The motherload

I'm sure you couldn't sleep last night wondering how the most brilliant plan of all time was working out. That's ok I didn't sleep that much either. Wink.

For starters the game blew. We lost 16-2. 16-2! That's not a game, that's a beating. I was somewhat concerned this beating might effect the morale of the man fans I was about to meet. However, I think the opposite was true. They were trying to drown their sorrows in cheap beer and even cheaper ladies. My friend Flora canceled on me but I was determined. Instead of hitting the bars with her, I went with my roommate, her boyfriend and his two single male friends. Two single male friends that were vying for my attention. Seriously. I had my pick. I picked the high school math teacher.

So the plan didn't really go according to plan. I basically just got drunk and came home with a friend of a friend. But that doesn't mean it wasn't working. Listen up ladies: Hitting a sportsbar after/near a game is a fucking gold mine. There were single men everywhere. In packs. And they often seemed interested in me.

I was not wearing a Sox shirt. I was not wearing much makeup. I was not showing that much cleavage. I was getting hit on. I got hit on standing in the beer line at the stadium. I got hit on while going to the ladies room. I got hit on sitting at the bar. Yes this was a brilliant plan. I only wish I could have come up with earlier in the season.