Back Home Again in Indiana
Over Memorial Day weekend, we took the parentals to Claddagh. Jesse discovered black pudding on the menu, and his English heritage took over. He not only ordered the black pudding, he ate the black pudding – despite the looks of disdain from the waitress throughout the entire ordeal – and declared it “not bad” which is actually pretty high praise coming from him. He then Googled black pudding to find out what’s in it, and despite confirming it does in fact include blood, stands by his “not bad” assessment. (I tried a bite of the white pudding, and while I didn’t hate it, it’s definitely not something I’d order again. It’s a really weird texture and a little like eating straight black pepper.)
I finished Shopaholic to the Stars the other day, and just a heads up if you haven’t read it already, it doesn’t end so much as set up for a sequel. I may or may not have declared it “bullshit”. (I have to get all these words out now because in November, they will not be okay.)
We went to the symphony over the weekend, and it involved not one, but two bass flutes. I almost peed I was so excited. I don’t think I’ve seen a bass flute since senior year of high school when I had the sweet ass Shrek solo for the graduation concert. . .that no one could hear because have you ever been to a high school graduation?
I updated my phone Sunday (it was only 2 software updates behind) by myself. You guys, this is huge. I typically make Jesse do it for me because of the meltdowns, but other than giving the laptop a dirty look a few times (which someone thought required yelling at me even though I obviously wasn’t going to actually throw the computer across the room. . .too hard), I conquered technology. I even updated all the apps so I should be set for a year or two.
Jesse and I have developed a weekly habit we like to call Super Sexy Date Night (it’s cool, Mom and Dad, you can keep reading). It consists of going to dinner and the grocery store followed by returning home to immediately change into pajamas and, if we’re lucky, an episode of Cops before going to bed while it’s still light outside. Who says the romance dies after marriage?