When it's 1am on the west coast...

Monday morning I was awakened at 4:07am with a cell phone beep, the tell-tale sign of a text message (and not from J, because he has his own alert sound).

I picked up the phone and looked, expecting to see a wrong number or Verizon telling me my bill is now available on-line. Instead, it was from my Yankee. "whats up"

My wheels turned quickly, thinking of a good response and also analyzing the situation. The Yankees lost in Seattle and then headed to Anaheim. It's 1am. Bars are still open. And he's thinking of me?!

How fucking cool is that!

I was still groggy and not exactly sure what he wanted. Was this a drunk dial? Or a phone sex booty call? I played it safe and threw it back at him.

"you pitched well the other day. how are you?

"thanks...i'm good. whats up"

Hmmmm....he didn't give me a lot. "work, gym, not enough sex"

"same here"

Not exactly the playful response I was hoping for. Maybe there's a language barrier on the texting. I tried one more time. "too bad we're on different coasts...we could help each other out with that last one"

And then no response. I figured he got a better, in-person offer. Or passed out. Knowing him, either is totally possible.

As for me, it was not 4:30am, and I was wide awake. I watched two episodes of Little House on the Prairie (thank you TV Land) and was out the door by 6:45am.

It was a long day.