The parentals were in town for Memorial Day weekend. Actually they flew in the Wednesday before and left the Tuesday after. John and I tried our best to present ourselves as a normal couple, but I think the parents caught on relatively quickly when they couldn’t find the right soy sauce in our cupboards. We didn’t have cooking wine either. I mean, I told them we don’t cook…

The thing is, we’re on totally different feeding plans. John and I eat Chinese only occasionally. My parents, on the other hand, ONLY eat Chinese. So meal number 1, we went to a Chinese place. After that, they insisted on going to the Chinese market to buy food for the week, which was fine with us… we definitely appreciated coming home to a hot meal. Still, how much seafood (and fruit) can two people consume in six days? Fish at every meal. You have no idea how many times John begged me to go to BK. I know, he’s disgusting.

Anyway, it was good to see the parents, but we didn’t have too much to say. I took them to a few scenic places, but they are pretty sensitive to temperature and wind (that’s where I get it from!) so they didn’t have a good time. We ended up renting a bunch of Chinese movies. Most were pretty forgettable, unfortunately.

One night, John and I watched the Joan Chen movie Saving Face about a mother and her ABC daughter who happens to be lesbian. I mean, sure there was homosexuality in it, but I thought the movie had interesting dynamics. I thought my parents would be ok with it. Well Jesus f-ing Christ. The scene where the two ladies flirt? My parents flipped out. We basically had to turn the movie off. And then I got so pissed off by their reaction. Later Mom and I got into a big fight about the usual: she’s clueless; I’m a spoiled bitch; Johnny’s lame; blah, blah. Then she made some ridiculous comment blaming my cousin (who she insists is gay) for causing all this heartbreak in his family. Chinese parents, I tell you. With all the shame and pain they suffer from their kids, I don’t know why they still bother with procreation. On one hand, you have my aunt and uncle choosing to take offense to something that really has nothing to do with them. My cousin isn’t being an asshole to them. He just doesn’t like women. On the other hand, you have my parents who are total gluttons for pain– Johnny’s a total dick to them and they just endure it. From my experience, I swear the pain subsides with estrangement. But do they ever learn? Nope. Well I guess that’s a consequence of the way they choose to parent. I know, sounds harsh but it’s their bullshit decision. If he actually demonstrated some respect, maybe there would be something worth fighting for. But he doesn’t give a shit about anything or anyone other than himself. Example? I get these mass emails about his projects, his essays, his screenings, blah, blah. If I don’t reply, I obviously am not interested, so stop spamming my inbox!

When my parents visited, they asked me to fucking book a roundtrip ticket to China for him using my dad’s frequent flyer account. A fucking Duke AB Scholar and he can’t book it his damn self. That’s why this is a situation that will never amend. Wiping a 30-something’s ass will never result in any kind of progress. Whatever. No longer my problem.

But back to the homophobic stance: Eye roll. My parents just don’t get it. Why’s it ok to watch Chinese movie after Chinese movie where the protagonist is some misogynist or where there’s major incest going on– somehow that’s not repulsive? Somehow that very watchable and tolerable? Ugh. So disappointing.

That’s the thing about my parents. Nice people but conservative in an irksome way. And certain comments they make just get under my skin. For example, my parents talked to this Chinese lady about her process for renting out her townhouse. She had one ridiculous requirement after another. Sure, it’s important to have good tenants, but can she really stipulate that she wants grad students only from the med, law, business, and pharmacy schools? And can she eliminate Indians because their cooking stinks up the house? My parents told me that, and I said the lady was racist. Didn’t believe me. Wtf? My parents came to my house for a week and stunk it up cooking all their damn fish?! Chinese cooking is pretty greasy and smelly– would their friend eliminate Chinese renters from the list too? Nope. Plus, the lady was charging like $2500/month in rent and she wants to control what the tenants cook/eat in their home?

Phew. Yes, a lot of pent up negative energy. This post was just supposed to be about the fruit and seafood safari. Sidetracked. Signing off now.

I forgot to mention that John dragged me to Maker Faire last Saturday… he thought I would like the event because it’s a bunch of people creating things. I suppose his reasoning makes some sense given my penchant for making random things like medicine cabinets and dog bowl holders out of cardboard. Still, the event was a little bizarro for me. Way too many techies making Rube-Goldberg drink servers and spider robots the size of a room. Sorry, but the stuff was just a little too unconventional for my tastes, not to mention rather ugly. So yeah, didn’t feel like it was quite the right fit for me, but John enjoyed watching the robot rumble in the arena. And we saw a little fountain show involving diet coke and mentos. What else. Oh ate $7 hamburgers and hot dogs. Saw Jimmy Kimmel (John didn’t even know it was him). Lots of crafts too. Handmade stuffed animals, patchwork pillowcases…

After we got home, we had our own little Maker Faire session. You see, my parents are coming to town tomorrow. And somehow I have a feeling they aren’t keen on having our mattress on the floor. I mean, aside from their dust and pollen allergies, my parents are germaphobes, and the thought of being that close to the floor on which Rem and Martin shed, scratch, and frolic probably makes them ill. Needless to say, I understand the desire for a bed lifted off the floor. Our solution? Rubbermaid plastic totes. Yes, the ones we used to ship our shitload of crap from the States to China and back: our trusty shit haulers. John suggested them as a joke, but I actually had him recover them from the garage. What do you know? They are the perfect solution. Just the right height, and they serve the purpose. Voila! Maker Faire in da house!

I’ve finally found a sport to bring out the athlete in me… ok maybe “athlete” is a bit of a stretch at this stage in the game, but my point is, I’ve found a new addiction that actually requires me to get up off my sedentary ass. Yes, yes, I certainly have my collection of addictions– coupon clipping, internet “research”, HBO, work… but this one has the potential for real health benefits.

John and I found this nearby corporate parking garage that’s lit at night, and it’s the perfect roller rink for just the two of us. I’m telling you, I’m really getting hooked on these “community” amenities for personal use. You see, for all intents and purposes, these facilities are practically our own private playgrounds, because I swear John and I are like the only people who use the hot tub, “roller rink”, and tennis courts even. Oh well, our gain right?

So anyway, John is making substantial progress with the skating. Of course, he does have a very patient and helpful instructor (yes, me!). No seriously, he’s doing really well. After only 5 sessions, he can skate around the entire lot without incident. And his strides are getting smaller and more controlled. Soon enough, we’ll be doing the Wednesday night skates at Stanford U. I absolutely cannot wait. I gotta say too: the wrist pads are awesome. They’re like those special weapons that give extra powers in the video games. So worth the money. Plus, I’ve got to preserve my delicate hands. Can’t be playing no Chinese zither with hamburger palms, know what I’m saying?

Ok well, sorry for the quickie but Entourage is coming on in fifteen. And I’m still pathetically trying to squeeze in some work before tomorrow. I know, that addiction has got to stop. No worries though. I bought sleepy time tea, whatever that is. It’s supposed to help me rest. Hmm, does that mean no anxiety dreams about failing tests and about fucking up at work? Let’s hope for the best.

Holy shit, it’s been a rough week. I won’t even go into my whole gripe with work… I know it’s a broken record to you folks. Poor Remy though. She went in for surgery on Wednesday. Got the works done: premolar tooth extraction, dental scaling, and the removal of an eyelid tumor. But my Rem’s the toughest cookie around. When I picked her up Wednesday evening, she was as bouncy and as playful as ever. Who could tell she had a big ass pit in her mouth and stitches on her eyelid? She seemed totally normal.

Of course, that was just day 1. By day 2, I realized her normalcy was probably attributed to residual anesthetics dulling the pain. Because day 2, she whimpered a lot. Not continuous, but definitely more than I’d ever heard. And Remy rarely cries. I mean, when she goes to the vet for the usual work, shots, blood draws, whatever, not a peep comes out of her– even when they repeatedly poke the needle around searching for her vein. But this time she had me worried. I didn’t know how to make her feel better. She just came to me and whimpered. I gave her pain meds, but no change. She was restless, and all I could do was pet her. Poor baby.

It’s now day 5, and I think she’s ok now. I’m still giving her the antibiotics, but I’ve stopped with the pain meds. She lets me fidget with her mouth to take random pictures, so I guess all is well. She’s due back at the vet next Friday though to pull out the eye stitches.

Man, I’ll tell you: I was a nervous wreck the day of her surgery. When the vet called me at work, I braced myself for the worst. I got all dizzy thinking about something going wrong… I know, I told you I’m frickin’ neurotic! Thankfully, everything went ok. Remy’s a star trooper.

Many of you know I play these silly games where it’s all about how low I can go with my expenditures. My obsession was at its worst when I was in grad school at UF. The summer would be like 100+, and I’d still pretend not to have A/C. I think I set my thermostat to like 98 as soon as spring came along, and I just conditioned myself to ignore the profuse sweating. Since then, I’ve picked up some of John’s sybaritic tendencies, for example, the nice laptop, high speed internet, good food, but I still try to pinch a pretty penny when I can.

At work, the daily lunches out at $7 each were adding up, so as part of my New Year’s resolutions, I stopped eating out with the crew:
A. The lunches were socially awkward for me, especially with the CEO there. People are so weird when he’s around.
B. The food was getting old. Plus it was mediocre at best.
C. Who had time for lunch once the work pace picked up?

Mentally, I calculated that I was saving some decent dough by packing my lunch and eating at my desk. So I was pleased with myself. I got so much more done too it seemed.

In other cheap thrills, I replaced all the light bulbs in our house with CFLs. Our energy bill ran about half of what it was at that bullshit energy-sucking apartment Archstone. My hybrid is also serving me well, getting me to work reliably while reducing my trips to the gas station. Btw, gas now runs about $3.50/gallon. No wonder Wal-Mart suffered the worst sales numbers in like three decades! But I digress…

Anyway, I was on a roll, and like any jaded person, I knew I was due for something. Well, welcome to this week. Work has continued to grind me down to a fucking nub. My skin is tanking big time. Yesterday, so many people told me I looked tired and that I’ve lost weight. Apparently, I’ve discovered a new diet: the crazy busy work diet. Five pounds in a few weeks. Not bad. Ok, all jokes aside, I don’t mind the weight loss, I’d put on a few since returning Stateside, but the skin irritation is not cool. I’m not just talking about my face. I’m talking rashes on my hand and waist. I’m really worried it’s the return of the shingles. Wtf? I mean, yes, I’m stressed (and having anxiety dreams nightly) but whatev. Why is my body not handling this? So annoying. I know, I need to take action soon…

But the biggest news, is that Remy got checked for her broken tooth. As I explained before, she broke her 4th premolar, the major grinding tooth on the upper left side. The damage was partial, but it got to her pulp (canal) where there are supposedly a shitload of nerves. I researched this heavily online, and turns out this is very bad. Infection is inevitable, so all the experts say you have three options: vital pulp therapy, root canal (this tooth happens to have THREE roots), or extraction. I’ve included a picture… seriously, she is acting totally fine. I’ve pressed on it, brushed it, blown air on it… no problem. But I figured, an expert still needed to check it out. The day of the appointment, I left work at noon. This is what happens when you have a long commute, and you go into auto-pilot. I drive 50 miles a day roundtrip for work. Usually, it’s in rush hour so the cops are never out. Well screw me with a spoon. The cops are out in full force at lunch time. And who knows what I was zoning out on… work, life, whatever. Out from fucking nowhere, a motorcycle copper appeared in the rear view mirror. I pulled over. Then, I couldn’t find my goddamn vehicle registration. I know, what kind of stoner am I? So whatever, got busted. We’re talking a $300 ticket. But hell man, I’m not just handing money over without a fight. It’s time to learn the frickin’ system. I’m contesting this bull. My record’s been clean for the last 6 years; I ain’t tainting my “good driver” record quietly… Btw, to those of you who say women ALWAYS get off. That’s total bullshit. Either that or I’m not a woman.

Anyway, back to Remy. So I took her to the vet. He saw the pulp exposed, and referred me to the dental specialist to see what all the options were. Dental specialist gave me 3 treatment plans, all of which cost $1600. It’s major surgery, with anesthesia and all, but the procedure is still same day and recovery is like 3 days. Doesn’t sound so bad.

I called my vet about the treatment options, and he was floored that the extraction was quoted for the same as the root canal, but whatever. So my dentist offered to do the extraction for $600, and I went ahead and booked the appointment. So yeah, $1500 is crazy expensive, and $600 is a hefty amount too, but it’s not just about the money. I mean, I save like Scrooge McDuck so I might as well spend, but now I feel bad about having Remy be less than perfect (I know, am I a doting freakzoid mom or what?). The thing is, with extraction, the outcome is certain. With the root canal, there are a series of post-op x-rays and follow up… not definite positive outcome. But she gets to keep the tooth. My vet buddy Nathalie says dogs are fine without the tooth… they are easy; it’s the humans who obsess and spaz about everything… I dunno. Still thinking about it.

Obviously, I’ve had better days but this is not the end of the world. I just have to make an effort to improve my different life situations. Btw, I got a pair of inline skates a couple weeks ago, and I am OBSESSED. So much fun. Maybe the 5 lbs. should be attributed to that… I don’t know. Anyway, I’ve already walked the dogs on them… of course Martin gets super nervous and doesn’t know to stay on one side. Twice, he’s crossed over in front of me and caused me to splat. But no injuries so far. Yeah man, livin’ on the edge with my extreme sports! Ha.

Ok so maybe I was a bit biased in the past, calling my puppies “Angels on Earth” and all. Yes, on our first visit to Dry Creek Park, Martin rolled himself in fresh cow dung. The week after, Remy committed the same damn offense. Lil’ rascals.

This time around, John and I had made preparations for the morning hike: we packed fruit, drinks, nuts, paper towels, etc. But we weren’t prepared to have multiple run-ins with about 50-heads of cattle on the trail. It seemed that no matter which path we chose, we always encountered the beasts. And that wouldn’t have been so bad, except that Martin kept provoking them with his incessant barking. And of course the night before, someone on Yelp had warned of charging cows at the park, so I was a bit on edge. On top of that, John and I totally overestimated our fitness, because we got pretty tired early on in the game. We stopped for a picnic, which seemed to help, and then we decided to try the Pioneer’s trail. Unfortunately, with the cows standing in the path, we had to keep rerouting off the path… In the end, the path just disappeared. I know, doesn’t make sense but I’m telling you for both of us, we didn’t know where the path went. And by then we had already entered the danger zone of hunger and dehydration and general annoyance. Yes, it was time to go home. We headed back and that was when Remy decided to freshen up in cow poop. I enjoyed that immensely. Stupid dog.

Needless to say, we won’t be heading back to Dry Creek Park for a while. Like my parents, maybe I have a preference for artificial parks, like ones with paved sidewalks and water fountains. I’m just no longer the tough cookie of my younger years.

Btw, Remy broke her tooth yesterday. John bought them rawhides, and Remy managed to break her premolar to the point that the pulp is exposed. She seems fine, but I read up on the exposed tooth online– it’s very prone to infection so now I’ll have to schedule an appointment on Monday. The pups have been so low maintenance until now… I hope this isn’t the start of the downward aging process for them. Remy’s 9 already. Boo hoo. Marty’s 6.

I went into work today… I was planning on just dropping off the brochures, so the entire fam came along for the ride. I was going to take John to a local donut shop, where they have excellent cake donuts, but the joint was closed. Then, the boss called and I got sucked into prepping presentations. Frickin’ A. But John was a good sport about it– the whole thing reminded me of grad school when he’d come down to visit me in Florida and he’d end up waiting for me for HOURS while I ran my experiments. Anyway, I finally got out of there just before noon. We hit Fuddruckers. Gotta give it to them for making damn good burgers on fresh buns. Tasty. Afterwards, we checked out a new park on East Bay– Dry Creek. Basically, it was like going to a farm with acres and acres of open fields and mountains… and with grazing cattle even. Remy and Martin were in heaven frolicking around. When they happened on a small herd under the shade, Martin started barking (he never barks!). We were surprised the dogs didn’t run away once the herd (of three) started moving.

We continued on our hike up the path. The weather was beautiful: sunny and breezy and you could see so much of the area (Hayward, San Mateo Bridge, even SF) below. The bad thing was that the fields were littered with dung piles. And even worse, Remy and Martin had a thing for rolling around. I knew they were up to no good, but John thought I was being too hard on them: they’re just dogs–they like to roll around in the grass. Uh yeah, until Martin came running up to us soiled in fresh shit all over his back, ears, and brand new harness! And let me tell you: John is the biggest shit phobe. Poop is like blood— when he sees it, he gets all dizzy and grossed out. So that kind of put a damper on things. We decided it was best to head back. Luckily, we found a stream and the dogs, overheated and thirsty, plopped right in. Yes, I washed the shit off of Marty. Touched it and all. What could I do? It was fine. It was like washing a baby’s diaper or something. No big deal. Of course on the drive home, John was still trippin’ about the fecal matter on my hands. “Don’t touch me.” Total wussy pants.

We were pretty active today. In the afternoon, we shot some hoops at the local courts. Man, I suck! Never sucked this badly. I was throwing up all bricks. Kind of lost interest pretty quickly. I think I’m going to focus my efforts on tennis now. That and look what I just discovered: Landrollers, the same things Caesar Milan uses. Yeah, $250 is a pretty big price tag… I’ll be scouring Ebay and Craigslist for the next several weeks. Then again, the big 4-year anniversary is Friday… may just have to treat myself. The reviewers say Landrollers are much easier to use for beginners. I love the fluidity of rollerblading, but unfortunately, I’ve never been able to pull that shit off. I am embarrassing in rollerblades– with me, it’s all about abrupt, jerky movements. Landrollers could very well be the answer…

John and I are one of those “grass is greener on the other side” kinds of people. We acknowledge that we are very fortunate, yet that never stops the yearning. I’m always searching for something…

When I first came to San Mateo, I remember posting a blog about Siebel (software company recently acquired by Oracle) and its kickass office space in town. The edifice was so impressive, all glossy and shiny with its pools and fountains. Walking by, you could hear the raucous little rug rats at the onsite childcare center. It must have been a dream to work on such a beautiful campus. Or so I thought.

After Oracle acquired Siebel, a bunch of people got laid off. One guy ended up joining John’s company, and damn did I have it all wrong: Mandatory work on Saturdays. No food/drink at your computer. The poor dude never saw his kids… he was out before they awoke and home after they were asleep. How could I have been so far off?

The world of business is a scary place, and I admit, I have my judgements. But still, working day in and day out with the CEO of my company has definitely shown me a thing or two. The thing is, I’ve always had a gut feeling that sleaziness usually goes hand in hand with business. Even when I worked in engineering consulting, I put two and two together when the same contractor always won every single project bid. But I suppose that naive, idealistic side of me always hoped for good clean fun. I’m not saying my CEO is a dirtbag, but I will say he does stretch the truth. And as a total goody-goody two shoes, even little white lies make me nervous. They just do. I can’t lie to save my life.

So anyway, I’m also starting to see patterns. Patterns amongst my own observations and experiences as well as amongst John’s. Granted, that’s still a very small sample size, but it seems that CEOs can often be harsh, moody, and downright unprofessional.

You see, I had a major meltdown at work last week. Long story short, I’d been busting ass working 15+ hour days. One morning, he called and jumped down my throat about not calling a customer. Now I’d been calling this damn customer every single day for a week. They never had a meeting date for me. So this one morning, the boss called at 9:30 a.m. I hadn’t called yet, and then he went off about how I lacked follow through and was being half ass. I couldn’t believe it. Part of me was thinking, “are you fucking kidding me?” but the other part was just plain weak. I felt like a child being scolded by the teacher. I was so upset. I ended the call abruptly and just said “bye.” Later, I met with a coworker who sensed something was wrong… my face likely said it all (I told you I can’t lie to save my life!). He kept asking me what was wrong. I said I was fine, but I just couldn’t convince him. He kept pressing and I started feeling the sting in my eyes. No tears but crazy ass stinging. Finally, the deluge came. I cracked. And I know, ALL the job websites say you CANNOT fucking cry at work. Was horrible. I had the fucked up breathing and all. Fortunately, the guy was really nice and understanding, but… I holed myself up in the bathroom for like 20 minutes trying to pull it together. It was bad.

And afterwards, I was so pissed at myself for letting it get to me. I hated my passivity. I should have said something, but I didn’t. I planned to say something the next day, but I didn’t. Now the time has past. What I realized though, is that I have to stand up for myself. We as employees have to stand up for ourselves. That’s one pattern I’ve noticed at my workplace. The employees are all super cool, but they don’t challenge authority. They don’t negotiate offers. They don’t make demands. In that sense, we have an entire fleet of goody goodies. And that is probably by design. In the end, who can we blame but ourselves. The world isn’t fair and unless we demand fairness, we’ll rarely get it.

Anyway, this week, I told the boss (sort of in jest) that he was working me to a nub. To my surprise, he sort of paused, thought about it, and then agreed. What do you know, at the end of the day, several of us received what we thought was spam in our inboxes (that’s how little we expect…). We got gift certificates thanking us for our hard work! I was pleasantly surprised.

So since my incident, I’ve still been working all the damn time but I’m starting to wet my feet with marketing. I sent out four cold-call emails requesting a call for us to introduce our company and product. Two people bit! And I developed a product brochure which was fun… that is, until I was forced to change it into something I don’t like as much… (ah, the joys of working with others). Anyway, at least now I’m getting some positive feedback for my work, which is nice. Ok, time to go enjoy my weekend. More updates later.

When I was a little girl, Kmart was my absolute favorite store. Kmart fulfilled all my needs– Barbie, Prancer, Strawberry Shortcake, My Little Pony plus clothing, shoes, the polar bear ICEE AND blue light specials multiple times a day. In my book (the black speckle book, that is), Kmart rocked.

A few short years later, Kmart and I had a major falling out. You see, suddenly, my favorite store had become the epitome of uncool. Wrangler jeans, Dickies–they were all the wrong labels. Mom and Norrie continued to shop there but somehow over the next two decades, even they turned to newer alternatives– Wal-Mart and Target. Everyone, it seemed, weaned off of Kmart.

Fast forward to today: I was out running errands, and I drove by a Big K. I figured I’d give Kmart a try– after all, she used to be my fav.

Well, I went in to purchase TP and office supplies. Let me tell you: I stood in line for 30 minutes with only three people in front of me. Of the three people, 2 required price checks. Totally junko stinko. I’m so disappointed, I don’t understand how Kmart’s even still around. Yes, it was THAT bad.

When a friend of mine first introduced me to freecycle about a year ago, I was overjoyed. The concept was great: divert good (albeit unwanted) stuff from the landfills by giving them to people who can use them. Sounded easy enough. I quickly joined three freecycle Yahoo groups in my area. I picked up a nice Pottery Barn paper lamp. I also acquired a box of 3-ring binders. Sure, some of the stuff wasn’t exactly in “good” condition– the binders were covered in an inch of dust and some of their rings didn’t close all the way– but who was I to complain: the shit was free after all. Over time, however, people started rubbing me the wrong way with their ridiculous requests. People asked for free cars, ipods, and laptops. I mean, wtf, this wasn’t a frickin’ Christmas wish list, you know? I mean for offbeat stuff like red worms (for worm bins), that seemed ok, but an iPod? Puhleez.

For my part, I mostly offered cardboard boxes. I often took them home from work (many were going into the dumpster as trash….). We get tons of shipments in daily, so every night before heading home, I’d load the car up with medium and large boxes. At first, my boxes were a hit, and it was so easy to just put them on my stoop. The selected freecyclers would then come the next day and pick them up. No face-to-face interaction required. I even had a wait-list with previous “customers” wanting more boxes. John joked that once again, I engaged myself in a time and energy-consuming activity that yielded no financial gains. Sigh. What can I say, I suck at bringing in the dough. And unfortunatley, as statistics would have it, I started getting burned. Some people wouldn’t show up. Others wanted all kinds of info before driving out– box dimensions, no damp boxes, blah, blah. And some people seemed only to check email once every other day. Wtf?

My latest issue is no interest. Last week, I posted my boxes to offer. Absolutely zippo response; meanwhile, my stoop is loaded with boxes. John’s complained that his stoop isn’t a junkyard. If my boxes go unwanted for much longer, I’m certain the homeowners association is going to cite me for uglifying the community. Frickin’ A. And they’re perfectly good boxes– would be such a shame to send them to the recyclers. Recycling is still so uneconomical for so many materials (but it doesn’t stop me from participating…). And a local auto recycling facility in Redwood City just suffered another huge fire yesterday…sketchy.

Well, I think I just need to wait patiently. Surely, some one will need boxes for moving or shipping or whatever…

In other news, John and I saw Showboat on Friday night. I was so tired though… the show ran from like 8 p.m. to 11 p.m. A long frickin’ time. Storyline was cheesy, but I got sucked into the dancing and singing. Gets me every time. Last night, we went with Chuck and Fonda to a local Irish pub. OMG, that place was like Sunrise assisted living. 70+ year old dudes doing the Heathcliff Huxtable groove. Ladies too old to be strutting around in minidresses and skin tight, high waisted blue jeans. Was such a odd sight. But hey, gotta give it to these peeps for staying active and enjoying themselves. I have to say, I wanted to go home within ten minutes of arriving. I’m just not made for that scene: super loud music, lots of alcohol, really bad dancing. Not a whole lot of fun for a sober prissy pants. Oh well, was something different I suppose.

So today’s Sunday already. We ran some errands in the morning. I’m in the middle of some work. John and I are gearing up for Entourage. John’s going to watch Sopranos too. Tv. It’s so damn evil: people cannot be responsible in the presence of tv. They just get sucked in– good programming, bad programming… regardless, it sucks away far too many hours in the day.