All balls, no strikes

I talked to Bubbles tonight -- about our choices in men, about our patterns in choices in men, and what drives us to make the same mistakes over and over and over again. We didn't come up with any answers.

We're not gluttons, just two simple girls looking for what every little girl dreams of -- the house, the man, the white picket fence. I want the fairy tale wedding, she wants Vegas. We each want a man who would enjoy drinking a beer with us tonight -- yes, a Tuesday...a work night -- but not just any Tuesday, All-Star Game Tuesday. So there she sits in her home in Baltimore, with peanuts and beer (Yeungling, I'm guessing). I overdosed on cashews and skipped the beer (though it would have been LaBatt's Blue Light).

No answers, but a little resolve to better whatever fucked-up situations we are in. She needs to know what is going on one and for all, and I need to move on -- once and for all. He's my safety net and he's not doing me any good. It sounded good, as I sat on my deck and watched a couple of squirrels chase each other.

Whether it happens or not, who knows. Who knows -- next year, as we watch baseball from Pac-Bell, let's hope we're not in the same situation. Here's hoping that we're clinking beer bottles with someone else as we cheer on the American League.