the hot chick bomb.

I often poke fun at my athletic schools or lack thereof. Today is no different. Since I packed my SUV and headed to the lone star state nearly two years ago, I've been in search of a Volleyball league to join. One recently came up, just in time to replace Christian softball I might add; I quickly scrambled to pull a team together.

In a clever, yet hasty email deluge I assaulted my friends with plees to join my team. To my shock only a few showed interest. To say the least, I was crushed although not yet defeated. Thus, I turned to craigslist.

Your probably familiar with Craigslist, but just case in case your not it's a messageboard where you can buy a car, get an apartment, or find somebody to shit on your face. It truly runs the gamut of society.

Within hours I had my team.

An open gym was scheduled on Sunday and I was ready to play. I walked in and quickly surmised the situation. It seems evil-doers had broken into the Town Lake YMCA and detonated a hot chick bomb.

Things were looking good.

Our first oppponents approached the court. Nearly all females, none less then 6 foot, I smelled a ringer. My volleyball skills are based on the laws of random. The ball hits me and then goes in random places. Luckily I'm comfortable with this.

We rotated and I found my spot in the front line. Across from me, a 6'2 spiker who I am quite sure was on the pro circuit. If I had to guess, her name was Helen or Ingrid or something Nordic like that. The ball was set into motion. Now, I usually sing Metallica songs to pump me up while I am playing and today was no different. Just as I was getting into the heavy part of enter sandman, Helen/Ingrid backed up and began a dash for the net. "Oh shit..She's gonna spike me in the face as a result of her frustration with the male gender." I had no choice but to run up, close my eyes, and jump...so I did. A thousand wasps hit my hand. I opened my peepers and quickly realized I had just blocked the supa-spike. I looked at my team, all who were staring at me like, "Holy shit. I can't believe he did that."

I would never trade any of my skills for athletics but, I have to admit, doing stuff like that is pretty sweet.

Still on a helga blocking high I returned home. Evan was standing on the chair wearing his toolbelt.

R: "What'cha doin?

E: "I'm mounting brackets on the wall to hold positionable speakers."

R: "Oh. I blocked some tall chick's volleyball."

BEEEEEEEEEP

R: "Hey, what is that?"

E: "It's my studfinder. I just got it. It works pretty good."

R: "Let me see it."

E: "I know what your gonna do and it won't work. I already tried it."

R: "Let me try."

(studfinder is tossed my way)
(I press it to my chest and it emits a loud beep)

R: "Seems like it works"

E: "How'd you do that?"

(studfinder is snatched from my grasp and pressed against his chest)
(silence)

R: "Obviously I am a stud. Duh."