- Add something to my list of things to do that I've already done so I can cross it off and feel accomplished. Sometimes that's the whole list and then I sit down and relax whilst congratulating myself for excelling.
- Don't get dressed
- Curse and swear at other drivers. Actually not sometimes...
- Am very, very good. But mostly not.
- Have an extra cup of tea in the morning. Don't hate
- Eat cake. Also, not sometimes...
- Have a good hair day. Last November
- Sing out loud. And then I get shushed.
- Think I can dance. But then I can't
- Soothe myself with wine. Called cake.
- Talk to my cat. But it's ok because he talks back.How embarrassing would it be, if he ignored me?
- Count Mini Cooper's on the drive to work. But not obsessively. Because I don't do it on weekends. Because it doesn't count if it's not the same route.
- Don't make my bed. But I always wash the dishes.
- Wish I knew more about Physics so I could invent a portal and go home for the weekend. I've got the Marketing Plan ready to go, I'm just missing the science.
- Think about getting up but then I don't
- Think about ironing clothes before I actually need to wear them. And then I decide to wear something else.
- Have nowhere to go when I look really good. Which then reverses when I have somewhere to go.
- Hate beautiful people even though Pantene told me not to.
- Think I am mutton dressed as lamb
- Pretend I am going to get up and workout before work.
- Put workout clothes on and walk all the way to the couch
- Think I look good in hats. And then I put one on...
- Want to go camping. But just for one night, then hotel.
- Want to run away, travel, live off the land and have no cares and responsibilities but then I remember my retirement savings plan doesn't allow for that. And by retirement savings plan, I mean the lottery. And then I remember that I don't buy tickets.
Tuesday, November 26, 2013
Sometimes I...
Monday, November 25, 2013
Never Leave Your Ford Laser Unattended
Because if you do, it will get broken into. Ten times. America, your people might kill more than ours but we will rob you blind first. The first time was not long after I bought the car. As I mentioned, I got it from a boy racer who had invested in the latest stereo system. It was one of those that you could pull out and take with you when you left the car so that no one would steal it. So, every time I got out of the car, I would pull it out and put it under the driver's seat. Where all the criminals knew it was kept. So, they would smash my little quarter glass, reach under the seat and take it. They would also take a selection of my cassette tapes - I lost the Dirty Dancing Soundtrack tragically in the first wave. I find it offensive that they left some behind. You don't steal my stuff AND question my taste.
So, the insurance company and I would replace it. I went through two of those. With additional cassette casualties - James Reyne,* Living Colour, Terence Trent D'Arby. Mints. Various items of clothing. They did however leave my sunglasses. So now, they are calling into question my music taste and my fashion sense. I am being victimized from all directions.
Round two was the stereo with the detachable face. You just took the face off and put it in your handbag. Or under the seat. Apparently they knew about that one too. So after two of those, I finally learned my lesson and stopped putting things of value under the seat. Also, I moved to another city to evade the criminals. Who came with me. So, now they would just break into the car and look around at the complete emptiness of the interior. Apparently they needed to be in the car to determine this, they couldn't just look through the window. By now, the locks on both the passenger and driver sides were completely buggered so I carried a hammer in my glove box. When I had to get in the car, I would wiggle the lock three times and climb in through the passenger side. Then I could use the claw part of the hammer to lift the lock up on the driver side so I could exit with some dignity. After my dignified exit, I would then pound the lock down with the hammer, throw it in the car and walk off with a dignified air.
Eventually Dad got sick of me having to replace the quarter glass window so he replaced it with perspex. Take that criminals, now see if you can break my window and steal my stuff. So, they just took the whole car instead. Problem solved. Take that Special K and Special Dad. It wasn't just any old thief that finally took the car. It was a thief recently out of prison with a broken leg in a full cast. I was working in a bank in Auckland at the time when a customer came running in to ask if anyone owned a red Ford hatchback. Someone had just been seen smashing the window and driving off in it, with the police in hot pursuit.
After he hit a wall, he got out and climbed over it. Apparently forgetting his broken leg. Which hampered him at the bottom on the other side. Which is where the police found him.
*Who here hasn't sung along to James Reyne? Slave, One More River, She Don't Like That. Good job, Australia
So, the insurance company and I would replace it. I went through two of those. With additional cassette casualties - James Reyne,* Living Colour, Terence Trent D'Arby. Mints. Various items of clothing. They did however leave my sunglasses. So now, they are calling into question my music taste and my fashion sense. I am being victimized from all directions.
Round two was the stereo with the detachable face. You just took the face off and put it in your handbag. Or under the seat. Apparently they knew about that one too. So after two of those, I finally learned my lesson and stopped putting things of value under the seat. Also, I moved to another city to evade the criminals. Who came with me. So, now they would just break into the car and look around at the complete emptiness of the interior. Apparently they needed to be in the car to determine this, they couldn't just look through the window. By now, the locks on both the passenger and driver sides were completely buggered so I carried a hammer in my glove box. When I had to get in the car, I would wiggle the lock three times and climb in through the passenger side. Then I could use the claw part of the hammer to lift the lock up on the driver side so I could exit with some dignity. After my dignified exit, I would then pound the lock down with the hammer, throw it in the car and walk off with a dignified air.
Eventually Dad got sick of me having to replace the quarter glass window so he replaced it with perspex. Take that criminals, now see if you can break my window and steal my stuff. So, they just took the whole car instead. Problem solved. Take that Special K and Special Dad. It wasn't just any old thief that finally took the car. It was a thief recently out of prison with a broken leg in a full cast. I was working in a bank in Auckland at the time when a customer came running in to ask if anyone owned a red Ford hatchback. Someone had just been seen smashing the window and driving off in it, with the police in hot pursuit.
After he hit a wall, he got out and climbed over it. Apparently forgetting his broken leg. Which hampered him at the bottom on the other side. Which is where the police found him.
*Who here hasn't sung along to James Reyne? Slave, One More River, She Don't Like That. Good job, Australia
Friday, November 22, 2013
An Angry Post...
Dear Parking Nazi Person - sorry I don't know what your actual official title is so is it ok if I call you Parking F*&^%er? I'm so glad I was able to help you reach your quota this morning when you gave me a ticket for being parked on the street during street cleaning hours.
Because they're resealing all the roads around us, there was no where else for me to park so I was keeping an eye out so I could run out and drive around the block when the cleaner arrived. Instead, you arrived. And wouldn't let me move it, even though the cleaner wasn't even there yet. Because apparently you had already started the "process".
So, I am starting a new "process" and putting you on a payment plan. I will pay $5 every paycheck (every 2 weeks). Also I will stop wishing you harm because I am being the bigger person. Still the angrier person but definitely bigger because you were tiny.
When I tried to explain the situation to you, you agreed that it sucked. However you did not agree with me when I said you sucked. I feel like we got off on the wrong foot. Probably when you gave me a ticket. I thought about giving you a ticket. For the following:
Sincerely,
Special K - I will not pay!**
PS. Where are you after 8pm when you let anybody park on my restricted parking street? I wish I had your email address, I would send you emails every night. With all the license plates of the offenders. That might be nice, no?
*I didn't really cry, it was angry rage water. I did however, stomp and slam my front door. Which was ruined by the fact that he had already driven off.
**Well I will but what I wanted to write didn't rhyme and I'm not allowed to curse...
Because they're resealing all the roads around us, there was no where else for me to park so I was keeping an eye out so I could run out and drive around the block when the cleaner arrived. Instead, you arrived. And wouldn't let me move it, even though the cleaner wasn't even there yet. Because apparently you had already started the "process".
So, I am starting a new "process" and putting you on a payment plan. I will pay $5 every paycheck (every 2 weeks). Also I will stop wishing you harm because I am being the bigger person. Still the angrier person but definitely bigger because you were tiny.
When I tried to explain the situation to you, you agreed that it sucked. However you did not agree with me when I said you sucked. I feel like we got off on the wrong foot. Probably when you gave me a ticket. I thought about giving you a ticket. For the following:
- Double parking your official Parking F*&%er car to give me a ticket
- Being unreasonable
- Being unswayed by a woman's tears - what kind of animal are you?*
- Not asking how Albert is doing
- Having an ugly uniform, that was a bit tight
- Being a bad driver - you had a boo boo on your car which means either someone give you a special ticket in the form of a dent or you are a bad driver. From the way you were printing the ticket, I could see you were a bad driver
Sincerely,
Special K - I will not pay!**
PS. Where are you after 8pm when you let anybody park on my restricted parking street? I wish I had your email address, I would send you emails every night. With all the license plates of the offenders. That might be nice, no?
*I didn't really cry, it was angry rage water. I did however, stomp and slam my front door. Which was ruined by the fact that he had already driven off.
**Well I will but what I wanted to write didn't rhyme and I'm not allowed to curse...
Thursday, November 21, 2013
Cars - And On To The Next!
So I bought my first car. All by myself. A Ford Laser Sport Hatchback, 1984, I think. In bright red. With my student loan money which is probably illegal but since my year was the first year of student loans, there were no rules! And now we all still owe the government a lot of money. Except me, I just paid mine off. Goodbye retirement.
Anyway, let’s back off from the bitterness. I bought the car from a boy racer who met me at a petrol station for the exchange. I know there was paperwork involved, we both signed a napkin stating that I was buying the car for $5,000* and he was selling it and he’d left the ownership papers in the glovebox. Sort of how we do our taxes in New Zealand. Just write down on a bit of paper what you think you earned and owe and drop it off to the IRD when you feel like it. None of this, taxes must be done and posted to the IRS by April 15th or you will be killed, business.
This was a boy racer, who apparently didn’t realize that a hatchback is not really a boy racing kind of car but maybe he didn’t know because the Fast and the Furious hadn’t come out yet. And I wasn’t going to tell him, I was too busy worrying about how negotiating absolutely nothing out of the deal would be impacted by giving him comments like that. So, I ended up with a car that had Tweeters in the front** and in the back, 4 sub woofers bolted into the piece that is supposed to lift up when you open the hatch but no longer did. Meaning you could hardly slide anything into the boot (trunk) and had to go in through the back seats. I knew nothing about woofing and tweeting, I just knew my car had a heartbeat all of its own and people would turn and look when I drove along. Which is not my thing at all but I really had no clue on how to control the bass.
So, now I have my brand new car - only problem is I'm on the other side of town and I need to drive it home. And it's a manual (stick shift***). And I've never driven one before. Can't be that hard. I know when the engine starts to roar, you're supposed to change gears. I did not know about that pedally thing you're supposed to push down at the same time as you move the sticky thing. Picked that up real fast. Did not entirely master the moving smoothly through the gears piece. Not until 4 years later. I sweated a lot on that drive home. Mostly on a hill where I sat at the lights for 4 rounds with people tooting (beeping) at me, me revving the engine and trying to make it go forward and up but just going a lot of backward and down. In the end, I put on my hazard lights, took a time out and cried while the cars drove round me and gave me the finger (flipped me the bird). Eventually, I took a running leap at the hill and was up and over. Got back to my flat (apartment) and the car stayed in the driveway for 3 days. I was traumatised (traumatized).
But, I got back on the horse**** and figured it out. There was a lot of riding the clutch but that would become someone else's problem later on.
Did I mention that it had these sporty spotlights? For a while. Sometimes when you are driving in the rain and you are stopped at the lights, your foot will slip and you will be in gear and the car will hop forward into the next car. And then one of your lights will face down. And the wires will fall out. And there will be a person waiting at the bus stop, yelling "I saw it. I'll be a witness". And you can't drive over him because he is intellectually disabled and just trying to be a good citizen*****.
This car would actually be the bane of my life, through no fault of it's own. But wait, there's more. Just not today.
*I actually think this is what I paid for it which means I paid way too much, I don’t even think I negotiated at all. Which is why I now work as a negotiator and only ever use the word “no”.
**I keep wanting to write Twitters which now seems a much more common word than Tweeters. And I don’t really ever twitter my tweets much.
***I had no idea how much translating from New Zealand to American was involved when talking about cars. Apologies to my South Korean and Malaysian readers (up to 23 - what?). All I know is - bbo bbo and kentang. Neither of which has anything to do with cars unless your are kissing a potato in one.
****Which was good that I had a horse since I didn't want to drive my car.
*****But you want to. Just a little bit.
Anyway, let’s back off from the bitterness. I bought the car from a boy racer who met me at a petrol station for the exchange. I know there was paperwork involved, we both signed a napkin stating that I was buying the car for $5,000* and he was selling it and he’d left the ownership papers in the glovebox. Sort of how we do our taxes in New Zealand. Just write down on a bit of paper what you think you earned and owe and drop it off to the IRD when you feel like it. None of this, taxes must be done and posted to the IRS by April 15th or you will be killed, business.
This was a boy racer, who apparently didn’t realize that a hatchback is not really a boy racing kind of car but maybe he didn’t know because the Fast and the Furious hadn’t come out yet. And I wasn’t going to tell him, I was too busy worrying about how negotiating absolutely nothing out of the deal would be impacted by giving him comments like that. So, I ended up with a car that had Tweeters in the front** and in the back, 4 sub woofers bolted into the piece that is supposed to lift up when you open the hatch but no longer did. Meaning you could hardly slide anything into the boot (trunk) and had to go in through the back seats. I knew nothing about woofing and tweeting, I just knew my car had a heartbeat all of its own and people would turn and look when I drove along. Which is not my thing at all but I really had no clue on how to control the bass.
So, now I have my brand new car - only problem is I'm on the other side of town and I need to drive it home. And it's a manual (stick shift***). And I've never driven one before. Can't be that hard. I know when the engine starts to roar, you're supposed to change gears. I did not know about that pedally thing you're supposed to push down at the same time as you move the sticky thing. Picked that up real fast. Did not entirely master the moving smoothly through the gears piece. Not until 4 years later. I sweated a lot on that drive home. Mostly on a hill where I sat at the lights for 4 rounds with people tooting (beeping) at me, me revving the engine and trying to make it go forward and up but just going a lot of backward and down. In the end, I put on my hazard lights, took a time out and cried while the cars drove round me and gave me the finger (flipped me the bird). Eventually, I took a running leap at the hill and was up and over. Got back to my flat (apartment) and the car stayed in the driveway for 3 days. I was traumatised (traumatized).
But, I got back on the horse**** and figured it out. There was a lot of riding the clutch but that would become someone else's problem later on.
Did I mention that it had these sporty spotlights? For a while. Sometimes when you are driving in the rain and you are stopped at the lights, your foot will slip and you will be in gear and the car will hop forward into the next car. And then one of your lights will face down. And the wires will fall out. And there will be a person waiting at the bus stop, yelling "I saw it. I'll be a witness". And you can't drive over him because he is intellectually disabled and just trying to be a good citizen*****.
This car would actually be the bane of my life, through no fault of it's own. But wait, there's more. Just not today.
*I actually think this is what I paid for it which means I paid way too much, I don’t even think I negotiated at all. Which is why I now work as a negotiator and only ever use the word “no”.
**I keep wanting to write Twitters which now seems a much more common word than Tweeters. And I don’t really ever twitter my tweets much.
***I had no idea how much translating from New Zealand to American was involved when talking about cars. Apologies to my South Korean and Malaysian readers (up to 23 - what?). All I know is - bbo bbo and kentang. Neither of which has anything to do with cars unless your are kissing a potato in one.
****Which was good that I had a horse since I didn't want to drive my car.
*****But you want to. Just a little bit.
Wednesday, November 20, 2013
Dear etc
Dear Victoria's Secret Saleswomen - why are there so many of you? Why do all of you have to ask me if I need help? I didn't need help from the first one, so I'm unlikely to need help from the 5th. Why are there more of you than bras? Also, I have been wearing underwear for a very long time, I know what I need. And for the record, when you measured me, you got it wrong. I am size perfect.
Dear Other Drivers - You suck. Portlanders, you don't know how to drive in the sun and Los Angelians, you don't know how to drive in the rain. I however am a perfect driver.
Dear Trader Joe's - Why don't you have as many free samples as Whole Foods? Now I have to go to both of you.
Dear Wine - Ow.
Dear Albert - Run the vacuum around now and again, will you?
Dear Neighbors - Get out of my parking spot(s).
Dear Abs - Where are you?
Dear Wrinkles - No one likes you, go away.
Dear Morning People - I don't like morning. Or people.
Dear Math - What in the hell?
Dear Adulthood - Getting real sick of responsibilities and shit.
Dear Cake - Hi.
Dear Holiday Cookie Swap - I just swapped you for cocktails.
Dear Today - If it requires getting dressed, it's not happening.
Dear Universal Remote Control - You do not control the universe.
Dear Facebook - I don't really need you.
Dear Friends - I'd love to hang out but I have to sit in my house by myself.
Dear Secret Boyfriend - If I make you breakfast in bed, all I need is a simple thank you, none of this how did you get in the house crap...
Dear Lightbulbs in My House - Just because one of you goes out, doesn't mean the rest of you have to.
Dear two-kid families - You don't need the mini-van yet. Just get a sedan.
Dear Character Building Life Events - I have enough character now thanks.
Dear Other Drivers - You suck. Portlanders, you don't know how to drive in the sun and Los Angelians, you don't know how to drive in the rain. I however am a perfect driver.
Dear Trader Joe's - Why don't you have as many free samples as Whole Foods? Now I have to go to both of you.
Dear Wine - Ow.
Dear Albert - Run the vacuum around now and again, will you?
Dear Neighbors - Get out of my parking spot(s).
Dear Abs - Where are you?
Dear Wrinkles - No one likes you, go away.
Dear Morning People - I don't like morning. Or people.
Dear Math - What in the hell?
Dear Adulthood - Getting real sick of responsibilities and shit.
Dear Cake - Hi.
Dear Holiday Cookie Swap - I just swapped you for cocktails.
Dear Today - If it requires getting dressed, it's not happening.
Dear Universal Remote Control - You do not control the universe.
Dear Facebook - I don't really need you.
Dear Friends - I'd love to hang out but I have to sit in my house by myself.
Dear Secret Boyfriend - If I make you breakfast in bed, all I need is a simple thank you, none of this how did you get in the house crap...
Dear Lightbulbs in My House - Just because one of you goes out, doesn't mean the rest of you have to.
Dear two-kid families - You don't need the mini-van yet. Just get a sedan.
Dear Character Building Life Events - I have enough character now thanks.
Tuesday, November 19, 2013
Cars - Specifically, My First One
I was thinking the other day about the cars I have owned, which wasn't hard since there have only been three. The first was a hand me down from my parents - a Datsun 240k in a shade of something that I can't even describe. Bluey-purple. Actually, turns out I can describe it. This is the car we grew up with and in its hey day was considered something of a sports car. It was only two door - which is why I will always have four doors - and you could wind the windows down in the front and back without any barrier between the two which meant playing "Dukes of Hazzard" and sliding in and out without opening the doors was a piece of cake. There were hardly any accidents doing this.
It had sheepskin seat covers, a tape deck and was like driving a tank - no power steering so turning a corner meant you had to put your back into it. This is the car I learned to change a tire on and learned that showing your friends how fast you can reverse down a street does not end well when other cars are parked in your path. And are collector item Triumphs that have just been remodeled. So, you make your best friend come in to help explain to your parents, with the help of diagrams and re-enactments, just how such a mistake could happen when you merely reversed out a driveway.
The rule was, you got this car for your last year of high school so once my brother finished, we shared it. Which worked well since we went to the same University. I recall driving off for my third year, packed to the gills, playing "Born to be wild" as we headed out. I'm just now realizing how not cool this sounds.
Eventually I got tired of sharing and bought my own car which is another episode in itself. My brother resumed full responsibility for the Datsun and there it met its demise. Every time I would get in the car, something would fall off. Pull the sun visor down, pick it up off your lap and hold it yourself to shield your eyes. Attempt to wind the window down,* get the handle out of the glove box. Please put it back when you're done, I was directed. Then there was the incident while stopped at a traffic light - out of the corner of his eye, something rolled on by. Called his hub cap. A recon mission later that night recovered it and it was put back in its rightful place. The back seat. Eventually he decided to travel so the car had to be sold, also there were no longer any windscreens made for it so seemed the right time to get out. A collector bought it and even paid money.
Long live the Datsun!
It had sheepskin seat covers, a tape deck and was like driving a tank - no power steering so turning a corner meant you had to put your back into it. This is the car I learned to change a tire on and learned that showing your friends how fast you can reverse down a street does not end well when other cars are parked in your path. And are collector item Triumphs that have just been remodeled. So, you make your best friend come in to help explain to your parents, with the help of diagrams and re-enactments, just how such a mistake could happen when you merely reversed out a driveway.
The rule was, you got this car for your last year of high school so once my brother finished, we shared it. Which worked well since we went to the same University. I recall driving off for my third year, packed to the gills, playing "Born to be wild" as we headed out. I'm just now realizing how not cool this sounds.
Eventually I got tired of sharing and bought my own car which is another episode in itself. My brother resumed full responsibility for the Datsun and there it met its demise. Every time I would get in the car, something would fall off. Pull the sun visor down, pick it up off your lap and hold it yourself to shield your eyes. Attempt to wind the window down,* get the handle out of the glove box. Please put it back when you're done, I was directed. Then there was the incident while stopped at a traffic light - out of the corner of his eye, something rolled on by. Called his hub cap. A recon mission later that night recovered it and it was put back in its rightful place. The back seat. Eventually he decided to travel so the car had to be sold, also there were no longer any windscreens made for it so seemed the right time to get out. A collector bought it and even paid money.
Long live the Datsun!
Monday, November 18, 2013
College Basketball
This weekend I went with a friend to a college basketball game. It was my first time in Fullerton at Cal State University and the teams playing were the team in white and the other one. There's a lot going on so it's very easy to forget this detail. I think they had Burgundy and Gold on because I remember thinking I look better in those colors than white.
It's important to know a few things when you're watching. Make sure you're very clear on which team you should be cheering for as the supporters around you will not have their "Welcome to America, Kirsten" faces on if you get it wrong. Also, there is no alcohol at college games - this is a terrible idea and they would make a lot more money if there was a bar in the gym, next to the court. I was able to make quite a nice amount selling shots out of my flask. Rest assured, I checked everyone's ID first and if they seemed nice, could pronounce my name correctly and had the cash, they got the shot.*
We had an "in" with the coach so we sat in the seating for special people section. Along with everyone else. I really didn't know where to look - watch the game, watch the cheerleaders, watch the dance crew, sing along with the band (who did a nice Journey song), or read my kindle. At first I didn't understand why there were two groups of what I thought were cheerleaders until it was pointed out that one was a dance troupe. They sit at opposite ends of the court and occasionally during time-outs do a combined routine but I'm pretty sure that the rest of the time they plot evil revenge against each other. The cheerleaders have quite demure outfits from the waist up with sweater-like tops and a large "F" in the middle**, however from the waist down, they are merely wearing a small waistband as the skirt has fallen off. I was most fascinated with the way they did their hair - had a big bump at the back with a ribbon attached to it. I'm told that the bump is matted hair. So, that's nice. They had blue pom poms, smile a lot and the littlest one gets chucked around in the air. "Flying" is apparently the correct technical term. They made eye contact with us so we felt obliged to clap and smile back every time they did a move in front of us. One time, I wanted to give the thumbs down because it was a bit shit.
The dancers do not have matted hair bumps because they need to fling their hair around. A lot. They also get to have three outfit changes and go from slutty to tracksuits to slutty again. No wonder the cheerleaders dislike them. They smile a lot too but did not make eye contact which leads me to think they are a fickle bunch. They do a lot of pirouettes when a goal*** is scored. Cheerleaders do high kicks. I am undecided as to which I prefer and would like to propose some sort of dive roll, high kick combination.
But back to the game, or more aptly, the water, towel and stool boys. I wondered if this was a prerequisite for getting on the team. Kind of like an internship where you progress up the ranks and eventually get to play. But no. This is as far as your dream will go. You get to fill up the water bottles and pass them out, give out towels, receive sweaty towels and when a time out is called, you must grab a number of small folding stools and run as fast as you can to the court, open them up for the players to sit on before the 30 second timeout is over and done with. Several times I observed a complete breakdown and stool chaos ensued. There was one helper that really should look at a different field***.
The team mascot for the Titans is an elephant. Ten points for anyone who knows why. I thought I'd come up with it as no one there knew the answer but after Googling it, I find I'm completely wrong. Although my theory is better. And they should go with that.
Net result - we won. See how I have now become "we" at this school I did not attend or have any ties to. I like to be on the winning side. Also the coach looked a lot smarter in his suit than the opposing coach who wore a polo shirt. I mean, who does he think he is?
*This actually didn't happen. Which is a shame because I think it's brilliant.
**Naturally with my last name starting with "F", I assume this was a tribute to me and I want one.
***I know it's a "Basket", I just want to see how many comments I get correcting me.I will use it for statistical analysis as to the number of (a) people reading and (b) people reading who are basketball fans.
****Sporting pun not intended. Except for a little bit.
It's important to know a few things when you're watching. Make sure you're very clear on which team you should be cheering for as the supporters around you will not have their "Welcome to America, Kirsten" faces on if you get it wrong. Also, there is no alcohol at college games - this is a terrible idea and they would make a lot more money if there was a bar in the gym, next to the court. I was able to make quite a nice amount selling shots out of my flask. Rest assured, I checked everyone's ID first and if they seemed nice, could pronounce my name correctly and had the cash, they got the shot.*
We had an "in" with the coach so we sat in the seating for special people section. Along with everyone else. I really didn't know where to look - watch the game, watch the cheerleaders, watch the dance crew, sing along with the band (who did a nice Journey song), or read my kindle. At first I didn't understand why there were two groups of what I thought were cheerleaders until it was pointed out that one was a dance troupe. They sit at opposite ends of the court and occasionally during time-outs do a combined routine but I'm pretty sure that the rest of the time they plot evil revenge against each other. The cheerleaders have quite demure outfits from the waist up with sweater-like tops and a large "F" in the middle**, however from the waist down, they are merely wearing a small waistband as the skirt has fallen off. I was most fascinated with the way they did their hair - had a big bump at the back with a ribbon attached to it. I'm told that the bump is matted hair. So, that's nice. They had blue pom poms, smile a lot and the littlest one gets chucked around in the air. "Flying" is apparently the correct technical term. They made eye contact with us so we felt obliged to clap and smile back every time they did a move in front of us. One time, I wanted to give the thumbs down because it was a bit shit.
The dancers do not have matted hair bumps because they need to fling their hair around. A lot. They also get to have three outfit changes and go from slutty to tracksuits to slutty again. No wonder the cheerleaders dislike them. They smile a lot too but did not make eye contact which leads me to think they are a fickle bunch. They do a lot of pirouettes when a goal*** is scored. Cheerleaders do high kicks. I am undecided as to which I prefer and would like to propose some sort of dive roll, high kick combination.
But back to the game, or more aptly, the water, towel and stool boys. I wondered if this was a prerequisite for getting on the team. Kind of like an internship where you progress up the ranks and eventually get to play. But no. This is as far as your dream will go. You get to fill up the water bottles and pass them out, give out towels, receive sweaty towels and when a time out is called, you must grab a number of small folding stools and run as fast as you can to the court, open them up for the players to sit on before the 30 second timeout is over and done with. Several times I observed a complete breakdown and stool chaos ensued. There was one helper that really should look at a different field***.
The team mascot for the Titans is an elephant. Ten points for anyone who knows why. I thought I'd come up with it as no one there knew the answer but after Googling it, I find I'm completely wrong. Although my theory is better. And they should go with that.
Net result - we won. See how I have now become "we" at this school I did not attend or have any ties to. I like to be on the winning side. Also the coach looked a lot smarter in his suit than the opposing coach who wore a polo shirt. I mean, who does he think he is?
*This actually didn't happen. Which is a shame because I think it's brilliant.
**Naturally with my last name starting with "F", I assume this was a tribute to me and I want one.
***I know it's a "Basket", I just want to see how many comments I get correcting me.I will use it for statistical analysis as to the number of (a) people reading and (b) people reading who are basketball fans.
****Sporting pun not intended. Except for a little bit.
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