Hot Dog!

I went to the Red Sox game last night at Yankee Stadium. Yes, my beloved Sox lost, but that’s not the effing point so blow it out your @$$! Sorry, the Sox get me wicked upset. Especially when Manny thinks he’s skinny and fast. Puh-lease. He’s lucky I love him anyway.

Anyhoo, is it weird that I pay more attention to the hotdog man than the game sometimes? I’m normally a cheeseburger kinda gal, but you put me in a baseball stadium, and I’m drinking beer, dipping (not really), chowing down dirty water dogs and peanuts and crackerjacks, I don’t care if I ever get back! (Lost my mind for a minute there). So instead of watching the game I’m waiting for Mr. Hotdog man to show up and feed me. All I see are the foam finger and bobblehead people! NO ONE WANTS THOSE! WE WANT SOME EFFING HOTDOGS!

So I finally find a guy and he catches my eye but doesn’t acknowledge me, which makes me think, “Well, he didn’t give me the nod, so is he coming over here next or not?” He did end up coming over to me after stopping at 52 billion other people and just as I was about to put ketchup on my friend’s head and eat him instead.

Next time, Mr. Hotdog man better not be such a bitch and acknowledge the fact that my mouth is watering over here.

P.S. This was almost me last night.