Unproductivity is allowed: last night I worked for 4.5 straight hours getting another application in (cross fingers, all), and yesterday and today were "OUTLINING ESSAYS" days at school, which meant that I've come up with about 45 different thesis statements, about 90 different supporting examples, helped find about 50 different quotes, and have streamlined about 86 different convoluted ideas.
My brain hath jellified.
So I doth blog.
This week has been Spirit Week. Some people poo-poo dressing up for Spirit Week. I am not one of those people. My outfits so far have included:
Wacky Tacky Day:
THIS dress--
(In the middle, next to Annie who isonherwayhererightnow!!!)
Plus THIS jacket:
Sports Day:
This jersey (I'm on the far left):
Which is actually not a jersey at all, but a sorority shirt. That was the closest I could get. Those are my little small group chickies by the way, aren't they cute??
Decade Day:
Prompted a resurrection of my 50's Housewife Outfit:
THIS on top--
(Except with no pony tail because of new short hair)
And THIS on the bottom:
Also, I carried a wooden spoon.
Today was "School Spirit" day. I didn't have a shirt with my school's name on it, so I asked Viola to bring me something. She found a sweat-shirt for me, but I had to take it off midday, because it got too hot. After my outstanding Spirit Week showing (some might even say, otherworldly) up to that point, I felt a little chastened to be only wearing a navy blue long-sleeved shirt-- only the most basic of nods to one of our school colors. However, I got a second chance to improve my spirit-showing come the Staff/Student Basketball game after lunch...
Viola had asked me several weeks ago if I wanted to play.
"No."
"Why not???"
"I can't play, Viola! I'm seriously terrible."
"I'm going to play! I'm not good, I just get in people's faces!"
"But you're athletic Viola! I-- trust me, I shouldn't play. I'll have fun watching."
But when I got to the gym today, they had T-SHIRTS. They had t-shirts with MY SCHOOL'S name on them. The only condition was that you had to play.
You want a girl to play sports? I mean, THIS girl? Bribe her with clothing.
At first, I really did look like an idiot. I missed every single basket that I threw during warm-ups, and the first time I got out on the court against these big boy seniors, I just sort of skipped around and fluttered my hands at people and ran away from the ball. Every once in awhile I would hear the announcer point out, "Greta's open," which was a point universally ignored by my team.
After the first quarter, I thought it was over. "Yaaay!"
Viola corrected me. "It's not done yet!"
"... Oh!"
The kids were cheering loud, and the staff was INTO it-- from the young dude teachers, to the middle-aged pot-bellied folks who rocked the casbah like nobody's BUSINESS. Seriously-- Paul? Was an ANIMAL! The ladies represented on the court one at a time-- and-- I'm a little embarrassed to admit-- my sex was pretty terrible. Evelyn, Viola, Patti, Karen and I held down the court (get it?? COURT?) but not very well. As I was the youngest girl by about 20 years, I decided I needed to step it up.
So I DID.
Y'all-- I made no baskets. None at all. And when the announcer pointed out yet again, "Greta's open," my team-mates still knew better than to pass me the ball. BUT: I ran, I blocked, I JUMPED, I got knocked over and popped back up, I got my hands in the big boys' faces, and I was SCRAPPY, dang it. Viola told me later that she and another teacher were laughing. "At first she looked kind of scared out there!" Viola apparently told Josh. "Now it looks like she's going to foul out!"
U know it.
And even though I thought the game had ended again at half-time-- and was once again corrected by my astute mentor-- I got high-fives from the kids afterwards, got a rallying cry with my staff, and got kudos from the kids who had watched and told me that I looked "tough."
And-- (perhaps not *best* of all, but most WEARABLE of all):
I got a SWEET school t-shirt. Our school's name is on the front. And our slogan-- all the "U KNOW" of it-- is on the back.
The moral of the story? Play. Play anyway. Even if you suck. Even if you look ridiculous.
There might just be t-shirts.
