Rollin' Down Highway 41

As I have mentioned in previous posts, I am playing winter league Ultimate in Chattanooga. Several of my friends, upon hearing about this undertaking, have looked at me like I have a swastika tattooed on my forehead and asked (in that supportive, I'm-here-for-you way that friends do when you're sportin' prominent Nazi ink) "Why are you doing THAT?"


What- do I have something in my teeth?

I guess Atlanta folks might find driving 1.5 hours out of the way to do something that they could just as easily do in Atlanta a bit odd. Except that the AFDC does not actually have a winter Ultimate league- or at least not until mid-January when women's league starts. And, while I love women's league (hey, I'll probably captain a team), I don't find it very challenging. And I sort of just love middle Tennessee, and we have a group of 6 or 7 of us who drive up together from Atlanta each weekend, and I'm playing with a bunch of new people, etc.

This past Sunday, I rode shotgun in Rick's car with Wart dozing in the back seat. Wart gets an honorable mention for providing a much needed buffer zone between the front seat and Homer dog, who rode in the way back and expressed himself periodically with various odors. These fragrant memos from the rear (of the car, yo!) quickly earned Wart the new title of "Fart Canary," and, between intervals of snoozing, he did sing quite a few times. Meanwhile, Rick did his best Dr. Phil impersonation for most of the drive up to Chattanooga, and we had the Relationships Sure Are Hard conversation. Wart woke up (without Homer's assistance) somewhere around Resaca long enough to mumble something about "poon" before passing out on my cleat bag.

Things really got interesting just south of Dalton, though, when Rick, being the natural student of psychology that he is, began profiling not only the ideal mate for me but also for several men for whom, as it turns out, I was not the ideal mate. Now, what's said in the Subaru stays in the Subaru, so I can't exactly get into specifics (other than to share that Me is one of my most favoritest Topics), but the gist of the ensuing discussion was this: I am pretty much the Perfect Package when it comes to what men want. I know! It's like I always knew I was completely flawless in the back of my mind, but I just needed to hear it out loud. Or . . . to hear something sort of similar- I can't remember the exact words that were used, but you know- gist. Perfect. Me. Right, Rick?

"Yes, KQ!" -Rick Wyatt, 2006

I ask you friends- does finding out that you embody female perfection sound like a waste of an hour and a half to you?

"No, KQ!" -Friends, just now


Watch out guys! Hottie at work!

And so the Adventures of Dr. Phil, The Perfect Package, and Fart Canary concluded with a long conversation about anime on the way back to Atlanta (as mentioned previously- my team, Shmoo, lost). Rick, having vastly superior knowledge on the subject (but, to be fair, I knew more about Me- we all have our different interests, right?), tried to explain the finer points of his dislike for harem anime. I attempted to compensate for my lack of nerd-cred in this department by saying things like "I saw Evangelion" and "I liked Spirited Away" and nodding thoughtfully. Wart eventually stirred in the back and said "ninjas" just before Homer unleashed the lion's share of his gaseous arsenal of odor, eliciting cries of anguish and a shower of curses from the afflicted.

I believe an unofficial vow was also made not to date any more Ultimate players, but then none of us could really figure out where else to meet people. I mean, where that's not also completely depressing. The world begins and ends on the line, it would appear. Thank goodness I'm such a catch!


Ignore that girl in the black hat. Don't I look sexier chugging beer at 10:00 in the morning? That strange man in the background seems to think so!

I should probably point out that the title of this post is somewhat misleading since we actually drive on I-75 and not on 41. But Dickey didn't sing about no interstate.