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Journal of No. 118


February 2nd, 2004

weekend with the Daves @ 10:16 am

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Saturday, Mom and Dave came out to see our place. For the second visit in a row, Dave managed to pants himself. I swore I would get a picture of it if it happened again, but I had my hands full with some food they had brought us.
Since the pantsing occured so near the beginning of the visit, it was easy to relax and feel that the worst was over. Anyway, they oohed and aahed appreciatively at everything about the house.
A while back, when Rebecca's mom Judith was out here visiting, we took her to Venice Beach, and when we showed the pictures to my mom, she got somewhat jealous. So we made promises to do Venice Beach sometime with them.
But Mom and Dave seldom travel far from home, so it took some doing to get it to happen. Indeed, Dave doesn't seem to travel far from the La-Z-Boy. So, we knew from the start that it would be a different experience than with Judith, who walks miles through snow to go to the market.
It also happened to be Dave's birthday. Through negotiating with Mom, we picked out a couple cafes down on the beach that we thought Dave would like. We drove out there, parked, and walked ever so slowly along the boardwalk. During the drive and the walk, Dave has been muttering things about Mexican food. Never does he actually say anything like, "I would like to have Mexican food for my birthday lunch." But that's how I interpret his mumblings.
I consider saying, "Well, I parked here so it would only be a short walk to the cafe mom picked out, but if you want Mexican, there's a place maybe ten blocks over there." Given the choice between a near cafe, and a far Mexican restaurant, I know what's going to win.
Thankfully for my sanity and Dave's continued life, the Sidewalk Cafe (webcam from the cafe) has some Mexican food on the menu. So he got his birthday nachos and fajitas. I consumed Kurt Vonnegut Jr. in burger form, while Rebecca ate Timothy Leary (with 'shrooms natch).
Lunch was pretty good and everyone enjoyed it. We ambled our way south to Muscle Beach, but not much was going on. We saw a girl with an iguana on her head. And Harry Perry, of course. It's kinda sad, but Cronk's Venice Reconstituted is getting kinda worn away. I remember when it was brand-new. Cronk did a cool job on the front of that building, too.
Anyway, we zipped back to the house, had some birthday cake for Dave and then they fled back to the safety of Orange County.
Sunday, Dad (who is also a Dave; Mom is sorta stuck in a rut) and Lois and her son Craig came for the Superbowl (and to check out the house). The house was again admired by all and sundry, and we had a good time chatting and watching the game and eating way too much yummy foodstuffs that Becca made, although I had the important and artistic duty of arranging the crackers on a plate.
The game was better than I'd hoped, but it would've rocked had it gone into overtime. I missed Janet Jackson's tit, and seeing photos on the internet just isn't the same as seeing it on live television. The things a girl will do these days to revive a flagging career.
Got plenty of stuff going on in the near future. Rebecca heads out to chilly PA for her grandma's 90th birthday on Friday. I'll be at someone else's birthday party that night. The bookfair's on Saturday, followed by poker.
In other news, the flamewar on alt.horror.cthulhu just isn't even funny anymore.
 
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Journal of No. 118