These things are too good to not be in a bulleted list

These things are too good to not be in a bulleted list.

Saturday night, Erik whisked me off to dinner and "somewhere else by 8pm." We pull up to UCSD, my alma mater, and he asks my opinion on where to park for the Price Center Ballroom. Still competely clueless as to what we're doing, I guide him to the best parking spot and run through some options in my head. I figured it might have been a lecture or something like a swing dancing night, and I was completely not in the mood for swing dancing. I'd just stuffed my face full of northern Indian food, specifically, the bread. Anyway, we walk into the ballroom, show our tickets, and go to get seated. Still oblivious. I realize that they're handing out programs back at the door, so I walk back and grab one only to see, in giant lettering, "AN EVENING WITH IRA GLASS." Ira Glass is the creator, host, and producer of This American Life, my favorite thing on any kind of airwave. I adore the syncopation in his voice, the stories he tells, and those moments of hilarious profundity that you'd miss if you dared not pay your full attention to every word he says.

I love Ira Glass, but not nearly as much as I love my husband for knowing exactly what would make me the happiest person in the world.

At work, there's a total boys' club THAT ONE DAY I WILL INVADE, MUAHAHA. A bunch of older guys here are complete and utter cycling freaks, and also have tea and bagel+avocado+hotsauce breaks mid-morning and mid-afternoon. They go out on lunchtime rides throughout the week and long rides on the weekends. I can't even imagine what their wives think of this "hobby." They probably just roll their eyes, resign themselves to several hours of alone time (which isn't a bad thing) on Sunday afternoons, and quietly wonder if their husbands are gay.

My favorite one, Oliver*, was just talking in the breakroom with his other cycling boyfriends while I was making my breakfast and pouring some coffee. I wasn't listening much, until he said, "her show sometimes makes me cry." Sensing my amusement, he explained that he was talking about Oprah. Of course, he was talking about the much-hyped Lance Armstrong appearance. These guys are as obsessed with Lance as they are with the sport itself. Then they went back to telling stories about past bike rides they'd done and all the fun times on the trails and hills. It was really sweet and made me want to dust off my rusty bike and put some air in the tires.

Wait, I'm not even sure I have a bike.

I might need to figure that out if I ever want to break into the boys' club.

I can't really verbalize it, but I just don't like Lance Armstrong all that much.

Sunday, we were babysitting Grace during her Critical Afternoon Nap Time, and when she woke up, she sat on my lap in that shy post-nap haze, facing me, with her blankie in one hand, eating some honey graham crack-sticks with the other, and resting her forehead on my forehead. That may well be the greatest feeling ever.


*=names not changed to protect the guilty.