Sandman's Journal

Grandma Sand turned 86 today. Her party was held on the mountain and was excellent: food, friends, family, and frogs. Margi caught one at the beaver dam. A frog that is. I caught ten ticks, but none embedded in my skin. After the party Margi, Kristin, and I went to the Buckskin and played foosball. I'm getting better, thanks to being forced to challenge Lacy and Stacey, the two kickass bartenders who control the ball like Jedi-geisha-ninja-queens, and Shawn and Ron (trucker and cook), with their wrist-jamming power punts. I once witnessed Shawn break the plastic legs off of an opposing foos defender with a snap-turtle bully crack. I've even begun to develop a signature backfield horse-flavored light-rock graffiti-inspired chart-intolerant rap-spiker. Follow? I don't.