Spent my morning with kittengirly and kittenhubby, and my afternoon/evening with my bowling team. Sunday morning, of course, means brunch; the company was better than the food, but the food wasn't bad, although, if we ever go back there again, I shall bring my own emergency cheese kit.

*g*

I also now have everything I need to smell like vanilla for ages to come. Figures I'd prefer one of the most expensive ingredients on the planet.

*smiles*

Later, our team captain made us dinner, and we got to spend some time hanging out and enjoying each other's company. What made this really special was that nobody even knew it was my birthday, and I certainly didn't bring it up. It was just something we did. They found out, later, of course, from an innocent third party, and rebuked me for not telling them earlier. But I didn't want a fuss made over me; some people like to fuss over such things and others don't, and I like everybody, so I never want anybody to feel obligated. At any rate, homemade spanakopita, and strawberry shortcake, and a mystery wine that turned out to be surprisingly good (and is now out of my kitchen forever, huzzah!). Going on to bowl my best games EVAH was merely gravy.

In-between, a very long walk, punctuated with the curious phenomenon of cake-batter ice cream. Have you noticed this? I didn't want an entire cake, not even a small one, because I tend to prefer the icing over the cake. Am decidedly fond of the trend toward cake-batter ice cream, however, because it's the perfect combination: a lot of something I really enjoy, plus a teensy bit of something I like in very small doses. The ice cream parlour I habitually eschew has changed its horrible singing policy to an optional one, in which the server asks you if you want a song. Given that I still think having someone sing for tips is humiliating indentured servitude of the most heinous kind, I politely declined, and managed to restrain my look of horror. I think.

*twinkle twinkle*

At any rate, my new favorite flavor ice cream is, decidedly, cake batter. The best ice cream place on the planet makes the best kind, bien sur. The second best guys have one that's merely okay, though they excel at other things. So, now you know what to tempt me with when you're trying to talk me into one of your devious schemes.

*mischievous g*

So, the eighth day of FTL has finally arrived, when your heroine has to start thinking about coming down to earth. Have a book review to write, which should help, and a number of other get-ready plans and projects that should make re-entry to the ordinary world relatively smooth and painless.

On a slightly more downbeat, yet still happy-ending note, Xannie and little E. were in a car accident over the weekend. E. is fine, Xannie's a little banged up. She claims it was all her fault, but based on her description of what happened, it sounds like one of those things that just happens, despite everybody's best intentions. Xannie's a little blue because apparently her car is now undriveable, and she feels like she's put an unfair burden on her family, so, if you would, send her some comforting thoughts. Your heroine, it goes without saying, is insanely grateful that it wasn't worse than it was.

*deep sigh of relief*

Today's poem = Her Legacy. Bless the Aunt Cleones of the world. And please, let me be just like them.

It was, apparently, a slow news day in Metropolis, because this story made the front page. I suppose you could argue that semi-public brawling is news. However, given the circumstances, it seems to me that this was more about public shaming and titilation than sincere reportage. On the other hand, you could argue that the article's subjects are in sore need of a little public shaming. But on that third hand, which we have not got, don't we all have something better to do than fuss and cluck judgmentally over two people who are clearly pretty screwed up?

*sighs*

Have spent a pleasant morning so far making art, and reading about Italian wines. Apparently, the rule of thumb for wine and food pairing is, "If it grows together, it goes together." Meaning, if you're serving a dish from a specific region, you can serve it with any wine from that region and the pairing will be just fine. Neat, eh? I do so love relatively useless information; one never knows when it will come in handy. And I still harbor hopes of throwing parties again. As my apartment slowly transforms into something approaching welcoming, I can feel the return of optimism.

But first, have got to finish re-watching my way through Sports Night. Kind of a moral imperative.

A bientot, mes chers.

That is quietly delightedly all.