FALL...ing
Fall... Oh my. This is gonna be good. I can write about fall-related stuff all the livelong day. It's my favorite season...and why shouldn't it be? Between GEORGIA FOOTBALL and my birthday, it's the greatest evah. And then there's the whole start-of-a-new-school-year excitement and cooler weather and piles of leaves and brisk autumn mornings and the promise of Gingerbread Latte season right around the corner. And my birthday. And GEORGIA FOOTBALL season...I heart fall.
Quick story:
There was this one time...at band camp...
No seriously, I have those, but I'll save them for another time.
I was the drum major of my high school band during my sophomore and junior years. What's a drum major you ask? I was the person who conducted the band during the halftime show. And I wasn't any old drum major. I was The Big Bopper (according to the DA at the time). I was awesome. For real, I rocked their faces off. For my debut as the drum major, I was lucky enough to have a shortened version of our halftime show because the school happened to be celebrating the 50th anniversary of the first graduating class with some ceremony recognizing those graduates still around during the halftime show. I was nervous for sure. Who wouldn't be, standing 5 feet in the air on a 3x3 (ish) square platform/podium on the 50 yard line of the football field? But I was awesome and survived the halftime show. We ended with the long-standing tradition of playing the fight song as the band marched off the field and squished onto the sidelines. I heaved a huge sigh of relief because the biggest part of my job was over. As I stepped down from the podium, I remember very little. There was a boot heel. And a step. And air. And the sound of velcro ripping on my cummerbund. And the ground. Yeah. I fell. On the 50 yard line. From a 5 foot high podium. Flat on my face. In front of a home crowd. Talk about embarrassing. Thank God I wasn't hurt. Bruised ego? Absolutely. I curled into a ball (Remember the tornado drill exercise in school where you're on your knees, hunched over, with your hands on your head? Yeah, like that.) on the sidelines and spewed profanity. How embarrassing. But I jumped up quickly and made my way toward the end zone and the stands. What a legend. The Big Bopper (the name came later) FELL off the podium. I had a guy hold my hand and help me on and off the podium for 2 years after that.
Falling...I'm pretty good at that stuff apparently. I still have a darker spot that looks like a bruise on my right knee from tripping on the sidewalk downtown one day. I fell straight down, just on that knee, while walking back to my car one afternoon after a very enjoyable happy hour with colleagues. Seriously? Who trips on a sidewalk?? And this wasn't one of those uneven ones famous for cropping up in downtown Savannah. It was just a plain old ordinary sidewalk. UGH. Again, seriously?
Falling in love is one that I'll leave alone for now. Is it because it's cliche? Maybe.
Or maybe it's because I have road rash. Just sayin'
Quick story:
There was this one time...at band camp...
No seriously, I have those, but I'll save them for another time.
I was the drum major of my high school band during my sophomore and junior years. What's a drum major you ask? I was the person who conducted the band during the halftime show. And I wasn't any old drum major. I was The Big Bopper (according to the DA at the time). I was awesome. For real, I rocked their faces off. For my debut as the drum major, I was lucky enough to have a shortened version of our halftime show because the school happened to be celebrating the 50th anniversary of the first graduating class with some ceremony recognizing those graduates still around during the halftime show. I was nervous for sure. Who wouldn't be, standing 5 feet in the air on a 3x3 (ish) square platform/podium on the 50 yard line of the football field? But I was awesome and survived the halftime show. We ended with the long-standing tradition of playing the fight song as the band marched off the field and squished onto the sidelines. I heaved a huge sigh of relief because the biggest part of my job was over. As I stepped down from the podium, I remember very little. There was a boot heel. And a step. And air. And the sound of velcro ripping on my cummerbund. And the ground. Yeah. I fell. On the 50 yard line. From a 5 foot high podium. Flat on my face. In front of a home crowd. Talk about embarrassing. Thank God I wasn't hurt. Bruised ego? Absolutely. I curled into a ball (Remember the tornado drill exercise in school where you're on your knees, hunched over, with your hands on your head? Yeah, like that.) on the sidelines and spewed profanity. How embarrassing. But I jumped up quickly and made my way toward the end zone and the stands. What a legend. The Big Bopper (the name came later) FELL off the podium. I had a guy hold my hand and help me on and off the podium for 2 years after that.
Falling...I'm pretty good at that stuff apparently. I still have a darker spot that looks like a bruise on my right knee from tripping on the sidewalk downtown one day. I fell straight down, just on that knee, while walking back to my car one afternoon after a very enjoyable happy hour with colleagues. Seriously? Who trips on a sidewalk?? And this wasn't one of those uneven ones famous for cropping up in downtown Savannah. It was just a plain old ordinary sidewalk. UGH. Again, seriously?
Falling in love is one that I'll leave alone for now. Is it because it's cliche? Maybe.
Or maybe it's because I have road rash. Just sayin'
posted by Jennifer at
2:03 PM
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