Summer days..

Just a fun reminder that I am a cyclops and this is what it looked like around this time last year. Navigating through that kaleidoscope remains to be living on free drugs. I wait for my class action settlement, because I am both vain and greedy. And I like mail.

We recently hit Mr. Morgan's company picnic, good party but not well attended. He goes because he's the manager and I go because bullshit speculation begins if I'm suddenly absent. It's really not the worst of things to go to, they feed us and everyone is always very nice.

I was deflated to hear that a long time employee was no longer employed at all and wondered why it didn't occur to Mr. Morgan to tell me. This was the man who contained my not-even-yet-husband on the night of our wedding party, held him into submission and explained that the living room wall was not the enemy. We attended his wedding the following year, and I countless times held the head of his bride as she tried to wish her drunk self to a swift death over the toilet of various hotel rooms. They divorced, he quit, and that was that. After the divorce however, every year he would show up to these picnics with - seriously, in my opinion barely legal if at all - girls. The rest of us aging chickens anticipated what he'd bring each year and snickered under our sagging skin because we could and it somehow vindicated how much we loath time in all it's evilness.

End of an era. Sigh. Below is team As If. They stood no chance. This is why I don't play. Plus I've never learned to thwart flying objects from my face, I take the hit and appear shocked. No idea why that particular reaction to protect myself lacks.

Of note in the above photo is a child who belonged to no one in our group. She was getting her hat on though, so I had to snap a pic of a future protege.

One volley player left his eyewear within my reach, and I have the ability to grapple very far when I want something, so I took them and indulged in a lucid moment of being high on disbelief that my eye, plus his prescription could induce elephants in the clouds so easily.

It's been about 50 babillion months of bitching about my hair, and I mean bitching on a guage that even the dogs were plotting to shave me bald in the middle of the night. I think Simon started it all as revenge. So I fixed myself up. Mr. Morgan walked in, saw me with scissors and gasped "Whoa." Whether it was because I was going hackfest on myself or because I was holding a sharp object is not known. There was not a wrestle, he walked away I presume to be hoping for the best.

See! I do ok. I have a box of highlights, since I rarely can live withotu them, but later for that. Don't miss the below entry, I have some things stockpiled while the site was down.

-DM