Our first baseball game is on Sunday. The weather prediction is that it will be 73 degrees (73!), which is excellent, and I am looking forward to relieving my Baseball Tote Bag of Weather Preparedness of its hand warmers, mittens and stocking cap, and replacing those items with sunscreen, sunglasses and fresh packets of sunflower seeds. And possibly a packet of Big League Chew that I have been saving for no real reason.
New on the menu at Target Field this year is the Walk-a-Taco, which I am going to partake of based on the name alone. The Walk-a-Taco differentiates itself from the Taco in a Bag by using a tortilla cone (rather than a bag of Doritos) to house the taco innards. Sold.
With the weather taking care of business, there are just a few Resistant Snow Piles left to deal with. Some cities in Minnesota rent out business parking lots and dump all the removed snow there to melt. Only the snow is covered with gravel, dead grass, sand and debris, which basically preserves the snow in a crusty, blackened mountain impervious to sun. In fact, I bet years from now, some eager scientist will take core samples from these geologic features and discover that the frozen material inside can be dated back to 2011.
Jason has been hacking at our remaining ice piles with an ice hoe, and every time I go outside with Shorty, I stomp at the survivors with the heel of my shoe. Not in a malicious way, but rather a “Glad you visited us [for way longer than necessary]; now please allow me to hasten your departure” way. I’m helpful like that.
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I’m reading a book on hoarding called Stuff, and oh my. Did you know there are people out there who can’t bear to part with their own feces? My God. Some people attach so much meaning to the possibility of objects that they just can’t let go. One woman couldn’t throw away a scrap of paper with a phone number on it, despite the fact that she had NO IDEA who the number belonged to, and that the paper was yellowed from years of sitting around. Just the thought that she might miss out on an opportunity that potential phone call could bring led her to leaving that paper sit among a 6-foot-tall pile of debris. Fascinating.
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Sometimes I think back about my goal for 2011 and how it was supposed to be FUN!, and how much effort it seems to make that the case this year. We certainly haven’t had anything major happen, just a lot of little annoyances that when added up, seem ridiculous:
- Both of us down for the count for a good 10 days with the flu (and an unheard of number of trips to the doctor for both of us, coinciding nicely with our employers’ decisions to drop traditional health plans and go for the High Deductible Plans, which I loathe so very, very much)
- Jason rolling and totaling his truck
- Having to pay in for taxes for the sole reason of being in a new tax bracket (despite me claiming 0 and Jason claiming 1)
- Me getting in a fender-bender and getting bit by Shorty within a span of 60 minutes
- Jason receiving about 50 calls from his bank (including on nights and weekends), who claimed he owed them a truck payment for his (long-totaled) truck even though our insurance company had contacted them several times to send them the final payment if only they would tell them the amount
- Jason having the hiccups for 55 hours straight
I mean, COME ON. It’s kind of silly, when you think about it. One positive note so far is that I am winning our annual cribbage tournament. Usually by this time of the year I’m already down by 20 games.
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My finger is still not 100% healed, in that my nailbed is sporting a giant white spot that is punctuated with a hole in it so that you can (if you are so inclined, as I am approximately 30 times a day) view the underside of the nail in all its gory glory. Basically, it looks like this:
(Taking a photo one-handed is surprisingly difficult. Also, it makes you stiffen your fingers so that you appear to have the skin of a 90-year-old.)
On the underside of the finger there appears to be a sliver or something embedded under the skin. I don’t know for sure because anytime I contemplate digging around to investigate, my vision gets wavy. So I’ll just keep doing what I normally do when confronted with items under my skin and ignore it for years. I’m sure it’s fine! I’ve grown accustomed to not using that finger anyway, although it makes tying my shoes strangely difficult, and I’ll never be able to do a pushup again since I can’t put direct pressure on that fingertip. Obviously, I’m saddened by that.
