Going to a Ball Game

They say baseball is America's favorite pastime and I couldn't agree more if I tried. I don't know if it's the camaraderie with the other fans or the hotdogs but something about it just feels right. I think it's the hotdogs.

When I walk into the stadium I like to take in all the sights and sounds of the ballpark. There's the smell of popcorn in the air, the sight of baseball caps in the crowd, and the sound of fistfights in the stands. It's funny how a little friendly competition can make you want to punch people.

As I continue my leisurely stroll through the stadium I make sure to keep a lookout for any and all bathrooms. There's a lot of people here and not a lot of toilets. The last thing I want is to be looking for a bathroom while going to the bathroom. A part of me wishes they would fix the bathroom to people ratio but another part of me is wearing a diaper.

After I've fully scouted out the stadium I finally arrive at my seat. It turns out I'm a lot higher up than I was expecting. In fact, I'm not even sure this qualifies as Earth anymore. As I'm trying to watch the game I start to wish I brought a pair of binoculars. I see the guy next to me has a pair so I ask if I can borrow them. He doesn't seem open to the idea so I assure him I just want to borrow them for the rest of the game. It's not like I want to take them home or anything. He still seems hesitant so I scooch over and tell him we can each share a lens, but he still has to hold them. I don't want to be the one doing all the compromising. Then he gets irritated and yells, "If you wanted binoculars you should've brought your own!" And while I see his point, I still can't see the game, so that's not a very good solution.

Once I've unsuccessfully convinced the guy next to me to share his binoculars I decide I'll need to improvise. I may not be able to see the game directly but I can guess what's happening based on fan reactions. Every time the guy next to me cheers, I cheer. Whenever he boos, I boo. Whenever he takes a sip of his drink, I take a sip of his drink. Then, as I copy his every move he gets upset and starts screaming at me. This makes me really nervous that our team is losing. I try to ask the score but he starts choking me before I can get it out. That's when I know it's really bad. It makes me realize how, as fans, we're so helpless. All we can do is watch, hope, and choke and punch each other. There's really no other options.

When the dramatic choking session is over I figure I'll take it down a notch and look for a bathroom. I don't have to go yet but I know the lines are going to be long. So long in fact that as soon as I stand up I'm already in one. I guess it's true what they say, behind every loyal sports fan is someone who has to pee. That's more true now than ever.

As I continue standing in line I start to worry there's a clogged toilet somewhere. We haven't moved in ten minutes and everyone's getting restless. I try to lighten the mood by singing the national anthem but it seems to make everyone more agitated. They glare at me and say things like, "You have a bad voice" and "Why are you singing 'Oh Christmas Tree'?" Based on the level of hostility I'd say they have to go number 2.

Once the line starts moving I'm relieved that I can stop singing, and so is everyone else. Though, we only take a few steps before we stop again. I jokingly ask if they want me to sing again but they blow up and yell, "Shut up you idiot!" In all fairness, I get their frustration. We're supposed to be enjoying a baseball game, not stuck in line waiting for a toilet that might not even flush.

As we continue to wait it becomes more and more likely that the game will be over before we get through the line. We're at the top of the seventh inning and I'm not even halfway through Jingle Bells. The guy in front of me is beginning to get really irritated and mutters, "At this rate, I should've brought a tent." And I know exactly what he means. If we were camping we could go to the bathroom anywhere.

As the seconds turn into minutes, minutes into hours, and hours into bladder problems, one thing is clear; we've missed the game. All the other fans begin exiting the stadium, leaving us poor schmucks fearing for our underpants. 

Then finally, after six long hours, it happens. I'm next in line for the bathroom. It was a long and grueling ordeal but I have finally arrived at the promised land. There's much rejoicing, I hug the guy behind me, and as I'm about to go in I decide to utilize my diaper instead. Then, as I start walking away, one of the guys exclaims, "We've just waited six hours! You're not even going to use the restroom?!" I can see where this would be confusing, but I can't stay and chat. I may not know if the toilets flush, but I know my diaper doesn't.

I've said it once and I'll say it again. Baseball is America's favorite pastime. It's one of the only events people attend even though they'll spend the majority of their time going to the bathroom. In a lot of ways that's all a ball game is, a glorified trip to the bathroom. Not many events that can say that.

How to Tell if Your Spouse is Haunted

We've all experienced it. A cold chill here, a strange sound there. Hauntings are a part of life. Usually, they consist of nothing more than harmless events like the appearance of a ghostly figure, the flickering of a lamp, or the choking of a neck. All of these are common phenomena in a house haunting. But what if you're experiencing something completely different? What if it's not the house that's haunted at all? What if you just happen to be one of the millions of people out there who have a haunted spouse, and don't know it? 

Before you laugh this off as some kind of joke, ask yourself, "Do I hear strange creaking sounds coming from my spouse's side of the bed at night? Do I sometimes hear their mouth slam shut and try to convince myself it was the wind?" If you've answered yes to any of these questions there's a good chance your spouse is haunted.

Before you despair know that, just as with a house, there are methods to rid the ghosts from your loved one's body. I will go through the steps I would take to do this because I've done it before, and will likely do it again. The first thing I'll need to do is determine what the spirits want. This could be anything ranging from the discovery of how they died to an English muffin. Remember, these are ghosts, they can't go into the kitchen and whip something up whenever they please. This is the reason so many ghosts can be found slamming cupboards and throwing knives around. They're hungry and can't find anything to eat.

Once I've discovered what it is the ghosts want I have to be very careful NOT to give it to them. They differ from house ghosts in this way. With house ghosts, they generally go away after their needs have been satisfied, but with bodily ghosts the more you give in to their desires the more they want. First, it might be a glass of orange juice but before I know it I'm cooking them a full course meal and going to Monster Truck shows.

One other thing I have to do to rid my spouse of their haunting is become fat. They have likely grown accustomed to intimate time and look forward to it. This is why I have to make myself as unattractive as possible. If I'm already gross, perfect, but if not it's time to start. When things start getting hot and heavy I want the spirits to take one look at me and go flinging out of my spouse's body. 

Now that I'm eating extra cookies and not bathing I should start to see results in as early as the next date night. And if that doesn't do the trick, I'll try smoking, cocaine, and saying "libary" instead of "library". One of these is bound to work. The goal is to be as annoying and ugly as possible. 

If I'm not sure I've done enough I just have to ask myself, "When I look in the mirror, am I repulsed?", "When my spouse looks at me, do they cry?", "When a child looks at me, do they scream, pass out, and/or die?" If I can honestly say yes then I can feel confident that I'm a disgusting pile, and it should feel good.

As soon as sexy time rolls around I get really excited. This is my chance to repulse the living daylights out of those ghosts. Though, my spouse seems a little hesitant to give in to the moment. As they try to get away it only increases my confidence that it's going to work. With a big grin on my face and a corn dog in my hand, I pursue them throughout the house with renewed vigor. 

As I hunt I make kissing sounds with my lips. Ghosts hate that. Then I begin with the heavy breathing and grunting as I move my huge body up the stairs. Once I reach the top I stomp around until I find my dear spouse cowering in the corner of our bedroom. Now I have those ghosts exactly where I want them. I polish off my corn dog, lick my sausage fingers, and with a grin say "Hey spirits, let's make an experience." Then I go lumbering forward feeling fairly certain the ghosts will go leaping for the window like my spouse just did.

When all is said and done I can feel confident that I've done my part to persuade the spirits to find a more appealing host. Now I just have to convince my spouse to stop crying. I certainly have done a number on myself. And sure, I may be a disgusting, blubbering drug addict, but I don't see any ghosts anywhere. That's how I know it's working.

Home Renovations

I'm pretty sure I love home renovation. According to HGTV it's exciting and fun. Not only that, but it's also a great way to increase the value of your property, which is perfect because mine has none. But that's nothing a little blood, sweat, tears, vomit, cursing, bumps, bruises, and broken bones can't fix. You just have to put in a little elbow grease, and that's not something you can buy at Home Depot because I checked.

One of the first things you have to do before renovating your home is figure out whether or not you have a hammer. This is the single most important tool capable of handling everything from driving nails to smashing thumbs. I like to make sure I have hammers of all shapes, sizes, colors, and nationalities before I even think about starting a project. I'm an equal opportunity hammer operator.

Once I have all of my hammers ready, it's time to get to work deciding which walls to tear out, in which room, and with what skills. These are all important questions, and as I stare at all of my hammers I start to get the feeling that I don't have any answers. In the end I decide to rip out the bedroom. It should require the least amount of effort and I can lie down if I get tired.

As I dual-wield my hammers I go absolutely nuts on the walls and ceiling. I swing to and fro in devastating alternating blows like a giant, industrial-strength woodpecker of mass destruction. Drywall is flying everywhere as I pummel the room mercilessly. I'm going at it with such gusto that I'm even scaring myself. Then I start screaming as I continue to shred the walls like it's nobody's business, because it isn't. 

Suddenly, just as I'm hitting my groove I hear shouting behind me. Apparently I've awoken my wife who was in bed behind me. She never was a heavy sleeper. She has a confused and angry look on her face, mixed in with a little drywall as she yells, "What the hell are you doing destroying our bedroom at 2 in the morning?!" I respond with, "Oh sorry. Did I wake you?", trying to diffuse the situation. It doesn't work. Instead, she repeats her question in an even louder and more angry tone. "Now who's being loud!?", I say. She's always been a bit of a hypocrite.

Needless to say, I wasn't able to finish the bedroom renovations. Not only that, but my wife tells me we're hiring a contractor to finish the job. I try to argue with her but she tells me, and I quote, "You can't even build a sandwich". That may be partially true but I don't see what cooking has to do with anything. She can be such a foodie sometimes.

Once the contractor begins work on the bedroom I stand behind him and observe. After everything he does I say, "That's what I was going to do". I say it every time he measures a wall, pulls a nail, or checks his watch. Eventually, he gets irritated and asks me to leave the room. I would, but then how will he know what I was going to do? 

As I continue standing behind him, telling him all the things I was going to do, he blows up and yells, "Maybe you should do this yourself!" But I assure him he's doing fine. Some people are so insecure.

At some point, for some reason, and after some cursing, shoving, and hammer throwing, the contractor storms out before the job is done. I look at my wife like, "That guy was unprofessional". She then looks back at me with such anger that I immediately know we won't be hiring him again. That's fine by me. I'll probably do a better job anyway, I think to myself. But that's when my wife shoves me out of the bedroom and slams the door.

After my wife finishes the bedroom renovation I ask which room we should do next. I can tell she's not quite ready by the way she starts choking me. I just give her a big hug and tell her we'll wait until tonight. Marriage is all about compromise. That's something I've learned over the course of the kitchen, bathroom, and living room remodels. All of which my wife did a great job on, just like I was going to do.