After Special Olympics, Mr. W and I wandered around some local shops (reptile, exotic saltwater fish, Asian market, Asian wares, and of course Costco) then headed over to Huntington Beach for my cousin Diana’s birthday potluck at her friend’s house for a joint birthday venture. I went a little jello shot crazy. But aside from the 25 jello shots I had (fine, it’s a slight exaggeration), I only had one Twisted Watermelon Bacardi, so I didn’t drink that much. The food was delicious — Korean BBQ ribs, BBQed chicken and corn, various dishes ordered in bulk from Claim Jumper, Chinese food. There was, just like last year, 7 or 8 desserts, including a carrot cake birthday cake that in mid-bday-song, took a nose dive from the arms of the bearer straight onto the patio floor, frosting-side down. (Last year, another girl had done the same with an apple pie, about 6 feet away from the death of this carrot cake.) This carrot cake was scooped up and placed, face down, on a nearby picnic table. Because we are Chinese and we don’t waste food, a few people we were hanging out with later ate a significant portion of it with their respective forks, Joey-Tribbiani-style. (Mr. W and I didn’t participate in this, because I don’t like carrot cake and because he, I have a sneaking suspicion, thought it was gross to eat motor oil flavored carrot cake. I understand; carrots are vegetables and should not be sweetened and baked into a pastry.)

Late into the evening, I noted to him that I seem to be doing a lot of the same things that I would be doing had I not met him, which must mean that he’s changed his lifestyle a lot to do these things with me. I thanked him for participating in my life and my activities, promised to do one of “his” style weekends soon, and inquired what he’d rather be doing. He smiled and said he’d rather be doing this with me.