K is for Kickball

Once upon a time, I loved PE--back when PE consisted of innocent games like tag, and jump rope, and four square.  But in sixth grade, I developed a burning hatred for PE that smolders within me to this day.

It's not that I didn't want to exercise.  I would've done a million jumping jacks if that was what they wanted.  No, I hated PE because all we ever did was play kickball.

We had two gym teachers.  One was tiny and alarmingly muscular; the other was morbidly obese.  At the beginning of each class, they led us through ten minutes of cursory sit-ups and toe-touches, then divided us into teams and barked, "Kickball today!" before adjourning to the other side of the gym for a 50-minute conversation.

Every kid at this school knew all the rules and regulations of kickball by instinct, except me.  It took me two months just to get a general sense of what was considered good and what was considered bad, and even then, I spent most of my time near the back of the gym, with no idea who was winning or losing, hoping with every fiber of my being that the ball wouldn't come toward me.

That ball was my arch nemesis.

In kickball, if you catch your opponent's ball before it hits the ground, they're automatically out.

But from an evolutionary perspective, if an object the size of your head is hurtling toward you, your immediate instinct is not to stand there with your arms spread wide.  Your immediate instinct is to cover your head and flee.

I could not bring myself to catch that ball.  Not once.

My teammates hated me.

But that's okay, because if the earth is ever pelted with blazing asteroids, I will have a distinct advantage.

So in the long run, I win.

Tweet

J is for Just Kidding

While I was visiting my parents last month (and watching way too many back-to-back episodes of House Hunters), my dad went to the doctor.  He called us on his way home, and I answered the phone.

My dad did this.  He really did.

This probably explains a lot about my twisted sense of humor.

Tweet

I is for I Promised You Bears

Back when I announced that I was participating in the A-Z Challenge, I said there might be bears.  I didn't really mean to say this.  I just sort of typed it, and then I thought, "except there probably won't be bears," but I didn't bother deleting it.

Then, when I posted the announcement on Facebook, I made it even harder for myself by making them mutant zombie bears.

Well, Hubs, I already HAD an idea for an "M" topic, so I'm sneaking this in as my "I" post instead.  See what I did there?

Now I feel like I need to deliver this promise of mutant zombie bears.  I also can't stop thinking about what the hell a mutant zombie bear is, exactly.  So here is my interpretation of what mutant zombie bears would probably look like, if the bear population ever mutates and contracts a rare virus that causes corpses to reanimate as brain-eating monsters.

This one is capable of attacking by land or sea.  If you manage to dodge his razor-sharp teeth, he'll just gore you with his antlers instead.  He also enjoys sushi and long walks on the beach.

You thought bears were fast when chasing prey on their four powerful legs?  Now they can fly, too!  Think twice about the popular "climb a tree" strategy.  Actually, you shouldn't do that with a regular bear, either.  They can all climb trees.

If these guys catch you, you're pretty much screwed.  But if you look on the bright side, your mauling will be over three times as fast.  Also, if you're capable of any movement whatsoever, you have a distinct advantage, because running with that extra leg looks like it would be awkward.

Tweet

H is for House Hunters: Realistic Edition

Whenever I visit my parents, I am enthralled by their satellite TV like a cave woman who has just been thawed out of a glacier.  One of the shows that invariably captivates me for hours is House Hunters.  Something about those upper-middle-class couples struggling to choose between a backyard pool or long-range views is almost hypnotic.

What I'd really love to see, though, is a realistic version of House Hunters, in which people on a shoestring budget grapple with harsh realities.

HOUSE HUNTERS:  REALISTIC EDITION

Today on House Hunters: Realistic Edition, we're following a young couple looking for a home in lovely Asheville, North Carolina.  They have not set a budget because "all the numbers are just so big."

House #1

House #1 is actually an apartment in a historic north Asheville neighborhood, just a quick 20-minute walk to downtown.  The building has no elevator, so the apartment is only accessible by three flights of weird old stairs.

This apartment features hardwood floors, washer/dryer hookups that occasionally make a mysterious gurgling sound, and all-new kitchen appliances as of 1992.

Haley and Ari are impressed by the convenient location and historic charm, but also concerned about the high price.  They decide to consider some properties a little further from Asheville.

HOUSE #2

Only a short 45-minute drive from Asheville, House #2 is an early 1980s mobile home that has been updated by a drunk, chain-smoking Greek man who enjoys carpentry and is also the landlord.  Located at an elevation of over 3,000 feet on a mountain that is called either Buck Cove or Buckeye Cove, no one seems to be quite sure, this quaint trailer-cabin is accessible via a dirt ravine that vaguely resembles a road.

The trailer-cabin is heated by a small "high-efficiency" wood stove and a propane tank that the landlord swears will last all winter.  When there are no leaves on the trees, you can almost barely see the very top of Cold Mountain from the deck.  Inside the house, however, Haley and Ari are not impressed with the floor coverings.

House #2 is also the cheapest option, which is good for Haley and Ari's nonexistent budget.

HOUSE #3

Slightly terrified by House #2, yet wanting to throw up a little bit when they consider the cost of House #1, Haley and Ari view one more property, this time in the neighboring (if by neighboring you mean "separated by a mountain range") town of Waynesville, North Carolina.

House #3 features an actual yard, a garage, a deck, a porch with weird outdoor carpet but we'll overlook that for now, a giant stone fireplace, and central heating and cooling.  It is slightly more expensive than House #2, but still far cheaper than House #1.

The cost still makes Haley and Ari want to throw up a little bit, and they're no longer in the same city they intended to live in, but after taking thirty seconds to consider their options, they decide to go with House #3.

Six months later…

Coming up next, you don't want to miss Renovations Gone Wrong.
~*~

For the record, those are all places we've actually lived.  We have been living in House #3 for almost two years now, and we like it very much now that we've sprayed the yard sale couches for fleas.

Tweet

G is for Getting Myself to Write

Getting myself to write is a complicated task, fraught with subtle psychological manipulation, and snacks.

First I need 9 or 10 hours of sleep because I have the metabolism of a sloth.  7 or 8 hours just do not cut it.

I don't drink coffee, so I'm not one of those writers who camps out in a cute coffee shop, downing cappuccinos and pecking feverishly at my laptop.  Caffeine gives me paralyzing ADD.  Not the hyper kind--the literally paralyzing kind where you're bombarded by so many random, bizarre thoughts that you barely even realize you've been staring at a wall for the past ten minutes without moving.

Once I've awoken without the aid of coffee, I plop down in front of my laptop with a bowl of cereal and good intentions, only to spend 45 minutes checking Facebook, reading other people's blogs, and answering e-mails.  Well, reading e-mails and deciding to answer them later.  With that out of the way, I decide I've been sitting at my desk too long and resolve to begin my day in earnest now.

Convinced I'll be able to concentrate more on writing if I burn off some pent-up energy, I take a walk.

 

 

After my walk, I need to rest for a while.

Then I need a snack, because I can't be expected to write while my blood sugar is low.  And while I'm eating, I might as well watch something entertaining on the Internet.

Then one of our cats curls up in my lap, and I watch another hour of Internet TV because he's napping and I don't want to disturb him.

Finally, I get burned out on whatever I'm watching and decide I actually do feel like writing now, so I reach over the cat and poke awkwardly at my keyboard*.

It's amazing I manage to accomplish anything at all.

*Actually, that's only true part of the time.  When I'm writing a long post, I write in a notebook first and then type it.  As a matter of fact, that's what I did with this post!

Tweet

F is for Functioning without a Smartphone

I am a rarity in the realm of first-world twentysomethings.  I do not have a smartphone.

I haven't abstained from owning a smartphone because I hate technology.  Like many of my peers, I have a crippling addiction to social media and would much rather e-mail someone than call them on the phone and speak with our voices. 

The thing is, I already have the technology I need in order to accomplish my day-to-day goals.  I can't justify spending my meager income on a smartphone that I really don't need.  It's not the actual smartphone I can't afford--refurbished ones are pretty reasonable--it's the monthly phone bill that comes with it.  I'm sort of poor right now while I try to convince the Internet to make me famous.  Not living-in-a-cardboard-box poor, but the kind of poor where having $20 left in my account at the end of the month is cause for celebration.  (Ironically, that celebration usually involves spending the last $20.)  I know some people who would rather eat dry spaghetti out of a garbage can every night than sacrifice the ability to update social media everywhere they go, and then they would Instagram their dry garbage-can spaghetti dinner.  I am not those people.

I'm sure I'll get a smartphone someday, when doing so won't involve giving up electricity or running water, or when smartphones become the only remaining phone option and I have no choice.  In the meantime, I am constantly amused by people's reactions to my lack of a smartphone.  You would think the world's technology level had gone straight from nomadic hunting and gathering to the iPhone 5, people are that baffled by my ability to survive without a smartphone.

Again, I really have nothing against smartphones.  Many of the apps are downright impressive, and some are even useful.  I just don't absolutely need that level of technology.  My job doesn't require that I check my e-mail 24/7.  If I want to photograph something, I have a digital camera that fits in my purse or backpack.  If I need directions, I have a pocket-sized GPS.  If I want to listen to music, my beleaguered iPod still works after six years of faithful service.  If I'm stranded on the side of the road and need to call a ride, I have my (apparently archaic) pre-paid cell phone that costs $12 a month.  If I need to know where to hide a dead body, I should probably be in jail.  Having all these technologies consolidated into one piece of equipment is convenient, yes, but people forget that it's a luxury, not an absolute necessity.

Until I accidentally drop my digital camera off the side of a mountain and my GPS gets smashed in the bottom of my backpack and my iPod finally dies.  Then maybe I'll get a smartphone.

Tweet

E is for Effort

Even though I'm married, I occasionally get hit on.  For the most part, these misguided pickup attempts serve as a nice self-esteem boost, but I feel kind of bad for the guy in question--unless he's creepy.  I've never been happier to be able to say, "Nope, married!" than when I'm approached by the likes of this:

But in the case of average guys who are neither inbred nor brewing meth in their toilet, I sometimes wish I could give constructive criticism, like, "No, but good effort, and I love how you worked it so seamlessly into the conversation," or "No, but outstanding use of humor, and extra points for using advanced vocabulary terms."

This is how I imagine it could work:

See how that really softened the blow of rejection?  This is the future of dating, right here.

Tweet