bread that is. Like my youth and whatever looks I MAY have ever possessed the days of eating good ole white bread and for that matter anything white are gone.
This is for the This and That blog:
Coming off of a very emotionally draining 2 weeks has made me long for the simpler times and what a better place to go then back to my youth. The days when everyone looked good in a bathing suit (at least through the eyes of a child), your age included 1/2's, and for me my biggest worry was whether to swim, ride bikes or play stick ball/kickball. Ah stick ball/kickball that was a game myself and some neighborhood kids "invented." It was a great game we took 2 of our favorite games and combined them. Genius!! Truly genius. We painted the bases in the street..those were the days where you could get a can of spray paint anytime you wanted. Hmm maybe we are the reason it is under lock and key now. Anyway, like I was saying, we painted the bases in the street along with the almighty home run line. Only the best players could knock one over the home run line or my brother and Ricky. Everyone wanted to hit the almighty home run because once you did my brother painted your name behind the home run line and for every one after that he made some kind of mark. I was so determined to get into the H.R. hall of fame, man did I want in. I would be damned if Jimmy and Ricky were going to be the only 2 names in the hall of fame. So finally one day I take my turn at the plate, grasp my fingers around that stick ball bat and Jimmy is on the pitchers mound our eyes met and he gave me his death glare as if to say "you're going down little girl." This may work on the others little fella but not me. When he threw the kickball my very trained eye (thanks to him) watched that ball leave his hand and I followed it until the ball and my bat met. Oh YES!! I sent that ball sailing not only to the H.R. line but well past the line. I'm pretty sure the heavens opened and the angels were singing when I cracked that ball over both Jimmy and Ricky's heads. Seriously, I believe I saw the heavens open up and I heard the angels singing in my honor. I was a good sport though, I ran around those bases like any mature athlete would. OOOK, maybe that isn't entirely how I ran, perhaps I swaggered around the bases and smiled at my brother as I rounded the bases but I did it in the most mature way. Hey have you forgotten the death glare that screamed LITTLE GIRL. That'll show him little girl, on your knees bro and paint my name with honor of knowing you threw the pitch big boy. I'm sure he was proud of me though, deep, deep, deep down I'm telling you he was proud of me after all he was my gym teacher. Anything to do with sports he was there, oh the memories of my loving brother yelling to me throw that ball like a girl one more time and I will beat your ass. Alright then so you say put my fingers across the laces like so and pull my arm back at an angle behind my head with my elbow pointing forward you say. I may not be describing the throw properly on here but trust me when I tell you that boy would have beat my ass and therefore I could throw a spiral better then most boys on the football team. My talents didn't end there either, my loving brother taught me how to play baseball, lacrosse and basketball. I could play well enough to play with the boys without any complaints. He would make them let me play anyway but he didn't want to be embarrassed so I had to play well. No I had to be better then at least some of them. What I found out though when you play with boys you usually wind up fighting with boys and luckily my brother had me well trained in this area too. Let's just say there were a lot of ass kickings before I got the full spiral, dribble and proper way to throw a baseball down. Hitting the ball in baseball was never a problem just looked at his face and aimed. Of course that part is our little secret. Nah he wasn't that bad, although what I wrote is true he did always watch out for me and he did teach me well and he did beat my ass. To this day he brags about me being the second strongest in my entire grade in elementary school second only to a guy that had our same last name so it was cool. I don't hold the same pride with that part of the story as he does but a fact is a fact and now you know my dirty little secret. Had he went to middle school and high school with me I don't think he would be so proud. Short and sweet, I became a wimp. I didn't care though I still had back up when I needed it. And for those I needed it for you know who you are and shame on you.
This little visit back to the days of my youth in the good ole 70's definitely was a needed escape. The only thing that could top this visit would be a pb & j sandwich on wonder bread with a cold glass of milk. The pure joy a peanut butter and jelly sandwich on wonder bread (peanut butter on the top). It was the perfect chaser to a fun packed morning. Makes me all warm and fuzzy inside with the exception of the day that broke my heart. My aunt yells out her back window what do I want for lunch and my response was the same as everyday pb & j peanut butter on the top. I go in when it's ready sit down ready to dig in when to my horror the jelly is on the top. I panic because I'm afraid to tell her that I can't eat this. Thankfully I wear my emotions or at least it was good in this case because she asked, "what's wrong?" I respond with, "well, I don't mean to be rude but I like it with the peanut butter on the top, it has to be like that cause I don't like jelly that much." So you know what this _______ did, she flip my sandwich over. Helloooo let me say this slowly for you. The sandwich has to be made with the peanut butter on the top. This is a jelly sandwich that you flipped. Worst part she outed my mother and told me believe me your mother makes it the same way. Again lady don't want to be rude but obviously you know nothing because if you did we wouldn't even be having this conversation. So later when I was having my nightly phone chat with my mother when I asked her about this, you know what she did. She freaking giggled and said yeah all you have to do is turn the sandwich so the peanut butter is on the top. You know what I can't even finish the story it is way too painful to relive.
Going to my happy place where they only make the sandwich from the start where the peanut butter is on the TOP.
This is for the This and That blog:
Coming off of a very emotionally draining 2 weeks has made me long for the simpler times and what a better place to go then back to my youth. The days when everyone looked good in a bathing suit (at least through the eyes of a child), your age included 1/2's, and for me my biggest worry was whether to swim, ride bikes or play stick ball/kickball. Ah stick ball/kickball that was a game myself and some neighborhood kids "invented." It was a great game we took 2 of our favorite games and combined them. Genius!! Truly genius. We painted the bases in the street..those were the days where you could get a can of spray paint anytime you wanted. Hmm maybe we are the reason it is under lock and key now. Anyway, like I was saying, we painted the bases in the street along with the almighty home run line. Only the best players could knock one over the home run line or my brother and Ricky. Everyone wanted to hit the almighty home run because once you did my brother painted your name behind the home run line and for every one after that he made some kind of mark. I was so determined to get into the H.R. hall of fame, man did I want in. I would be damned if Jimmy and Ricky were going to be the only 2 names in the hall of fame. So finally one day I take my turn at the plate, grasp my fingers around that stick ball bat and Jimmy is on the pitchers mound our eyes met and he gave me his death glare as if to say "you're going down little girl." This may work on the others little fella but not me. When he threw the kickball my very trained eye (thanks to him) watched that ball leave his hand and I followed it until the ball and my bat met. Oh YES!! I sent that ball sailing not only to the H.R. line but well past the line. I'm pretty sure the heavens opened and the angels were singing when I cracked that ball over both Jimmy and Ricky's heads. Seriously, I believe I saw the heavens open up and I heard the angels singing in my honor. I was a good sport though, I ran around those bases like any mature athlete would. OOOK, maybe that isn't entirely how I ran, perhaps I swaggered around the bases and smiled at my brother as I rounded the bases but I did it in the most mature way. Hey have you forgotten the death glare that screamed LITTLE GIRL. That'll show him little girl, on your knees bro and paint my name with honor of knowing you threw the pitch big boy. I'm sure he was proud of me though, deep, deep, deep down I'm telling you he was proud of me after all he was my gym teacher. Anything to do with sports he was there, oh the memories of my loving brother yelling to me throw that ball like a girl one more time and I will beat your ass. Alright then so you say put my fingers across the laces like so and pull my arm back at an angle behind my head with my elbow pointing forward you say. I may not be describing the throw properly on here but trust me when I tell you that boy would have beat my ass and therefore I could throw a spiral better then most boys on the football team. My talents didn't end there either, my loving brother taught me how to play baseball, lacrosse and basketball. I could play well enough to play with the boys without any complaints. He would make them let me play anyway but he didn't want to be embarrassed so I had to play well. No I had to be better then at least some of them. What I found out though when you play with boys you usually wind up fighting with boys and luckily my brother had me well trained in this area too. Let's just say there were a lot of ass kickings before I got the full spiral, dribble and proper way to throw a baseball down. Hitting the ball in baseball was never a problem just looked at his face and aimed. Of course that part is our little secret. Nah he wasn't that bad, although what I wrote is true he did always watch out for me and he did teach me well and he did beat my ass. To this day he brags about me being the second strongest in my entire grade in elementary school second only to a guy that had our same last name so it was cool. I don't hold the same pride with that part of the story as he does but a fact is a fact and now you know my dirty little secret. Had he went to middle school and high school with me I don't think he would be so proud. Short and sweet, I became a wimp. I didn't care though I still had back up when I needed it. And for those I needed it for you know who you are and shame on you.
This little visit back to the days of my youth in the good ole 70's definitely was a needed escape. The only thing that could top this visit would be a pb & j sandwich on wonder bread with a cold glass of milk. The pure joy a peanut butter and jelly sandwich on wonder bread (peanut butter on the top). It was the perfect chaser to a fun packed morning. Makes me all warm and fuzzy inside with the exception of the day that broke my heart. My aunt yells out her back window what do I want for lunch and my response was the same as everyday pb & j peanut butter on the top. I go in when it's ready sit down ready to dig in when to my horror the jelly is on the top. I panic because I'm afraid to tell her that I can't eat this. Thankfully I wear my emotions or at least it was good in this case because she asked, "what's wrong?" I respond with, "well, I don't mean to be rude but I like it with the peanut butter on the top, it has to be like that cause I don't like jelly that much." So you know what this _______ did, she flip my sandwich over. Helloooo let me say this slowly for you. The sandwich has to be made with the peanut butter on the top. This is a jelly sandwich that you flipped. Worst part she outed my mother and told me believe me your mother makes it the same way. Again lady don't want to be rude but obviously you know nothing because if you did we wouldn't even be having this conversation. So later when I was having my nightly phone chat with my mother when I asked her about this, you know what she did. She freaking giggled and said yeah all you have to do is turn the sandwich so the peanut butter is on the top. You know what I can't even finish the story it is way too painful to relive.
Going to my happy place where they only make the sandwich from the start where the peanut butter is on the TOP.
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