%%USERNAME%%    %%ACCWORDS%% %%ONOFF%% |
 |  of a tennis player, hiker, writer |
 A bird in the bath. well, just before.  On court 1. Lookin' to own.  In Jax, enjoyin' some solid juniors tennis.  I love my new phone cam.  * Clears throat * “Um, Robin here, your friendly neighborhood MC(Mistress of Ceremonies). Welcome to my blog. In it you’ll find my rants, ramblings and random updates on everything ME... …and since I’m the typo queen and master of misspelling, these will be present in most, if not all my posts.”  A few of my better entries - all quick reads: |
| While last night wasn’t what I envisioned, it was pleasant enough. Laney arrived back in town from her away match much later than expected, so she was there with me at JDS while my tournament was still going on. Her presence vetoed any plans I had of going out with the 4.0 ladies. Instead, we – she and her new boyfriend Taylor, walked over to Longhorn’s Steakhouse to celebrate her WIN – YAY for Laney! Autumn’s boyfriend Shaun met up w/ us. Afterwards, we stopped by Joshua Cup, a local coffee house where Autumn works, to see her. “Mommy!” she says delighted to see me. She hasn’t called me mommy in like forever. I return her smile. My heart is warm. Then, a pack of young guys enters. They all know Autumn and greet her. She calls them by the drinks they order. ‘Mocha Lattie’ or whatever, I don’t know the names of the coffee drinks. Well, except MY coffee drink. What like anything else matters. They are curious about me and ask Autumn who I am. “This is my mom.” She reaches over to hug me. I smile and lean my head on her shoulder. “What?! No way. She is not the mom.” They all say this. “Yeah she is.” Autumn tells them. Still not convinced they disagree. No longer able to resist, I say. “Autumn, why do you tell everyone that? I’m the mom.” I giggle. The group is still debating my motherhood status when I finally interrupt them, ‘Well, okay, then…who am I?” “The sister.” One of them answers. Immediate agreement is acknowledged among them. “And just how old is the sister?” I ask “Twenty-two.” Again, more agreeing. “Wow! I like you guys.” I say. I am so totally enjoying this. Being cough cough something years old, It’s always a rush hearing I look much younger. I just don’t ever get tired of hearing it. (sorry if this makes sound shallow) “No. really. I’m the mom.” I confess “You don’t look like the mom..” says one of them. He then turns to Autumn, “Do you hang out with your mom? You really should ya know, hang out with your mom.” |
| Well, Andy and Mitchell won the 8.0 Men’s Finals. They were down 5 – 2 in the first set and I watched them play and win 7 – 5. I had to leave before they finished so I called Darrell this morning to find out the results. “Perry/ Dufresne won.” He says. He gives me the score. I call Andy and instead of saying hello, I say, “Tell me how you feel.” “I feel super fantastic.” He says, and I can hear in his voice that he really does. “As a mater of fact, I couldn’t feel any more super fantastic.” He begins to give me a play – by play of the second set, since I was unable to stay and watch it. Then he tells me what a great job I did coordinating the event. Winners are almost always complimentary of events. “Thanks. But all the players were great. Making this a fun event to run.” Still high off winning, he says, “That’s because the director had such a super fantastic attitude. We fed off you.” I’m taking this compliment, not gonna argue. |
| Got a few minutes before I leave for JDS to put four matches on. Unfortunately, the 8.0 Men’s Doubles is starting at eight. Two of them have USTA league matches. I say forfeit them! (No. Not really) But do I look like I wanna spend four hours outside in the blistering cold watching four grown men whack the ball across the net? In truth, I do. Especially this match. Okay, so the whole entire weekend, I said the ‘super fantastic’ line. Everyone thought it was funny. And just a little while ago, Andy, one of the 8.0 players calls me on my cell. Earlier this morning, I call Andy to let him know we really want to play this match today, not Sunday. He asks me how I’m dong and I say, “Fine.” It’s early in the morning, my caffeine buzz has not kicked in. “Just fine?” he asks “Oh, c’mon. You can do better than that.” He has heard me say the S/F phrase all w/e. “Give me thirty minutes.” I tell him. He allows me this grace period. Later today, he calls back, checking on the status of tonight’s go time/date, “Are we on tonight?” He wants confirmation. “I still have to hear from Viktor.” I say Viktor is on his team, so he tells me he is gonna get his cell number, since Viktor has not responded to two of my emails. He wants to play. “You know, I am accrediting my 3.5 win to the Super Fantastic Attitude.” I am flattered. “Well thank you.” I say sweetly. Shortly, I am able to contact Viktor, and he agrees to play. I call Andy back. “I have super fantastic news.” “No way.” “Way.” “That’s awesome.” He says. So, its pretty cool, that at least one person was positively affected by my S/F thing. I’m having more and more positive feelings about my February 4th trip to Destin.  ps...I'm still in yucky pain. but, I'm super fantastically okay with it. |
| Both my elbows are burning. It started last night and has gotten progressively worse. Although, I’m having a super fantastic day. No. Really. I’m still working on the tournament, and updating the website, so I’m occupied with business distracting me from focusing on my pain. I got my stuff in the mail yesterday. I love Amazon.com. Being a non-driver, its great to hop on the Internet to purchase stuff. Usually, I get music from Amazon, as I did this time. Derrick and the Dominos (forgive me if I misspelled) the Layla CD, and a Susan Tedechi Live CD (again, fogginess on your part for misspellings). So far, the S/T isn’t as good as I thought. I’ve heard several songs she’s performed live on other CD’s I have and she has an amazing voice, suited for blues singing. Of course, the D/D CD is off the chain. Unfortunately, I forgot to bring it to work. So, Dave Matthews is singing the Grace is Gone song. It’s a sad one. I love it anyway. I wanna say, that on the CRASH CD, he sang a song about her and how much in love w/ her he was. |
| I’m feeling much better now. I love Chai tea. Plus, I put the club music in. It’s blaring loud helping me to move my bad attitude to a nicer dock. So much stuff happened during the tournament, its would take several entries to get it all in. I met Carol. I’ve seen her before. She’s done some of my tournaments before, but we sorta clicked this time. I want to go partying with Carol. She plays tonight, I’ll have to pencil something in my calendar. I gotta key in the court blocker thing on the website and I don’t want to. I want something more mentally challenging to do. Or, more fun. I’m open to suggestions. At least my pain level has dropped some. |
| I’m too tired to write. Too tired to think straight, and too tired to have a ‘super fantastic’ attitude. I drank my coffee, but it hasn’t kicked in or something because I feel no caffeine adrenalin pumping through my tired veins. My tired ulnar nerves are in pain, which further underscores the drift away from my S/F attitude, floating somewhere between ‘leave me alone’ and ‘barely hangin’ on’ I’m thinking that some Chai tea would help do the trick here, at least steer me towards. “Fine.” Plus, a phone call to Renee. But she doesn’t get in till nine, and usually, she’s too busy to chat until around ten or then thirty. I’m on my own for two hours. |
| It really stinks not being able to drive. Trying to get from point A to point B and then back to point A again can be frustrating. Especially when circumstances beyond your control arise unexpectedly. As was the case yesterday, when I didn’t plan on going to the other tennis center and then having to come back to my tennis center. I got a ride there fine, but a ride back, I was frantically making phone calls. Darrell, being the friend that he is, hooked me up w/ a ride from a buddy of his, who just happened to pop in to JDS for a brief visit. “Sure. Great,” I say, already gathering my stuff. “I’ll walk you out to the car.” I climb into the front passenger seat of this guy’s Lincoln Navigator. He is well dressed in huge baggy clothes, a thick gold chain wraps around his neck. Another one, holding a cross hangs from the rear view mirror. Darrell walks to the driver’s side window, and they chat. Lots of low laughing. I don’t like this and am hit with a momentary flash of uneasiness. “Darrell?” I loudly ask, interrupting their little meeting. “I will get to the Tattnall (that’s name of my tennis center) safe and sound? Won’t I?” “You’ll get there,” he says, purposely leaving out the safe and sound part. He’s playing with me and enjoying it. I try to embrace the fact that I know Darrell wouldn’t intentionally steer me into violence, or mayhem, or whatever… “Hi. I’m Robin.” I offer my hand. I also make a point of enunciating my words. (don’t ask me why I did this, couldn’t tell ya.) “Yeah, yeah. Spencer.” He shakes my hand, but I can see he thinks this is an uncool move on my part. Which was my intention. “Spencer,” I say, still enunciating, “Can you? Take me to Tattnall Quickly? “ “Yeah, yeah” he says. He backs the car up, he and Darrell still mumbling in low tones. Before we are even out of the parking lot, Spencer tells me he’s a – and this is his word – buck wild. I chew on this for a moment. Not exactly sure why he feels the need to reveal his buck wildness to a total stranger right off the bat. “So…Then all those stories? About Darrell? In Atlanta?…they are true? “ “Yeah yeah,” he says. Not wanting to discount Darrell’s image. But then he adds, “Well, I’m the one. I get it started.” I guess he was trying to underscore his buck wildness. I don’t know. All five fingertips of his right hand tap on his chest as he tells me how HE is the man. Darrell is with him. But he makes sure his – and I wish I could remember the term he used – buddies get what they want. He hooks them up. “You’re a DJ?” I ask, trying to move the conversation to a cleaner subject. I already know the answer to this as Darrell has told me. We chat about he Djing. He is also a nurse. But he prefers to DJ. Of course he does. Anyone with the B/W image would much rather be Djing than sticking needles in other people’s skin…. (well, I’m sure there are a few pervs out there who would… NEVERMIND – but I’m getting distracted) Where was I? Oh, yeah, um, so we stop at a red light and he rests his elbow on the middle console, his left arm stretched out holding the steering wheel. Personally, I’ve never seen anyone actually sit in the car like this before, (while driving) like they were just relaxing, hanging out, getting their groove on. I look over at him. He’s a huge guy. I’m unable to determine, because of his baggy clothes, whether or not his six-pack is chiseled. However, based on the size of his massive tree trunk sized forearm sticking out from his baggy shirt, I’d say the gym was his second home. Try as I might, the conversation always returns back to him and his favorite pastimes. “You know what?” I say, “I couldn’t hang.” Not that I really believe he’s even considered me as a candidate for his B/W behavior. But, just to clear the air, in case. Better to be safe than sorry. He thinks this is funny. Saying something like ‘Ya never know.’ “Yes. I know,” confirming my position. He makes some comment about me and a ponytail and I’m thinking ‘okay’ where is Tattnall? Are we there yet? Number one priority on my to do list; devise a plan to get Darrell. “Nope! Not me. I am soooo not ready for your league. In fact, you’re playing in a different ball park.” We pull into the parking lot of my tennis center. Whew. “Thanks sooo much for the ride,” I say, hopping out as fast as I can. He smiles, “Yeah, yeah.” Immediately in the tennis center I call Darrell. ‘Oh my God! Darrell” I shriek into the phone. Mostly, I call to let him know I am back at work, not riding around with Mr. Buck Wild misbehaving. He just laughs. Thirty minutes later, there is a knock at my office door. It’s Spencer, holding out my rolled up poster of Maria Sharapova. I accidentally left it in his Navigator. “Oh wow. Thank you,” I say, genuinely pleased. “How sweet of you to bring this back.” “Yeah, yeah.” As he’s leaving, I say, “Hey, don’t worry. I won’t tell anyone.” He gives me a confused look. “You know, that you were sweet. Wouldn’t want to tarnish your Buck Wild Image.” “Yeah, yeah,” he says on his way out the front door. |
| Some guy, who will remain nameless just emailed me. He's the number one seed and not happy about it. He says I let Laney seed the draws. Which isn't true. Oh great. I forwarded the email to those on the seeding committee. sheesh |
| What an awful night last night was. Everyone was angry about something and felt compelled to involve me in there angriness. I just sat there, nodding at appropriate moments, but mostly, staying silent. Anger this intense isn’t worth engaging yourself in, especially when it’s not MY issue. Autumn was furious at Shaun. I’ve never seen her so angry before. “I don’t want to talk about it.” She says, as I slid into the front passenger’s seat of her car. Fine by me. I’ve had a wonderfully busy day, but it was sprinkle with stressful moments. I’m worried about emails, when I get home, about mistakes in the draws, or avoidance requests I might have missed. I try to relax, you know, find a quiet place in my mind, for the ride home. I let the seat back, take a deep breath, and picture something pleasant in my mind. My quiet moment? Not happening. Her cell phone rings. She is livid. I hear bits and pieces of the fight she and Shaun had from her responses into the phone. Oh My Gosh. I’m glad I missed the original. Peace and quiet aren’t mine- at least during the ride home. “where are we going?” I ask, almost afraid to speak. “To pick up Shaun.” He’s standing in the parking lot of a gas station across town. I don’t even want to know. Shaun, at 23 has no car. Autumn takes him to and from work, and to whatever/where ever else he wants to go, when he can’t borrow his sister’s car. Shaun hops into the back seat. “Can I borrow your cell phone?” he asks Autumn. What balls. I almost say this to him. But I’m staying out of it. It’s not my issue. But still, I can’t believe he has the nerve to even ask her for anything. The request angers Autumn even more, and she has a few choice words for him. Her cell phone stays up front with her. I’m wondering where HIS cell phone is, but again, I’m out of this one. Now, Autumn is really mad. I hate ridding in the car with her when she’s mad or in a rush. She drives too fast and tailgates. It’s very unnerving. So, she almost rear-ends this green Ford Explorer just before we pull into the church parking lot – where she is dropping Shaun off. I lose it at this point. No longer able to remain silent. I make some comment about my head going through the windshield isn’t my favorite visual. Furthermore, its not on my agenda today. In truth, ‘smash head through windshield’ is NEVER on my agenda. But, whatever. So, Shaun gets dropped off. Before we can move the car even one inch forward, Autumn’s body goes rigid and a few obscenities fly out of her mouth. The F word being used several times. This is new for me. The mother, hearing such languate coming from her. Bless her heart. I’ve never seen her this angry. I almost feel sorry for her. |
| Whew! I finished everything with the tournament without too much trouble. The worst thing was, finding an entry form AFTER I had seeds, draws, match times! I was like; “Um Darrell… What in the heck is this?” Only I didn’t say heck. “It’s Frank’s form.” He says, like he wonders why I’m stressed. “I have not seen this.” I’m smiling, even thought I’m not happy. “I faxed it to you.” “Maybe so, but I have not seen this. The fax never came through." I called Bonnie, for guidance. This software is very sensitive to procedure. So, if you mess up, you run the risk of accidentally erasing all the work you’ve done. Hence, my apprehension. It’s not like I could just add him into the tournament. Luckily for me, there was a bye on the number two line, so I could insert him in w/out too much trouble. And, I had not posted to the internet, so it wasn’t like I had to call his opponent and say, in my very sweet phone voice, “Hey there, this is Robin Bateman, the tournament director.” Pause, “Listen, you know that bye you thought had for Saturday morning?…Well…Due to admin error, you’ll have to get your ass out of bed and come play tennis at eight-thirty in the morning.” A few other wrinkles had to be ironed out, nothing big. Oh, hey, Emmyloo9 sent me a merit baddge today!!! YAY for me. Behind in my book, say a few prayers with my name in them will ya? |
| I'm at JDS today, away from my office, and microwave, refrigerator, and...MR. COFFEE machine. But, there are lots of people at JDS, should be fun |
| My peppy customer service voice is tired. I’ve been on the phone and the internet all day long. Multitasking. Lots of players – approximately twenty-five of them – missed yesterday’s deadline. So, they called me up to sweetly request I put them into the tournament anyway, even though the deadline was midnight last night. I’m ready for a drink. And it’s barely after five. When I get home, I have more internet/TDM work to do. Remember, my work compie hates TDM? So, a few things I could do right now, I will be forced to wait until tonight. Ugh. Tomorrow I will go to JDS – the other tennis center and work on the draws, and scheduling/times. I have so many avoidance requests, its gonna be like putting a one thousand piece puzzle together. Who ever started honoring avoidance requests, I’m sorry, but I have a strong dislike for you now. |
| Sometimes, its fun being in charge. A woman with authority. That’s me. Right now. As the tournament director. You see, the deadline was midnight last night, and now there are a handful of players who want in. They are calling me up, using their sweet voices, promising me food, alcohol, hugs, whatever it takes for me to exercise my authority as TD and ‘batch enter’ them into my tournament. |
| It’s raining, I’m at work, and, its President’s day. Not a municipal holiday for us. Nonetheless, I’m unhappy about being here today, when so many of my friends and family members are at home right now, snug between the sheets of their warm and comfy beds. No alarm clocks woke them up this morning. Let’s see, who is home today…Laney. Autumn, they are off. Scott. He is off. So are Linda, Sonya, Gina, and all my Bibb County teacher friends. Dawn. Off. Renee. Off. Randy, Sharon, Forrest, Adam. All off. Although, I think Lisa is working. Who else is working? Me, Robin, that’s who. So, I decided, since I’m here I might as well make myself useful to the world. So today, for one day only, everything that goes wrong – I’ll take the blame for it. Yep, you heard me, It will be my fault. (But only for today - and NOT during my lunch hour either). Now, let’s be fair about this, don’t just commit a wrong doing just because you can say, “It’s Robin’s fault.” However, if you accidentally forget to turn in your inventory report, I’ll take the blame. Tell your boss, “I’m so sorry, but Robin forgot to remind me of the deadline. I’ll have that report first thing in the morning for ya.” Forgot to send lunch money with your child. No worries, it’s Robin’s fault. Did you take the trash out? No? That’s okay. Cuz its all my fault. A crack in your mother's favorite crystal egg? I'm taking the blame. This sarcastic moment was brought to you by a self-indulged moment of pity by the author. |
| It’s always fun to make new discoveries. Even little ones. Like shortcuts on the compie. I love anything IT. Big discoveries, like finding a quicker way to and from work, are worth celebrating at Ingleside Pizza. Any discovery involving money…well break out the Johnny Walker Black! This particular discovery is on writng.com, so, in my book, its as good as money. *pauses to sip scotch on the rocks* I just now, and I’m uncertain as to why I have never even noticed, readers can post comments to specific blog entries. Blogs are new to writing.com, online journals aren’t, but the blog format is. Anyway, it so totally rocks, to be able to leave a comment in other people's blogs. |
| I hate funerals. Even ones where the death isn’t necessary a sad thing. Still, the whole concept, of life not lasting forever – at least as we know it on the planet, brings a heaviness to my heart that is hard to shake. I’ve been to three funerals in the past fifteen months. The atmosphere and environment surrounding each very different. Fifteen months ago, one of my part time employees lost her four-year-old son. We were both at work when she got the call saying he was in the hospital fighting for his life. Visibly shaken, she dashed out of there. Concentrating on my job was difficult. Several hours later, she phoned to say he had died. I was stunned. Two days later, her x-husband was arrested and charged with the murder of a four-year old boy through child abuse. I attended the showing but couldn’t make myself go into the room. I stood in the doorway, unable to move forward. The next day, at the funeral, I found a seat at the back. The church was packed. People lined the walls and there were others standing outside. The pastor giving the service had a deep loud commanding voice, sorta like James Earl Jones. But different sounding. He told stories of childhood happiness. How could this have happened? My eyes kept looking at the small blue casket covered with an arrangement of blooming white flowers. I wasn’t the only one crying throughout the entire service. When it was over, and the pall bears began moving the casket down the isle, everyone started singing a slow somber version of “I’ll Fly Away.” I totally lost it. Seeing that tiny casket, knowing tiny body was inside. A week prior, he was at the tennis center, eyes filled with excitement when he saw his grandfather pull into the parking lot. He had brought McDonalds happy meals for the four year old and his big brother. Three moths ago, a neighbor died, losing a yearlong battle with cancer. A family friend, and physician, this funeral was tough. Lots of folks were there, a scrapbook of sorts was placed in the back of the sanctuary for us to flip through on our way out. He Lots of stories were told, funny ones, to make the mood light. He would have wanted it that way. He was quite a character too; tattooed, long hair, braided. He and his wife rode their Harley’s to Bike Week in Daytona every October. Yesterday, I attended a funeral for two people. Family members. In-laws actually. A husband and wife dying within forty-eight hours of each other. He was eighty-seven, she eighty-six. They had been married sixty-five years. An eternity in my book. Sometimes, I’m doubtful my marriage will make it through the week, much less half a century. She was a tennis player. He was a writer(two thngs I love) - who loved to hunt and fish. We visited their home in New Smyrna Beach Florida countless times. She would mark the occasion with a home cooked seafood meal. He, who never failed to mention to Bryan that he thought all three of his girls were beautiful, would play this old scratch 33LP of Frank Sanatra. I want to say the name of the song was ‘Autumn Wind” but I’m really not sure. Now, I can here the music in my mind. He loved her name, and our visits to his house. I met lots of relatives I hadn’t seen in years and a few I'd only heard about. Everyone shared their stories of the couple; family photos, and clippings of his writing were displayed on a table in the den. These people lived a long, healthy, successful life here on Earth. A chapter in the lives of those they touched closed. Life goes on but won’t be the same. |
| I woke this morning to my muse buzzing with random thoughts for essay writing. I haven’t written an essay in a long time, being focused on my book, and this blog – which I’ve really come to love. After Wednesday’s 13-hour workday, Thursday wasn’t much for writing. I spent the morning watching TV with Autumn, who was home with the flu. Every time I left the room, she’d ask, “Are you coming back? Stay in here with me.” It’s hard to ignore a request like that. So, we watched music videos and old reruns of The Gilmore Girls. This morning, my muse, tired of its unexpected vacation awoke ready to work. I lay in bed thinking of creative phrases on a wide variety of topics and now, I’m wishing I would have gotten up to jot them down. My father. That’s something I thought about. Every living being has – had a father. Technically, you could say I had two. Although, I grew up fatherless. My biological father is a man I only know from pictures and very brief conversations my mother has shared with me about him. He died in a car accident before I could speak in complete sentences. I look like my father, skin complexion, hair color, and, I inherited my visual impairment from him. Gee thanks dad. My other father, whose last name is now my middle name, never was very good at sticking around in one spot. The last time I laid eyes on him, I was eight years old. He was in and out of our lives. As small children, (my twin sister and two younger siblings), we were on pins and needles when ever he decided to pop into our lives. We would get excited and huddle on one of our beds and whisper about how long we thought he’d stay this time. One of us always bet it would be for good. It never was. He died when I was an adult, in my late twenties. I barely shed a tear, and I don’t remember the date. Why should I? He never lifted a damn finger to communicate with any of us. Even Lisa or Joey, (Randy or Terry) who were truly his. Later, after his death, I learned that he had three separate families, scattered across the country. None aware of the others. I remember thinking what an asshole he was. If I was angry, and he wasn’t even my real father, than how did Lisa, Joey, Randy and Terry feel? They were biologically connected. Where were their birthday cards or Christmas presents? Three whole families? What a jerk. Now, that I’m older and analyzing all of this, I wondered why he felt compelled to cultivate three families; loving the wives, having babies… I remembered, lying in bed this morning, mom saying he and his brothers grew up in an orphanage. I guess, never having a family, maybe he was over compensating. |
| At least the water is back on! It took me forever to sanatize the place. Now, Felicia calls and can’t come into work. She is sick. I called Steee, and Adam. No luck. I guess I’m stuck pulling a thirteen-hour day. I’m not a happy camper. Miss Grumpy Gills. That’s me. Right now. Too bad I don’t get overtime. I should call Renee on the phone. She always peps me up. She has this thing she does, She is always playing the ‘twin card’. So, whenever I call her, she’ll grab some innocent co-worker who happens to be on his way to the printer, or break room or something and stick her receiver in his face. “Say hey to my twin sister Robin.” I hear her say. Her voice sounds far away as she has already stuck it into his hand. Renee works for the federal gov in a huge building. If I called every hour of every day, I’d still never talk to all her co-workers. But, its fun, she likes it so I oblige her. (Yesterday, Andrew, the fire fighter/tennis player happened to be here when she called. For the first time, I did what she does. I stuck the phone in his face and said, “Talk to my twin.”) Right now, I could go for this. |
| Yesterday, around 4:30 or so, my water shut down. I had three high schools, their coaches and some of their parents out here, plus, Dawn’s after-school kids, a few courts rented to the public, and Ryan had is hitting session with Vaugh. (Vauhgn has moved to Mercer. I hadn’t seen him in like forever, it was good to see he was still out on the courts) Bill was here too. So, I wasn’t happy about no water – no plumbing at the facility. (Once, during a huge district adult tournament, a sewer line collapsed. I had to work many hours extra to help get things cleaned up, and portables out. Not a pleasant memory. ) I made the appropriate phone calls and left voice mails in several places; ending with the Water Authority. Now, today, the start of a new day, I arrive to work to discover I still do not have water/plumbing. For me, this stinks. I drink sixty-four ounces of water, two cups of hot green tea and sometimes, in the afternoon, a cup of coffee. Too much fluid for no plumbing. I have too many things I want to write about and I can’t focus. Yesterday, Larry stops by – to check up on me, just in case I was sleeping – Since taking naps seems to be written on my To Do List. He was all dressed up for some meeting at city hall. I hate the way he always sneaks up on me, when I’m on the compie. I’m always on, data entry, website updates, invoices, reports, and grants. We made a few jokes. I usually comment on his seniority – in the admin chain. Being the number two guy and all. I found out yesterday, that Reggie is the number two guy too. I didn’t know this. I’m impressed. Reggie plays tennis and I’ve asked him to hit with Laney. Something I would NOT have done had I known he was the number two guy. Reggie’s been stopping by my facility on Friday evenings lately, checking up to make sure work orders are being completed. Reggie seems young to be the number two guy. Since he is a tennis player, and I’m a tournament director, I have access to USTA membership info. I can look to see how old he is. I need to fax him an entry form for my Polar Bear tournament at the end of this month. Just checked, he’s two years older than me. This is so strange, on my home compie, my TDM says the NTPR rating, I do not see it now, as I’m looking for Reggie’s level of play. Too weird. As I’m looking, I see he has opted not to leave things like work number, home number or cell number. As a tournament director, this is NOT good. Countless times, I’ve had to reach someone during the day, when all they have given is their night phone, or at night, when all they have given is their day phone. I especially hate when juniors don’t provide all this pertinent information. One time, the only way I had to reach someone was through a fax. Which worked out fine. But my information is synch w/ the national USTA membership info, so if that’s not correct, up-to-date, then neither is mine. I know, I’m being boring now. Sorry. Well, gotta go clock in. Call Reggie and invite him to participate in my tournament. After I call the Water Authority and use my mean stern voice. At least my level of pain has subsided some. From yesterday I mean. |
View Portfolio
Visit Notebook
Send Gift Points
Awards
Badges
Send Email
Community Newsfeed
General Discussion
Sponsored Items
Book of Trinkets
Static Items
Books
Groups
Interactive Stories
Audio
Campfire Creatives
Community Notes
Crossword Puzzles
Documents
Folders
Images
In & Outs
Madlibs
Photo Albums
Polls
Product Reviews
Quizzes
Survey Forms
Web Pages
Word Searches
