Don't Poke the Bear

I play women's doubles tennis on two teams. Both teams are going to playoffs this week. I am not in the line up for today's match because, according to the speculation of one of my team mates, I have too much fun when I play tennis. Ummm. Crickets... It's a game.

So, just like a girl with the initials H.H. told me in sixth grade, people would like me better if I acted like they do. The irony is, in sixth grade, I was the kid who was getting benched at my softball games for my uncanny ability to go more Bobby Cox than Bobby Cox on an umpire. I was the kid who wouldn't pick my best friend to be on my team at P.E. because she sucked at all sports, and I wanted to win. I was the girl in my twenties who offered to remove a guy's genitals with my bare hands and shove them down his throat during a nice, recreational co-ed softball game. In my thirties, I pissed off another girl so badly that she took a swing at me on the softball field. Her aim was off, but mine was not. I got suspended for two games, and I only punched her once!

At the time, I considered my attitude to be perfectly normal; I just happened to be a touch more competitive than others. Now, I live with perhaps, one of the least reactionary men on the planet. It really takes a good bit to ruffle his feathers. An excellent quality for someone married to me to have. Do you realize how exponentially ass-holey you look when you behave like a petulant 12 year old when you are standing next to the Dalai-Freakin'-Lama? Let's not forget that I am also the mother of two little boys who would probably rather grow up not being totally embarrassed by their wack-job mother.

News flash: if I didn't give a rats ass what you thought about me in the 6th grade, I sure as hell don't now. Have I lost my fire? Negative. The thing is, most people have their heads so far up their asses that it doesn't do any good to tell them off. So, if I choose to make tennis more about having fun and less about humiliating some unhappy housewives, and you don't like it, maybe you should take a look at your pathetic life and decide what it is that is making you so unhappy. You should also probably be glad that it has been ten years since I punched anybody.

Don't poke the bear, ladies.

Kiss my pudgy white a**, Nike.

Okay, so I have not blogged in more than a year, but something has come up that makes me really need to vent. Next week I am going on a tennis trip with a bunch of other ladies. I had
intended by this point in the year to be about 20 lbs. slimmer, but circumstances (beer and laziness to be precise) have conspired against me. So, I am a bit pudgier than I would like to be which would not be a problem except for the fact that none of my cute tennis clothes fit.
So yesterday, I went to PGA Superstore to purchase some new ones with a gift card I received from a sociopath (a story for another day), but there is a problem with the way the clothes fit. First, although my weight tends to settle around my middle, my waist is not quite the circumference of a 24 lb Thanksgiving butterball. Thus, despite the relative petiteness of
my posterior, the skirt with the appropriate fit around the waist makes my butt look like I am wearing Booty Pop panties as seen on TV. The biggest problem is trying to fit my DDs into the tiny tennis tops. They either get smashed flat or squeeze out the arm holes. I can assure you, that neither is attractive.
So this is my question. Serena Williams, tennis goddess, has more booty and boobie than most, and Nike designs clothes for her, so why the heck can't I buy them? Seriously, she has more of everything than I do: top, bottom, muscle, money, fame, and game. Why can I not just buy a tennis top that fits my assets without gaping armholes or torture?
Glad I got that off my chest.

Sometimes I miss the old me

I really hate stupid people. Can't help it. I just do. Recently I had a discussion with a (delusional) friend who maintains that there is no such thing as a stupid person. Everyone just has different gifts he said. That is f-ing stupid. Darwin Awards anyone? There is one place you can find a bunch of stories about stupid people.

Yesterday I had an encounter with a stupid person. My ladies USTA tennis team had a home match, and some of our courts were wet. It has been raining a lot lately, and it is cold, and the courts are in the shade, and they are not getting dry. Emails have been flowing back and forth among the HOA Board, the tennis Czar, and the tennis captains regarding this issue. Some folks are afraid that there is an issue with "seepage", or water coming up through the courts. Others believe this is hooey, but we were told that the courts were dry on Friday, and then it didn't rain any more, so the captain contacted the powers that be so they could inspect the courts.

Meanwhile, I went down there with a 30 gallon trash bag full of old towels and started drying the courts. Enter the stupid person. This board member comes down to the courts, and proceeds to tell me repeatedly, as if I'm too stupid to understand what he is saying, that the most efficient way to dry the courts is by using a squeegee.

Not being stupid, I had already checked the squeegees, and they were so saturated with water that the slightest touch caused water to start dripping out of them. Mr. HOA continues to tell me that towels will not dry the courts, and then the dumb f**k takes the soaking wet squeegee and rolls it over the parts I have already dried making them wet again, all the while pontificating about the merits of a squeegee and uselessness of towels. Arrrrgh!

This is when I miss the old me. The current me is a wife, a mom of 2 boys, a PTA VP, and a, if not respected, at least fairly well liked member of a pretty great neighborhood. So, instead of calling him a stupid f**ker, I just said, "Gee, I don't know much about squeegees, but I'm pretty sure you just made the courts wetter where I just dried them with my useless towels. "

You might think that made my point, but we are dealing with a stupid person, and a man who is 15 years my senior. So, that didn't sink in. I'm just a silly old house wife and all, so what would I know. Old me would have said, hey, dumbass, stop talking to me like I'm the f-ing idiot here, and get the hell out. I'm pretty sure that would have gotten the point across, but since living in a neighborhood is a lot like being in 9th grade, I refrained.

So, is Current me smart, mature, and restrained or should I have let him have it Old me style?

First...blog...ever

I have been inspired to blog by 2 old friends I have reconnected with on Facebook. I keep putting off getting started because: #1, I am lazy, #2, I am intimidated by their awesome blogs, and #3, I am a procrastinator extraordinaire. The epitome of procrastocity. Yes, I just made that word up.
Since this is my introductory blog, I'm not even going to try to be funny. I'll just tell you a couple things about myself to get the ball rolling. I am married and have 2 boys ages 4 and 6. They are awesome. I am a much better mom than I ever thought I'd be. Hell, I never thought I'd be a mom, and if you asked me 15 years ago if I'd be a stay at home mom, tee ball coach, Vice-President of something or other on the PTA, tennis playing, suburbanite, I'd have laughed you off the planet. Yet here I am all of those things and a few others.
I hope I can inspired to try to write more often, if for no other reason than it beats the hell out of doing laundry. I really f***ing hate laundry. The dryer just went off. Great. Welcome to my world.