That’s What She Said

Drinking Games–This shot at sports proves it’s really about the shots at the bar.

by Sarah Nielson

snielson@inthisweek.com

I’ve never been much of an athlete. In fact, I’ve spent a lifetime avoiding all sports-related activities. I suffered enough humiliation in gym classes as a kid that I’ve spent my entire adult life shunning all things sports. Especially ball sports - those childhood dodgeball bruises weren’t just physical ones.

When a friend of mine sent an e-mail about trying to find people for her kickball team, I thought, “What the hell?” It’s not like I had anything else going on Thursday nights, and maybe it was time to get over my fear of sports.

The kicker was when I found out the entire league goes to the bar together afterwards. I thought it would be a great way to meet new people. However, I overlooked one tiny detail: I have no athletic ability, and would soon be making a fool of myself in front of these people.

When I expressed this fear to my friend, she assured me that our team was there to have fun and none of the players were the competitive type. She also reminded me about the mid-season and end-of-season parties. I remembered hearing how much fun they had been the previous season, so I gave in and signed up.

I had the foresight to also sign up my younger, and much sportier, brother. It was the only way to be forgiven for any kickball blunders I would make during the season.

The first game went off without a snag, at least on my end. At the end of the game, there was a fight between the opposing team and the referee over a call, which I found more humorous than distressful.

It was the second game that made me want to give up kickball and find a sport more geared towards me. Something like synchronized drinking.

When it was my turn to kick I stood way too close to the plate. I admit I wasn’t really paying attention, but didn’t see why a woman on the opposing team felt the need to make snarky comments about it.

I’m the master of snark, but even I have my limits. I was livid. Frankly, if I thought I could have thrown the ball and hit her in the face, I would have. Instead, in a flustered state, I kicked the ball and got out at first. The second time I was up I didn’t fare any better.

I skipped the bar in lieu of a paper I needed to write for school, and immediately went home following the game. The thought of running into that woman at the bar may have had a little something to do with it as well.

I promised myself I’d play another couple of games before quitting. In life I’ve found having a plan helps me accomplish my goals. My plan is to drink enough before the game that I’m unaware of the fact I’m actually playing a sport.

It’s a well-thought-out plan and one that I hope will help. The pleasant buzz may also help with any anger issues if the next team decides to cop attitude. After all, a bottle of vodka is much cheaper than anger management classes.

To learn more about Salt Lake City’s kickball league visit www.kickball.com.

I was on my way to pick up my brother, Ben, and his girlfriend for the Ben Folds/Ben Lee concert when he called me.

Ben: “Hey, Sarah, quick question for you.  Do my hips swivel when I walk?”

Sarah: “Yup.  It’s like some crazy hip phenomenon.  I’m sure that’s why you’re always complaining about hip pain.”

Ben: “Hmm… no matter what, when my girlfriend asks you say no.”

His girlfriend didn’t ask, and I really don’t want to know why they were discussing my brother’s hips, just like he really didn’t want to read about my vibrator on the Internet.

I’m obsessed with Rlo’s balls. As I type this I’m suddenly wondering if his family members have stumbled upon this blog. Hmm…

At my last job I had a co-worker who occasionally rode his bike to work. Now, I understand bikers wear spandex, but when you arrive at the office you should change immediately. No one deserves to see co-workers in plum smugglers. NO ONE!

I don’t know if he forgot he was in spandex, or if he just got busy before changing. Whatever the case, I hated it. The first few times he tried to discuss work with me, while wearing spandex, I would politely ask him to put pants on. After a month of this I lost patience and told him I can’t work so close to his balls. I need distance! It got to the point I refused to acknowledge his presence until he changed out of his spandex. After a few months he finally broke the spandex habit. Every single one of his future co-workers owes me a bit thanks. Because of me, they will never have to be within close proximity of his balls.

What does this have to do with Rlo’s balls? He, too, is a biker. He, too, wears the dreaded spandex. Whenever Rlo and I make plans I always have to ask how many layers there will be between his balls and me. Before committing to plans, I require a promise of at least two layers. Is that really so much to ask?

Never share your music library with The Kid. He’s very judgmental over my Brittney Spears obsession.

The apartment I rent is currently being reroofed. It’s been a nightmare since day one when the roofers accidentally punched a hole in my bedroom ceiling. It’s definitely made for an interesting week.

My friend Maddie was in my living room changing her clothes when she noticed a man on my balcony. This was disconcerting for so many reasons, but number one being that he wasn’t watching her change. If there’s going to be a strange man standing on my balcony I want him there because he’s peeking in my windows and thinking to himself, “Damn that lady looks hot for 32!”

The noise level has driven my neurotic dog under my bed in an attempt to muffle the noise level. Last night, when trying to coax her out, I noticed she’s been hoarding items under my bed for safekeeping. The stuffed animals and dog bones I understood, but the roof shingles, rusty nails and gum wrappers didn’t make a whole lot of sense. I’m a tad curious to see what other objects the valley winds may blow into my bedroom before the hole is fixed. I’m hoping for a sexy man who cleans bathrooms and pours wine, but I’m worried the only man who could fit through the hole would be Dennis Kucinich. And as much as I love a Democrat in my bedroom, I’d have to pass.

For the past four years I’ve lived in a cute little apartment in the down town area. As much as I’ve loved having a bedroom loft it’s time to let go. I’ve decided to move in with my brother, Ben, in an effort to save some money. I want to buy my own place soon, and I can’t do that without first saving some money.

I should have bought years ago, but in the back of my mind I always assumed I’d get married and we’d buy a house together. I’m now disgusted with myself for waiting. I am independent enough I can do this alone. I hope…

Ben and I lived together a few years ago and the entertainment value was priceless. If you do a quick search for “Ben” on this site, you’ll see why. The kid has a strange fixation with banjos–read here and here. Living alone has been a tad lonely lately, and truthfully I’m excited to have someone human around to talk to–especially since Ben is so weird and always makes me laugh. Read here and here if you don’t believe me.

Ben made me promise I wouldn’t try and run his life, or call him Benjaminoballbaby in front of his friends. I happily agreed because calling him Ben-jina in public is much funnier. For being a straight guy, he sure hates hearing the word vagina.