Flamin’ Mamie
Posted on April 10, 2008
Filed Under marriage, suburban joys, bitching and moaning, tennis |
Another day, another loss on the tennis court. I know, I know, two weeks in a row. How will I manage to go on? How will I ever earn back my blog audience’s awe and admiration.
During the match, I said ‘Fuck’ out loud, a lot, but otherwise managed to keep my temper under wraps. (Is there worse language she could have used, you ask. Well, yes, of course, but I can’t type it here for fear of the spam and internet stalkers such language might attract. Use your imagination. ‘Fuck’ is benign.) At the very least I did not slam my racket into the net or hit a ball at the opponent’s head after the losing the second set. So there’s progress, at least in my on-court etiquette. So you may not want me as your tennis partner next year, now that I’ve been defeated and have proven to be a very bad loser, but I promise you can still invite me to a mixed doubles social event and I won’t mention how I can see your thong through your tennis shorts or spill gravy on the tablecloth.
As a team, we knew this four week stretch was going to be difficult. Since we’ve held top position in the league for much of the year, we were scheduled to play the number two and three teams consecutively before the playoffs.
So today we ceded our first place position to a worthy team that has been chasing us by two points for the past five months. They caught us, they beat us, and I want revenge. Especially because one of our opponents donned a pair of blue tinted wrap around terminator sunglasses (which I found hilarious considering we are playing indoor tennis). I giggled and lost my focus and now feel all the more resolved to go get those forearm tattoos before next week’s rematch:
A series of tough looking townie women with cross hatches through their startled faces, like the old score keeping of aces across the nose of their planes in World War. Four is a good but credible number. And below their faces, written in that thick, faux-medieval font popularized in prisons, “Bring it bitch.” (Thank you, Ron. I’ve always sort of wanted a tattoo but have felt nervous about the permanence of the whole thing. I’m actually kind of uncomfortable with bumper stickers even. But now that you’ve given me this excellent idea for a permanent marking, how can I resist? Because if sunglasses can startle and fluster, I’m quite sure the taunt and bluster of a few well executed tattoos would nearly insure a win. And I seriously looked for pics of aircraft nose art to go with this post and found a lot of painted nudes with names like Memphis Belle. So Flamin’ Mamie’s the best I could come up with.)
If you define yourself in terms of tennis and then start to lose, your feelings of invincibility are challenged. If you define yourself in terms of your success as a writer and receive yet another grad school rejection in the mailbox, you are all the more convinced that you must suck. If you define yourself in terms of all the weight you bear admirably and with aplomb on the home-front only to hear from your partner that you’re not doing your share, then you’ve come up empty in this category too. Such is the week I’m having.
Cocktails and a male escort service couldn’t cheer me up at this point. But my windows are beginning to sparkle and, apparently, Mother Nature has forgiven me the tennis skirt comment because the sun shines and that’s something.
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11 Responses to “Flamin’ Mamie”
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Your sunglasses comment brings up an interesting vision… Who are these ladies with the thongs? Is this Wisteria Lane?
Remember that time that you didn’t post for a while? Was it last summer? And I checked back here every single day for what felt like six months? As did everyone else? I love your writing. It would probably mean more to you coming from someone whose writing was also great. But those college clowns are clearly morons. You should get those guys on the tennis court and pound their little snooty writing asses into the clay.
cce,
Now this is impressive for at least two reasons. One, you’ve obviously yet to turn the corner yet here you are making us chortle. (I’m pretty sure I chortled, but if pressed I’m not sure how I’d explain my suspicion.) Two, you are gradually adding something seemingly foreign to your repertoire: vulnerability. And may I say that it looks nearly as good on you as a tattoo.
Dear Ms. McEnroe: You cannot be serious! How’d you get them to sparkle sans moi there to help you? I’m sure you haven’t done a proper job Cce. You’ll have to photograph it for me to believe.
I’ve been meaning to tell you of a nice lady I met once. She had the following tattooed on her arm “I am a little strumpet.” I know EXACTLY why that phrase intimidated me completely- she was well over two hundred pounds and had a boy haircut. Anyway, before I changed my mind, I nearly let her tattoo the following sentence on my bottom: Bite ME and I’ll bite YOU back… Rather than the more direct “Bring it bitch,” may I suggest (even though it works better further below) this kind of ambiguously phrased tattoo for your arm? In my estimation, it can both titillate AND intimidate. Either way, I think it will still manage to distract your tennis competition.
Finally, this is going to sound bitchy I know but I have a request - Can you PLEASE stop defining yourself as a writing failure? I absolutely object to having my accolades questioned never mind doubted. Next time I have to call you out on that, I won’t be as lady-like as I usually am.
we are so totally the same person..
I’ve turned to Mother Nature as well. The sun is shining, the flowers are blooming–how dare I think thinks are amiss!!
I’m going to try this for awhile and see how it goes. If it works for me, I’ll share, I promise.
Maybe you can get a Girl Power tattoo. The week has only 2 more days. You’re almost there.
And remember, pain is good for art. (And yes, if you want to kick the ass of whoever said that, it’s all right.)
Write. Keep writing.
you are playing. I am Captain of my team and sidelined with a stupid shoulder injury. I imagine myself very Sharapova-like, because she sometimes has one too. I finally see the Dr today, finally because it has been 3-03 since I heard the “snap” of the shoulder that caused the injury. Did I play two more weeks with tears just to keep playing, YEAH!!!!!!! Am I paying for it now? YEAH!!!!! Keep playing, you will win next week!!!!!
You just keep focusing on the sun.
i love it when you swear.
The sunglass thing made it totally unfair and you were justified in your language on that point alone.