#12

First: massive props to Keith and his AWESOME repetoire of 80s low-lying hits. It made Saturday night better! =) Nothing like somebody who can appreciate and remember the b-side hits and obscure movie songs.

Second: Apparently Tom Brady was on Family Guy last night and I MISSED IT! Oye. There simply are not greater tragedies.

Third: Saw my long-time college friend Marcus Knight on tv yesterday playing for the Philadelphia Soul...wearing #12...which was my number in college...also shared with a certain aforementioned quarterback...coincidence? Maybe. Cool? Definitely.

Note to self: Never underestimate the power of chocolate.

Wrestlemania

So I finally get to a wrestling meet to cheer on some of my students...and what?! 3 of them get wins via forfeit. What the crap?! This is insane. In fact, only 3 or 4 kids actually wrestled. The rest of the meet was this: check in at the table, run out on the mat, ref raises Htown's arm in victory. Stupid.

But after going to the wrestling meet...it makes me want to revisit the men in spandex argument...

Note to self: I have a confession. I'm addicted to postsecret.blogspot.com. Strange, aren't you supposed to be healed after a confession? I just read the blog again. OYE.

Oye.

It has been a tough week in Turnerland.

It began with the loss of one of my favorite students to a car accident. Needless to say, my troops and I are hanging in there, but we're definitely not going to be right for awhile. The week continues with a 2.5 hour meeting with the Lord. Do I need to elaborate on that? mmmmm NO. And today is the end of 2nd quarter. As anyone knows, the end of a marking period is always a stressfully notable occasion on both sides of the desk.

Oye.

BUT I have also become addicted to TWO must-see shows: Carnivale and My Name is Earl. Earl is flippin hil-arious (I laughed so hard a little pee came out). Carnivale is totally weird but captivating. If you haven't indulged...whatcha waitin fo?

Note to self: Is it bad if I miss my cat? Is it bad if I can't get Rump Shaker out of my head? Is it bad if I love cookie dough in the plastic container as much as the warm cookies out of the oven? Is it bad if I like to write comments on papers because I like my pen? Such are the questions of my life.

Fiesta Pats and a volleying Geisha

Massive props to Tom and Amy for a kick ass Fiesta Mexicana on Saturday. Another nod to J. Co, Marisa, Casey, and all my other drinking game peeps. Nothing says noble more than holding your own at Kings! PS: next time, you must drink to play...no designated drinking Casey!

My beloved Brady is now at home. No longer to be donning the hot pants, masterfully crafting the deceptive offense of the Pats. Damn broncos. BUT, in lighter news, Peyton Manning is at home crying, moaning, and complaining because his Colts couldn't manage to pull one out over those Steelers. So, just because the Steelers made Peyton cry, I'm inclined to cheer for them.

Saw "Memoirs of a Geisha" yesterday. It was fabulous. I have once again decided that my boring English and Canadian heritage is not gonna cut it. Do you think I could manage to become a Geisha? Do they accept 5'10" of athletic prowess with a ghetto booty? Do they even make kimonos that large?

Note to self: Find a great tent print for making of kimono. Bring own water to movie theater. Stretch before playing tonight...no Geisha can be sore.

Playa playa

Words cannot express the amount of stress relieving and fun that occur when playing volleyball! Played in a tourney yesterday with my new team, Black Attack. Despite original thoughts that this team would be filled with players that fit the description of the title, my friend Heidi and I seemed to fit right in. Although we hadn't practiced together or even knew each other before stepping on the court, BA made it to the semifinals! A feat to be insanely proud of...and we had a blast too.

Now...the dark side of playing: soreness. Oh yeah. I can feel every muscle in my shoulders, back, behind, and legs. I am walking like a granny after hip and knee replacements. It is really funny in a way, but holy schnikes! No amount of hydration, fruit, and drugs could have prevented this, especially since I TRIED TO PREVENT IT! Ah well, at least I know those muscles exist.

And while we're on that note, I have a rant. I can't stand playing against 2 types of people. Type A: the ridiculously competitive "I-know-I'm-great-so-I'll-talk-trash-to-show-my-bitchiness" queen. Please. Leave your trash talking in college. We're adults now. We're not training 3 hours a day or more 7 days a week like we used to. There aren't coaching jobs at stake. There is no real "award" or recognition for playing. Aren't we supposed to be having FUN? If you need to trash talk like that, then might I suggest roller derby? becoming a lawyer? anger management?

And type B: the slimy older lady. Oh I know, how un-pc of me. But seriously. If you can't move, don't play. If you can't hit, don't play. If you can't play the way that the Volleyball God (aka Karch Kiraly) intended, then DON'T PLAY. Nothing is more irritating than slimy crap that older not-so-mobile-so-I'll-tip-retardedly-and-one-arm-everything play. Augh.

Note to self: Candy=good. Candy coating=gooood. Candy coating on Advil=priceless.