Thanks, Mom

My mother taught me many things, and even gave me a few pointers on getting along in a relationship. None was of more help than this one. It has helped maintain my sanity in the face of these difficult times.

Imagine that you live with someone who watches baseball all the time. Imagine, when you ask about his plans for the day, that he rattles off the starting times for the 4 games that he plans to watch. Understand that he is serious, and if God forbid, there is a lull between games, he will watch a game that he hadn't planned on.

Go ahead, imagine. Feel free to rock back and forth and drool as you picture the mind-numbing boredom of it all.

Imagine a world where you can comment on which Oakland A's announcers you prefer. Because you live with the sports pack, and someone who cannot be dissuaded from missing ANY game.

After all of the teeth gnashing, screaming, beer drinking, and flinging yourself into the wall, nothing works. He won't stop. What can you to do?

Sing "God Bless My Underwear" at the 7th inning stretch. Loudly and off-key, with feeling. Every. Goddamned. Time.

Thanks, Mom. I owe you. Also, for the time that Lala and I were stopped for singing "GBMU" along with Kate Smith in the Met gift shop. And asked for an encore.

XOXO,

M