Super Basketball Girl

Super Basketball GirlToday was a good day, or at the very least it was loads better than last night.  School was… well it was school, not much to write about, but until about three o’clock the whole thing was pretty uneventful.  Go to class, get bored, try to pay attention, get distracted and wait for the bell.  That little cycle happened through a half dozen classes and unless I was going to write about what the distractions were, there’s just not a whole lot to tell.  Today’s distractions were relatively boring, even by my standards, so I’m going to let them rest.Basketball tryouts were at 3:30, though, and they at least were somewhat more interesting than the run of the mill stuff, I think.  I already told you about how I got suckered into trying out, and yeah, if you cut out the bs, the real reason is cause I have just a ferocious time resisting a cute guy, even and old guy when he asks me for something.  It’s a serious character flaw, especially in a girl like me, and I’m working on it, but I also know that you gotta recognize your issues to deal with em, right?So why did Coach Collins want me to try out?  Well, even I’m not dumb enough not to think that the guy liked the idea of watching me run around in shorts.  It sounds conceited, but lets face it, even in sweats with my hair a mess and all,  I still get guys staring at me eventually, and the more of me they can see, the weirder it gets.Its almost like another superpower really, although its not exactly one I find useful.  Most of the time, and you may not believe this, but its just a royal pain in the neck.  People want what they can’t have, and I think that’s why guys want me, and its also I think sort of why I want them, but that’s like a whole nother topic which will make a post all by itself.  Back to the whole basketball fiasco.The other reason Coach Collins must have wanted me was because I’d made a fool out of myself in gym class the other day, and he must be convinced he’s got like an assist machine in the making.  He’s right of course, on account of, I can pretty much outplay anybody, but I’d already decided how I was going to handle it.  Playing the complete dork wasn’t going to work.  I’d blown that already, so’s I was going to have to figure some other way to make sure I didn’t end up spending my life on the basketball court instead of out fighting crime, or even, let me just wish, having a social life.I decided it was best handled a different way. I shot the ball.  I shot the ball everytime I got it, and I shot it way, way off.  And when I did throw in a few passes, they were off target rockets or ridiculously high lobs that were never gonna work.  I didn’t want to hurt anyone.  By the time the practice thing was over I felt sure Coach was gonna tell me, thanks but no thanks.  I was dead wrong.  I made the team.Second string point guard, sure, but the girl ahead of me’s a senior, so I gotta feeling I’m going to have to figure out something or I’m gonna be facing the same problem next year.  This year, at least, basketball’s gonna just be one more pull on my time.Speaking of time, there’s one thing about this whole basketball thing I didn’t mention.  Coach picked two of us, both younger girls and told us he wanted both of us to come out for pickup games on Saturday mornings with some guys he plays with.  Now if he’d said that to me alone, I know for sure I’d have gone running right then, but if there’s two of us, it sounds more legit, huh?  I think I’m actually kind of looking forward to the whole thing, in a very weird sort of way.  As far as the girl’s team goes, it does kind of give me something “normal” to do, normal being sit on the bench, but still.  And the pickup games, um, well, I’m gonna make a little confession here.One of my secrets is, I sort of like having big sweaty men with their shirts off around me.  It’s not exactly something I’m proud of, but the fact is, I think I got at least the sex drive of any normal girl, maybe more, but its like really really frustrated.  Its ironic and really a whole mess.

Supergirls make mistakes too

Supergirls make mistakes too

OMG, I can’t believe I finally made it home.  Tonight has been one of the most difficult ever, at least in the terms of being a superheroine.  Lots of times being plain old Daphne is tough, but usually, well, lets face it, if I’m not trying to hide what I can do, usually anyway, everything is just plain easy as … does “pie” sound to old fashioned.  Scratch that thought:  writing and trying not to sound like a ditz is pretty hard too, but I digress.

Tonight, after my family hit the sack, I got up, slipped into my costume du jour and went out to try and practice saving the world.  I say practice, because, well, unlike in the comic books,  all the real big stuff is sort of beyond my reach.  I mean, I’ll be damned if I know how to stop a hurricane or cure global warming, and, well, I might be able to stop wars and stuff, but not without hurting a whole lot of people, and, for better or worse, that’s something I don’t like doing.  Which is sort of what happened tonight.

As I said, I’m pretty much practicing the whole superheroine thing, picking up what I can from movies and from guys like Jeremy, who are like comic book encyclopedias.  I’m not exactly financially independent either, at least not yet, so my costumes usually consist of some relatively inexpensive clothing that I don’t really give a hoot about and a mask.  Tonight it was jogging shorts and a tank top, just to let you know what sort of stuff I’m talking about.  I may have the powers of those Kryptonian types, but I don’t have the budget or the wardrobe.  Maybe some day….

I’m digressing again.  Tonight was the night I was supposed to practice flying.  I’m pretty good at getting up and staying up as long as I keep moving, but things like turns and landings are still sort of rough, so I got to be real careful where I do it.  So I’d planned on jogging out of the subdivision and flying on over to the old racetrack where I could practice in peace and quiet.  They closed it down years ago, so there’s like no lights, no people, lots of open space, and no one cares if I mess up the grounds with rough landings.  

So, I’m  just about to take off when my superhearing picks up a scream.  A split second later, I think anyone could have seen the woman’s face in the back of the van, but, well trust me, I don’t think just anyone could have did what I did next.  I jumped on, sprinting until I caught up  to the van and grabbed the little ladder on the back.  Thinking back on it, I know I should have just like ripped the back door off and rescued the girl, but at the time it didn’t seem like that clear of a thing.  I mean, who knew, could be the driver was taking her to a hospital or something, and maybe I’d misread the whole situation.  So what I did was climb up on top and slip down into the passenger seat to have a little chat with the driver.  Civilized and thoughtful, right?

Well, it should have been anyway, but my tank top got stuck on the top of the car as I tried to slip into the window, and by the time I finally got in, it was too late.  What happened was pretty nasty, bad enough that even I felt the collision pretty hard.  Bastard ran the van off the road and smack dab into a tree.  He was dead as a doorknob,  pretty much made into human hamburger.  The woman in back, I got her out and left her at the nearest Emergency Room, but I don’t know if she’s gonna live yet.  She looked pretty bad, and in my experience, humans are real fragile.  

I wanted, really wanted to hang around and find out, but talking to the cops is something I’m really not big on, not after the time one told me he was gonna bring me down to the station for questioning and THEN, after we’d been like talking for ages out on the street, decided he needed to frisk me for weapons in the backseat of the car.  Talk about a jerk.  Anyway, even if I didn’t have school tomorrow, hanging around the hospital all night wasn’t gonna work, so I guess I’ll just try and see if it makes the news tomorrow.

Its sleepy time now for me, now that I’ve exposed myself as the bumbling idiot that I feel like.  I just hope, hope that I don’t dream about those poor people.

I hate gym class

I hate gym class

Yesterday was a perfectly example of why.  I’m sort of freaky about my body, on account of I’m not exactly made like most other girls.  Oh, the pieces and parts are all the same, at least superficially, but the thing is, there’s all sorts of weird stuff about me that I’m sure somebody’s gonna notice.

The biggest things are without doubt my boobs.  They’re big, at least for my height, but they’re like overly perky.  In fact, they’re not at all natural looking at least in my view.  Quite honestly, they’d probably look great on some porn star, but girls my age don’t usually have breast implants.  I don’t, but it sure looks like it sometimes, because they don’t sag right.  Mom says I’m making too big of a deal out of it, and them, too but I could swear that one of the other girls was staring at them the other day while I was getting dressed.

There’s other stuff that’s sort of weird about me, too, but it doesn’t like jump out at you like they do.  For example, there’s the whole body hair thing.  I don’t get razor stubble.  I don’t even own a razor.  Mercifully, I don’t have a whole lot of body hair, but when it does come time to get rid of it, the best way I’ve found to deal with it is with a mirror and a whole lot of staring on my part, until the whole heat vision thing kicks in.  Talk about tedious!!!

Anyway, what happened the other day, there’s this girl, lets call her Jane.  That’s not her real name, but she sort of looks like a Jane.  I’ve known Jane for years, and while we’re not exactly best friends, we sort of get along ok, and when she told me she really wanted to impress a guy, and … why I don’t know, but she figured she’d do it by being super basketball chick, I figured I’d try to help her out.  I got Jane the ball … a lot, and I got her the ball where she could score some serious points.  Its not all that hard when you can move way faster than any of the other girls and can pretty much throw the ball wherever you want it to go to do things like that.  So Jane like scored oodles of points, and I figured things would be great.

Well, I was wrong.  By the time class was over, Jane was all sweaty and gross, and I was getting dirty looks from just about everyone, except for the coach.  I know the budgets are tight and all, but girls gym classes ought to have women coaches.  Coach Collins is a nice guy, but, if there’s one thing I’ve learned from having X-ray vision, its that nice guys get hard ons too, and so when he came up to me at the end of class and started to talk to me about trying out for the basketball team, lets just say it was sort of hard to keep things in perspective. Like that clipboard thing really works.  He was real persistent though, and in the end, I agreed to try out for the team, if my parents would agree.

But then, when we started to get dressed, Jane kept looking at me.  It was, well, creepy, almost, the same way it feels when I’m out, not as me, but the costume and kicking some bad guy butt.  Only then, well, I’m sort of asking for it, using my body as a weapon so to speak.  No one stops when a 5’2” blonde in glasses and a sweatshirt yells stop, but you’d be amazed at how different it is when I wear something tight and clingy.  But there’s a big difference, because when I’m wearing a mask along with something flashy, I don’t really care what’s going through the perv’s mind in the last few seconds before I take him down.   With Jane, well, things were creepy, because I wasn’t used to it at school.

Usually, at school, I’m pretty non-confrontational.  Its sort of part of the whole secret identity thing, but I got a feeling, at least in Jane’s case, that may sort of have to change.  I was working on some kind of smart remark, something wittier than “what are you looking at?” but by the time I figured it out, she was gone.  The whole thing was just plain weird.


    

Welcome to the Adventures of Super Daph

Welcome

Hey guys and gals and welcome to my little piece of the world wide web where I can let my hair down and tell all. See, here’s the thing, although I try my best to fit in with everyone else, I’m not. I’m different and always have been. Oh sure, in some ways, I’m just like any other teenaged girl. I have feelings and issues and I can go to pieces over stuff that no sane mature human being would give a hoot about. But, well, if you prick me, I don’t bleed. Matter of fact, you can shoot me or run me over with a truck and I still won’t bleed.

All this sort of makes my life complicated, and I decided to write this little blog to try, like therapeutically to sort things out sometimes. Sometimes, well, I need that, like someone to talk to about things, things that I can't just talk to anyone about, at least not, well at least not all the time, on account of, well, its like.. you know that old comic book, Richie Rich? The one about the poor little rich kid? My dad collects them, only, well, its sort of like that. Its kind of wacky to feel sorry fro someone who's got it better than most other people, and yet, having a few advantages doesn't make you happier, necessarily, nor do they necessarily make up for the disadvantages.

Anyway, enough of this for now. I gotta head out now and do some stuff before school. I'll try and write some more tonight.

D