I love the feeling when a paint job is over. No, not as in when you blow your nose and Dover Hills Beige comes out. Or when you scrub for two days straight and you STILL have white paint in your hair. But that feeling of accomplishment. I think that’s why I like to paint—because I have to finish the job and you have a new room in a short amount of time.

So no mishaps this time. Other than a few touch-ups for later and dipping a chair into the paint bucket (I thought it needed an accent color?). And I did slam my ladder into one too many things. Oh, and head planting into a wet wall and my hair STILL being covered in Valspar No. 98701. But other than that, it all went so smoothly. When I took off the tape, the entire wall didn’t come off. And I wasn’t enraged when I was done. Or sobbing. So good days. Time well spent.

So some friends of mine have this softball team, and in their search for a name they came up with the Fighting Chihuahuas, after the mascot in In Between. I think it’s one of the nicest things anyone’s ever done for me. But what’s not nice? Um…having to step in and PLAY during a game! For real.

Okay, so I’m at a game and wearing my Fighting Chihuahua t-shirt. Then the ump notices one of the Chihuahuas has left. The game will be forfeited (or the world would end or something) if they didn’t come up with another player. So about ten pair of eyeballs find me in the stands…sitting there. Peacefully. With my team t-shirt on. So after one team member assures me that I won’t actually have to play, I head to the dugout to pretend to be a member of this athletic brood.

And then…the news.
“Okay, you’re up to bat!”
Here’s how impressed with that idea I was.


You know, some people are born with all sorts of athletic ability. Others were born with very little. I’m neither—I have none. NONE! And people with no athletic ability are LOATHE to do athletic things in front of others. When I was in the sixth grade I played softball. But I was the girl singing out in the outfield, picking weeds, who had only signed up to go to White Water water park at the end of the season. (And then I didn't even get to go to White Water because I got Silly Puddy stuck in my ear.) (Don't ask.)

Everyone said, “Just stand there. The pitcher’s been walking people all night. Your odds of walking are great.” Okay, how hard can that be? And I do look mighty fine in my Chihuahua t-shirt…

So the pitcher, who hadn't been doing so hot, throws me this perfect pitch. I see it coming and think, “Oh, crap. I’m gonna have to swing, aren’t I?”

Look, I’m swinging so lightning fast, the camera couldn’t keep up. Too quick! Out of focus! Kodak doesn’t make an option for this kind of speed!


And stop calling, Barry Bonds. No, I don't give lessons.
Actually it was a whimpy swing and I got out at first, but they assure me they got a run out of it. I didn’t see that part, so they could be lying for all I know.

But the t-shirts are great, are they not? They make people happy. See, these two don’t even know each other, but look how happy they are.


So I’m going to be gone for a bit. If you’re reading this blog because you’re really bored, then sign up on the far left for email updates so you’ll know when I’m back. I will have a full report on all things European. And then as soon as I get back, it’s time to go back to school. I’m really excited about that. How excited?