Grunt It Out

I don't usually like to make fun of others, especially on a public profile such as this where a handful of people might read, but after volleyball this past Thursday I have no choice.

Let's start with a little review of tennis. Watching it on TV you might notice that people grunt, a lot, when they hit the ball across the court. I don't know if it's involuntary or if it's intimidation. Tennis, a weird world I don't understand. Volleyball with its similar ball over the net concept I do, or thought I did.

The team we played against in our first game had plenty of vocalization. "Mine, yours, go, in, out...uhhnechaaa" or in my terms the longest loudest grunt heard during indoor coed volleyball. One tiny girl made that noise  every time she touched the ball. She hits uunng, she digs uuhhhaaa, she serves grruuuhhh, she sets oopphhh, she passes easily uuuunnnhhhh. Except it wasn't that fluid. Reread that sentence like this: She hits, someone sets, she expresses her efforts verbally.

The grunts had a two-three second delay which caused me to laugh hard, uncontrollably and when she served into the net. I think she noticed because the grunts became inaudible afterwards.

Genetics: Recessive and Dominate

You may or may not be aware of the little treat I discovered in my fourteenth or fifteenth year, the Eggtooth. It sits prominently on the right side of my nose dictating that all photos should be taken of my left side. I usually forget that. "I" noticed it when my adoring great aunt asked me about the huge zit on my nose, and should I have something like that looked at?

UHHHH...

And so it continues. During times of anger and distress it flashes ominously. Other times it flashes quirkily. And still others it tries to and some pink and blend in as a common bump. Skip kinda likes it, calling it my imperfection on a seemingly perfect face. Although he also called Uma Thurman so ugly she's beautiful. But there's no doubt that the eggtooth is a source of joy for him. So wouldn't be even more stoked if I found another eggtooth?

I'm not sure, but after I noticed Alexis Bledel almost develops a slight eggtooth (it could've been lighting and camera angles and make up), in the final episode of Gilmore Girls I showed Skip a picture of her.

"Wow," he says, "the girl has a huge forehead. Like huge. It competes with my five-head."

Uhhh huh, but look for the eggtooth. You need to see this.

"I mean with out bangs that's ridiculous," he continues. Maybe he would like some bangs too?

And then he spots the almost eggtooth, gasps and spurts out this   "If we have a daughter that's what she'll look like!"

I think that if we time it right our daughter could play her daughter in mockumentary about eggtooths.

Cat Nipped

Glancing at the sauce ring on my plate, I thought I knew what happened. I'd excused myself to the bathroom and by my return my steak had disappeared. Skip's smile seemed a little more smiley—he’d theifed it.

"You stole my steak!" I exclaimed.

"No I didn't," he answered.

"Then where is it? I didn't eat it, and it no longer sits on my plate," I said. Not that I really minded, but I did find it funny that he'd take it. On the last night of our over-the-top honeymoon, our hotel treated us to a four-course dinner. They tried their best to smooze and delight us. We got stares from other guests trying to figure out who we were. We were the representatives of a luxury magazine.

Skip managed to work magic and get us a penthouse suite, dinners at the top restaurants on the island, spa treatments and a scuba diving tour. So while we honeymooned he worked a little, which translates to people falling all over themselves so we'd be pleased.

Unfortunately the steaks failed every time. Skip ordered off the menu one night and got an over cooked slab. Now at our fancy special dinner my steak had been swiped, and not by the obvious suspect.

"I saw a flicker of movement while you were gone," he mentioned.

"A flicker of movement? As in a ghost? Voo-DOOO?" I smirked. He really thought I'd fall for something so lame?

I was about to reply with more sassy, smart-mouthed retorts when I saw the sauce trail. It jumped from the perfect circle on my plate to drips along the low courtyard wall. Leaning over I saw a grey cat. The third I'd seen that night, a brown cat had been sneaking around earlier and a black cat meowed at my every meal. GRRRR...I squinted at it chomping away on the last quarter of my filet mignon.

Luckily we'd just watched a vampire movie where the cats attacked people who'd been bitten. Picture 20 cats hissing and biting and licking a standing woman. Or the old Batman, where Michelle Pfeiffer falls out the window and the cats revive her. It was creepy like that, that rangy grey cat giving me the evil eye while it finished my dinner.

The managers were beside themselves, explaining that they carted off cats every week and more just showed up. I guess that means their vampires are under control.

Storybook Endings

Ahhh love, and marriage, and goodbyes. Along with the rush to the altar was the rush to make some important life decisions involving a possible cross-country move and a semi-permanent full-time job. (Those of you who know my job history can whoop and hollar. The rest of you: my jobs have been plentiful, I was laid off twice within two months and at one point divided my 90 hour work week between five jobs.)

As it stands we're making the move and I've committed to the almost full-time status for the next four to eight weeks. In doing so I ended two with two of my clients this week and ended my Disney Fairytale Princess titles.

You may remember my 15 minutes as Snow White which still invokes giggles. What cemented my Disney fate was my wedding dress. Many dress shops opened their doors to my frantic pleas. Many shopkeepers and sales ladies insisted that each new dress fit better, looked better and brought a light to my face. And I believed them all, also believing that my new career would be wedding dress model. Until one lady told me that the best part about my dream dress (the only dress I purchased) was the way it cinched my waist, you know so I wouldn't look fat.

"I've seen many girls skinnier than Breanna."

Ouch. Still hurts.

All that needed to be done were some simple alterations. A tuck at the waist (even my fuller figure needed a smaller size) and some sleeves added. The sleeves I constructed looked great and also like something from the closets of Belle, Jasmine, Cinderella or Auroa. DISNEY it screamed while I bit my lip and decided if ever I should feel like a princess my wedding would be it.

Four days later I showed up to work and instantly had to recap the event with my client, a ten-year-old boy. His mom stressed my beauty and the ceremony, the significance of a husband and wife. The boy? His face lit up as he called me Tinkerbell.

I'm just saying that if we miss the road to Peoria I might zip down to Disney World for auditions.

Somebody Already Got My Number

In the rush of the morning I left my engagement ring in a dish by the sink, it's hard to slip it back on when my hands are covered in spf 50. And maybe if I hadn't been late to work I would have gone back and put it on and stopped a young man from ultimate humiliation.

As it was I didn't and he was. For work I take one of my client's to cash a check about every other week. We've been doing this for a year and have some friends there. None whose names I know, but I recognize their faces and they know my client well. Today happened to be a bank day. We strolled in, did our business and stepped back out onto the warm street.

"Excuse me," said an unfamiliar hesitant voice.

I turned to see some guy half looking at me and half staring at his feet holding a folded piece of paper out to me. I reached for it wondering what could have fallen from the purse of my client.

"The thing is..if you're not busy..maybe you could call me sometime," he said. Glancing at me he continued, "I think I have a crush on you."

"Oh," I replied. "Dude I'm getting married on Saturday. I just forgot my ring this morning."

He immediately began walking backwards and mumbled a congratulations as he turned to the building.

I tried to place him as a teller, a loan officer, mail carrier, but the plaid shorts and striped shirt gave no indication of any position. Perhaps just another bi-weekly patron? I'll never know as I'm sure he'll never have the courage to approach me (possibly any female) again. Still I couldn't help but be slightly touched by the sweetness of the gesture from an obviously painfully shy boy.

When I mentioned this to my fiance he remarked, "good thing he was sweet. Had it been me I'd have told you 'Oh good so we still have three days' or 'That's awesome that I'm going to be the last guy you ever make out with' or 'Good so you still have three days among the living, there's still time to save you' or 'I know a cry for help when I hear one' or 'You know that's the leading cause of divorce'."

Hmmmm....did I mention that SK spent the last week in a foreign country? Just glad he decided to show up for the ceremony.

Cursed Crooked Sailors

It's hard to tell someone they're right. And in this case I have to tell two people, the Skipper (Erik, our sailing captain) and the Skipper a.k.a the future Mr. Breanna Hall. Guys you were right. First, when you told me that if I didn't sit on the side of the boat when it tipped I would plunge head first into the water only to be saved by the brevity of the air gust. Second, as soon as you dropped me off on shore and ran over me for good luck the wind did indeed pick up and you had the best runs of the day.

Sailing taught me a few things:

I don't need to know more nautical terms than Ben Affleck taught me in the Voyage of the Mimi. Starboard, Port, Mast, Sails will suffice.

Big mast, small keel, we should fly across the water, if ever a wind blew in the Rocky Mountains.

Taunting the wind works if you also sacrifice one rider, preferably the cute one, and ditch her on land (just glad they didn't throw me overboard, which they tried unsuccessfully due to the lack of coordination in their freezing fingers).

The captain should check all rigging I performed, especially anything involving a strap.

The super fast speed of the racing sailboat cruised past the motorboats but was upset by the lightning fast catamaran from Asia, or the Islands, or our next door neighbor. It's a mystery, as is how they passed us.

Hypothermia sets in before you realize it.

The best time for storytelling occurs as the sailboat eerily turns in slow 360 degree circles while we wait for a breeze or a tow, anything to get us moving.

There is some confusion about a boat and a banana and an old curse.

When your finance pounds you on the back having too much fun with your foam padded lifejacket, do not retaliate, Karma dictates that you will ram your forearm into the nearest cable taking a swing of your own.

The Greek Afro curls innocently in the ocean spray.

Scrambling across the boat while diving through ropes and under the sail with an 18-inch clearance is best done by a small child or a 200 lb. gorilla man.

It takes a few days to recover physically, after the cold and fatigue have your muscles do the sewing machine and your bum is sore from riding the gunwales.

And finally, a magazine staff makes the transition to a perfect crew flawlessly.

Two-Year Learning Curves

Some people naturally catch anything you throw at them. Some of us need a big welt on our heads before we learn to place our hands in front of our face and close when the flying objects touches our palm. And it's still painful. Imagine the struggle when you have it down, life is great and the wind flies through your hair. Then you put your bike away for the cold, snowy, icy winter, take your bike out in the spring and realize you forgot how to ride.

That was me, age six or so, embarrassed and horrified because the first year I learned involved a horrendous accident ending in a summersault through a sticker patch and a thump on a log. Traumatic. Obviously 20 years later only a bright blue hard tail mountain bike could make me happy.

At least I was happy when I tried my first too long ride in the city and the tire kept deflating. And I gladly smiled when I realized if I completely took my bike apart it barely fit in my emptied car trunk. When I nearly flew off the front, I frowned, scrunched my nose and stowed the bike against the bedroom wall. Every weekend found some disaster to prevent me from learning.

Summer's back and the bike's out, possibly at the urging of a natural bike pro who enjoys hurdling down and through narrow rocky tracks in the quakies.

We rode the gondola up the Canyons so he could ride down and I could walk my bike. Actually the gondola wasn't enough and we rode a ski lift up to the very top. Well the very top after we climbed a few hundred feet. A glorious climb if I might acknowledge the grace and style and speed of the novice (ME!). While Skip maybe felt out of breath and light headed on the uphill run, I found that by holding my breath and closing my eyes I generally made it to the next stopping point and a little oxygen deprivation keeps you sane.

It also wears you out and makes the muscles in your neck pop out. Creepy, yet effective as I am here to type it out.