You Are NOT Entering the Comfort Zone

This is the last Friday of the school year. Next week, the teachers will attend a send-off type breakfast; mercifully, it is a half-day and no students are present. I am in the computer lab being held hostage by a webinar. This is the second of two days. It is 9:30 and the webinar is set to finish at noon. I am generally not a great multi-tasker, but I can do a couple of things at once if one of those things only involves listening to someone speak. Oddly, however, this trait does not work if the speaker is my wife. I’d better get that checked out.

Jerk.

Jerk.

Increasing my frustration is the fact that my exploits through Pokemon: Fire Red have been stalled by Zapdos’ stubborn refusal to keep his ass inside of a Pokeball. I apologize for my slightly crude language, but I am near my wit’s end. I first encountered the electric bird yesterday afternoon and began the process of weakening him then. He did not stay in the damn ball. When I got home yesterday afternoon, I tried again. He continued to extend his middle feather in my immediate direction, right up until my wife got home and we left for dinner. After showering and getting into bed, I tried it again. Zapdos did everything but send me a text that read: Dude, this isn’t working. Just give it up. It wasn’t meant to be. Gyaoo! I don’t know how many balls I’ve hurled at Zapdos, but the number is rapidly approaching the category of “Rubber Balls Thrown at Kids Half My Age at Summer Fun.” I have to be honest, I think a fairly large chunk of my frustration stems from the fact that I’ve already come up with a fantastic nickname for my pet Zapdos: Datzapdoe. He will be mine, oh yes, he will be mine.

For real, though.

For real, though.

Our home is going through an appraisal process next week and holy hell, that means we’ve got to clean the house. I’m not just talking about one of our hey-we-haven’t-tidied-up-in-a-while fixes, I’m talking serious stuff. How serious? I’m glad you asked. I’m going to borrow my dad’s truck to move things out. We’re going to move furniture. The height of hilarity, of course, is the fact that we’re going to send Abby to Lynnette’s parents house that day. She’s a loose cannon, too much of a wildcard. Sadly, I don’t think there’s anything we can do about Abby’s many stains of shame on the carpet in various parts of the house. You can expect some pictures, a blog entry or two about the process, and possibly Lynnette and I jointly filing for divorce.

It's been a quick year.

It’s been a quick year.

Complicating our cleaning efforts is the fact that this is the busiest weekend of the school year. I will attend the Senior Luncheon on Saturday as well as graduation on Sunday. This means that Lynnette will be alone during the middle of both days. I have no idea what she’ll be up to while I’m gone, but maybe it’s for the best. We play well together, but we don’t work well together. “Do you want to do one room at a time or work on rooms separately?” I asked Lynnette a few days ago. “One room at a time,” she said. I immediately felt as if Lynnette had just re-enacted the scene from Titanic when the captain decided to plow ahead despite the iceberg warning. I guess she and I will find out. But don’t worry, you will too.

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