Wakefield! It's blog-prude - that's the person who won't blog even when the relationship permits that sort of sharing. I tried calling your old number, but I got Naomi's voicemail, so I assume that it wasn't coincidence. I don't know where your number is, but I'll figure it out some time. I understand that not everybody can blog all the time, but I only want to hear about everybody's lives and what they think about things (maybe you all are the infamous sidewalk-chalk writers and I have offended you).
Gabe, I miss hearing about your life as a papa, but I completely understand that you don't have the time to toss up a blog. You'll have time in like eighteen years, I guess.
Oh, I did have a great story from today. I am the perennial good samaritan as of this afternoon. I walked an old lady across the street! I never thought that would happen until I was an old man trying to catch the local nursing home hottie, but nevermind that. So I emerged from my car today in the Safeway parking lot (Safeway is a grocery store, in case you're in the provincial quandry of the Midwest) to beside a little purple Dodge Neon parked rather poorly with a woman that couldn't have been born after 1924, and just thinking I should be pleasant, I said hi. Maybe this is why I'm normally anti-social, but she must have taken this as a sign that I actually was a pleasant person which is something we all know is not true. She asked me if I could walk her across the street. I said sure. So I walked up to her and she put her arm in mine, and what is the first thing she says to me? "Ya know why I needed your help? I'm drunk." I am high tea on the outside and a Detroit race riot on the inside, trying to shake off what this lady just said to me, especially since she didn't laugh about it or anything, and she was having trouble walking. "You don't really think I am drunk, do you?" That is nearly as bad as the "does this make me look fat?" question, only in that I had no clue where I was supposed to go with that one. "Yes! You had me convinced," I thought, but tried to just laugh it off as she explained something about her foot being injured. Even before the drunk comment, I didn't believe that this woman was in a good position to operate a motor vehicle (is a Neon a motor vehicle - because then we have to include all those cars that you just pull backwards a bunch of times, too). So after probably a minute and a half shuffle that crossed fifteen yards of parking lot asphalt, I asked her if she wanted me to get her a shopping cart, and she indecisively refused, so I bolted to find my two loaves of bread and get the heck out of there before I had to get a cat out of a tree or save a baby from a burning building. I'm allergic to both cats and fire (maybe just heat - yes, even though I told myself I was not going to be burned tonight while making dinner, after cooking the pizza I managed to scald the roof of my mouth. Idiot! And now all I'm thinking about is Can't Hardly Wait, "Yo Jaina... wanna dance?" "I'm allergic." "Allergic... to dancin'?" "Yeah.").
So Wakefield, that was for you. Peeople, write something. The blog doesn't get better acting like a kid in time-out. Just tell me I'm wrong.
Gabe, I miss hearing about your life as a papa, but I completely understand that you don't have the time to toss up a blog. You'll have time in like eighteen years, I guess.
Oh, I did have a great story from today. I am the perennial good samaritan as of this afternoon. I walked an old lady across the street! I never thought that would happen until I was an old man trying to catch the local nursing home hottie, but nevermind that. So I emerged from my car today in the Safeway parking lot (Safeway is a grocery store, in case you're in the provincial quandry of the Midwest) to beside a little purple Dodge Neon parked rather poorly with a woman that couldn't have been born after 1924, and just thinking I should be pleasant, I said hi. Maybe this is why I'm normally anti-social, but she must have taken this as a sign that I actually was a pleasant person which is something we all know is not true. She asked me if I could walk her across the street. I said sure. So I walked up to her and she put her arm in mine, and what is the first thing she says to me? "Ya know why I needed your help? I'm drunk." I am high tea on the outside and a Detroit race riot on the inside, trying to shake off what this lady just said to me, especially since she didn't laugh about it or anything, and she was having trouble walking. "You don't really think I am drunk, do you?" That is nearly as bad as the "does this make me look fat?" question, only in that I had no clue where I was supposed to go with that one. "Yes! You had me convinced," I thought, but tried to just laugh it off as she explained something about her foot being injured. Even before the drunk comment, I didn't believe that this woman was in a good position to operate a motor vehicle (is a Neon a motor vehicle - because then we have to include all those cars that you just pull backwards a bunch of times, too). So after probably a minute and a half shuffle that crossed fifteen yards of parking lot asphalt, I asked her if she wanted me to get her a shopping cart, and she indecisively refused, so I bolted to find my two loaves of bread and get the heck out of there before I had to get a cat out of a tree or save a baby from a burning building. I'm allergic to both cats and fire (maybe just heat - yes, even though I told myself I was not going to be burned tonight while making dinner, after cooking the pizza I managed to scald the roof of my mouth. Idiot! And now all I'm thinking about is Can't Hardly Wait, "Yo Jaina... wanna dance?" "I'm allergic." "Allergic... to dancin'?" "Yeah.").
So Wakefield, that was for you. Peeople, write something. The blog doesn't get better acting like a kid in time-out. Just tell me I'm wrong.
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