Over the last few years I have come across circumstances where I think to myself, “Self, you should blog about this.” Mind you, I did not have a blog site other than myspace until last year, so that shows you how often I have taken my own advice. This evening I had one of those moments again, and I really am unsure how to go about developing the whole scenario for which I want to write about, so I guess I will start at the beginning.
Each year the GI participates in the American Heart Association’s Heart Walk in Fairbanks. Each year the ladies in my office get super involved in raising money to contribute to the heart walk, and we usually participate in everything from muffin sales and ice cream socials to selling raffle tickets and paper hearts. This year the Fairbanks Chapter of the AHA is putting on a Dodge Ball Tournament, and I decided to get a team together. I found a few willing participates, and spent a few minutes this morning making a poster, giving the team names, and trying to get people to say they’d show up next Friday.
If you can dodge a wrench, you can dodge a ball.
I drew the lil’ ball o’ fire myself in illustrator – however I did get the idea from a similar version online. ANYWHO…
So that led me to the notion that I had to go out and buy Dodgeball, the movie, so I could prep and get my game face on. Right. So anywho, the kids and I went to Wal-Mart after work. I got a few things for the kids (mainly ‘Tug because Bubba was telling me “no” to everything just to piss me off), and found the movie in the $5 bin. It is after 6pm by the time we check out, so we walk over to Subway for some supper. As we are eating our subs — no, ‘Tug is only eating her chips, and Bubba’s eating a Spicy Italian with all the peppers and jalapenos his bread can hold — when I notice an elderly native woman joining the line. I am a watcher. I am also an eavesdropper, but that’s neither here nor there. There’s only one gentleman in front of her in line, and she’s watching all around, twisting this way and that, but in a slow, grandmotherly fashion. I think to myself (1 – I should blog about this, but more importantly…) “WOW – she must have reached an age where she just decided to ignore her breasts all together.” I am not sure if she had a bra on, although her shirt was tight enough to tell, I never did look on her shoulder to see if there were straps. I just was absorbed in the idea that as she got dressed to leave the house she brushed her teeth, maybe combed her hair, and tucked her boobs into her elastic waist capri’s. I continue to watch her as she orders. The young boy at the counter makes her repeat it twice. “Two Meatballs.” Two sandwiches? Two 6 inch subs? Two what? No, son, two meatballs. Instantly I forgot about her reckless abandonment of a tit sling and pictured Adam Sandler. I prayed, “oh I hope he’s seen which ever movie it was where Adam’s character is paid by the old lady with meatballs, in his hand! SO BADLY I wanted to see her stand on her tippy toes and reach out her cupped hands for a meatball in each one. My prayers were not to be heard today as I saw the young man give her TWO MEATBALLS in a soup cup. Who orders two meatballs at Subway? Apparently little old ladies with no recollection that they are in fact still ladies.
