Kickball

I had some good snarky ideas for the post today and then I heard about more bombings in London. That's just shitty. Please, let someone else take a turn. Leave off London already. This is starting to piss me off.

However, in the spirit of cheering up readers from London or anyone who feels like me, I will continue with the regularly scheduled post. I dedicate the post to London, as wildly inappropriate as that may be.

I did something stupid. I convinced Pele (aka Princess) to join a kickball team with me. Like most Americans, I played this game in elementary school. I hated it then, but that had more to do with playground social dynamics than the game itself. (Amusing moments: my shoe coming off when I tried to kick the ball; my team refusing to play when I was arbitrarily appointed captain by the teacher.) The rules are similar to softball but the athletic skill needed is minimal. Since softball has been a social bust this season, I figured why not give kickball a chance. Kickball is very social--there is a happy hour after every game for the entire division (eight teams). This is good because you have the chance to meet people from other teams in case the people on your team suck.

Wednesday was the first game of the season. But it was also the night of the Washington Weblogger Meetup. I went to the meetup and planned to find Pele at the bar after, if possible. The meetup was "Fantastic! Tremendous!" Actually, it was small--only Rob was there. We chatted before he ran off to play in the final game of the season for his kickball team (different league). Kickball is the in-thing in DC, apparently. But I'm in the "non-blogging" league, as Rob put it.

I went to meet Pele and the rest of my team. That is when I realized the error of my ways. I asked the age range of the team before I joined the league, but as I was going to be part of a new division, no information was forthcoming. Upon entering the bar, I immediately started wondering what I should give as my age when I lied about it. And I don't lie about my age.

I don't mind dating younger guys. I don't care. But when the guys are ten years younger they tend to freak out. I don't want to scare them off right away. It will be obvious that I'm older, but what about 31? 32? 28? I think I can pass. Pele said I could be her age (she's five years younger than me). That didn't seem quite right so I said I would be one year older.

It is a joke with my friends that I attract younger guys. I had one semi-serious boyfriend who was ten years younger and some other guys who were interested that were younger. I figure it's because I'm so immature.

My plan is not to mention my age. If anyone is rude enough to ask, I'll change the subject.

I remarked to Pele that it was a shame that I don't do casual sex, because that was the most I could hope for out of that crowd. Maybe I'll give it a second thought.

Here's the rundown on my teammates:

Unhappy short guy: not too short and rather good looking. Flirted with Pele when she gave him a ride to the game. Fished for an invitation to a sporting event, which she declined to issue. Flirted with me as soon as I arrived in the bar. When his girlfriend arrived, he did not introduce her to us and sat with her away from the group for the rest of the night. Pele and I were astonished, "No way. No way does he have a girlfriend. But she is so his girlfriend." Later I said, "He's getting the cold-shoulder from us. He must be punished."

Cute married couple: really nice, really cute, really live in Shirlington.

Two sweet twenty-somethings: two friendly young women. Pele talked to one of them (the strawberry blonde) for quite a while and liked her. I talked to neither of them beyond "hi." (It's all about the boys. I smiled a lot at them so I don't think they hate me.)

The manager: one of the thinnest women I have ever seen. She looked brittle, fragile and not very happy. Very blonde hair pulled into a very tight pony-tail. She may be dating the coach. (I confused her by explaining that I'm J___ and Jamy--I've conducted business with this group under both names. I'm an idiot. And she thinks I'm crazy.)

The coach: to-die-for. I said to Pele, "I could go for him in a big way." (It's a quote from an old movie, but I can't remember which one.) He was in his late 20's (only my wishful thinking would put him over 30), very tall, nice build, rugged face. I didn't talk to him, but he clinked cups with me and seemed friendly. Pele reported that he was probably with the manager, but not in a happy way. I said, "Maybe I can drive them apart. I only said that because I've had two beers."

Pele said, "He was checking you out. He likes the way you look."

"Then why is he dating the skinniest woman in the world?"

"He doesn't know what he likes."

"Ah. He's probably under thirty. Damn."

Kickball is likely to be a bust in terms of dates and probably even in terms of making new friends (but you never know). But it will get me out-of-doors and running around once a week. It will be easy compared to softball. And it's convenient since we play on the Mall, a few blocks from my office. And the bar is on the way to my house. Hooray for kickball, I guess.

Grateful for: laughing through the beers.