T-minus three point five hours to X-MANS! And five point five hours to my birthday!
Today I went into the Wal-Mart and ordered new glasses; my old frames, which I think are around five or six years old now, finally snapped from the treatment they get in my backpack. The new ones are a lot slimmer and more… me-like, much like the ones I tried to order six years ago. They shipped the wrong ones that time, and I took them because I’m not big into hassles. If they ship the wrong ones this time, I will laugh bitterly, and probably kick something. Like the Cheat.
As promised, more on the Sumatran Ratmonkeys follows here: Sophomore year, the mighty Jon and the infamous Darren (Emperor of Peein’ On Things) decided to start an general-purpose intramural sports team. As fans of Dead Alive (aka Braindead, apparently), Peter Jackson’s gory-camp first movie, they named the team after its badly animated devil-critters.
Ever since, the Ratmonkeys have typified the Ragtag Band of Misfits from every sports movie ever, going up against the rich fraternity kids in black t-shirts and using their oddly matched combined strengths to try and pull off a Cinderella victory. As this is real life and not a sports movie, of course, we were consistently stomped flat by said rich kids, who were also frequently drunk and laughing at themselves.
It’s always been fun, though, and I’m going to miss the hopeful, hopeless camaraderie. It’s only because of them that I’ve played softball and basketball the past three years, and of course ended up with my Sumatran Area Ratmonkey Softballers t-shirt (pics, pre-aged for your enjoyment: 1 and 2; that’s me, Jon, Darren, left to right).
I don’t think we ever made the playoffs in either sport, any year. I still don’t know exactly what a “zone defense” is, and I will never, ever be able to catch. I’m going to a comic book movie tonight with six giggling friends and tape on my broken glasses.
It’s rough when you start out, but you know, it’s good to be a nerd.
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