We make all of our notes, jotted phone numbers, and lunch orders on the backs of used notecards which had once been filed away to keep track of inventory.

Nothing says lovin’ like reading an order for Arby’s off of a card while the fast food clerk stares at you, wide-eyed, and you realize that the side of the card facing them says “Confessions of an Anal Queen.”

I was born without a bowling gene, unlike every other person in the state of Wisconsin. Family and friends alike are on bowling leagues and bowl near-perfect games. I am not like this. However, my ‘klutzy, I will be injured in any activity I try’ gene is doing simply mah-velous!

Allow me to expound: Yesterday Lesley, Steve, and I went bowling. After a few awful frames I started doing well. A strike, a spare, 9 pins here…and then I started playing awfully again. Steve felt like it was his job to be commentator and point out how poorly I was doing. “aaaaaaand another gutter! Ladies and gentlemen, the worst bowler in the world certainly isn’t disappointing us today!”

So of course I got mad.

To illustrate how mad I was, I sat down in directly in front of the lane, blocking it, perhaps expecting an apology…I’m not quite sure. He picked up his ball and said that if I want to get hit, that’s fine. And I’m sitting there like “no way is he going to hit me. No way!” So I’m still there, very confident that (a) I will not be struck with a bowling ball, and (b) I will get an apology of some sort. He approached, striding purposefully down the lane, and I thought he was going to try to go around me, to my right. But as he’s getting very close, all I can see is the ball swinging down and I think “oh my god oh my god oh my god he’s actually going to hit me!” So I duck my head down towards my left shoulder, still anticipating a move to the right, when CRACK! the ball not only solidly strikes my left shoulder, it also solidly strikes my left temple. Owwwwwwwwwwwwwww!

That’s almost as good as the time I was struck in the head with a golf club. Or the time a ‘friend’ threw a baseball at me, while I, blinded by the sun, failed to catch it and instead it smacked me right in the face. Those, however, are stories for another time. I feel that there may be a god of athletics that is laughing at me from on high.