July 15. Hot and humid. I turned 29 again for the 8th time just the day before so we had a party. An outdoor, cook-out-esque party without the grilling. Fried chicken catered by Wal-Mart. Swimming pools. Two five-foot kid style pools complete with rubber ducks and absorbent, miniature footballs. Squirt guns. We used the kiddy pools to soak our feet and shot each other with the squirt guns. I shot myself. Seems like I dried out instantly.
Most of the party was held on the deck. “Nobody’s done anything on bureaucracy,” Pasquale said, talking about The Office and Office Space, comically dystopian views on corporate cubical life. He suggested I write something in that vein on government employment. I have rare insight.
It seems like everyone has childhood memories of croquet. The croquet course I set up had kids in mind. Wickets out of the natural paths around the house so kids didn’t trip and knock their front teeth out. Speaking of which, I learned the importance of wearing a helmet.