope in our hearts

That number nineteen would be FEARED!

After 17 long and tiring innings,

The Oriole’s indeed persevered

Teamwork it seems

Would be the key to winning.

He may have been the one

To throw the last of the pitches

But in Birdland, we know

It is the hearts of our boys that bring home the riches.

What was done on that day

Is a personal accomplishment

Like none other, and

That is For Sure!

But, Chris Davis,

What you taught your team,

Your fans and all of baseball alike

Is that the Orioles’ spirit will always ENDURE!

Side note: If you happen to read this Mr. Chris Davis, do you have a single older brother? Just askin’!!!

What Would Paula Abdul Do?

            Today I am daydreaming about Paula Abdul. (No, not her EXACTLY, the undeniable wisdom represented in her song lyrics) Back in the 80’s, she wrote and sang a little ditty about how “Opposites Attract”. Ok, she probably stole it from some great writer like myself and just sang it. But, that’s ok, too. For the record, I kinda’ liked her on American Idol even though she never did say a single constructive thing to an aspiring singer. I digress.  Back to my point (did I have one?) Oh yes…In a romantic relationship, do complete opposites equal a prescription for success like Paula would want you to believe? Or, is it instead of a recipe for complete and total disaster? Hmmmm. Must ponder this one.

            The way I see it is this…. When we look for the qualities in a partner, there are most likely about 3 things that are the MUST HAVES. You know, they are the biggies, the “no way in hell you will compromise on these” suckers. If you are opposite in regards to these qualities, forget it. It’s over. You’ve sealed your fate. Frankly, I wouldn’t even start a romance on these terms ‘cause there could be some serious screaming and or wall punching involved. (Hey, I have had 2 long term failed relationships, remember? I am an expert.) All of the other qualities and quirks that make you lovers alike or different, well, they’re negotiable. And it’s these little differences that can make life an exciting adventure. 

            He’s a steak and potatoes man, and you are a vegetarian? This probably won’t mean the end of the world as you know it. You just may need a bigger kitchen so his raw beef doesn’t ever touch your organic peaches. (Go ahead, Laugh Out Loud!) Your hobby is reading but he is glued to ESPN? Not gonna’ be a deal breaker. You two love birds just may need to buy a two story so you can find a little quiet space as he is yelling at the refs because they are “all stupid”. From my perspective, politics shouldn’t be on the MUST HAVE list either. Why waste one of your precious top three things on crazy men and women who argue over earmarks (what the hell are they, anyway?) and send you too many robo-calls? Does anyone really believe that Mitt Romney personally wants to speak to them when the phone rings? I hypothesize that it doesn’t matter if he’s a republican and you are a democrat. Just quietly rinse out your recyclables while he is in the family room carefully cleaning his gun. : )

            I know what you are thinking. If I don’t even consider differences in politics as a deal breaker, what could possibly be one?  Sorry, but I can’t answer that exactly. See, some people may believe that religion is the most important thing on the list. Or some may see similar family values as non-negotiable. It certainly will vary for everyone.  That’s the pure beauty of it all. YOU get to decide. At 40something, I have become a simple girl. With age has come a new attitude. Some may call it my midlife crisis, but I choose to affectionately refer to it as my midlife awakening. Long gone are the days of searching for my knight in shining armor. Goodness sakes, I don’t want or need that! It would just be awesome to have someone to help take out the trash once and awhile. Not kidding! All it takes is for me to be stimulated in 3 very specific areas, and everything, I mean, everything else is worth compromising on in my book. Intrigued? LOL

            First up: Brain Stimulation. I have got to be able to have a thoughtful and intelligent conversation with my man.  Even more of a turn on is if he can challenge me on a few things to the point where I have to secretly grab my iphone and google the topic on my lap under the table while he is not looking. Although I am clearly of the above average IQ sort, I will reluctantly admit that I do not know everything. (Don’t you dare tell anyone or I will have to kill you.) Again, if he is an expert on the history of China, and all I know about the country is that I like some of the food and most of the people could kick my ass in a math competition, well, that is OK. As long as we can ponder the topics at the dinner table or while he is feeding me breakfast in bed, opposites do attract.

            Next Up: Funny Bone Stimulation. As you may have noticed, I try very hard not to take my life too seriously. Most days, the only thing that keeps me sane is the morning dose of Prozac, a lot of freakin’ laughs, and a stiff drink before bed.  I figure, if I can’t laugh at myself then I definitely have even bigger issues than I thought. Anyway, my man has got to have a sense of humor, too.  Don’t get me wrong, he doesn’t have to think all of my jokes are funny (we all know that they ARE, but really, that’s ok).  He just needs to make me laugh along the way, too. As for the opposites thingy, I really don’t care if his only jokes are about blondes and/or bodily functions. (Thank goodness, I am now slightly more of a brunette than blonde and I do occasionally think fart jokes are funny.) As long as he chuckles daily and thinks it is important to make me chuckle as well, I am completely down with him. I said WITH not ON!

             Lastly, and I must tread gently here. Ummmm. How can I put this? Well, I have found myself at 40something hitting some sort of metaphorical peak, if you will. So, after my man has stimulated my brain with his intelligence, my funny bone with his quick wit (making me laugh until I cry or pee my pants, whichever), he still has one more area to stimulate or sorry, dude, we are TOO OPPOSITE to attract! Gosh I am glad this is not the Gong Show, ‘cause surely with that one Chuck Barris would have sent me packing.

              Girls, choose your 3 MUST HAVES very carefully and then just go with it! All of the other non-essential stuff is what keeps life interesting. Remember what Paula so ingeniously said:

Who'd a thought we could be lovers
She makes the bed
And steals the covers
She likes it neat
And he makes a mess….

We come together
Cuz opposites attract

I am NOT High Maintenance

Harry Burns: There are two kinds of women: high maintenance and low maintenance.

Sally Albright: Which one am I?

Harry Burns: You're the worst kind; you're high maintenance but you think you're low maintenance.

Sally Albright: I don't see that.

Harry Burns: You don't see that? Waiter, I'll begin with a house salad, but I don't want the regular dressing. I'll have the balsamic vinegar and oil, but on the side. And then the salmon with the mustard sauce, but I want the mustard sauce on the side. "On the side" is a very big thing for you.

Sally Albright: Well, I just want it the way I want it.

Harry Burns: I know; high maintenance.

            About once a month, I start getting a little lonely and so I perform a good ‘ole mental health check on myself by pondering my current predicament as a 40something single mom. It ALWAYS gets me wondering where the hell I have gone so wrong with boys, errr, men. This month as I ate a whole box of insanely good Berger’s cookies washed down by a 12 pack of beer and was generally feeling quite a bit sorry for myself, I was reminded of this awesome quote from “When Harry Met Sally”. (Probably one of the funniest movies about dating ever, in my opinion)  

            Surely, I am not a complete failure at relationships because, like Sally, I am what men would not-so-affectionately-call High Maintenance.  No freakin’ way! I would NEVER put a waiter through that crap. ‘Cause first of all, I never met a food I didn’t like (except calamari, there is something about little octopi on my plate that makes me gag) and secondly, I, too, have paid the bills by waiting on these self-absorbed high maintenance women. It is not even close to possible that this is the reason why I am single. Duh!

            Right at that moment, the long, reflective journey to prove that I am clearly NOT high maintenance began. First, I did what anyone would do, I polled my facebook friends.  “In your expert opinion, what does it mean to be a high maintenance chick?” After 2 pleading posts and a ton of prodding, both men and women started coming through for me. (I would like to clarify that begging some peeps on the Internet a couple of times to help me out with my blog, DOES NOT constitute high maintenance behavior AT ALL.) Anyway, I sure did get a wide range of answers to help me unravel my own personal maintenance puzzle. There seems to be a general consensus on 2 different types of HM’s: The materialist, spend all of your money type AND/OR the needy, if I see you even glance at that girl in the bar; I will kick your ass type. (Both of which do not apply to me. I am quite certain.)

            One of my male friends described the materialistic version of HM to me as this: She has to have a certain brand of toilet paper, coffee, etc or she just isn’t happy. Her guy better high tail it back to the Walmart in order to get the RIGHT stuff she requires or he will soon be trolling Match.com. Hmmm. As long as my coffee is strong, tan and sweet (like my man), I could care less whether it is Folgers, Maxwell House or Chock Full O’ Nuts. But TP, ok, we just might have a serious problem here. I won’t budge on that one, folks. It has got be Angel Soft, and it better be placed on the roll, OVER, not under, or we have serious issues. Whatever! I don’t think that anyone would consider the fact that I want to keep my precious parts free from chaffing or that I have a habit of flipping the roll over at other peep’s homes as reason enough to suggest I may be high maintenance. That’s just absurd!

            Next up was the friend who told me that HM’s are constantly worrying about their looks and they have never passed by a mirror in their life. That is so not me! If you have read any of my blog posts, you know that I am totally down with going to the store in my pj’s, and I sure don’t take 2 hours to apply makeup. Geez, I am lucky if I care enough to add a little lip gloss once and awhile. Let’s face it, it’s not like I am being asked to pucker up for a big smooch or anything right now. Problem solved, I am not a High Maintenance chick based on this criteria. Ut-Oh….. I do have this crazy obsession with dying my hair. In the past few months alone, it has been about 5 different versions of blonde, brown and auburn. It is a fact that I spend more money on hair products than groceries. (Hey! I want to stay slender AND have great hair. It’s a win-win.)  Ok, I am getting a tad bit freaked out here.

            Deep breaths, Momma Mac. You are NOT a high maintenance chick. It is obvious to all that you are a hard working single momma who is definitely not needy. Hell no. When it comes to putting a roof over your baby girl’s pretty little head, you do it with no one’s help. Keeping your 1999 Honda Civic running and full of gas is all your job. You rely on no one, EVER!. Wait one second. OK, this is getting ridiculous!!! I do need a man to come hang a flag bracket and install a new screen door on my house. Crap, and not so long ago, my tires became a real life or death issue. (When the metal is showing through and the steering wheel vibrates more than your toys, you know you better do something about it and soon.) So, yes, I had to beg and barter with a friend to pay for some new ones. Shit. It’s official. I am totally screwed.

            Still, there is one more aspect of HM that I have not yet explored, and it will no doubt debunk all thoughts that I may be considered one of “those girls”. When it comes to emotional neediness, I am 100% fine. I am not the kind of girl who puts her man on a short leash (um, except maybe in the bedroom) and I surely could care less if he checks out some chick’s butt in a bar. A- It only takes one glance to know that MY BUTT is better. B- Why should I care, ‘cause at the end of the night, he is going home with ME, not her. Fudge-cicles!! I am a snuggler. I really do like holding hands. I do require quite a bit of affection, even the public display, type. Yikes, ever since I hit my 30’s, my appetite for some serious lovin’ has become ferocious and thus if I did have a man, he would have to be able to keep up.  

            Un-freakin’-believable!!! Instead of showing that I am clearly NOT the high maintenance type, I have, in fact, successfully proven just the opposite. Sally, I just have one thing to say, there are apparently now TWO things you and I have in common……………………….. : )  



A bit of Movie Trivia - Who was the woman in the diner who said "I'll have what she's having?"

Thank Goodness We Didn't Need the Defibrillator

            Last Saturday night, I had the absolute pleasure of attending a dear friend’s bachelorette party. Yes, 40somethings like me still have these “I-will-be-doing-your-smelly-laundry –for-the-rest-of-eternity” parties! Whether it is our 1^st or 5^th marriage, we girls know how to celebrate.  Any excuse to let loose, drink till we drop, oh, and be chauffeured around in a mega-huge Hummer Stretch Limo sounds good to us. Could some of my other 40something single friends meet a nice, caring, compassionate man so I can partake again, please? I am thinking that MY chances are about as good as me winning the next mega-millions, so, girls, I am counting on you.

            Anyway, our first stop was an awesome venue where there were about a million tables, a dance floor, and a stage where a band was prepping to play. It was absolutely packed in there! I was so excited. Let the fun begin! A super long table right off the dance floor was reserved just for ME! (And the other 15 beautiful girls, of course.) As I looked around, I saw men and women from every walk of life aged 21 to 70 downing a little fried bar food, anxiously awaiting the band, chatting it up and just having a great time.  What a night this was going to be! And then………

            Suddenly, a loud voice came over the room which seemed to silence just about everyone. What was going on? I saw some dudes with cards and dice, are the cops shutting this joint down for illegal gambling? OR, is this some sort of emergency alert system and I better hustle my ass under this table ASAP with the other girls?  Come on. I have known the bride-to-be for 13 years and she has NEVER done anything even remotely close to deserving this karma. Girlfriend deserves a super duper special night with no interruptions. I can’t believe this is happening.

            Oh, it was happening all right, just not what I could have ever expected. A chair was quickly pulled out onto the middle of the dance floor only to be proceeded by a young gentleman calling my girl’s name.  WTF?? Don’t get me wrong, I am totally down with the whole stripper thing at these kinds of parties. Hell, I have even been to a few strip clubs in my life. (Shh…. My mom reads this, too.) But, this was different.  I mean, at my bridal shower, the dude came to the house. He knew it was him, me, and about 10 of my aging aunts. He had absolutely nothing to fear! But here? In a crowded club with hundreds of people staring at HIM, what the hell would possess him? These people did not sign on for the Chippendales!

            All I know is that he must have a HUGE package, I mean EGO!!! (nice!) ‘Cause that 20something stripped down to just a g-string underwear thingy majigy.  What was about to take place made me SO freakin’ glad that I chose the seat on the far side of the table as far away from that damn dance floor as possible.  Not only did this stud muffin strut his almost naked self all over her, but he also chose another helpless female from our party to manhandle, shoot, caress. I swear to God if you could have seen the looks on the 60-70something women in that place, you would have just died in amusement. I was sure that one of their elderly significant others was gonna need a defibrillator in 5…4…3…2…1!

            Thankfully, everyone in the place, young and old alike, survived all 3 songs which were accompanied by seriously well choreographed athletic performances as well as a lesson on the intricacies of drinking a blow job shooter (Kahlua, Irish Cream, Crème de Bananas, topped with whipped cream, can I get a “Hell Yeah”?) without the need for dialing 911. That’s pretty darn impressive, if you ask me.  

            So, he wrapped himself in a towel, gathered his belongings and as fast as lightening stuck his hand out for his tips. Yes, we all dug out our one dollar bills and thanked him for a great show. Hold on! How could I forget the best part of the show! Prior, to the towel making it completely around his extremely well toned buttocks, an older woman, yes, older than my very old self, ran out on the dance floor and took a nice, big SQUEEZE! Boy was playboy caught off guard. It was more than awesome! It was spectacular! Hey, you stuck it out there for all the world, or bar, to see young man! I figure you had it coming.

              Not long after he wrapped up, literally and oh so figuratively, we too gathered up our purses, smokes and pink penis straws to get back to the Hummer. Yes, it was a night completely filled with only the bestest of phallic symbols thanks to some very smart and savvy party planners.  So, as I passed him on my way out, I could not help but think to myself, “I know, I know, you don’t have a big ego (or package, I am just sayin’!), you are just trying to put yourself through college. Right?!”