I took my final test between shifts today and come four 'o' clock, I was a waiter. Not something most people celebrate, but for me it felt like a hurdle leapt that I'd only ever glared at with contempt, from a distance. What I used to equate with stepping into a bear trap, today felt like another step in the right direction. I had a training wheel section, but with only five tables in four hours I made 70 bucks. And I work a double tomorrow.

Roll in cash. Roll on in.

So here I sit, listening to the World Series in the other room. Another far cry from where I'd imagined I might be tonight. My patience is wearing thin. The unbelievable patience I have always shown with girls. Women. The female of the species. Of course, that its thinning in no way means I'll give up. Or demand anything. Just means after all this time, and with the leaves and temperature falling, its getting harder and harder to be lonely.

Especially when I know who I want.


ps. gobosox. yippee.

a memento. of all the baseball and stuff.

Every year I claim with you wait, bitch confidence that some baseball team will make history this time. The thing about sports is, if you don't give a shit, you aren't even aware that something like The Most Anticipated Game in Baseball History is being played. As it was yesterday. But if you do buy in, to the whole sports universe, then it is a place where magic happens all the time. As it did yesterday. When the Boston Red Sox capped an unprecidented comeback from an 0-3 deficit in the ALCS, to beat the New York Yankees in seven games, and advance to the Fall Classic.

Wow. You just never know.

Like I could never have known that after a such a surreal build-up to last night's game, I would end up watching Game 7 in the basement, dressed to the nines, with two gay guys who could give a gay shit.

To top it all off I got a call from my cousin, calling me out on what an asshole I am. How I never call when I say I will, and how it is just more proof that no one gives a shit about him.

I haven't been able to get ahold of him since.

I've seen some great baseball games in my time. At least a shitload of intensely involving baseball games. Like the one last night. It may have been my chemical breakdown of the game itself, its chess-like stratagems. That the momentum can swing with each swing. That even down three games to none, staring elimination in the face, three outs away from a demoralizing end to another season, in baseball, it never is over until its truly over.

It may also have been the company. The couch. The cat. The fascinating feeling of awkward comfort. It may have been twelfth inning heroics. But it was mostly the girl. Great baseball is great, but last night it was gravy.

Here's to the greatest comeback in Sports History. And my selfish hope that it would allow me to watch a few more ball games with her.

Just unbelievable loveliness, the last 48 hours.

An emoticon just won't cut it here.