As George, Ruth and Frances were getting ready to leave for the airport on their journey back home, I reached back and stretched, putting my hands behind my head. As I pulled my hands down, I brushed across the back of my head, and felt a bump.

Earlier today, I was checking Annie for ticks. She has scratches and bruises and various hot spots that I check they are healing nicely. We've found various ticks on her days after her weekly outdoor hike, so I've become a little paranoid about checking her frequently and knowing what bumps and bruises are where.

She has one spot that feels like a tick, but in reality is just a scab over a healing puncture wound. The bump on the back of my head felt similar to that bump on Annie, but I didn't recall injuring the back of my head recently.

In a typical way of mine, I grabbed the scab on the back of my head and pulled.

And pulled.

And pulled.

My hair's getting long. Time for a haircut.

When I pulled it out, I put the bump on the table to look at it.

And discovered it was not a scab, but a tick. A tick on the back of my head. A tick whose source I'm completely clueless about.

I freaked slightly and asked the Cookes to check their heads for ticks, too. My tick was probably from the couch where I slept last night, and where the dogs sleep daily.

I'm still a little weirded out by it. Where the heck that tick was hiding, I have no idea, but it was found in my hair, on my head.

Stupid ticks.

After a ridiculously rough start this morning, we arrived at the fields and played our first game.

For some reason, the college kids thought First St. was the same as First Ave. and not until I pointed out we were still in Hillard and not in Stevinson yet, did they believe me and continue east. Two U-turns and three country roads later, and we arrived less than 25 minutes before our first game. Zoiks!

Warm up jog, throwing, dynamic warmup and flip instructions later, the captains flipped and we were on the line.

The team did really well. Their opponent was a team that had been playing together three years. Given our team had been playing together about five months, they played fantastically. They moved the disc down the field to within 10 yards of the endzone probably a dozen times in fifteen points, and had maybe 8 or 9 defensive blocks. They were foot blocked twice, which wasn't so hot, but they'll learn to pivot and fake better.

The final score was 13-1, with the single point being scored on a pick call the opponent, Cal Poly SLO, called back to grant us the score.

This game will probably be the easiest today, as it was against the fourth seed in the pool. Tomorrow should be much better, as the bottom three teams play round robin. Have to see if I can make it back for the half day.

Two girls walking by:

"Where's Santa Clara located?"

"Santa Clara."

Elsewhere:

Thrower on the field who just caused a turn over:

"Gah! I need to punch myself!"

"Do you play ultimate, Liza?"

"No."

"Not yet?"

"No."

"Are you going to learn? Do you want to learn?"

"Yes."

"Can you throw a disc?"

"No."

Kate: "But she has a great spike."

I don't eat much meat. If I know I need protein, I'll actively seek some meat in my meal, but for the most part, I'll eat vegetables, dairy and some breads. I'm not vegetarian, I'll eat meat, I just won't crave it, or eat it by default.

Friday for lunch, however, was a little different. I was cold, the day blustery and overcast, so I ordered soup at the local Vietamese restaurant. Changing from my usual order twice, I ordered the egg noodles with beef balls pho. Doyle looked at me when I ordered. "I wouldn't order beef balls. You don't know what's in them."

No, I don't. And in retrospect, shouldn't have ordered them.

In the evening, Kris was heading out of town to spend Saturday with his parents in Southern California. Since he was in a hurry, we defaulted to grabbing a meal at McDonalds. I don't know why we ever go there. Except for the ice cream cones, the food is always suspect. And stinks.

Yet, I ate a cheeseburger, just waiting for that moment where the sweet ketchup, bun and pickle overwhelm the "meat" pattie for that one tasty bite that almost makes the rest of the cheeseburger worth it.

An hour later, I was on my way to pick up half the players from the women's team I'm coaching, to drive them to this weekend's tournament. The fields were changed at the last minute, from Stanford to Stevinson, California, 100 miles by road east-ish. One mountain range kept the distances from being only sixty miles as a straight shot.

In the morning, I found myself back at McDonalds, wondering what to order. The $3.50 charge on my credit card, all of my cash in my bookbag at home, paid for the sausage egg McMuffin™ on my plate. I managed to eat half of it before I was overcome with disgust at all the fake meat I had eaten in the last twenty-four hours.

I stopped eating, and threw the rest away.

It'll be interesting to see how my crap smells in the next couple days.

Yeah, yeah, don't talk about poop.

Whatever.

A well know fact is that vegetarians' body odor smells better than meat-eaters', so the smell of the bathroom when I done with it will be different than normal in a day. I haven't eaten such a large amount of crappy meat in a long, long time, so I do have to wonder how much the room will really stink.