Flint Pong

I’m back, babies!

The plural of baby just doesn’t come out right. Like, if I were to say “I’m back, baby!” that sounds alright. But make it babies? Then it just gets weird.

Anyhoo. I am back on the west coast after a foray to the land of my birthing. It was a rad trip. IT WAS A RAD TRIP, OK?

I’m feeling a little defensive about my trip, as I always do when I go home. Let me let you in on a little something. When I talk about my hometown, people dole out the sympathy. Like it is a town that is worth the same as a dirty tick on the ass of a dirty rat. I HATE THAT. If you want to make me a little teed off, say something to me about how assy my hometown is and then make a face like you are smelling something bad when you say it. I AM SO SORRY THAT MY TOWN DOESN’T HAVE BILL GATES AND RIDE THE DUCKS TOURS AND HIPSTER DOOFUSES ON EVERY LAST STREET CORNER. But lay off. It made me, and I’m pretty cute, right?

I said, RIGHT?

Let’s focus on some of the things you might not know about that little place that spawned the crazy black-haired librarian who shoots off at the mouth.

1. Although much of the town looks tired and beat down and busted up, one thing that most people have there is a little patch of yard. Even if your house or trailer or whatevers is saggy, for some reason yards are plentiful. It’s the kind of thing that makes you want to lie down in it and roll around. Which is just what I did.

View from mid-roll

2. There’s also a lovely destination I like to call I’ll Be the Banana For That Hammock, Indeed.

I don’t really call it that but I totally could.

3. From which place you can be treated to a view such as this.

And the birdies have never pooped on me once.

4. But get in line because your gentleman friend might hog the snooze bag.

That friggin’ Nordic Boy.

5. And you can run through apple orchards that used to scare the jeebus out of you when you were a kid because that’s where you’d play Bloody Murder at dusk.

You still couldn’t pay me to go in there at night.

See, it looks nice, don’t it? It’s not all drab gray factories and such like. My town my have eyesores aplenty, but it also has my parents’ house. And my parents’ house, as you can see from the hammock and grassy photolio, is a getaway to end all getaways. They have always had a heapin’ help of hospitality for my whole life, but ever since they had grandkids? It’s like a freakin’ wonderland of recreational goodness. You’ve got the picturesque yard with lots of space for running amok, a cool front porch for watching the passersby while sipping a tonic, a crackling fireplace for late night hot chocolate consumption, a basement room with a dart board, a foosball table, and a ping pong table, every board game known to the free world, croquet, lawn bowling, a library room chock full of any kind of book you would care to read, and two refrigerators crammed to the gills with delicious sweets and savories, mostly made with organic ingredients grown in their own goddamn garden.

If I woulda told you that paradise was in Flint, Michigan, you never would have believed me, would you?

Well, maybe it’s not your idea of paradise, but it sure as hell is mine.

My favorite cousin and one of my top all time favorite people in the world, Sweetie Pie, came to visit while we were there. Sweetie Pie and I grew up together and I love her to little shiny pieces more than I can really say. When she and I get together, the fun just keeps on coming. And over the years, she and Nordic Boy have gotten ever more sisterly/brotherly towards each other too, which rocks my socks. This time around, the two of them decided to play a friendly game of ping pong.

Before long? It was the most out of control slam fest you have ever seen in your life. Have you ever seen professional ping pong players? You know how they slam the hell out of that little white ball with all the force they can muster? That was Sweetie Pie and Nordic Boy. They were running around the room. As they were playing. I so wish I had a video to show you. It was like they had found their very own kindred ping pong spirit in each other. I have never seen anything like it. It wasn’t competetive- they weren’t even keeping score. They were just playing ping pong like it was the last day on earth and the minute they stopped playing the core of the planet was going to blow up. It was INTENSE.

It started out normal.

Then they started running after the ball and hitting it back over their shoulders while not even looking.

You know how it all ended? By Sweetie Pie volleying a ball across the table from the back of the room (they weren’t even really taking the actual table into account any more) and Nordic Boy diving for it, across the table, and COLLAPSING THE ENTIRE TABLE.

You know how Mary Catherine Gallagher would always fall into tables? It was JUST LIKE THAT. The table was FLATTENED!

Nordic Boy even sliced his arm open. Oh yes. There was PING PONG INJURIOUSNESS.

How hard core is that???

We managed to fix the table, which was almost just like new. Sort of. Kind of.

Let’s not mention this to mom and dad, ok guys?

I’m out,
Librarian Girl


  1. Wait a second, is there something more macho than a ping pong injury? (Of course, this is coming from someone who was once injured playing Duck, Duck, Goose. As an adult.)

  2. Next time you visit make sure you bring protective gear, to protect yourselves not only from the ball but also the table 🙂 Despite the injuries, it was still pretty much the best ping pong game ever.

  3. oh Librarian Girl, I totally feel your pain with the whole “ewww you grew up there?” thang. I grew up/live in a similar kind of city, and nothing gets my knickers in a twist more than someone slamming my town just because. And seriously? Full-contact ping-pong resulting in injury? That is just all kinds of awesome.

  4. I feel your pain. They voted my town the official WORST PLACE TO LIVE in England. How sucky is that? I care not as the village where I live is oh so purdy. I’ve never played ping-pong. But if I did I’d seriously want to play it that way, broken table and all, very impressive!

  5. Um, is that a Remains of the Day poster with Sir Anthony Hopkins in the background?What kind of hardcore ping pong dungeon do you have going on here?

  6. I hear you, as people similarly revile my home state, which is next to–though mostly not touching–yours. It is so damn annoying! And, since I now live in Minnesota, I greatly appreciate you calling “Duck Duck Goose” by its proper name instead of that silly Minnesotan “Duck Duck Gray Duck” nonsense.

  7. I fully support Flint as my grandpa was born there. They make ’em good up in Michigan.Most people’s responses to my hometown of Gallup, New Mexico are either: “I stoppped for gas there once.” or “I saw that place on 48 hours, wasn’t it called ‘Drunktown, USA?'” Awesome.I’m jealous: all of that grass!

  8. OMG! I want to go visit next time. I promise not to break the table.I grew up in the South. I feel your pain. People should shut the hell up. The rudeness that escapes from their mouths is amazing.

  9. Bio Girl, I have a scar on my knee from Duck, Duck, Goose. But I got it when I was a child. As a native of Atlanta I hear crap about the South every single day. My office mate is from NYC and the attorney across the hall is from Detroit. They say negative stuff about the South on a daily basis. I just keep reminding them that I’m not holding a gun to their heads and forcing them to stay and would gladly help them back their bags if they want to leave.

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