Oy Vey

Dear Jane,

So maybe you saw me on TV last night. Maybe I was on TV last night and just don't know about it....

F called me yesterday with an offer too good to pass up.... tickets to the very important Yankees-Orioles game (important because they needed to win, and Boston needed to lose; Boston won, so the Yanks are still half-a-game outta first place. But this is not a sports commentary site! Back to our regularly scheduled programming.)

I haven't been to a Yankee game in a loooong time -- and F has actually been making an effort to be nicer for the past week. So I said I would go, and I am so glad I did!

First of all -- I didn't have to take the subway to get up there. Have you ever ridden on the number 4 train during rush hour? I swear, the last time I did, there were so many people who kept squeezing into the train that my feet were lifted from the floor. I was suspended between all those sweating bodies, held in place by nothing more than surface tension.

And we got to talk in the car -- and we were able to have a reasonable, adult conversation about all the crap that has been going on (or not going on, for that matter) for the past two months. I got to say everything I needed to say, and he didn't get defensive or go into attack mode.

His confession: "I know I've been behaving badly, and sometimes I watch how I behave toward you, and I hate myself for doing it. I hate myself when I act like that toward you. But even when I'm doing it I can't seem to control myself." Interesting -- and I pointed out (gently, gently) that maybe in the future, he can observe himself before the behavior happens, and CHOOSE a different behavior.

The other interesting thing is how he is so worried that our "affair" will become public that he thinks the only way to keep people from suspecting anything is to act like an asshole to me. I then pointed out that the needle of suspicious behavior doesn't need to swing 180 degrees. A pleasant, neutral, polite conversation is blameless in the eyes of the world. I in fact believe that his "Who's that trip-trapping across my bridge?" behavior is more of a red flag than being nice and friendly.

Then at the end of the conversation, despite its intensity and depth, he looked at me, and said, "I love that we can have this conversation. I'm so happy right now."

So we get to Yankee Stadium, and the tickets he got are frickin' AMAZING! Fourth row from the field, a few seats to the left of the Yankee dugout. It was so much fun to watch the Yankee Skanks who rush down to the railing to try to get Derek Jeter or Alex Rodriguez's attention. They look so, I dunno, Bay Ridge or something. Or maybe Staten Island. Like they came from the San Gennaro festival to Yankee Stadium.

I take back everything I've been saying about how I don't think Derek is cute anymore. When you are looking at his butt before every at-bat, you can't help but think, WOW.

The entire game was SLUGFEST. I got to see a Gary Sheffield Grand Slam! I got to watch Jason Giambi hit about 10 foul balls in a row -- and these weren't just little plops into the right field stands. These were rockets up into the air and OVER the lights -- basically out of the stadium fouls. And with every one, I leaned over to F and said, "Oh, noooo, I don't DO steroids any more," until he shushed me, telling me it is bad manners to dis your own team. I'm sorry, but Jason Giambi has the close-set eyes of a serial killer. Then the idiot bloops a can of corn into center field? If you were gonna sacrifice, why didn't you just get it over with on the first pitch, numbnuts?

So, anyhow, F and I were just having a good time with each other -- cutting up and laughing and cheering great baseball on a beautiful summer night, made even more beautiful by a rising harvest moon. Banana-yellow. Then he tried to get friendly with me -- leaning over and saying, "How'd you like to make out in front of 50,000 people?" I just turned to him and said, "You know, these are really great seats -- I'll bet we'll get to be on television!" Never saw a man put his hands back where they belonged so fast.

That would be absolutely hilarious -- "Hey, Jane, I think I saw your husband making out with some chick at the Yankee game last night!"

So, all in all, a great night for a ballgame.

Then F drove me home (Of course, we had to spar about the best way to get back to Brooklyn. He, the guy who probably only drives past Brooklyn on his way to the Hamptons, arguing with the girl who lives there.)

"Trust me," I said, "Greenpoint Avenue is where you want to go."

"Greenpoint? Greenpoint is Queens! We want to go to Brooklyn!"

"I live there. I used to drive there all the time!"

"I'm not taking Greenpoint Avenue!"

At which point I asked him "Would you rather be right or would you rather be happy?" Without a second's hesitation, he said, "Oh, I love to be right! I'll pick being right every time."

Hmmm. Very telling.

Then we got back to my apartment, and of course we humped like dogs. I saw that one coming at about 7:00... But lots of fun, and oh. my. god. I needed to get laid.