Whew. One down, six to go! Lissa's Bitchin' Dirt Dogs shirt - 4, Yankees/Choakland - 0... so far!

Top 5 Baseball Players I Would Like to Shag:

1. Kevin Millar (shiny dome and all)
2. Nomar Garciaparra (still with thick gorgeous locks)
3. Darren Bragg (bad singing has never been so cute)
4. John Smoltz (no hair, no problem)
5. TIE! Johnny Damon/Lance Berkman (sex on a stick/not yummy Red Sox or Braves but hot anyway)

And oh yeah, in other news:

CHOAKLAND!!!!!! MUAHAHAAHAHA!!!!!!

Oh my GAWD... I prayed so hard tonight when Johnny Damon got hurt; thank whatever powers that be that he is all right. Now let's hope he can come back to fight the Evil Empire!!!

I have no words about the Braves series, other than I think Kerry Wood is some kind of soul-sucking demon. I mean, how else to explain the Braves' complete lack of life? Oh right... they do this every year. Silly me, I actually thought this year would be different. It's gotten to be a ritual: every October I throw my tomahawk into the closet in disgust and every April I unearth it, optimism renewed and disappointment conveniently forgotten.

Funny phrase of day: "It's the playoffs, there's no time for vegetables!!" - moi

I'm a Blogger in a world of LiveJournalers! *cries*

When I was first looking to start an online journal I tried LJ, and was cut tragically short when informed I had to have a "friend" and get a "code" to start one. As I don't know anyone, this was a bit of a sticker. I mean, what the fuck is up with that "Away with thee, codeless one!" cliquey-ass mentality? I just wanted to fucking write, not beg for codes like the Little Match Girl.

Then I discovered Blogspot, and my independent spirit soared! Like a bird! Wheeee!
In summary, Blogger rules, and LJ can go do something rude to itself.

AGGGH!!! What is wrong with the Braves??? Did someone slip Devil Ray Serum into their Gatorade? Bah!

In other news, I saw NOMAAAAH kiss his bat on Sportscenter tonight. Note to self: move to Boston, learn how to Transfigure self into Louisville Slugger.

Okay, so here's where I think I went wrong in filling out my "eharmony.com" personality profile. For "List the three things you are most thankful for," I wrote, in this order, "music, coffee, my cat." Clearly they were looking for something along the lines of "my family, my health, and the way the sun rises so gloriously each morning and sets equally as gloriously in the evening! Wheee! I'm so happy happy happy!" I see my mistake now. I'm surprised my telling the truth instead of giving a Miss America answer didn't make their system break down entirely.

Whoever said "The truth shall set you free" has obviosuly never tried filling out a personality profile.

Note: Nothing wrong with family or health, or the sun, for that matter. It's just, have a little creativity instead of saying what you think you're supposed to say, or using cliches to mask shallowness. I refuse to believe that everyone really speaks in embroidered pillows.

"Reality - the other white meat"

*snickers*

I had a good one and I forgot it. Dammit! DAMMIT ALL! And wait... if there is no reality, how do I know the shirt would be real? Maybe I'd be naked! AGH!!! *collapses under weight of own convoluted thinking and dies, thus eliminating need for t-shirts*

"Reality - don't believe the hype"

"Reality is the root of all evil"

"Reality isn't real"

"Reality is a figment of my imagination"

(Everyone creates their own reality. To assume that there is just one reality is absurd. I believe this is the root of that evilest of evils... conformity! *dun dun dun* I'm not really trying to wax philosophical in the wee hours of the morning. I was, in fact, attempting to come up with a snarky phrase to put on a T-shirt. So, in short, have discovered startling possible connection between philosophy and T-shirts. And some people are SLEEPING!! Ha ha, suckers. *laughs*)

So anyway, back to t-shirt. I want something that clearly expresses my disdain for "reality" yet doesn't sound too...er... pithy. "I escaped from reality and all I got was this lousy t-shirt." Uh.

"Reality - the great lie" Mff. Melodramatic. That one should come with canned spooky X- Files music, methinks.

"I don't believe in reality" Hmm... not too bad.

Well, at least I have plenty of time to mull it over, as I'm making my NOMAAAAH!! shirt first. Baseball definitely doesn't count as reality, just for the simple fact that I never see guys that look like that in real life. Where do they come from and where do they go? Are they always at fancy glittering parties in the sky that I don't get invited to? My theory is that they magically appear on the field, a la Field of Dreams, then fade away.

Perhaps should just buy "Baseball is life, the rest is just details" shirt and be done with it. Would have to cultivate beer gut though.

So I took that "eharmony. com" match thingy they're always advertising, and was informed that I am "unmatchable," to which I said "Fuck you, assmat." Perhaps that is why. I have ANGER MANAGEMENT ISSUES!! Muahaha.

Great fancy fuck, the Braves bullpen sucks. Was last night "let's see how high Jung Bong's ERA can go night" or something? Sheesh. *disgustment* For the first time in my life, I'm finding comfort in the fact that I'm also a Red Sox fan. I know this feeling will be short-lived, but I'll savour it while it lasts.

Might have finally reached understanding of peoples' ever-puzzling predilection toward socialising/outgoingness. Can it be that other people feel about each other how I feel about cats? When I see a cat, whether it's mine or not, my immediate impulse is to call it to me and pet it. Perhaps when other people see people, their immediate impulse is to go up and talk to them. I of course do not have this impulse, so I've come to the conclusion that my only hope socially is to pretend people are cats. I wonder how many random strangers I could freak out by scratching behind their ears, rubbing their tummies and saying "That's a GOOD KITTY!"

Wait, the idea was to engage people, not frighten them. I'll get this stuff right one of these days.

See, I think there's such a thing as social energy. Kind of like physical stamina. Each person has a certain amount to expend before their reserves are exhausted. Most people seem to have quite a lot. I seem to have, er, none. So when I have to expend any I'm actually dipping into something else, say, my reserve of sanity or the little part of my brain that tells me not to set things on fire. Naturally, this could have dire consequences. At the very least it leaves me with *negative* social energy, knocking me out and requiring me to go lie down for a bit.

I must point out how deep my love is for the new superhero-type music that plays at Turner Field when a Brave hits a homerun. Homerun superhero music = awesome. But why does the Braves bullpen suck so very, very much (besides Smoltzy, of course!!)?? They should play evil supervillain music when one of these guys slinks out. I have christened it... The Bullpen That Must Not be Named. So it is written. So it shall be.

The Darth Vader music would work nicely, by the way.

Funny phrase of day: "Modified Stableford Scoring System." OK, so it's not really all that funny. But you hear it fourteen times a day and it starts to get kinda funny. Or annoying. One of those.

Bargle. Toff. I have nothing to say.

But I am overjoyed that our President has a really big belt buckle. Because if there's one quality I look for in a world leader, it's commonality with truck drivers. Convoy, anyone?

I'm trying to think of another way to work "balls" into a post, but I haven't thought of one yet.

Today whilst pounding the pavement (okay, just sort of shuffling along actually), I encountered some interesting chalk writing on the sidewalk. Intrigued, I stopped to read it. Bits of it were smudged, but I was able to make out something about "clip my balls." Hmm, did I really expect a message of salvation? This reminds me of Holden Caulfield, finding the "fuck you" someone had scrawled on the museum wall. It's so true, in this world someone will always come along and write "fuck you" under your nose. Either that or "clip my balls."

I made my own Snapey bookmark out of a greeting card today, whee! I thought about getting all arts and crafts-y and putting purple glitter on it, then realised that glitter, along with tinsel and vampires, is something you should never let willingly into your home because it will inevitably be a big pain in the neck.

Pain in the neck. Hee hee. Pun totally intended. I am evil! I am invincible! I am... sitting on a chair in front of a computer. Yeah.

There was a fellow with bright blue hair playing in the BC Open. This means one of two things: There is such a thing as "Golf Punk," or he had a bet going, a la Lou Piniella.

A couple random things I've learned:

1. When a band does "Sweet Home Alabama" in a bar, someone will inevitably yell out "Whoo!" during the opening notes. Or maybe it's just one guy, who travels from town to town in support of mediocre Lynyrd Skynyrd covers. The universe works in mysterious ways.

2. When someone says "You're weird," you should take it as a compliment, cause even if it isn't, it probably is. (Please disregard this if you are a serial killer or similar. Hmm... do I have any readers in prison? If so, please don't send fan mail. Also, I'm a man.)

*whisper* I'm not really a man. Just don't tell that to "Crazy Willie."

Weekend Round-up (even though it's only Saturday, I am confident that nothing will happen tomorrow):

Best current baseball player name: Coco Crisp

Best baseball player name that I made up: Rusty Nail Jones

Best names of British Open golfers I have never heard of: S.K. Ho, Andrew Oldcorn, Bradley Dredge.

The new Iron Chef USA with Shatner as Chairman Kaga was amusing. The crowd reminded me somewhat of a typical Battlebots crowd. And my favourite ever IC line was uttered by Bruce Vilanch: "This makes me glad I'm such a big fat pig!" Perhaps not quite as poetic as "Evangelist of Broccoli," but... it also featured an (extremely hot) challenger riding in on a motorcycle with his (extremely gorgeous) dark hair blowing out behind him. No one on the old Iron Chef could really be considered "hot," unless you're taking into account Chairman Kaga's probable body temperature under all those ruffles and capes and things. Even though an "Iron Chef American" was a tough sell for me (What's he going to make? Hot dogs? Creamed chipped beef on toast?), he ended up making lots of crabalicious yummies and beat out aforementioned Hot Guy. All in all, very entertaining, and certainly better than life. *nods*