~Friday~ Joe came over for a late lunch, and I heated up all the leftovers from Vivian and Jeff’s Thanksgiving meal for a repeat, since Joe worked all day yesterday and didn’t have a “real” Thanksgiving dinner.
Again, for identification purposes, starting at “12:00” and moving clockwise: chourico (Portuguese sausage), cranberry sauce, corn pudding, mashed potatoes, Portuguese rice, ham, turkey, and in the center, Portuguese stuffing. Off to the right with the deviled egg is the Broccoli salad. And to the left, massa (a Portuguese sweet roll). For dessert—not pictured—we had a slice of pumpkin cheesecake.
Joe and I grabbed our laptops and rode over to Cup-A-Joe’s at Mission Valley, where we had a cup of coffee and I worked on yesterday’s blog entry. We sat across from each other and IMed each other about all the people around us, at times stifling incredible laughter—not unlike a couple of school girls.
We had an interesting conversation about men wearing makeup, inspired by the recent articles (and accompanying photos) about the Adam Lambert incident on the AMAs.
I said that, “I’m not violated by it as long as it’s done well,” which in the above picture it is in my humble opinion. Joe’s take is that, “I just don’t think men should be wearing makeup.”
At one point in the time there, tweets starting coming across that Tiger Woods was in a car accident, in which backing out his drive way he hit a fire hydrant and a tree, and in which he was “seriously injured.” Within 10 minutes it was clarified that he had actually already backed out of his driveway, but was riding down the street near his house when he hit the fire hydrant and tree, but still saying he was seriously injured. In ten more minutes, he was “being released from the hospital” and he was “fine.”
The media. Gotta love ’em. It all reminded me of the Mark Twain quote to the effect of: “Reports of my death have been greatly exaggerated.”
With all that said, things still don’t add up in this story. It’ll be interesting to see how it continues to unfold.
Once back at the house, I took a nap and I had one of those dreams that seemed like it went on the entire time I was asleep and in which exhausting activity was taking place.
I was some place out west, was catching a plane home in three hours, but had all this crap that had somehow made its way out west with me and there was this earnest attempt to get as much packed as possible and packing it in bags such that the three other people traveling with me could each carry two bags, so as not to have to pay for any extra bags. I had no idea who the three other people were, as they never made an “appearance” in the dream.
There was definitely not going to be room for everything, so some had to be put aside to be carried back in the car, which somehow had gotten out west, too, and somehow by someone not revealed to me in the dream was going to have to be driven back east. In retrospect, why we couldn’t just leave all the crap in the car, since it was going east, too, is also was not revealed to me in the dream.
It was all very exhausting as it was time-consuming, and the clock was ticking for having to get to the airport in time for the flight.
I met Joe at Flex and we played a couple of games of pool that turned out not to be free. Not sure if this is a change in the regular free pool on Fridays & Sundays just for this holiday weekend or what.
The place was dead, and stayed dead. One guy, who fell asleep on a table over in a corner got awakened and told that he had to leave, that he couldn’t sleep there, he got a little belligerent, and then he was told, “If you come back in here, you’re going to go to jail.” He was totally shit-faced and bumped into the door frame on his way out.
There was this one total yammerer guy visiting from Arlington “trying to find a husband,” as he stated at least six times.
“Are you two a couple?” the guy asked Joe and me, obviously hoping we weren’t.
“Yes. We’ve been together for 17 years,” I said quickly, and I saw Joe’s surprised face and what I imagined was a quick mental calculation of 17 years minus his age to see if that would have made him, like, 12 when we’d purportedly “started going out.”
The guy went on again about finding a husband, and then I said, “Husbands are so over-rated,” and Joe immediately acted like he was hurt, and I said to him, “Sorry, honey, but you know what I meant.”
The guy left us alone shortly after that. Mission accomplished.
At midnight, there were about four people left in the place, and after debating (for about two seconds) going to Legends, Joe and I left and went home.
I stopped by my office on my way home, where I didn’t really expect to—but was hoping to anyway—find my iTouch that I’ve searched in and out of my laptop bag and soft-sided briefcase now for two days. (Echoes of the umbrella debacle.)
On the way home having no luck there, I remembered that at the end of my workout on Tuesday, I had put my iTouch in the plastic bag I keep in my gym bag for my sweaty clothes and towel when I’m done working out. I’d already checked the gym bag, but hadn’t looked in the plastic bag. Once home, I ran upstairs, looked in the plastic bag only to find it empty. Damnit!
Then I remembered dumping my wet t-shirt and sweaty towel into my laundry basket on Tuesday. Digging down to those two items, which had laundry from Wednesday and Thursday on top of them now, I found it. Thank god it didn’t make it into the washing machine.
Bless my mess.