takes a licking and keeps on ticking

she's going off
the deep end
breaking from the crowd
she's way in over her head
i think she's gonna drown
she's going off
the deep end
the search is over now
she's falling into your hands
it's all or nothing
there's no guessing
she's been lost and found

The familiar words caught me by surprise as Jess and I traveled to Michigan City today for the 3rd annual family Day of Retail Therapy. I remembered ripping the album - the Newsboys' Step Up to the Microphone - to my computer last night, and I remembered adding the album to my ipod's playlist for the day's travels. But when I actually heard the music, I remembered a lot more.

Step Up to the Microphone was the soundtrack of the fall of 1999, my senior year of high school. I played Powder Puff that year. Because, you know, I'm clearly built like a football player. Actually, truth be told, I am not quite sure how I ended up playing Powder Puff. I think it was just because - drum roll, please - many of my friends were doing it. (Darn that peer pressure. At least my friends weren't jumping off bridges.) I must've enjoyed it, because I played both junior and senior years. It's kind of funny, actually, because I've never been much of an athlete. (However, I had been a rather aggressive defense player in the AYSO experiences of my youth. Although there was that time I accidentally kicked the ball into my own team's goal. Don't ask.)

(OK, fine - you people and your pesky questions. I was just trying to get the ball away from the other girl! And it wasn't even a hard kick - as I recall, it more or less crawled across the line - and it's not my fault that our goalie wasn't paying attention! Not that I'm still bitter about or traumatized by the experience.)

(But I said don't ask. Ahem. Moving on.)

The funny thing about playing powder puff is that my mom was letting me (the concertmaster of the high school orchestra) play because my friend Caitlin's mom (Caitlin was the principal cellist) was letting her play. However, Caitlin's mom was letting her play because my mom was letting me play.

Meanwhile, both of our mothers and our orchestra director were praying fervently that neither of us would break anything, but especially not hands, arms, wrists, or fingers.

But I digress.

My poor mother (hi Mom!) about had a heart attack during the game senior year. You see, there was this punk junior girl running toward me and carrying the football. And that ticked me off. I tried to grab her flags, but the girl - punk! - had them wrapped. Totally illegal. Ticked me off even more. And so I did the only logical thing - I somehow managed to stop dead in my tracks straight in front of her and let her bowl me over. That was when the announcer guys called my number over the PA as a "player down". And that is when my mom about died. (Sorry mom.)

I am happy to report that a.) the move was successful in stopping that punk junior, and b.) no bones were broken. Cheers all 'round.

But that's not even the good story....

This is getting long, so I'm going to put the rest in another post. Y'all will just have to come back to find out the conclusion! You don't want to miss this. Trust me.