Indians Game

Today I attended a staff outing for Indianapolis Monthly. Given that I only knew one person there, my editor, who hired me over a beer at the Broad Ripple Brew Pub, I appreciated being included as "staff."

The outing was an Indianapolis Indians baseball game, and it was 95 degrees.

I changed outfit ideas a few times, finally leaning on one of my Title Nine skorts to get me through yet another day (best purchases I've made all summer), and a cotton "ruffle" top (so far from my daily gardening tee), just in case these business people were wearing suits. I considered a quick pedicure touch-up for those who might look down at my feet. No time.

I got Sam to school, got back home and took a shower, was having a perfectly good hair day, and allowed myself 45 minutes to drive downtown, park, and walk to their elite offices on the Circle.

It took me 50 minutes just to get downtown. I was starting to sweat, but that's mostly because of the temperature. I walked into the lobby 5 minutes late and several cute women were dressed in shorts, T-shirts and skirts, so I knew this must be my group. I introduced myself and they phoned my editor to meet us.

I walked with a large group of journalists to the game and, quite literally, I could feel the sweat beading on my lip and occasionally dripping down my back. By the time we got to the game--hadn't even taken our seats yet--my shirt was wet, my deodorant was "pilling," and I had severe "shine face." The perfect hair went up in a ponytail

We sat in our seats--right in the sun--for about 30 minutes. I could feel sweat running down my bra...eww. No one ever mentioned a beer. I couldn't be the leader on this one (although, typically, I like being the suggester when drinking is involved). A few times I thought, "Is there a hidden camera? Is this some kind of a joke?"

I ran to the bathroom and used 35 paper towels to wipe sweat. Other women were doing it, too, so I didn't feel so weird. I returned to my seat. I baked. Finally, my editor said, "Let's go get a beer!" Oh, thank God.

I stayed for two + hours and I was the first one to leave. I'm certain no one ever saw my toes. I held my arms tightly to my sides so that no one could see the huge sweat rings, and I ambled back to my car.

What I brought home were some new acquaintances, an official baseball for Sam, and knowing that I'm not really a spectator of sports.

I have no idea if the Indians won; in fact, I don't even know who the Indians played.

For those who still keep datebooks

The magazine shot. How hilarious. "It looks like a dating site photo," my mom told me.

Well, it isn't from a dating site...it's in Indianapolis Monthly this month as there's a wee feature on me being the new Datebook Editor. I seriously love my job. It causes me to be even more of an insomniac because I'm constantly playing over the words of my Top Ten write-ups each month. I choose my words carefully, mull them over, sleep on them, change their order or relevance, and do this for about 3 days each. It's neurosis. I love writing, and I feel very privileged to be writing for the Monthly.

Matt is also acting as my agent trying to land me my second law firm book deal. Ooh, that would be nice. But when would I write...in my sleep? Oh yeah, I don't sleep.

Sweet.