The '90s are the New '80s

I tend to measure my enjoyment of events by material objects lost or damaged without dents in my equanimity; in that spirit, I lost my clip-ons (again), and ripped a fashionable hole in one pair of jeans on Sunday and Monday. Saturday was a lost cause; ladies, if Midol and hot water bottles aren't doing it, I strongly recommend a soak in the hottest water you can stand.

Sunday morning I went to the farmer's market (in that way you do when you are cat/plant/house-sitting, and incidentally have a car), which had a guitarist performing such classics as Johnny Cash and Greenday. Not quite back to back, but the set list could have doubled as a Songs ase Would Sing at Karaoke playlist. It blows my mind that the guitar repertoire now moves from Folsom Prison Blues to Nimrod without much pause.

( Monday I had an adventure. )

Today I was treated to my very own birthday lunch - sushi, in the form of an eel roll, and shrimp nigiri-style, with a seaweed salad and delicious gyoza - by one of my supervisors, and somehow managed to fill an entire evening after work with nothing more substantial than life with cats, plants and a stove to cook on, so here I am, busted at midnight. My supervisors will be so pleased when I stumble in, zombie-like, tomorrow morning. If anyone asks, I intend to blame the impending solstice, and make light of my feckless socializing.