Freedom is more than just speech.

Nibble 1:

A few days ago, I stumbled into the coffee break-room only to find the pot with 1/4 cup of coffee remaining in it.   Come ON, people.  How hard is it to start the next pot before you amble back to your desk?    It isn’t difficult, you know.   The coffee is already pre-scooped into filters, and the water is pre-filled into a pitcher next to the machine.     I’ve never seen the person who sets all this up in the mornings, but, please, honor their thoughtfulness by popping that filter in when a refill needs to be brewed.

The best part of the whole set up is the sign on the cabinet that reads, “Coffee Fixens in here.”   It doesn’t really bother me that fixins is not a proper word; it’s that they spelled it incorrectly!   Please, study your slang before writing it down.   (Aside: fixins have been added to the food pyramid.)

Nibble 2:

That same morning, I saw an email from a cafeteria about the special of the day: Fried Shrimps.   For the weight-watchers among us, the light lunch special was 1/2 size portion of Fried Shrimps.  Yes, it said shrimps in both instances.  Loves me some fried shrimps.

Nibble 3:

In an email about selecting our child’s jersey number for her uniform, we were told what integers were available.  He has to be in the software field.

Nibble 4:

Did you know that a nibble is 1/2 of a byte?

When watching baseball on TV, one usually is treated to a view of the immaculately coiffed coaches’ wives enjoying their prime box seats.   Yesterday, it was so hot and humid, I wasn’t exactly pristine, but I did have access to the air-conditioned skybox at the field.  Ah, the perks of being the coach’s wife!

Ignore that minor crack in the window.  It’s not top-shelf, but it is still better than what the minions have to endure.

Actually, my husband had unlocked the doors to the upper part of the concession stand and turned on the a/c so that if anyone had any heat-related problems, they had a place for them to recover.  He was thinking more of the catchers in all their hot gear and the grandmas valiantly sitting through a 10 inning little league game in the afternoon sun.

Yep, the game before ours went 10 innings.  Normally, the max limit is 7 innings (or a time limit), but this is tournament time, so games cannot end in a tie.   They played from 3:30 to 6:30.

My son is playing in the 13-15 year old league this year.   You know what? There is a trememdous size disparity in that age range.

Look:

I left the image blurry on-purpose so the kids are not identifiable.  Look at the size of that 15 year old player (from another team) on the right.  He could crush the younger players.

Against all odds, we won our first tournament game.  Heh.    Did I tell you it was hot?  It was hot. Meh.

I’ve created a mobile theme for the old blogstead. Now, on most phone browsers it should look something like this:

Now, you can read me when you are stopped by a train.

And it sure as hell better be worth it.

I’ve been trying to exercise more. Because I hate exercise, just about the only thing I have the stamina and strength to do is walking. So, I’ve been walking. The pavement hurts, y’all. I have good shoes; it’s the age of my joints that does it.

My daughter had a soccer kick-around last night. I did not sit around (the whole time) gabbing with people I know. I took my lonely, jiggly ass over to the track behind the school and walked and jogged. Not a single other parent thought to join me. That’s okay. I’m trying to keep my squishy self from becoming squishier.

One would think after having health scares that involved the word biopsy that it would be easy to maintain healthy living habits. Sadly, it’s not.

I’m tired of feeling squishy and old. I have to keep moving because the alternative is not very appealing.