Softball Season

Sorry, studmuffins. I've been away so long, you probably think I got sucked into a black hole with all of the socks that supposedly go into the dryer, along with my old camera cord. (Which, by the way, my mother actually found the other day. At my cabin. In a hand-held air pump box. For my old camera. That my dog stepped on. Arugh.) But the truth is, it spit me back out.
The reason for this is...softball.
I don't know what's it's like where you live, but here it's like life or death. All or nothing. If you play Peewee (heh heh, I always find that name kinda funny) softball, you are basically sacrificing three months of your life. And a lot of gasoline and Spitz.
In my league, we play about two or three games a week (every game is in this city an hour outside town) and a tournament almost every weekend. This past weekend it was in our hometown, which was awesome. We played against this one team, the Hustlers, and lost. We beat Team Two 18-1. Suckers. Next we beat Team Three by about five runs, I can't remember exactly. In the final was Team Two.
Now, they say that Team Two (who live four hours away from here) were all loading up into cars and their batcatcher, the best player on their team, was late. So they FORGOT her. Their coach, once realizing this, spent most of Saturday driving back and getting her and bringing her back. What losers.
When we were being recounted this story, one of my teammates, Ellen, said: "How can you forget the best player on your team?"
I said, "How can you forget a player, period?"
The mystery remains unsolved. But anyways, they supposedly got their act together on Sunday, when the Forgotten Batcatcher joined their alliances again. But not for us, the Kick Butters of Saskatchewan. We MERCIED them 17-2 in the FINAL. Heh heh heh!!!
My coach is awesome. His name is Chad, and he's only like twenty-five or something. He plays baseball and coaches our softball team, so he says it gets kinda confusing. We watched his game and embarassed him so bad by doing the stupid ball cheers that no one below Squirts actually does. This is the first one:
Chad's up to bat.
Chad's up to bat.
If I were you, and you were me,
I'd scoot my booty back.
Yeah, I'd scoot my booty back.
Way back!
Keep in mind most of these were like, twenty year old men. They were probably shocked. The second one was led by Ellen.
Chad, Chad, he's our man!
If he can't do it, no one can!
Oh, my God. That was sooooo hilarious. Everyone in the bleachers was loving us. Except for maybe Chad's girlfriend. Oops. Sorry.
I'm thinking maybe we screwed our chances to be picked for the Provincial team.
Oh, well. Good times, good times. I hope to always remember these shizznuggets of the good ol' ball years.

Utter Worthlessness

I love been utterly worthless.

Well, not really. And actually, if you've seen my mom's bills, I am far from worthless, what with my knee braces, orthotics, glasses, contacts, and AIDs.

Just kidding. I don't have contacts.

Today I am acting utterly worthless. I camped out in a city, sleeping in close quarters with FIVE other people, and having to play ball at eight o'clock in the morning. (And we had to warm up at SEVEN THIRTY.) I had a pretty good weekend of softball: I only struck out once, lots of singles, a few doubles. For those of you nitwits that don't get ball talk, striking out is bad. Singles is hitting the ball and running to first base. Doubles is going to second base.

And oh, I got two walks. I hate walks. I really really DESPISE walks. Walks is when the pitcher sucks and throws four balls (heh heh sorry but it means unsuitable to swing at) and they give you a freebie to first base. As I mentioned, I DETEST walks. It's like getting away with doing nothing. You didn't EARN anything. I prefer to hammer my way around the field, kicking up red shale and sliding into second and taking out the second baseman's legs so that they fall on top of you and whine for the rest of the game. (True story. Just yesterday. It was fun.) But anyways, we won. The tournament, I mean. It would seem a bigger deal if we didn't win three tournaments and Provincials last year. The last time my team didn't win a tournament was last April. And we placed second.

Wowzahs, we're spoiled.

So, today, I am being utterly worthless. I am vegging and reading and writing in my journal and blogging and procrastinating delivering papers because my muscles are sore. Also I'm lazy.

Tomorrow I'm going to the city for (get this) a BALL game, but it's my sister's. I'm gonna get my fish and also repair/purchase my/a old iPod/new iPod. That was a very convoluted sentence, as well. But it's true.

The only production of today was a drawing I made with my seldom-used pastels.

Abstract Eyes of Many Colors.

So, this was new. I don't generally abstract around too often, but it was fun. Less limits, less rules. I like eyes and art. I think they go good together, because so much be seen in eyes. Expressions and souls and emotions, and eyes are also the windows which we see things from.

Oh, and by the way, I seem to be The Last Human on Earth without Facebook. Am I missing anything?

iPods and Guinea Pigs

Can you find the Guinea Pig in the Stuffed Animals?

Ha ha. That's our guinea pig, Spice, that's wedged in there. She's an angora guinea pig. My mom teaches kindergarten, and Sugar and Spice are the main attractions.

I'm depressed. My iPod is not working. I press the menu or center button, it glows silver, beeps twice, and falls back into its black slumber. Or maybe COMA is more like it!!!

I have a ball tourney this weekend. We're camping, to save the cost of hotels. Heh. It should be fun. In between games, I'm going to bring my sleeping beauty to a Future Shop. Maybe the guy can raise it from the dead, for a fee of only 295, 378 dollars!

I have to clean my room and make banana bread to take camping, when I really want to sit down and play the Sims 2 for several mind-numbing hours.

But at least my Auntie gave me a Diet Pepsi. Diet Pepsi makes ya feel better.