The All-Time Strangest Booty Call

I know that you're thinking this is going to be another baseball post. No, this will be a really sexy, lascivious post. Really. I'm not kidding... work with me.

As a little kid I was fascinated by large scale architecture projects like airports, skyscrapers, bridges and especially sports stadiums. I would design futuristic cities filled with sprawling highways, huge parks and massive stadiums. My first visit to a big stadium was to see the Dodgers play in Chavez Ravine (pictured above) and my second was to the Rose Bowl to see a soccer game. I made a sketch of Dodger Stadium for my father and he posted it on the wall of his office... if I didn't have the artistic talent of a dead fish I might have chosen a career as an architect.

At some point early in my relationship with the soon-to-be ex-wife, I mentioned all these stories of my building cities with blocks in grade school and burning out on Sim City 2000 to avoid classwork for Urban Studies courses. I told her about my visits to see the Dodgers and being awed by the size of the stadium. I told her about how when I was in the 4th grade and my family moved to Michigan, I would play touch football with my friends on the field at Spartan Stadium. I made a joke that if she ever wanted to turn me on all she had to do was show me a picture of a stadium... and that joke became our bizarre email booty call.

Soon after we moved in together, if she wanted us to get down when we got home that night, she would email me a picture of a large or notable stadium (Old Trafford, Fenway Park, Giants Stadium... the list goes on and on) with just the name of the stadium in the subject field and no other text. I would try to send her little love notes by email, but after a while I lost the capability to come up with new words to describe the same old thing. Eventually, I started sending her pictures of stadiums as well. Incredibly, she loved it... it worked as a booty call for both of us.

It was so strange. I'd be in the middle of a work day, dealing with meetings and clients and the usual crap, and I'd check my email. Bang! - I'd see a picture of The Stade de France or Wrigley Field or someplace - and the hair would stand up on the back of my neck. I'd look over my shoulder to make sure no one could see me looking at porn at work... yeah, I know, it wasn't porn and I was being crazy, but that's how it felt.

To make the long story short, after a while, I stopped sending my soon-to-be ex as many pictures of stadiums as she sent me. Then things went downhill on a lot of fronts other than just who sent who more booty calls. I'll never want to use the picture of a stadium thing with a new partner: too many memories of the past. Hopefully, the world's longest divorce proceedings can wrap up soon so I can feel comfortable creating a new strange booty call system with someone else... because texts of "What R U wearing?" just aren't unique enough for me.