So there you have it, long story short. In one night, in one inning, I found my furiously happy kryptonite twice, and it wasn't pretty. Cau for now. Here's hoping for a better game 3.
Friday, October 29, 2010
Even Superheroes Have Sometimes Bad Days
Even Superheroes Have Sometimes Bad Days' really is the name of this sculpture. Every Spring Prague's Wenceslas Square hosts an outdoor sculpture garden that runs down the length of the center and this piece was one of my favorites. Because a, it speaks volumes. It's totally right on. And b, it has the best name ever. Am I having a bad day? No, not really. Did I have one last night when the Rangers blew it in the 8th inning and not only had 8 runs scored on them but 2 OF THEM WERE WALKS!?!? Hell yes. It was indeed a bad day. So bad that i didn't even try to embrace my furiously happy. Why bother? I wallowed in the misery of game 2 of the World Series. And then, to add insult to injury, the mouse returned. That's right, the mutha freakin mouse. It first showed up just after game 5 of the ALDS when my Rangers clenched their first post season title. At the time, I was still celebrating at midnight and conspiring with Jamaica to find us playoff tickets for my upcoming D-town trip. It started out as a shadow or blur in my left periphery. If you've ever had a mouse in your mutha freaking house then you know the shadow/blur of which I speak. It never crossed my mind that we had a visitor. By the time the little bastard had made the circuit around the room's perimeter, I had already self-diagnosed myself with either a, a brain tumor, or b, MS, because you know, blurred periphery are symptomatic of both. I could not believe it when it finally came out into the open. I began shouting into the phone, 'There's a mouse in my house! There's a mouse in my house!' Like a good friend, Jamaica laughed her ass off. This was brand new territory for me and while I was freaking out, jumping around the living room and embracing my inner Dr. Seuss (only with LOTS of profanity), my best friend was anything but supportive and my husband was snug as a bug in bed, not to be disturbed by the shenanigans downstairs. So I ditched my friend and texted my neighbor - of the world's greatest neighbors - who simply texted back poison. I couldn't handle it that night. It was threatening my euphoria from my Rangers ALDS win. I asked him if mice could climb stairs. He said no. I went to bed and slept like a rock. I found out the next day that he totally lied to me about the whole stair thing but that's ok. I slept. So 2 weeks later, that little bugger returned only this time with balls of steel. Not only did he rear his ugly little nose at the bottom of the 8th during the worst game ever, but it was only 10 p.m. and every light in the house was on. Balls of steel! Norman simply tilted his head and whimpered slightly -Hell, he and the mouse probably hang out when we're not there. Kev was there to see the mutha freakin mouse in action, and then disappear into thin air - again. Apparently mice only need a quarter of an inch of space to maneuver through. Creepy. So now we have traps plied with peanut butter and hopefully they're out of reach of Norman's nose. But I'll tell you what, the day I hear one of those traps snap, I'm outta here. That one's gonna be Kev's.