Monday, February 22, 2010

It’s really too bad my window for gold medal greatness has closed.

I can’t believe I haven’t written anything in more than a week.

It’s not because I haven’t wanted to but I have this thing, this problem, this…….migraine from HELL that doesn’t seem to want to go away. It must be a lot of fun INside my head, sadly this translates to not much fun OUTside my head. It’s keeping me from having coherent thoughts and also from doing anything at all that is not absolutely required. Whine, whine, whine, right?  I'm not dead yet.

On the other hand it’s been a great excuse to lie around all day watching the Olympics. I love the Olympics. I love the way there is a tale of triumph over adversity for every competitor. I’ve always had a secret dream to be a triumhpant Olympian, telling my story of how I overcame all of my obstacles to win gold. I would have been so inspiring.

For example, there's this-Once when I was in the 4th grade a friend and I were playing wiffle ball in my back yard. After a while my friend decided she didn’t like the rules we were using (I can’t say for sure, but I was possibly\probably not using the official wiffle ball federation guidelines), we exchanged a few harsh words and she decided it was close enough to dinner time to call it a day.

I became desperate, not only was this my one and only chance to play a sport with a bat, my mother having decided that because I was a.) a girl and b.) not very coordinated, that I was not allowed to play Little League like my brothers, but also my friend’s way cool teenage sister happened to be tanning on the roof of their house next door and I just knew if she could see how mature and athletic I was she would want me for a best friend and I would finally be free from the endless social torture known as “being the new girl in the 4th grade” and move on to the enviable position of "the girl with cool older friends".

I begged, I pleaded, I told her we could play by her rules, but she was done. Wiffle ball was dumb and she wanted to go home. She just did not understand or care about my dreams of being the best wiffle ball player in the world. Such a heartless little girl. As she walked away I took a look to make sure her sister was still frying in the afternoon sun and shouted a line from an inspirational story we had recently read at school about a boy who went on to win...something....I think.

“Quitters never win!” I cried. There! She would have to come back. No one wants to be a losing quitter, right?

The tanning sister lifted her head briefly to see what the commotion was, turned up her boom box and went back to her Teen Beat magazine; my friend didn’t even look back.

Thus ending my dreams of wiffle ball greatness and a post victory interview with Bob Costas, and securing my socially awkward role of "dorky new girl who shouts weird things" for months to come.  Okay, years to come.

Ps~The drywall is finally DONE!! Painting to start today.


Homer and Queen said...

I would have thrown the ball at her head!!!

Todd said...

I'm pretty sure that Wiffle-Ball is a Summer Olympic sport, so you've got almost two whole years to get ready. If you need any training tips, ask you little brother.

You know, now that I think about it, I remember reading somewhere that the Beastie Boys were big time Wiffle-Ball enthusiasts. So maybe you could form a team with them.