When I was maybe 11, my family and I were in the family room (how appropriate) one evening watching television. At least, I think we were all in there. Maybe just the kids were watching television, and Mom and Dad were off doing something else.

At some point, we all heard a loud BOOM! as something crashed upstairs in the attic. Now, unlike another episode when I didn't hear the sound, I did hear the sound, and jumped up when everyone else did. We all ran upstairs to look around. Did a ladder fall? No, there weren't any ladders around. Did a picture fall? No, none of us had pictures on our walls upstairs. Did the plumbing in the half-renovated bathroom come crashing down through the center of the house? No, it's still firmly in place, though, still half done. We looked around, and could find no cause for the sound.

Eventually we gave up looking for the sound source, and went back to the family room. Soon after, the phone rang with Mrs. Bretts calling to ask if we, too, hears the loud boom a short while ago. We told her we did, which caused even more concern. What could have possibly caused the noise that could be heard over all the neighborhood? We checked our front yards, the back yards, no accident, no screaming neighbors running around with gunshot wounds trailing blood down the street. Nothing.

We found out the next day that a meteor had hit the atmosphere over Northwest Indiana and exploded. Honestly, I can't say any of us offered that as a possibility.

Last night, Kris and I had a remarkably similar what-the-heck-was-that experience. In the middle of the night, when both of us were fast asleep in the doggie matrix (also known as the small bed where Kris, Bella, Annie and I sleep, all packed together in the bed so tight that extraction from such a pack requires delicate precision, and re-insertion into the matrix after a trip to the washroom in the middle of the night is nigh impossible), we heard a long, lonely arooooooOOOOOOOooooooOOOOOO!

Kris and I were instantly awake and rushing out to the living room. We looked around, trying to figure out the cause of Annie's howling. Annie sat in her place on the couch looking up at us with an expression of, "What?"

We couldn't figure out is the noise was actually Annie. She didn't seem to be the source, looking up at us innocently. Bella had been in the bed between us, so clearly she wasn't the source. We eventually figured Annie had howled, and wandered back to the bedroom. As I faded back to sleep, I wondered if meteors howl.

Maybe fire lightning does...

Practice tonight was an unmitigated disaster.

When I arrived, I noticed a larger number of people at the fields than normal. Sure, there are usually the softball players, or the rugby players, or even the lacrosse players. Each of them, however, finishes up around 9:00 PM, which is when we start. That all of these new people were arriving just as I was meant they would be sharing the fields with us.

We usually practice near the soccer field. This works out well because it's near the student housing, which means it's also close to the washrooms. The lights at the end we play on are more consistent, too. The field itself is worn, so we don't play on the most lush part of the fields, but the other conveniences outweigh the need for grass.

When I realized all of the people arriving were there to play soccer for an intramural, maybe interhouse, game, I asked what field they would be playing on, and how much space they would need. I then set up our field away from their field, but bordering, so that both groups would get maximum field space with minimum interference.

If only the soccer players were intelligent enough to realize the BRIGHT ORANGE cones marked the edge of a playing field. Instead of respecting another sport was occupying the field space next to them, several soccer players thought the wide open space was the perfect place to practice footwork and kicking the ball.

And, instead of demanding their space, the space their team as a club team had the right to occupy, the team avoided the soccer players, playing on a smaller and smaller field. Since the drill we were running was a huck drill, throwing to closer and closer players defeated the purpose of the drill. I went to the players, and asked them nicely to respect our field and practice on the other side of the sideline. They would move over for about a minute, then move back when I turned my back and went back to the stack for the drill. After two times asking and two times complying then returning, I was fed up. I started cutting into the middle of the soccer players, and stopping the ball when it interfered with my catching the disc in the drill.

Apparently this pissed off the soccer players. One thought it was perfectly reasonable to wind up a full field kick ten yards from me and kick. It hit me square in the groin and hurt. A LOT.

I looked at the kid, and said, "The sideline is there. Practice over there. Respect our field space, as we respect yours." At that point, I decided to steal the soccer balls of anyone who continued to play on our field. I also moved all the bags the players left in our endzone off the field, casually mixing wallets with shoes, and bags with IDs. I'd be surprised if anyone figured out where all of his stuff was.

At another point, I had to steal the soccer ball of another group on the field. It wasn't as if they were playing on the side of our field and accidently kicked the ball onto our field. They were smack dab in the middle of our field. Terribly, frustratingly annoying.

Eventually, the girls gave up and asked if we could play hotbox. It was our last practice for two weeks, so I was reluctant. However, having fun is definitely the most important aspect of keeping a team together, so we went to play hotbox instead.

Note to self: Annie tall plus Mackenzie fast equals hotbox domination.

Kris has been buying pita chips as his new snack food. He used to munch on a puffed rice chip. Rice Sembei, I think is the name. He switched to Stacy's pita chips a couples weeks ago, so I've been picking up bags when I go to a store I know has them, which, until recently, has been Whole Foods.

Never quite sure what flavors he might be interested in, I purchased at least one of every flavor in the pita chip line last time I bought him chips. He went through most of the bags, but each time I looked in the cabinet, the cinnamon and sugar bag hadn't been open.

When I came home tonight, and needed a snack, I looked for the pita chips, but found only the cinnamon ones left. Until today, I hadn't really eaten many of the chips, that pesky wheat allergy causing me to avoid wheat as a general rule, but I was hungry. Unfortunately, I was also working, and started eating from the bag quite mindlessly.

An hour later, I realized I had eaten the whole bag. My dinner was a bag of Stacy's Cinnamon Pita Chips.

I flipped over the bag to see how many calories I had eaten, my stomach already starting to revolt at the influx of too much wheat.

Six hundred calories.

Six.

HUNDRED.

Calories.

I'll be playing at tonight's practice, even if I'm not on the team.

Even when I try, I just can't win sometimes.

Take tonight, for example. Since I trained in from Velocity Sports this morning, I asked Kris to pick me up from work before we went to dinner with Crystal and Nick. I told him to call before he arrived so that I could be downstairs waiting when he arrived. Last time we tried this, I made Kris wait a few minutes downstairs as I finished up with something I was doing (clearly the most important thing to be doing, ever), and he was annoyed at me when I finally exited the building. He was double parked in the street, and such blatant disregard for fellow drivers pains Kris beyond belief.

I was determined not to cause his such pain. I was ready to close my computer, stand up and leave the moment he called. This time, I would be waiting downstairs, ready to sprint to the car, fling open the door and jump in, all while Kris rolled by at an easy 10 mph. No stopping this time!

Earlier that day, I was at a client meeting with Mike. When we arrived at the client's, I turned off the ringer on my cell phone (actually, off both cell phones), and tucked them back in my bag. When I'm at a client's, I'm at the client's, not on the phone with another one. Twice during the meeting Mike's cell phone rang and he looked to see who the caller was. The second time annoyed me so much I snapped at him, "Why is that ringer on? Turn it off."

Another lesson Kris taught me: the phone is there for my convenience.

Tragically, after the meeting, I forgot to turn either ringer back on.

When Kris called me on his way to the office, when he was close, just as I requested, he called me to let me know he was on his way.

He called again to let me know he was close.

He called again to let me know he was downstairs.

He called again to let me know he was driving around the block.

He called again to let me know he was parking in the lot across the way.

He called again on my other number, because clearly the first one wasn't working.

"Is that your cell phone ringing?" Mike asked me as I was working away, clearly blocking out the world as I worked. "My cell phone? What?" I asked. "Cell phone? OH CRAP!" I jumped up.

Kris was just ringing Doyle to ask "WTF, mate?" as I made the last exclamation. I was out the door before Doyle could say, "She's on her way."

From actual call that reached me to downstairs out the door was less than 10 seconds.

For Kris, that 10 seconds took 20 minutes.

Back when (and I mean waaaaaaay back when) I played on Special K, my teammate David Bailey (that's Mr. David W. Bailey to you) showed me the site of his roommate, Eric. Eric's site Eric Conveys an Emotion had me laughing for a long time, and some of the images still make me laugh. Some time later, David moved out of his place, both of us stopped playing for Special K, and neither of us ever talked about Eric again.

Fast forward five, six, oh crap I'm getting old, seven years, and at the Yahoo Hack Day, I passed Eric standing at the registration table talking to someone I was waiting to talk to. I smiled, became all excited, and asked, wait, wait, are you Emotion Eric? He looked at me sheepishly, almost embarrassed, and said yes, he was. His body language was very clear he wasn't exactly excited about being recognized, so I introduced myself, said I was happy to meet him, and continued on my way.

Well, tonight, as fate would have it, our paths would cross again.

I left the plane in Las Vegas, and found myself strangely overcome with incredible joy at seeing not only the one food I was craving on the flight from Austin (that would be yogurt), but also a row of Odwalla juices, which I had been craving the entire time I was in Austin. I thought about walking to the nearest Whole Foods (which was a mere 1.2 miles away from the hotel), but hadn't found the time. To think, here in Vegas-baby-Vegas, I would find both items available not forty feet from the exit ramp and 20 feet closer than the nearest restroom. Clearly Vegas-baby-Vegas is a haven for, well, I can't finish that sentence.

A few moments later, I was happily downing my yogurt, Starbucks Chocolate Creme Frappacino in hand (not the double chocolate one with the annoying chocolate chips in it that taste like little rocks, and not the coffee-chocolate one that makes me want to vomit, no, the chocolate one, and this one was chocolate), an indulgence I partake on each and every trip I take (and very rarely at other times, it seems), watching something bad on television, might have been American Idol. During some Diana Ross commentary about some large dude completely bastardizing her music, I turned to see Emotion Eric sitting four seats over from me.

I couldn't resist.

I reached into my bag, pulled out my camera, turned off the flash (must not startle the celebrities now, even Intarweb™ ones), and, doing my best to suppress the gales of laugher trying to escape my lips, snapped a picture of Eric.

Just before the click, he looked over at me. In the same expression he had done months before, he looked embarrassed. By the time I caught the look, however, I was laughing too hard. I introduced myself again, and we talked for a while about his site, the Yahoo Hack day (and the buttons I made, which he remembered), David Bailey and his Intraweb™ celebrity status. On the plane, we sat in the same row (there being only about 25 people on the plane, we were the only two not to have three seats each) and continued talking. The flight was entertaining, with a mad dash to finish the intermediate level sudoku before the plane landed.

Happily we finished.

I wonder if Eric will recognize me the next time I giggle and pull out my camera. Or if next time, he'll run away in terror of the crazy stalking lady...