Sometimes the weekend comes and goes, and if I don’t blog about it, I don’t blog about it. But I’d been meaning to memorialize this weekend because it was special to me in a few ways.

On Friday evening, I touched base with Navy Girl Vanessa as I drove home, and learned that she and her boyfriend (whom I had heard a lot about, but not yet met) were at Jamba Juice across the street from the Brea Mall. I got home, changed, and met them there. Then the three of us went to Brea Mall to buy our jujitsu friend Gloria a bday present for her party on Saturday. Since Vanessa paid for the present (a compilation of really cool massage oils, scented candles and lotions from Bath & Body Works), I paid for dinner to pay her back. We had a nice meal and laughter-drenched conversation at a Japanese restaurant close to the mall. Then we came back to my house and hung out in Vanessa’s room where we talked about roommates, cats, the history of religion and of the US as it concerns the middle east, and yes, I was schooled. Vanessa’s boyfriend is a well-informed guy. They left at about 1:30 a.m., right after Vanessa presented me with a 4-pack of Happy Bunny ankle socks. I laughed and said I love Happy Bunny! So now, underneath my black outfit and inside my black ankle boots, I’m wearing pink and turquoise socks that depict Happy Bunny saying, “Like I need YOUR approval.”

Saturday was a friend’s birthday party. Actually, it’s more Mr. W’s friend than my friend, altho I know her too and have met her even before Mr. W and I started dating. It was a beautiful day in Huntington Beach at her house with lots of people there, most of whom I’ve met before at other get-togethers, and a lot of whom I really like. I had a great heart-to-heart bonding conversation with an old friend and her husband. And even if there are troubles on my mind, nothing melts me and puts a smile on my face as surely as when Mr. W sat behind me on the raised stone BBQ pit I was using as a seat and put his arms around me and his face next to mine. There are 6-7 sequential photos of us taken at this time. I’d like to print them out and put them in a long frame that holds several photos so it looks like a filmstrip.

Sunday, my childhood friend Sandy brought her Costco date (she popped his Costco cherry that day so he could buy an Ipod Nano at a great Costco price) to Mr. W’s house and, as Costco date played XBox shooting games, the 3 of us set up our 3 laptops and networked, completing Sandy’s Raytheon project with Mr. W’s expertise in various programs that she and I don’t have and don’t know how to use.
At some point of this process, Mr. W’s daughter popped into the kitchen and complained about being hungry. So as Mr. W was finishing up the project with Sandy, I thought it’d be a good opportunity to take the daughter to grab dinner. I walked into her room and said, “We’re all gonna go eat Indian food for dinner.” She looked concerned. “But I’m not gonna subject you to that,” I continued. “Oh good,” she said, relieved. “So while they’re finishing up, I’m gonna take you where you want to get dinner, and we’ll just bring that back for you.” She choose McDonald’s, and we chatted all the way there, and all the way back, as she told me about her most recent social dilemma at school. And then the 4 grownups headed to a local Indian food restaurant.
The first and last time I tried Indian food was in high school. I was the officer of “International Club,” a social club aimed at exploring cultural diversity and awareness. The first year I was officer, we had a monthly social that would be organized by club members of a particular ethnic background. The month it was India, we watched a portion of a popular Indian soap opera, got a presentation and fashion show on Indian garb and jewelry, and of course, had their homemade Indian food. No one who attended the social that I know of could bring themselves to give Indian food a second chance. I verified this with Grace 10 years after the event. Nevertheless, I’d been saying that I’m willing to reopen my palette. Mr. W was also unenthused about eating Indian food, but agreed to give it another go, provided we find people to come with us who knew how to order. Turned out, Costco date and Sandy loved Indian food. And we had a great time, and yes, great food! I’m so glad we tried that again.