Friday, February 27, 2009

Playing With the Boys

Each Thursday night John (name has been changed to protect the privacy of my husband) talks me into playing pick-up basketball at our church with a bunch of guys. Don't get me wrong, I enjoy playing basketball, but being the only girl on the court can be a little scary. For example, it's a little terrifying when a 6"4, 200 plus man, puts his head down and drives to the basket. I know, Mr. White (my black high school basketball coach) would demand (well, more say in a post 1960 weed black out sort of way) "Now come on, get in that paint and stop the ball." I always made it a habit to follow the wise counsel of my basketball coach, but then again, I also would like to bare children one day.

The other scary part about playing with boys, is that they not only smell when they run around, but get incredibly sweaty. Last night I was guarding one guy who basically had sweat through his entire shirt. Each time I touched him, I subconsciously wiped my hand on my shirt and tried to stop the gag reflex. When I got home I felt like I had been swimming in a pool of sweaty bodies. (How's that image treatin' ya?)

Anyway, on the flip side I must admit that is fun to play, and occasionally, (after about 25 shots) make a couple. Let's just hope I don't die from being knocked into the wall or contracting some rare sweat related disease.

Thursday, February 26, 2009

My First AA Meeting

Two nights ago I had my first cooking class. We learned how to cut things properly, grill, and bake. However, as interesting as these new skills were, I have to say the more intriguing part was the opening introductions. One by one we all put our heads down in shame and spoke of our culinary disabilities. I honestly thought someone was going to get up and say they haven't had a drink in ten days and it's killing them. Seriously, it became not just a cooking class, but group therapy for people to admit that they once burned a steak, or used four times the garlic the recipe called for and almost killed their husband.

The other part that amazed me was the majority of the class were older women. They all spoke of how their husbands hate their cooking and their children all eat out. I can't imagine growing up in a home where a home cook meal is more of a death threat than a moment of bliss. (Yes, my parents' meals are moments of bliss and unicorns.)

Anyway, once we got the "confessions" out of the way, the class was actually a lot of fun. Okay, fun because I loved watching the older women destroy the easy recipes they gave us to cook. Honestly, one woman thought a "pinch of salt" meant you grab a handful and dump it into the pot. What are we playing at the beach with sand and making an imaginary meal? (Alright, I apologize for the sarcasm. And no, I didn't admit that I once killed Dan with ground pepper.)

I guess I have to end this entry now. My sponsor just called and said she is feeling like whipping something up. I got to get her off the ledge.

Wednesday, February 25, 2009

Mental Note

Lately, I've been making some mental notes to myself. I thought I would share them to show you my state of mind at this time:

1. Stop using mixing bowls as cereal bowls. You inevitably eat too much cereal and it's hard to slurp the milk at the end.

2. Drink more water. Your body cannot sustain strictly on the liquid it receives from sucking on jolly ranchers and the milk from your cereal.

3. Brush your teeth before John (name has been changed to protect the identity of my husband) comes home. You'll feel more like an adult, and you won’t be scared to open the door when the UPS man comes.

4. Stop worrying about who Jason will choose on The Bachelor. One, you don't know him. Two, his happiness won't affect yours in any way. Three, whoever he picks won't work out any way.

5. Don't start a Text Twist game as a break. This will become the afternoon obsession.

6. Read the Newsweeks that are piling up. Your boycott of anything Obama is only causing clutter.

7. Stop trying to run. Your hamstring and butt is completely pulled from two weekends ago. Remember you are almost 30.

8. Stop staring at people at the gym. There are mirrors everywhere and people see your expressions of horror while they grunt and moan as they lift.

9. Don't moan or grunt while lifting.

10. Stop listening to "American Boy" by Estelle and Kanye West. One, Kanye West is an idiot. Two, you will only end up singing in a high pitch voice, "Ameri-ccan Boy" all day.

I know, I too noticed there was no note to serve more or recycle. I am who I am.

*11. Don't stick your head into dinosaur's heads because that is just playing with fire.

Tuesday, February 24, 2009

I Still Haven't Found What I'm Looking For

Why do bands do it? Why do they put out crappy music after a long career of great music? For example, why did Guns N' Roses follow up Use Your Illusions I and II with The Spaghetti Incident? Why didn't Axel consult with Slash about ending their careers in 1993? I think a healthy conversation would have been good for everyone.

Where does this disgust come from? Well, the other day I downloaded the new U2 album, No Line On the Horizon, and I'm...well, disappointed. Didn't the album Pop teach these guys anything? Don't they remember the critical acclaim Joshua Tree, Achtung Baby, and All That You Can Leave Behind received? Why doesn't anyone consult with me? I think my brother, a die hard U2 fan, summed it up correctly when he said, "It just seems like they are trying too hard."


Dear Bono: Please make an Irish goodbye (Wikipedia this...very interesting) and go make another album.

Thanks. Kate

Thursday, February 19, 2009

It Wasn't Me

Last night I realized another reason why I love my husband.  At about midnight, John (name has been changed to protect the privacy of my husband) turned to me and asked what my best fart noise was.  Without hesitation I placed my hands over my mouth and let one rip.  For the next five minutes we created "sneak attack" farts, "just found a bathroom" farts and "that just felt good" farts.  I can only imagine what our neighbors think of us.

I must also admit that I have a hidden talent when it comes to fake fart noises. During road trips in college I used to love to wait until our bus got quiet and then I would break out a series of toots.  Of course, I would follow each with, "Holy Crap, who was that?" Or my personal favorite, "Sorry guys, it's gonna be a long trip."  I know I should have been more mature, but there was something so funny to me about watching my teammates' heads whip around in disgust.  Unfortunately, much to the dismay of my coach, most of my teammates caught whiff (pun intended) of my fun and joined in.  Again, nothing is funnier than traveling down 95 towards North Carolina and listening to a bunch of 20 year olds make fart noises.  

Tuesday, February 17, 2009

The Game of Coaching

I thought being a coach would be easy. I thought all I had to do was give the team some pointers, come up with some plays, set a schedule and show up for the games. Turns out coaching isn't that easy. This past weekend my team had a tournament up in Santa Barbara. During the first game I thought I was going to have a heart attack. Our attack was out of sync, our defense was non-existent and we were being completely out hustled. And all I could do was pace the sidelines and yell. No one told me that coaching is actually an ancient Chinese method of torture. Seriously, sometimes I feel like I would be more useful sitting in the stands holding a foam #1 finger.

Thankfully, our team turned it around and managed to win our next three games. However, in the last game I realized again I'm just not cut out to be a coach. At half time we were up 9-1, so I decided to pull some of my starters and play some people who hadn't seen any action over the weekend. I figured with a running clock and that kind of lead we would be fine. Unfortunately, the opposing team started to come back and I was faced with a moral dilemma. Do I pull these poor kids, who just aren't as talented as my other players, or do I let them finish the game and barely win? Eventually, I decided to keep them in, even though my team thought I was crazy. We ended up winning 9-7, but I think I learned a few things this weekend:

One: I need to find a way to suit up at half time and play for my team. Or take anger management classes.
Two: I need to get tougher and not care that my bench players have paid to play, have come to all the practices, kept away from drugs and alcohol and cry themselves to sleep each day they don't see the field. It's about winning. Plain and simple.

Yeah, I'm not really confident either I'll be able to carry out any of these realizations.

Friday, February 13, 2009

Really?? Seriously??

And this why I stick to celebrity gossip....

This morning I decided to read a little Drudge Report (yes, I'm a conservative) and here are some of the stories being reported today.

1. "Rapelay virtual rape game banned by Amazon"
A PC game that allows players to gang rape virtual women – and then force them to have an abortion – has been banned from Amazon.

Kate's Thoughts: Speechless.

2. "Mexican mayor aims to add spark to flagging sex lives"
Mayor Marcelo Ebrard of Mexico City is handing out free Viagra to poor men over 60 to make life more livable in the over-crowded city. This weekend, for Valentine's Day, the government is sponsoring a mass kiss-in, in an attempt to break the world record and raise awareness about domestic violence.

Kate's Thoughts: What about the freak accidents of women in their 50s and 60s having children? Won't that only increase the overpopulation? And, then a second thought: gross.

3. "Baby-faced boy Alfie Patten is father at 13"
Baby-faced Alfie, who is 13 but looks more like eight, became a father four days ago when his girlfriend Chantelle Steadman gave birth to 7lb 3oz Maisie Roxanne. He told how he and Chantelle, 15, decided against an abortion after discovering she was pregnant.

Kate's Thoughts: Seriously? Really? Seriously??

I think I'll stick to the controversy over K-Fed's weight and Chris Brown impending assault charge.

Thursday, February 12, 2009

I Confess...

I've always considered myself a non-addictive person.  For example, when I drank in high school I only did it for a year.  I kid.  It was only six months and then I was introduced to pot.  Sorry, it's a Thursday morning and my attempts at sarcasm are falling flat.  And Mom I never did those things.

So, anyway, I never did drugs, I never had the urge to eat an entire sheet cake, I never found myself on "questionable" websites, and I never ran 30 miles in a day because of the endorphins that were so overwhelming.  Truly on the outside I appear to be a very non-addictive person.  

However, for the past few weeks I've realized I do indeed have some severe addictions.  I think the first step to recovery is admitting  you have a problem.  So, if you will indulge me, here are some of the things I'm fighting, but losing the battle to:

1. Cereal.  Could there be anything more wonderful than cereal?  Honestly, I'm completely obsessed with it.  Typically, in one morning I eat two huge bowls and then have to actually say out loud, "Kate, you have had enough" while I (with a shaky hand) wash out my bowl.  

2. Reality TV.  I'll watch anything.  If you put a super nanny, a gay clown, an inspiring chef, a blind piano player and a talking dog together, and told them to build a tree fort in 20 minutes for a family, who lost their home in Katrina, I would not only watch it, but blog about it.

3. Gossip Websites.  Every morning I try to tell myself to read the news, learn something new and be an adult.  Unfortunately, after five minutes of reading about the stimulus plan battle, I can't fight the urge any longer to find out if, indeed, Chris Brown really hit Rihanna.  I swear I wouldn't know if Russia was blown up unless Brad Pitt was shooting a movie there during the time of the blast.

So, I know in the grand scheme of things these addictions don't seem that bad.  I mean, I know I didn't write things like, Twilight, cocaine or Miley Cyrus, but these are real struggles people.


Friday, February 6, 2009

I Want My Two Dollars

So, today I had a slight brush with death. Don't worry Mom I'm fine, but I still feel deeply rattled. Basically, I was being a moron and started to cross the road when I thought I had the right of way. Instead, it was the other traffic that had the right of way, and while blindly pedaling along, I looked up to see a white Camry slamming on its brakes. Once it came to a complete stop, about a foot away from my bike, the driver, who really had every right to kill me, blared its horn and gave me the universal, "Are you a total moron?" look. All I could do was sheepishly put my head down and slowly pedal across. About a block later I think I started to breathe again.

Thinking about this experience I realize I've been lucky. I never was trapped in a burning building, caught in a nuclear meltdown or held up at a convenience store. No, when it comes to death I've been pretty clear of its grasps. I think the only other time I thought I was going to die was when I refused to pay a taxi driver in Mongolia twenty cents. (Drum roll - yep, you are going to get the story)

One day we were walking through a typical "ghetto" of Mongolia when a car pulled off the dirt road and started towards us. We didn't think much of it, I mean when you see camels tied to a telephone pole and old women squatting down in public to urinate, you really think you've seen it all. Anyway, the driver of the car got out, and while pointing at us, starting yelling "Two Hundred turigs" or basically "20 cents." I couldn't really understand what he was saying, but I knew we didn't owe him any money. I figured he was just trying to intimidate us and steal our money. Therefore, I refused to pay and told him to leave. In response to our refusals, he picked up a large rock and cocked his arm back to throw it at us. I instantly shielded my head and watched the rock fly by me. Let me emphasize that this guy was about three feet from me, and had this rock made contact, I would be brain dead. Finally, we were able to get away from him and ran to an apartment complex.

Now the not so funny part. So, every driver in Mongolia is a taxi driver. All you have to do is flag a car down, tell them where you want to go and then pay them on the kilometer. I really think it's an ingenious idea. Think about walking to the store and all of the sudden you don't want to walk anymore. Flag a car down and there you go. Anyway, cars in Mongolia were always on empty and it was not unusual for drivers to actually turn off the car while going downhill to conserve gas. One day we got into a man's car, and before we had traveled 200 yards, his car shut down. We were in a hurry to make an appointment, so while he was getting gas down the road, we hopped out and flagged another car down. The man who demanded his 20 cents...was the man who's car we left. So, I had seen him before and I did owe him some money. Point for Kate.

Death...not so fun.

* The above picture is from one of John Cusask's greatest movies. And no, it's not the one where he holds up a stereo.

Thursday, February 5, 2009

Rainy Day

Today has just been one of those days when nothing, I mean NOTHING, seems to be going right.  For example, while trying to finish a project for, probably one of the most boring people I've ever met, I've had to cancel and send back an order of jerseys that were the wrong color, find a field somewhere in southern California for our lacrosse games this weekend (Rain = No Playing at Pepperdine), figure out a tournament I'm hosting that has no teams and field calls from every girl on my team.  Basically, I'm at a cross-road right now.  Do I continue attempting to work and take a mental stare break every 15 minutes?  Do I sneak into my den and watch Top Chef without my TV partner?  Should I read so I feel a little intelligent?  Should I eat some yogurt?  Should I facebook?  See so many decisions.

I think I'm finally becoming a full blown southern California girl.  Rain makes me bummed out.  If anyone is interested in playing a great tournament with no teams, please contact me.