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Writers Block With a Side Of Plastic Please.

Can you all tell I’m in a little bit of a writers slump?  I wouldn’t exactly call it writers block because I still have plenty of shtuff, including dialog, going through my head.  I’m just not either finding the time to put words to keyboard or I just don’t have the gumption.  Sometimes I find giving myself a break for a day or two will snap me out of it and I can go back to spilling my words out for you.  For now I’m just going to feed you a few bits of thoughts for the last couple of days and hope and pray you won’t abandon me until I find my creative ability again.

Lets start with my tennis lately.  Can you say “I’m tired”?  The league season is over which sucks the life out of me.  It’s not the play. That always makes me feel better due to the lovely endorphin factor. It’s the captaining and the social aspect that is sucking my will to function out of me.  You would think tennis would be all fun and athletics but get involved with a club type system and you will also find a social network that is similar to any american high school.  With all the same wonderful social groups like the nerds and wannabes and those that like to kick their asses because they aren’t popular. I’m rather fond of the nerds and wannabes but unfortunately right now I’v been having to suffer a lot of the “mean girls”.  Not that they are being that “mean” to me.  I try my hardest to stay on the outside of all that nonsense and fly under their radars, but just to watch and tolerate it in the name of getting my ass on the court now and then is getting old.  I’m mean REALLY old.  Like some of the wrinkles that get botoxed solid so they don’t flop around on the court old. Nice image right?  But when you see a face zooming across the court trying to get to a ball and she looks like a barbie doll, all shiny and new when she’s 50 years old, you’ll know what I’m talking about. Why these ladies think they are better than anyone else is a mystery to me?  One that I only ponder for short periods of time before I stop myself. I don’t want to get sucked into their stories for fears of their strange ability to take normal people, even some former friends of mine, and turn them into “one of them”.  They are like the Pod People I think except they use their “social status” to gain brains to slurp.

But not mine! Nope! I know better then to let them get to me.  I’m perfectly happy sitting on the sidelines watching the chittery and chatterying about “my husband told me I could do this with this” and “OMG come see my new diamond”.  I don’t need to be involved in it to know it’s ridiculous.  The only reason I’m around these ladies is for the tennis.  Lots of money breeds lots of tennis lessons therefor you can get some good matches out of them. But while they aspire to never age I, in my efforts to not get absorbed by their witchy bitchy ways, will sit back and watch them.  And yes I will laugh when they have their black eyes from surgery. I will laugh when they cry over they fact that their hubbies won’t take them to France for the summer and is insisting on sticking closer to home and wants to spend the summer in the Hamptons. Boo hoo.  That will be me falling over on the sidelines snorting my uncultured snort when you bitch about having to take care of your kids because it’s your nanny’s night off. Yep, that’s me. And that will be me kicking your plastic butts all over the tennis courts.  And that will be me watching to see if your skin really is sweating or are you just pretending to wipe your face because you’ve botoxed your pores into submission.

***Note, to my tennis friends who do read this. You are NOT one of these ladies. Trust me. You’re the normal ones and I love you all the more because you’re normal! Without you I would give up the sport and start playing Scrabble till I died a slow blubbery death.

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