I ventured into adult recreational kickball today. I hadn't played kickball since elementary school, and hadn't played a team sport since that unsuccessful season on Steve Stone's gay and lesbian softball team. But I am considerably more sporty than I was during either of those periods (though apparently I felt confident enough to throw my shirt off all Brandi Chastain-like after one of our softball games) so I figured this was a fun and good idea. And Good Brian was organizing it, so I knew it was going to be a fun group.
And it was a ton of fun. I played better than I had expected. I hauled ass and always at least made it to first, because f that, I ain't going out that way. In fact, I hauled ass to every base I was going for. And, round about an hour in, that was my literal downfall.
So I was sprinting to third. The ball had gone between third and second (left field, maybe?), so I knew my chances were slim, but where else was I going to go? So I just kept running, eye on third, try to get to third. And then I got tagged. And then I went down. I'm told it was a really violent fall. Unfortunately, it wasn't even a headshot, which would have gotten me a free base. All I remember was being face-down on the ground, everyone rushing around me, thinking, my god, just get up and tell everyone everything is OK. But my glasses had fallen off, and for some reason, that sudden facial nudity always boosts mild embarrassment into the realm of sheer mortification.
Now, of all the people on the field who might want to take me down, and I concede that there were many, I didn't expect it from this guy. I had never even met him, and we were not even taking score. He was embarrassed, too. Poor kid. I think that was the last time he tagged anyone.
Anyway, I got up and played on. It wasn't a big deal, except that my glasses are all messed up and crooked now, which threw off my depth perception. I'll have to get these fixed sometime this week. It was payback for the time I broke my roommate's glasses in a snow football game at Northwestern. Sorry, Marc.
I did get 2 more points (runs?) after The Incident. I should have taken Good Brian's advice and stretched more pre-game, though. I'm already pretty sore.When I got out of the car earlier, I had to use my hand to assist my leg. Pathetic.
I am looking forward to playing regularly. But maybe I should get some kind of face guard, like that guy in the NBA. Or some kind of helmet device. You know, to avoid embarrassment.
Wednesday, June 17, 2009
I brought in a few pairs of pants to the tailor today. Once again I was reminded of how adult I feel about the fact that I go to a tailor instead of just pulling up my pants all day. Of course, if I'd grown to an actual adult size, I wouldn't have to go to a tailor at all. No matter.
So round about the third pair, she says, "Lot of black pairs of pants, huh?" And I say, "What are the colors of pants that other people wear?" She says, "Oh, tan, grey. Other colors." And I was like, yeah, I don't really go in for those. And then I put on another pair of black pants, which I'd worn into her shop, and go to work. I just don't have creativity like that. I didn't even tell her about the 2 black skirts I'd bought this weekend, too.