This is the true joy of life, the being used for a purpose recognized by yourself as a mighty one; being a force of nature instead of a feverish, selfish little clod of ailments and grievances, complaining that the world will not devote itself to making you happy. -- George Bernard Shaw
On Saturday night my mom and I attended the Brown Club of Southern California's Lunar New Year dinner. Yeah, it was a bit late, but there were scheduling issues. The dinner was at a restaurant called Shanghai No. 1 Seafood Village, in San Gabriel. That whole area, San Gabriel, Monterey Park, Alhambra, is a huge Chinese area. Hence, Shanghai No. 1 Seafood Village.
Let me begin by shattering the "Asians drive slowly" myth right here and now. The Asian drivers in San Gabriel are rabid crazy people who will flatten you, your car and themselves just so long as they don't have to ever slow down or wait for you to pull over somewhere. When we arrived at the restaurant Brian, the organizer of the event, confirmed that a good day is getting out of the area alive.
The restaurant is completely amazing, and just our room sat about 200 people. Comically, the restaurant owns one water pitcher. The whole restaurant, which probably seats 400-500, owns ONE water pitcher. One. Apparently no one drinks water with their meal there, just hot tea. Toto, we're not in Kansas anymore.
At our table we had a really fun mix of people, and about half of us were young alumni (and by "us" I mean them, not me). We had a couple of dragons at the table, and since I'm a monkey, we figured that if we team up it would give "monkey on your back" a whole 'nother meaning. Not to mention the lethal flaming poo that we could swing our enemies' way!
The great thing about Brown alumni is that we have a baseline of commonality so it doesn't matter at all if we are out of school 1 year or 30 years, we have fun together, discuss important issues of the day, gossip, and make friends on the spot. It's really something to be at a table with several generations of people who are intellectually curious and, let's face it, different.
The menu included what felt like 30 courses, but apparently it was less than that. Here's what we had:
*Chef's 8 Item Cold Plate (this was 8 different appetizers) *Hot and Sour Soup *Sauteed Green Beans *House Special Shrimp Fried Rice *Spicy Chicken *Cuttlefish and Braised Pork *Lobster with Ginger and Onions *Shrimp Two Ways *Black Pepper Diced Beef *Beef Chow Fun *Chinese Sponge Cake
One of the appetizers looked like it could have been brains. I ate it. While I thought it was brains, I made an agreement with the guy sitting next to me that if I turned, he would take me out (double tap to the head, natch). He looked big enough to be able to handle it. It turned out to have been cooked gluten. EEEEK! Brains would have been preferable. Thankfully, I did not start farting at the table. I did get a mild stomach ache this morning, and last night my feet itched, but other than that I'm none the worse for wear.
However, I did notice that all it takes is one big meal for my stomach to expand. It literally felt like a balloon being inflated so that more food could fit. And I've been hungry all day. I think it will take several days for it to shrink back to normal. Damn.
You never know what will impress people, and why, what simple gestures are jaw-droppingly ingenious.
This, from Ivy the Monkey Goddess:
The other day, Elena was having trouble peeling a banana from the stem, so she flipped it over and peeled it from the bottom. It was genius. You had to be there, maybe.
Ivy and I were chatting in my office, when I pulled out my banana. Normally, I peel bananas from the stem and peel down to the bottom. I think most people do that. But this particular banana had a slightly green stem. Anyone who has ever tried to peel an unripe banana (and why would you? but curiosity may have made you do it) most likely knows that the peel is very cellulosy, almost rubbery, and it's difficult to crack that baby open without a knife.
I struggled with the stem for a few seconds, and just as Ivy was beginning to wonder how I was going to solve this problem, I flipped the banana over and opened it up at the other end with no difficulty whatsoever. Ivy's jaw dropped here, and she declared me a genius.
So I wondered, why was Ivy the Monkey Goddess so impressed by this trick? A quick, unscientific Google search revealed that monkeys peel their bananas from the bottom, not the stem. Shockingly, monkeys have a much more elegant way of opening bananas than we do (hah!). The point of this post, of course, is that Ivy is indeed the Monkey Goddess.
[Ivy's version of events is threaded through this post in italics]
SHOPPING! SHOPPING! SHOPPING! / OH, ELENA!
Every now and again, I need new clothes. This past year I have not bought too many, especially suits, because I have spent a good chunk of my discretionary income on photo stuff. But, since I can't wear my camera, fig-leaf style, to court -- trust me; I asked -- I decided it was time for a shop. As usual, and to avoid sizing mistakes (i.e., buying clothes 2 sizes too big), I consulted with my shopping consultant friend, Ivy the Monkey Goddess.
The thing is, I am not a shopper. By that I mean that I don't like to browse, not much at all. I like to know what I'm looking for, where to go to get it, and then get it. I don't mind spending some time checking out the various options, like trying on clothes, but an aimless, timeless shopping affair is not my thing. I get a little crazy and claustrophobic at the mere thought.
Ivy, on the other hand, loves to shop. She likes to browse, find good deals, check out sales, and so on. And now that we've been shopping together for years -- or rather, she has helped me shop for years; I don't return the favor, because I'm a bad friend -- she also knows what works for me (NO RUFFLES! I just look like a gay pirate, not that there's anything wrong with that) and can help me sort through the racks and racks of clothes that just confuse and frustrate me.
Specifically, when we arrive at the chosen store, she makes a beeline for the sales rack and whatever other rack is relevant to our purposes with me in tow in a zombie-like state of submission, and pulls stuff out and hands it to me. She remembers my sizes, for heaven's sake! When we have a sufficient number of items for me to try on, we retire to the fitting rooms, where I try everything on, and she pretends not to have to stare at my butt under those awful changing room lights.
Friday was the day for it. The office closed early, so we took off and first had a late lunch at Cheesecake Factory. I had some kind of steak, Ivy had Shepard's pie. The remains of the pie came home with me.
With full stomachs and high spirits, off we went across the parking lot to the mall. On this trip we were again successful in findind me clothes, which made Ivy quite happy and me not suicidal from shopping stress. I got some excellent work clothes at Ann Taylor, and a prezy for my friend Dee (squeak!). A good time was had by all. I am also pleased to report that my pant size has gone down. The sizing used to be 6P for the jackets, and 8 for the pants. Now it's 6P for the jacket, and 6 for the pants. Yay. Oh and everything at Ann Taylor was 40% off, so DOUBLE SCORE!
Elena and I make a funny pair of friends because we're so different. I LOVE SHOPPING. ELENA HATES SHOPPING. So, I've happily become her shopping guide when, every once in a great while, when she absolutely can't help it anymore, she tells me she needs clothes. About a month and a half later (after more stalling), we head to the mall. Today was one of those days, and it worked out great because we got out of work early and ate before shopping, so Elena was less tired/frazzled/hungry/fearful.
What I do is lead her around the mall, heap clothes upon her to try on, and provide critical-yet-supportive commentary. What Elena does is try to make it as loud and embarrassing as possible. That's another difference between us. She laughs her way through life being unabashedly in your face. I laugh through life too, through various stages of mortification.
The shopping started off with a little rough patch, because Elena's sizes were largely sold out, causing a silent, growing CRANKINESS within. However, a wiser voice within told me DON'T STRESS OUT ELENA. MAKE THIS FUN. REMEMBER TO SMILE! Then, a pair of really nice suiting pants fit Elena like a dream, and the shopping sun came out, basking us in the glow of great fitting style and 40% off! We were on a roll after that.
But that's not all.
Once the main shopping was done, we were now free to be weird. It all began with Ivy's feet. We had been walking around a bit, or at least standing around, and she noticed that her feet looked particularly red on the bottom. To wit:
This, and the following pics, are all cell phone photos. Remember, we're not going for quality here. The picture above was taken in the dressing room at Talbot's, where I tried on a bold red blazer that will look faboo with my new grey pants, and which was on sale for 50% off. I had on a top that did not work with the blazer at all, so I just whipped it off to try the blazer on over my bra (ooh, I said 'bra'!). This cracked up Ivy and the sales lady, who was either very amused or very embarrassed. The top was a very casual cotton top from GAP, and I didn't feel it was necessary to turn it the right way to put it back on, so backwards it went. Just to prove it:
Yes, I'm a savage. What!?
I point out that the sign to my right says "More Sales More Profits" and it is next to an empty kiosk. Yes, Captain Obvious, if I was selling things at this kiosk, I would be making more profits. Pfft.
Of course, the shopping excursion did not end without taking photos of cracked out window displays and wimpy shopping feet (mine; they just have to suck it up), and Elena completely taking off her top to try on a blazer in front of the sales lady (I specifically told her to remove ONE layer) and then putting it back on inside out and wearing it like that the rest of the time. I smiled and sighed. Elena proudly proclaimed that she was redefining sexy.
We walked around to a few other stores, and passed by some creepy window displays. For example, the headless mannequins. It was the hat that turned my head, as it were.
Some might not agree, and perhaps even call me a fashion nazi, but I find that when headless, a hat just draws attention to that defect. It's as if you painted your large nose orange - why draw the eye to the appendage unnecessarily, when you can accentuate other, more flattering assets?
On the opposite spectrum of creepiness are the bodiless yet surprisingly mirthful heads.
Speaking of creepy window displays, this one from Ivy from an earlier shopping trip:
Apparently, this is an English clothing store. The "child" babushka thingy on the end rotates, and, I must point out, is naked. At first, I thought this was a man, a woman, and a child -- a family. On closer inspection, it appears they are a large man, a medium man, and a happy naked adolescent. Either that or the woman has a wicked mustache. The middle guy looks he's plotting an evil plot. I withhold further comment, except to suggest that window display designers not be high while doing their work.
At last, we got tired and it was time to go home. We had to walk through Sears to get to the parking lot. We started through, when a couple of Land's End easy chairs beckoned enticingly, and we decided we needed a breather.
Here's Ivy, splendid and languid. In the foreground, you can just see some shoes and a striped bag, which we took down from some display areas to play with. No one sent us away, which was lovely of them.
I have no shoes on because I took them off to try on the Land's End shoes while I sat there. Plus it would have been rude to put my shoes on the chair. Did I mention that the Sears people were lovely for not shooing us off?
At last we rested enough to make it the additional 50 yards (if that) to the car, where I made Ivy sniff this delicious bear's butt:
It's a little bear, about 4" high, gifty by Dee, and it's a floral smelling bear that usually hangs in the car and whose butt I stick into every passenger's nose and say, "Smell this bear's butt!" It smells great, I promise.
Thus ended our shopping spree. There was food, clothes, mirth, creepiness, silliness, a sweet/tart lemonade that gave us a stomach ache, and best of all, time hanging out with my friend Ivy.
Oh, and in case you were wondering about the squeaky gift for Dee, here's a very quick video. [Linky here if the video does not play for you.]
My best friend from college, Dwight, is in town with his perpetual motion daughter, Jade. They're in So Cal for her hockey tournament. There's something ironic about a hockey tournament while it's 90F outside, but whatever. That's not the point.
Dwight and I have known each other for 24 years, and like with old friends like that, we just pick up where we left off, no matter how long it's been. It's weird to think we've been friends longer than his daughter has been alive, but I guess that's always going to be the case. That reminds me, when I was Jade's age, I remember hearing my parents saying the same things: oh my god how you've grown (to Jade I said, dear god you're taller than me), we've been friends for [insert double digit number here] years, I could tell you stories!, then my parents and their friends would remind each other of some youthful caper that I would think was a lot more boring than they realized, while they laughed happily.
I won't be so lame, I thought, when I grow up. Eh hem. Anywaayyyy....
We did a mini tour of LA. We went up to Griffith Park, where I once again tried to understand the concept behind Foucault Pendulum, which apparently proves that the earth rotates. I'm all, whatever, I've read the explanation 18 times already and I cannot wrap my mind around it. So all I will say about it is that it's pretty. And incidentally, my photo is so much better than the one they have on the website. Seriously, I may need to send it to them.
Griffith Observatory on a Thursday afternoon was almost empty. It was wonderful. We could see all the exhibits without swarms of pushy smelly children and stupid people making stupid comments, which left me entirely free to make all the stupid comments that could be made. I was also pushy and smelly. Very liberating.
It was very peaceful up there.
It was quiet enough to hear the birds sing, though it took a few tries to get this particular bird because a member of the janitorial staff was changing out the trash bags and made an infernal racket slamming things, dragging things, unfurling bags, throwing full bags noisily into the wheely bin, I wanted to kick her.
Then we went to Hollywood, where we saw the Hollywood Walk of Fame, and the hand and footprints at Grauman's Chinese Theater. Once again I note the poor quality of the photo on the website. I mean, seriously?
This picture of Jade is a reference to the fact that, being 15, she can't drink, and apparently she drinks Shirley Temples or some such thing. Which is easier to say than Arnold Palmer, except that I won't switch to Shirley Temples because they are absolutely foul. No offense, Ms. Temple.
We then picked up my mom and we went downtown to dinner at Fleming's Steakhouse, where we stuffed ourselves full of meat (sorry, vegetarians and vegans) and where at last the true story behind my now chronic wrist injury was revealed. Because I'm a true hero, and true heroes are modest, I won't get too detailed. I will say however that the whole "it was a garlic press injury" was a clever cover-up, a la Clark Kent, and that bopping sharks on the nose may or may not cause a wrist injury.
As we walked back to the car, with our post-dinner pooches, Jade asked me if I go to the clubs (how sweet that she thinks that I'm not enough of a cryptkeeper that I might actually go to clubs. At night). When I explained that I leave my place at 7:30am only to return 12 or 13 hours later during the week, she pointed out that there were still plenty of evening hours left to go clubbing.
HAHAHAHAHAHA! [wipes tears of laughter from her eyes]
Apparently I was able to pass myself off as some kind of Cool Person Who Does Cool Things and Goes Out At Night.
We had fun, we hung out, we had excellent food, and it was great to see my good friend Dwight, who I've known for more than half our lives. I only wish I could have my dearest and oldest friends all living close by, instead of scattered all over the country, all over the globe. In the meantime, I have promised that I will visit him and Jade, as well as his wife Vicky and youngest daughter Katie, in Charlotte. I don't even know what state it's in. I'm not kidding.
Today I had lunch with some of my law school buddies. We were all in the same section (each year was divided into sections, and those were the people we generally got to know the best), and our group of 6 was a study group. A study group is a euphemism for support group, without which you will probably not make it through the first year of law school. The first year is like being in the trenches together, so the friends you make that year tend to be the friends you keep for life.
We all graduated from law school in 2003. In law school, two of us were married (myself and Christina). I got a divorce, Christina didn't. Since law school, the other 4 got married, Katie, Susan, Anne and Izabelle, and all had children. Today we managed to get 5 of us together in one room, with all but one of the children.
From left to right: Katie, with her daughter Madeline (5 1/2 months); Susan with Quintana Rose (3 months); Anne and Ike (14 months); Christina with Piper (4); me (with the camera remote, 6 months old).
It was a pot luck, so we each brought something, and I brought my camera so I could snap away at my very patient friends the entire afternoon. The advantage of having an annoying friend with a camera is that you get pictures that you might not otherwise get, so you're welcome. Honestly, I'm the one who wants the pictures - I never regret taking them, and they get more valuable as time passes. Have you noticed? You can look at pictures from last year and be like, meh, but look at pictures from 10 or 20 years ago, and notice all the memories and emotions that flood right back. Priceless.
As Susan pointed out, it was like we had all just hung out a week before, even though it's been months and months. Here is the Flickr set if you would like to see them, but below are my faves. Well there are several others that are also my faves, but I couldn't very well put them all here, could I?
Madeline
Anne, making coffee while Ike still napped
Susan and Quintana Rose
Katie and Madeline
Christina
Susan
Christina, Piper and Susan cut into a smores brownie
Piper eating some fruit to make up for the smores brownie
I'm going to say right off the bat that just because I drink hot water with a slice of lemon instead of a sexy lemon drop martini, it does not mean I'm boring. It just means I'm lame. And lame is the new cool.
Sunday was Michelle and my day to tool around San Francisco with our cameras, not a care in the world. It was freezing, and my hip was being annoying, but we had an absolute blast.
We drove down (up? sideways? I don't remember) from Sacramento in Michelle's car, which had an on/off button for my ass. That's right, I got my very own hot ass button. It took a while to get used to, frankly, because when I feel warmth under my seat the first thing that comes to mind is, did I pee myself? Why this comes to mind, I do not know, as I have never peed myself. At least, not since diapers, pretty much. Anyway.
We lucked out on Sunday because even though it was very cold (did I mention it was freezing?), and windy, which made it even more cold, it kept the air clear and most of the day sunny. We took the Bay Bridge into the city
and on our way out we crossed the Golden Gate
but the highlight of the trip was not the beauty of the city, or watching the crazy people in their wet suits get in the water and swim, or even the spectacle that is Alcatraz
but it was in fact [drum roll please] COFFEEEE BEEAN AAAND TEEEEAAA LEEEEEAF!
See, this is Michelle's most favorite coffee place ever, and it does not exist in Northern California. Or it didn't until recently. Now, at least in San Francisco, it does. We were walking down Market towards the Ferry Building, when Michelle turned her head and I heard her gasp. I was all, wha--? And then I saw it too, the Coffee Bean across the street. There was hyperventilation and a bizarre huggy dancy thingy, where we grabbed each other in a hug, twirled around a couple of times, and then zoomed across the street knocking street cars, old ladies and taxi cabs out of the way.
Happy, happy Michelle.
We finally ended up in the Ferry Building, where I found a booth for a gluten free bakery of wonderment and yumminess. I found - get this! - gluten free FOCACCIA! It was quite delicious. I had it for breakfast Monday morning. And for lunch. I will be dreaming about it for a few nights. It's called Mariposa, and if you go to their website, and scroll down, you can see the actual kiosk of heaven in San Fran where I bought the focaccia. We also were tempted by a tub of lard at a salame store across the way, but decided against it as it would have been awkward to carry.
After our difficult morning of tooling around a beautiful city, lunch at an Irish Pub where the waitress recognized that my scarf was a Harry Potter scarf NOT a USC scarf forgodssake, and where said waitress (we love her!) carded Michelle when she ordered a beer, we took a well deserved breather at the Grand Cafe. Yes, it was time for a cocktail! The very same cocktail I mentioned at the beginning of this post. Now you might already have decided at this point that I'm a lameass for drinking hot water with lemon while Michelle drinks a delicious lemon drop martini. I know it's delicious because I took a sip. However, think how much less interesting the photo would have been!
I think the photo is emblematic of our friendship: we are different enough to be interesting to each other but have enough in common to enjoy each other's company. Anyway that's my story and I'm sticking to it. I think we sat in that cafe for at least an hour, possibly longer, we were not in a great big hurry to go anywhere.
When we did go, we crossed the Golden Gate and then stopped off at the vista point on the north end of it. I had brought my tripod so I took a few night shots, but it was bitterly cold out there with the wind, so we just didn't last very long. It only took a few minutes to force us back in the car with our hot ass buttons on.
Unfortunately we did not make it back in time for Daisy's bedtime, but we did hang out Monday morning and she took me to the airport and was sad to see me go. Don't worry little Daisy, I'll be back soon. And before you know it, you'll have your own camera and we'll be taking tips from you.
This weekend, I went to visit my excellently good friend Ms. Ranty Pants, who is not only a talented blogger, but an amazingly talented portrait photographer whose work you can see at her website, Memories By Michelle. It all began Saturday morning, on a mostly empty plane, where I sat next to a lady who was afraid of flying and I ended up holding her hand during take-off. She did really well, considering. By the way, did you know that the peanuts on Southwest Airlines have wheat starch as an ingredient? I mean, really, that's just rude! I forgive them because in just about every other way they are awesome.
This is Michelle. She's going to hate me for posting this because she's delusionally critical of how she looks. I understand it well, I used to feel the same way about me.
This time I actually checked in luggage because I knew it was going to be cold up north, and I wanted to bring my pink fleece robe, and you'll be surprised to discover that it won't fit into a carry-on sized bag - it is that fluffy. I also had my tripod, but that's neither here nor there.
The party began immediately. Michelle and I got caught up on the latest from our respective major life issues, and then we went to eat and shop. We had lunch at The Counter, which I highly recommend for an excellent custom burger and delicious fries, including sweet potato fries. Lunch was with Ms. Daisy, who is approaching the two year mark and is very clear about what she likes and doesn't like. She has perfected this face recently, which Michelle has dubbed her puss face.
While Michelle and I wolfed down most of the fries, Daisy was preoccupied with our waitress's activities. For some reason we could not figure out, she did not like that the waitress was taking people's menus away. Daisy is used to having her picture taken, so she gave me this fabulous face for this picture.
After lunch we did took a little train ride
In real life, the train is brightly colored, but I followed Michelle's sage photo editing advice and made this black and white. You can see what the actual train looks like on the We Take No Cal Flickr set. We browsed a couple of shops, and in one I found a light exercise jacket, to replace one I had and somehow have lost. I sometimes lose random articles of clothing, and I don't mean just socks in the dryer. Or underwear outside my neighbor's door.
We shared a train compartment with a little boy named William, whose parents and little brother were in the tiny compartment in front of us, literally less than 3 feet away. William had obviously been told not to speak to strangers because he would not respond to anything we said, like hello and what's your name. Good boy! But we could tell he totally wanted to talk to us.
The train is small child size, by the way, so if we had been a little fatter or a little less nimble, one or both of us would have had to be removed by the fire department with the jaws of life.
On Saturday evening, we joined a friend of Michelle's, Kim The Irreverent (bless her!), for dinner, at a very fancy and delicious restaurant in downtown Sacramento, Ella Dining Room and Bar. It turns out, you Philistines, that Sacramento does have a scene, where one can be seen. In fact, it has burgeoned since I last visited the downtown area just a few years ago - that area was dead and depressed, and the city undertook a big redevelopment project and it's coming back. There are even a couple of hot spots where all the scantily clad and boobs-hanging-out girls go party. Our dinner was absolutely delicious, everthing was incredibly tasty and original without tipping over into the weird and experimental. If you're heading to the Sac, I say splurge on dinner at this place, it's worth it.
The most exciting thing for me and Michelle was that our dinner reservation was for 8:15, which is about our bed time. Or at least, when we begin to think about bed. She has to because little Daisy is 21 months old, I do it because I'm sexeh!
We made it back before midnight so that we could be rested and sprightly for our day trip to San Fran.
Last week sucked. It just did. It's a testament to how good I have it that when things don't go my way at work I think the week sucked. Nevertheless, it sucked. Over the weekend I was in a workshop, so I did not get a chance to burrow under my blankets and sleep it off. Sleeping it off always helps.
So today I was not feeling as frisky as I normally do on Monday mornings. I slugged through the morning, moping about, sipping my water gloomily, tip tapping on my computer. And then ...
CHEESY POPCORN!
Someone brought a bag of white cheddar popcorn to the office. Mmmh, delicious, crunchy, cheesy popcorn. And miraculously, all of last week was forgotten and life was good again.
It happened. It's amazing, but it happened. The long awaited, long planned, many times rescheduled brunch finally happened. Mom and I, Taylor and Ramy, and Dee, all converged on Calabasas (Calabas-ASS, according to my GPS), in the cool weather and shocking sunshine at almost exactly the same time (who says you can never be on time in LA? Well, maybe not LA, but you can be on time in Calabas-ASS).
As prognosticated (see link above), there was much happiness, group hugs, laughter, idiocy, more hugs, and photos. I had warned everyone because some people don't like to be photographed without the appropriate accoutrements (make up, hair etc.). Dee says I made her, FORCED HER, to do her hair. But it was lovely, so it was worth it.
We discussed politics, and solved many of the country's ills in one lunch. I mean, seriously, what's taking the lawmakers so long? There was discussion about how men like to take pictures of their penis and texting said pictures to their paramours -- it's true, don't lie about it, we all know.
This came up because we were talking about football, and Green Bay in particular, whose mortal enemies are apparently the Vikings for whom Brett Favre now plays even though he was with Green Bay forever - WHORE! selling himself like that, it's like if Derek Jeter absconded to the Red Sox, I think it would cause a rupture in the space time continuum - and then talk naturally went to how he was having an affair with a reporter while his wife is undergoing cancer treatment and he was caught because - wait for it - he sent her a text of his penis. Yep. TO A REPORTER!! I mean, come on! Love is love, but heck, you're a reporter and you just got a text of Favre's penis on your phone. Smartphone: $300. Sexy lingerie: $80. Burning in hell for the seedy scoop of the month? Priceless. And totally worth it.
We also talked about Prop 19, Obama, the Tea Party (as we continue to ask ourselves which parts of the government, exactly, they would like to get rid of? cos it sure sounds like mostly anything they disagree with), immigration, the stupid way the TARP money was handled vis-a-vis the banks, pork roast, cupcakes, and the role of hypnosis in the curing of imaginary ills.
By imaginary ills I mean things like when I don't drink enough water, I get UTI symptoms, even though there is no UTI. It's probably because I've had so many, and I stave them off by drinking a lot of water, so my brain warns me when I need to drink more by making my body feel like there's a UTI coming on when there is not. Like that.
The consensus at the table was that hypnosis could be a useful tool to ungroove the brain of such an imaginary ill. And worst case scenario, nothing happens except for a few months every time someone says the words "pickled herrings" you start clucking like a chicken. Thankfully, pickled herrings are not a commong topic of conversation. Cluck, cluck.
Saturday night was the rehearsal dinner. You might have seen my Twitter update about being lost in the backwoods of Florida with a bus full of hungry wedding guests. Here is my first Pictorial Representation of us on the bus, trying to find our way to the dinner. We left at 5:30pm and were supposed to be there by 6pm, but didn’t make it till about 6:45.
The dinner consisted of super delicious local fare: a shrimp boil (shrimp, corn, potatoes) and fried chicken (but without the batter and suspiciously ungreasy, so I’m thinking it might have been boiled chicken) and banana pudding for dessert. I could not have the banana pudding because of the wafers, but it looked delicious. Todd’s dad spoke and then Todd spoke, he said some lovely things in honor of parents, and got choked up a bunch and cried through most of what he had to say. I have it on video. Natch. But more importantly, I have a Pictorial Representation of said crying. More of that later.
The bus ride back was without incident, and then we hung out in the hot tub and chatted. Well, several people hung out in the hot tub, and I just stuck my feet in. Hot tubs and my low blood pressure do not get along too well. Since I couldn’t do the hot tub thing and pass out and ruin everyone’s night, I instead let my feet and ankles swell up like balloons from the heat. Not a minute goes by that I am not at a work redefining sexy. You’re welcome.
