Kick It!

I'm coming out of the, um, dingy bathroom at Tom Tom's about something.

I bashed the hell out of kickball last year. Okay, no, really, I bashed the hell out of the founder of DC Kickball. The Master and Peter and Ralph and everyone else I know who plays and who I consider a friend of mine suggested I rock it before I knock it. So, the Master put together a WAKA Adams Morgan team as part of Team Cuttler's fundraising plan (this year's WAKA charity is to raise money for players who are participating in the Leukemia & Lymphoma Society's Team in Training marathons). I promised I'd sign up thinking she'd never follow through and leave her championship team. I was wrong. I signed up. I'm playing kickball.

On the plus side, everyone on our team is a friend of ours who I'd actually opt to drink with once a week or more. The main issues with my playing are as follows:

1) I don't know how to play kickball. I'm sure it will come back to me from those sweltering elementary Physical Education class days of Mrs. Baker blowing her whistle for my friends and I to stop talking in left field, but, as of now, I know as much about kickball as I do about why my father insists on watching, yawn, curling.

2) I don't drink beer unless I'm trashed, thirsty with no other options, or participating in a round of car bombs at the Black Duck in Westport, CT (Martha Stewart Living TV gathering-after-softball tradition).

3) Even if I did drink beer, I find flip cup extremely unsanitary. Think about it, people's saliva-covered plastic cups falling into a mound of beer one at a time, over and over again. I'm too much of a hypochondriac to have any interest in partaking in that past time.

4) I don't own many pairs of work out pants and shorts. My collection of exercise gear consists of about 4 pairs of spandex, cropped yoga pants and cute racer-back sports bra tanks. I'll need to stock up on my Soffe shorts like in college again. You think I should iron my sorority letters on the toosh too?

5) I don't like sweating. I do sweat (okay, obviously), but I don't like smelling like sweat. I especially hate smelling like sweat and suntan lotion. I'm going to have to buy one of those Sharper Image personal cooling systems or something. Would I look silly (or a 1980s Disney World tourist) if I brought a water spray bottle and mini-fan?

Last night's kickoff party at Adams Mill was fun. All my friends were there, and we had a great time. I wore my "laid-back kickball gal" best (ie a cotton fitted tank and torn-on-purpose designer jeans with sandals and hair in a pony tail). I ran into a friend of a friend I'd not seen in a while. He told me one of his teammates gave me a "cute." Meaning, he was sitting at a table with them pointing out who he knew in the bar. When he pointed to me, the person said, "oh, she's cute." See, I can play this role. Sam the kickball chick.

Pleaaaaaaaaase stop the laughing.