Well, that last post certainly generated a lot of comments. As it turns out, people love pictures. And smut.
Additionally, rumor has it that there are a couple folks who are unable to comment here for technical reasons. I'm pretty sure this is because I stupidly switched over to the Blogger Beta prematurely. Normally Google is pretty good about their Beta programs, but this one wasn't quite ripe. For those of you whose comments get rejected for "Can't find your username" type of issues, then just leave anonymous comments.
Meanwhile, back in the non-virtual world, Hank departed today for a 5 day "business" trip to Las Vegas.
I don't know who she thinks she's fooling. Hank works in the Information Techology department of a search engine company. What part of that business needs to take place in Vegas? The last time I went to Vegas, at least I had the cajones to 'fess up that it was a bachelor party. If she comes home humming Klingon drinking songs then I'll know that she spent this week doing what I did in Vegas, getting drunk at the Star Trek bar. Yes, I am that cool.
Related to nothing, yesterday I had a super tasty meal at what many folks consider to be the best Vietnamese restaurant in San Francisco, The Slanted Door. Hank recently discovered that she has relatives in the area, so we invited them to SF for lunch.
Yes, the restaurant was very nice, and the food was scrumptious, but in what is becoming a recurring theme in my life, what I remember most is my trip to the bathroom.
After sucking down a few glasses of ice water (I was warm from jogging from the train station to the restaurant, which I had to do because I was in mortal danger of being nearly 2 minutes late), I had to pee. I marched to the rear of the restaurant where I saw a line of women awaiting their turn for the restroom. I tried not to smirk as I stepped ahead of them looking for the always vacant mens room.
What I found were 4 doors, each labeled as a unisex bathroom. It took me several seconds of disbelieving eyeblinking to realize that The Slanted Door did not regard my penis as a bathroom Fast Pass. There was no dedicated mens room! I slunk to the back of the line. One of the women smirked at me as I shuffled past her.
As I stood in line, I saw an attendant standing at the end of the six foot long common sink. He appeared ready to wipe up any stray hand-washing spashes but mostly he stood there watching people go in and out of the unisex toilet rooms. Every once in a while, after someone would exit, he'd pop into the bathroom to see if it was still clean. It wasn't obvious to me how he decided which people to check up after. I figured he was probably pretty good at spotting the slobs.
After I got my big chance to use the potty, I was slightly traumatized to see that the attendant checked up after me. Me? I'm a very tidy pisser! I don't pee on the seat. I don't dribble my urine around. I was even nicely dressed. It made me remorseful that I had correctly aimed my urine.
Anyway, the rest of lunch finished trauma-free. Hank's new relatives seemed very nice. As we left the restaurant, with the entire clan in easy ear-shot, I asked Daisy, "So, kid, what do you think of your new family members? Thumbs up or down?"
I like to set Daisy up with nice fat pitches, slow and right over the middle of the plate. I knew her response would endear her to these folks.
"Thumbs all around," Daisy replied cryptically.
"Well," said one of Hank's relatives, "That's certainly a very....uh.... political answer."
Daisy for President.