Momma, Don't let your Babies Grow up to be Spoil Sports

Sore Loser.

Sour Grapes.

Thaz what I am.... Grrrrr.

So things were going swimmingly in the bottom of the second when I got my first at-bat on this blustery fall day in Playa Vista.

Outlaws were up by a few runs and I planted one in shallow center for a 2 RBI single. And then we rallied on two outs and were up 11-0 by the third inning.

We basically had the game in the bag, or so we thought... then Stephan loaded 'em up-walked a buncha runs in and squandered our plush lead. Our second baseman made a few costly errors, there were a lot of bobbled balls in the infield and simple plays that had they been made successfully, would have gotten us out of the inning with minor damage. Then the jerky guy with high knee socks that I have a distinct distaste for hit one to RF and I wasn't able to play it off the carom so it was a grand slam. I blame the wind. It made it very difficult to judge where the ball was carrying so I grossly misjudged it and was off by about four feet, much to my embarrassment and utter disgust. I'm pretty sure my Pop was rolling over in his grave. I rarely miss balls in the outfield.

Oh and then there was also that time I STRUCK OUT! The count was one and two and I decided to swing on a ball that was fifty feet out of the batter's box so much that I had to scoot up three steps to swing at it like a complete dill weed. Humph. Let it be known henceforth that I will swing at everything and the kitchen sink ...

Anyway, we were down two runs in the last inning and I got on first with two outs and then Farrah struck out. Game over.

After the game, when everyone lined up to "Good game" and high-five, I headed straight towards the dugout, pretending as if I was fiddling in my bag for something. Truth be told, I was fiddling in my bag for something. I was trying to find my good sportsmanship. I had lost it somewhere back in the sixth inning when our team lost our lead and began to implode before my eyes. I didn't want to good game anyone, least of all that jerk wad with the knee socks. A) He's a total douche bag for wearing red knee socks. The only male to successfully pull off this look is Jason Varitek and only marginally, I might add. Even for him it's a bit of a stretch. And B) I wanted to tell the other team to eat soot and poo and go kick rocks.

I'm not good at hiding my emotions. My friends and family pretty much know what I'm thinking or feeling at the exact moment I am thinking or feeling something. My point is, you won't catch me in a poker game. I'd lose the shirt off my back and the whole farm. Bluffing is not my forte.
So I thought it was in the best interest of the other team to forego the stupid ritual of wishing them good will and tidings of joy when we had no business blowing a TEN RUN LEAD for the love of Jehoshaphat. TEN dog damn runs.

I would have said, "Good game" with gritted teeth and clenched fists. I don't even think it would be physically possible to high-five someone in the state I was in.

My parents certainly did not raise me to be a poor sport, so I'm not sure where all this is coming from.

So now I'm going to take a moment to put myself in the corner and think long and hard about what I've done.

Rats!

And the Winner is...

Wait for it...
Me.

I think I'm up for the Worst Friend of the Year Award...

My best friend, Bean, called me during the game (Red Sox v. Rays) and miraculously I picked up. And I NEVER answer the phone for ANYONE when there's a game on. But I made an exception for Bean. Partly because I was delirious from my head cold and mostly cause she's my Little Twin Soul. It takes a lot for me to speak to anyone during a sporting event, let alone the World Series...

I was proud of her. She actually watched most of the game with me while on the phone and even declared it as ... "exciting." Soon I'll force all my friends to watch baseball and the world shall be all MINE!!!! *evil laughter* Dance, puppets! Dance!!!!!

I had texted her earlier in the day to make sure she was feeling ok. She'd been sick for two months straight and had been having fevers every night, so I told her in a haze of Nyquil: "Um, I pretty sure I can take you to emergency if you need to go, but just not until around 8.30 or whenever the game is finished..."

She laughed. I wasn't kidding.

I was dead serious.

I'm a horrible friend. I know this. I admit it. I'm owning up to it.

So the moral of this story is: If you need me desperately and are in dire need of assistance in a life threatening emergency... there'd better not be a game on. (Or you'd better pray that the ER has HDTV with a sports package)

The Haves and the Have More

The economy's bad and we're in a recession...
though someone might remind the rich people of that.

During my involuntary 'sabbatical' (lay-off) I started a nannying/dog sitting side business.

On this particular day, Akira apprently had insomnia the previous night and was operating on just six hours of sleep today (he's two) and I had the task of lulling the little lamby to sleep.

Chad suggested I take him on a trek 'round the neighborhood. I was instructed to walk to the park and to the bridge that apparently leads to a magical land where the streets are paved in gold and the hedges are made of cotton candy.

Boy, he wasn't kidding. I wish I had my camera so I could have taken pictures for proof.
How symbolic... a bridge. It's what separates two completely different neighborhoods. Now, Chad and Kim aren't poverty-stricken by any means, but they certainly aren't fortunate enough to have one-hundred dollar bills hemhorraging out of their asses either. Although somehow I don't think that'd be considered fortunate-- no matter how wealthy one is...

The rich are recession proof. I walked up and down every street of this section of Cheviot Hills and I'd say on the average, there was either two to three new houses being contructed from the ground up, and/or homes being remodeled. Or at the very least, these residents were wealthy enough to have a whole crew of Hispanic construction workers taking a lunch break on their property next to their Benzo ML 350s and BMW 7 Series...for no apparent reason.

And yes, I did take a survey of just how many homes within a 2-mile radius of Chad and Kim's home. I'm thinking I should contact the Census Bureau and inquire about a job.

Even the squirrels were well to do. I think I saw one carrying a Vuitton. They just chattered & mocked me as I rolled past them with Aki in his stroller, and proceeded to chuck fistfuls of fancy nuts and sundried tomatoes (from Bristol Farms) at us.

And while I am the One Percent in spiritual terms, this has hastened my efforts to start My Empire so that I might be the One Percent of the upper class and perhaps switching over to the Dark Side (Repubs). Obama who?

Hitler's Nanny

Although, I prefer Au Pair...

I've been coming into my own in this Nanny gig.

This evening, I gave Cavin his first "Time Out" since I've started watching him. And it didn't even phase me. Though I'm convinced he hates me now. I'm no longer concerned with being well liked. I'm more interested in having these little tots mind me. And the Control Freak within is much more interested in WINNING. It's like a game.

Friday night, I had a Hawaiian Stand Off in Island's with Caden when asking him to take just TWO MORE bites of his burger... a reasonable request since I allowed him to jack around in eating all the french fries in the world and stuffing himself with milk to his little heart's content. We sat there for a half an hour. He pouted. He sulked. And then, he took FIVE more bites. Three more than what I had originally required. God damn, I'm good.

I know, I know, I'm quite sick. But they know what they're doing. And they're not the boss of me. I even kept Karnin abreast of their behavior through text messages and told her I had to put Cavin in his place and she agreed. "That's why you're my nanny," she texted.

Cavin is five and old enough to know. He threw a wooden train track at such a velocity, it surely would have mildly wounded his brother of two had it made contact with the toddler's noggin. It came very close. I saw Aston's hair fly up as it whizzed by narrowly missing the back of his pumpkin head.

I calmly but firmly told Cavin not to throw things and explained he could have quite severely hurt his brother. Or at least prompted me to break out the Bactine and Neosporin salve. He was sorry and so I dropped it. Not but an hour later he threw a Mega Block up into the air, where it hit the ceiling fan and ricocheted back towards earth at great speed nearly taking my head off. Not really but it sounded better written that way for a dramatic effect.

That's when the Iron Fist came crashing down and Cavin was immediately banished to Never Never Piss Off your Nanny Land. (He had to sit up against the wall for two minutes.)
So The Rules of the Lough House- Lights Out at 9p so I tucked the munchkins snug into their beds. Cavin went willingly though Aston doth prostest too much. He's in his crib currently, wailing and throwing a slightly gigantic tantrum. And up goes the volume of the widescreen tv... SportsCenter, you know. Besides--It's the law. 9p bed time. And he can howl away all he pleases...

Because just like in outer space, when you're in the crib... "Nobody can hear you scream..."

If He Keeps This Up ...

There's going to be a Julie-shaped hole through the door.

I just don't know him yet. And he's leaving all these sweet, charming voice messages and texts that almost make me dry heave. Almost.

So if he wants THIS he's going to have to slow it way the EFF down. Cause I'm not ready. I like my life the way it is. All about me and stuff. No compromise. No sacrifice. Just me.

He needs to pull up the Emergency Brake and bust a Barney Rubble. We're talking slower than in a School Zone. Or parking lot even. Let's just pull it over, put it in park and set a spell.
And The Roster is just fine as is. I can't be taking on any new players. The team is good for the rest of the season and I'm not looking for a trade. I don't have room in my life for anyone new at the moment. Thank you, and we'll keep your resume on file for future reference. Maybe that's fear talking but I don't feel the need to be trusting anyone or opening up to another person just to be disappointed later on down the road. Here's GPS and these are my coordinates. Just 25 degrees North of Emotionally Unavailable. And that's just where I'm at.

Today though, uncharacteristically- I thought about him for a few minutes. And it scared me so I stopped thinking altogether. I had to physically shake my head to make it stop.

It's so weird to be on This Side of things. I'm usually the smitten kitten. It's actually quite refreshing. I rather like it. It's nice dating someone finally without getting a Case of The Crazies. I'm not used to this. But I'll take it.

He actually has been doing research on baseball and the Red Sox. Which though a little bit annoying is kinda, sorta, almost, maybe a tiny bit adorable. Grrrrrrrr. I'm so fighting adorable. I won't have it. I cannot have IT. I don't want to like This One.

So I'm throwing down The Gauntlet. He gets to jump through hoops. Walk the ends of the earth. Climb mountains. Poor bloke. He caught me at a Bad Place at a Bad Time. But if he's up for the assignment, great. If not... there's the door.

But I will say, tonight he had me at "Hello." (Gross, right?) He answers the phone in the same manner and has the same inflections and intonations in his voice as B.W. The Yardstick. No Boy before or after him has ever quite measured up. (I'm talking personality-wise here, people. Have some tact.)

And that, my friends, is a WORLD of TROUBLE.

Because They NEVER Learn ...

So this one so far seems ok.

Nice. Funny. Simple. Down-to-earth. Actually did some homework on the Red Sox for our lunch date on Thursday.

Except-
He makes the fatal mistake tonight... in calling me when a game is on. A RED SOX one. Against the White Sox. A Cardinal Sin (paramount, not St. Louis).

Even if Jacoby Ellsbury himself called me right now from the dugout on his day off since Francona didn't put him in the lineup, I still wouldn't answer. Ok, maybe I would pick up for Ellsbury... but anyone else, it's Voicemail City.

I'm going to have to train this one. And if he doesn't comply, he's out by the time regular season NFL starts...

Child Killer

Photographic Evidence. Exhibit A.

This would be my vehicle. With a live child in it.

That even though Captain A-hole doesn't trust me with my own nieces... it's nice to know there are people in this world who DO. And compensate me for it, to boot. Funny that two relatively complete strangers (I got this gig by way of a referral) don't have problems leaving their child in my care.

Cause according to the Almighty Infallible Older Brother who Shall Remain Nameless, I am an irresponsible, disrespectful liar. Is there any other kind?

Issues, issues, issues. So many that I should be my own magazine publishing company.
*Sigh*

Family members- can't live with them, can't directly knock them out cold with a billy club and then straight-up chuck them over the Santa Monica Pier with cement shoes...

What... Michael Corrleone had Fredo rubbed out... you don't think I know? I've seen the God Father tril, I know how it works, (sh)IT happens.
A family that slays together stays together.

And just in case this line has been compromised or tapped...

Killing is WRONG.

This is how I know You're a Liar ...

So the subject of Amy Winehouse presented itself again Sunday night… and He mentioned how she’s got a "sexiness factor" in a schizophrenic, Paxil-addicted, alcoholic kind of way… to which I agreed...

And then was quick to inform Him that she came in at the Number Three position of Maxim’s list of "Unsexiest" Women for 2008.

Who else was on this list, He wanted to know.
I revealed Sarah Jessica Parker garnered the Number One spot to which he made a noise of disgust from deep beyond his nasal septum clearly signifying his consent to this sentiment.

I found this to be absolutely absurd and tried to argue on SJP’s behalf…
"Ok, so maybe she isn’t what people consider a "classic beauty" (whatever that is… could someone please tell me?) but she is not NOT sexy! Have you SEEN her body?"

To which the Baby Bird replied (and bless his heart…):
"Yeah, I have. And I like your body better."

Dry heaving yet? Yeah, I thought so.
Hmmmm. Suspect.

This ranks right up there with the time the Mullen boy said he would take ME over Angelina Jolie any day of the week. (Which isn’t saying much- the jury is still out on whether or not he’s gay). We’re talking Angelina Jolie here, people.

Are you kidding me? I would ravage that woman. She’s absolutely diabolical. And I like the beef, not fish—ifn’ you know what I’m sayin’…

I told Baby Bird he needed glasses.

And then I acted flattered while secretly laughing my ass off in my head.

They are such simple creatures. And I use the word creatures loosely…
So stupid. They actually think we don’t know.

And that’s how I know Baby Bird is a liar.