ambivalent

I think most often the word ambivalent is misused or at least confused with the word indifferent. Instead of having no opinion at all, being ambivalent means that you have two conflicting opinions about one thing. I find myself packing (AGAIN!) this morning, I've been visiting my parents in Rhode Island for the last week, and am heading back to Texas this afternoon. I'm amazed by my inability to deal with the overwhelming sense of ambivalence I have. In the same breath I'm excited to return to Austin, and sad about leaving New England behind again. And why shouldn't I be.

It's been a great week, so many friends and family packed in to 7 short days. It's a little tough to deal with the rollercoaster of saying good-bye to someone again, and being excited to see someone else for the first time about 4 minutes later. It gets to the point where you're just excited for a return to your regularly scheduled life. Until plane day, when you realize you really do like these people here!

Someone very wise asked me yesterday, 'is there no middle ground?' and unfortunately, I don't always find it. Days like today it's the hardest - but (thanks AS), I've begun to look for that middle ground. So, instead of being sad to leave I'm just going to bask in the glow of all the wonderful people and things I've seen and done this week. The take home message from this trip is, I have a set of the world's greatest friends - from everywhere. I mean, seriously, does it get better than this?

Oh, and to top it off - I won't be hung over for my 2-hour layover in Newark today. It's a weird feeling to fly like this, but...I think I'll be modeling my flight nights after last night from now on.

someone's gotta clean up around here

My second job as crime-fighting superhero started a little over a week ago, in fact on my birthday. We’d finished dinner and post-dinner drinks, and everyone was heading home. We’d all parked in roughly the same spot and were still standing around the sidewalk chatting and saying goodbye. We heard a screeching crunch and I looked up just in time to witness a large black SUV sideswipe a small parked car and bumble on down the road. RO’D was already in his car, so we sent him after the SUV and he called back with the license plates and make/model of the car. A friend and I wrote a little note and left it on the parked car, hoping that the karma from this act would protect our cars on future downtown visits.

A few days later I was at the dog park with Sukka, LR, and Kibbie, when my second crime-fighting superhero opportunity arose. On our way out we saw a woman sitting on the ground crying. It was on second glance that we realized she was surrounded by luggage. LR and I hesitated a bit, unsure of what to do or say to this woman. Another man also was lingering, so we all approached her. Turns out she was from out of town, had been “dropped off” at the dog park, and was not flying out until the following evening – from Houston. We tried to calm her down a bit, offered her some suggestions as to how she could get to Houston, where she could stay, and drove her to a Starbucks so she could get some coffee and make her phone calls. It was one of the strangest interactions I’ve had in a long time.

And then, yesterday morning I stopped to get a bagel for breakfast on my way in to school and as I parked my car I noticed a woman on the ground behind her mini-van. I got out and went over to see what was wrong. I’m still unsure how she ended up on the ground, but she was handicapped and was trying to get her motorized chair into the back of the van, and had somehow made it to the ground and was having trouble getting up. This was one of those situations I hate, as I was unsure of exactly WHAT to do to help her try and get up. (Sometimes I have the same trouble when I try and help my grandmother maneuver around – where is my arm, grip, strength actually most beneficial??) I first moved her coffee cup, which seemed in the way, and then I helped get the chair into the van. By this point a rather tall man came over to offer some help, and he was much better at actually getting her up off the ground. After just a few minutes she was up and on her way, and we were headed inside to get bagels.

We’ll see what crime-fighting superhero adventures today brings, until then I’ll be designing my superhero costume – any suggestions?

we will never forget (again).

I can't believe I'm about to admit this publicly, but more so, I can't believe it happened. To me. And a friend of mine. I'm basically speechless, and horrified. And, while I know this post may disappoint some (Mom, Dad, brace yourselves) I feel that the public service announcement may help to prevent other people from falling into the same trap.

I play trivia on Tuesdays with some friends. This week there was a baseball question: Who hit a three run home run on the opening game at Yankee Stadium. Our guess was Babe Ruth, but I was unsure. I wasn't sure what year Yankee Stadium was built, I was thinking it was before the Babe was a Yank. As I was trying to put out this argument (to my very NON-baseball teammates) *it* happened. I said:

When was Yankee Stadium opened, because Babe was traded in 1908.

As soon as I said it, it didn't sound right. I couldn't believe it. I could no longer remember that dreaded year - the last time the Sox won the series (I mean, the last time before two times ago). I sat there searching my brain for that year, killing myself to try and remember. One of my teammates even looked over to ask if i was ok. No, definitely not ok.

I instantly texted 3 of my red sox loving friends and admitted my forgetfulness:

OMG! I can't remember the year the Sox won the Series before 2004!

I decided that I could figure it out, and quickly calculated 2004 minus 86, and came to the correct answer. As soon as I figured it out, I got an answer back from RO'D and all it said was:

1927?

As a devoted member of Red Sox Nation, I am thoroughly disappointed in the ease with which we have forgotten those horrid chants, those damn yankee fans that thought they could taunt us with our curse, that 86 years before 2004 the Boston Red Sox were the 1918 World Series Champions!

we're gonna sip bacardi...

If I had to break things down, I think 26 was my favorite year, although 17 is up there. And 21 was pretty alright too. 23 was definitely the worst. And, where does 27 fit in? Somehow, I think it doesn't. It was a year not like any others. It was marked with change and resistance and growth. A combination I'm not sure I've been able to muster in the past. Instead of marveling over myself though (I do that enough I think), I'd like to take this moment to thank everyone. My family, and my friends - both new and old - for going through this transitional year with me. I feel so incredibly lucky and special today. Before noon this morning I'd heard from friends from high school, college, and grad school. People from Rhode Island, Boston, DC, and Austin. I've heard from people who've known me since I was 12, and people who just met me last month. It's really eye-opening and heart warming to have so many wonderful people share my life with me. So thank you! Here's to 28!

my dad

While I may have missed Fathers Day by a few weeks, I’d like to take a moment to discuss my dad – he’s one of the greatest dads I know, and he deserves a little discussing. Mainly, I’d like to discuss what I do when I fly on planes, and I’d like to relate it directly to my father, who taught me everything I know. It starts when I’m allowed to select my seat. Dad, do you know where I always sit? Of course you do, same place you would if you could. Window seat above the wing. Why? So I can look out and see the wing work as we take off and land. The intricacies of the flaps and rudders still amaze me, and seeing the air rush over the aerodynamically optimized structure as we zoom in for landing, well – let’s just say I know all a girl should know about the Bernoulli Principle of lift. But, my fascination goes further than that. While waiting at the gate I check out for the size of the plane as it approaches the jetway, I watch as the various carts fill it with gas, food, load the luggage. Of course, as I board the plane I always check out whatever I can see of the cockpit. As we live in a post 9/11 world it becomes impossible to ask to SEE the cockpit, but sometimes you can get a glimpse of all those controls. Millions of controls. Heck, I even check out all the flight attendants storage spaces – where the carts go, the coffee pots, their purses. Everything has a space, everything has a function (or three), it’s amazing. As we pull away from the gate I’m aware of the little truck that’s pushing the plane (because these big things can not maneuver in reverse themselves), I’m watching the grounds crew as they signal which way the plane should go. I wait to feel the landing gear raise and lower. As we come in for landing, I understand all the various banks and rolls and speed changes that happen. It’s these details that my dad and I used to pay attention to and talk about when we flew. And, I still do. And I know, whenever he flies, these are the things my dad is looking at and thinking about too! Given that I've taken a total of 10 flights in the last 2 weeks, I've really noticed this fascination of mine.

While in Cairns last week I was lucky enough to get on to a boat tour where we boarded a sailing vessel and headed out to the reef. If planes make me think of my dad, boats certainly make me remember every summer I ever had. My family had a 30 foot Pearson sailboat, Pax, for about as long as I can remember – supposedly our first sailboat was a 24(am I close?) sailboat, Windward, but I was quite young when they got rid of that one. I think I remember it’s blue and red plaid cushions, but perhaps only from a picture. It’s Pax that I can still see if I close my eyes tight enough. She was teal, and had teal and grey cushions inside. The red table folded up and out of sight when we were underway, and the stairs were removable and revealed the shiny red engine underneath. While on the boat in Cairns, Falla, I couldn’t help but remember all the wonderful trips we took while I was growing up. And of course – all of the nautical information that was still in my head. Dad, do they drive on the left side of the channel in thiat part of the world too? I’d imagine so. When we were pulling back up to the dock at the end of the day, Skipper Doug was having a bit of trouble. It was very windy, and it kept blowing us out of the slip. He backed on out and tried a second time. One other man on board, who clearly knew a thing or two about boats, was along the port side ready to help. I noticed him there, so I said to him quietly “Hey, Fred, if you jump off with the spring line, just throw me the stern line quick and I’ll get it back there.” Literally, these words just came out of my mouth without much thought. Fred looked up at me, quite shocked I must say, and was unsure of what to do. Much to my dismay, and that of young looking females everywhere, Fred jumped off with the spring line and quickly threw the stern line up to an already busy Skipper Doug. I guess I can’t blame him, who am I to think that they’d have faith in me to know what to do with anything when it came to a boat. But, I know – and my dad does too – that I could have caught that stern line, and even could have tied it to a cleat.

Thanks Dad, all those times you sat me down to teach me about ridiculously useless things (like units conversion), well…maybe you knew what you were talking about.

cultural similarities

I hadn't considered that me saying "y'all" does for the Aussies what their saying "Good'ay Mate!" does for me.

Paradise

On Friday morning I flew to Cairns, pronounced Cannes, which is a beautiful city with access to the Great Barrier Reef, among other things. In stark contrast to Melbourne, this place feels like paradise. It’s quite hot, and the scenery is gorgeous. After a tiring morning of flying we were able to lounge by the pool for a bit, and then ventured over to the esplanade for some shopping. Didgeridoos, boomerangs, rhythm sticks, and other gorgeous wood creations abound – there were a few didgeridoos that really seemed to want to come home with me, but I left them behind.

On Saturday we joined up with some friends from UCLA and boarded a two-masted ship, the Falla, for a day of sailing and snorkeling. Captain Doug and (what we hope to be his girlfriend, otherwise he was overly snippy with her) Jacqueline took us out to Fitzroy Island. It was a very wet and mostly bumpy ride out to the island. I contemplated an introductory dive, and listened to the introductory dive lecture, but in all honesty the need to “equalize” the pressure on the way down by popping my ears freaked me out. As well as the claustrophobic feeling I was sure I’d feel once hooked up to a tank. But, luckily for me, my flight the following day was the actual reason I could not dive – and not because I was too chicken to try it. Instead, I spent about a total of an hour and a half snorkeling in and around a portion of the Great Barrier Reef that was absolutely beautiful. (I did have a crappy underwater camera, and so once those pictures are developed I’ll post some good ones.) It was a little windy that day, and so the water wasn’t as clear or brilliant as I’d imagined. But, once I got in the water and calmed down a bit – the wildlife was everywhere. I spent some time swimming with a large school of small blue fish, poking into large hunks of coral, and chasing after the poor sea turtle that only made himself known to us briefly. For lunch Doug and Jacqueline had prepared a picnic on the beach. By beach, however, I mean pile of small dead coral “rocks”. As we learned from talking to Doug, the coral we can see is just the top living layer that grows on the underlying dead layers. In fact, the entire Fitzroy Island is “growing” out of piles of dead coral, just so happened to grow up in to a few trees and all. The party started when we headed back, and they broke out the complimentary wine and cheese and fruit. We’ll just say, I slept well that night. Good thing, I was up the next morning at 4am in order to go back to the airport.

(In case you are keeping track, that Sunday morning flight is individual flight number five, in seven days!)

I am in Melbourne

Sadly, NH stole my favorite picture of Melbourne for his post, so we’ll have to struggle along with this one.
After my long-ass flight, and seemingly days of travel, I arrived in the land down under. First stop, Melbourne. Science is what brings me here, but I'll save you from those details. It's cold in Melbourne, and I am not prepared. Having lived all but the last 9 months in New England it amazes me how inflexible I am with the weather now. I am unable to determine appropriate outfits for a climate based solely on the temperature I can find online. Needless to say, I did not pack well. I was cold much of the time, and wore the same grey sweater every night.

As a city, I did not fall in love with Melbourne. It was a generic looking city – I’d easily believe that I was somewhere in the middle of Ohio, maybe Michigan – and the weather was crap. Also, we had the damnedest time finding food. Everything closed around 9pm, and we rarely could make up our minds on what our plan was in time to get anywhere before they kicked us out. It made for a lot of walking. We did find this sweet arcade, with the drum game, and air hockey. We had a tournament, the results of which are inconclusive and require a rematch, but I could have been the winner.

Wednesday, mid morning, was my moment – it went well, but it was during a very crucial beantown moment. I did manage to sneak away during lunch, even convinced a few friends to run across the street to the casino with me, to watch the end on the big screen. We got there with about 6 minutes left in the 4th quarter. And, all I can say is – WOW! Amazing. What a year for Boston, what a season for the Celtics. It was nice to be so far away and still be with a crowd, pumped for the game. It was nothing like watching it at Little Woodrow’s with a mish-mash of displaced Boston and LA natives, but for being in Australia, I guess it will do!

On Thursday morning a few of us decided to venture out for breakfast; we found this place and headed off. It was the cutest little place, with the best breakfast I’ve had in a long time. That afternoon, while it poured buckets outside, we spend a few hours at the Melbourne Museum of Moving Images, mainly at the Game On exhibit, playing loads of video games. (btw, Austinites – I am ready for Rock Band, BRING IT!)

Thursday night we found a band playing at the Ding Dong Lounge in Chinatown. And when that place was closing the very nice bar tender wearing a Celtics jersey drew a map for me, to the Pony Bar, which didn’t close until 7am. This sounded like the place for us. We headed there, and found a group of native Aussies to hang with. We hung, and drank, with them for far too long, until far too late, and made it back with far too little time before our VERY early morning flight to Cairns. The end of that story is, I did make it on the plane – with little to no assistance from anyone – and that was a major feat.

How to deal with a thirteen and a half hour plane ride and a sixteen hour time difference

It can really be summarized by two things: Fight Club. Ambien. But, allow me to elaborate.

I've been wanting to rewatch the movie Fight Club for a while now. I know I saw it in college, maybe my junior year, when we had that ridiculous projector and a wall sized canvas as our TV. It was great, in that it was BIGGER than anything you could imagine, but the picture quality was pretty awful, and if there was any amount of light coming in that common room, forget it - you couldn't see shit. And that's how I watched some supposedly great movies like Fight Club, Snatch, and The Big Lebowski. And I missed a lot.

I was sitting at the gate in LA, two hours into my 4 hour lay-over and no hours into my 13.5 hour flight, already bored out of my mind. A gut next to me reached into his bag and pulled out a brand new copy of Fight Club. I was quickly thinking, I could ask him if maybe we could share...he could watch, then I could watch, we'd have enough time. As I went over this in my mind, however, he had put the movie away, put on headphones, and fallen asleep. Damn!

Once we boarded the plane and I got settled I looked to my right and thought, 'this kid in the aisle looks familiar'. He was visibly nervous about the length of the flight and kept pointing out how long it would be. I thought this would be a disaster. He got up at one point to scope out a new seat with more room and the woman to my left and I discussed how we hoped he'd leave so we could also have more room. He came back, unable to find a seat, and opened his bag. He looked at me and said 'Hey, have you seen Fight Club? I have it, on my laptop, wanna watch it?' Score! I said yes, and moments later we were sharing a set of headphones and huddled (cuddled, maybe!) over his laptop watching Fight Club. I feel like I've never been so happy.

After the movie was over, and we'd eaten our meal, I resorted to my second measure of coping - Ambien. I popped one in and was out, for nearly seven hours. It was great. I'm not sure that Fight Club Dude agrees, as the arm rest was still up and I'm pretty sure that I rolled over at one point and used him as a pillow. But, you do what you have to, right?!

I woke up refreshed and ready to eat the continental breakfast!

One more Ambien on my first full night here, and I'm totally in the zone (the Australian time zone that is!)

Also, I'd like to thank Qantas Airlines - seriously, one of the best I've flown. I don't think I'd have been nearly as comfortable and happy if it had not been for their attention to detail (clean airplane bathrooms with marble floors), ever ready snacks (including an endless supply of apples, water, M&Ms, and mints), and superb customer service (I received an express pass through customs, even though I had already MISSED my connection, and then was rebooked on a flight that required me to only wait an extra 25 minutes). So I guess that's three things: Fight Club. Ambien. and Qantas!

the land down under

It's been a while, and there's been a lot going on.

There's been kickball

There's been cake

And, there's been two-steppin'

But today, there's going to be flying. And lots of it. My ride is showing up (thanks RO'D) in 15 minutes, and then I'm off to the airport. Some thirty hours later I should arrive on the other side of the world, ready for anything!

Until then...

the dingo ate my baby!

Two weeks from tomorrow I'll be hustling to the Austin-Bergstrom International Airport - heading on a 2 week trip for to Australia. Normally, I'm very ahead of the game for things like this. This time, I am not.

Here are the things I have done:
* booked a flight from here to Melbourne
* booked a flight from Melbourne to Cairns
* booked a flight from Cairns to Brisbane
* booked a flight from Brisbane back to Austin
* booked a hotel in Melbourne, Cairns, and Brisbane
* gotten an Australian visa
* found friends to watch Mia

Here are the things I have not done:
* looked at a map
* know the climate
* get appropriate converters for the outlets
* make the poster about the work I am supposed to present
* consolidate all my flight/hotel information so I know where I'm going when
* bought a carry-on bag
* gotten an oil change, haircut, bought food for Mia, stopped the mail, finished some work for school
* this list is so much longer that I'm overwhelmed and have to stop now.

The Kickball Diaries, volume 4.

Week 5. Kitshickers vs Sandy Clams.
Game time: 5/8/2008, 8:10pm
Game Conditions: day after the tornado, dryer than you'd have though.
Result: T 3-3
Record: 1-1-2

Let me start of this week's Kickball Diaries with an excerpt from the Austin Sports and Social Clubs webpage:

Good news for the Sandy Clams, who look to make it four wins in a row versus the Kitschickers (1-1-1).

The Sandy Clams are the only undefeated team, with a 3-0 record, and apparently we are the underdogs who are assumed to lie down and let them walk right into 4-0. Well, I wasn't having it. We tried some positive thinking before the game, just because they are undefeated does not mean they are perfect, it simply means that they haven't lost yet. They also haven't played us yet.

The game was unremarkable. We were up, we were down, we were tied, we were back up, we were tied. The ump was a dipshit, he was grumpy and yelling and he tried to end our game early. We nearly had a two-team bench clearing brawl versus the ump just to get him to let us play one more inning - the FIFTH inning.

I contributed next to nothing, and I honestly don't remember many plays of the game. I remember that I played a variety of positions and hardly knew what I was doing out there. I also know that now, thanks to us, the Sandy Clams will not have a perfect season.

I also know that our team is in trouble. Here is our latest injury report:
one player is out with a busted knee, likely needing surgery
one player went home with an ankle three times the size it was when he arrived
one player recently had surgery on her kicking-toe
one player is going to play through her injured hip, for the sake of the team

We're in some sore shape, but damn it if we aren't playing a perfect .500 ballgame, kids!

another one bites the dust...

Somehow I find myself celebrating the end of yet another semester. It seems surreal to me that two semesters here are over. But that rush of feeling DONE, it's escaped me this semester. I find that people who are unused to a life in academia don't really understand what I do all day. Do I "go to class", "work in an office", "sleep on the couch and watch soaps"? I mean, it's a valid question. I, in fact, do two of the three. When there are classes, I go. Otherwise I'm getting "work" done in my office. In fact, my life this semester has been very similar to my life the last 3 years. Data analysis, data collection, subject scheduling, answering questions, hiding behind my door. (Oh, the door, that's actually a welcome new addition!) And now that I'm done, in the sense that all the work has been turned in for all of my classes, what's left right? I'm faced with the never ending question "What are you doing for the summer?"

Summer starts today, and I'm sitting in my office, waiting for a subject to arrive. I'll test them, then I'll hope to modify one of my experiments, because I have another subject coming at 2:30pm. After that I hope to be able to make some changes to a paper I'm writing and send out another draft for comments. I've also got to call the subjects we've got lined up for tomorrow - and a few new subjects who need to be scheduled. So, in the end, I'm not really "done", I'll never really be "done".

But the semester is over, and hell if that doesn't deserve some celebratin'.

The Kickball Diaries, volume 3.

Week 4. Kitshickers vs Kick Cheney.
Game time: 5/8/2008, 9:00pm
Game Conditions: dark, but still hot.
Result: T 1-1
Record: 1-1-1

Did you think I forgot? Dropped out? Got kicked off? No! Last week, week 3, was our bye week - but we were back in action on Thursday. The game started off slow, it was a pitchers duel, 3-up 3-down save for the very first inning where Kick Cheney scored a run. It was essentially a fielder's choice, a choice CH probably would remake if he had the chance - throw home, NOT to first!

The most exciting part of the middle of the game were the round-offs that were happening in right field. Yours truly started the trend, RO'D joined in at first. I even managed one Round-off out of the CF, and the LF.

My highlight came sometime in the middle, amongst the round-offs, when RO'D moved closer to home from first, because a girl was at bat (we know how I feel about this mentality - as I said loudly, 'She could be a powerhouse!') She wasn't. RO'D ran up to get the ball, and I slid in to first base, yelling "I'm here!" RO'D grabbed the ball and lobbed it back to the bag, where I was waiting, arms open. I caught the ball and made the inning ending out! It was AWESOME! I felt like hero. I had no idea what to do with the ball that was still in my hands.

It was the ninth inning (ok, really the 7th, we only play 7 - so it's the same sentiment as the 9th) and we were down 1-0. 2 outs. CH, who has pitched a tight tight game, but also responsible for the only run scored so far, is up. He wails one - and we all start jumping. RO'D runs over to be third base coach, I run up the first base line along side CH screaming, GO GO GO! RO'D is yelling, we're all jumping. CH rounds second, rounds third. He seemed to stop and hesitate - but we were all just yelling. So, he turned it up. Play at the plate....SAFE! It's a 1-1 ball game kids. Our stand-in ringer DL was up next, and he made it on base, to 3rd I think. It was within reach, it was doable. One of our lovely ladies was the next up, and no one had the heart to remind her that if she did NOT get out we might win right here. We just let her be. Sadly, she was thrown out at 1st, and the inning was over.

But, we forced an extra inning. We took the field, and kept them off base. Round-offs ensued. And then, the last inning, we almost had it, another heroic dash for home, play at the plate....OUT! Game over, all tied up. But, what a rush. I've never been so excited to not win. Best of all, in the end, CH told me "Dude, your enthusiasm, it's just about as great as Papi coming out of his slump!" Right back atcha CH, right back atcha!

wanna be starting something

It's my blog. It's my prerogative to not disclose everything. But know this - something's starting right now. You don't even need to know what it is, the fact that it's starting is certainly enough.

So here's to something! Starting now....

geography lesson

I was watching the weather yesterday morning as I was getting ready for school - trying to decide what to wear. There are some weather patterns I still haven't figured out what to do with, like when it's dark and stormy but 85 degrees...what IS the appropriate outfit?

I had caught the tail end of the map of the entire country's temperatures and was looking for the one I wanted. But, the map went by too quickly for me to see. It was seconds later that I realized I had focused my search in the upper right corner of the map. Stupid, I live in Texas, down on the 3rd coast! Thank God for TiVO, I was able to simply rewind the weather and try again!

The Kickball Diaries, volume 2.

Week 2. Kitshickers vs The Hustlerz.
Game time: 4/24/2008, 6:30pm
Game Conditions: sunny, warm, windy.
Result: W 10-0
Record: 1-1

I told you I could smell a win. Ok, I wrote that last one already knowing the outcome. We were totally awesome - if the score doesn't suggest as much. I had some choice plays, as per usual. Here's the favorite. I made it to first, in fact the way I made it to first on this play escapes me, since I made it to first on two occasions. Perhaps this was when I walked? Oh yes, that was it. I struck out the first time, and this second time I was up I asked the ref to draw the "batters box" on the ground so I knew where it was. Which helped, as I then walked! The guy behind me, BMc, kicked it real far, and I was off. Rounded second, and third. A quick look back told me I could probably make it to home. RO'D was the first base coach, and he was telling me to run. Our "manager" was the third base coach, he was even telling me to run. CH, another fellow bostonian and die-hard was closer to home, also telling me to go. I glanced back again as I was running, knowing full well I could make it, but depending on how hard they threw it, there may be a play. I was ready. Now, I will blame something on the ground. But on one step half way between 3rd and home my foot went in a direction I was not expecting. Perhaps a little further down, or slightly inclined in a ditch, it's hard to say. But, it didn't do what I thought, and my entire right leg wobbled. But - I was running at lightning speed, it was tough to recover. There was some stumbling, and a whole lot of arm waving, windmill style, trying to keep myself upright. At this point all I'm thinking is, 'they'll never believe there was something on the ground'. To my right, our "manager" has visibly given up on me. To my far left RO'D may be unable to breath through fits of laughter. Between him and CH I see the team, in hysterics. And I hear CH's booming voice "STAY UP UNTIL YOU CROSS THE PLATE!" I run hard, arms flailing, and I cross the plate - never once falling over. I stopped and turned, to witness BMc doing the same exact thing I just did. It was something on the ground, and about 5 steps behind me he also was flailing and windmilling trying to stay up. Hysterics warranted.

On a second choice play, I decided to kick the ball (although I think it would have been a ball had I left it alone), it was outside to the left of the box. Now, what I decided t do with this pitch was to run a few steps up and kick it with my left foot (I'm a righty). This shocked me as it happened, and the fact the the ball sailed over towards third shocked me even more. Now, what confused me was that I had the weight on the wrong foot and was a little stuck trying to run out of the box. I made it to first seconds too late, and CH - the first base coach now - said to me "Hey, Jenni, next time just don't stop when you kick it". Thanks coach, I'll work on that!

Also, a highlight of the day was the birthday celebration for RO'D himself. Happy Birthday little buddy. I take credit for the win, it was definitely the birthday cupcakes that I brought! For sure!

The Kickball Diaries, volume 1.

Week 1. Kitshickers vs 99 Problems but a Pitch ain't one.
Game time: 4/17/2008, 7:20pm
Game Conditions: It's hard to remember, but I'm sure it was hot, and dusk.
Result: L 4-1
Record: 0-1

Our league is a coed league, and there are inevitably rules about how many girls must play, a separate bunt line for the girls, and just a general feeling of how we can "even things" out to make up for the girls being crap players. It's a mindset that I hate. It implies that merely because I am a girl I will be one of the worst players, or worse that merely because someone else is a guy he will be a force. Just, untrue. Maybe. We began going over the rules, and our "manager" was explaining some things, pointing out the bunt line for the girls, telling me that as the center fielder I should come in when a girl was kicking, and informing me that my only strategy when at bat was to just try and kick it on the ground towards 3rd so I'd have a shot at getting on base. Well, I launched in to a diatribe about how girls can be good players too - how these rules were crap, how I could try and aim to kick a gosh-darn homerun if I felt compelled. He shrugged me off, and I took the field. RO'D was sitting out first, and watched the following transpire from the sidelines.

It was the first play I was going to make as a kickball-er, and let me just preface with...that ball is HUGE. It's about 3 times bigger than you are picturing in your head right now. It is red, similar to the one you probably used in elementary school - but bigger. Some guy kicks the ball to the outfield, it's totally mine, I'm all over it. And then....then this happened. I looked up, and this enormous ball was falling towards my face and I quickly realized I had NO IDEA what to do about it, not a clue. So, I closed my eyes, screamed a bit, and swatted erratically at the air. I shouldn't have to add (but I will) that I didn't even touch the ball at all, it went behind me. I turned and ran to it, picked it up, and half rolled, half overhanded it somewhere towards the in-field. Not nearly close enough to do anything reasonable. I think that guy was standing on third picking his nose by the time I finished with the ball. After that I brushed my shoulder off, and patted myself on the back for single-handedly undermining the integrity of female kickball-ers everywhere. When the inning was over RO'D slyly said to me, "Um, did you close your eyes?!" By the end of the game I was feeling it a little better - I knocked a few down, held some people from scoring, although I never once made a catch.

Behind the plate, the entire team was dead. It was my first at bat, and I walked over to home plate - instantly scared crapless - what would happen here, any one's guess. There was a radio nearby blastin' out some tunes, and while it was not my original theme song the new Madonna song, 4 minutes, came on. (Quick interruption - I've been obsessed with this song lately, listening to it maybe 6 times a day while dancing in my office) So as soon as I heard this I screamed over to RO'D - "This is the song I've been dancing to in my office all week", forgetting that I work in the same building as everyone else on the team. They all begin to laugh at me, as I danced my way into my first out. I finished the day 0 for 2 behind the plate.

But damn it all if I didn't have a ton of fun while doing it! Go Kitshickers, I smell a win soon....

apple bottom jeans, boots with the fur

Let me take you back a bit, to a simpler time, about 4 weeks ago. This is when I joined a kickball team. It's a team that has played together before - with some new additions this time around, namely me and RO'D. We call ourselves The Kitshickers, and we wear navy blue shirts, and drink beers as we run the bases and cause general mayhem. As per usual, I don't get out of this experience without doing something completely absurd, so I've decided to institute a weekly series, an account of sorts, of exactly what embarrassing thing I've done to keep my entire team laughing at me for another week!

Introducing...The Kickball Diaries. The first order of business was to select an "at bat" song, which questionably worked out for me.

A healthy dose of crazy!

If you've been keeping up with my life as of late (unblogged, of course) you know there has been an unhealthy dose of crazy infiltrating the scene. But, Monday - we had the healthy kind, and it was refreshing, albeit endangering at some points. I left my office and headed to my car, on my way the phone rang. It was LR, and she was at Spiderhouse. Since my car was parked right by there, I stopped by to hang for a bit. We were seated in this back area, that's up on a little stage, and under a roof. The roof is actually sheets of metal siding, or something like that. We were talking and I kept being distracted by this guy who was tugging and hanging on the structure holding up the roof. It was very shaky - I thought maybe he was inspecting it. Then, he climbed on this rusty table and I gasped. (SIDE NOTE: It's the mismatchy, rusted, outdoor furniture that gives spiderhouse it's charm) He assured me he was ok, and I warned him that the table was rotting out from under his feet.

So, he climbed down and went away. Story over. Or, not quite.

This back stage area is, well, at the back of Spiderhouse's outdoor area, and behind it there is a house (maybe its a business in a house, I don't actually know) with a 2nd story deck. This guy is now scaling the deck, and hoisting himself up onto the railing. LR and I are staring, as are the two girls at the one other table under the roof. He stood around for a bit, and so we carried on our conversation. Until.

The whole structure we were sitting under began shaking, VIOLENTLY. And then you just heard a bunch of cracking and metal flexing. As I glanced up, I could see the roof bending under the guy who was now crawling over it. I began to laugh, and the two girls at the other table quickly fled the scene. He crawled across the whole roof, leaving full-grown-man-sized dents on his way. He stopped when he was directly above my head. At this point everyone in the patio is staring at him, and us. He peeks down from above and smiles and says "Don't worry, I'll be ok!" I refrained from telling him I was actually worried about myself.

There was another round of shaking and crunching, and I can only imagine that this is when he decided to stand up. Next thing you know, he is in the palm tree that is adjacent to the roof. He spends some time shaking the tree a bit, and climbs back to the roof. Again peeking down at me, "Don't worry I won't fall". He laid down on the roof, bending it worse, and put his arms into the tree. This complicated little dance went on for what seemed like an eternity - mostly because no one was able to do anything but stare in disbelief. It was probably something like 8 minutes.

When he was done, he crawled back across the roof, more dents, and dismounted onto the railing of the porch. In his hand, a foot and a half piece of palm frond, his hard-earned treasure. He held it proudly, showed it to us, and grinned. So much work, for what?! A palm frond, not even a full one. A piece of a tree, which he also could have ripped off the lower portions of the tree from the ground, in fact I could have ripped off a matching piece without even moving from my chair.

He walked over to an empty table, prize in hand, smiling to everyone. He sat down, still clutching the leaf, for a while. Then, he placed it on the table and walked away. I'll never understand what happened, and I will forever notice the dents in the roof at Spiderhouse. But, somehow, in light of everything else - this man's crazy, was something I could totally get on board with. Palm fronds for everyone!