While the in-laws were in town, something veeeery strange happened: we went to a baseball game. I know! Can you believe it? I loathe watching baseball, and I loathe the Pirates, but yet, we went. The things I do for family . . .

It turned out that it wasn't entirely a waste of an evening. The weather was fantastic, the people-watching was stellar, and did I mention the all-you-can-eat thing? No? ALL-YOU-CAN-EAT concessions! Yeah. We bought the tickets that came with the extra special privilege of eating however many hot dogs, hamburgers, nachos, peanuts, ice cream sandwiches, popcorn, and salads you could shove down your throat. Mr. Husband took that as a challenge and downed more food than a human should be able to consume in a week, let alone a few hours. I, however, FAILED. I actually lost a pound that day. You can stamp FAILURE on my forehead, but in my defense, I did make a hella lot trips to the concession stand. All that walking back and forth in an attempt to satisfy the whims of a Toddler (and to stock up on 80 bags of peanuts) really must have burnt some calories. She ate nachos and popcorn then decided that peanuts in the shell were a special gift from the heavens and ate nearly two bags of them.

Oh yeah, the game.

The game.

So, we went and watched the suckiest team in baseball (16 years, yo). As luck would have it, they were playing the Astros, or as Anglophile Football Fanatic has informed me they should be called, the Disastros.

Heh. I thought the Buccos of Sucktitude (trademark Pittgirl) sucked, I had no idea there was a team that sucks more. This year anyway. So, here's how the game went:

You know what doesn't suck? The view of downtown from PNC Park. I'd say between the view and my peanut haul, it was a worthwhile night.