Officially an Old Fogey

Busy, busy weekend just passed. Allow me to thrill you with an update.
Saturday morning, I woke up, and though it was still a bit damp from the previous night’s precipitation, I decided it would be best to mow the lawn before it got scorching hot. Good decision, as Sunday was even worse. We were very Trading Spaces this weekend, and got some new fabric to re-cover our dining room chairs. Lisa took before and after pictures that show how impressive our effort was. Saturday was also my first Lobsterfest. One of the guys on my baseball team has this every year. You pay $12 for your lobster, bring whatever else you want for grilling, etc, and they cook it up for you. Good stuff, lobster was yummy, I had fun playing volleyball (and trying to explain that it was my brother who was the volleyball player, not me, I just got decent from defending myself), and Ellie had a blast on the trampoline. We’re definitely planning on getting her a trampoline for her birthday, the kid loves to jump.
Saturday night was the inspiration for the title of this post. It was 11:30pm, and some kids in the court behind us were having a loud party. Normally, I’d try to ignore it and sleep, but with a 9am baseball game (with a 7:15am wakeup call) the next morning, I couldn’t do that. So I called the cops on them. Turned out a few other neighbors had complained, but they couldn’t pinpoint the location. Five minutes after I called, there was blissful silence. Yep, I’m a old fogey for calling the cops on the kids, and especially for my excuse of having to get up early.
Sunday morning, I was off to my baseball game. We seem to be playing the same team a lot this summer, partially due to the fact that the league is changing ownership, and the new guy just threw together a schedule without thinking much about it. I was batting third, clearly a reflection of my monstrous power display last week. It actually worked out well too. My first at-bat against their good pitcher (who can actually throw a good fastball and curveball for strikes), I took a first pitch fastball, then drilled the hanging curveball to the left-center gap for a double. I felt good about that one after looking bad against him last week. My next at-bat, I got jammed a little on a fastball and popped to shortstop. I followed up against a weaker pitcher with a single and two stolen bases. Unfortunately, I really jammed my thumb sliding into second and third. I think it’s just a bad sprain, but I’m going to the doctor this afternoon just to be safe. It’s really swollen. My last at-bat, I struck out against the guy I homered off last week. He managed to sneak an outside fastball by me when I wasn’t looking for it, so we had a good laugh about it after the game. I played center-field for the most part, but also shortstop the last inning, and was just a whisker away from throwing out a runner trying to stretch his hit to a triple. I don’t think they were expecting the bullet throw (though they should have, since I threw one of their guys out from the outfield last week).
The rest of the day we stayed out of the heat and finished the chairs, which now actually have some cushioning to them, and Ellie ran around the house in her underwear. No really, the whole day, in her underwear. Wish I could do that sometimes…
New beer reviews and a book review to come later this week, so keep an eye out.

1 thought on “Officially an Old Fogey”

  1. Re: You running around in your underwear, wait until you get those curtains up in the dining room or the partying teens may have their revenge.

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