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It’s been almost a month since I posted anything. And for that, faithful blog readers, I’m truly sorry. As with everything these days, I’m going to blame it all on the sweatshop labor that goes into planning my wedding. Lots of invitations, ceremony programs, out-of-towner bags, and other assorted DIY projects (that’s “do it yourself,” for those that arent fluent in wedding parlance). My computer also went into a meltdown last week, and I’ve become fanatically obsessed with fixing the damn thing–even though I don’t know a bit about programming or how to fix ODBC DLL files or rewire the Root structure. In all likelihood I’ve done more harm than good. Oh, and I also took a little pre-Labor Day vacation to the Jersey Shore with the fam, which was a much needed reboot (I keep telling myself, must stop thinking in computer language, but with all the debugging, I can’t help it).

Here are some of the recent highlights from my life (and my friends’ lives):

Jersey Shore: The fam got a place in Avalon, which is near the southern end of the shore, just north of Stone Harbor. We spent most of the week ogling my siblings’ offspring: Winifred, Frances, and Owen. I particularly enjoyed watched Frances eat sand, a new hobby (her first, I think) which she took up with gusto. Sadly, towards the end of our stay, Frances came down with Roseola, a viral infection which gave her a nasty flu and then, a couple days later–right when she appeared to have recovered–a head-to-toe rash. She was not a happy camper those last couple days, but I will say this: she is the most adorably pitiful sick person I’ve ever seen. No word yet on whether there’s any connection between sand consumption and Roseola infantum. Ana keeps telling me she’ll do a Medline search.

Gabe’s limp: I spent the weekend before last aiding and abetting in the hobbling of my friend Gabe. He was about to start a new job at Citibank, in New York, and I thought, What better Philly good-bye gift could I give my friend than a couple sprained ankles? Actually, that’s not totally accurate. The thought process went more like this: I need to do some wedding-related printing at the office, Gabe is a groomsman, so I’ll bring him along to help, and he can find his way out of the office when he needs to leave. This plan did not foresee the likelihood of Gabe getting stranded on a fire escape and deciding to jump the twelve feet down (rather than calling me on his cell or banging on the door or lowering himself down). So, long story short, Gabe started his new job on crutches.

Neha’s cell phone crisis: Some ingenious prankster got the idea, a couple weeks ago, to re-route phone calls to my friend Neha’s cell phone to her ex-boyfriend Jared’s home phone. But that’s not all! Jared’s calls were in turn routed to Neha’s cell. When Nabe called Jared to ask if he was experiencing any of this weirdness, he said yes, but then added, suspiciously, “maybe it’s because someone thinks we should be talking again.” Now, I don’t have enough space on this blog to delve into the complicated wackness that is Jared and Neha’s relationship. Nor do I have the stamina to create the five blogs that would be needed to recount all the tortured Jared-Neha stories, but I do have one question: Who on earth would ever think it appropriate for ex-boyfriend and girlfriends to speak? That’s just a dead giveaway that Jared, his fellow mathletes at U of MD, and Verizon are behind this whole sordid affair. God bless them.

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