Man, this weather is crazy beautiful this week. It’s topping out at about 90°F, which is just perfect. Warm enough for shorts, but not so hot that I have to climb up on the roof and take the plastic off the swamp cooler yet. Well, I don’t do roofs, but I don’t have to nag my landlord to do it yet either.

Luckily, I have some backhoe work going on and don’t have to sit in the office all day, or I’d be going stir crazy.

Last night was my evening at the baseball concession booth while John went to Boy Scouts and Seamus went to practice with his dad. Two hours went by in a flash while the cash register kicked my ass and I regularly had to get rescued by the teenage girls who usually work in there. I haven’t had to work a cash register in almost 20 years, and back then, we did it the old-fashioned way, memorizing SKUs and shit. There were no fancy “hot dog” buttons. It was a little embarrassing, being beaten by a machine. I have a college degree, damnit! This thing shouldn’t be smarter than I am! But it kept freaking out when I’d insist on entering a decimal point when it knew good and well that it had already accounted for one. Approximately five minutes before my shift was over, I did it right. Once.

Too bad I was so preoccupied with the stupid machine, because the concessions booth is an ideal place to admire the various hot dads from other teams. The hot dad from our team was even there, even though it wasn’t our night to play, because he’s a coach for his other kid. I’m mentally terrible, but I never actually hit on any of them at least; I just admire from afar.

It was so nice out that I tried to talk Seamus into staying and watching his step-brother’s game, but he wanted to go home. Spoilsport!