The things I do are not always the things I’m supposed to be doing.
By Hannah Wallace
CCB and me at Raymond James Stadium not learning how to tango or how to make marzipan flowers.
One of my bosses recommended I take a Lakewood Ranch cake decorating class and blog about it, as it’s what I’m supposed to be blogging about—fun little structured activities for local folks. And it’s not that I wouldn’t—I’m not being flip when I say that my cake decorating abilities are a major disappointment to me—but I’m the ringer for the Herald-Tribune’s kickball team, and if I’m off perfecting my buttercream latticework, who will cover second base when they play the dreaded Kickin’ Nuggets?
(On a side note, I wonder if playing for the HT’s kickball team violates the “do not compete” clause in my SarasotaMagazine contract.)
Yeah, Rockstar Kim roped me in to an occasional stint with her HT employee kickball team, the awesomely named McFarlinators. I keep having to turn down ostensible blog-related activities for my ridiculous sports ventures. Not that I’m complaining—I’m just wondering if everyone else is.
In lieu of Hotel Indigo’s Twilight Tango on Sunday, CCB and I went to the Bucs’ home opener. Indoor soccer is always getting in the way of Third Thursdays at the Ca d’Zan. Saturday evening I’ll be at Siesta Key Beach for Mrs. Harrible’s annual beach volleyball get-together. And I just realized that I can’t attend Planned Parenthood’s Safe Sex event in November because I’ll be in Estero for a hockey tournament. It’s not that I don’t want to go to these non-sporty things; it’s that I know my friends and teammates will miss me more. Still, I swear I’ll get out and take classes and attend events and be a better blogger…just as soon as CCB and I get tired of our new badminton set.
(On another side note, badminton is hysterical. You have to stand three feet away from your opponent because every swing takes full effort just to knock the thing over the net, so you look like Tippi Hedren in an aviary. And for even more hysterics, try playing when there’s a slight breeze. It’s like a special school for adults with no eye-hand coordination.)
Hard at work last Friday afternoon, I came across Glamour.com’s “Single-ish” blog by two 20-something New Yorkers detailing their misadventures in the dating world. It inspired me, in that superior-but-not-unattainable sort of way—the personal, conversational voice, the amusing, slice-of-life anecdotes. I’m going to unashamedly steal from it next week with a look back at dating life (such as it was), but for now, after enjoying those Single-ish stories about people and places I’ll never know (not to mention I’m, y’know, not single), I’m just hoping that the bizarre ways I spend my time with the bizarre people I know at least partially make up for the complete absence of useful information here.
They also ask questions at the ends of their entries. Um, any ideas? OK, how about, “What are your favorite sporty activities?”