Valentine's Day Blog.
In honor of these most beloved Hallmark holiday that celebrates chocolate, cards, and general commercialism, I have decided to wear a few clothing items adorned with hearts. My shirt is pink with a keyboard strewn across the front, with purple and blue hearts in the background. My socks are black with two flamingos nuzzling noses (forming a heart shape), with pink hearts all over. I am wearing my peace and love necklace, along with my flamingo-wearing-a-sunhat necklace.
You see, I have no one with whom to celebrate Valentine's Day. So to compensate, I'm pooling together all of the things that I love and just...wearing them. I guess. I'm lame.
I love pink.
I love music.
I love hippies.
I love flamingos.
And now, the moment you've all been waiting for -
The Flamingo Story.
When I was in 1st grade, my sister and I played on my dad's softball team. Our team name and sponsor was the Eagles Nest, which is a restaurant in Green Bay. The league was fun by itself, just being able to play and have a good time with kids your own age. But we wanted to do something different. We wanted to be the first and only team to get a mascot. But we had one problem - where were we going to find an eagle? Not a real one, of course. We didn't own any sort of eagle things at home. We searched the attic, the garage, and the basement, which is where we found it - an old, beat up lawn flamingo.
"Well, it's not an eagle," my dad said, "But it's a bird. Close enough."
And so, we walked to the field the next day with our bag of equipment in tow. Upon arrival to our side of the baseline (we didn't have dugouts), we plopped the bag down on the grass and started unloading bats, softballs, and rosters (in later years, Big League Chew would be added to this list). When the flamingo was pulled out of the bag, even some of our teammates raised their eyebrows. "It's our mascot!" we told them as we stuck his skinny wire legs into the dirt. And there he stood, watching over the game, and there he has been ever since.
Well, obviously not ever since. We take him down at the end of the game and take him home. But then we put him back up. You get the idea.
That one flamingo multiplied faster than rabbits in captivity. We went out and bought a few more flamingos of our own, but then they started flooding in from outside sources - people gave us their old lawn flamingos that they didn't have any more need for, we got some little wooden flamingos that have wings that spin in the wind. People even came to the post office where my dad worked and handed him things like huge lawn candles that were pink with flamingos on them, and even flamingo-shaped pasta (which we still haven't eaten). "You're the flamingo guy aren't you? Thought you might like these."
Just this month my dad received an anonymous birthday card with flamingos on the front.
At every game until the very last game that I played in 8th grade, those flamingos - the entire flock of 13 or so - sat behind the fence (we had dugouts in the big league) and watched over the game, assuring that we would win. And we did win. We took first place that year. We were the strangest team in the league. And the fact that after every game, win or lose, we went out onto the field and did the Chicken Dance around the pitcher's mount, didn't help. We brought a boombox and played Jock Jams between innings. We created our own cheers, shouting things like, "Good vision!" instead of "Good eye," because we have two eyes, so why should we only give credit to one of them?
Those flamingos still sit there on the field at every game.
And they also sit in our yard every Christmas.
But I believe I've explained that.
And so that's it. The reason that I love flamingos so much. It's also the reason I love pink so much. I'm not just a crazy flamingo lady. Although, I don't think there could possibly be such a thing as a crazy flaming lady. Because anyone who's crazy about flamingos is absolutely sane in my book.
So this Valentine's Day, I am going to celebrate pink. Unless one of you dashing young gentlemen wants to take me out tonight. But that's a fat chance.
Peace out! And cherish each other.
Excuse me while I go vomit.
Molly
You see, I have no one with whom to celebrate Valentine's Day. So to compensate, I'm pooling together all of the things that I love and just...wearing them. I guess. I'm lame.
I love pink.
I love music.
I love hippies.
I love flamingos.
And now, the moment you've all been waiting for -
The Flamingo Story.
When I was in 1st grade, my sister and I played on my dad's softball team. Our team name and sponsor was the Eagles Nest, which is a restaurant in Green Bay. The league was fun by itself, just being able to play and have a good time with kids your own age. But we wanted to do something different. We wanted to be the first and only team to get a mascot. But we had one problem - where were we going to find an eagle? Not a real one, of course. We didn't own any sort of eagle things at home. We searched the attic, the garage, and the basement, which is where we found it - an old, beat up lawn flamingo.
"Well, it's not an eagle," my dad said, "But it's a bird. Close enough."
And so, we walked to the field the next day with our bag of equipment in tow. Upon arrival to our side of the baseline (we didn't have dugouts), we plopped the bag down on the grass and started unloading bats, softballs, and rosters (in later years, Big League Chew would be added to this list). When the flamingo was pulled out of the bag, even some of our teammates raised their eyebrows. "It's our mascot!" we told them as we stuck his skinny wire legs into the dirt. And there he stood, watching over the game, and there he has been ever since.
Well, obviously not ever since. We take him down at the end of the game and take him home. But then we put him back up. You get the idea.
That one flamingo multiplied faster than rabbits in captivity. We went out and bought a few more flamingos of our own, but then they started flooding in from outside sources - people gave us their old lawn flamingos that they didn't have any more need for, we got some little wooden flamingos that have wings that spin in the wind. People even came to the post office where my dad worked and handed him things like huge lawn candles that were pink with flamingos on them, and even flamingo-shaped pasta (which we still haven't eaten). "You're the flamingo guy aren't you? Thought you might like these."
Just this month my dad received an anonymous birthday card with flamingos on the front.
At every game until the very last game that I played in 8th grade, those flamingos - the entire flock of 13 or so - sat behind the fence (we had dugouts in the big league) and watched over the game, assuring that we would win. And we did win. We took first place that year. We were the strangest team in the league. And the fact that after every game, win or lose, we went out onto the field and did the Chicken Dance around the pitcher's mount, didn't help. We brought a boombox and played Jock Jams between innings. We created our own cheers, shouting things like, "Good vision!" instead of "Good eye," because we have two eyes, so why should we only give credit to one of them?
Those flamingos still sit there on the field at every game.
And they also sit in our yard every Christmas.
But I believe I've explained that.
And so that's it. The reason that I love flamingos so much. It's also the reason I love pink so much. I'm not just a crazy flamingo lady. Although, I don't think there could possibly be such a thing as a crazy flaming lady. Because anyone who's crazy about flamingos is absolutely sane in my book.
So this Valentine's Day, I am going to celebrate pink. Unless one of you dashing young gentlemen wants to take me out tonight. But that's a fat chance.
Peace out! And cherish each other.
Excuse me while I go vomit.
Molly
The Eagle's Nest doesn't exist anymore. Now it's called Dockers. It's not the same.
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