Be You

Last night I went to see the Red Sox play the Angels in Anaheim. Go Sox!

I was excited to go because my brother, his girlfriend and my four year old nephew drove up from San Diego to join me. They had never seen them play live before (well, my brother went to Fenway about a decade ago). So it was fun for me and for them, being from the woods of Mississippi, it was maybe the most exciting thing they've ever seen. I'm not sure.

The Sox remind me of my life in Boston and I'm proud to identify with such a passionate group as the Red Sox nation. However, I'm not passionate about the team. Yes, I got drunk when they won the World Series and yes, I will watch them when they're on TV or when they come to town. But, when all is said and done, I'm in it for the fans.

I love Boston boys. While I can appreciate the sleek, mature style of European men in black slacks and have been known to eye the hip, trendy style of Los Angeles metrosexuals in treated Sevens, show me a guy wearing baggy Aeropostale jeans, white sneakers and a faded Sox hat and I immediately hear "Dream Weaver" and see sky rockets a la Wayne Campbell and Peter Brady. Is it nature or nurture? Who knows.

Whatever it is, it's my personal phenomenon and I've worked it into my five year plan. Here it is: meet someone who lives in LA (or Socal, really) but who is originally from Beantown. Yes, I like the way they dress. But there's more depth to my shallowness. Dating a Boston boy also means I won't have to waste any precious time going to B.F., Wyoming for Thanksgiving to visit some lame-ass family who doesn't realize that Wyoming is for people without imaginations. One trip. One destination. Logan Airport or bust. I see my parents; he sees his parents -- one stop shopping. Maybe one day we'll move back so our kids can have the same horrifying accents as us. But, I'm getting ahead of myself...

Cut to me at the stadium, walking up the stairs to use the ladies when I hear a man's voice, "BU?" I am alone and I have on my BU hat, so I spin around to see cute Boston guy four rows ahead of us that I had assigned a check plus to earlier.

This was my chance! I have gone to many a game hoping for this scenario. Usually, the guys who pipe up are drunk and/or ugly. This one was sober and cute!

I am so awkward. I told him I graduated from BU "in the year 2000." Not in a funny, cool Conan O'Brien skit tribute way, like you may think. No. In the "I don't talk to people much" nerdy, cringe-for-days-after-you-say-that way. "I graduated from BU in the year 2000." What? Boo! Then, I told him I live "in Playa Vista... I mean, Playa Del Rey." Geek! No witty exchange. No flirty comments. It was a verbal belly flop. I was so embarrassed that I slinked away and smoked a cigarette.

In my defense, he was very awkward, too. He didn't spit game to me. He told me where he lives and where he's from. He said, "I saw the terrier on your hat." Nothing funny or even smiley. He called for my attention -- face unseen. But there was an unexpected attraction. I didn't imagine it. Maybe we were both in a romantic trance. Cupid's spell, if you will. It's a theory; it's probably wrong.

I wanted to ask him if he'd be there again for tonight's game, but we never even made eye contact again. Plus, I was playing with my nephew, so he probably thinks I'm a baby momma.

If he's there again tonight, I'll know it's fate. I'll force the issue. If not, I'll be ready with my game face on to search for my elusive Boston bow...

Yankees suck!