Dear Josh Hamilton..

Hi Josh,

My name is Meg Bond.  I am a 23-year-old, petite, female with no dreams or aspirations of being a professional baseball player.  But you’re my hero. 

Let me explain.  My husband has been a big fan of yours for years.  He grew up playing sports, and now coaches football at a middle school in our hometown.  He has an undeniable appreciation for athletes, which he has passed on to me throughout our relationship.  When he told me your story a few years ago, I was mesmerized.  For all the selfish, greedy, and unappreciative professional ball players out there, I was refreshingly overwhelmed to learn about your struggle with addiction, and how despite the odds, you overcame it.  I could go on and on about how I’m envious of your dedication and transparency about your love for God; about how as a wife, I’m inspired by how devoted and patient your family is; about how humble you are in your successes…but I know you’re busy and my jibber-jabber is not your first choice of “light reading.”

But know this: you’re my hero.  I live in Dallas, so I heard about your relapse. I don’t care.  It brought me nearly to tears at how brave you are to make a statement about your mistakes, and to apologize for letting down your fans and followers.  Every single person who cast judgment upon you should be more appreciative of how private their lives are.  They should count their blessings, because their secret vices and hidden demons remain locked in the closet, while yours are strewn about for everyone to see.  It’s not fair for someone as deserving and remorseful as you to be thrown into the public eye for something you’ve been fighting against for years.  I know I now think twice about my mistakes, and how glad I am that I don’t have to share them with every person I know, and even those I don’t know.  If I had the means, I would give all those people who made a negative comment about your relapse a piece of my mind.

I don’t know where your path will lead you, but I can say this:  I wish the very best for you, Josh Hamilton.  I pray for you and your family’s strength, and although I may not be the most model citizen or the most devoted Christian, I hope that my husband and I can be as solid and strong as your family is one day.  I speak for my husband and myself when I say I hope you come back to the Rangers next season.  I wish I could write the check to make you stay, but unfortunately our mediocre jobs probably wouldn’t do the trick.  Just know, if you do leave, there will be two very sad Rangers that day.  But also know that if you do go somewhere else that I will be a fan of yours for life.  No matter what adversities come your way, I will be cheering for you.  Even though your head may not follow it all the time, I know your heart is pure.  And to me, that means a whole heck of a lot more than championship rings or trophies.

Your biggest fan,

Meg Bond

Perspective: Calming the Road Rage monster

I drove my mom and I to Oklahoma when I was moving off to college.  Dad followed behind with the trailer (in hindsight, I'm not sure why we needed this, as the ancient dorm room I moved into had all the furniture nailed to the walls), but that's irrelevant.  Point is, I drove my mom and I.  Hold on to that piece of information...you'll need it later.

I am what most would call a "grandma driver."  As of yesterday, I had never had a traffic ticket in my life, and yesterday it was for an expired registration sticker, which expired a month ago.  (Be real.  Don't even get me started on how I feel about one Officer Peters in Irving, Texas.)  But for the most part, I always use my blinker, crawl at 10 mph through school zones, don't change lanes within 200 yards of an intersection, etc.  I abide by the rules, because when it comes to driving, I think they're there for a reason.  On this particular drive with Tenacious Teril (my mother), I became great friends with my cruise control.  I was cruising along at a steady pace of 75 mph for a length stretch up I-35 when some guy cruisin' for a bruisin' (yep, I said it) comes speeding up behind me right on my tail.  I could feel his fury as I maintained my speed, and after a few minutes I angrily said to my mom: "Oh my gosh, I am going 5 miles over the speed limit.  If he wants to go faster he can go around me."  Nope.  This guy wasn't causin' me to break my stride.  My mom automatically snapped back "Never be that car who is making the left lane slow.  It's for passing only.  Always." 

My momma don't have to tell me somethin' twice.  (She would probably beg to differ.)

Now this is a pretty minor life lesson in the grand scheme of things, but the point is...it stuck.  Momma was right.  She usually is.  If someone feels like driving at 90 mph on the highway, I would rather them restrict their erratic behavior to one lane.  I used to be infuriated when I saw cars closing in behind me in the left lane, and now I just move out of the way.  Moving out of the way is a win-win situation: I get them off my tail, thereby calming that road rage monster inside of me as they speed off into the night (or day) and out of my life, and they get to wherever the hell it is that's so important they feel they need try to break the sound barrier to get there.

One thing that's nice about getting older is gaining perspective.  Sometimes it's as easy as momma telling me not to be "that guy" on the highway.  Other times it takes an earth shattering fight with a best friend to realize technology is not the best means of communication all the time.  It's the most satisfying feeling in the world to realize something that's caused you anguish or distress in the past can be fixed with just a change in perspective; taking a new outlook on things and applying different logic and reason to the same old situations results in surprisingly pleasing outcomes.

On a completely, 100% separate note:  has anyone else ever noticed that the size of the average laundry basket/hamper is eerily equivalent to the size of a full load of clothes in the washer?  Your laundry basket will never betray you.  A full hamper equals an exactly full washing machine. 

Hobbies and Epiphanies.

I had an epiphany tonight.  Which was kind of like the "cherry on top" of my day.  I had a decent day at work, got my hair did and had good gossip time with my awesome stylist, and made what I think will be a masterpiece of lasagna for my dad's birthday dinner tomorrow night.  And then, after I finally got to sit on the couch, crochet, and semi-watch the Lakers v. Clippers game, I had an epiphany.

Let me preface this by saying that I for sure have the most badass husband in the world.  Pardon my language, but that's just what he is.  Sure we disagree on small things around the house like where the dogs should sleep (see previous post with pics), but overall he is my BFF. My numero uno.  My knight in shining armor. 

But Brady has a little hobby called betting.

I have been nagging at him to quit for months, but betting is his and his friend's favorite thing to do.  They talk like girls on the phone during football season (and to my recent discovery, it appears basketball season, as well)...only their topics of discussion are a tad different.  They just love betting.  And I just hate it.  It doesn't matter whether they're up or down, either.  But although I don't like it, I don't do weird ultimatums or threaten to withhold affection if hubby doesn't do things my way.  I think that is the kiss of death in a marriage, when one of the parties starts enforcing the "my way or the highway" standard.  So tonight, while crocheting, I started analyzing why I hated it...to try to give some reason to why hubby would deliberately do something he knew I didn't approve of...and that's when it hit me.  It's a hobby.  I call it that myself!  Some guys spend thousands of dollars hunting, or fishing, or collecting things, or golfing, or season tickets to the Rangers (whoo!)...need I go on?  And to balance the scales even more, some wives spend hundreds to thousands of dollars on hobbies; scrapbooking, manis and pedis, highlights, wine tasting, um, shopping?! (more specifically for overpriced, name brand shoes)...I repeat, need I go on?? So why do I care if Brady partakes in a hobby that at the end of a YEAR he may owe the "bookie" $300??  Ha. I don't care how weird it sounds, I like it when I realize I'm wrong before anyone else does. 

So bet on, Brady.  I support you.  Oh, and you're welcome for being nearly the coolest wife ever.

SUNDAY FUNDAY

Anthony and I love Sunday Funday.  The rest of the "family members" do, too...but Ant and I especially enjoy it.  It's a day of not only getting things done that you otherwise would not do (ex: today we put mine and hubby's new rug into the living room, made coffee, and watched Looney Tunes before the football game).  We relish in the calm, but always make room for party time.

This Sunday, I decided to get one big, nagging, unpleasant chore done: I washed Hailey and Comet.  The worst part is getting them into the tub...Comet may only be part lab, but he is pretty heavy for someone my size.  They took it relatively well, though, and I only got wet dog splattered in my face three times. 

I wish everyone knew my dogs.  And since that is largely impossible, I just feel bad that their awesomeness can only be shared with such a small portion of "everyone."  I told hubby today that they're not necessarily the most obedient dogs, but it's OK because they never do anything bad.  They are perfect.  Playful, snuggly, entertaining, chill dogs.  My future children have some big shoes to fill.  (No. I'm not pregnant.)   You can't tell me they're not the most adorable things you've ever seen.  I wish I could read their mind, though.  I wish I could read most people's minds, because I'm that nosey (I'm the girl who stares at another table at the restaurant and obsesses over what they're talking about) but more than people, I want to know what the heck my dogs are thinking when they give me those judging eyes.  See below: when Miles picks Comet up for a picture, his face looks like he wants to say "Are you kidding me right now? Put me back on the ground where I belong, you fool."

Just another resolution

I made two New Years resolutions this year.  Usually I am against making resolutions, or going on diets, or any extreme measures of the sort.  I don't really believe that drastically altering a huge part of your life simply because the date stamp changed is very effective. 

My first resolution: run/walk at least a mile a day.  I have not stuck with this at all. Point proven.
My second resolution: blog more.....we'll see.

I have started watching Dexter lately, thanks to the somewhat forceful recommendation of my best friend, Alex.  Brady and I are 110% obsessed, so I guess the frequent threats to "WATCH DEXTER!" paid off.  If you don't know, the story line behind Dexter is that he is a serial killer who only kills other killers.  Usually, his victims are murderous criminals, but sometimes the lines get blurred for dear Dexter.  I can't stop thinking about it, regardless, and it's really interfering with my focus at work. I am a big fan of this killer, though.  Contrary to what many philosophers may say, I believe he is doing more harm than good in this fictional world. It's nice to have a show-on-DVD to watch....ever since Brady and I finished The Office, and when I realized the Jersey Shore really is trashy and annoying, I've been having withdrawals.

In other news....(wonder how many times I have typed that on this blog) house hunting is on mine and hubby's horizon.  Our wayyy too close for this kind of big decision horizon.  I hear all the time that "renting is a waste of money," but I have to admit I have fallen in love with our little rental home, and wouldn't be completely upset if we "wasted money" for one more year.  The thought of talking to someone about writing a check for a $10,000-something down payment gives me the heebie jeebies.  And if you know me at all, you know I don't get those a lot.  (OK, OK, I do.)



End first post of the new year.  Hey, I didn't make a resolution that I would write insightful blogs to provoke mind-bending questions....I just said "blog more."  :)

CAUTION: Please avert your eyes.

My friend, Andrew I were were recently making a pit stop at a local gas station on the way home from work.  I had to pee soooo bad that I literally couldn't make it 5 more minutes, and instead subjected myself to the filth of a "convenience" store restroom.  Whilst taking care of business, apparently Andrew had a rather unpleasant encounter with a young man and his relative/friend.  The woman seemed to be having issues with her leg, and kept bending down to investigate.  Andrew looked her way one or two times, intrigued by what was causing her such trouble.  Apparently her relative/friend didn't appreciate Andrew's wandering eyes...he knows this because when Andrew glanced their way one last time, the young man rattled of a slew of obscenities, all related to "that **** who kept looking at you" (that's Andrew) and how he would "beat the **** out of him if he looked over here one more **** time." Andrew informed me of this once I emerged from the dark abyss that was the restroom, and we discussed the amount of unnecessary anger people display simply from a sideways glance or observation.  (Notice: I did not say glare, stare, or fixation.)

This post is meant to inform you all of the worst places to glance, or (heaven forbid) make eye contact with perfect strangers.  Such looks could lead to obscenities, outbursts, or worse...confrontation.  There are three locations and/or events where one should use caution when averting their eyes from the task at hand, and I hope you all take this to heart the next time you find yourself in one of these situations.

1. Gas Stations/Convenience Stores:  This one is kind of obvious, given the above situation.  Now, there is good news: the above-mentioned encounter is rare in form, and isn't likely to happen every time you step foot into your local convenience store to pick up a gallon of milk.  However, when it does happen (and trust us, it does happen) it is never pretty and will almost surely leave you feeling bewildered and vulnerable.  When perusing the aisles of your local store, remain fixated on the objects displayed.  I realize these objects are random in sort (for example, nearly every shelf houses multiple flavors of Vienna Sausages), but try to make the most of it so your eyes don't stray.  Read nutrition labels if you must, or venture over to see if the soda fountain offers Pepsi or Coca-Cola products.  Whatever you do....don't stare.  People enter into convenience stores in their most vulnearble states: donning pajamas, messy hair, glasses they only wear in the comfort of their home, house slippers, etc.  More than that, they are usually purchasing random objects they need right then: beer, condoms, medicine (often diarrhea or nausea), etc.  Staring or glancing for an extended period of time will cause people to fly off the handle....keep them on that handle, folks.

2. Sporting Events:  This one seems quite obvious, and doesn't require nearly as much guidelines.  A rule of thumb: if the person you're interested in getting a better look at is wearing your opposing teams' jersey or any sort of memorabilia....LOOK AWAY.  Most people at such events are on edge and wary of those possibly judging them, but even worse are fans of the opposing team.  For example: If you are so lucky to attend a Dallas Cowboys game, and they are coincidentally playing the Philadelphia Eagles (a division rival who historically has a following of borderline psychopaths), keep your eyes on the field at all times.  Do not look at the crazy, boisterous drunk man in the XXXL Eagles.  Don't even think about letting your eyes linger on the group of obnoxious middle aged women decked out in the disgusting turquoise/green spaghetti strap shirts with the oversized Phillies garb on.  People are extremely on edge and intense at such sporting events, and giving someone the wrong look could end fatally.

3. Driving:  This, of all situations, those listed and those not listed, is the most important.  Keeping your eyes on the road, with the occasional glance at fellow passengers, is imperative.  Think the mom in the SUV with three kids in the backseat screaming and crying is interesting?  Want to take a look at the couple fighting next to you at the stoplight?  Feel like glancing over at the middle aged businessman in the BMW?  Think again, my friends.  You think getting the finger is attrocious?  Just you wait.  Slowing someone down because you drive like a grandma/pa in the left lane will be the least of your worries if you look too long at someone on the road.  You could have blacked-out shades on and that neighbor driver you're looking out will still be able to tell that you're staring.  It's as if staring through someone's car window is equivalent to peering into their lives, and taking a peek into their innermost secrets and insecurities.  Rage builds up inside them, and think about it...what is the only weapon they have at their disposal??? It is literally right in their hands, unless they have their knee guiding the steering wheel while they reach into the glove box for their "licensed" handgun.  Take heed, o' blogger readers....keep your eyes on the road.  It is for your safety in more than one way.

This concludes the more serious blog post I have ever written.  While some of you may chuckle and take my suggestions lightly, others of you should take note: keep your eye on the prize come what may.  Doing so will keep you out of a world of trouble.

No-weather Fans

I have 100 percent accepted the fact that mine and hubby's lives revolve around sports.  It doesn't bother me that ESPN is on our TVs almost constantly, nor do I mind that probably half of our conversations resolve on sports topics.  I also don't mind that many peoples' lives do not revolve around sports...we agree to "disagree."

One thing I do mind is people who ridicule others, like myself, and claim we are overly involved in sports teams and figures who care about nothing more than their monthly paycheck.  I can't tell you how many times I saw insulting and negative Facebook posts during the Rangers World Series run...and from Texans themselves!  Anything from: "Ugh, SO sick of hearing about the game!" to "I'm laughing at these Rangers fans....do they really think Josh Hamilton gives a ____(insert word of choice)____ about them?"  I have moved on from the delusion that the Rangers will ever notice me in my red cap and Rangers shirt and call me to the dugout to chat between innings, but I still can't comprehend how people can be so....."glass half empty."

Wanna know why I love sports? Because it gives me a sense of pride, confidence, and to be quite honest, an adrenaline rush.  My athletic abilities don't stretch past an occasional 5K race and frequent visits to the gym, but when I watch sports, I literally feel like I'm part of the game.  Plus, I am intrigued by the X's and O's and logistics of the game (the game being literally anything from college football to tennis matches).  Watching games/matches/scrimmages/duels/etc. unfold is one of the most enthralling adventures; no match up is the same; no team the same; no player the same.  Every aspect of sports is unique.  New records are broken every day. People perform in unthinkable, unimaginable ways every day, and we, as viewers/spectators, get to witness it.  How could you HATE it?! 

I realize not everyone has the same passion, but I can't understand legitimately frowning upon someone else's interest.  What's the point?  Is it simply that the people who argue that sports-lovers are ignorant and naive, and hate it only because they don't understand it?  Or do they genuinely not like to see people who have pride in something??


There shall be a Part B to this post....about people who take it a step further and not only hate people who love their own home team, but hate them so much to "bandwagon" onto another team.