On Sports

I've noticed that football is a big deal in some parts of the country (say places like Kansas or something). And it got me to thinking about what I know about football. The answer is some, but my brain was too lazy to pull up the details. So I started writing down what I know and figured it would amuse myself and irritate those folks who really care about it.

There's eight or ten, or maybe seven people playing at a time. You've got a quarterback, the catching dude, a couple of frontlines-men, some backends-men, and some siderunners. Hmm. I think that's eight folks playing. The ball is chucked between the knees to the catching dude who starts looking around like a prairie dog, or a meerkat. He may actually be the quarterback. The ball is thrown around, people fall on each other, and running happens.

At some point, something happens and the referee throws his panties on the field. Arguing happens. Sometimes two pairs of panties land on the field. The t.v. commentators get excited and start diagraming geometry problems on the screen. Knowing that the last geometry class I took hurt my brain, I take a potty break. Or I check on the food preparations. Or I get a beer.

There is often talk of yards and something about downs and there is some inverted math problem involved with how many tries each team gets to move forward so much before it's the other team's turn to try. When a team reaches the end of the field, there is much cheering, just like what happens when I play checkers and my checker makes it across the field. However, unlike checkers, the players don't get crowned. They get six points, instead. Which is really a random number if you think about it. Basketball scoring at first seems random, but is actually pretty logical.

Anyway, six points happen, cheering happens, and then sometimes one of the dudes on the team morphs into a kicking dude (or maybe he's a separate dude who is waiting on the sidelines and practicing kicks with the cheerleaders). He shows up, has one leg way more muscular than the other, and kicks a non-round ball through two high-up spokes on a giant fork. Sometimes the football makes it through and then there is more cheering, followed by an enthusiastic round of ass-pats.

The game eventually runs out of time and the team with the most points wins...although, to hear the interviews afterward, the idea of winning because you have the most points seems too difficult for reporters to understand. They always ask things like, "What did you guys do to win?" If the players started answering correctly, the reporters would finally understand and stop asking each time.

Anyway. Football: ass-pats, panties on the field, and me taking frequent snack breaks, which is why baseball calls itself the American sport.

An Erinku:
working on homework
in the meantime
until more
adventures happen

Sometimes grim

I am nearing a year and a half milestone in my life: in February 2010, I was diagnosed with (and began treatment for) post-traumatic stress disorder. I went through several rather horrible experiences in a rather short time through 2009 and my typical methods for dealing with life challenges completely failed me. It turns out there are some events you can't laugh yourself through. Currently, I'm still rather grim on some topics and I've still got baggage (or luggage, since that's a more travel-friendly way of looking at things). But overall, I'm finally starting to enjoy my 30's.

It seems that where I was raised (and it could be the filters I look through), it was quietly understood that only screwed-up folk went to therapy, not normal people, so I ended up stalling looking for help for about five months, until things were too tough for me to handle anymore. PTSD is not a fun adventure and one I wouldn't wish on anyone (no matter their level of ass-hat-iness).

I haven't been terribly open about the details to too many people and I'm currently working through that on my own. My adventure of writing a novel last Labor Day weekend revolved solely around my situation and the different levels of hell I've been through, which is another reason no one has seen the novel, besides me. I'm gathering courage to re-read it and send it out into the world (with a pseudonym, of course).

Anyway, I guess this public-service-like announcement is to say that sometimes life situations kick your ass and that there is hope and help for you. In fact, you probably have someone in your circle that has been to (or is currently) in therapy and can refer you to someone who can help.

There are many situations where the person on the receiving end of a bad adventure (I actively try not to think of myself as a victim) remains silent, which only perpetuates the idea that hurtful actions are all right. I'm a big fan of pretending that you only have one little life on this big, beautiful planet, and that you need to try to be the best person you can be. And I mean that in a concrete, real way, not some abstract bullshit rationalization of how your actions are theoretically helping humanity. No. Be as decent a person as you can all the time and in all your interactions. The end.

An Erinku:
oh, the pain
of heat and humidity
dear thunderstorm
please start now!

Home and back again

I've been putting off writing a blog because I feel I'm expected to write of the awesomeness of my adventures in Costa Rica. And yes, the adventures WERE awesome! I climbed up volcanoes, I zip-lined through rain forest, I sunburned epically at the beach, I got bit by mosquitoes that possibly carried a variety of new-to-me diseases, I saw monkeys and toucans and lizards, and I drank coffee in a blissful manner. This was all awesome and I had very few episodes of laughing at my fellow humans...and therefore not too many stories to share, especially since I took a boat-load of pictures and wrote somewhat descriptive captions for them.

All I know is that I'm a woman on the move and have a few short days left until my next out-of-state travelling adventure. 2011 is the year of travel, it seems. I was thinking of my year of travel and my lack of blog today at the day job. It's the time of year where I work many, many hours and come home to work on the projects that somehow migrated to my place. Right. I was thinking of things and stuff when a return student popped into my office because they needed a new i.d. card.

This is normal, since I'm the keeper of the picture-taking-camera. But. As I reached for the i.d. card log, I saw the student yoink something off my shelf and stick it in their pocket without missing a conversational beat. Since it was one of our promotional lip balms (which I hand out all the time to everyone, anyway) it wasn't really a big deal. Except my first thought was "Very experienced shoplifter."

I've worked retail for 18 years and some habits don't go away. Like the ability to spot sketchy behaviour. Or the ability to see someone yoink something off your shelf from the corner of your eye. So. Student got themselves a lip balm, a label as a thief, and a mental note to never invite them over for dinner. I like my forks too much to have them yoinked.

Moral of today's story: yoink is my favorite verb currently.

An Erinku (like lemonade with a twist):
It seems
I can't count to 16.
I reach 8 and think
"that's enough." Bah!