Sunday, July 28, 2013

All-Star Game Shenanigans

A lot of things went wrong for us during this recent All-Star Break. We started with the best intentions. As always, everything we do, we do it for you (cue Bryan Adams). And as always, we suffer. It all started with a 5K. Why we continue to take part in these things when we both hate running is truly beyond the scope of our understanding. We truly must be a-holes. That is the only possible answer to this question. Running is terrible. And boring. Add the great outdoors and it's basically a goddamn nightmare. For starters, this run started at 8 am. Who the f*ck wants to get up at the ass crack of dawn on a Saturday to go for a run in the humidity? The only thing keeping us motivated this early in the morning was coffee and the promise of MLB mascots. When we arrived in Brooklyn, there was no parking. We drove around Brooklyn for 45 minutes before parking illegally in front of a fire hydrant and praying that Lisa didn't get a ticket. Needless to say, by the time we got our race bib and garbage and headed to the start line, we were suffering from some serious RBF.
There were so many runners that it felt like we were already 1 mile from the start line. Lisa turned to Serena and said, "Are they kidding? I have to run a mile before the race even begins?" Serena laughed. "Oh, no. I never run this part. At best I speed walk." Which is exactly what we did. We didn't really have much of a choice anyway considering how slow the mob moved until we got to the start line. At the start line, our moods immediately lifted because we got to high-five the Astros' alien or muppet or whatever the hell he is, Wally the Green Monster, Screech, Ace, Dinger, Sluggerr, Mr. Met, Stomper and TC Bear. We wish that someone had videoed our reactions because while Serena has no idea what she looked like, she specifically recalls Lisa's face changing from misery to pure joy at the sight of Houston Astro-Puff. Or whatever his name is. Here is a another picture of mascots. Our positive, upbeat moods lingered for all of 5 minutes. Basically enough time for Serena to listen to Peter Gabriel's "Sledgehammer" on her iPod. Then the humidity and crowd took its toll.

Let's fast forward to the finish line. There were no mascots. There were no bagels. It was a farce. All we got was stinky Gatorade (NO WATER), Kebler granola bars, and bananas. Serena can single-handedly eat $15 worth of Taco Bell without dying. That's just ONE of us. Without exercise. Together...we can eat a 400 lbs. man under the table and they didn't even have the decency to give us bagels after we ran 3.1 sweat-soaked miles? Are they a-holes? Furthermore, where the f*ck did the mascots go? They should've been at the finish line, dumping coolers of Gatorade on us like we pitched a shutout inning at the All-Star Game. Why was the Kebler Elf the only mascot thingy in costume for this entire event?  You can't tell us that the heat was the reason the mascots had to go into hiding because if that's the case, we're calling Mascot Protective Services on the MLB on behalf of the Kebler Elf.

This is us post-race, pretending to be happy. Serena has Gatorade on her nipple.
Our next All-Star activity was the hunt for all of the All-Star Game apples that the MLB hid all over New York City like a bunch of a-holes. We figured that we'd have this over and done with in a day and home in time to post a blog. Oh, how wrong we were. We'll get to that. Let's start with the beginning of our journey.

We started by heading to Citi Field, which we somehow managed to forget was in the midst of hosting FanFest and Taco Bell All-Star Sunday. It's probably because the MLB didn't feed us bagels the day before at the race, so our brains were still starved. Due to FanFest, we couldn't park in the lot. We had no passes and parking cost $35. Horse sh*t. We decided to park on random side street of Flushing. Does anyone know what Flushing looks like? Allow us to illuminate you. Here is a photo of one of the many beautiful views that Flushing has to offer visitors to the area. So...we parked here and then WALKED to Citi Field, where we hopped the fence before realizing one of the fences was left open for VIP parking. Still, we remained jovial about the whole endeavor. It was already 4:00 in the afternoon and we were only JUST arriving to our first apple (that was not located in New York City) and yet we were confident that we'd find all 35 apples in one day and STILL be able to blog. We swear that we do not do drugs. We can't stress that enough.
Look how happy we are. We're still fresh and upbeat. We're not sweat-ridden, miserable, and smelly.

Of course, after the apple, like children, we got easily distracted and spent another 30 minutes running around the exterior of the stadium partaking in activities we didn't pay for.

We finally headed into the city around 5:00. Yes, that's right. FIVE. How in the hell did we think we'd track down another 34 apples in one day by starting at 5:00? Our first apple in the city was located at a Bed, Beth, and Beyond on E 60th Street...because Bed, Bath totally has everything to do with baseball and/or the Angels.
We quickly nailed down another 5 apples, including the Mets' apple outside of the SNY Studios.
We remained pretty confident until the Intrepid. The Intrepid was our downfall. On the map, it seemed so much closer than it really was and at the time, we were all about being awesome walkers...or something. The path to the Intrepid was a long one...without shade during a monster heat wave (PS - in case you didn't notice, we wore complete asshats). Oh, and we forgot to mention that we kind of got drunk at McGee's before heading out on this mission to the Intrepid. The only thing good that came out of the Nationals' apple was the discovery that we can survive on a deserted island on chips/spinach dip and beer. We apparently don't even need water. Just beer will do. Upon arriving at the Intrepid, we discovered that the All-Star Gala (GALA. Not party. Not kegger. Not picnic. A f*cking gala. As in evening wear.) was being held there. Here we are, dressed in sweaty, filthy street clothing and frazzled hair, walking up to a posh evening event like insane homeless people. We're surprised the dozens of cops at the event didn't stop us for looking suspicious. Here's our picture of the Nats' apple. The epitome of grandeur, no?
After we took that photo, sh*t got real. We realized that we had to walk all the way back and continue looking for apples. There was a lot of bitching about how we could've worn fancy dresses and our stupid ideas. In fact, there was mostly bitching about our stupid ideas.
"Why do we always come up with these stupid ideas?"
"Why doesn't anyone stop us?"
"Why are we such a-holes?"
"Why are these apples so goddamn far apart?"
"Why are we such a-holes?"
"I'm so tired."
"I'm so hungry."
"My feet hurt."
"Such a stupid idea!"
"Why? Why? WHY?"
"Who picked these apple locations? These people are a-holes."
"These people in their stupid fancy dresses are a-holes."
"F*ck you in your suit you f*ck. Yeah. I'm talking to you. Think you're so special because you're going to a gala? We're special!"

It would be quite some time before we reached our next apple. By that point, we were dragging ass. It started to become a reality that there was an excellent chance we would not be getting to all of the apples. Stores had begun to close. Most of the apples were in stores. We had to take a picture with the Mariners' apple through the window. The Royals' apple was gated off. Yet, we forged on. We finally reached the Yankees' apple at 9:00. The Modell's that the apple was located in closed at 9:30, so we barely made it in time.
The Giants' apple was at a Tommy Bahama store, which made zero sense. We should point out that we had never heard of this place, so we assumed we were looking for a margarita bar. Maybe we were just thirsty. Plus, the store had hidden it in the back behind a bunch clothing racks displaying ugly Hawaiian shirts and All-Star Game shirts, so the only view of it we could get was this:
We borderline crawled to the next three apples, slowly working our way back to Penn Station and accepting the fact there was no physical way we'd get to the remaining 13 apples. We felt like failures. Dirty failures. Who still had to shower when they got home because they needed to report to work the next day. It's apparently socially unacceptable to go to the office unwashed and stinking of sweaty New York. We got home at around 11:45 at night and then showered. Who the hell can fall asleep after a shower when you're feeling so fresh and clean? Fail.

Fast forward to Monday. We're not sure how we didn't die from dehydration on Sunday. In all seriousness. Yet that didn't stop us from muttering all day at our desks and to each other via email about the injustice of it all. Of life, MLB, apples, and happiness. Why were the gods so cruel to us? Why were we forced to work at all? Why can't our day jobs be apple hunting? We knew the apples would be gone as soon as the All-Star Game was over, plus we'd be leaving for St. Louis the day after. There was no way we could go back and finish what we started...or could we?

We decided to take Tuesday off from work to finish this stupid idea, despite the fact that neither of us had started packing for St. Louis, which we were leaving for early on Wednesday morning (the results of that was over-packing including several pairs of yoga outfits and an abundance of jeans and in 3 weeks worth of underwear for 5 days). We suppose that even a bad idea needs to be seen to the end. Was this stupid? Yes, but we're stupid and we still stand by the fact that we did this all for you. This is where a mature, responsible adult needed to step in and tell us that we are d*cks who need to cut the sh*t. We both have 401K plans and are over 30 years old. Why are we acting like this?

We decided to reward our "ingenuity" by having a few beers and wings. This was ANOTHER mistake. We should've gone home and slept. Our feet and bodies still hurt from our shenanigans the day before, running without bagels, and wearing heels to work that day like buffoons. By the time we arrived at the bar (still in heels...and now swollen ankles because we chose not to rest them in flats), we looked the picture of road worn. Imagine a flower wilted from too much sun and no water. That was us. At a bar. We got the cold shoulder, no party for our apple accomplishments, and in fact, one a-hole patron didn't even know what the hell we were talking about when we mentioned the apples. This was a mistake on his part. We...looked and acted...insane...muttering about apples. It suddenly became, "F*ck you! F*ck this bar! F*ck this town! F*ck these sh*tty wings! F*ck these beers! F*ck you and these apples! And your mother! F*CK!" (We should stress that we didn't shout any of this at anyone. It was whispered firmly to each other and into our beers as we slowly began to lose grip on reality and our sanity) We clearly needed to be prescribed Xanax by this point. We were on edge and unstable.  So we quietly gathered our belongings and made an exit as lady-like as possible and drove to the closest McDonald's for French fries.

Which brings to us to Tuesday. We sort felt like Bill Murray in Groundhog Day. We started bright and early this time but the temperature had sky rocketed to close to 100 degrees. However, we had learned our lesson from Sunday and we wore shorts (with socks, so we look incredibly unattractive...the only thing to make this image worse would've been plaid shorts with polo shirts tucked into them). Also, Auntiedukes was kick ass enough to plot our entire day via subway in order to cut down on time and alleviate the pain in our foot arches, lower backs, shins (Lisa), and knees (Serena). We also packed water bottles this time and swore off all pubs. Yes...this was serious business. Our first apple was in Harlem. Lisa had never been to Harlem before...
...and now we're pretty sure Lisa will never go again. Standing on the corner outside the subway station, a creeper approached Lisa and said, "give me your hand." Needless to say, this trip did not go well. After getting our photo, we basically sprinted to the safety of the subway station to head back to the Central Park area.

The Rockies' apple was Day 2's Intrepid experience. We had banged out 3 other apples relatively easily, but the Rockies were an entirely different story. The MLB reported the World Financial Center at one location, Newsday at another, and Google Maps at a third. Where was this f*cking apple? Thanks to a fellow blogger, we discovered that we weren't the only idiots who ran into this problem. He found the apple after a bunch of missteps in the plaza between building 3 and 4. Due to the construction at the World Trade Center site, this required another trek similar to the Intrepid. By the time we reached the apple, we were back in RBF mode. In fact, we yelled at the apple. Again, we stress, like crazy people. Crazy people that aren't medicated.
Thanks to Auntiedukes, the rest of the apples were found without further incident, but that didn't mean we weren't exhausted and unmotivated. Which brings us to Union Square. While searching for the Best Buy that housed the Twins' apple, we walked by a little store and Lisa said, "quick, give me a yoga pose." And then Serena put her f*cking hands on the New York City sidewalk without even thinking of the grossness of it.
In fact, it took us another few blocks before Serena even remembered to put anti-bacterial solution on her hands. Lisa didn't even remind her. Or scold her. That's how tired we were. We thought about it the next day while combing through the day's pictures.

Finally, at long last, while the All-Star Game played on without us, we found the final apple at a Modell's near Herald Square.
The satisfaction in completing this asstastic scavenger hunt was better than the last sex we've had (not with each other because we don't do that you f*cking immature perverts. The fact that we have to type this just shows how immature you are.).

We leave you with these final words. MLB, your next tour of All-Star crap needs to be plotted in a more logical, thought-out route. The fact that you even considered Harlem to be an acceptable location shows just how far you've fallen from your Throne of Clarity. And also, f*ck you. Thank you and have a nice day.


  1. I can't believe Taco Bell didn't give you VIP passes.

    how come you both end up on the same side of those apples in all but 1 photo?

    Thanks for getting all sweaty chasing apples. :)

    1. Just worked out that way! No reason in particular. :)

  2. Ugh, Jim's comment got deleted, so here it is:
    "Seriously . . . you need some Taco Bell product placement.

    I'm just thinking . . you kind looked like crazy homeless people shouting at the Colorado Apple . . . .which is entirely understandable if the Apple had inadvertantly stood in your digs for the night. On the other hand . . . knowing you will go to such lengths to give Blog, is kinda awesome."

    Our response:

    Taco Bell should basically sponsor our bull shit...uh, er, we mean our awesomeness.

    As for the Rockies' apple, it got what it deserved!!

  3. too bad you didn't make it in to the Tommy Bahama store..could have shoved some these down your pants and saved $158 per

    1. The fates were not with us on that one, Randy

  4. Sorry your All-Star experience was less than spectacular. Your fans appreciate your dedication and sacrafices however. Here's some mascots that might put a smile on your face:
    Don't sweat being over 30 (niether of you look it, btw) and doing crazy sh!t. I do, and am soley responsible for raising three kids. Scary, eh? I look forward to your St. Louis escapades you'll share.
    P.S.-I noticed that Gatorade....

    1. Thanks for the encouragement, Michael David! We were just sitting here wondering whether it was in the world's best interest for us to procreate, but you've convinced us that it was. Thank you.

  5. Just remember that blackjack an horse racing is a great way to teach the kids math...

  6. It's true. Blackjack is the only reason Serena can do an semblance of math.