Talaynas & Tennis for the Win

I'm expecting a call from a talent agent any minute.  Actually, I'm not, but someone else might be.  Saturday night some friends and I went to a karaoke bar.  Although I wasn't able to bring down the house with my life-changing "Free Fallin'" rendition, my friend, Katie, did have the ingenious idea of giving some of the evening's "talent" a bogus business card along with some clutch line about how she really thinks they could make a great track, and they should call her.  

She had a point--these morons were singing to us like we were JLo, Randy, Steven Tyler, and Simon.  Some of them were great, but some of the songs were...not so great! CABARET?! Are you kidding me?  [Off the record, I totally sang along with the chick and loved it, but I was a party of one at that table.]  There were the crowd favorites--Styx, Elton John, etc.   Regardless of the talent, a night at Double D's (yes, that's the name of the bar) is always so much fun.  And it wouldn't be a night out unless I ended up at Talaynas. This former strip club is set up with a karaoke machine someone bought from ToysRUs in 1999 (which are awesome, by the way, and made my Christmas Wish List EVERY YEAR. Still have beef with Santa over that one...), floor-to-ceiling-wall-to-wall glass mirrors, a raised, wooden dance floor, and disco balls. EVERYWHERE.  It's the greatest place on Earth (yeah, Disney, you heard me).   Y'all are in for a treat because I found a picture (thanks to Google because none of my pictures from Talaynas are ever blog-appropro):  

The night was a total success.  I forgot that I could be fun in a social setting! Many times I have pulled a Brett Favre. "Yes, I am never going out again."  "The next day just isn't worth it." "I'm stepping away from the game to spend more time by myself with my family."  "My health is my number one concern." [Okay so those last two were "Urban Meyers," but whatever.  Go Gators!] And time and time again I send my friends through this emotional roller coaster that is entirely unnecessary.  I may declare my retirement from the social scene for three weeks or two months, but I'll be back.  Inevitably.  And the next morning as I'm racing to McDonDons for a two cheeseburger meal and a six piece chicken nugget and a Diet Coke, I'll declare again, "That was the last time." I'll bring my social circle back in to the will-she-won't-she game I know they don't play.  I have to say though, this time, it was definitely worth the Diet Coke.

Oh! And by the way, I'm ALSO expecting a call from Nole's camp any minute.  I just know he's heard about the Blonde Sensation out in St. Louis and will be asking me to be his hitting partner.  (Nole--pronounced "no-lay"--is Novak Djokovic's nickname.  He happens to be my favorite tennis player.  I have a hard time admitting that since I have loved Rafa since the very beginning of his career, but the day I discovered Novak has my exact birthday, I traded camps.  Now, don't you DARE call me a bandwagoner, because I found this out about 3 years ago when Nole was NOT World Number 1.)  Anyway, they're going to call; I just know it.  Why?

Because I am one. scrappy. player.  I have the grace of Scuttle.  That's right.  This guy: 

Disney's The Little Mermaid's Most Affable Character

I am exactly him.  I run all over the court with my huge wingspan with no direction and yell at myself, commenting on everything I don't do.  I am absolutely, 100% Scuttle.  My goal is to have the grace of a swan. Be Kate Middleton of the court.  Agility, power, grace...but, instead, I'm a crazed albatross.  I guess it's a white bird, so I'm almost there, yes?

I know that this will be an uphill battle, and that I should be saying "yay for me" since the balls are going over the net and mostly in, but I don't like to be Scrappy Doo. I want to be Daphne, dangit!  Oh well.  I need to run to the ball more instead of relying on my wingspan.  I think with better footwork I could be Kate of the Court.  But really Sharapova or Clijsters or Ivanovic because I'm not too sure Kate has any game, and, if I'm going to start hitting with Nole, I need to be just a "titch" better than I currently am.  Just a smidgeon. Nothing one more week of play can't fix especially since J & I have our first "friendly" on the books.  I loved when my mom would call her matches with friends a "friendly." I'm not quite sure how this works because I am so competitive.  With my friends, family, complete strangers, heck, even myself.  

When playing soccer, I was the defender who would take out the forward and make it look like an accident.  Honestly, most of the time I really was just going after the ball and the chick got in the way, but either way, she had. to. go.  She was definitely faster than me, and I knew that if she got past me and the ball got through the keeper, it'd be my fault, and I'm not having that on my chest.  So, instead of "when it doubt kick it out," my motto was "when in doubt, take her out." Fair.  I'm not afraid of getting kicked or hit [although MAN! When you do get kicked or hit it really knocks the wind out of you]. But, as long as the forward was also on the ground writhing, I knew I had done my job. 

To my credit and despite my less than sportsman-like conduct, [sorry, sportswomanship is not a word in my vocabulary] I never once had an enemy.  Be a you-know-what, but smile and apologize.  I mean, am I sorry I leveled girls into the ground? No Maybe if they limped off the field kinda.  But the point was the ball was nowhere near the goal, and the forward was stopped.

So anyway, I have no idea how I'm going to play this "friendly" because, if I had it my way, J & I would win 6-0, 6-0, the trainers would have to be called for the other side more than once, and after shaking hands, we'd sling our sweatbands into the crowd and go out for celebratory drinks.  CLEARLY I won't be "having it my way" since I'm pretty sure there won't be cabana boys trainers court-side and I don't play with sweatbands. 

Unfortunately, I see this playing out a little differently...