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I miss The Lad.

Posted by on June 27, 2002

Baseball is the healthiest thing I do. There’s nothing like running around in the evening air, swinging a bat, pantsing Dustin and playing Ninja Cartwheels with Michele. It’s an all-American sport.

After several rounds of tandem cartwheels, Michele and I decided that next week we will bring a tape deck and my old Debbie Gibson tape — ah, Electric Youth! — and force the boys to do routines with us. Who among us can forget the joy of creating a routine? This was a very popular event in middle school. You guys wondered what we did at those slumber parties? Well I’ll tell you: we had routine competitions. (And lesbian sex of course. Lots of that.) Routines as I recall them consisted mainly of a lot of elaborate synchronized footwork and leaping over small end tables. Some of you never got over it and went on to become cheerleaders, gymnasts and Irish dancers. Whereas others of you never got over the lesbian sex part.

Anyway, last night’s baseball was comparatively injury-free. Michele got hit in the head with the tennis ball and Dustin appears to be suffering from a manly form of the consumption known as miner’s lung, but other than that everyone seemed healthy. Later we went to Pasta Pomodoro even though Jason hates it and everyone enjoyed some ravioli and an amusing story about Dustin, Berkeley Aaron and a couple of hookers in Texas.

Yesterday I gave this guy my number. I don’t know why I did it; we hadn’t even spoken. We just happened to be in the same coffee shop together. As soon as I did it I regretted it, especially since he then called me three times that day. I know it’s not fair to give a guy a number and then be weirded out when he calls it, but honestly I am a big fan of the two-day cool rule. When will I learn not to ask for stuff that doesn’t interest me? It’s like when I was a little kid and every time I got taken to Toys R Us, I ordered the Sea Monkeys. I just kept thinking they would be wonderful little talking playmates for me, like on the box. (Only children are lonely little freaks.) Each time they spawned into wiggly little sperm critters I was shocked and disappointed.

I am dumber than a bag of hammers. This just in.

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