"I love your losing record, DOUCHEBAG!"

Ok, so you know that time that I wrote that post about not being able to muster up the energy to get angry? (If you don't, it was the last post that I wrote, and yeah, it's been a while since I wrote it, but I never said that I was going to be particularly good about this, and seriously, why don't you try to pack up and move across the country because it is damn time consuming.) Well, that's not wholly true. This past weekend I found the magical combination of things that piss me off to no end and transform this little sweet Southern girl to Axl Rose on a three day coke bender.

And yes, my friends, those two things are a) a losing baseball game and b) mass quantities of beer. Combine these two with a little childless evening out, shake vigorously, and BAM! You have a Molotov cocktail of 'tude that would make Sweet Lou Pinnella blush.

So, in preparation for The Move (which, at this point, has to be capitalized because it's so big and important and looming), my mother in law has come to stay with us. She is helping to pack, and then she is going to fly the kids home. However, her appearance means little more to my husband and me than "FREE CHILDCARE." In fact, she may as well have shown up at our front door with a neon sign around her neck advertising herself as such. When you haven't been on a date since before Britney Spears lost her damn mind, you see family members in this kind of awful, self-serving way. No apologies; that's just the way it is.

So on Saturday night, after a long day spent selling away our belongings, we (giddily) left our children safely in the care of their grandmother and ran like prisoners set free for the first waiting BART train. We had bought great tickets for the Oakland/SF Bay Bridge series, and being RABID Oakland fans, we were excited to see the game, and to see what we hoped to be a win. Actually, it was a bit more than hope--Oakland had swept the series thus far this year, and had quite a history of making the Giants look foolish (which to be honest, is not much of a feat--for the un-baseball inclined, San Francisco is a pretty wretched team, as one can imaging from a city that is known for being the home of The Gap).

But yeah. Best laid plans and all of that. The game was actually amazing--great, solid pitching from two of the best pitchers in the game, lots of suspense, lots of good-natured ribbing going on with the fans of both teams. And for me, lots of beer. Tasty, tasty $8.00 beer, coupled with garlic fries and pulled pork sandwiches. My husband and I were living up our date--sneaking kisses, talking, cheering for our team. It was all going along swimmingly until about the 7th inning or so. The Giants had managed one run off of an error, and the A's were still being shutout despite having tons of chances to score. And I was, well, full of beer. And despite my general good mood, three Giants fans in front of me were driving me insane. They would yell loudly every time an A got out, or a Giant got a hit, and turn around and face all of the A's fans behind them and say something incendiary. It went on and on. Finally, the Axl in me just broke out and started doing the Axl dance.

Queue Scene:
Dude in Giants Jersey: Hey A's fans! I like your scoreboard! (pointing out that no, we don't have a big, fancy HD scoreboard like the one in SF and that, well, the Giants had one run on the one we do have)
Tipsy Me: Hey, I LOVE YOUR LOSING RECORD, DOUCHEBAG!

It was one of those moments where everything got quiet. Like a stadium of 36,000 people just decided that they didn't have anything to say. And there I sat. Full of vitriol and hate. The guy just looked at me, as if he was plotting his next move, or maybe trying to see if I was for real. And, well, Axl could not be silenced, because Axl is very, very real.

"You know what else I love? THE NUMBER OF TIMES YOU'VE WON THE WORLD SERIES."
*beat*

At this point, I started to get some applause from my fellow denizens of the plaza level. I stood up. My husband put his head down and decided to always hate a small part of me for the rest of his life. And then, a few Giants fans started yelling "Let's go GI-ANTS!" clap clap clap-clap-clap.

Not to be outdone, Axl yelled "LOS-ING RECORD!" clap clap clap-clap-clap.

I continued this until a coliseum employee came and told our entire section to sit down and shut up and watch the game. I sat down triumphantly, hoarse, but full of pride at my somewhat buzzed performance. Matt looked at me and said, "Um, could you maybe not do that again?"

And I answered, "Sure." Because it's true. I couldn't do it again. It requires just the right level of buzzedness, and just the right level of hate for the fans sitting around me. Plus, this level of anger is only appropriate once or twice a year. Were it to happen more often, I might be typing this from some sort of lock-up program for troubled women.

But I must say, it was fun while it lasted. And I maintain, the Giants are a sure sucky team. Dude in the black Giants jersey, you coked up frat chimp, I hope you enjoyed the win Saturday night (and then, well, again yesterday). Because I'm betting the Giants are gonna get about 60 of those all year long. Out of 162 games. So yeah, that's a sucky record. Just like you have now.

See? I'm not as "on" when I'm not pissed out of my mind. I'm going to shut up now.