Why is it that every time I go to a sporting event I sit in front of a person who insists on shattering my eardrums with their clapping? It's as if they've learned some secret technique developed by the Pentagon to assault enemies with a simple hand clap.
This time we were clapped toward deafness at a Brewer's game. Our ears weren't quite bleeding but this guy truly had high decibel clapping skills. Plus, he was completely in love with the sound of his own voice. He talked. A lot. He even made some comment to his kids about not embarrassing him by clapping so loudly (he must have noticed Deb and I wincing each time he brought his hands together near our skulls). Knowing he was causing us pain seem to please him.
But I'm being negative. I shouldn't be negative. Aside from the audible assault it really was a perfect day. Easy in and out of the ballpark. Beautiful weather. Well-behaved children. Allie had cotton candy for the first time and as she ate it she told us she was having, ". . .the best day of fun ever." After a few handfuls of cotton candy and a big chunk of licorice rope she probably would have told us the same thing if we had thrown her down a mine shaft with an open crate of rabid bats.
She rode the sugar rush almost all the way home.
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I saw Jon last week. We had lunch together with other people from work. He had the bison burger and was a little intimidated by the size of our waitress's arms. Probably more like turned on by the size of her arms (I know I was), but that's beside the point. I like it when Jon stops by to see us. I wish he was able to do it more often despite the fact he chastised me for posting photos of Julia's offal.
I've been waiting to use the word offal for weeks. It feels like the weight of the world has been lifted from my shoulders.
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Fuzzy Sara is dead. Please don't ask me how she died. I would have no choice but to implicate myself. I'm sure she could have contracted some weird hamster virus, but I'm sure the month's worth of fecal matter in her cage and a less than consistent feeding schedule might have been contributing factors.
Jon, I was tempted to grab my camera when I found Fuzzy Sara's body. But then I heard your voice and I let her rest in peace.
It's very late. 2:00 a.m. I should be sleeping. But I can't sleep. I've got a case of the willies.
I can't help but feel as if I'm being watched.
Watched by students.
Watched by students somewhere in Texas.