Posted: June 25, 2008 in Uncategorized

Thirty-something years into the mystery of life, some things don’t change. I’m not getting any taller. I still have dimples. My eyes are still brown. And, apparently, I am still a sore loser. No need to coat it with a layer of delicious brown sugar, I just hate losing. I HATE IT!!! I especially abhor being on the short end of the stick when it comes to sporting events, in this case, softball.

Yes, yes, I know the cliches around it…trying to relive my youth, blah, blah, and blah. While I do not dispute the fact that all of us that engage in some sort of organize sporting activity are attempting to hang on to some glorious days of yesteryear, the competition of it should not be minimized because of this. Regardless of a person’s age, competition is competition, and even if it is coed softball on a Tuesday night, it is not to be taken lightly.

Before I run the risk of rambling, let me just summarize why my face is wrought with irritation: I sucked like a cheap Vietnamese hooker this evening. I sucked so bad I should have been charging five dollar for each love-you-long-time move. I looked like a retarded monkey with epilepsy that was also afflicted with two left hands and had patches over its eyes. Nevermind that my teammates faired equally as well because, quite frankly, I don’t care how bad they sucked it up. The bar for competitive performance is set high for me and me alone, and when I miss said bar (or rather, smack it with my forehead resulting in a concussion), I find that I want to lie in bathtub listening to Johnny Cash while twiddling with a razor blade.

So, um, not really. That was a bit melodramatic. I did suck it up and I am pissed at myself for letting my teammates down. The beauty about writing, however, is that it can allow you to get something off your chest and pack for your trip to Boston.

On a quick sidenote, I hate MASH and I do not understand why it is still in syndication. The phrase “fucking die already” has never been more applicable. Maybe they are waiting for Alan Alda to die, and if that’s the case, where’s my gun?

Lodi dodi, we likes to party…we don’t cause trouble, we don’t bother nobody.
–Slick Rick



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