Balls, trash, and tacos

Friday's baseball game was fun. We didn't get to stay past the 6th inning, but it didn't matter because WE GOT A BALL. Cute kids CAN be put to good use! I just propped Claire up on the fence, and she looked at the outfielder, and he tossed the ball to us. Then we had to leave because Child A was crying over the loss of her super, extra-long, pink balloon that popped when mommy "held" it after tearing it away from Child A because Child A was hitting innocent baseball-watchers in the head/arms/eyes; and Child B was screaming because I wouldn't let her climb the fence and run onto the diamond to give the first-baseman cotton candy. Actually, that's not true. I don't know the real reason she wanted to climb the fence, but she did. And when I was a HORRIBLE mother and refused to let her, she clued everyone in on what an ATROCIOUS BITCH I am by letting out a blood-curdling scream. So, as we climbed the stairs up to the concession area, I kept saying, "I'm sorry they're losing! It's not my fault! I'm so sorry!" My sorrowful apologetics, coupled with Claire's screams and tears got a few good laughs from the crowd.

Saturday was even more fun--if you can imagine that! Me, Scott, and my brother Shawn went to the motorcross. Oh yes, WHITE TRASH HAVEN. I have never seen so many mullets, fake boobs, or beer guts under one roof in my entire life. Some of which were on a single person. The motorcross is a Prime-A people-watching venue. Of course, I broke my diet and had to indulge in a $7.50 Bud Light. Because if it's SEVEN-FIFTY, it MUST be drawn straight out of those Colorado Rockies. A few of those, and you could have bought a plane ticket to Colorado. $7.50 for a beer. SEVEN FIFTY. I'm sorry, that's just so hard to grasp. After the motorcross, we went to Taco Cabana for some quick food. There, we paid $3.00 per beer, and we were overcharged. The cashier rang up Bud Light and Coors Light as premium beers. Premium, my ass. Then, the cashier committed a sin right in clear view of everyone. She threw a margarita in the TRASH. A perfectly good, delicious margarita. In a trash can. Why would you do such a thing? So you poured a "regular" instead of a "strawberry"--set the mispoured cup behind the tortilla heater and snag a sip between enchilada-rolling. Cripes. I thinkest thou dost hit the crack pipe oft too much, oh, Taco Cabana cashier.