If an errant ball goes flying...

I can guarantee it will hit me in the face. I don't care if I'm in a concert venue with thousands of other music lovers, I know the moment they release those beach balls, I'm going to get hit in the face with one-hard like volleyball spiking hard. Yes, I've been hit with a pool ball during a vicious game of "Crud". If it's round, has the word "ball" in it and can sail in the air, my face has seen contact with that object.

Today was no different. My daughter participates in a basketball clinic at our local YMCA. We go, toss the ball around, she gets bored about 8 minutes in and falls to the floor crying until I carry her out (best $35 I ever spent). Afterwards, I leave her at the child care center while I work on narrowing my chins down to just one.

All the cardio machines had someone huffing and puffing on them, thus I was forced to go back to "Studio 2" which houses all the Indo Row machines. These are glammed up rowing machines that use water basins to help with your workout. It's nice to hear the whoosh of water as you pretend to row a boat. Anyhow, you sit on a seat which moves forward and back. Pull on a bar to mimic the oars and you just row away. They're a great workout, the machines are expensive to replace but worth every penny. Pair this with some good tunes on my IPod and I felt like I was moving down the river, sweating my butt off and enjoying a workout.

Enter Joey, Bobby and Johnny plus Dad. Each had a basketball. Each had the determination to turn Studio 2 into their half-court. When they all started dribbling the balls, I was mildly irritated. My zen felt broken with each thud. Plus, those kids can't dribble the ball to save their lives! I mean, I'm no basketball player and, hell, I'm a girl but I would have mopped the floor with them. Anyhow, the dribbling became passing, which turned into shooting which ended up into some kind of weird drill where Dad had them passing the ball from behind their backs.

Now, let me reiterate that Studio 2 is not a basketball court. It's a room with one wall of mirrors and one wall of glass window. There's a sound system, complete with 4 speakers up front and 3 paintings hanging on a third wall. Each corner of the room has a 3-foot-tall vase full of decorative branches. Along the back wall are 14 other Indo Row machines, each on their "head" waiting for someone to take it down and put it on the floor. I was on a machine in the far left quadrant of the room, under a ceiling fan, blissful.

As a mother, if I had 3 kids who wanted to throw some balls around, I would not choose this room. But, Dads are different, I suppose. I tried to ignore the coaching, passing and bouncing of the balls...until I got smacked right in the face. Because I'm holding the handlebars, I couldn't block it or deflect it in any way. No one yelled a warning and I got "Marsha'ed" right in the nose.

Immediately, I stopped rowing. "are you kidding me?"

Dad looks and says "whoops. They're kids."

Me: is the gym full or something?

Dad: yeah.

Me: there's a lot of equipment in here, you need to take it out into the hallway or locker room

Dad: c'mon, they're kids. Don't get dramatic.

I get punched in the face with a basketball, i explain there should not be basketballs in my vicinity and I'm being told I'm dramatic?!

Meanwhile, Johnny throws a ball it it knocks a machine over. He retrieves the ball and CONTINUES to throw it around. I don't know why I snapped, I just know I did because I'm in Dad's face telling him he needs to move on. I don't think he expected me to get out of the machine, much less get into his face in front of his boys. I'm a little surprised I did it myself. I don't remember much of what I said. I know I called him "Douchy McKnit-hat" (cause really, it's 82 degrees in the gym, you need to wear a knitted hat?) and I told him to keep walking. He came back with the standard "you're a bitch" but left nonetheless.

I told management about it. I'm irked that there was no apology. No "oh, man this is a bad idea". Instead, I'm a bitch because I got hit in the face by a hard basketball in a room full of breakable equipment, NOT a basketball court and I dared to get pissed about it.

More than likely, I will get hit in the face with another errant ball. My only hope is that nothing will be broken. As for the Asshat, I'll see him again next week. Our kids are in the same program. I plan on having Katie hit him in the junk with her basketball. You know, 'cause she's a kid. It'll be okay.

I Just Made An "ASS" of "U" and "ME"

I've been sick. Stupid allergies. Stupid state. Stupid cedar. Those of you (okay, 2 of you) wanting an entry here, know that I'm pushing through some serious haze here, just for you. My 6 readers. :)

I know you're not supposed to make assumptions in life, but sometimes one can't help it. Take, for instance, last Saturday at the local YMCA. I knocked on the family bathroom door. My kid had to pee and those of us with toddlers know that when the kid says "Mommy, I gotta go!" you have 30 seconds to get on the pot. I waited 5 seconds, heard nothing and opened the door...to find an old woman on the can, magazine in hand. Give me a break! Here's what's wrong with the picture (for those of you who might be confused):

1. If I was unloading my soul into the crapper like she was and someone knocked, I would've thrown out an "Occupied!". Hell, even if I was in there whizzing away and someone knocked, I'd yell "occupied". In general, if I'm in a room that someone else wants to gain entry to and I don't want them to, I'd let them know "hey, busy in here, thanks!". I don't understand her technique of being as quiet as possible in the hopes that I would think "hmm, it's awful quiet in this bathroom. I better move on."

2. I *never* forget to lock a bathroom door. How can she take the time to get a magazine, open it and start reading but forget to push a button in on the door? She's settling in, finish the job! Lock the door.

3. It's the family bathroom with the changing table and kid-sized toilet next to the regular toilet. It's next to impossible to cram me, the kid, a gym bag and the kid's bag in a tiny stall. Plus, the regular toilet is too high and big. Luckily, family-oriented places like the Y made designed these bathrooms for us Moms and Dads. We're a greatful nation, but Dammit, woman, get out of there!

It's akin to the time years ago when I walked AROUND a woman in a wheelchair to snag the handicapped bathroom because I had a run in my hose and wanted to take them off. After I was done and stepped out, I realized my mistake (as she sat there throwing me dagger stares). I felt like the smallest person, but really, when has there been a handicapped person in the bathroom the same time as you? Not trying to make excuses; I was an ass, through and through. Perhaps this is Karma. I dunno.

Back to present time, of course Katie yells "ewwww!" and I'm trying to get out of there. She stunk up the whole hallway. Okay, technically I did because I opened the doorway to Hell, but I stand by my original assertion: you should be able to assume that if you knock on a bathroom door and no one answers, that potty is vacant.

Thoughts? Do you have your own bathroom story? Someone please have a worse one than my handicapped story!

2012-IN YO' FACE!

I did not make any "official" resolutions. There's the standards: "let me, please, lose this extra ass of mine" and "I will organize the shit out of my house until it looks like The Container Store". But, those aren't really resolutions. If it happens, HELLZ, YEAH! If not (and this is the likely outcome) I will go on living. No harm, no foul.

Maybe I should be more disappointed in myself for not fulfilling my resolutions of New Years' past. Since gaining the weight of a typical 5th grader during the pregnancy of my first-born, I've tried to shake the jiggle out to no avail. I finally made some headway, thanks to Kat and her awesome spinning class; however, that was fleeting. I got pregnant again and BOOM! Helllllo, ass number #2. Wait, that reads weird...my kids aren't asses, I managed to put an additional ass on top of my existing shelf, thus making it ass #2.

As far as organization goes, we have too much shit. I have three full sets of clothes: skinny Joyce clothes that I can't fathom giving away becaue it's the "good stuff" and i'll fit in it again, right?; pregnant Joyce clothes that could double for sails on the finest sailboats; big fat Joyce clothes that I bought after being busted for wearing maternity clothes long after I gave birth. My hubby has clothes he wore in high school (the man is 35 years old) and he refuses to wear it or give it away. I know the feeling and I can't judge. It's all mixed together, co-mingling in our closets. I should thin it out, but I get depressed.

My kitchen is packed full of fun baking gadgets, pots and pans plus various kitchen appliances. Most of it is from my single days when I had the time to bake wonderful fragrant goodies. I don't have time to brush my teeth, much less whip up a souffle. Still, I hang onto it because "one day.....". On a side note, I credit my baking with the quick sale of my house. Yes, this nerd followed the advice of a professional stager and made a huge batch of chocolate chip cookies. I rolled them into logs, wrapped them in wax paper and froze them. Every morning, I baked a dozen for the aroma. Sold the house in 3 days. We had 3 offers and a bidding war ensued. Thanks, chocolate chip cookies!

We have doubles of everything. Tv's, couches, kitchen tables, full bedroom sets, etc. stuff, stuff, stuff. We also have a large collection of Christmas decorations and Halloween stuff. I refuse to be "that guy" on the block who doesn't decorate. Plus, my daughter is old enough to enjoy looking at it. I rock as a Mom; therefore, it stays. I should pack it all up neatly in some tubs. Instead it's here and there. I can find it when I need to and, well...doesn't that count for something?!

I choose to not feel like a total loser every December 31. Therefore, I am not about to head down that Resolution Road. Instead, I promise myself that I will be the coolest broad I know. I will love my husband like no tomorrow. I will love and adore my kids even when they vomit in my face or tell me I'm the worst mommy EVER. Like I said, if I lost more fat, HELLZ yeah. If not, I'm gonna keep working until I do. No pressure.