This past weekend I went on two dates.
Friday night I went to a friend’s gig, then I went to the Living Room to see a performer I’m curious about. I had the chance to hang out with my roommate’s friends from college. It was a regular girls’ night out. (Regular modifies the night out, not the elimation systems of the girls.) We went to the Max Brenner chocolate restaurant after the Living Room to gorge on chocolate.
Saturday I went on a date with a guy named Marcus. We were going to go on a bike ride up the West Side bike path and across the GW Bridge for a picnic in a park, but we changed plans last minute to go to an art gallery in SoHo. I was relieved. I haven’t been on my bike outside since last August, and I don’t feel all that peppy and athletic having packed on more than 10% of my body weight in the last year. Marcus is a good guy. He served in Iraq for 9 months a few years ago, and the featured exhibit at the gallery was of artwork smuggled out of Iraq by Iraqi artists. He’s easy to talk to, and he asks great questions. I wonder if I had a warbly or really squeaky voice he’d ask as many questions. Not that I minded. I just noticed how much I was talking, and when I’d turn questions back on him, his answers weren’t as long. Oh well. We wandered around SoHo, talking. We stopped into a pizza place for a slice. We walked around some more. We got stuck in Chinatown foot traffic. I wish tourists could be okay with stepping off the sidewalk to thin the flux a bit. We saw some cool buildings. Then we took the train back uptown and I got off at my stop and he kept going. Bye, bye, Marcus! We’ve known each other a while. I’m glad we went out.
I came home and worked on blog transfer from LiveJournal over here to WordPress. I used the time transferring entries to watch Cars on the laptop. And I hate that I cried at the end when Lightning McQueen pushed the King to finish his last race. Thank you, editors, for manipulating my feelings yet again.
Sunday, before the Danish summer kickoff party, I went to a going away party. They had notebooks to sign for each of the departing families. As I was signing the book intended for our former bishop, the theme song to Golden Girls entered my head. Only because I was writing how grateful I was for his family’s friendship. And then I wrote the words to the theme song in the bishop’s book. His year book. His Slam Book. Now he probably thinks I’m a kook. Proper impressions are important to make.
And this morning, before I began working, I sent a text message to my friend, Ted. He left for Iceland today. He’ll also be visiting somewhere else in Europe and Sweden for a couple of weeks for work. The message was, “Thanks again for danish summer. Have a great time abroad. Hej hej!” That last little bit is all the Danish I know. I learned it last night. And it means “hi” and “goodbye,” depending on context. It is pronounced “hi.” It’s not rocket science or even a tutorial in shoe-tying. And yet, later that morning, he replies to the text, “You’re learning quick… thanks for coming along.”
I have a special gift for tongues, as you can see. I have mastered Danish, and did anyone catch my clever pun in last week’s post about the BYU parking police, and their being retentive in the ane? Because, anal retentive? and ane means “donkey” in French? And donkey=ass? Oh, fine. Never mind.