Playing sand volleyball in a 40 degree rainstorm is surprisingly fun. Really? Who the hell plays sand volleyball in April in Kansas? Dumbshits, that's who. But, I'm proud to be a dumbshit I guess, and one that actually isn't as bad at volleyball as I thought.
We lost our first game yesterday, but it wasn't a scary slaughter or anything and the people on my team are fabulous. All the guys are IT computer nerds - Love it! And, the two other girls — one I know from high school and the other one is a P.E. teacher. Plus, they all drink. Hell yes. New pals make me happy. But, of course I always love hanging out with my old friend Jeff from high school, the one that organized the whole volleyball team thing. He's a keeper for sure — just an overall nice, fun, intelligent person, which is sadly hard to find.
When I got home, the sand was just caked to every inch of my body because of all the rain and I looked extra sexy. I even had to throw my dirty ass shoes in the washing machine. Yes, shoes, because remember it was literally 40 degrees. In Kansas, where it's not perpetually warm, we skip the whole hot-California-girls-with-barefeet-and-bikinis thing while playing sand volleyball and stick with the practical sweats and tennis shoes approach.
While it was more than a good time, that volleyball is an asshole and my wrists are killing me. I whined and whined about them all day as I walked around with them throbbing. When I went over to Gina's house today to babysit my Snooky Toots Magee — a.k.a. my niece Remi — I whined some more about them to her, which showed me that nurses that deal with seriously hurt and ill people won't show any sympathy when it comes to "volleyball wrist:"
Me: "Ow, goddamn, my wrists really hurt. I'm thinking about icing them when I get home. Shit, they are so sore."
Gina: "Aww, I think you have Ginitis."
Me: "Oh, does that mean pain in your wrists?" (thinking that it was some sort of official medical term.)
Gina: "No, it means you're being a pussy."
Me: "Oh...Shut up."
What made it even better was that my first salsa dancing experience was tonight. The aching wrists didn't really bother me like I thought they were going to, but the fact that I SUCK ASS at salsa sorta did. Dammit, I thought this would be in the bag! Well, not exactly, but I thought I would be better than this. I went with Becca and Alyse and we met some people Becca knows through old work people up at the casino where they have a short lesson first, then free dancing. I was working the lesson, but then it actually came time to dance and the dance floor turned into this massive clusterfuck of flying and wrapping arms and flicking legs and sassy hips and blaring mariachi music. Then the real fun happened when one of the guys we were with, Baboucarr, took me out there to dance and proceeded to fling me ferociously around the dance floor. He's been taking lessons for awhile and is basically amazing at salsa, but I didn't even know which way was up after that. I'm sure I could have learned a few things from him and some of the other experienced dancers there, but by the end of the night, I had definitely had roughly six cherry vodka and Sprites — whoops. Drunk ass. Next week I will cut it in half. I just needed a little liquid courage to go out there and look like a tard.
One of the girls we were with, Leah, who also happens to be amazing (where the hell was I when this whole, non-hispanic-people-learning-to-salsa-dance craze began?) said she's been doing it about two years and it took her at least a year to get pretty decent at it. Well, I suppose there's still hope for my salsa dancing impaired ass. The girls and I are determined to get good — especially me, since I absolutely can't stand not being good at something that involves dancing.
Also, on a side note, I got a fairly good review at work earlier this week (finally!), they are going to let me start writing a column (finally!)...and I'm moving to a new office ASAP (wtf?!). I'm sort of annoyed with the last thing since I like the boys I work with now, but I thrive on change and the new office is insanely closer to home and the actual town I cover. Ah, practicality — love it.