At the time, I remember watching the news and feeling sickened and repulsed. I’d watch Gary Condit on television and felt like he knew more than he was telling. He was cleared of all involvement and that should make me feel better about the situation, but recently, the case was tied up in a neat little bow and something still feels too neat. In fact, when Condit was cleared of charges, you could almost predict that an illegal immigrant would be found to have been at fault and Condit wouldn’t have anything to do with it, right?

Strange how that worked out. Levy’s remains were found in 2002 and a cellmate stated that Ingmar Guandique, in prison for something else, admitted to Condit paying him to kill Levy. He was recently convicted…however, the charges against Condit were ruled out.

Because no man has ever paid to have his mistress offed…especially a man in high power who was up for re-election. Condit even refused to admit his affair with Levy though his sperm DNA were found on her undergarments in her apartment.

I don’t know if Condit had anything to do with Levy’s murder, but the bottom line is that he’s kept mum for almost 10 years and I suspect he’ll continue to do so. It’s very Clinton-esque to deny, deny, deny, right? Either he truly had nothing to do with her murder and he’s innocent or he’s paid off the right people. The one thing I know about this is that it’s a stereotypical ending and when things are this open and shut, it’s rarely that easy.

We may never know what happened to Chandra Levy or why. Was it really just a robbery gone wrong? Did she get involved with the wrong man? Both? The only thing I know is that I’m still not buying what Gary Condit is selling and I don’t know why I can’t get over it. The prosecutors in this case “overcame a lack of any scientific evidence.” Why doesn’t that reassure me? This man could face life in prison with no parole. If he’s guilty, he deserves far worse. If he’s innocent? And if he’s guilty and was hired? Does the man who hired him deserve nothing?

This holiday season may her family have some peace that someone is paying for her death. I hope that it is the right person.

Honestly, I rarely go to your store for a cornucopia of delightful reasons. The main reason being that when I go into the store I come out feeling musty and dusty and like I need to take a shower. While you may have a more varied selection than my preferred store, Target, I’ve noticed that some products look like someone has run them over with a Hummer and that they have been opened, sampled and then put back like I won’t notice that someone else has taken a huge bite out of the Doritos I plan to purchase. Consequently, I no longer purchase Doritos, but I will talk about that in a later post.

In any case, I frequent your store in two circumstances: when I’m in a city, like my hometown, that does not have a Target, or when the item I need is not one that Target, Best Buy or any other store in the whole world (the whole world being a 15-20 mile driving distance) sells. In this case, I was looking for a 16G Zune player. This was necessary being that I was overly zealous on the treadmill the other day and whacked my rhapsody player off the treadmill deck and sent it spiraling to the belt where it promptly went zinging to the back of the treadmill and skidded 5-feet across the gym floor. It inadvertently almost knocked a boy off the elliptical behind me because he was laughing so hard he couldn’t stay upright. I realized it was unusable when it popped open in my hand. After trying other rhapsody players from my beloved Target, I gave up.

Wal-mart online showed me a Zune player that was $30 less than Best Buy. By this time, I’m already crabby because I haven’t worked out in 24 hours and I am kind of wishing I’d pushed the boy off of the elliptical machine. I got to Wal-Mart and, lo and behold, they have the Zune in stock. For $30 more than they advertised online. This isn’t new. Wal-Mart frequently discounts their items on their online store and charges more for their items in-store. So, to get something that is IN STOCK, I get to pay $30? Pass. I’ll go to Best Buy where I get a clean store, great customer service, a Best Buy rewards system and can use my $5 certificate for my rewards and where that same player will count towards MORE rewards. Oh, and hey, where BEST BUY won’t UNDERCUT ITSELF online. I’ve heard stories about Wal-Mart doing this with various products and refusing to honor the prices in their stores. If I wanted to wait five days, I could get Amazon free shipping. Or, better yet, use Amazon.com and get prime shipping or one day shipping and pay $30 less than both Wal-Mart & Best Buy.

What I know is this: I won’t be using Wal-Mart. And their policy of not meeting their own prices? Bull. This isn’t a franchise. This is a corporation. All the money goes to the same place. Enough is enough. I walked out today even though I really wanted that player and I had spent time, gas and money going there.

Places that continue to give me good service, Target, Best Buy, Amazon, the little stores around here? They’ll continue to get my cash. Keep up the good work, Wal-Mart. You make it easy not to give you my money.

Sincerely,

I spent some time this evening reflecting and pushing myself out of my comfort zone and letting myself talk to others and be myself again and what I realized is that my struggle is not singular. If I’m having a bad weekend, someone else reading this is struggling as well. I want you to know that even if your heart is breaking, your body is aching, your mind feels lost and you feel fragile…you are not alone and someone cares deeply for you. The things that happen are hard and heart-breaking and stunning, but they are not the end for you.

Continue to grow and love and move forward. I’m going to try to do the same along with you.

Take care of my crops on Farmville.

Read my twitter feed.

Check my email.

Go through my Google Reader.

Eat some chocolate.

Blip some songs.

Instant message.

Call my friends.

Ignore my statistics homework.

Cuddle my pets.

Love on my son.

And not in that order. But don’t think for a minute that those crops on Farmville weren’t taken care of immediately. My watermelons are in top condition, thank you.

A lot of my blogger friends have, at some point, expressed remorse at taking a blogging break due to life events. I’m not that girl. I’m just not. My online life is important to me, but it’s not my only gig. Yet, I understand that there are certain expectations and that maybe I’m not fulfilling them for everyone. It’s cool. I came across a review of my site on my Google Reader (still have over 500 posts to read on that baby). Overall, it was quite complimentary and I wanted to say thank you for that.

To be quite honest, I don’t think anyone buys my blog on Amazon.com to read on their Kindle, but the fact that you would endorse me truly means a lot to me. The fact that you want me to write more means even more. Sometimes people need to be told they are missed to be motivated. I appreciate it.

I’ll see what I can do. Thanks again. You made my day.

Those in my life that know me best know that I’m generally quite apathetic on most issues and due to my profession, I support people as to their decisions. With that said, I am adamantly pro-life for many personal reasons and many well thought out ones. As a humanist, a scientist, a mother, a woman, a friend, a social science major and someone who cares deeply for others…I can be nothing else.

My husband wrote a post today, on the anniversary of Roe v. Wade. I’m linking it here. My personal whys will remain unsaid… Sometimes it is better that way.

In Memoriam

Some of you follow my twitter feed and some of you know better than to rock the image of the good wife and mom you think I am. Those that follow understand that the reason my posts have been scarce is that, immediately following my finals, AJ got incredibly sick. Within 48 hours, I, too, got sick and Leon followed. Then, yesterday, AJ had to go to the hospital for chest pains. He got the all clear after an x-ray and CT-scan. None of us are completely healed from the stomach virus of last week and we are about to travel for the holidays.

We haven’t really had time to shop for the holidays.

Tonight, I took an hour to go get Leon his presents, as it is the one duty I cannot schluff off onto him. Part of that trip led me to Best Buy (who is not paying me, nor do they know about this post–I’m irritated with the need for disclosure, but there it is). Best Buy was packed, even at 9pm at night. I expected to leave irritated and wanting to sleep.

Instead, I walked in, found exactly what I wanted, talked to an uber cheerful cashier and, when I beeped when walking out, I slowly turned around to face the music. No, I didn’t steal anything. What do you people think of me?

I turned to hand my bag to the man at the door and he laughed at waved me out. I heard, from behind me, “You really oughtta quit stealing stuff! Run! Run for the car!” I laughed and went back to my car where Molly was waiting for me to drive home with the windows down. She wants to freeze to death.

Why bother writing this? Well, mainly because I spend a lot of time talking, thinking and taking in energy about what is wrong in my world. I had expectations that my experience was going to bite and it was the exact opposite. It was a great experience. I got what I needed and everyone was friendly and I was home within an hour. It was time to share a positive experience and increase the positive energy that is out there.

Take some time to appreciate those out in the retail world right now. I worked it for four years during this time of year and it is a hard job for little pay around the holidays. If someone is particularly nice, please return the kindness.

Oh, and bring cookies. Those are good, too.

It never occurred to me that the people I’d left along the way weren’t really gone. For the longest time I was such a black and white thinker that I’d written those relationships off as lost to me.

And then I found Facebook. Because I’m an introvert, social networking draws me like flies to honey. I can speak to people quickly and efficiently, which also hits my firstborn tendencies, and feel like I’m connecting without losing the energy that I lose in face-to-face interaction.

And then I started exploring.

And found the little girl from down the farm road that I used to play with often. I road my green bike with the banana seat to her house frequently. And not only did she remember me, but she was delighted to hear from me. We still had the connection that we had even then.

And I found the first friends I had when I finally started elementary school. And then those when I moved to a new town.

I found my first group of friends from middle school. We were so close for those four years. It was like we picked up where we left off. The best friendships are always like that, aren’t they?

I found my high school best friends and my college best friends. I found people who weren’t best friends, but that I like more as adults than I did as children. They have grown into amazing people that I love.

Through other social networking sites I have found people that I love more and more each day.

For me, I think it was just a reminder that, though there are times I feel alone and have certainly felt alone in the past, I never was. They were with me. They missed me. They were there.

And they still are.

Before Thanksgiving, I had the opportunity, NAY, the privilege of being up around 5am. The reasons why are unimportant, but, needless to say, I’d rather stay up all night than get up at that time and my thought was that I’d rather run laps over hot coals than get up at that time in the near future ever again.

Anyway, I was driving at the unholy hour and it was foggy and colder than a chicken nugget in a freezer in the South Pole and I thought to myself, “Self, what kind of person would subject him or herself to this weather and this hour on purpose?” And then I saw you running and it came to me.

A crazy person.

A crazy person does this.

So, I salute you devoted runner. You take it to a whole new level. I appreciate your dedication to getting your buff on when even icecicles wouldn’t go outside. I’m sure your muscles appreciate thawing out in -1000 degree temperature and waking up at 4:30am to “get in the morning run.”

Yep.

You enjoy that.

I’m just going to go back to bed.

Sincerely,

This is the post that you should be reading regardless of all of those things because even if you don’t think it’s YOUR problem, it’s OUR problem and I’m seriously worn out by it. The only way to fix it is to pull together and collectively decide we’re done and that we are going to publicly shame and shun for this offense and quit letting people slide. The only way to help that is to create stronger messages. And, chances are, you know someone who has a problem with this and, chances are, you are shaking your head and getting ready to close the window on this post. Let me explain myself.

Before my 18th birthday, I’d lost several friends to drinking and driving. I’m not talking about people I’d heard of through the grapevine. I’m talking about living, breathing people. One was in the band with me. One could hug like you wouldn’t believe. One shyly told me in the 6th grade that he wouldn’t mind dating me at all (ah, 6th grad boys). One was the quiet guy in the corner that never said a word. Those are just a few. By my 21st birthday, the numbers went higher and higher.

Less than a month ago, I received word that a boy from my hometown was killed. He was adamantly against drinking and driving and involved in some of the same groups that opposed it that I was involved with in high school. This 19 year old was also the nephew of my junior high best friend, so I’d spent a lot of time with him in his younger years. He’d had many health issues and struggled so much just to have a normal life. What I remember most about him, at that age, were these gorgeous, huge eyes that stared at me, and a beautiful smile that wouldn’t quit.

By all accounts, this boy turned into a young man, was succeeding in life. The man who hit him survived. The family is devastated. Shouldn’t they be? Wouldn’t you be?

If it were AJ…I don’t know that I could be rational.

So, when does it stop being acceptable? When do we stop allowing our friends to drive when they insist they are ok to drive? When do we push the cabs on them or make sure there is a DD before we serve them? I’ve never had a problem being DD being that I’m not a big drinker. Surely, I’m not the only one out there? Many restaurants offer to pay for cabs. Many bars do as well. How many of you would turn down someone if they called asking for a ride? So why isn’t this happening?

Why is it, when we find out someone has committed this offense, that we write it off as just another mistake? Is it not, and I’m going to say something extreme here, so please brace yourself, techincally attempted assault, at the very least? Attempted harm to another person? Suicide is illegal. At the very least, attempted harm to oneself? Attempted murder? What makes this any different from someone who actively goes after another person? Or someone who is going after multiple people wielding a weapon weighing over a ton? I’m aware they are charged with DUI, but it doesn’t feel like enough. Especially when many people are allowed to slide after multiple DUI’s for reasons such as knowing the judge in a small town.

Yes, I KNOW they think they are fine to drive and who are you to tell them they aren’t? They are impaired. It’s what alcohol does and why people like it so much. If it didn’t make people feel uninhibited, they wouldn’t drink it. Some people are fine to drive. Some people aren’t.

When do we stop giving them a free pass?

Full-fledged geek extraordinaire.

I’m ok with it and I’m not sure why others aren’t, especially when I’ve embraced this aspect of myself. Is it no longer cool to go with the self-acceptance? Dork has such a negative connotation, but there is something to be said for people that are eccentric, quirky or don’t go with the flow. We tend to stand out. Some may say that it’s not in a positive way, but I don’t think that the way I am presents itself in a bad manner.

Last week, I was in class and one of my friends was talking to another cohort about the highlights she’s had all semester. She has spent a lot of time on her outer beauty this semester and I’ve really noticed. She’s beautiful. I don’t swing that way, but if I did, I’d give her a second glance. She’s a precious, sweet, amazing, funny woman and I think that she is special. She’d commented that it took almost the entire semester for this other person in the cohort to notice that she’d had her hair done. I made the comment that I’d noticed and that I’d “been digging on her all semester.”

Not only did she smile, but she came over to me, hugged me tightly and then she and another girl made me an “Oreo sandwich.” Apparently, this is where two amazingly precious African American sweethearts hug a confused Caucasian girl and make her the cream filling. Needless to say, there were some interesting comments about what I said, but I shrug them off. I’m an equal opportunity flirt and this girl deserved what I said. Yes, it took cajones to say it, but it’s part of being quirky: You say things that others might not and it changes the outlook of the group, one way or another. She needed to hear that she is adored and accepted. I met the need and was rewarded by her, kindly.

It’s part of being a friend.

I sing in the car. Loudly. With hand gestures. Cars around me either laugh and point or join along.

I wear my heart on my sleeve and it gets me into trouble more often than not. I get hurt a lot. It’s who I am.

I will eat chicken pot pie 4 days in a row and then convince my twitter friends, they should, too. Don’t lie. You know you ate the pot pie.

I laugh at fart jokes. I tell them in public.

I’m the girl who doesn’t wear the camisole under her shirt and doesn’t realize she’s flashed people until after the fact. It wasn’t that I was trying, I just didn’t realize the shirt went down that far. It didn’t occur to me. I’m glad you enjoyed the show. They ARE beautiful.

I rarely spend more than 5 minutes on my makeup and if my hair takes more than 10, I leave it where it’s at.

I wear sneakers most every day. Screw dress up shoes.

I’m a jeans and t-shirt girl.

My perfume smells like lemons. Not a girlie smell, a CLEAN smell.

I hate to cook and clean.

I literally just played rock, paper, scissors with a presenter while the professor took over her presentation and we got bored.

I make inappropriate jokes. All the time. At the wrong times. In company where it’s wholly inappropriate.

I named my car “Betty” because anything I spend that much time with deserves to have a name.

I make fun of my education. I have to. 22 years of education makes me a nerd, along with being a geek and a dork. Yes, it also makes me smart. I’m proud of it, but not so proud that I have to make you feel stupid. I may be stupid for sitting my butt in desks made for a 7th grader for so long. We can all be happy about our education.

I wear braids, pigtails and buns. I go out in public like this. I think I look cute.

I wear the friendship bracelets my 13-year old sister made me with pride. I’ll wear them until they wear out. If you don’t like them, don’t look at them.

I want people to be my friend. Including my professors and people that may not necessarily want to be friends with someone as free with their words as I am. I have no problem joking and cajoling until people give in and become my friend. I can be charming when I want to be. Not in the typical manner. I will run up to people and invade their personal space by hugging them before they know me. Sorry about that.

I’ve done the time warp.

I’ve made, worn and given out warm fuzzies.

Butterfly and eskimo kisses are my favorite to give and receive.

I spend way too much time on my computer, but I do it because I miss the people I’ve met on here when I don’t.

I text more often than I should.

When I have my sunroof open, I feel invincible.

How are you a proud dork?

It’s hard to say exactly when the “slut ‘stume” craze started or when it will end. Perhaps it started when the whole horror movie thing began, and it makes sense. The most prominent scenes in horror films usually consist of a scantily-clad women being chased by a killer who miraculously catches up by walking at a slow even pace. And why do they include these scenes in horror movies? Because Dudes like it. Women likely picked up on it and ran with it by becoming short skirted nurses, cleavage showing police officers and strangely attractive witches.

Now, don’t get me wrong. I’m a dude and I like the “entertainment” just as much as anybody else – but seriously, the whole idea make no sense. Women are women, they are going to look good in anything. Plus, ladies shouldn’t do anything at 20 that they’ll be afraid to show their kids pictures of when they’re 30. Just sayin’.

Listening to the radio the other night I heard that Taylor Swift, the ideal woman (yes, I’m being slightly facetious here) and her friend decided in Junior High that instead of doing what all the other girls in her school did on Halloween they would take the alternative Halloween route. Instead of using Halloween as an excuse to act like a porn actress, they would dress completely opposite – as Chewbacca. Because the first thing every guy wants to see Taylor Swift in is a hairy alien Star Wars suit. Oh yeah.

But maybe it’s just another turn society is taking that is the result of peer pressure and lackluster parenting. Either way, if (when!) I have kids with Taylor Swift, they’re going to dress as Chewbacca and LIKE it.

________________________

Brandon Kiser is a teenage web and politics junkie lining in KY. He blogs at The American Kiser (americankiser.blogspot.com) and, at launch, will write for the conservative news site 73wire.com. Like every other cool cat nowadays he tweets using the shocking pseudonym @BrandonKiser .

Susan, the woman I spoke of yesterday, and I, did a presentation last semester on the stereotypes on obesity. During our preparation, we had a great discussion about how men view women. I shared my ideas on it based upon my personal experiences. She found them humorous, and true. As I’ve grown more comfortable in my blog and sharing my ideas with you, I’m going to put them forth here. I’m not attempting to ignore the aspects of being a smaller woman, however, it was interesting to me how the women that I speak to in regards of this subject all seem to agree with the principles that I put forth.

I’m not ignoring races, simply addressing the three I know best: Caucasian, African American and Hispanic. This is based on my own experiences and will not encompass every man there is out there. There will be outliers.

Caucasian men prefer women of smaller stature. They are less comfortable with a larger woman and if their woman starts small and gets larger, they are less inclined to feel attraction towards her. Large women are not seen as beautiful or comely, rather, they are seen as slovenly or unattractive. They follow the idea of “if I can’t carry her, I don’t want her” mentality. Curves are appreciated, but even the once revered hourglass figure may be looked upon with disdain.

African American like their curves. They prefer their women to be large in the chest and in the bottom and if the woman is a little thick in the thighs and stomach, all the better. One of my friends, also in the program, made the comment that it is “all the more to hold onto.” They don’t mind small women, but seem to gravitate towards medium to larger women. A pretty face means more to them then the typical “slammin body.”

Hispanics go with the idea of “the bigger the better.” I will never forget the time I was in New Orleans for a convention. My friend Steven and I were standing near a corner and he was on the phone with a drunk dial. I was trying to get his attention to get him back to the hotel. As I stood there, a black Escalade pulled up. The darkened window rolled down and an extremely attractive, dark eyed, dark haired man looked at me and smiled. He motioned for me to come closer. I smiled and shook my head in what I thought was a polite manner. His smile turned lewd and he motioned again, this time, more persistently. I held up my left hand and motioned to my ring finger. He winked and motioned me to come closer anyway. And this point, I grabbed Steven tightly and the man laughed, shook his head in what appeared to be disappointment, and rolled away.

Clearly, some very different ways of perceiving something. So, why is it that all 3 can have different points of view? I think it boils down to cultural differences as well as social norming practices. We value what surrounds us. If you are surrounded by the idea that women should be tall, thin and skinny to be beautiful, it will pervade what you consider beauty. If your idea of beauty is someone that looks like your mama and can cook like your mama, the idea of someone with a little meat on their bones is going to be appealing. Curves and all that go with them may almost seem goddess-like to you. The more involved you are in social norms, the more pulled in to the media based beauty ideals you will be and I think this is reflected in the differences in men.

I’m open for disagreement, however. I’ll take appreciation where I can get it. I like that when I go to school, a historically black university, that men open doors for me and make kind comments. I’m not a feminist and maybe I should be more wary of it. I’m not. I appreciate it. I like being called “mamacita” when I go by a construction site and the rare whistle from a man when I wear a skirt (even more rare).

Appreciation in all forms is nice. Men in all forms are nice. Thanks to those that are enjoy the body in all of its shapes.

When I say cabdrivers are crazy, I mean that they have a death wish. Freud said that we all have this thanatos, or death wish, as it were. These people take being risky to whole new levels. Let me explain.

They aren’t worried about pedestrians. The pedestrians will get out of the way if they know what’s good for them.

They will get you where you are going as quickly as they can and if that means running some red lights, weaving through non-moving traffic and honking at people that look like they might be packing heat, they’re going to do it.

Police don’t phase them. They can outrun the police. And they know it.

Letting people out on a street corner in the middle of quickly moving traffic is perfectly acceptable and, if it means they don’t have to slow down, even encouraged until one of those people says NO quite emphatically and looks at her 8-year old with the “crazy eyes.”

“One up front and I don’t care how many you fit in the back. Stuff ‘em in.”

Yep, cabbies are crazy. However, they are also polite. Many of them are downright friendly, if they talk at all, that is. Many of our drivers were clearly foreigners and their discomfort at speaking with us was clear. Being an introvert, I was fine with not making conversation.

I did appreciate the cabbie who hit on me by asking me about myself, and making flirty talk and asking about baseball, as we were clearly going to the game. He did this until I said that the Sox were my husband’s favorite team and then he quit talking to me completely.

Married women like their props, too, yo. Bring it. I’ll tell you I’m married, nicely, but I like that you gave it the college try and we both feel good. Or at least one of us does. But it’s all about me and making me feel good when I am the one giving you the tip, eh?

I enjoyed not having to drive. I enjoyed not having to yell at Leon for going the wrong way or missing a parking spot. I enjoyed being squished into a cab way too small for all of us and my mom keeping AJ calm while my sister and I laughed behind our hands.

Even if they are crazy, they do their jobs well. We got where we needed to go quickly and efficiently. I may start taking a taxi everywhere. Having a driver is a nice gig.

Yep. I’m admitting it.

If nowhere but in our head, when we hear the sirens, we’re guilty of rubbernecking via our neurotransmitters and our catlike curiosity overwhelms us. You can be the person who is better than the rest of us and denies it, but the truth is that the sirens are set up to get our attention and when we hear them, we want to know what is going on and why.

This has always been apparent to me but it seems to be more glaring this week.

While we were heading out of Chicago last week, we saw 2 police cars go flying past us and, immediately, those of us that were in the car wanted to follow those cars. We don’t know where they were going. It’s possible that they were going to find a stolen bicycle. All I know is that it was human nature for all 5 people in that vehicle to want to know what was going on and why.

My mom commented that my aunt, who has since passed, used to take my younger cousin ambulance chasing. Well, not really ambulance chasing, but police car chasing. It’s true. She was an EMT for a while and it gave my cousin a thrill, when he was really little, to follow the blinking lights. We also have other odd traditions in my family that may soon come out here, but the truth of the matter is that my younger cousin cherished those times.

It came up again on Saturday at AJ’s baseball game. We were in a different part of the park when we saw lights and heard sirens and a Fire & Rescue vehicle went screaming past us to another part of the park. People stopped watching their beloved children to crane their necks at the vehicle. I can tell you right now that we could not see what was happening. Fifteen minutes later, an ambulance came screaming in.

I still don’t know what happened, but I know that most of those loving parents still couldn’t tell you what happened in their kids games for that 15-20 minutes on Saturday.

We’re all ambulance chasers.

It’s how we roll and it’s in our nature and denying it is futile. But I’ll keep your secret if you keep mine.

Leon is a huge Boston Red Sox fan. When I met him, he loved the Mets, but I watched him slowly start to root for the underdogs in the league, the Red Sox. When they won the World Series, I don’t doubt for a minute that it was one of the best days of his life. He’d never been able to see them play in person and, on Labor Day weekend, it was going to be a Sox vs. Sox showdown in Chicago. Chicago is only 8 hours from us and only 3 hours from my family. It seemed like a no-brainer to swing by, grab them, and make a family weekend of Labor Day weekend.

As it was only a week before my 30th birthday, there was time for some birthday celebration in there, as well, so my mom and sister were more than down for the trip. We stayed at the Hyatt, in a beautiful room. There were some snafus with the room, which I’ll address later in this blog, but, for the most part, our trip was snag free. Leon decided to go to the game early to see if he could get some autographs and watch batting practice.

What he didn’t know was that, since he had seats in the upper level, security wouldn’t let him down to get close to the players. Papi (Ortiz) was signing autographs and did this for almost 20 minutes solid while Leon had to watch and be sad that he’d gone with the upper level seats. It was pathetic.

You’d think the upper level seats would be poor viewing seats, but they were actually awesome. We were under the shade and the wind was blowing nicely. It was about 71 degrees, give or take, and most of the Red Sox fans were in the upper deck.

Unfortunately, there were also a lot of drunk White Sox fans who made it a point to yell not only at the players, but at the Red Sox fans with a belligerence that was unmatched. One comment we heard from a child was “Take the needle out of your arm, Ortiz!” and from his father, “They didn’t test for ‘roids in 2004!” I was overwhelmed.

When the Red Sox fans would start to chant, the White Sox fans would shout “White” over the “Red” every time. When we’d clap, they’d boo. Frankly, I was a little shocked by the poor behavior. It didn’t take over the game, however. There were some key moments that I won’t forget that were noteworthy here.

At our second game, there was a father that sat in front of us. He didn’t stop smiling for the first five innings and, when he sat down, he proudly announced to the people next to him, that it was his little girl’s first ever White Sox game. She was three and wearing an adorable pink tutu White Sox outfit. She grinned throughout the game and managed to keep her eyes totally off the field. She would look at the people around her and ask their names. Her dad was so proud to have her there that I thought his face would crack. Of course, it was such a Hallmark moment that my baby heart almost teared up and bawled right there. Stupid emotions.

There was also the Russian that sat next to us. We were on the very top row of the stadium during our first game there. This man often spoke to his companions and we had no idea what he was saying, but every now and then, you would hear him yell, “YOOOOOOOOOUUUUKKKK!” (chanting for first baseman Kevin Youkilis) or “Go, Red Sox” in heavily accented voice. When they would do well, he would cheer loudly.

After the game, even when the Red Sox lost, the sense of camaraderie was strong. AJ was wearing his shirt, as was Leon, and a couple that we didn’t know came up to him and gave him the thumbs up. He was confused by this, as 8-year olds know better than to talk to strangers, but he understood that when you root for a team, you are part of a new club.

Overall, yes, the White Sox fans could have behaved better. I’m pretty sure I was spit upon at least twice, but I’m going to give the old woman behind me the benefit of the doubt that she just has trouble controlling her spit. The best part of my experience was being with my family and even if I didn’t enjoy the stadium, I was glad for the chance to be with them.

Thanks to Ellie at Practically Sisters for fixing my photograph!