How to Break Up with your Pitcher

"It's not you. It's us.

We like to win. You don't seem to agree. Let's still be friends."

So last night I was at the Red Sox game. I'm a huge Red Sox fan. Yes, I may be a New Yorker by birth, but I am certified member of Red Sox Nation. I love those boys.

Anyway, so we were at the game last night. We being my little sister and I. And after several conversations on the mound (such as the one above) the pitcher was escorted from the game (you say replaced, I say escorted). And not a moment too soon. For real, when you're pitching a major league baseball game, it is simply unacceptable to let up 3 runs in the third inning. Unless of course you're pitching against my boys. In which case it's pretty much a requirement. So off went Materson and in the 9th, we got my future third husband aka the best closer in the league (Johnathan Paplebon). Take a look. What's not to love? Yes, I did say "third husband". I can't very well marry him now. I think he's 12. I'll have to wait till he grows up. In the meantime, husband #2 (Jason Varitek) batted in the winning run.

Hey, the socks are dorky, but I do love the dorks (psst: Jason--call me).

Oh, don't worry, I'm not going to discuss baseball all night. I would, however, like to discuss the two girls who sat behind us. First of all, they were there sans boys, which is totally fine. I mean, the little sis and I were there sans boys. But we're, like, fans. And these two belonged on an episode of the OC. Well maybe not the OC. They were not nearly cute enough for that. (Um, I just tanked all karma points for the week, huh?) Ok, but they sat down and proceeded to whip out their cell phones fast enough to make it look like I move in slow motion when I flip off other drivers. They then spent the rest of the evening texting. When they weren't texting, they were busy gossiping about apparently everyone they know.
Which brings me to an interesting question: if they're busy gossiping about everyone they know, what do they say about each other when they're with others? Just a question. Which is why I don't gossip. (extra karma points. For real. Gossip is bad.) Honestly. You can bet your sweetass that if I'm saying it to your face, I've said it behind your back. Wait. Reverse that....you know what I mean.

So little sister and I had a nice long discussion on the way home regarding our mutual distaste for the Paris clones at the game. She said she didn't want to judge them. I said it seemed Ok to judge their actions. She felt bad for disliking them. I had no such reaction. Now, for the record, I love little sister, but I'm pretty sure she only felt like she should have felt bad and did not, in fact, feel bad. I say this because she indulged in Pairs and Nicole bashing with me. Also, I tend to decide that people feel the same way I do. Cuz I'm so always right. (um, for those of you who take me seriously, that was a joke). Besides, I was quick to point out that I don't think they're shitty people, just that they were annoying during the game. The last thing I want to hear at a baseball game is a conversation about who is sleeping with whom and who's not speaking to her boyfriend and OMG she got FAT.

They also seemed to have absolutely no interest in the game. I'm pretty sure one of them asked when the Patriots were going to make a basket. So I felt perfectly justified in saying that they were obnoxious. Heck, both Paris and Nicole might spend their free time reading to children at the Children's hospital and rescuing abused puppies. What do I know? Except that next time they want to blow $150 on a baseball game for no apparent reason, they should find other people to sit behind. Or skip the game and donate the money to save the rain forest.

But their discussion of who got OMG SO FAT, made me feel kind bad about myself. Just another reminder of how people see me. In my mind, I'm not all that fat. Mirror girl is adorable. So that's how I see myself. But then I see pictures and I'm reminded of the fact that only **I** can see mirror girl. Everyone else sees this:(For the record, I'm not the cute one in the red shirt. Even if she is wearing my hat. And this was clearly taken before we were invaded by the OC. Many thanks to the real fan in front of us who started the wave at least once and knew all the words to Sweet Caroline and took this picture of us.)
Whenever I see pictures of myself I want to wear a sign that says something like "Yes, I'm fat. I know. But I'm working on it. And I'm totally healthy. And not lazy. Come see me in a few months and you'll see." Which just goes to show how much weight I've gained in recent months. Because for a long time I was total camera slut. If there was a flash, I was your girl! I'm all about being captured on film. Just call me Gisele. But when I'm putting on weight, I shy away. Often violently. I don't like to see what other people see.

I think, though, the fact that I don't see myself that way (usually) will help me be successful on this new diet of mine. Because I know there is a wicked cute girl just trapped in this body. Mirror girl is not a figment of my imagination. After all, I went to the game last night and lunch with friends today and didn't eat a thing. I know. A majillionty karma points. I am sticking to this diet like glue. Fat free, sugar free glue.

I figure I have two options. Either follow the plan or don't follow the plan. Brilliant right? I was always good at math. And if I don't follow the plan, who am I hurting? Myself. And as we all know, I like myself. And I don't do mean things to people I like. Ok, ok. Macy's salesgirls and bad drivers notwithstanding, I also don't do mean things to people I don't like (it's that karma point thing).

But it's not just me, I also have Frosty and Rudolph to think about. No, Frosty is not a delicious chocolate almost-shake from Wendy's. At least not in this case. The Frosty of whom I speak is a cyropreserved fertilized embryo. His twin is Rudolph. They are the results of our last, failed (big sigh), round of IVF. I can't let them down. I don't like the cold and they're 1/2 me. They cannot be happy in their big vat of ice. I haven't even had them and I'm already a bad mom.

And, hi, if I'm going to marry a Major League Baseball player, I have to look good in pictures. I wonder how the HG is going to like having another guy in the house....and does anyone know the laws about polyandry (oh, that's a big 50 center) in MA?