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I'm sorry for calling you a muppet, Andy.

September 19, 2008 - Summer Wallace-Minger

But really, I'm not.

My husband said I shouldn't call you a muppet, and he doesn't care what you look like, as long as you continue to hit homeruns and help his fantasy baseball team.

I also want this to happen, because it looks like he might win first place and get that $500. He promised to take me to a nice dinner if he did.

So ignore the muppet thing (even if it's true), and hit some of them out of the ballpark.

In other news, Alex continues to elude me. Scratch the whole Commander-in-chief thing. I don't want to be a loyal soldier anyway. It's not as much fun as being a minion.

Alex is a ninja. Not only has he managed to suspiciously not be there for the last three weeks, but he's dodging my phone calls like Keanu Reeves dodging bullets in the "Matrix."

Alex is on a bajilion area charitable boards, because that's what the publisher does when he's not doing the numbery stuff (poor Alex, imagine having to do math--clearly, I have the better job). So when I called today, he's off at the United Way. ... Or was he?  

Sadly, whenever I do talk to him, he always tells me to email him the details. I'm not sure if this is because he's in a hurry, wants a paper copy or both. I might as well skip the whole calling aspect and just send him an email. Only I loathe the whole email thing. I prefer the immediancy of speaking. I'm a communicator. I need to communicate.

Last night I went to the kids' open house. I hate that stuff. I always feel so awkward and out of place at those things, but the kids are so excited about it, I have to go. The anxiety started because the parking was atrocious. There's no lot there; it is a neighborhood school, and it is not set up for two hundred people to descend at once.

When you've been thwacked in the car as many times as I have, you don't like close quarters in cars. And most of those times, it wasn't even my fault.

The place was packed, and my claustrophobia and agrophobia kicked in. I wanted out, and my son wanted to show me every poster in his room and explain how they were used.

At least the kids are doing well in school. I'm just not.

 
 

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