Philitically Incorrect

For four games and eight innings, the lineup was a stellar example of veteran experience conjoined with youthful recklessness. You could say it was my own beautiful baseball ménage à trois. In case you're wondering, in that fantasy, I'm in the middle.  But just like all good things, Phillies fans found a way to be bitter. It's the first time since 1915 that the team started the season 4 - 0 and people were disappointed about losing the fifth. I figured out what went wrong. I bit into a carrot that was so hard my ears rang for an hour. This is why you should stick with Twinkies. My husband says I might want to take my medication.  My point is, the first two losses came in day games that followed night games.  I know the frustration. I've had day dreams about night things in the middle of the afternoon too. I know how distracting they can be. Like the Game of Thrones final season premiere this week. I'm making a prediction: My husband will fall asl...

At the tender age of two, my son pushed a Hot Wheels car into the VCR slot. And it fit. Little did I know, this is the same type of infantile curiosity that would birth an app called Tinder. On that note, I saw a report about the spread of super gonorrhea. This was enlightening to me because I figured out that all this time I've been spelling my password wrong. Judging from the slow spread of disease, things are not going well. In the four years since my last post, the Phillies have failed to break 500 and following suit, things have gone from bad to worse: Kim Kardashian's behind got even bigger. Her derrière will go down in history as the Crown Jewel of Butts. And our country has the dubious honor of putting her there. Well done 'Merica. The Voice  started season 16 after only 8 years on TV. Instead of measuring accelerated time in dog years, we'll start calling them Voice years. Oddly, Blake Shelton has been so pickled through it all, he hasn't aged a ...

Sadly, by Cindy Falteich It’s time once again to face my certain mortality by compiling a grocery list of things no one would ever buy. It's much like the stuff you look forward to but are happy when it’s over—like the holidays. Or sex with your husband. Or mine. Or Super Bowl XLIX. What the hell number is that anyway? Is that a niner in there? Guys, let’s stop pretending we’re Egyptian. Or Greek. Or Thai. Or smart. In any case, the average football fan has no idea what you’re talking about. For Pete’s sake, I thought XLIX was the name of a drug. Or E.L. James had coined another term for erotic. Or it was a test. If we’ve learned anything from politics, it should be that we hate thinking. Anyway, as I sit here pondering my pre-death desires, I hopped on Facebook. Isn’t that what everyone does when faced with an important decision? I get the best ideas from intimate stuff that’s been shared publicly. Like an STD. My son tells me I should watch Vine vid...

By Flattish Poe I’m excited that the baseball season is in full swing. My husband was so bored in the offseason, I had to fake a bladder infection just to get some sleep. At first, things for the 2010 division champs looked promising: The February 15th Philadelphia  Inquirer   headlined the sports page with a picture of the five aces—an upgrade from the “Bought and Paid Four”. There they sat with name plates in front (like those were necessary) and the words “Spring Training” and the familiar “P” logo splattered across the back like Christmas wrap. Smiling in   Phillies   red and displaying a surprisingly low level of male pattern baldness , it was a picture I pondered cropping to make a border for my bedroom. Then again, I ponder a lot of things. Like if I change my profile picture on Facebook to a shot of my backside, does that make it Buttbook? I also wonder why I continue to buy bras—I question the necessity to house something I don’t hav...

As the title says, this is my second annual bucket list— Phillies   style. I hate the redundancy of writing a totally self-explanatory title and then reaffirming the topic in my first sentence but with those darn search engines constantly looking for articles with relevance, I’m already at a disadvantage. When it comes to blogging about baseball, I’m the master at having nothing relevant to say. And I’ve proved that for two whole paragraphs. First, I should let you know that unlike most bucket lists, mine isn’t composed of death-defying acts of irrationality like white water rafting. Hell, if I wanted to be tossed about by a current I’d call my husband in on the waterbed. Besides, I don’t need to do something daring—I got married. I don’t need another adventure to end with, “What the hell was I thinking?” Now, on my first bucket list, I gave considerable thought to the organization—I thought about bullets or numbers or an alphabetical arrangement. I even tried little ...