Just checking whether or not I should insult you...

We went to a College World Series game on Friday with some friends and it was fun. Bloody hot and disgustingly sweaty, but fun. Far more entertaining to me than the baseball games (TCU won and I was rooting for UCLA because I love California and hate Texas, GAH) are the people. Omaha draws rabid fans of slutty, tooly college students to this extravaganza in baseball and drinking every year, and holy Hades are they funny! One girl not far in front of us (we were row 3 in some section behind another section! Which translates out to row 13...I don't know why) was standing and grinding in the air, in a mini-skirt and glitter top for most of the game....by herself. Also she was holding a purple stuffed frog which I guess is sort of TCU's mascot being that they're the horned toads or something, but anyway. Grinding. And "whooo"-ing. Nevermind that there was a family one row in front of us and actually, families everywhere. 

Speaking of that family in front of us, they were RUDE to their little boy. The mom was all like "Gimme that bag of sunflower seeds, he's just playing with them and not watching the game!" And she snatched the bag away. Who the fuck cares, lady? Let him do his thing, he's ten! And clearly a TCU fan, being that he made a huge, creative sign with a little square cut out for his face and a caption that said "Frogs fan!" with an arrow pointing to the cutout. Then his dad took him to get a hot dog and they came back an inning later, the dad complaining that the kid "didn't know what he wanted and then he had to go to the bathroom and there was a line, so now we missed an inning and a half." Hey guess what, jackass? That's what happens at the CWS, your kid gets hungry and has to pee and there are going to be lines. They also threw his sign on the ground when someone wanted to take a picture of them. I felt kind of bad for the kid but he was having a good time whooping it up for his team, so whatever. 

There was also an ESPN commentator in front of us and behind Grind Girl, so hopefully she didn't get on TV and make Omaha look trashy in addition to the already pre-conceived notions of it being tiny, boring and full of cows. But hey, WE were on TV! Wee!

Let's get back to slutty girls. Last time I went to a CWS game, you didn't go to look hot. Well unless you mean like, temperature-wise. Tank top, shorts, preferably breathable materials, and sandals or sneakers. Ponytail and sunglasses. I don't know when I missed the memo, but apparently heels, clingy acetate dresses, artfully curled hair should be left down, and you need to pile on the makeup. I guess that's what guys like now. Baby, it is sooo sexy when your makeup sweats off and you have raccoon eyes. Your pit and crotch stains in that tight dress are making ME sweat. I love when your heels get stuck in the beer-soaked grass at tailgating parties and my drunk ass has to lift your drunk ass onto the pavement and hopefully we don't take a tumble unless it's into a stranger's bed at this party we're crashing. 

Actually, that sounds kind of fun. Maybe I should've dressed like that and gone slumming. COL-LEGE!

After our game, we strolled down 13th Street looking for a bite when we ran into a friend's brother. We hopped into a bar and hung out with him for a bit before he said the most predictable thing ever with a cautious look on his face: "...anybody here from Iowa?" 

Which of COURSE means "Can I feel free to bash Iowa or is someone going to be offended?" I actually like Iowa, I think it's much prettier than Nebraska and the landscape is way more interesting, but whatever. We all said no and he proceeded to declare his true and undying hatred for Iowa because of some sports rivalry. I dunno, I tuned it out and told my girlfriend who I was reminded of when this guy made his his opening statement about Iowa.

A few months ago, I visited Tampa with my mom and sister. It was a GREAT long weekend, very relaxing and the beaches in Florida were lovely and hot. I brought a novel for the weekend and my Spanish book to study on the plane. On my flight into Dallas, I sat in the middle of a row of three. Hate that-- it doubles my chance that I might have to talk with a freak. Often I have very nice conversations but lately it's been smelly freaks, arrogant freaks, or freaks afraid of flying. I put my headphones in to decrease the probability that anyone would talk to me, opened my Spanish book and began to go over "por" versus "para" because OMG, I fucking SUCK at telling the difference. The plane filled up and nobody was by me yet. Sweet! 

Or not, because trundling down the lane was a big red-haired woman, complaining bitterly to her husband just behind her. "Why is this plane so full? Why isn't there anywhere to put my (two giant) carry-ons? Why is it so hot and this aisle so narrow? This is ridiculous! I'm writing Spirit Air! I'm writing my congressman!" AND OF COURSE SHE SAT RIGHT NEXT TO ME. ( I found it funny that she wanted to write Spirit Air; it's the cheapest airline in the industry. Oh, and congressman have nothing better to do than answer your frequent letters, I'm sure.) 

I have a point, but one aside please: I have pretty much never understood people who complain about their terrible, awful, no-good very bad flying experiences because SERIOUSLY, WE'RE FUCKING FLYING THROUGH THE AIR! IT'S AMAZING! SHUT UP AND APPRECIATE! but it wasn't until the Husband discovered Louis CK that I realized other people feel this way too:

You'll want to start at 2:35 for the flying bit, but the whole thing is great. The man can't not be funny!

Okay back to it. So the lady (we'll call her Red, uninspired but it works) flops into her aisle seat next to me and gives me a scrutinizing look, then turns back to her husband and is all complain complain complain some more. Whatever. Then, a nice-looking guy my age comes up to our row and says he's in the window seat. And of course this is a big inconvenience for Red as she huffs and puffs and stands up to get out of his way. I ignored them both, but after the plane took off and created that vacuum where you can't talk to a person across the aisle without shouting, she was suddenly very interested in talking to us. And this is where she said the thing I was reminded of when I Hate Iowa Guy asked if we were from his favorite state. She touched my arm and said "Dear, you're not Hispanic, are you?" 

Really? It's going to be that kind of flight? I do look like I could be anything-- Latina, Mediterranean, Italian, Israeli, someone once asked if I was Mongolian. I'm the great Any-Ethnicity! So, at least she asked before launching into her anti-immigration tirade? I guess? What would she have done if I said I was Hispanic? Would that have mattered? Enflamed her further? Insulted my imaginary wetback mother or accused me of taking her jorbs? Maybe I'll try a social experiment next time. But this time, I decided I didn't actually care and not to get into an argument with her as I still had two hours to go and I preferred to pass them stress-free since people piss me off in general and I was sure she'd piss me off in particular. Wasn't like she wanted her mind changed anyhow.

I simply shook my head that I wasn't and she got into a very spirited discussion with the young man to my right, and I was doing a good job of staying uninvolved when he poked me on the shoulder and asked "What do you think about all this?" with a pleading look in his eye.

I replied "Well, I'm studying Spanish in this book in my lap right now, so you can infer what you like from that." And Red gasped a nervous laugh, and put a hand up by her face in that affected feminine gesture-- you know? the one that's like "oh my!"-- except I had no idea what she was doing and thought she was trying to give me a high-five? So I touched her palm with my cold fingertips and quirked my lips in confusion, and then it was awkward. The end.