if you can dodge a wrench, you can dodge a ball

Guess who just signed up for a dodgeball league?! No, not Bea Arthur. Me, sillies! I just joined Big Apple Dodgeball, NYC's first GLBT/GLBT-friendly league.

Ah, I love the sound of that red bouncy ball pelting flesh! I'm quite good at making that noise as I have quite a wicked throw, if I do say so myself. Actually, I did say so myself already a while back... Click here to read all about my dodgeball acumen.

Wanna join me? The league is still gathering names and will send out more info soon. If you're interested, email them @ bigappledodgeball[AT]gmail[DOT]com.

I promise not to hit you in the face. Or at least, I'll try not to, because I'm a good sport like that.

all the small things, part 2

I'm picking up where I left off here...

11. I'm hesitant to shop at any business that attaches an "a-Rama" to the end of its name. That suffix makes me irrationally angry.

12. I don't drink milk. I'll put a drop of skim in my tea or mix it into a recipe but I won't pour myself a big honkin' glass of it. I'm wary of most dairy products but milk is the most loathsome.

My distrust stems from an incident in kindergarten. I used to drink white milk at snack time and was quite fine with it. But one day, the red-and-white carton with the cute picture of a cow on it was abruptly replaced by an updated model. I was instantly leery of this switcheroo. I picked up the carton and examined it. Mind you, I was 5 and couldn't read yet so I based my opinion of the product solely on the picture emblazoned on the container. There was no cow on this carton. Instead, I saw a frog.

My thought process was as follows: What's a frog doing on my milk? Hmm... the old carton had a picture of a cow, therefore the milk came from a cow. This carton has a frog on it therefore, the milk comes from... A FROG?!?! Ew! Frogs cause warts! And they eat flies and live in slimy ponds! Ew! I'm not drinking this!

I was totally grossed out. I refused to drink the milk. When my mother came to pick me up, my teacher took us aside and told my mother about my milk strike. "Why didn't you drink your milk?" my mother asked.

"Because it's frog's milk!"

"What on earth are you talking about?" she demanded. Both she and my teacher tried to understand my sudden vehemence towards milk and its relationship to the croaking amphibian. They tried explaining that frogs don't have udders and all that other biological mumbo jumbo but I wasn't hearing it. My mind was made up.

The next day at snack time, the teacher approached me carton in hand. "Curly, you're right. There is a frog on this carton." Then she pointed to the picture and read aloud the words in the frog's dialogue bubble: "Please don't smoke. I might croak." She tapped her fingernail on each word for emphasis.

"See? It's just an ad. And even though there's no picture of a cow on the carton, the milk still comes from one. The frog is just here to teach a lesson."

I though about her argument for a second. "Now will you drink it?" she asked.

"Nope," I replied. The frog was in my head and there was no turning back. I've since updated my reasoning but I haven't had a glass (or carton) since.

13. I suck at math. I'm totally capable of doing it but I'm lazy and don't try.

14. My ears are not pierced. It's not because I'm some tomboy dyke either. (I'm good at sports and enjoy watching them but I do not look like a tomboy in the least. Right, minions? RIGHT?)

Anyhoo, I've had my ears pierced twice and both times they got infected. I was meticulous about cleaning them with alcohol and turning them but my sensitive lobes had other ideas. Sometimes I'm tempted to try again but that shit hurt and I'm not sure I want to go through that pain again.

15. I do not like the word "treats."

16. I'm squeamish and easily grossed out. Sometimes I'm my own worst enemy in this regard. I will replay visions of gross things in my head and torture myself to the point of gagging. Last week, after I reported my dislike of pancake makeup, I conjured up this awful close-up of pores in my head. I made my own skin crawl.

I've found that the best remedy for this is to silently chant a mantra (or IM it to The Lovely Jess when I've looped her into my latest round of insanity). It goes a little something like this:

Sunshine and lollipops
Sunshine and lollipops
Sunshine and lollipops
Sunshine and lollipops
Sunshine and lollipops

Say what you want but it works!

17. When I was 8, my picture was on the front page of a Port Jervis, NY newspaper. It was right before Labor Day so the reporter was looking for pictures of kids cramming in activities before school started. They found me fishing with my Dad (God, that sounds so Andy & Opie) and thought I was a prime candidate. The only problem was that right before they showed up, I had cast a line into the lake and the worm flew off. I assumed the worm landed in the water as that's a frequent occurrence with bait that it not properly attached to the hook.

Um, it turns out the worm landed in my hair. Yes, my hair. I found it while the photographer was snapping away. I'm sure my reaction made for quite the interesting photo essay. The picture that was used was an action shot of me with a line in the water. It was taken pre-worm discovery so the brown worm was camped out in my brown hair. However, to the untrained eye, it looked like the beginnings of a dreadlock.

* Bonus Fact: On another fishing expedition, I was walking behind my sister while she was casting a line and got hooked right square in the nose. The damn thing went right into my nostril. Yes, it's as painful and horrifying as it sounds.

18. I have never been in a fist fight to defend myself. I did, however, send a boy home crying to his mama because he picked on my younger sister.

It went down like this: Arnold shoved my little sister and my best friend's little brother; they both got hurt and started to cry; I saw red and WHAM! I punched that fucker right in the face; Arnold went wee wee wee all the way home.

19. I had my share of childhood traumas at school but I was never ever picked last in gym class. I was one of the most athletic girls in the class. In fact, I once single-handedly wiped out all but one member of the opposing team in dodge ball.

I was on a tear that day! I don't know what came over me. I was catching balls and whipping them back with super-human speed and precision. My class cheered me on while I ducked, weaved and jumped like I had never ducked, weaved and jumped before.

I annihilated the other team. It came down to me and one other girl who, I might add, was so NOT athletic. She had managed to stay in the game by hiding behind people in the back row. But there was no hiding now! She had to face me. We threw the ball back and forth several times. She behaved like a total sissy prancing out of the way of the ball and hugging the boundary lines (actually the boundaries were folding tables on either side of the court. I went to a parochial school and we had no budget for proper gym equipment, or even a gym for that matter, so we played in a multi-purpose room).

In the final play, I lofted the ball in her direction and she caught it in a "trap" on top of one of the tables at the far end of the court. Normally, a trap meant the ball was still in play but the gym teacher called me out. My mouth fell open and my third grade class nearly rioted. They screamed, shouted and protested but the ruling stood. Truthfully, I think the gym teacher deliberately blew the call because he was concerned for my health. My cheeks were flushed and I was sweating like crazy so he probably thought it wise to give me ample time to cool down before math class.

20. I have nice handwriting. (Can you tell I'm running out of ideas?)

Ew. I just grossed myself out again with the thought of those pores...

Sunshine and lollipops
Sunshine and lollipops
Sunshine and lollipops
Sunshine and lollipops
Sunshine and lollipops

Numbers 1-10
Numbers 21-30
Numbers 31-40

at the movies

After a busy, sun-soaked weekend (complete with stupid-looking, random splotches of sunburn where I missed with the SPF), I decided to just hang today. I didn't have anything planned which at first was a nice change of pace. By 11:30 am, it was intolerable and I was bored to tears. So I got on the phone to my dear friend Christina and we hatched a plan to see a movie. Our theater of choice wasn't showing anything we wanted to see/already haven't seen. It's a great theater in that it's small and is usually pretty selective with the movies it shows. Imagine my surprise when White Chicks was on the marquee.

With much hesitation and chagrin, we decided to go the behemoth movie theater that I've managed to avoid in the two years I've lived in this neighborhood. At first glance, I could just tell that it was one of those theaters where it's required, as my friend Carolynn says, to come armed with a "a distinctive laugh and a catchphrase." In order to survive in this atmosphere, you have to be quick with an "Oh no she didn't!" or some other attitude-fueled directive or exclamation. You must punctuate this with a cackling or hissing laugh. I also avoided this theater because Good Neighbor warned me of its size. He said he expected a Sherpa to accompany him and carry his popcorn as he made his endless ascent.

He was not kidding. Our movie was on Level 11!!! I think Macy's has fewer escalators than this movie theater. I needed a few hits of oxygen at that elevation. Even worse, the last stop for popcorn apparently is on the 5th Level. Bastards. I need something akin to a salt lick with my movie viewing but there wasn't time go down the 6 floors. Where's that Sherpa when you need him?

So we saw Dodgeball. I am not ashamed. I enjoyed it. It was as ridiculous as I expected it to be but damn, it was funny. That Ben Stiller just cracks my shit up. And Vince Vaughn is just... just... wooo! is it getting hot in here? I've had a mad crush on that guy since Swingers.

There were parts that were dumb and rather obvious but it was good for a few giggles on a hot, summer afternoon. There will NEVER be a day when I don't think it's funny to see someone get hit in the face, ass or nuts by something. Sorry people but that's comedy. The sound effect of the rubbery ball bouncing violently off of flesh just added to my hysterics.

And yes, there were a few people in the theater who talked back to the screen. Ew and they clapped at certain parts. I hate that. I realize I'm cranky and cynical but that sort of shit just makes me uncomfortable. It's also the behavior that the movie makers predict. They are trying to push buttons and the audience obliges. Bunch of sheep. They no doubt are the same ones who hoot and holler when a character toting a sawed-off shotgun says something like, "Eat lead, mothafucka!" before offing one of the bad guys in [insert any predictable action movie of your choice.]

The previews before this movie were atrocious. Can someone please tell Will Smith to just stop making the same movie over and over again? Or maybe just stop altogether. That could work too. I mean, doesn't he say, "Aw, hell no!" in like all of them? I, Robot looks ridiculous. And that name! Ack!! I blush for all associated with this film.

Then there was a preview for a movie about a pyramid submerged under 2000 feet of ice in Antartica. There are creatures from outerspace living in it or whatever and I swear, they stole the props from the movie Alien. They look exactly the same -- bony and gruesome with lots of gelatinous goo dripping from big, fangy teeth. Ha ha ha. Big fangy teeth. I just visualized John Cleese's dire warning to the seekers of the Holy Grail to beware the bunny rabbit. "That is not an ordinary rabbit...'tis the most foul, cruel and bad-tempered thing you ever set eyes on." The gesture he makes with his fingers to denote sharp teeth just kills me each time.

Um, yeah... I'm one of those people -- I readily quote from Monty Python films. How can you not? It's just brilliant: "All right! I am the Messiah... now, fuck off!" Ha ha ha ha ha. Oh no he didn't! ::snap snap::