Actually, I'm hoping to get to Fenway. The man isn't into baseball, so I won't expect a game (besides - the BoSox are on a roll - tix might be scarce), but I'd love to go to the park before they rip it down and build a new one. I like that FF isn't into sports, but I think he'd like baseball. It's like nothing else. So many layers. A very subtle game. Football fans think it's boring. But football is stupid. Think about it. All a blocker has to know is how to block. A tackle, to tackle. The quarterback is the only smart one, but that's because he has to think fast to keep from getting sacked. Which is another word for fired. And how many football coaches get sacked every year? I hate to offend, but the few football coaches I've met are idiots. They spout meaningless platitudes like "Winners never quit, quitters never win." I prefer the Kenny Rogers philosophy. Know when to hold 'em, know when to fold 'em.
Baseball players have to know every single possible play. That's where the error comes in. Fuck up, like throw wide or don't cover your base, and there's a major ding. That's why baseball players are the best. It's a team effort. It's a humble game with an unwritten code of etiquette. I think the greatest players are the Lou Gehrigs and the Roger Maris'. They unselfishly supported the stars. Babe and Mickey. And that's why they were a team. There was no competition.
I think about friends I've had and men I've dated. Sometimes I feel like I'm just a moon in their orbit. I'm the Lou in their Babe shadow. Don't get me wrong. It's a magnetic attraction. But sometimes I get eclipsed. Lately, I find myself coming into my own. Started taking care of myself. Attracting male attention. I'm not used to it. And I'm very cynical. I wonder about the men I've dated. If I gained 20 lbs., would they still be into me? Of course, men are visual. And I like to dress like a girly-girl. Be complimented on my appearance. The problem is when they miss my essence. Which, at the risk of sounding conceited, I'll say is my brains and my heart and my courage. Like Scarecrow, Tin Man and Lion. They had what they wanted all along. They just didn't know it.
With my GF's, it's easy to retreat when they launch into bossy-sister mode. I just back off a little while, and they're always there when I'm ready to hang with them again. Sans advice. With men, though, it isn't that simple. For some reason, the men I've met tend to be extremely confident and self-assured. Which is great. Except for the other side of the coin. I can get overwhelmed.
I'm there with Mr. Man a little right now. His strong opinions and the way he expresses them so passionately can feel like he's being bossy. Controlling, even. I'm sure he doesn't intend it that way, but that's how it feels. But I've learned to choose my battles. And when I do, I stand firm. He respects me for that when I can get him to listen. He's humble enough to apologize. And I think he processes what I say and makes adjustments. And that's why I'm hopeful about things with him. But this is way too private for this venue. Or not. I'm an open book.
Ok, for some reason, I'm in a foul mood. That's why I've turned off my phone. I'm rearranging furniture, hanging pictures, and catching up on laundry. I made The D some buttermilk cornbread in a cast iron skillet tonight, but Deb took him to his fav BBQ place for an early dinner, so I'm good. I should go mow the lawn, but not sure I'm up for it.
So, as for the title of this post. Dude's joke about the cross stitch sessions reminded me of my very favorite sampler. I did it way back when, before I married. It's too bad that I never really felt loved. It wasn't a two way street. One thing I know for sure, I'll never settle for less than I deserve. The sampler says it all.
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