Wednesday, October 25, 2006

A cluster of epic proportions

So. Here I am.

With not much good to post, I'm afraid. Except for the Cardinals win last night, which is about the only good thing that happened yesterday. Sorry to put that piece of good news right up front like you have nothing to look forward to.

I learned something new yesterday: trying to work from home while watching a small child is virtually impossible. This is because watching a small child at home is a full-time job in and of itself. Hats off to all the stay-at-home moms out there, and to my mother-in-law who graciously took on this full-time job when she agreed to watch Zozo for us. I appreciate you now even more than I did before, which was quite a lot, actually. I finally gave up trying to keep Zoe amused while pecking away with one finger at an e-mail, and resorted to play time while she was up, and cranking like a mad woman while she was down. By the time we were getting ready to leave for the game I was running way behind, and feeling frazzled to boot.

In the afternoon we learned that Uncle Mark in Cinci isn't doing well at all. Seriously, everyone, he needs major amounts of prayers. Pile 'em on. I'm not gonna try to explain everything because what tidbits of info I have is fourth- or even fifth-hand and I'm sure I'd mutilate it anyway. I'll say this: the docs can't quite figure out what's going on, although they have some theories, but he's getting worse instead of better. The entire family, obviously, has gone to Code Red on the worry scale, and any love and support you can throw their way, for all of them, is much appreciated.

So, with heavy hearts, off we went to the game, to which we were actually early but apparently too late, which meant two things: 1.) no rally towels (I swear they gave out about twelve) and 2.) we got to see the ass-end of the Clydesdales as they departed through the wagon gate. Well, M got to see a bit more, as he runs up the stairs faster than me, but he didn't get to see much. Seriously, the stadium was maybe half full when they brought the hitch out. C'mon already. Little closer to game time, guys? Game finally started and I eventually went to get us food. After standing in line forever, I got up to the cashier and ordered a double cheeseburger for M. "We're out of buns." "You're out of buns? Hamburger buns?" "We're out of buns." "You have got to be kidding me. It's the second inning of a World Series game and you're out of buns?" "We're out of buns. You can try down there." So off I went to stand in my second line.

After an eternity, I finally got up to ol' Marvis, who is about 104 years old and slower than snail shit. "I'd like a double cheeseburger..." to which he turns around and shuffles back to the grill, telling them, "Double cheeseburger." Then he shuffles back and looks at me. "...and chicken tenders..." He turns to shuffle back again, and I belted out, "...and FRIES!" so I could save him a trip. Guess he can't remember more than one thing at a time. So he rings me up, and I'm so worried about balancing a double cheeseburger, chicken tenders, fries and a soda that I don't realize that he's overcharged me by $7.50.

Back at the seat, we figure it out, and I head back to Marvis. After a relatively easy transaction, he hands me $7.50 and that's fixed.

Game continues, we win, blah blah blah. Head back out to the car only to car. "Mike? Where's the car? Where's the car? WHERE'S THE CAR?!!!" in ever-increasing escalation of panic. He points to the giant sign that he missed while pulling in that says, "Cardinal fans! Do not park here! You will be towed!" and says, "It got towed."

I won't bother repeating the stream of expletives that came out of both our mouths at that point. It was good Zozo was home asleep in her crib, or we'd have burned her tiny ears off with the foulness of our language.

Quick call to Aunt Shelly who was at our house watching Zozo (thank you Aunt Shelly!), and she called Uncle Marty (in from Florida for the game), and Aunt Margaret who went with him, and asked them to turn around and come back for us, as we now had no way to get home. Thank you to Uncle Marty and Aunt Margaret for rescuing us from a very seedy streetcorner in downtown St. Louis at 11:30 last night! We owe you big time. M called the tow company and spoke to a gentleman he's guessing is named Vinny, who told him, "After 9 a.m. tomorrow, bring pitcher ID, proof of ownership, and $250 cash." M said, "I feel like we don't even own our own car at this point."

Aunt Shelly, bless her heart, is taking me to get my car over my lunch hour. Uncle Marty told us last night that the traditional gift for a ninth wedding anniversary (which is today, by the way) is leather, and we all agreed that because my car has leather seats, then paying $250 to get my car out of hock counts. M said he just never thought he'd have to pay for those leather seats twice.

So that was yesterday/last night/actually into some of the wee hours of this morning. Not a good day.

But I lied. I do have a happy thing to tack on. Aren't you glad you kept reading?

On the way to the game last night, M handed me his cell phone and asked me to put it in the glove box (where it resides to this minute, by the way, which means his cell phone is also technically in hock). This request was nothing out of the ordinary; he quite frequently stashes his cell phone in the glove box (the thing is huge, and a pain in the arse to cart everywhere). I opened the box to throw it in, and discovered a robin's egg-blue gift bag. That's right, people. My hubby, my rock, my best friend and soul mate, got me a Tiffany's bracelet for our anniversary. This sorta makes up for the fact that he also got my car towed in the same night.

Not much else to report. Tonight we head back downtown for a repeat, hopefully without the bad stuff, of course.


Anonymous Garrin said...

Happy Anniversary!

Sorry to hear about your car fiasco. Nothing like a shady towing company crapping on civic spirit in the name of a few Benjamins.

This ought to cheer you up a little...
We had a good chuckle during the game last night. Right after our boy Jimmy spanked Detroit hurler Robertson in the 4th inning, did you notice how he greeted his former clubhouse mate, Polanco, at second base? Maybe you can work him into some spa ads with those hands! Great player, preferences in question.

Great game though! Go Cards!!!

11:36 AM  

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