You Win Some, You Lose Some

As expected, the weekend was epic, and Monday was a let-down.  Not a bad day, per se.  Don't get me wrong.  It's just hard to spend three days doing your top three favorite things--volleyball, dancing, and hanging out with friends--and then come home to your normal house, your normal car, your normal life and binge-watch Netflix as you mourn the emptiness of your fridge and the quiet that pervades your space.

Then again, I woke up Monday morning with a thick tongue, puffy eyes, and swollen lips, so maybe it's good I finally got out of Florida.  I guess I'm allergic to too much fun and not enough sleep.

The weekend started slowly: late morning pick up on Friday, long drive to Fort Walton Beach, checking in and claiming beds, grocery shopping, all those practical things.  We didn't make it out to the beach on Friday, which was pretty unusual, but that's because somebody forgot to bring a ball (read: all of us forgot to bring a ball).  And what's the point of a beach full of volleyball nets without a ball?

But by Friday night around 10:30, the Fuds that we know and love finally kicked it into high gear.  With an incredibly slowly-made hamburger from Joe's Crab Shack in my stomach, a complimentary drink sliding down my throat, and a DJ blasting music and a fog machine, I was more than content to be there, surrounded by friends, dancing, with a smile on my face.

Saturday morning, despite a little sluggishness on the way to the captain's meeting, I felt alright.  Pumped to finally play with a team of people that I really, really enjoy.  Our first game wasn't great, though, and throughout the day, we struggled to find momentum.  Some games we lit on fire, some games we drowned in our own mistakes and conservative plays.  Looking back, I really wish we could've ended on the fourth game we played.  Everyone was passing well, setting well, and making shots.  In hindsight, I think I had to use the bathroom so badly that I finally stopped worrying about my technique and just concentrated on not peeing on myself.  Best I've ever played.  It was our golden game of the tournament.

Unfortunately, the fifth game was the final game of the day, and that one just plain sucked.  We lost 11-3, and it couldn't have been more frustrating.  We weren't playing particularly poorly, but to quote our setter, "we were playing not to lose."  And we lost anyway.

Personally, I don't handle frustration super well, so I left the beach shortly after the game, showered, napped, and then went to church, all the while fuming inside.  Not fuming at anyone in particular, but rather at the situation itself.  We hadn't ever found our footing.  We weren't playing that badly, but the game was over before we knew it.

Saturday evening came fast enough, though, and with the meditative space that church gave me, plus a tummy full of jambalaya and white beans, I was ready to chase frustration away with some fun.  And the party was FUN.

I learned how to twerk (thanks, Jermaine!).  I flirted with like five guys at once (personal record!).  I danced and danced and danced.

I mean, it wasn't perfect.  A pigeon crapped on me (right above my left eyebrow!), and my first dance partner--I found out the next day--is actually married.  But perfect nights don't make for good stories, anyway.  Because of my encounter with bird poop, our group moved and found new fun people to dance with.  And because Blue Hat (dance partner #1) was married (and to his credit eventually disappeared), I found dance partner #2.

It all started when a random guy and his girlfriend tapped me on the shoulder and introduced themselves...and their third wheel.

Guy: "Hey, have you met my friend Ryan?  He's a great dancer, and he doesn't think you can keep up."
Me: "You know, I generally don't fall for lines like that."  [To Ryan:] "Hi Ryan, I'm Rebekah.  It's really nice to meet you."
Ryan: "Nice to meet you, too."

We shook hands, and I turned back towards my friends at that point and kept dancing.  Something about the introduction didn't feel right, and I was waiting for my first dance partner to come back from the bathroom, anyway.

Later on in the night, after Blue Hat had disappeared, I ran into Ryan again.  This time, we got to talking, and eventually, to dancing.  He was nice and very attractive, and boy, could he dance.  He would spin me out, and just when I thought I was going to fly off and run into a massive group of people, he'd pull me back to him.  He was strong, even if he didn't look it initially.

"You know, you're actually pretty good at this," I told him at one point.
"And to think, you were ignoring me earlier," he said.
I nodded.  "But to be fair, you were kind of thrust upon me."

And the make-out streak continues.

Sunday morning was less fun.  Our team was eliminated in the first game, 11-9.  The worst part was that we were better than the other team, winning 8-4 earlier in the game.  But we lost our momentum, and we lost the game.

And like that, the play portion of the tournament was over for us.

The bright side of losing, though, was that we were able to hang out on the beach and cheer on our friends through to their winning final match of the women's BB division, before taking a seat at the Open court and watching the top players do their magic.

As the women's teams were warming up, we were marveling at one hitter who was spiking the ball hard, right in front of the ten-foot line.  We're talking straight down.  I had goo-goo eyes. "Man, I want to do that when I grow up."  (I mean, she's probably my age.  But let's not think about that.)

Sunday night, we watched the Saints game in a friend's condo before turning in around 11.  Monday morning, we packed up and checked out: mostly tired, fairly quiet, and a little sad.

As we drove away from Waffle House an hour later (our new post-Fuds tradition), one of our teammates summed up the feeling best:
"I hate that it's over, and I hate that I have to wait until April for it to come again."

But at least there's April to look forward to.  And six months to get better.