My weekend kicked off with a long run on Saturday morning, as it often does. Anything semi-humorous I have to say on the matter was adequately covered two weeks ago in this post. Seven weeks 'til Boston.

Saturday afternoon's activity speaks poorly of me on a number of levels. Let's review and then count them.

So, every Friday night, we have some friends who come over to watch Survivor with us. This week, however, our TiVo failed to record Survivor. So, instead, we went over to our friends' house on Saturday, with daughter in tow, and watched it there.

Ok, let's count:

1) I watch Survivor. Yes, I admit it. It's a guilty pleasure. Bite me.

2) TiVo is a remarkable device that makes it fairly idiot-proof to record all your favorite programs, and yet, I still managed to screw it up. I out idiot-ed the idiot-proof device. Hmmmm, who's the idiot now?!? Oh....me.

3) I let my daughter watch Survivor. In case the public educational system has failed to instill in my daughter the necessary skills needed to successfully out-whine, out-lie, and out-fumble her way through adversity, we've now got it covered.

Boy, I only count three. Actually, that's not too bad. Hell, I practically beat that on Saturday night.

So, on Saturday night, the family went over to my wife's boss's house for dinner. Dinner with the boss-man can be an intimidating evening, but he's a nice guy with a charming family, so we had little to fear, until....

Apparently the wife and I ate something earlier in the day with amazing gas-producing abilities (I guess that was stupid thing #4). We spent the evening with butt-cheeks firmly clenched. Luckily, after dinner, I managed to grab a seat in the far corner of the room. Although it appeared that I was slightly anti-social, it was really medically justified. I ripped stealthy farts from a safe distance for the next hour.

My wife, however, being more dainty and genteel, just held them until we got into the car at the end of the evening. It was an unpleasant ride home.

Ok, so we didn't let our hosts know about our flatulence. We're good guests, right? Well, pretty good until my daughter proclaimed that her dinner "was disgusting" and "tasted like worms". Oh, ho ho ho, those kids say the darndest things. How cute!

We had a nice chat afterwards about manners. Too late, me thinks.

Today came and went, embarrassment-free. My daughter's aunt took her for an afternoon of fun, so the wife and I did adult activities. Mostly that consisted of getting our taxes together and playing Scrabble. Note, however, that I said "Mostly", because we also did some dishes, sexy sexy dishes.

I'll be in my bunk.