Well, we tried to grind

Omaha and I managed to score a great babysitter Thursday evening and so, dropping our other mutual dates (thanks so much, you two, for your own understanding) we went out to dinner at a fine Thai restaurant called Thai 65 down in the University District, then headed over to Tubs for an hour of soaking and talking.

There are few things nicer than an hour alone with Omaha, especially in a hot tub. It's so nice, in fact, that I'm considering buying one for our house. It would fit nicely under the deck, although given the amount of crud that falls between the boards maybe that's not such a good idea. Still, we were able to relax and discuss a lot of the stuff that's been going on without worrying about the kidlet wandering in on us. That is always such a worry. After an hour or so, we figured they'd forgotten about us and we were turning into giant pink raisins, so we got out even before the "courtesy call" and headed out to the Grind.

A message to Grind DJs: you cannot substitute obscurity for quality, nor volume for selection. I don't care if the crap you put on is from an obscure German mixing group, the head of which can trace his lineage back to an all-night sodomy session with the lead bassist from The Sisters of Mercy who somehow got his hands on an unreleased demo tape of Shreikback's lead keyboardist playing Madonna songs at his kid's fifth birthday party and managed to mix all this into a song about death and rage and hate and back it up with sounds from a pig farm on culling day: it ain't music worth fucking to. And making it so loud that my ears start collapsing doesn't make me want to stay, or return, ever. Stop playing crap that will impress the other DJs with your ability to troll Usenet and play shit we can dance and fuck with.

Besides, the back room was full and booked solid. So after saying hello and goodbye, Omaha and I went home and enjoyed each other's company further. Much better.

Desirae made a black belt!

Friday, Omaha and I hurtled down to Auburn to watch desirae kick ass and take names for her provisional black belt in karate. All of her friends showed up to watch, which I think surprised the sensei quite a bit. Her daughter was there, looking much more adult than I'm used to seeing her, as well as j5nn5r and (gasp) Jorda even showed up. I haven't seen her in a decade! That was very cool. Kouryou-chan was polite and watched quietly, although at one point we had to tell her to stop waving and distracting Desirae.

We watched her perform warm ups, which were telling in that some of the people took them seriously and others only tossed out their katas as if they were just holding back until the next round. The sensei then described the next round "for the guests," in which we would learn if Desirae had acquired the skills necessary to be "a technical fighter rather than a brawler." An interesting choice of words. They did some one-on-one, showing rolls, fistfights, wrestling, and defenses against unarmed opponents, as well as grappling to "control a situation where you don't really want to hurt the other person." j5nn5r was fast on his attacks, especially his kicks, and Desirae managed to hold her own pretty well.

She made it. We were all eminently pleased. We went over to the Mexican restaurant across the street and toasted her with monstrously large margaritas, although I was restrained and had only a single, unimpressive beer because I knew I'd be driving in an hour or so. The hot sauce was disappointing, because Julia said so.

We went over to Desirae's to soak in the hot tub and rub her shoulders. By this time, Kouryou-chan was so tired she just crashed on the futon in the back room, so the rest of us went out and had a vaguely voluntary round of truth or dare and the question of the day was, "What was your first masturbatory fantasy?"

I told them. I ain't tellin' you.

Saturday: Cleaning, Blackberries, Shopping

We're going camping next week, so today Omaha and I dragged out the tent and supplies only to discover that a cat had gotten into the garage and urinated all over our tent. That gave us all an excuse to get into our bathing suits and the three of us proceeded to give the tent a complete wash down. Kouryou-chan, being the smallest, had much fun washing the inside of the tent while we washed the outsides, but eventually it came to Omaha and I to pick the tent up and wash its underside.

Kouryou-chan and I went blackberry picking up along the drainage ditch on the east side of our subdivision and man, the picking was ripe. We came home with at least a quart, maybe more. I washed them and put them into the freezer for later use, but not before Kouryou-chan ate a whole bunch. Last year, I reported getting nettled on the hill next to my house, where there's a good patch of blackberries. This year, the hill is much harder to get to and the blackberries and being overwhelmed by bindwind, but I saw a good collection high up and climbed to get it... and got nettled again. Just a little bit on my right arm, but OW! that freakin' hurts!

Oh, and I saw the saddest thing today. Omaha and I stopped by one of those retail closeout outlets where all manner of strange things are sold. I once scored a solid stapler whose only fault was having instructions in Spanish. Nifty place. We bought a cheap ice-cream maker there; it was something we'd wanted for a while. But what made me feel sorry was a whole rack of Franklin-Covey planners complete with instructions and a year's worth of any-year filler, for eight dollars. Those things used to go for a hundred dollars each, and the PDA has just killed them.