Two Shiksas Walk into a Baseball Game

Before I begin the ridiculous tale, two key points of context for y'all:

1. Two years ago, I started dating my lovely beau, who (when it comes to dance moves at least) is self-proclaimed "half white, half Jewish." Since his mom is Jewish, he is technically Jewish, even though neither of them practice - it's more a tradition and heritage thing than religious fervor. Since I'm a sucker for tradition, I've tried to of course pick up as many things as possible. These days, I can make a mean matzoh ball soup, throw out a handful of Yiddish terms, and host a killer Passover Seder. Also, it's easier to pick up on small little things related to Judaism that I'd never noticed before... sometimes.
2. Yesterday, an old friend (Marjo) from France came into town. We hosted her in high school and she and I have since visited one another several times (in Europe or in Wisco). Haven't seen her in eight years, and shenanigans have ensued.

Cue yesterday, when I decided to take her to the most American thing possible: a baseball game. 

After forcing her into a "take me out to the ballgame" t-shirt and some US flag sunglasses (#yaskween), we hit up a local bar to grab a drink (yes, at 1:00pm on a Thursday) and a shuttle to the game. Arriving sans tickets after the shuttle, we quickly had a shady exchange with a blue-haired woman who had a few extra tickets. Some negotiation, cash palming, and a fond "see you in there!" later, and we were headed into the stadium.

Now, while I've seldom made it into a game before the second or third inning, Marjo was like, "We're late! Hurry!" So I barely had time to grab margaritas before we were rushing to our seats up in the nosebleed section. Marjo lead the charge as we pushed past several people to get to our spot, which was dead center of the section by both row and seat number. We arrive and two teenage boys are in the seats, Marjo asks them to move, trying to explain in broken English that these are "our places" and I intervened with a boozy, "Sorry, these ones are our seats." Confused and apologetic, the boys frantically scrambled to nearby open seats and we plopped down.

After a frazzled discussion on the "rules" of baseball, we settled into casual chitchat about the game and watched and cheered and went about our sporting. Slowly though, I began to realize something. 

I looked all around us. No blue-haired woman in sight. And there wasn't just those teenage boys we had made move, there was like, nothing but teenage boys.

And they all were wearing yamakas.

And t-shrits in Hebrew.

And... we were in the wrong section number...

I turned to Marjo and told her we needed to leave. Confused, she said she didn't understand, we had only just gotten there. Hissing under my breath I said, "Marjo, these are not our seats, we're in the wrong section. This entire section is a Jewish summer camp for boys, and we just plopped down in the middle of it, and I think we're making a scene and their supervisor/teacher is bound to notice." She looked wildly around at our surrounding area and came to the calm conclusion, "Bof, they let us sit 'ere, they clearly do not mind. We stay." 

It was at this point that the full realization sunk in that they indeed did NOT mind that a couple of young shiksas, wearing short shorts and waving about margaritas had sat in the middle of their group. We had literally kicked two boys out of their own seats, and they had willing gone along - we could've asked them to get us popcorn and they probably would've, for that matter. So we stayed. For a few very uncomfortable innings (on my part, as I awkwardly tried to show less skin), before I totally panicked and made us leave to go to the bathroom before relocating to our actual seats. 

But hey, at least the delightful awkwardness now makes for a good story...

Views of a California Gypsy

When it comes to trips, it's either elaborately planned out and packed with activities, or a vague cluster fuck of "this'll be fine, just go!" My recent trip to California was a brilliant mix of the two. And since the journey of a gypsy is exhausting, but everyone's been asking, here's a little photo highlight of my recent attempt to roam the hell out of the beautiful west coast. (I'll likely blog some specifics in their own posts, but for now, I'm keeping it low verbiage - I know, I know, I don't believe me either.)

FRIDAY
After a half day at the office, it was airport time. As the beau dropped me off, I turned and said dramatically, "I suppose now is a good time to tell you I'm leaving you and never returning." He just smiled, kissed me, and made a snarky comment about a rent check... and off I went!

Wisco contraband (Spotted Cow) and ironic readings with plane cocktails

Arriving in LAX, a saint of a friend came to fetch me. We dined and dished about the new digs with her and her beau. I found my spirit animal in her old, curmudgeony (dwarf) shih tzu - who is literally me in dog form (#CuzIm90).

Watson hates all the things. He is my new best friend.

SATURDAY

Dreams literally come true. Waking at dawn, I harassed my hosts like a small child til they took me to Universal. My friend had waited to go to the new Wizarding World of Harry Potter until we could go together (she's a gem), and it was pure bliss. Yes, tears were shed. Yes, my heart literally exploded at one point - I reparo'ed it back together.

"Hogwarts will always be there to welcome you home."

I drank all the butterbeer, scoured all the shops, went on the rides, watched the singing frog show, photographed every angle of the Hogsmeade rooftops, and stared longingly at Hogwarts, my one true home. Literally, I was more excited than any child in the place. I was affected. Naturally, we also found some legit Dark Mark tats and immediately put them on, to complete our nerdy badassery.

Oh my wizard god, were the details amazing! Evanesco, butterbeers!

Eventually, we were also joined by another friend and her fiance, and together, they all convinced me that there were "other parts" of the park outside of HP world. (Pfft, what? Why??) We wandered to several other rides, and even grabbed a Flaming Moe over by the Simpsons. Every ten minutes or so, though, I'd wander back to the magic. My stubbornness to stay kept us at the park until almost closing time (10 pm), which is right around when things when south.  

From Flaming Moe's to Zonko's - and every eatery in between! 

Fun fact: butterbeer is not a particularly 'hydrating' beverage. So, after almost 12 hours in the 90+ degree weather, in which I had nary a care in the world, the dehydration hit me like a shit ton of bricks. I'll spare you the details, but, let's just say that when you feel super sick in a car and can't get off the LA HWY because of traffic (slash, being in the 'we may get shot' part of town), you're going to be SO fuckin' thankful that you bought that commemorative butterbeer mug.... 

SUNDAY

After a brunch in which I got to push a puppy around in a stroller (YAS!), this gypsy hit the road. Running late due to a variety of circumstances, that rental car and I flew over the hills between LA and Fresno. Granted, I still had to frantically change in an airport bathroom and throw myself pleadingly at a taxi man to just so make it to the wedding on time... but I made it! 

While chatting up all the wonderful lady ghosts of college past, they helped fix my frazzled hair and disheveled outfit. One eventually whispered at me, pointing at my arm, "Did you get a TATOO?" It was of course my Dark mark, which, in all the chaos, I had completely forgotten was there. So instead of having a bright red arm from scrubbing, I of course just left it on. It was a big hit with some; with others, it sparked alarm and confusion. Either way, ya make an impression.

What a beautiful wedding, says a bridesmaid to a waiter.
(or, a Death Eater in the candlelight)

The wedding was amazing. There are not adequate words to describe how beautiful the happy couple and their families were (both literally and in every other way). Moving from the church, to the outdoor (115 degree) patio with apps, to the large reception hall - all within yards of each other - it was a perfect venue. The ceremony and half of the (dozen) speeches were in Armenian, but it was easy to understand the sentiment: these two are perfection and make the world a better place, together. All the tears. The universal language was big cheek kisses and huge smiles. 

From 7 pm until almost 3 am, the dance floor was completely packed. There was a candle dance in which we all almost caught fire, and several courses of food between all the dancing. The speeches were that of legend. When asking the bartender for a rum and coke, his response (in a thick Russian accent) was, "Darling. Vodka or Bourbon." It was that kind of night. It was wonderful. All the friends, old and new, and a room full of happiness. 

MONDAY

After fleeing our Airbnb, I hitchhiked with another friend and her hubby back across Cali again, this time bee-lining it to San Francisco!

Death eatin' all the In-n-Out! On the road again!

We took the rental all over the Bay area, and took in some fabulous sites. We drove down that winding street everyone loves taking pictures of, and up some 60 degree slopes (on which I sat in the back seat screaming and my friend honked at all impediments like, "MOVE or we're not gonna make it!"). Also, finally get to check the Golden Gate off the bucket list!

What a perfect day in the city by the bay!

Pulled a Marilyn with some windy public exposure by the Full House houses, and decided to switch to pants before roaming the hills of San Fran. It's no wonder all the women have calves of STEEL and bangin' bums in this town!

Everywhere you look, everywhere you go, here's a heart, a hand to hold onto 

I parted ways with my friends and their cousin (and their cat with the badass name: Smitten) after a burrito in the Mission. Moseyed around alone for awhile, grabbing ice cream and watching the sunset in the park overlooking the city. Then my fabulous beau called me an Uber (due to my lack of smartphone and his fear that I'd get murdered on the BART) and it was off to the airport once more to catch my red-eye! 

Nomadic at best.

Now, the red-eye back to Wisco may have been literally the worst flight in my life. And getting off a plane at 8 am and going straight into the office may have been a bit overly ambitious. BUT even with that, and even with any other little bumps on the way - I was stupid happy about the trip overall. Grateful for all those who joined up in my gypsy caravan along the way, and for finally being at a point financially where, when a friend says she's getting married in California, I can say "hells yes, I'll be there, and I'm gonna make a weekend of it!" All the adult points, all the joy. And without even unpacking, this California Soul and her suitcase are off on the next adventure... Atlanta, here we come!