It's never too late.

And I mean flushed in the non-bathroom sort of way

Weighing my pockets with stones of longing

Especially when those days are Saturday and Sunday.

They always come crawling back

First of all, we started the tournament today. Just guess who my partner is! Ian, of course, Mr. Super Confident scary olympic badminton player. The kind of guy who is running all over the court smashing right and left, TWO-HANDED back hand swings kind of guy. Last time we played together, I think I only hit the birdie twice.

So yeah, we're partners for the rest of the tournament. Which possibly means for the rest of the term.

Our first set was against Michael and Sam. Mildly intimidating, but I had my forehand serve back, so that was good. We won the first two games--er, Ian won the first two games, and we got to play winner on the next court. Surprise, surprise, our new opponents were quite possibly the two scariest guys in the class besides Ian. Tom and Greg. Both insanely good at badminton and also their competitive faces make me want to hide behind the bleachers. But, so it goes...

Between games, Ian pulls the "So tell me a little bit about yourself" card. I, of course, can think of NOTHING remotely interesting to say, so I end up answering in the form of a question. "I uh... I'm a French major?" as if maybe he knows better than I do. He, probably unable to think of any follow up questions for such a lit-nerd major, simply repeats me. In the form of a statement. "A French major." I try again. "I, um... I haven't been on a sports team since junior high." BRILLIANT. I think I mumbled something about swim team while he laughed. His turn. Ian: "I'm a philosophy major." (I knew as much already.) "I play pretty much every sport imaginable." Me: "Figures."

A moment passes, we're volleying with the other team. A thought seems to dawn on my partner. "You're... you're a SENIOR?" Like that's the craziest thing he's thought of all week, which is pretty crazy for a philo major. I answer affirmatively, and here goes the well-worn "How come I haven't seen you around campus?" bit... You can have no idea how often I get that. It's A LOT. I told him I "blend in" well. PSH. He asks where I live, I add on to my response that it gets pretty crazy on the weekends, hoping that maybe this is a funny thing to say. His response? "Is that your kind of crazy?" UMMM Is this how everybody plays get-to-know-you? Because I don't get it.

Alas, our conversation is interrupted by scary monster badminton. I cower, mostly, sometimes serve. Actually, there were a couple times where I made sneaky just-over-the-net shots. Only a couple, and it didn't really make up for all the whiffing that was going on on my side of the court, but there was one shot, that was probably out but I hit it anyway, and I hit it backwards, and everyone figured it was too short, but it zoomed down right on the other side of the net. My teammate's exclamation of surprise sounded remarkably like "Sexy!" My ever-so-cool response? "A lady's touch, gentlemen." Of course, every time I tried to do a just-over-the-net shot after that failed miserably. *sigh*

We actually played three REALLY close games with those guys. We went past class time on the last one, since we were one for one. So, of course, a bunch of minglers from the class stayed to watch. Awesome. *hides head in hands* Theo didn't, but he did manage to tap my shoulder during a play... We lost 10 to 11 on my fault. Not surprising, really, except that the score was so close. I wish at least Ian could've made that last mistake. Oy.

So I snuck out, and tried to hurry off, and of course my bike was broken and I couldn't go ANYWHERE fast. So I'm in the street struggling with my chain when the three guys come sauntering out of the gym, clapping each other on the back and hoo-ha-ing in a very manly badminton-player kind of way. As they pass, Ian shouts back, "Did badminton wear you out so much that you can't ride your bike?"

Ha. ha. ha. At the rate I was hitting, it wouldn't have worn out my grandmother. But explaining that my bike was broken under my breath didn't seem to help matters. Finally I got it working for long enough to get away. On my way out, Ian asked what people call me. At first I was thinking things like "Nerd-o? Um, dumbass?" Thank God he clarified before I actually said anything. Terror has a way of making me stupid. BAD INSTINCTS. At my awkwardly panicked silence, he suggested "Allison? Allie?" Gawd, can you imagine if he started calling me Allie? I'd have a heart attack everytime he said anything. And laugh a lot, and then hide some more. So I said either one, Allison's fine. Shoot. If he did call me Allie, maybe it would be like we're friends and then all of HIS friends would be like, "Oh yeah, Allie..."

*snort*

What am I thinking?

I have a sitar lesson to get ready for. And about a million pages of French academic journalling to write. Hoorah!!

I'll check in later. Sometimes, I get the distinct feeling that I'm the only person for whom something like badminton class could be so traumatic.

Speaking of shuttlecocks... at 2:42 p.m.