My darling wife says my last post was long and pointless. No, I was just trying to paint a picture of how bad I am in the water. Whenever we go lobster diving, I pray that the reefs are close to the boat. If I hafta swim for more than 10 seconds, I'm gonna be too tired and outta breath, which severely hampers my ability to be able to hold my breath and dive.
Unfortunately, it's a big ass ocean and reefs are hardly ever right next to each other. It's not safe to go diving by yourself, in case your boat floats away or something. Honestly, I dunno how having a buddy around in the middle of the freakin ocean is going to help any. So you can hug someone and cry together as you drown? Use their blood and meat as nourishment while attracting sharks?
Anyways, no matter how many people I'm with, it's pretty much a guarantee that I'll be last. It's like the tortoise and the hare. And I'm the slow ass turtle. Doesn't matter how big a head start I have, I'm going to get passed up. By every one. We could start next to each other but, no matter how hard I try to keep the guy within viewing distance, he'll have disappeared in front of me within a minute. The last thing I see is his fins flapping into the open ocean as my hands reach out in vain and my screams for mercy are silenced by the water. It's actually quite depressing. I'm seriously like the old grandma driving on the highway, gettin passed up left and right. And there's not a damn thing I can do about it. Sometimes I'm just tempted to lasso his fin with my noose and see if he notices the extra weight behind him.
I just don't understand it. I have pretty good endurance. I go for 60 minutes on the elliptical every day no problem. My legs seem to work fine. I can run pretty well and far. I can walk 18 holes on a golf course in 80 degree weather, 90% humidity. I've tried all types of kicking motions too. Standard scissor kick, Pacman kicks, bicycle pedaling, big-step walking. I try looking down to evaluate my form while I do these kicks. That works for about 2 seconds til water gets in my snorkel and I choke.
It's so bad. It's like I turn into a 60 year old whenever I get in the water. When you scuba, the instructors tell you not to bother moving your legs cuz your legs are strong enough to do all the moving for you. They are the biggest and strongest muscle group in your body. Nope, not me. My legs get mad tired from a couple minutes of kicking. I start to lag so far behind that I fear I'm gonna get lost in the ocean. I panic and start using my arms. I'm prolly the only person in the ocean kicking madly with his feet while also flailing his arms around like a madman, doing anything he can to try and move forward that extra inch. I seriously think it'd be easier to just float to the bottom of the stupid ocean and freakin walk.
Of course my arms get tired pretty quickly too cuz my entire body is just spazzing out. I start grabbing onto coral to try and pull myself forward. You aren't supposed to even touch coral cuz it supposedly kills them on contact. Sorry, but I can't get left behind in the freakin ocean. I've seen Open Water dood. I'm trying to use anything I can to keep moving forward. Come to think of it, that's quite sad considering that water's pretty fluid to begin with. I go so far as to use my polespear/lobster noose as a walking stick. I stick it in the ground and/or coral and push myself forward. The end of my lobster noose is all tore up from being used as my personal pogo stick. So freakin pathetic. Fortunately, no one can laugh at me cuz there's freakin no one behind me to see! If ppl were to look behind, I wonder if they'd be able to notice me crying in my mask or if they'd just freak out at my seizure. Come to think of it, that's a great idea. Fake an injury so they hafta drag me along. Kinda like in a war. "Leave no retarded swimmer behind."
The last weekend of the season, I went out with two guys. One's a lil younger than me. The other's gotta be at least 50. We're talking white hair, 18 year old daughter, beer belly. We're going from one reef to the other. We're swimming along. I see the young guy pass me up. Fine. He's tall. He's got long legs. Also, he has really big fins. Not too much of a surprise there. Then, not much later, freakin the old guy passes me up. How is this even possible?! On land, I'm sure I could run circles around this guy. Doesn't his big ol stomach weigh him down or cause extra water resistance?
I had to pretend like I was going slowly on purpose, like I was too busy enjoying the general ocean splendor. You know, enjoying the view. "It's not whether you win or lose, but how you play the game". "Slow and steady wins the race." All the stupid things losers say to make themselves feel better. "I play basketball for the exercise." I almost tried pointing randomly behind me, like "oh look, we just passed some fish and coral that I really must slow down and admire." I actually thought about just jumping on his back and riding him the rest of the way. It'd be like water rodeo.
That or grab his leg and hold on for dear life. Like in the movies where two ppl are dangling from the air, and the guy on the bottom is holding onto the other guy's leg, begging him not to let him fall to his death. Except I wouldn't fall. Or die. But I definitely would be crying and begging. And the guy would look at me in utter bewilderment..."WTF is wrong with you?! Just use the strongest muscle group in your body!"
Tuesday, April 19, 2011
Wednesday, April 13, 2011
Chicken legs
I've been working out since college. In the past 10+ years, I can prolly count the number of times I've worked out legs on my two hands. Whenever I'd tell ppl that I don't workout my legs, they always tell me how bad that is. Yes, I know it's the largest muscle group on your body. It's just no fun. Not to mention the fact that you use them ALL THE TIME. Hello, what do you think you walk and run on? When I run or use the elliptical, it's basically like a leg workout in addition to cardio. And I've never had problems walking, running or moving my legs on the elliptical. WHen chicks check out guys, they don't say stuff like, "OMG, your thighs are so muscular! I love your calf muscles! I need to sleep with you right now." Besides, they're pretty much always covered by clothing. Who really cares what they look like? And if they're not covered, the focus is prolly on something else...
Even if you wear shorts, all you see are calves. My calves used to be rock solid back in high school and college...cuz I did a lot of walking when I was younger. Now they're kinda flabby, but still look pretty tone. I never thought I was missing anything by not working out my legs...until now. Lobster diving has made me realize exactly how weak my legs are.
I've never been a great swimmer. Back when we were young and living in Texas, my cousins had a pool. We'd go to visit them, and every one would be playing in the pool...except me. I didn't know how to swim. This was like 1st or 2nd grade. I prolly had floaties on while every one was swimming around me (incidentally, Cam went thru the exact same thing. Fortunately, by that time I didn't hafta fight him for the floaties). How did I finally learn? One of my uncles threw me into the deep end.
When our families were both in New Jersey, my cousins joined the local swim team. Asian parents push 3 things on their children: grades, musical instruments and swimming. They always say swimming is a great sport/activity cuz it works all muscles, helps you grow taller and doesn't cause negative impact on your body/bones. So why is it that I couldn't swim or play a musical instrument? FAIL.
So anyways, this is a legit swim club where you hafta actually try out. In the pool. In front of every one. No, it's not individual,private tryouts. It's like a once-a-year/all ages thing, so entire towns are there. All these proud and hopeful parents are there to watch and cheer on their kids. And they group you by age, not by experience level. If I had my way, I woulda been swimming with the 5 year olds (I was at least 12).
To say I was unprepared would be a gross understatement. This was like a big ass, Olympic-sized pool. They had you start off on those blocks above the pool, like in the Olympics! Since you're like 5 feet above the water, you hafta dive into the pool. One problem: I had never dived in a pool headfirst in my entire life! (Even now, I'm a pretty horrible diver, but that's another story for another day.) Guess I always feared I'd belly flop or something. That and the fact that I barely swam.
When the race started, every one else dove in headfirst, as normal ppl do. Me? I jumped in feet-first like a freakin retard. I quickly realized why swimmers don't jump in feet-first during a race. Besides the fact that you look like a complete idiot, you have absolutely no momentum when you're in the water. You're basically starting from zero while every one else is already halfway down the pool.
Oh, and if that wasn't bad enuff, I didn't know how to do that "tilting of the head from side to side" thing that normal swimmers do. Since your head is underwater, being able to do that is kinda important if you, you know, wanna breathe. So while every one is swimming normally, I'm doing my version of the doggy paddle...with over a hundred people watching.
It gets better. I'm finally able to paddle to the end of the pool. Too bad the tryout is two laps. When normal swimmers get to the wall, they do that flip thing underwater where they kick off the pool. Keeps the momentum going or something. Of course I don't know how to do this. I just touch the wall and reverse. As I'm trying to catch my breath before I start the second half of this death gauntlet, I look up and notice that the rest of the swimmers are already on the other side getting out of the pool! Guess they heard the cheers and couldn't wait to watch my swimming skills. They too can watch this shit show. Sweet.
As horrible and embarrassing as all this is, let's not forget that there's seriously over a hundred people watching this debacle. You got like 5 year olds laughing at me, grandmas laughing at me and every age in between. God knows what they were thinking. I'm sure they felt sorry for me cuz they prolly thought I was mentally and physically retarded...like that one commercial with the lil girl.
I'm pretty much already dead by the end of the first lap. I have no idea how I finished that second lap. I may have just floated and let the current drag me to the finish line. Maybe I backstroked. After laughing at me for about 15 minutes, they prolly decided to throw me that life ring and pull me to safety. It was definitely a miracle. Needless to say, I was thrown in the worst group. And I'm pretty sure I quit cuz I definitely don't remember graduating.
I'm gonna hafta finish this story another day. This trip down memory lane has been extremely sad and depressing. Time to find some chocolate and ice cream.
Even if you wear shorts, all you see are calves. My calves used to be rock solid back in high school and college...cuz I did a lot of walking when I was younger. Now they're kinda flabby, but still look pretty tone. I never thought I was missing anything by not working out my legs...until now. Lobster diving has made me realize exactly how weak my legs are.
I've never been a great swimmer. Back when we were young and living in Texas, my cousins had a pool. We'd go to visit them, and every one would be playing in the pool...except me. I didn't know how to swim. This was like 1st or 2nd grade. I prolly had floaties on while every one was swimming around me (incidentally, Cam went thru the exact same thing. Fortunately, by that time I didn't hafta fight him for the floaties). How did I finally learn? One of my uncles threw me into the deep end.
When our families were both in New Jersey, my cousins joined the local swim team. Asian parents push 3 things on their children: grades, musical instruments and swimming. They always say swimming is a great sport/activity cuz it works all muscles, helps you grow taller and doesn't cause negative impact on your body/bones. So why is it that I couldn't swim or play a musical instrument? FAIL.
So anyways, this is a legit swim club where you hafta actually try out. In the pool. In front of every one. No, it's not individual,private tryouts. It's like a once-a-year/all ages thing, so entire towns are there. All these proud and hopeful parents are there to watch and cheer on their kids. And they group you by age, not by experience level. If I had my way, I woulda been swimming with the 5 year olds (I was at least 12).
To say I was unprepared would be a gross understatement. This was like a big ass, Olympic-sized pool. They had you start off on those blocks above the pool, like in the Olympics! Since you're like 5 feet above the water, you hafta dive into the pool. One problem: I had never dived in a pool headfirst in my entire life! (Even now, I'm a pretty horrible diver, but that's another story for another day.) Guess I always feared I'd belly flop or something. That and the fact that I barely swam.
When the race started, every one else dove in headfirst, as normal ppl do. Me? I jumped in feet-first like a freakin retard. I quickly realized why swimmers don't jump in feet-first during a race. Besides the fact that you look like a complete idiot, you have absolutely no momentum when you're in the water. You're basically starting from zero while every one else is already halfway down the pool.
Oh, and if that wasn't bad enuff, I didn't know how to do that "tilting of the head from side to side" thing that normal swimmers do. Since your head is underwater, being able to do that is kinda important if you, you know, wanna breathe. So while every one is swimming normally, I'm doing my version of the doggy paddle...with over a hundred people watching.
It gets better. I'm finally able to paddle to the end of the pool. Too bad the tryout is two laps. When normal swimmers get to the wall, they do that flip thing underwater where they kick off the pool. Keeps the momentum going or something. Of course I don't know how to do this. I just touch the wall and reverse. As I'm trying to catch my breath before I start the second half of this death gauntlet, I look up and notice that the rest of the swimmers are already on the other side getting out of the pool! Guess they heard the cheers and couldn't wait to watch my swimming skills. They too can watch this shit show. Sweet.
As horrible and embarrassing as all this is, let's not forget that there's seriously over a hundred people watching this debacle. You got like 5 year olds laughing at me, grandmas laughing at me and every age in between. God knows what they were thinking. I'm sure they felt sorry for me cuz they prolly thought I was mentally and physically retarded...like that one commercial with the lil girl.
I'm pretty much already dead by the end of the first lap. I have no idea how I finished that second lap. I may have just floated and let the current drag me to the finish line. Maybe I backstroked. After laughing at me for about 15 minutes, they prolly decided to throw me that life ring and pull me to safety. It was definitely a miracle. Needless to say, I was thrown in the worst group. And I'm pretty sure I quit cuz I definitely don't remember graduating.
I'm gonna hafta finish this story another day. This trip down memory lane has been extremely sad and depressing. Time to find some chocolate and ice cream.
Monday, April 11, 2011
Oh, it's just dirt
Around this time last year, we started noticing some black dirt-like substance in the dogs' fur. I figured it was just dirt since this is Bermuda. No matter how hard you try to avoid it, you always end up bringing the "outdoors" inside your house, especially sand. Once when we were looking at houses, we walked into someone's house and it was like walking onto the beach. She just casually said, "It's Bermuda, you'll get used to the sand indoors."
The dogs are the worst. They're basically walking balls of tape. Whenever they come back in the house from doing their business outside, there will be twigs, leaves and other forms of nature sticking out of their fur. It's like they're dragging a stick wagon behind them. They've never had a haircut in 6 years. Poms are balls of fur as it is. Whenever I pet them, I'm bound to find hidden treasures twirled up in their fur. Some have been in there so long that I hafta bust out the scissors and cut out a chunk of fur to get it out. No big deal, cuz there's too much fur to notice.
So anyways, I'd pick at this dirt and it'd disintegrate in my hands...just like dirt does. Whatever, my dogs are gross. Nothing new. If I don't need showers, my dogs definitely don't. When Amy, Howard and Cindy came to visit last May, they too noticed the dirt when they were petting the dogs. "Oh, they're just dirty" I'd say, as our dogs rubbed themselves all over our first guests.
It wasn't until weeks later, maybe months, that I started getting suspicious about this dirt that was now over every inch of the dogs. I'm talking about months after the Duongs' visit. So it was many, many months since I first noticed the "dirt". One night, before bed, I'm petting Scooby on the floor. I part his fur and see something dash across the part. "Does Bermuda dirt move?" I do some more looking. Sure enough, this dirt is actually alive! I quickly figure out my dogs are infested with fleas (by quickly, I mean months)! The dirt? It's actually flea poop!
Sandy and I spend the next 4 hours going through each dog's fur and hand-picking the fleas. This is extremely difficult because 1) fleas move really fast, 2, we never cut the dogs' fur, so there's way too much to weed through, 3) fleas jump outta your grasp if you don't pinch tight enough, 4) the dogs are seriously completely covered in flea poop, which is black and provides convenient camouflage for the fleas, 5) there were hundreds of fleas. After we find a flea, we throw it into the sink filled with water or toilet. Sometimes the flea will actually jump out. By 3am, we've managed to pick out at least 40 fleas. Not exactly sure why we didn't just go by flea shampoo and give them baths. Prolly woulda been a lot easier. Then again, we aren't the best, or smartest, pet owners.
Fleas had been feasting on our poor dogs for so long now that their entire fur was actually covered in flea feces. Fleas just have a buffet, shit, hang out, sleep and repeat. Our poor dogs had been bitten so much that they're balding. There was huge patches of fur missing. Half of Scooby's skin was blackish-red and crusted from being bitten for God knows how many months. We are the most horrible pet owners ever. Our poor dogs are scratching themselves furiously non-stop, and I just comment on how dirty they are and continue on with my busy day. Not once do we bother to give them baths. If I shower once a week, my dogs aren't getting bathed more than once a year.
Not to mention the fact that these were our pets, which means we'd actually play with them occasionally. We pet them, they're up on our laps, they sleep in our bed. More specifically, they sleep on our pillows right next to our heads. I'm not even gonna mention how often we didn't wash our sheets. Scooby likes to do this thing where he rubs up against Sandy's hair. I can just picture the fleas playing Chinese fire drill.
Not only do fleas feed off dogs, apparently they also enjoy human blood. No wonder I'd have itchy bumps all over me, even in the boxer region. Like the dogs, I just figured it was from a lack of showering.
The next month was hell for me. Every thing had to be cleaned every day. As soon as I woke up, I'd spend a couple hours going through their fur, looking for fleas. Then I'd give the dogs baths. Then I'd spend the next 2 hrs drying them off (lots of fur). Then I'd sweep every square inch of the house. Then I'd vacuum. Then I'd spray the house with flea spray. Then I'd wash the sheets and clothes. I did this every single day.
Nothing seemed to work. I took them to the vet, who said "Yeah, fleas are a problem in Bermuda". Thanks. They gave them some meds that didn't do jack. I spent hours online reading up about how people were able to rid their pets and houses of flea infestations. I made an entire shopping list. I spent two trips to the states running around looking for random things people recommended. I plugged in night lights over cooking pans filled with water and dishwashing detergent. We walked around Boston looking for Brewer's Yeast to put in their water bowls. Poor dogs (have you ever tried Brewer's Yeast? It's freakin disgusting.) I went to at least five stores and was unable to find organic apple cider vinegar, but I was somehow able to find Diatomaceous earth. I bought all sorts of flea shampoo and buggers and sprays.
It was like war against the fleas. Some days I seriously thought it was hopeless. Finally, I read about Advantage and Program meds that had great reviews. We bought some from the states and have been flea-free for months now. And yes, the dogs get bathed more than once a year now. Like 2x.
The dogs are the worst. They're basically walking balls of tape. Whenever they come back in the house from doing their business outside, there will be twigs, leaves and other forms of nature sticking out of their fur. It's like they're dragging a stick wagon behind them. They've never had a haircut in 6 years. Poms are balls of fur as it is. Whenever I pet them, I'm bound to find hidden treasures twirled up in their fur. Some have been in there so long that I hafta bust out the scissors and cut out a chunk of fur to get it out. No big deal, cuz there's too much fur to notice.
So anyways, I'd pick at this dirt and it'd disintegrate in my hands...just like dirt does. Whatever, my dogs are gross. Nothing new. If I don't need showers, my dogs definitely don't. When Amy, Howard and Cindy came to visit last May, they too noticed the dirt when they were petting the dogs. "Oh, they're just dirty" I'd say, as our dogs rubbed themselves all over our first guests.
It wasn't until weeks later, maybe months, that I started getting suspicious about this dirt that was now over every inch of the dogs. I'm talking about months after the Duongs' visit. So it was many, many months since I first noticed the "dirt". One night, before bed, I'm petting Scooby on the floor. I part his fur and see something dash across the part. "Does Bermuda dirt move?" I do some more looking. Sure enough, this dirt is actually alive! I quickly figure out my dogs are infested with fleas (by quickly, I mean months)! The dirt? It's actually flea poop!
Sandy and I spend the next 4 hours going through each dog's fur and hand-picking the fleas. This is extremely difficult because 1) fleas move really fast, 2, we never cut the dogs' fur, so there's way too much to weed through, 3) fleas jump outta your grasp if you don't pinch tight enough, 4) the dogs are seriously completely covered in flea poop, which is black and provides convenient camouflage for the fleas, 5) there were hundreds of fleas. After we find a flea, we throw it into the sink filled with water or toilet. Sometimes the flea will actually jump out. By 3am, we've managed to pick out at least 40 fleas. Not exactly sure why we didn't just go by flea shampoo and give them baths. Prolly woulda been a lot easier. Then again, we aren't the best, or smartest, pet owners.
Fleas had been feasting on our poor dogs for so long now that their entire fur was actually covered in flea feces. Fleas just have a buffet, shit, hang out, sleep and repeat. Our poor dogs had been bitten so much that they're balding. There was huge patches of fur missing. Half of Scooby's skin was blackish-red and crusted from being bitten for God knows how many months. We are the most horrible pet owners ever. Our poor dogs are scratching themselves furiously non-stop, and I just comment on how dirty they are and continue on with my busy day. Not once do we bother to give them baths. If I shower once a week, my dogs aren't getting bathed more than once a year.
Not to mention the fact that these were our pets, which means we'd actually play with them occasionally. We pet them, they're up on our laps, they sleep in our bed. More specifically, they sleep on our pillows right next to our heads. I'm not even gonna mention how often we didn't wash our sheets. Scooby likes to do this thing where he rubs up against Sandy's hair. I can just picture the fleas playing Chinese fire drill.
Not only do fleas feed off dogs, apparently they also enjoy human blood. No wonder I'd have itchy bumps all over me, even in the boxer region. Like the dogs, I just figured it was from a lack of showering.
The next month was hell for me. Every thing had to be cleaned every day. As soon as I woke up, I'd spend a couple hours going through their fur, looking for fleas. Then I'd give the dogs baths. Then I'd spend the next 2 hrs drying them off (lots of fur). Then I'd sweep every square inch of the house. Then I'd vacuum. Then I'd spray the house with flea spray. Then I'd wash the sheets and clothes. I did this every single day.
Nothing seemed to work. I took them to the vet, who said "Yeah, fleas are a problem in Bermuda". Thanks. They gave them some meds that didn't do jack. I spent hours online reading up about how people were able to rid their pets and houses of flea infestations. I made an entire shopping list. I spent two trips to the states running around looking for random things people recommended. I plugged in night lights over cooking pans filled with water and dishwashing detergent. We walked around Boston looking for Brewer's Yeast to put in their water bowls. Poor dogs (have you ever tried Brewer's Yeast? It's freakin disgusting.) I went to at least five stores and was unable to find organic apple cider vinegar, but I was somehow able to find Diatomaceous earth. I bought all sorts of flea shampoo and buggers and sprays.
It was like war against the fleas. Some days I seriously thought it was hopeless. Finally, I read about Advantage and Program meds that had great reviews. We bought some from the states and have been flea-free for months now. And yes, the dogs get bathed more than once a year now. Like 2x.
Sunday, April 10, 2011
Five
Yesterday was our 5 year anniversary. Yup, five years ago we got married in Joliet, IL. We've been together for 95 months (just under 8 years). Actually, it's prolly less than that, considering how many times she broke up with me that first year. My lovely wife actually broke up with me once during our drive home from Detroit. We were coming back from an Eminem concert, which she bought for me as a birthday present. Why during the drive? Cuz I opened a bottle of water myself. Her exact words: "You don't need me. My exes all needed me to open their water bottles for them."
For gifts, I made her the garden she's always wanted. Feeling bad for not getting me anything YET AGAIN, Sandy bought me the Roland Skinnard photo of Bermuda I'd been talking about since we moved here.
Friday night, we went to our customary anniversary dinner at The Waterlot. Originally, we had made reservations at Ascot's. But Thursday night, we were watching TV and happened to flip to the Travel Channel, which had a special on the best steakhouses in America. AND it just happened to be showing Chicago. I almost ate my own arm when they were talking about the mouth-watering steaks at Gene & Georgetti's and David Burke's. So we decided to have steak that night instead. Caesar salad prepared tableside to start. Cowboy ribeye for me (with foie gras on top), cowgirl for her (with soft shell crab). Creamed spinach, truffled mac & cheese and truffled french fries as sides. Sticky toffee pudding to cap off an amazing dinner.
We made dinner plans for Friday cuz we were supposed to go to Kim's bday party Saturday night. Sandy ended up having to go into the office that Saturday after lunch with Pong. We ordered KFC for dinner, even though Sandy had just spent the previous hour photocopying diet recipes from Jacqueline's Insanity book. At least I ordered the 5 piece meal instead of the 9. Of course they messed up our order and didn't even apologize for it when I had to go all the way back to replace my nuggets with hot wings.
We didn't end up leaving the office til late, and Sandy was too tired to go back out by the time we got home. No, that's not code for something else.
Today, we took a trip out to Dockyard and had lunch at the Frog and Onion. Then we walked around the mall. Sandy bought a book called "Tea with Tracey", which is basically about Tracey's experiences of living in Bermuda. Sandy read some funny stories tonight, which made me decide to start blogging again. We came back home and Sandy planted the seeds in her new garden: cucumber, pumpkin, sunflower and lettuce. Looking forward to 6. That is all.
For gifts, I made her the garden she's always wanted. Feeling bad for not getting me anything YET AGAIN, Sandy bought me the Roland Skinnard photo of Bermuda I'd been talking about since we moved here.
Friday night, we went to our customary anniversary dinner at The Waterlot. Originally, we had made reservations at Ascot's. But Thursday night, we were watching TV and happened to flip to the Travel Channel, which had a special on the best steakhouses in America. AND it just happened to be showing Chicago. I almost ate my own arm when they were talking about the mouth-watering steaks at Gene & Georgetti's and David Burke's. So we decided to have steak that night instead. Caesar salad prepared tableside to start. Cowboy ribeye for me (with foie gras on top), cowgirl for her (with soft shell crab). Creamed spinach, truffled mac & cheese and truffled french fries as sides. Sticky toffee pudding to cap off an amazing dinner.
We made dinner plans for Friday cuz we were supposed to go to Kim's bday party Saturday night. Sandy ended up having to go into the office that Saturday after lunch with Pong. We ordered KFC for dinner, even though Sandy had just spent the previous hour photocopying diet recipes from Jacqueline's Insanity book. At least I ordered the 5 piece meal instead of the 9. Of course they messed up our order and didn't even apologize for it when I had to go all the way back to replace my nuggets with hot wings.
We didn't end up leaving the office til late, and Sandy was too tired to go back out by the time we got home. No, that's not code for something else.
Today, we took a trip out to Dockyard and had lunch at the Frog and Onion. Then we walked around the mall. Sandy bought a book called "Tea with Tracey", which is basically about Tracey's experiences of living in Bermuda. Sandy read some funny stories tonight, which made me decide to start blogging again. We came back home and Sandy planted the seeds in her new garden: cucumber, pumpkin, sunflower and lettuce. Looking forward to 6. That is all.
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