Kickball, Picketing and Boob Sweat

Last night was our last kickball game for the season. It was a playoff game, one of those "lose and you're out" types and we lost so no more kickball for us. It was fun while it lasted. We actually went out with a bang, only losing 1-2 against a veteran team who were awesome to play. Unlike other teams they weren't pissy about every call and didn't act like douches. I actually did well for a change, driving in our only run, getting on base (TWICE!) and making two vital catches for the out. :) Beer at Big Wang's was great as well, I even flirted with a dude until he opened his mouth and spoke and all kinds of stupidity floated out. Oh well.

This morning I picketed the Ellen show in Burbank, trying to get lonely housewives and the occasional lesbian to turn away in support of the WGA. No such luck as Ellen fans are about as rabid as Old Yeller. I guess once you get that taste of off rhythm white woman dancing you can't get enough.

We got some people to honk for us, until a nice police officer asked us not to because, as it turns out, we were right across from a hospital and sick people don't like their recovery disturbed by honking. It was hot when I was out there and there was very little shade as we walked in a very tight circle, some guys trying to come up with chants and failing miserably. I passed the time by mentally tracking which was sweating more: my back, or my front and it turns out my boobs were more than up for the challenge. It's times like that where I can't imagine having C's, or DD's in the heat of the day.

I also had a celebrity siting today, Dwanye "The Rock" Johnson crossed the picket line, probably in order to do Ellen. A few writers asked him not to, but, like her estrogen charged fans, I guess Dwayne had to have him some of that dancing.