Our Day with Bryce Harper

One of our followers suggested that we chronicle a day spent with a baseball player. Since this happens pretty often, we had to narrow down which story to share with you. We chose our random Tuesday spent with Bryce Harper because we figured that none of you really wanted to hear about our special friends that play for the Yankees and Mets (and by special, we mean "imaginary"). Plus, the restraining order is official and we're not allowed within 25 yards of those guys, soooooo....yeah. That's why we have to get our seats in the upper deck all the time. We're not cheap. Just ostracized.

So anyway. Back to Bryce. Since he's a child, we picked him up early from nursery school with his mother's permission...of course. We're not kidnappers. Sheesh. From the Children of Hope Academy for the Gifted, we drove Bryce (safely buckled into his car seat naturally...we're very responsible) in our rental Prius to play laser tag. It was Pizza Party Day at Laser Tag Land, so Bryce ate an entire pizza by himself even though we told him that it was a highly illogical thing to do. Boy, were we right. After a few minutes running around the laser tag course, Bryce threw up all over one of the girls on the green team. It was gross, but truth be told, she kind of deserved it. She was trash talking Lisa all over the place. She had to go. Unfortunately, the vomit incident prompted management to escort us from the vicinity. Turns out, being Bryce Harper doesn't get you everything.

We buckled Bryce back into his car seat, intending on heading to Friendly's for some ice cream sundaes, but Bryce stopped us. He said, "Listen here, my soul sistahs from another mistah, I'm having a fantabulous time, but February IS just around the corner and I need to get some work done. Can we hit up a batting cage instead?" Serena, being that she is a professional personal trainer, had an even better idea. We decided to take him to a local mini golf course instead. At first, Bryce was skeptical, but then Lisa reminded him of the fact that we basically transformed Tim Lincecum into a sparkling peacock that wins championships and he gave in. Case in point.

At the mini golf course, we bought Bryce a Good Humor Bubble Play ice pop and let him choose the pink golf ball. He gets very upset when he doesn't get his way. In fact, we always let him win because if we don't, we throws a temper tantrum and it's embarrassing. For us. While we waited our turn at the windmill hole (it took him at least twenty swings to get the ball through the windmill), Bryce mentioned that he proposed to his girlfriend, Kayla. Immediately, we voiced our displeasure. "You're too young to get married!"
Lisa: "How did you even propose?"
Serena: "On construction paper written in Crayola Crayon?"
Lisa: "With a Ringpop? What flavor was it?"
Serena: "Do you even know what we were doing at your age?"
Lisa: "Having a great time! Being awesome!"
Serena: "God, Bryce! You can't even tie your own shoes yet!"
Lisa: "Next thing you'll tell us is that you want children. Children having children! What's this world coming to?"
Serena: "You can barely recite the entire alphabet."

Upset by our tirade, Bryce ran off, screaming that he wasn't going to invite us to the wedding anymore (like we cared). Serena was fine with this outcome because she really didn't want to have to make the trip to drive him home anyway because it was out of the way and there were no Taco Bells in the area, but Lisa felt it was extremely irresponsible of us to not return him home to his mother like we'd promised. Ugh. We went after him and found him crying by himself on one of the coin operated french poodle rides outside of the mini golf place. Serena has no patience for this kind of crap, so she slapped him. It made him cry louder. He called Serena a "meanie." Lisa agreed that Serena HAD acted like a meanie, but that he also had to respect the opinion of his elders. He understood and apologized for being such an asshole, but asked us to please be respectful of his life choices and to his bride-to-be. We grumbled a reply, which was satisfactory to him, but really meant nothing to us, so as far as we're concerned, we agreed to nothing.

After that, we got giant cupcakes and drove Bryce home. He fell asleep in his car seat with chocolate smeared on his face. He looked like such a clown. After bidding his lovely mother farewell (she loves us...our photo is in a frame on the fireplace next to Bryce's engagement photos that had been taken at Nationals Ballpark), we drove ourselves to the airport for the trip home. It was a very long day, but it did help us reach a very important decision about our lifestyle choices. We've decided not to befriend any more baseball players because obviously they're all a bunch of overrated babies.

The End.

2012 Damon Runyon 5K

We know you've been so desperately wanting to see the Mickey Mantle exhibit, but you're not going get that for two weeks seeing as how next week, you're getting our trip to Nationals Ballpark. Instead you're going to read about two a-holes running the warning track at Yankees Stadium for cancer research today. Enjoy the sweat that seeped through our yoga pants and tank tops and then gathered in between our breasts. It sat there for the entire car ride home from the Bronx. If that's not that kind of shit men want to bring home to their mothers, we don't know what men want. In which case, that explains a lot. Before we get into how Olympic our athletic endeavors are, we have to discuss our poll results. Who enjoyed our awesome photos celebrating Tim Lincecum Appreciation Day? We're guessing not too many since only 8 f*cking people responded to our poll! What the hell?! These pictures were pretty much the definitition of epic. We asked you which of Timmy's activities were your favorite. 6 of you chose March Madness, which included Serena's birthday and St. Patrick's Day. No one chose the Giants Superbowl Parade. Why the hell not?! For starters, didn't Lisa and Timmy look like they made the cutest couple with him wearing that plaid shirt? Second of all, parades are fun! Third of all, 90% of you are SAN FRANCISCO Giants fans, so why wouldn't you also want to celebrate another team called the Giants? It's just senseless. Only 1 person chose the Casino Royale party, which is kind of sad since Timmy looked so dapper in his tux. Only 1 person chose the bachelorette party. What exactly is your problem? Not into cross-dressing? That's just disappointing.

Onto sweating through our clothing. The day before Lisa's birthday, we ran in the Runyon 5K at Yankees Stadium. It was Lisa's first run and Serena's second, yet neither of us were prepared for 4 billion stairs. We're getting ahead of ourselves. Allow us to back up to several months ago when registration first opened.
Serena: "We should do this. It's at Yankees Stadium and it's for cancer."
Lisa: "Then we can't get drunk on Saturday night."
Serena: "We'll get drunk on Friday."
Lisa: "Mehhh..."
Serena: "We get to run on the warning track!"
Lisa: "Oooh..."
Serena: "And we can get drunk after!"
Lisa: "Okay, that sounds better."

So we registered. And we "trained." Serena ran for a solid three weeks before her shins exploded into a bazillion lego pieces. Lisa went back to the gym. Took Zumba. We spent every Monday night at Croxley's eating wings and drinking beer and discussing how "THIS was the week" that we were going to get our acts together and start running. We never did.

Flash forward to two weeks prior to the event.
Lisa: "Yeah, so I haven't done any running."
Serena: "Yeah, I can't walk without a gimp because of these shin splints."
Lisa: "You realize that we're going to die, right? We're going to die the day before my birthday."
Serena: "There's so much I never did."
Lisa: "I never got my picture taken with TOWSNBN."
Serena: "I never got to punch John Mayer in the vagina."

One week prior to race time. Serena is now wearing a sling due to a sprained elbow sustained during a yoga class. Lisa has successfully run 4 times on a treadmill. Lisa also now has Bronchitis. Serena can now walk without a gimp, but still has shin splints. This race is sure to be legendary.

Race day. GPS takes us an ass backwards way to Yankees Stadium. Serena doesn't understand why she just didn't go the way we always go. She gives the GPS the middle finger.  Lisa has to pee. Depsite these issues, we do manage to arrive in time for our heat to line up.

Notice how lovely we look this early in the morning without coffee. Do you see this man in the moustache behind us? He's angry because we're so intimidating and awesome. Once the earlier heat departed for the course, we were escorted into the main hall. Bad ass.

Eventually, our heat was ready to line up at the starting line. The race started with two laps around the main level and then we veered off into the basement of Yankees Stadium, which was scary. But from the basement, we emerged into the blinding, hot sunlight and onto the glory that is the warning track. Here is Lisa running and trying not to die:

Here is Serena running. It's probably one of her best photos:

Here's what's AWESOME about running on the warning track: A) you're on the warning track of the field where awesome players walk, run, and play every day. B) You get to throw yourself against the outfield wall like Grandy. Bad ass. C) You can touch the scoreboard in the left field wall. D) When you have Bronchitis, you can hock a phlegm-wad onto the dirt near the Yankees dugout (Lisa did shout an apology for this act of blatant disrespect, but it honestly could not have been helped). Here's what's TERRIBLE about running on the warning track: A) Apparently, it's extremely hot on the field in direct sunlight. B) It's really hot in August. C) It was like 400 degrees outside. D) Did we mention the humidity? E) It's just really f*cking hot!!!! How do the players do it? Is this why they're paid so much?

After two laps around the field, Lisa gasped that Serena would have to leave her behind because she was going to die right there where Grandy plays. Serena lied and said the race was almost over (we had only just finished mile 1). Lisa instantly felt better and continued to run. We grabbed water from the water station and threw it on our faces like we'd seen marathon runners do on television because we thought it would be funny. All it did was get in our eyes and make us even more moist. Side note: when sweat and water mix and that mixture slides into your eyes, it burns. Now you're running blind through corridors and up a sh*t-ton of stairs.

Then came the stairs. Lots of stairs. It's like Yankees Stadium doesn't ever run out of f*cking stairs. Why does it have so many stairs?! America is lazy! We need elevators and escalators and automatic chairs. Or in our case, a gurney. On our descent of the ramps (why couldn't we run UP the ramps and DOWN the stairs? Anyone? No answers to that?), Serena lied again, only this time, it was an accident. She had seen a marker for the second mile and because she literally has no concept as to what a mile, yard, inch, milimeter looks or feels like, she legitimately thought we were on our second mile. So she told Lisa that all she had to do was get to the bottom of these ramps and then she'd be able to stop running. Unfortunately, we got to the bottom of the ramp and we found out that we had an entire mile to run. Oops. Lisa was very upset. She coughed up half of her lung and left it on a staircase. Serena's shins started to hurt. Our death was imminent.

On the 4,000th staircase, we started to see a blinding light. Lisa thought it was Jesus coming to take us home. It turned out that it was merely the light given off from the fiery depths of Hell and it was the Devil waiting to greet us. Turns out that the Devil is actually Alyssa Milano. It was a terrible sight. Serena screamed. Lisa threw a cup of water from the water station at  it.

We eventually did finish. Not prettily, but nevertheless, we still finished. We were greeted with medals and bananas. Like Olympic athletes are. We became obsessed with our medals. We wore them all day and muttered that walkers shouldn't receive anything because they didn't run. In fact, we're still wearing these medals as we blog.

We talked about wearing our medals to Croxley's, but we have the memory of goldfish and we forgot. So we wore them around our respective fitness centers. Didn't actually workout. Just strutted around wearing our medals.

We felt very accomplished. Despite looking like Swamp Things, we took a bunch of pictures of ourselves. Here's Lisa being very tough and Jean Claude Van Damme-like:

Here's Serena looking like a man. Like that should shock any of you:

You might be asking yourselves, "Gee, what's with those weird numbers that look like they're melting off of their arms?" We'll tell you...though admittedly, we probably should've covered this at the start of the blog. The numbers represent the years in which someone (or someones) received a cancer diagnosis. We also wore this on our backs (pay no attention to our asses):

Look at us in our sweaty glory:

The best part about this photo is the fact that Serena is randomly number 34 while Lisa is 2013. How do these numbers get assigned?

When we got home and started blogging, all we could talk about was eating. Keep in mind that following the race, we each ate 2 bananas, 2 bagels, cheese samples, and a protein bar.
Serena: "This is crazy. WHY are we still so goddamn hungry?!"
Lisa: "BECAUSE, Serena, we ran really far! What aren't you understanding about this? We're like Olympic athletes!"
Meanwhile, all we did was run 3.1 miles. There are people than run half-marathons, marathons, and triathalons. We did nothing. We ran their warmup. Yet here we were babbling like we were Michael Phelps or something. We ended up eating two Domino's pizzas and an order of cheesey bread. No wonder we didn't lose any weight from that race.

Obviously, we're going to be the TBB Super Heroes of the Week because we're awesome. If you don't like it, you can go run your own 5K and boast about it.

Go on. Be jealous.The End.

The irony of us being Super Heroes of the Week is the fact that we're also the A-holes of the Week. Ask us why. Go ahead. Ask. Okay, we'll tell you. Arrogant from our recent accomplishment at Yankees Stadium, we decided to register for this 4-mile run in Central Park. Seriously, all we needed to hear was "NFL" and we got excited. So pathetic. It should be noted that once again, we've done zero training for this and Serena still has shin splints. The good news is that Lisa is no longer coughing up organs and Serena is no longer wearing a sling. Auntiedukes and Small Fry will be joining us for this run. Small Fry is a legit runner, so she may have to carry us on her back across the finish line. The day following the race, we're driving to DC for our visit to Nationals Ballpark. Awesome.