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Posts tagged ‘humor’

Volleyball… I’m Improving. Maybe?

Oops. Again. So that blog every other day thing hasn’t really worked out yet, but this is better than never? The day gets away from me pretty easy. I won’t let it happen again (yes, I will).

I mentioned earlier that I was playing in a volleyball league. Or well, I mentioned that I was a bad player in a volleyball league and that is still accurate. I haven’t been able to make it to a lot of the games until recently and last week’s got cancelled due to impending weather: a tornado warning. I guess I truly am a Kansas resident now because when I was a kid I used to pack up my belongings (dolls, a blanket, the cat) and start heading to the basement at tornado watches but now it doesn’t faze me. Granted, If I was living in the rural area my parents are moving to I would probably cry every time the wind blew particularly strongly,  but tornadoes don’t usually touch down in the city (knock on wood.) I was ready to head over and play until the second it got cancelled. The cancellation meant that my out of shape self had to play six games on Sunday instead of three.

Tornado warning

It was murder. I exercise the same way I write this blog: sporadically. I was not ready to play six back to back games against teams that contained largely big and powerful guys while all I had to drink was beer. This shows you how bad it was because I never complain about beer. I plan to blog about my recent trip to the Boulevard Brewery later but we got free samples of beer there. I didn’t like all of them, but I drank them all down. I may not be committed to much, but I like my alcohol. So that’s something, I guess. The rest of my team seemed more enthusiastic about the beer the whole time, but they were similarity fatigued. So we lost a lot, obviously. However, I did figure out some things I was good for during these six brutal matches.

A Participant: I showed up ten minutes late because I was heading to the court from a different location and I got lost, so the first game had already started. There were only five other girls there so they were thrilled to see me because I was another body and technically I could be helpful. It meant I played every minute of all the games but at least I was needed. One thing I am still not good at is directions.

Server: I have a decent, pretty reliable serve. I cannot serve overhand, I cannot put much power into it, but I can consistently make it over the net. This was obvious because of the two out of six games we won, I got half the points in one game. We actually looked really good during that game, another girl and I scored all the points. Unfortunately, our spectators showed up later when we lost 15-2. Hey, I just realized that if we won two out of six games that’s winning 1/3 of our games. It doesn’t sound so bad that way.

Volleyball defense

At no point did I look this cool and focused.

Comic Relief: I screech when fast serves come at me, instead of yelling that I have the ball I yell “I think I got it”, and sometimes I just call out “oh shit” instead. Plus, I dance around to the pop music blaring any time I get distracted. This can be bad because, yes, a ball did come flying at me when I wasn’t paying attention. But I actually hit it better than some of the ones I was prepared for.

Drinker of The Beer: Well, everyone can do this pretty well. Next time we play I will be Bringer of The Beer, which is probably more of an asset from the team’s point of view.

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My Afternoon Snack

Last year, when I was a broke philanthropist instead of a broke waitress, I spent a year leading youth on volunteer projects for various nonprofits. This was an absolute blast. My job was basically to be cheerful, make sure the work got done, and that no one was bleeding. Or to administer proper care when someone did bleed. The previous leaders said they never had to break out the first aid kid. Me? Almost all of my summer projects involved a boy who said he was a Parkour champion in Australia. It was only halfway through the summer when I could predict he was about to do something and successfully stop it. I wasn’t there he dived into a creek and broke his arm but I was around when he did somehow cut his foot open in a kiddie wadding pool.

This kid does not matter to my story but he was at the volunteer project I’m about to talk about, and I will probably be telling stories about him until I die. I mean not everyone is an Olympic swimmer who owns several snow leopards, is related to all my favorite actors, and won a donut eating contest at the Irish Festival the same night I was there, even though I didn’t see the contest, but everyone knows that the Irish are synonymous with donuts.

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It was the volunteer project I drew the short straw on. I was at an animal shelter with a majority of youth who were 11, and two teenagers that acted like they were. Our main duties were separating newspaper pages into two columns, removing staples from said pages, and stuffing envelopes. This is not a normal project, but we make an exception for this agency because the kids get to play with cats for thirty minutes at the end and operate a big shredder. The shredder is for the papers, not the cats. Secretly, I still thought the perks weren’t enough to make the project interesting, and the kids not secretly and very loudly agreed with this.

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It was right after lunch and playing games when we were on the second half of sorting papers. This was the period when cat time was so close but still not upon us, and they were still silly from their break and dreading more newspaper work. At junctures like these the job of the team leader is annoy kids to death with peppiness, conversations, and riddles while they complete their mind numbing tasks. I was surprised how much kids love riddles, and how bad they were at them, but they weren’t having my distractions that day.

We worked in a cramped office with four other people and the kids were trying to find anything more interesting than newspaper pages to occupy their time. One child’s eyes lit up, or at least lost their glassy, bored look, when he spotted a box of desserts on the table. He asked our volunteer coordinator for one of the cookies he discovered. We were at an animal shelter, the cookies were little grainy yellow circles, and the box they were in had bones drawn on it. She offered him one and when all the other kids started shouting “eww!” he cottoned onto what they were. The volunteer coordinator snacked on one and asked if anyone else wanted one. The kids thought this was the grossest thing they’d ever heard. I know because they said so loudly and a lot for a very long time.

The treats came from a special dog bakery, a really cute store that my poor dogs will never experience because holy crap it is expensive, called Three Dog Bakery. I have no idea if they are national or not. Many of treats are made with ingredients that humans normally eat. The only difference is that the flavoring is not what we’re used to because the dogs don’t need it. So she explained that while they will taste different, it was just like eating any other cookie but the sugar and a few other ingredients were missing.

 

The kids still thought this was the grossest thing they ever heard. The dog treats were perfectly edible for humans, one kid originally wanted one, but no one would touch them even though they were all offered. Having them labeled as a dog treat was too repellant, and they could not wrap their mind around the fact that humans were welcome to eat them. They were “dog treats” and they couldn’t see them as anything else, even the kids that were curious weren’t going to admit that to the others and be labeled a dog biscuit eater for the rest of the summer.

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When she turned and asked if I wanted one, I immediately nodded and popped one into my mouth. If it is a cookie and I am allowed to eat it, then I will eat it. I don’t even understand how there is another option. They were gross though. I need sugar. All the kids stared slack jawed at me and waited for me to sprout a tail and start barking or something. For the record, the weirdest thing anyone ate that summer was a live roly poly.

I suppose my point is that, when I walked into my aunts living room today eating a cookie shaped like a sheep, I was not all that horrified when I was informed that it was a dog treat. When I bit into it, it was kind of dense. However, it was also adorable and it had frosting and what looked like coconut shavings. I was told to help myself to anything in the fridge. It was in the fridge.

I did end up giving most of it to my dog. I chipped my tooth a month ago (and massively freaked out over it) so once I learned it wasn’t just a hard cookie and was meant for dog teeth, I shared. I did scrape most of the frosting off it though. He wouldn’t have appreciated it and I definitely did.

I tried to explain my summer story to my family, and that humans could eat these treats, but it was very hard to hear me over the laughter. See, that’s a true family. They got over being grossed out extremely quickly so they could get to the mocking. My mom started barking at me. My eighty two year old aunt joined in. My mom asked “How could you do that… No Nicole, how could e-w-e do that?” I wondered why they were keeping dog cookies in the fridge. My mom retorted with, “You weren’t even drunk!” They. Could. Not. Stop. Laughing. Even when my mother would say something incomprehensible, she would just recover with, “well at least I’m not a dog biscuit eater”. They kept saying woof woof. I turned to my mom and said we should probably leave and pretended to get up.  My mom shook her head. I sighed and relaxed back into the couch. “Good girl”, she said.

Investigating.

 

Sometimes I’m pretty sharp. Then there’s the other times when I can’t even get the simplest jokes. Like this one. My friend told this to me over dinner and I was too busy picturing an alligator wearing a vest to even bother with the joke. Adorable, right? Then I just didn’t get it. I got that he was wearing a vest but wasn’t sure why the ‘in’ part mattered. It didn’t click for minutes. My friends still laugh about it and one sent me this picture. I suppose the bright side is that it runs in the family. My mom had the exact same reaction to the joke I did and it took her the same amount of time to figure it out. But seriously, that alligator is so cute.

The Canary Yellow House

My mother listens to a relator every Saturday, even before my parents want to sell their house. This week he said that planting yellow flowers outside a home is a great idea. The color yellow is supposed to stimulate an urge to buy in the subconscious. Our house is going to sell instantly. We don’t have yellow flowers. We have a bright yellow house. It was originally a pretty, very light yellow color that was so cool that no joke people pulled into our circle drive over the years and asked where to get that color (only two people but that still counts). Unfortunately, it retired or died or whatever happens to paint colors. So when it came time to paint again, my parents picked a suitable alternative. That turned out to be a bit more yellow than expected. Its bright. It’s almost neon in some lights. It looks like a canary in others. When the sun is shining it is a bright yellow beacon. It’s very fucking yellow. I wonder if too much yellow has the opposite effect of buying… which is not buying.

I know nothing about real estate. But I have heard that homes are supposed to be neutral and that includes the walls. I’m not claiming to know more than my parent’s real estate agent, but I do wonder how high she was when she looked at our house. Okay, a number of rooms in our house did get painted white because of some reason or another the realtor mentioned. Yet our house is still a rainbow. She didn’t have a problem with the dark yellow walls in the living room, or the bright red walls in the family room. I don’t know what the difference between the family and living rooms are but that’s what they’re called for some reason. No one uses our family room which is right across from our bright orange dining room. I love the dining room.  It’s honestly my favorite room because it makes no sense.

We had an ordinary dinning room with white walls, a dark table and a giant hutch thing made of some wood I don’t really care about but looked nice. Then one day my mom decided she was going to paint these nice tables and chairs white. And the hutch thing as well. I thought this would make the pieces look cheap. She thought they would look cool and unique. We were both kind of right. And the dinning room went from white to orange. And then she decided there were going to be gold sparkles on the wall. The best part is that sparkles turned out terrible so they’re only on one wall. The hutch thing covers most of it but some of the sparkles are clearly visible if you look. I wonder if its going to be uncovered when people look at the house or if that’s just going to be a fun surprise for them.

So the realtor is actually a very nice lady and I mean the thing about her being on drugs as a good thing. Because I have no idea how our house is going to sell but she is so crazy and cheery and insane that I actually believe it might despite us and our bright yellow house.

What color is your house? Or what is the craziest room in your house or apartment?

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