Confessions of a former delusional baseball fangirl: a photoblog

My new life as a total baseball fan began on June 4, 1999, when I won tickets from Pizza Hut to watch the White Sox play the Pirates.  My life as a total baseball fangirl would begin shortly thereafter when I noticed a certain redheaded player by the name of Josh Paul.

I don’t remember when exactly I noticed the insanely hot backup catcher, but from the moment I laid eyes on him, 15-yr-old me had already started planning our wedding.  I wrote sappy love letters that he would never see when I was in class; I would daydream about being a baseball wife; and I would talk non-stop about him to my friends.

And then, I started seeing him in person.

Soxfest is an annual fan convention that I attended every year just to get a glimpse of my fantasy man.  I attended my first Soxfest in 2000 and my last in 2002.  In just those two years, I met Josh Paul three times.  I would drag my poor best friend and my sister with me because I was so painfully shy and knew that I couldn’t manage meeting His Greatness on my own.  

And I was right, because after I snagged his autograph and a picture with him, I broke down into tears like a teenybopper at a Backstreet Boys concert and had to be led away by my slightly embarrassed friend.  Luckily for everyone involved, Mr. Paul didn’t see my spectacle.

At least I hope so.

Sometime along the way, I started working at the ballpark, possibly with the hopes of seeing him more, but it was around that time that I started noticing a blue eyed pitcher by the name of Mark Buehrle.  I switched my focus towards this new Missouri boy during his second season with the team (he went bleach blonde…I normally don’t go gaga for blondes, but you have not seen Mark Buehrle as a blonde, presumably.  It was…magnificent).  However, after being rebuffed by the ace (a story for another day), I decided that perhaps Josh Paul was the guy for me after all.  So I decided to do something dramatic.

I asked him to marry me.  Sort of.

I wrote about this experience in a previous blog:

I decided that, during my senior year, I would make a sign asking for his hand in marriage and wait for him outside of the players’ parking lot. My friend and I go to the game, leave and wait up to an hour following the final pitch…and then we saw him, walking to his SUV with his lady. And suddenly, I lost my nerve.Where it went, who knows? But I begged my friend to show him the sign for me. So she called out his name and held up the sign. The prettiest, biggest, most gorgeous smile crossed his face. And I realized that he was smiling at the girl holding the sign; not me. And I felt like a colossal idiot, especially when he walked over to autograph the sign…and then handed it back to her. She may have given it back to me after he walked away, but the experience will never ever really be mine.

Although my attraction to Josh Paul would never completely wane, over time I stopped being gaga.  As evidenced by my photos above, I still have my various trinkets from my fan girl phase. 

I keep them around as a further reminder that I was a strange teenage girl with the oddest habit of crushing on the most random people.  But I’m not sorry.  Dude was superfine.  But then this happened:

And I don’t know how to feel anymore.

The last boy in my high school life

 The other day a song came on the radio that reminded me of an old high school boyfriend.  And I really mean OLD, in that he was a good ten years older than me.  Don’t worry: we dated during my senior year, so I was legal in the eyes of Illinois.  Still, the idea does bother some, I know.  I don’t pretend to understand why he was interested in a high school girl that couldn't get into any of the clubs or bars.  He was nice enough: we had a standing date every weekend when we didn't work (we both worked at the United Center & Comiskey Park) and any random days during the week when I could get out of the house.  We saw pretty much every new movie that came out while we were dating and we spent a lot of time in the car just talking (ok…some talking…).  And it didn't hurt when I was assigned to his section during work, because that became makeout time (he was a Team Leader for our company, so I’m pretty sure that if they knew we were dating I would have been assigned to his section much less).

We met innocently enough: I was working his section at the ballpark and he was flirting pretty heavily (although he would later claim that he was just having fun, not flirting).  I had just broken up with my last boyfriend following my return from a rather strange internship, so I was rebounding hard and any attention was good attention.  I gave him my number after work and thus began our interesting 9-month courtship that, even after twelve years, I still don’t understand.

Maybe it was just me being a lovestruck teenager, but no matter how much I pressed the issue, it seemed as though I couldn't get *Juan to tell me he loved- hell, even LIKED, me.  Even after dating for nine months.  It was frustrating.  And I can’t even give him the benefit of the doubt that he was just in it for the intimacy of a younger woman; we never took it to that level and he never asked me.  But for whatever reason, for him, we were just hanging out.  Nothing more.  We weren't boyfriend and girlfriend.  But I stuck with him because I loved his stupid face.

Maybe he was just waiting for me to graduate high school before he pursued something more?  I never found out, as I broke up with him right after graduation so that I could be free to see as many college boys as I wanted.  However, I soon realized that I needed to get through the summer first, so I tried to ask him back out, at which point I was rejected because I clearly didn't have loyalty.

The irony wasn’t lost on me: what did he think the last nine months were?

After being rejected, I threw out the box of trinkets that I had collected during our courtship.  And I wondered how we could have accumulated such a history without being anything official in his eyes.  One of the items was a chocolate rose that he had bought for me when I had to work on Easter.  He’d had the day off, but he picked me up after work and had waiting for me in the car the rose, a pint of milk (I used to drink A LOT of 2% milk in high school) and a copy of Maxim magazine (I had recently told him about my attraction towards the fairer sex).  He then took me to the mall for some shopping and to see ‘Big Trouble’ at the movies, which I had been waiting to see since September 2001 (it was delayed for obvious reasons).  I had pretty close friends who weren't that tuned in to me; why would a non-boyfriend do such things for me?  I dwelled on these things after the fact, but at the time my stupid teenaged brain was too blinded by the “aww, how sweet”-ness of it all.

Juan was never cruel to me; he never called me names or was physically aggressive.  He was a genuinely nice guy.  Just weirdly distant.  At any point he could have ended it, but he still showed up to take me out to see whatever movie I wanted. 

I don’t get it.   

Don’t get me wrong: teenaged me enjoyed our time together, but I often wondered what was even the point.

Just like I wonder what the point of telling this story was.  Oh yeah: I heard a song on the radio that reminded me of an old high school boyfriend.  And I really mean OLD, in that he was a good ten years older than me…

*obviously not his real name, although all of my high school friends know his name because I never shut the hell up about him.

Throwback Thursdays: Screaming about Flag Football edition

Before meeting my Lady during our freshman year of college, I only had a vague understanding of the punk genre and zero knowledge of the existence of Hardcore (outside of porn, that is). While it still isn't my preferred listening pleasure (I listen to a lot of awfulness, and The Beach Boys), there was something very ironic and invigorating about listening to Ten Yard Fight, a hardcore straight-edge band, scream football/hardcore analogies through the speakers while we were getting nice and boozy with cheap vodka (Skol!) in her dorm room. Or while driving down to Florida for spring break and listening to the album over and over because it was only 23 minutes long. Apparently there are only so many football terms one can scream out at a given time.

I miss those days of trying to find the balance of having as much fun as possible while making sure we do well enough in school so that we didn't end up as hobos (although, as we quickly found out, school doesn't necessarily prevent that); of trying to hide the boys in the closet even though Campus Safety was already well aware that they were in the room (cheap vodka prevents discretion); and of sitting in Steak N Shake at all hours of the night/early morning because it was the only thing under-21 college kids could do at a small religious college in the suburbs. No matter what we got into, she always made sure we had a rocking soundtrack to accompany us. Such as hardcore songs about flag football. You’d be surprised how much cooler flag football sounds when it’s screamed at you.

The sometimes confusing and frightening world of niche fiction

Thanks to Amazon’s delightful Kindle Unlimited service, I’ve been able to read a lot of novellas and short stories by indie writers.  There’s a vast array of fiction- coming of age stories, science fiction, reflective pieces, socially conscious tales, etc.

What I’ve also discovered is that there is a lot of niche fiction out there.  Fiction that would normally stay within fan fiction circles and personal journals are now bourgeoning subgenres that comprise serials and have loyal readers.

I wrote a while back about how the internet and the boom of the e-book have made it easier for people to get their work out there- for better or worse.  I’m sure before the e-book you’d have to search around in small, alternative book stores to get your niche fix. 

With the digital marketplace, you can now anonymously type in a few keywords and you’re 99% likely to find an author who shares your weirdness and wants to make money off of it.

Are you into dinosaur porn?  Covered.  Naughty retellings of classic fairy tales?  Covered.  Taboo teacher-student relationships?  Soooooo covered.  (Oh, is it covered.)  Black women being seduced by their billionaire white bosses?  As I found out today, also covered. 

Did I mention the dinosaur porn?

I’m not one to stomp or negate someone’s fetish or choice of fiction- I ship Sherlock & Dr. Watson so hard that if I had the confidence I’d write stories from here to eternity about it.  But there’s only so much time I can devote to trying to figure out the logistics of dinosaur/human sex. 

Just like any new endeavor, there has to be a pioneer in these niches.  How does one get into such niche fiction?  How does one find out that there are people out there just waiting to ship Sir Triceratops & Madame Lady McHuman?  Do you just write it and toss it out there and see what sticks?  Do you sniff around message boards or fringe sites to see what people are into?  Do you just know that this is what the people want?  If I were to write an erotic story about a society girl whose greatest fantasies occur in the form of weathered New England fishermen in full sea gear complete with sea smells, would I inadvertently stumble upon a group of readers who have been waiting for this connection their entire lives? 

Seriously, would you read that?  Because I’ll write it if you ask nicely.  I sold out a long time ago.

The teacher/student stories are the least weird of the bunch, although perhaps the most taboo as far as real-life is concerned.  The majority of them deal with the barely legal senior high school girl falling for and/or being seduced by the new, mid-twenties-ish, slim, well-dressed English teacher (one or two replace English teachers with math teachers).  These stories also seem to have the biggest readership.  I think it’s safe to say that, unless you went to a school taught completely by trolls, everyone has had a tiny crush on at least one teacher.  At most we mention it to our friends, or write about it in our journals, and forget about it as we continue on with our lives.  The better authors go beyond just the "ZOMG! I want to totally make out with my teacher!” and explore the emotional turmoil that each affected party goes through in the forbidden romance situation.  Digging into the psychology behind such relationships makes these some of the better written stories, despite one’s feelings towards the subject.

I don’t even need to read the dinosaur porn to know that anything else is most likely superior.

However, what a lot of the stories suffer from, as I sort of hinted to above, is that most seems like something straight from a personal diary.  They’re so hastily written and concluded that it’s almost as if the writer was writing more to satisfy a dream they had as opposed to drawing in potential readers (although I did read them anyway, so I’m not sure who wins here).

Regardless, as I mentioned before, I love that people are writing and putting their stuff out there and that there are eager readers giving them an audience.  E-books are breathing new life into authors and potential authors and I love it.  If this seems slightly contradictory to what I spent the last 700 words discussing, I apologize.  I started this post two days ago with zero direction and then started back up today while watching the Royals blow game one of the World Series and I may be four consolatory drinks in, so, sorry about that.

Keep doing your thing, weird niche fiction writers.  Someone out there loves you & your craft.