I kick ass at getting hit in the face

So I did finally join a rec soccer team and it RULES! RULES, I TELL YOU!!! There is only one real downside, which is not exactly a downside, but something to be wary of if you value your life. The soccer team is coed, which is fine, but the menfolk don't tend to hold back. I mean, no one is violent and I don't really hold back either, but when someone outweighs me by 50 lbs and is half a foot taller, there's only so much I can do. I'm pretty sure I damaged my left foot and I have a wicked bruise on my right thigh, but it's also kind of exciting to be, you know, injured again. On the other hand, I would also assume that I'm the envy of every man there. I shall explain why. During one of my patented defense techniques that involves a lot of running and "excuse me"s, I kind of tripped over this one chick. Admittedly, it wasn't just my fault. The bitch definitely got in the way. In order to catch myself, I ended up putting out a hand and pretty much full on grabbed her right breast. Which led me and leads me to ruminate on why stuff like this always happens to me. It wasn't just a passing glance either. I was really off balance and took awhile to right myself and ultimately had to press on her breasteses in order to get up. With a quipped "WOAH! We're best friends now!", I ran off to do the same thing to some Eastern European man. By the way, hardcore recreational soccer girls don't have a lot to work with. Quite a shame, that.

In other news, I got an email about volunteering at a low-income apartment complex this weekend helping to move Katrina refugees in. Since I didn't have any better plans, I decided to go and lend a hand. One absurdly cute little boy asked me for "Either a toaster or a pitcher". That's adorable. It's unclear whether he intended to make toast in the pitcher or serve lemonade out of the toaster, but it was hella cute. Alas, there were no toasters. So that afternoon, after all the volunteers left, my mother and I went on a quest to buy toasters from Target and then deliver them to this little kid and the housing office since I knew some of the other people moving in were asking for them. By the by, as purely a side note, SUPER TARGET FREAKING RULES!!! I could not be MORE OBSESSED with it. I DREAM about Super Target. I WOULD BEAR MY CHILDREN IN SUPER TARGET. I would *not*, however, bear my children in the new show "Bones, starring David Boreanaz and some chick. I heard the radio commercial today: not impressed.

At any rate, upon returning to the apartment complex, I am somewhat dismayed to find that the lady who had directed me earlier that day was nowhere to be found. I don't really want to just leave 6 toasters lying around, so I go searching for her. My mother is of the mind that everyone who lives there will know who and where the coordinator lady is. I am of the mind that no, no they won't. So after she questioned some slightly frightening man that sounds like he's from Detroit, she decided to go looking for more possible sources that won't look at her as blankly. My plan of attack is to wait for coordinator lady. While I'm waiting for my mother to come around to my point of view, said Detroit man walks over to me and says:

DM - "Where are you from?"
Me - "I'm sorry?"
DM - "I said where are you from?"
Me - "Errrrrrr...here?"
DM - "I'm from France." <--line
Me - *looks at 'Italia' shirt* "Okay."
DM - "We can be friends?"
Me - "No."

I'm so good natured.