Telephone: Ring. Ring.
Me: This is Marci.
Telephone: (obviously on speaker) How long as there been a designated hitter?
Me: Let me check tap. tap. tap.
Telephone: Where are you checking?
Telephone: Is that majorleaguebaseball.com or mlb.com
Me: MLB, although probably both will work. (tapping continues) 31 years.
Telephone: That makes it, what? 1973?
Telephone: Thank you. I feel like I should say something here so you think I didn't call just for that.
Me: You're welcome, and I already know you called just for that.
Telephone: Ah, excellent. Goodbye then.
Me: Goodbye, dear.
So rinovelties lost our order. They suck. I replaced it again today. Now I'll probably get double the order which will irritate me. Anyway, they said I should have it Monday. And replacing the order means that your balls are included, Anna, so at least that. They have no explanation for why I would have gotten a confirmation that the order was placed, and yet never showed up.
Anyway, What's the MK schedule for Tuesday? Maybe the smart way to do the exchange is for me to show up there, if there's something interesting going on.
The atmophere around here is, in a word, giddy. Total strangers talk to me about the Red Sox. People who've I've known for years who I didn't even think would recognize a ball bat if I smacked them upside the head with my Louisville Slugger stop me to ask me what I think will happen tonight. It's electrifying. Every year, it's more intense than the year before. The True Believers struggle to remember everything they've done the last few days so they can repeat it just in case it tipped the scales.
I'm so glad I'm not in college. I would be accomplishing so very little.
AM radio does not work in my office.
In my dream last night I was wandering around a Disney theme park (unfamiliar to me, but she'd been there before), singing the Rick Springfield song "Love Somebody." Now I can't get it out of my head.