I said, “No, why?”

“He needs to have a word with you.”

“About what?”

“I can’t say anymore.”

Oh, shit. This isn’t going to be good. I’m racking my brain trying to think where I screwed up, and Michael walks in to my office:

“Matt, I know you’ve been under some pressure getting these reports out lately, but I found something that I think we need to talk about.”

Shit, shit, shit. What did I screw up?

“I found some things in your desk and we might need to set up a Betty Ford thing.”

Then he opens my desk drawer and retrieves the bottles vodka, rum and a champagne he had stashed there to mess with me.

Heh.

We’re expanding our office into the vacant suite next door. Apparently, Michael was in there this morning trying to figure out the layout of the new offices, and just found all this booze under the kitchen sink in there. I think it’s a good omen.

Yeah, I don’t know what they were thinking, either.

[gv data="bB6DAr3wv_0"][/gv]

I gave her a bunch of hell for taking the Nerdmobile to Geektown, but I bet it was actually pretty fun.

Chris and Sean rock out to Peter Frampton at the post-rehearsal-dinner party.

One of several shots at the party.

The happy couple, riding the trolley to the reception.

Chris and me, in the Joe Hettler pose.

Chris, Mary and me. We are still sober at this point.

Drinking ensues.

Another one.

Mary likes the whiskey.

Shamil, Mary and me. We are quite drunk at this point.

Good times.

At Mardi Gras in New Orleans. She’s the one in red.

Showing off her new haircut.

At the boardwalk in Kemah.

At my office.

At the beach in Galveston.

King Kong vs. RedZilla

At the zoo.

At The Redhead Piano Bar in Chicago

So there you have it, folks. She’s real. Now quit hassling me about it.

Please join me in welcoming the newest member to the Mattsapundit team.

Barry Tapwater, Mattsapundit Fishbowl Bureau Chief

The Mattsapundit Fishbowl Bureau: One gallon of top-notch content.

His name is Barry Tapwater, and he’s a Betta fish. Barry was hired at Petco after a brief interview process. His areas of expertise include kicking the shit out of other fish, and bubbles.

For now, Barry will be retained in a purely advisory role in the Mattsapundit Fishbowl Bureau; he will not be blogging, as his species has neither thumbs nor higher brain function.

Welcome aboard, Barry!

Meg gives me a dirty look.

A bottle opener — dubbed “The Popener” — with a likeness of Pope John Paul II, of happy memory.

A nugget of fried macaroni and cheese.

Meg, expressing her approval of the fried macaroni and cheese.

The most extensive soda fountain I have ever seen.

A Rum Runner. It was good.

Until then, happy St. Patrick’s Day, lads!

He coached me in Little League for several years. I wouldn’t say I knew him well, but the man who called me “Mattholomew” made a big, positive impact on my life. I was never a good baseball player; accordingly, I was usually relegated to right field. Regardless, when draft time came around every year, Coach Sartain skipped better players in order to keep me on the Zebras with my friends.

Coach Sartain was a master at balancing the seemingly contradictory tasks of a Little League coach: he instilled a desire to win, a dedication to fair play, development of his players, and fun. He was a fine example of the Little League Pledge:

I trust in God
I love my country
And will respect its laws
I will play fair
And strive to win
But win or lose
I will always do my best

I don’t remember many specific games, or big plays or end-of-the-season parties. What I remember is his words. I remember him writing “GF” on the roster after an absent player’s name, signifying that the kid had “Gone Fishing.” I remember him meeting my friend Lorne (who was named for Lorne Greene), then joking “I guess your folks were watching Bonanza that night.” I remember that he always called the Astros (one of the better teams in our league) the “Half-Astros.”

Most of all, I remember his declaration that “a good excuse is still an excuse” and to this day I try to remind myself of that. Thanks, Coach.

So let us commend our brother to the Lord,
that the Lord may embrace him in peace,
and raise up his body on the last day. Amen.

Rob Booth and I rolled into the Arms last night for a few adult beverages. Booth had Boddingtons, which he graciously reviewed:

The ale was good. It tasted like beer, but with a kick. I liked it.

I had Strongbow, an excellent British dry cider. Here’s my foray into pretentious ciderblogging:

The cider was good. It tasted like apple juice, but with a kick. I liked it.

Damn, I’m good.

So I ended up sucking face with the associate director of NORML.

Heh.