In threes

We all know I’m not a big fan of baseball, right? Right. But, for whatever reason, I am totally into this whole World Series thing. I have even put on an authentic Cardinals t-shirt each night of the World Series. Imagine that. Wow. Blows. My. Mind.

Speaking of blowing (not that kind of blowing, you sick fucks), two Estonians came over yesterday to spend a night. The female went to graduate school with a friend of mine. She now teaches at the U. of Missouri. She is for this semester teaching at Oxford U. in England and came back for a visit. The husband, who is a law student at the former-mentioned school, drove to pick her up at the airport but because they have an appointment to get finger-printed for their green cards this morning, they asked to stay a night. They are nice people, but a bit dorky and bland. I understand flying from London is tiring, but is it that tiring to not want to go to a bar and watch the W.S.? Apparently. So, we ordered Chinese (I love me some crab ragoon) and watched the game on my shitty-ass 19” tv.

Speaking of inches (not to measure ‘that,’ you sick fucks), it’s raining. The last time it rained, I forgot my umbrella at work. So, I told myself to take it back to the car. You see, I have two umbrellas. One at work and one in my car. Well. Let’s just say my plan to take the umbrella back to the car ‘the last time it rained’ never came to fruition. Hence my dumbass had to walk in the rain this morning. And, what was the first thing I spotted when I walked into my office? My fucking umbrella hanging on my coat rack. Fuck.

Speaking of fuck (well, actually, that ‘fuck”), my brother was visiting from Kansas City last weekend. He had just arrived from spending the last 2.5 weeks in Slovakia with a friend of his. He came to the Lou to show us his pictures and bring us presents. Oh, how I like presents, especially when it’s chocolate. Banana chocolate. Sounds gross, but when I’m in Europe, that’s all I eat. Anyway, on Saturday night, he and I went to this bar to meet up with my sister whose boyfriend was playing in the band that night. Being the smooth talker that he is (I’m all weird and shit), my brother starting conversing with four chicks. I, at the time, was swaying ever so comfortably to the music with my sister. Well, not “with” my sister, but next to her. Oh, you know what mean. So, anyway, I go over there. He introduces me as his “little brother.” In my Irish accent I say, “yes, his wee, little brother.” I get a few looks. Strike one. This half Korean chick asks me how old I am. I say 29. She flips out. “No, fucking way,” she says. Then, she hits me in my arm. After thinking about punching her in the face, I decide to laugh it off, and say something along the lines of, “I sho am.” Strike two. I then start talking to this semi-blonde chick with dark-rimmed glasses. You know, the whole naughty secretary look. (Why don’t any of my secretaries look like that?) So, we bull shit for about ten minutes. Things are going well. I’m tossing my hair, touching her arm, while she’s buying me drinks and whispering sweet nothings in my ear. Then, she utters the words, “my fiancé and I….” Strike three, game over, exit the stadium, lights off, go to bed. Almost immediately, I was like, “ok, well it was nice wasting my time with you. Peace.” I swear I did not see a ring. (Does this mean she lied? I hate you girls.) Indians do it right. Engaged and married women should be branded or something. In glitter.

My leg’s a sleep and it’s time for lunch.