Kickball, bitches!

Gruel for Dinner taught me an important lesson, everything sounds better and more fun if you put "bitches" at the end. She's so very right, bitches.

Moving right along. It didn't take me long to settle in down here in New Orleans. Five days after we arrived, the house was completely unpacked, the glasses chilled and the new dog park christened. I was looking for something to do and my friend Gregger invited me to join his kickball team. I wrote back and asked if there would be yelling in this kickball league, he promised me there wouldn't be, so I agreed to join.

This is our team - Talons of Fury - at our first game:

We're pretty fancy. 

Some of us take the art of kickball a little more seriously:

Than others:

Our team has lots and lots of fun. We don't take ourselves too seriously and the only yelling we do is at the other teams when we remind them they are taking themselves too seriously. 

But, the real reason I love Kickball is this:

Every week after our game, our team hangs out and dances and drinks beer (or white wine if you are Amanda the blonde haired, blue eyed South African I found in Italy). A friend of ours on an opposing team brings a speaker system that we can plug our ipods or iphones into and play music. Some weeks we dance so far into the night that City Park turns off the lights. Don't worry, this never deters us, we just dance in the dark:

We do actually play a 45 minute game of kickball every week in addition to the dancing and drinking, but let's be honest, it's not really about the kickball.